The lightning strike split the night like a celestial blade, its blue-white energy coursing through the metal dumpster with a sound like grinding stars. Rain fell in sheets now, heavy enough to drown out the city's usual hum—each drop hitting the concrete with the force of a small stone. Then, above the roar of the downpour, came another sound: a scraping of metal as the dumpster lid was thrown open from the inside, followed by ragged, gasping breaths that tore through the cold, steamy air.
Anthony Carmichael pushed himself up, his body moving with an ease he hadn't felt in years. What… what just happened? He blinked hard, rain streaming down his face as he stared at his hands—they were clean, free of the grime and cuts he'd carried from days of running. I heard the shots. I felt… I felt everything go dark. I was dead. I know I was dead.
Trembling, he raised his fingers to his forehead. He expected to feel rough scar tissue, the sticky residue of blood, maybe even the hollow indent of bullet holes. But his skin was smooth, unmarked—warm to the touch as if he'd just woken from a deep sleep. He ran his hands over his entire head, his chest, his arms, searching for any sign of what he'd endured. There was nothing. Not a single scratch, not a hint of pain.
This isn't possible, he thought, climbing out of the dumpster and landing lightly on the rain-slicked ground. The alley was empty now—no sign of Damien, Hector, or Marcus. No trace of the gunshots save for a faint metallic tang in the air that the rain was already washing away. He looked up at the sky, where lightning continued to fork across the clouds, illuminating the brick walls of the buildings on either side like something out of a dream. I remember them holding me down. I remember the cold metal against my skin. I remember… I remember saying goodbye to everything. How am I standing here?
He stumbled to the nearest wall and slid down it, his back pressing against damp brick as the reality of his situation crashed over him in waves. Hot tears mixed with rain on his cheeks, and for the first time in years, he let himself cry—really cry—with every ounce of pain and regret that had been buried under layers of pride and addiction.
Mom, Dad… I'm sorry, he whispered to the empty alley. I'm so sorry I let you down. Sarah… I hope you can forgive me someday. I thought there was no way out, no way to fix what I'd broken. I was ready to die because I deserved it—I'd wasted every chance I was given, hurt everyone who cared about me. But somehow… somehow someone gave me another shot. I don't know who you are, but thank you. Thank you for not letting me end in that dumpster like the trash I'd become. This time will be different. I swear it. I'll make something of myself. I'll help people. I'll make amends however I can.
As the last of his tears faded, a soft hum filled the air around him—so quiet he almost mistook it for the sound of rain on metal. Then, without warning, a screen of pure blue light materialized in midair before his eyes, hovering at chest height like a hologram from a science fiction film. It glowed with a gentle intensity that didn't hurt to look at, and crisp white text began to form across its surface:
CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR RESURRECTION
The gods have answered your prayers and will be giving you another life
Anthony scrambled backward, his back slamming against the wall as his heart hammered against his ribs once more. What is this? He rubbed his eyes hard, thinking he must be hallucinating—shock from the trauma, maybe even some kind of head injury he couldn't feel. But when he opened them again, the screen was still there, glowing steadily in the rain that seemed to pass right through it without leaving a mark.
I'm going crazy, he thought, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. This is impossible. Holograms like this don't exist—not in real life, not on the streets of Boston at 3 in the morning. Did the Blood Wolves drug me? Is this some kind of sick game? But why would they let me live just to mess with my head? He reached out a tentative hand, half-expecting to feel nothing but air, but when his fingers neared the blue light, he felt a faint tingle—like static electricity, warm and gentle against his skin.
Before he could pull away, the screen flickered and new text appeared, bolder this time, with a soft chime that echoed in his ears:
NOTICE!
Follow these rules to enjoy the second life given by the gods. If you cannot comply to any request, your resurrection will be void and you will thoroughly vanish from the mortal world.
1. Complete tasks – Requests will come from the gods, with time limits ranging from one day to one week.
2. Your decisions matter – Always do good things to receive better rewards and grades from the gods.
3. Do not reveal anything about the resurrection – If you do, your second life will be immediately void.
Fear coiled in Anthony's stomach, mixing with a flicker of something else—curiosity. "The gods"… what kind of gods use holographic screens and set rules like a contract? He ran his hands through his wet hair, trying to make sense of it all. This has to be something more than divine intervention. Advanced technology? Aliens? Some kind of secret government program? But why me? I'm just a washed-up gambler who couldn't pay his debts. I have nothing to offer anyone.
He stared at the rules again, reading each line over and over. The threat of vanishing was real—he could feel it in the weight of the words on the screen. But the promise of rewards… after years of scraping by, of counting every penny just to buy food or fuel for another gamble, the idea of being given something for doing good felt foreign. What kind of rewards are we talking about? Money? A new identity? Or something else entirely? And what happens if I make a mistake? If I choose wrong? Will I just… disappear? Like I was never here at all?
The screen chimed again, and a third message flashed, making Anthony's eyes widen so far they felt like they might pop from his head:
BONUS INITIAL GIFT
As a token of good faith, you have been given an initial account balance of 500 trillion dollars, directly wired to your personal bank account.
Spend lavishly on good and worthwhile things. The system will notify you if your spending is classified as "good" or "bad."
Anthony sat frozen for a full minute, his mind struggling to process the number. 500 trillion dollars. He'd spent his whole life chasing thousands—sometimes hundreds of thousands—dreaming of hitting it big at the tables. But this… this was beyond comprehension. That's more money than entire countries have. How is that possible? And what counts as "good and worthwhile"? Donating to charity? Building hospitals? What if I spend it on something I think is good but the system doesn't? Will that count against me?
He pushed himself to his feet, his thoughts racing faster than they ever had before. Okay, okay. Let's think this through. First, I need to make sure I'm safe. The Blood Wolves think I'm dead—if they find out I'm alive, they'll come after me again, and this time they won't stop until I'm gone for real. Second, I need to check if this money is actually real. If it is… I have to use it right. No more wasting what I'm given. No more making choices that hurt people.
I don't know who or what is behind this, he continued, watching as the blue screen faded slowly into the rain until nothing was left but empty air. I don't know if it's gods or technology or something I can't even imagine. But they gave me a second chance when I didn't deserve one. I won't throw it away. Not this time. I'll follow the rules, I'll do what's right, and I'll make sure this life means something.
With new purpose coursing through his veins, Anthony wiped the rain from his face and looked toward the alley's exit. His old apartment was too dangerous—Damien would know to look there first. He needed to pack only what he could carry, leave behind everything that tied him to his old life, and find a place where he could start fresh. Somewhere far from Boston, far from the Blood Wolves, far from the tables that had destroyed him once before.
Whatever comes next, he thought as he stepped out of the alley and into the pouring rain, I'm ready. This is my second life. And I'm going to live it right.