The undying

Just like any other day the sun rose in the early hours of the morning, casting a warm glow over the concrete jungle, it's rays reminding people of the start of a new day.

On the fourth floor of an apartment building, Jack lay motionless, sprawled on his bed like a starfish. His deep snores filled the air. While loose-fitting clothes clung to his relaxed frame

An hour later Jack's body stirred, slowly coming back to life. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and looked around the room. "WHAT...THE...FUCK?" he muttered, as memories of the previous day flooded his mind.

Standing up, Jack walked to the window. Using the glass as a makeshift mirror, he examined his body. And just like before no scars marred his skin, no signs of trauma remained. The spot where the bullet had struck him was smooth and unblemished.

"Once, you can attribute it to luck," Jack said aloud, his voice laced with skepticism. "But twice? Something's wrong. Nobody dies and comes back to life."

After pondering for minutes without an answer, he shrugged off the thought, grabbing his smartwatch. "Hey Lark, morning report."

The watch's AI, sprang to life, its voice filling the room.

[Good morning Sir, it's 7:23 am, the weather conditions in The Stacks are partly cloudy, with temperatures around 22°c and 28°c, humidity at 73% with wind speeds of up to 63 km/h.]

[No major news in your interested categories, though Gerage Daily has reported a rather gruesome incident in your locality, I'd advise you to exercise caution while moving about today.]

As Lark continued, the screen flickered to life, displaying the gruesome image of Keno's pixelated body. Jack's eyes widened slightly, recognising the person in the photo he shrugged.

Jack's gazed intently at the image as he stood up. "Oof, that's gotta hurt," he said, his voice detached. "Anyway, he had it coming. You live fast, you die hard. But damn, that's brutal."

He walked into the bathroom, brushing his teeth. Minutes later, he emerged, his face refreshed, and his expression neutral.

Jack picked up his watch and tapped on the screen, checking his account info. Grimacing as he remembered the previous day's extravagance. Glancing at the balance his jaws dropped: 6,350 ERC.

"What the...?" he muttered, slowly sitting down on the bed. He tapped on the transaction history, and his eyes scanned the screen.

A single entry caught his attention: [+5,000 ERC | Remark: A little compensation for the troubles, Ghost]

Jack's confusion deepened. "Again, what the...?" he trailed off. Then, realization struck him like a thunderbolt. Tapping on the news bar above, his gaze on the words above the pixelated image of Keno's body. The Russian Ghost.

With Jack's eyes locked onto the screen, a low, mysterious voice whispered in his mind, "How long do you think before he finds out."

"Huh, who said that?" Jack muttered, warily scanning the empty room.

Silence. Then—a faint chuckle. "Ah, he hears us now," the voice mused, amused. "This should be fun."

After a brief interlude of silence, Jack shook his head, chalking it up to his imagination.

"Must've imagined it," he said, trying to sound convinced. Lightly rubbing his temple, trying to clear the lingering unease. He walked to the wardrobe, selecting a crisp white shirt and black trousers to match. Dressed and composed, Jack headed downstairs, where he hailed a taxi to the nearest employment office.

His job search ended in failure. After an hour of scouring the listings, Jack walked out of the office, sighing in frustration. "No more suitable jobs as a valet, huh?" he thought his mind bitter, "They won't even give a guy a way out", clenching his fist.

He spent the day scouring the city for any job that could give him a fresh start. But every door he knocked on led to rejection.

As evening descended, Jack trudged back to his apartment, his body weary from the day's fruitless job search. He collapsed onto the bed, letting out a deep sigh. For a few minutes, he lay there, his mind numb.

But as he gazed up at the ceiling, a spark of defiance ignited in him. "Fine. If the world wants me dead, it can try again. But I'll go down eating like a king."

With newfound determination, Jack sprang off the bed and headed downstairs. He hailed a cab and gave the driver an address – a small, exclusive restaurant in the next district, renowned for its exquisite cuisine and posh atmosphere.

Stepping out of the cab, Jack gazed up at the sign: "Belle Époque Bistro." A smile spread across his face as he pushed open the door and walked in. The aroma of exquisite cuisine enveloped him, and his stomach growled in anticipation. He took a seat, and seconds later, a waitress glided up to his table.

"What would you like to have, sir?" she asked, handing him a menu. Jack scanned the options for a few moments before looking up. "Get me today's special."

The waitress nodded. "As you wish, sir."

Just as she turned to leave, a voice cut through the air. "From which corner of the world did you crawl out from?" Donald sneered, swirling his drink lazily as he walked towards Jack. "Didn't think gutter rats dined here."

Jack smirked. "Donald. And where's your handler? Thought they kept your leash shorter after graduation."

Donald's face soured, his eyes narrowing as he strode over to Jack's table. Turning to the waitress, he said, "You might want to call security. This guy sure as hell can't afford a thing here." Donald said his voice was laced with disdain.

Jack smiled, "How about a bet then?" He said, looking at Donald, who raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Not interested, but go on." Donald replied, leaning the on the chair.

"If I can afford my order, you'd return the money I spent on it," Jack proposed, his eyes locked on Donald's. "What say you?"

Donald's smile widened. "Sure, but the order has to be over a thousand ERC. And if you fail, you owe me double the amount. You up for it, rich guy?" He stressed the last two words, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Jack leaned back, unfazed. "Sounds fair."

Donald's smirk widened, but his eyes gleamed with something colder. "Let's make this interesting. I'd like a few witnesses. You don't mind, do you?"

Jack tilted his head, feigning indifference. "Go ahead. Call your handler."

Donald's smile twitched, a scowl twisting his features. Without another word, he strode to the corner of the restaurant, muttering into his watch.