Reborn in the Streets

The streets don’t scream when you die. They just watch. I collapsed in the alley with my back sliding down cold brick, blood soaking through my hoodie like the city was claiming rent I owed. My ears rang from the gunshots, but nobody came running. Nobody called my name. Figures. I pressed my hand to my stomach and laughed weakly when it came back red. “So this how it ends?” I whispered. My phone buzzed beside me—Mama’s name lighting up the cracked screen. I tried to reach for it, but my fingers wouldn’t cooperate. My chest burned like my lungs were filled with fire. That’s when I heard it. Not footsteps. Not sirens. A voice. Calm. Mechanical. Certain. SYSTEM ACTIVATED. I coughed, blood spilling from my mouth. “Yeah… right.” USER STATUS: DECEASED. REBIRTH SEQUENCE INITIALIZING. Panic hit harder than the bullet. “No—wait—” The world went black. No dreams. No light. No heaven waiting on me. Just nothing. Then— I woke up screaming. Air flooded my lungs as I bolted upright, drenched in sweat. My heart slammed against my ribs like it was mad to still be there. I wasn’t in the alley. I was in my bed. My room. My house. I stared at the wall clock, my breath catching when I read the date. Three days before I died. My legs gave out as I stumbled to the mirror. Same face. Same tired eyes. Same scar on my cheek from when I was fifteen. This wasn’t a dream. The voice returned. OBJECTIVE ASSIGNED: PROTECT YOUR FAMILY. FAILURE RESULTS IN PERMANENT DEATH. My hands started shaking. This wasn’t a second chance. This was a setup. And somewhere across the city, a man named Malik Carter suddenly froze— Because he heard my thoughts before I ever said his name.