PHOENIX

2| VENGEANCE

For the last three years, Jackson had been hiding from the world, living in the shadows like a man who no longer belonged among ordinary people. Every day began with the same quiet calculation of risk, and every night ended with the same lingering fear that someone, somewhere, had finally found his trail.

He had learned to avoid familiar places, familiar faces, and even familiar habits, because he knew that a single mistake could cost him his life. The people hunting him were not the kind who forgave unfinished business. If they discovered that he was still alive, they would make certain he stayed dead this time.

That knowledge followed him everywhere, a constant and suffocating presence that hung over his shoulders like a storm cloud that refused to break. It was that relentless fear that had pushed him into a life of perpetual motion, forcing him to keep moving even when every part of him longed to stop and rest.

He had never imagined that he would become a wanderer, drifting from one city to another with no permanent address and no place he could truly call home. There had been a time when he believed his life was finally taking shape, when stability and success seemed within reach after years of hard work and sacrifice.

He had built something meaningful with his own hands, brick by brick, decision by decision, believing that he was creating a future that would last. To lose all of that so suddenly felt like a cruel twist of fate, as though the universe had decided to erase everything he had fought for.

The home, the routine, the sense of belonging, the certainty that tomorrow would resemble today, all of it had been ripped away from him. Yet necessity had a strange way of reshaping people. The man who had once valued comfort and predictability had been forced to become someone entirely different: resilient, adaptable, cautious, and endlessly resourceful.

During those three years in hiding, he had learned more about survival than he ever thought possible. He had become a master of disguise, capable of altering not only his appearance but also his posture, his voice, and even the way he carried himself. In one place he could pass for a businessman, in another for a laborer, a tourist, or a quiet stranger no one bothered to remember.

He had learned how to disappear into crowds and how to make people overlook him without realizing they were doing it. The skills he acquired were not the kind taught in schools or written in manuals; they were lessons carved into him by fear, desperation, and the need to stay alive.

He could fight without hesitation when danger appeared, reacting with a speed and precision that would have shocked the man he used to be. He could defend himself against threats that once would have terrified him. He had also taught himself languages, one after another, until he could speak more than nine of them fluently enough to pass as a local in many places.

He had become a polyglot not out of passion or academic ambition, but because survival demanded it. Looking back, he felt a quiet, complicated pride in everything he had learned and in the hardened, capable person he had become.

And yet, despite all those accomplishments, despite the discipline, the intelligence, and the careful control he had cultivated, one worry continued to gnaw at him more than any assassin, any betrayal, or any threat of exposure: the possibility of seeing Melissa again.

He had undergone multiple plastic surgeries, enduring pain and months of recovery to alter the face that people once recognized so easily. Every change had been made for a reason, designed to help him slip through the cracks of society unnoticed, to become a ghost among strangers.

Most days he trusted those changes. Most days he believed he could walk past anyone from his old life without being recognized. But Melissa was different. They had spent too much time together, shared too many conversations, too many silences, too many moments that had revealed parts of him he rarely showed to anyone else.

She understood the rhythms of his thoughts, the subtle shifts in his mood, the things he tried to hide behind jokes or indifference. Sometimes he suspected she knew him more deeply than he knew himself. That was what frightened him most. It was not that she might recognize his face; it was that she might recognize him despite the new face, despite the years apart, despite everything he had done to become someone else. And he did not trust himself to remain calm if that ever happened.

His days had become an endless sequence of carefully calculated decisions, each one made with the singular purpose of keeping himself alive for just one more day. Nothing in his life happened by chance anymore. Every hotel he checked into was chosen after hours of research. Every train ticket, every flight, every rental apartment, and every conversation with a stranger was weighed against the possibility that it could expose him.

He never established routines because routines could be tracked. He never used the same route twice if he could avoid it, and he never stayed anywhere long enough for people to become curious about him. His life had become a carefully choreographed performance, one where even the smallest mistake could have devastating consequences. Every sunrise meant another day of survival, and every sunset was a quiet reminder that he had made it through another twenty-four hours without being discovered.

He travelled from one city to another as though he belonged nowhere, collecting passports, identities, and fabricated histories the way other people collected souvenirs. Each destination demanded that he become someone new, someone believable enough that no one would ever question his existence.

In one country he was a university lecturer taking a sabbatical to travel the world. In another he was a freelance photographer chasing beautiful landscapes. Elsewhere, he became a businessman, a mechanic, an interpreter, or a widower looking for a fresh start. The lies became so convincing that there were moments when even he struggled to remember which version of himself he was supposed to be.

Like a chameleon, he blended effortlessly into every environment, changing not only his appearance but also his mannerisms, his speech, and even his personality to suit the people around him. He had acquaintances scattered across continents, people who believed they knew him, who laughed with him over drinks, shared meals with him, or worked alongside him for a few weeks.

Yet none of them truly knew Jackson. None of them knew his real name, his past, or the weight he carried every single day. They remained temporary figures passing through his life because trust had become a luxury far too expensive for a man like him. The moment someone started asking too many questions or showed signs of becoming emotionally attached, he disappeared without explanation, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and fading memories.

Everything he had learned during those three years stood as undeniable proof of how fiercely he refused to die. Survival had transformed him into someone he barely recognized, someone far more capable than the man he had once been. He could slip into a new identity with astonishing ease, wearing it as naturally as he wore his clothes.

Whether he was pretending to be a street vendor weaving through the bustling markets of Marrakech, a weathered dockworker unloading cargo beneath the blazing sun in Naples, or a charming bartender pouring drinks in the lively nightlife of Buenos Aires, he became the role completely.

His accents shifted effortlessly. His body language changed instinctively. Even his smile carried a different story depending on who he needed to be. The languages he had mastered rolled off his tongue as naturally as his own, allowing him to navigate unfamiliar cultures without drawing unwanted attention.

He had learned to defend himself in the unforgiving back alleys of Bangkok, where hesitation often meant defeat. He had mastered the art of negotiation while haggling through the vibrant, chaotic markets of Istanbul, where every conversation was a battle of patience and wit.

He had perfected the ability to disappear into massive crowds in Tokyo, becoming just another anonymous face among millions. Every city had taught him something new, every close call had sharpened his instincts, and every narrow escape had strengthened his resolve.

Yet no matter how many borders he crossed or how many different versions of himself he became, Melissa remained the one person he could never truly leave behind. She existed like a ghost that refused to fade, appearing in his thoughts at the most unexpected moments.

Sometimes it happened while watching strangers laugh together in a café. Other times it came when he caught the scent of a familiar perfume or heard a song they had once listened to together. She lingered in the quiet spaces between his thoughts, haunting him in ways his enemies never could.

He often found himself wondering whether she ever thought about him at all. Did she ever lie awake at night remembering what they had shared? Did she ever regret the choices she had made? Did guilt ever creep into her conscience, even for a fleeting moment? Deep down, he doubted it.

The betrayal she had dealt him had been too deliberate, too carefully orchestrated to leave room for remorse. It had not been an impulsive mistake or a moment of weakness. It had been calculated, methodical, and devastating. She had looked him in the eye, smiled at him with the same warmth that had once made him believe she loved him, and then driven the knife straight into his heart without a trace of hesitation.

There were certain truths that neither time nor distance could erase. Some things remained constant regardless of how much the world changed, and Jackson understood that better than anyone. He knew that if fate ever placed Melissa in front of him again, every lesson he had spent years learning could unravel in an instant.

It wasn't because she would recognize his altered face; it was because she had once known the man behind that face. She knew the way he thought, the subtle expressions he couldn't always control, and the emotions he tried so desperately to bury. Simply seeing her again would threaten everything he had worked to protect.

The walls he had built around him could crumble before he even realized they were falling. That possibility unsettled him more than any assassin or criminal organization ever had. The thought continued to gnaw at the edges of his mind, refusing to disappear, but he knew he couldn't allow it to consume him. Worrying about something that had not happened would accomplish nothing except drain what little energy he had left.

With a quiet sigh, Jackson rubbed the exhaustion from his face and glanced toward the window, where the first hints of morning light were beginning to filter through the curtains. He had spent the entire night lying awake, trapped inside memories and questions that had no answers, and all it had earned him was fatigue and a throbbing headache.

His stomach growled in protest, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since the previous evening. Lost in his thoughts, he had ignored both time and hunger, but his body refused to be ignored any longer. Whatever demons haunted his mind could wait. Right now, he needed something far simpler than answers, he needed breakfast.

Pushing himself out of bed, he stretched his stiff muscles before making his way toward the bathroom to freshen up. After that, he would head downstairs, blend in with the other guests, and enjoy a quiet meal. For at least a little while, he intended to let himself be nothing more than another anonymous traveler passing through.

When he got downstairs, he realized the restaurant was full. The sight of so many people made him uneasy. He couldn’t risk being seen by too many people and exposing himself. With a sigh, he decided to order room service instead.

He had been staying in this hotel for a week, which was by far the longest he had stayed in any hotel since the fire. At first, it was the fear of being discovered by anyone associated with Melissa and her family that kept him moving. That fear was a constant companion, urging him to stay one step ahead, to never let his guard down.

That fear soon turned into something else. Initially, it kept him alive, encouraging him to survive any obstacle he faced. But over time, it evolved into something darker, something more sinister. Vengeance.

It was vengeance that drove him to learn the skills he hadn’t been exposed to when he was younger. The ability to fight, to speak multiple languages, to disappear without a trace. These were all tools in his arsenal, weapons he intended to use. He wanted to kill them all, and it wasn’t going to be a merciful death. He wanted them to suffer just as he had.

As he waited for his meal, he thought about the journey that had brought him here. He had once been a man full of love and dreams, his heart brimming with hope. Melissa had shattered that. Her betrayal had turned him into someone he barely recognized. Someone who thrived on the thought of revenge.

Every skill he had acquired, every lesson he had learned, was a step closer to his goal. He had transformed himself from a victim into a predator. The thought of Melissa’s family paying for what they did fuelled him. They had taken everything from him, and he was determined to return the favour.

The knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. Room service had arrived. He opened the door cautiously, his eyes scanning the hallway for any signs of danger. Seeing none, he allowed the waiter to wheel in the cart. After tipping the waiter and ensuring the door was securely locked, he sat down to eat.

The food was a welcome distraction, but his mind kept drifting back to his plans. He knew he had to be patient. Rushing things would only lead to mistakes, and he couldn’t afford any mistakes. Not now.

He thought about the information he had gathered over the past three years. He knew where Melissa’s family was, what they were doing. He had tracked their movements, learned their routines. Every detail was a piece of the puzzle, a step closer to his ultimate goal.

As he finished his meal, he made a silent vow. He would make them pay. He would make them all pay. They had tried to destroy him, but he had survived. And now, it was his turn.

He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the city below. It was a new day, and he had work to do. The road ahead was long and dangerous, but he was ready. He had come too far to turn back now.

Jackson took a deep breath, feeling the familiar fire of vengeance burning within him. He would see this through to the end, no matter what it took. The people who had wronged him would regret the day they crossed him. He would make sure of that.

He knew they were powerful, with too many allies to count. It wasn’t going to be easy, and he would probably need people on his side to destroy them. The enormity of the task weighed heavily on his mind. At that moment, he started remembering Robin. Despite the guy’s sometimes controlling and annoying nature, he had been his best friend.

Robin was always there, a constant presence trying to steer him toward the right path. He would have said something about two wrongs not making a right. That was Robin, always trying to keep him grounded, like the good friend he was.

"Robin, I miss you, man, more than you can ever imagine," Jackson whispered into the emptiness. "I know at this moment you would be trying by all means to annoy me, but it still doesn't change anything. I miss you like crazy."

The words hung in the air, directed at no one in particular. He was all alone in that room, just as he was alone in his life. He wondered why fate was playing such cruel games with him. Why couldn’t he just be like any other guy his age? Surely their lives were so much better than his, and he envied them.

In the quiet moments, like now, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of his loneliness. He missed having someone to talk to, someone who understood him. The faces of the people he had known in his past life, before everything went wrong, seemed to blur together in a distant haze. Robin’s face, however, remained clear, a stark reminder of what he had lost.

Why did it have to be this way? He wondered. Why did he have to live like a ghost, moving through the world unseen and unnoticed? The dreams he once had, of love, of a family, of a future filled with hope seemed like fantasies now.

He stared out of the window, lost in thought. He remembered the times he and Robin had spent together. They had met in college, where Jackson had been a carefree spirit, indulging in the recklessness of youth. Robin had been the steady anchor, the voice of reason. Their friendship had been an odd but perfect balance, a mix of wildness and restraint.

Robin had taught him many things, how to think strategically, how to keep his emotions in check. He had been a mentor in many ways, shaping Jackson into a more disciplined version of himself. Jackson couldn’t help but wonder what Robin would think of him now, consumed by thoughts of revenge and survival.

His thoughts drifted back to the present, to the monumental task ahead. He knew he couldn’t do it alone. He needed allies, people he could trust. But trust was a scarce commodity in his world. The betrayal by Melissa had left deep scars, making it hard for him to open up to anyone.

Yet, he knew he had to try. He couldn’t take on Melissa’s family by himself. They were too powerful, too well-connected. He needed a network, a group of people who shared his goal or, at the very least, his disdain for those who had wronged him. He had to find them, convince them to join his cause. But where to start?

As he pondered this, a plan began to form in his mind. He had met many people during his years on the run. Some of them were like him, living on the fringes of society, hiding from their pasts. He could reach out to them, test the waters to see if any would be willing to join him.

It was a daunting task, but he felt a renewed sense of purpose. The fire of vengeance that had kept him alive was now fuelling his resolve. He would avenge what had been done to him, not just for his own sake, but for Robin’s as well. His friend had always believed in justice, in doing what was right. And Jackson owed it to him to see this through.

Turning away from the window, he looked around the room, realizing that it was time to move again. He couldn’t stay in one place for too long. He would leave the hotel in the afternoon, find a new hotel, using his new identity. And from there, he would start putting his plan into action.

As he packed his bags, he felt a strange sense of calm. The path ahead was fraught with danger, but for the first time in a long while, he had a clear direction. He would find the people he needed, form the alliances that would help him take down Melissa’s family.