I survey the surrounding and found nothing out of the ordinary, after the entrance and a short hallway the room expanded, and to the left, there are two pool tables; one is empty the other one is currently out of order because it is covered by medical equipment, scalpel, needles, a fucking meat pounder for hell knows what purpose it was used, lastly, the green carpet on the pool is now half brown which confirms that there was an emergency operation carried out on the table not so long ago, and the unlucky fellow lost lots of blood.

To the right is the main area of this establishment-the pub; a few long wooden tables and some highchairs with crunching noises by the counter, and a few dozen of not so innocent-looking drinkers; behind the counter are the owner and the bartender of this place-lev.

Lev is probably the politest Russian guy you can find in this city, around 1.85m or something close to that, with white hair but not to the age of having it naturally (one of the rumors is that he's got albinism. That defiantly explained the hair and why he's always inside, but personally I don't buy it)got a face of a middle age man who has seen too much shit that he looks older then he actually is, physically he's not as strong as warden, in fact, he looks skinny, but if you catch a glimpse of his forearm you'll know he's not some pushover, is just that his body fat is too low.

Lev and I have known each other for as long as I've discovered this whole facility; the funny thing about our relationship is that every time we engage in a conversation, he seems to be able to get more out of me than I out of him (he called it bartenders' necessary skill) which is impressive since is usually the other way around for me.

At the right corner of the pub area there is a little unnoticeable curtain in dark red, first timers (not many of these) sometimes mistake it for the restroom. The consequences for this kind of action varied from walking out awkwardly to walking out holding their eyeballs in their hands, that area is restricted to staff and people who are trying to conduct serious business, gatherings that do not appreciate disturbance or someone who wants a drink without being disturb (the person got to be of high caliber).

I duck inside the restroom, lock the door, wash my hands, then force myself to look in the mirror.

I stare at the ghost in front of me, his Asian, no mistaking that, but from which part of Asian is hard to tell, about 1.75m tall, skinny figure with some muscle lines(not as visible as lev), small nose with a stitched scar that faded after time which now looks like a birthmark, narrow lips, eyes that are bigger than most oriental and seems to be a black hole of uncaring and hollowness. On top of that face is an heir cut that screams self-contradiction. The figure gives the impression of a person that cares very little about you, this world, and probably himself too.

Hello you.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Hello me.

------

I was rebellious, that, I'm certain, I remember I had parents, I remember they have lots of rules that I tend to ignore, I remember they care about me even though we fought a lot, I remember they were hard-working people, I remember instead of letting me go to school they decide to homeschool me, I remember my home was deep in the forest of pine trees, I remember they called me a dreamer because my head was always up in the clouds fantasizing about things that I could experience when I grow up one day, I remember I used to dream every night when I sleep, I remember despite the life back then was limited(by my family and myself).

I was happy.

I don't remember how I got to Faust, I remember hearing loud noises while feeling dizzy, I remember waking up in a broken crate next to the city Sauer system, I remember the first time I walk inside the city, the street, the people, their laughs, their looks, their clothes and how could I forget the neon lights, everything fascinates me.

I remember going into the police station alone seeking help, I remember that was the first time I saw an actual criminal, not some local teens stealing money from phone booths, I remember their infuriating eyes and raw body language of irritation, I remember staring at them till they stare back at me. The cops told me my home address does not exist, and my parents' names have no match in their data, they ask my name, and I replied" Lee ". The cop raises his head and asks, " And last name?", I shake my head and said, " My parents told me that I'll know my last name when I grow up, but I'm not old enough yet", I remember the cop got mad because he thought this is some idiotic kids' escapade and drive me out of the station.

I was 14, I remember walking out of the station feeling dreaded and anxious, with so many questions without answers, I'm in the most brilliant city in the world, alone, without my parents or anyone I know to guide me, without a penny to my name......... without limits, I dreamt of running away from home and try things that were not possible for me at home, I did not understand that my home and my parents were what defines me,I was young and frivolous, I had dreams, I was free at the cost of losing everything in my life, I'm a blank white sheet, and I was ready to write down my own story in this city of dreamers.

I was ambitious and excited.

I'm 26, I remember stealing, killing, betraying to survive, I know how gangs buying protection from cops is like feeding a tiger with unquenchable hunger, I know the biggest gang in the city is the fuckers at city hall, I know the Chinese only work with their own, I know Latino woman well felt blessed if their new born child was touched by the priests of La Vina , I know the Russians are harsh on strangers and Asians but they always keep their promises (even if those promises were made while drunk),I know that this "market"(the basement areas in this building) is the neutral area of this city and also the most mixed up place where practically everyone inside are affiliated or have some criminal records, including me, I know how to use pistols and rifles, I carry a gun on the back of my waist and another one holster under my right armpit ,knife in inner layers of my jackets' sleeve and a few strapped on my ankle, I know how to fight, talk, slide away from tight situations, I learned people, I know everyone has an angle, an itch they need you to scratch, some lust they need you to fulfill; some grand, some low, some despicable; all are for themselves, and of all the things I could wish for, hope for , lust for, I choose two of the lowest of them all-money and survival. I'm a freelancer, a mercenary, a problem solver, a mediator sometimes even a translator.

I don't remember being happy for a good reason, and deep down I know.

I'm not 'living'.