"So, let's get this straight," the Officer said, leaning forward across the metal table. He flipped open a thick manila folder and uncapped a pen. "Your father was a..."

  Ash leaned back in his chair, his handcuffs clinking against the cold steel. "A drunk brat who didn't understand anything except the bottle, and a hole he called my mother."

  The Officer scribbled something down on his yellow notepad, nodding slowly. "Okay. Classic."

  "Yeah, 'classic' is when it happens in books, not in real life, Officer," Ash shot back, rolling his eyes at the harsh fluorescent light above them.

  "Keep going," the Officer urged, not looking up from his notes.

  Ash sighed, shifting his weight. "So, after a while, I started gathering girls my age and putting them into the business."

  "Business?"

  "Basically, I was their daddy. I got them drugs and food."

  The Officer tapped his pen against the table. "So you were a drug dealer?"

  "Not exactly... I stole them."

  The Officer scoffed, finally looking up from the pad. "You stole drugs from the Yellow Claws? Yeah, keep lying."

  "Well, I didn't directly steal them," Ash corrected, letting out a dry, humorless laugh. "I was having an affair with the wife of one of their leaders."

  "She skimmed off the top for me. Until she got caught. A few slaps later, she threw up my name, and that was the day I was supposed to die."

  "But?" The Officer's pen hovered over the paper.

  "But then some guy—they said his name was Daniel—broke their hands. Six other gang members went missing right after."

  "The whole gang was too busy hunting that guy down to kill me, which gave me just enough time to get out."

  "Fascinating," the Officer murmured, writing faster. "So how did you end up all the way in California?"

  "And so at that time, I was eighteen years old. I didn't have any money, and California didn't have a market for cheap objects that give you AIDS as a gift. So, I had to shift careers."

  "To drug dealing?"

  "No. To being a piece of trash who took enough doses to OD in a single night, but somehow didn't." Ash's eyes dropped to the table.

  "And so I met a girl who was also living on borrowed time. She liked the black bags under my eyes, and I liked that she was thin. So, after a few 'nights,' she became pregnant."

  The room was quiet for a moment, save for the scratching of the Officer's pen.

  "And since her body was running on nothing but drugs, she couldn't carry two souls inside of her and survive " Ash sighed.

  "She gave birth to my little angels, went into a coma, and died. And I got to be the one asked, 'Where is Mom?' while listening to them cry in their holes."

  "You mean rooms?"

  "Yeah, yeah. Same thing." Ash shook his head. "Anyway, I sold three kilos of coke, got caught, and went to prison for sixteen years."

  The Officer closed the folder and clicked his pen shut, leaning back. "I'd say that would be a good story to put on paper."

  "Yeah, and if pigs could fly, I'd be Shakespeare," Ash muttered.

  "Anyway, Officer, I'm already four years into my sentence. I've got twelve years left before I can get back to my angels. So can I know why you're interrogating me again?"

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Well, because you're free to go."

  Ash froze. "What?"

  "Someone paid to get you out. Lucky man." The Officer slid his yellow notepad into his breast pocket and smiled.

  "And also... thanks for the story. I'm actually a writer, and this is going to be magnificent to put on paper."

  Ash opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  "Just put that it's based on a true story," Ash finally muttered.

  "Already done."

  Ash gathered his things from the processing desk: some civilian clothes that no longer fit right, thirty dollars he had stolen from his cellmates, and two loose smokes a friend had given him.

  Stepping through the heavy iron gates of the prison, he struck a match. "Finally," he muttered, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke into the cool night. "Nicotine in fresh air."

  A sleek, black town car idled by the curb. The tinted window rolled down.

  "Mister Ash?" a voice called out from the shadows of the backseat.

  Ash didn't look at the man. He just stayed silent, leaning against the chain-link fence and taking another long drag of his smoke.

  "Mister Ash?" the voice repeated, sharper this time.

  "Are you talking to me?" Ash finally said, flicking a pile of ash onto the pavement.

  "Because I don't think 'Mister' and 'Ash' belong in the same sentence in this timeline. Well, maybe unless I served in the military."

  The back door swung open. "Yeah, he's talking to you, loudmouth."

  A man with black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a pristine white lab coat stepped out of the car.

  "Yeah, I know." Ash snapped his fingers, licking his cracked lips. "You're that crazy doctor who made those 'no emotion' pills."

  S raised his eyebrow. "'No emotion' pills?"

  "Yeah, those pills that make you fearless and all that. So, what, you're actually signing me up for the military?"

  "A rat would be of better use to the military," Doctor S replied.

  Ash placed a hand over his heart, "Ouch. That hurts."

  "Like I give a damn if it hurts. We bought your freedom."

  "Then you just got scammed," Ash smirked, taking another drag.

  "Then no problem," S said, leaning against the open car door.

  "Go ahead. Walk away. Go find some low-paying job, you drug addict, and let your kids die of hunger."

  "Because you won't be able to afford food. Because all your money will go straight to a needle and a slow death."

  The smirk vanished from Ash's face, and the cigarette hung loose between his fingers. "Wait a second. You're offering me a job?"

  "Yes, we are offering you a damn job, but you won't stop talking long enough for us to—"

  The moment Ash heard the word job, he threw his meager bags into the back of the luxurious car and practically jumped in after them, sinking into the expensive leather.

  "So, what's the job? A dancer?" Ash asked from the backseat.

  S slid into the seat next to him, starting at him "You'd stoop that low?"

  "No, I would've already stolen the money from the manager."

  S rubbed his temples, letting out a long sigh. "Look, drug addict—"

  "I have a name," Ash interrupted. "It's Ash. Short and simple."

  "Okay, Ass," S snapped, tossing a manila envelope and a photograph into Ash's lap.

  Ash picked up the picture. "So, I'm a hitman?"

  "You'd be in the dirt before you ever became a hitman," S spat. "Your only damn job is to get this person to this address in two weeks."

  "By dancing?"

  "By any damn means."

  Ash flipped the photo over. "Right. So, any info would help."

  "His name is Daniel, the Prince... DP."

  Ash looked down at the single portrait photograph in his hand, shadowy face staring back at him. "And which name am I supposed to use?"

  "You shut your damn mouth," S snapped. He pointed to the documents spilling out of the envelope.

  "Take this—it's his address. Your job starts next week."

  "Also, this is the deed to your new house. It's on the ocean in California, fully equipped with electronics, the fridge is full, and sitting right next to you is a check for a hundred grand."

  "Your kids are with your sister at this address."

  Ash blinked.

  "And you're going to give me a ride there, right?"

  At that exact moment, the car violently swerved toward the curb. The door swung open, and before Ash could react, S shoved him and his bags straight out into the street.

  Ash hit the asphalt with a heavy groan as the car sped away, its red taillights fading into the darkness.

  He sat up, coughing and dusting the street dirt off his jacket. He looked down at the check for a hundred thousand dollars still clutched tightly in his fist.

  "Well," he muttered to the empty street, a slow grin spreading across his face. "That's one way to say 'welcome to the job'."

  Ash spent the rest of the night nursing a black coffee at a 24-hour diner, waiting for the sun to rise.

  The second the clock hit 9:00 AM, he walked into the nearest bank.

  The teller had to call Doctor S three separate times just to verify the hundred-thousand-dollar check wasn't a joke. And even then he was looking up and down at him.

  Once the funds were secured and his pockets were heavy with walking cash, Ash headed straight to a corner electronics shop.

  "So as I was telling you, James was in the wrong here."

  "He can't talk to your girl behind your back," the teen behind the counter said to his friend, who was casually smoking something green in the corner.

  He paused, finally noticing Ash. "Look, man, we don't have spare chang—"

  Ash slapped a thick stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills onto the glass display case.

  "I want your best phone and your best headphones, please."

  The teen's eyes went wide. Swallowing hard, he immediately scrambled to the back to get exactly what Ash asked for.

  Stepping back out onto the California pavement, he pressed the earbuds in and queued up a track.

  It was the exact same song he had been listening to the day he was caught.

  Sun beats down on the western coast,

  Walking California like a restless ghost...

  He mouthed the words to a broken tune,

  Shadows stretching in the afternoon...

  This is the end of the chapter but for those who wants the rest of the song here you go:

  Sun beats down on the western coast

  Walking California like a restless ghost

  He mouthed the words to a broken tune

  Shadows stretching in the afternoon

  He said, "The days go by, through and through."

  Nothing changes, nothing's new

  Just the heat on the pavement beneath my feet

  And a bitter taste in a world so sweet

  But there’s a lot to go over and through

  A heavy line between me and you

  Yeah, there’s a lot to go over and through

  Crawling out of the dark into the blue

  It’s a long way down, and a hard way back

  When the golden sun starts fading to black

  In my mind, I'm miles away

  Where the skies are ash and the ruins stay

  Blocking out the light of the open sky

  It was over and through, the final stand

  Ready to strike, ready to fall

  Waiting for the silence to end it all

  'Cause there’s a lot to go over and through

  A heavy line between me and you

  Yeah, there’s a lot to go over and through

  Crawling out of the dark into the blue

  It’s a long way down, and a hard way back

  When the golden sun starts fading to black

  Blade of silver, heart of stone

  Walking these crowded streets alone

  From the ancient walls to the western sea

  There's a quiet battle inside of me

  Is it the end of the road, or the start of the fight?

  Gotta push through the day to get to the night

  The days go by...

  Through and through.

  Sword in his hand...

  What's left to do?

  Over and through...

  (Ghost Editor here: He is making cinema, and my back is breaking carrying the production. Yayyyyyy.)