Hell is empty
and
all the devils are here.
-William Shakespeare, The Tempest

Neo knew the searing pain eating through his abdomen was enough to send a weaker human to their knees. His fingers wrapped around the knife lodged in his stomach, skin torn and blood pouring out like he was under a running faucet.

He felt like his skin was being charred, roasting under the humid air that stung his bare body. The sun bore down, its rays offering no solace to his battered flesh. The alley was empty now, the perpetrators long gone.

Even in broad daylight, he wasn’t safe.

Only one option remained.

He drove the weapon deeper in, his teeth clenched so tightly he thought they might shatter. He stifled the scream that threatened to come out, and even though it never escaped his lips, he felt its tremors deep within his throat. If he wanted to survive, for reasons unknown even to him, he had to stop the bleeding.

He knew that removing the knife would release him from the confines of his mortal existence. The idea of peace with death was so overwhelming it elicited laughter from him, despite the excruciating pain that ripped through every fiber of his being. As he struggled for breath, his fingernails clawed at his skin, and he collapsed to the ground. The sound of his labored breathing was the only thing that filled his ears.

He wasn’t sure he was going to survive this time, but damn the assholes who did this to him if he did.

Although his entire being rejected being alive, and even if the only emotions he felt were hate, he would live.

His cursed existence felt hollow, devoid of meaning. He was a broken man.

But he would survive.

His body was heavy as lead. The earth seemed to swallow his limbs gradually, akin to a predator toying with its quarry, encircling it to exhaust its resolve. Its thirst was unquenchable.

Neo found himself unable to scream; his vocal cords had withered away long ago, leaving his insides as dry as ash.

Hands emerged from beneath, claws sinking into his flesh, red ascending his form. A figure, eyes hollowed out, loomed over him, black oozing from its being, remnants of its soul as dark as the night flickered in and out of existence.

The noise from outside his window had inevitably roused him from sleep. The dream, once vivid, was already slipping away, his mind whirling and barely operational. It was another nightmare that would soon be forgotten.

From outside his window, he could hear the neighbors at the end of the complex yelling and cursing again, going at it like rabid dogs in a relentless quarrel.

He let out a loud sigh, questioning his decision to live on the ground floor of an apartment building. The sole advantage was the city’s proximity, just a few subway stops away. He had assumed the suburbs would offer tranquility, but that assumption had been mistaken.

He rose from the bed and instantly regretted it as a sharp pain seared through his abdomen. Weeks had passed since his last fight, but his recovery was still incomplete. As he got up, the sheets wrapped around his feet, nearly causing him to trip on his way to the bathroom.

“Damn.” The wound seared with the intensity of a hand grazing a hot stovetop.

Why does everything have to be so difficult for him?

He raised his white T-shirt, inhaling sharply as the material grazed his laceration. Although it was healing “well,” according to the doctor, it remained pink and irritated—likely a consequence of his failure to rest as advised. But rest was a luxury he couldn’t afford, not with two jobs to juggle and the constant need to watch his back at every turn.

A quick shower stung his aching body, but after cleaning and bandaging up his cut, he was ready to leave for work. His attire was limited to a pair of jeans and an old band t-shirt. He didn’t have the luxury to skip another laundry day.

He snatched the keys from the counter and drew his hood over his head, concealing his unkempt hair. The sun was too intense for this early hour, threatening to burn his skin. The key grated against the steel, his trembling hands struggling to insert it into the lock. His body was desperate for the caffeine he hadn’t yet had. A coffee pot was on his list, yet it remained an unaffordable comfort.

“Excuse me, sir?” came a soft voice from behind.

Neo spun around, baffled about who would dare to disturb him at the ass crack of dawn. Who even uses ‘sir’ these days?

He desperately needed that coffee.

“Yeah?” he said with annoyance, his gaze locking with that of another man, hazel eyes drilling into his black ones. The guy beside him was slender and tall, with hands clasped in front as if he were anxious. He was standing in front of the neighboring apartment, its door ajar, allowing cool air to rush out.

Naturally, it was the new guy who had just moved in.

“Um.” His voice faded away.

“Out with it already!” Neo snapped, his patience thin. Was the guy high or something? “I ain’t got all day, dude.”

The new neighbor scratched the back of his head, his eyes darting about before settling on the ground.

“N-nothing,” he said.

All that fuss for nothing? Was this a joke, and he somehow missed the punch line?

His neighbor cast a last glimpse at Neo before dashing back into his apartment with his tail between his legs, the door slamming shut in his wake.

“What the fuck is his problem?” 

The guy had his quirks. Neo was a magnet for the odd, so this encounter really didn’t shock him. He took a quick look at his watch, noting the hands inching closer to the beginning of his shift.

“Shit! I’m gunna’ be late!”