Underworld Dice: One Roll, Two Souls (Book 1)

Unknown

“Hey, kid,” a voice called.

I knew he was talking to me, even though he didn’t say my name.

Why didn’t he use my name, though?

A beep rang in my ears, louder than his voice. My vision blurred. Shaky breaths. My whole body ached except for my legs. My thoughts were in a fog, like I couldn’t make sense of anything. It felt like a world I didn’t recognize.

“Kid, can you hear me?” he called again, voice clearer now. Still couldn’t place the tone.

He tilted my head, slapping my cheeks, trying to bring me back. The beeping stopped. I blinked. A black silhouette took shape in front of me. I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head a little, trying to clear the fog. When it faded, I saw him. A guy in his twenties, dark eyes matching his hair, concern etched on his face.

I blinked again, my surroundings finally coming into focus. Cold room. Only one dim lamp overhead. I was lying on the floor. The walls were painted in red, not paint, but blood.

The guy lifted my back like I weighed nothing, propping me up. His arms stayed on my shoulders. He was strong, or maybe I was just light.

“You okay?”

I opened my mouth to say, I’m good. But it would’ve been a lie. I was far from being good. I couldn’t feel my legs. I looked at them. They were there. But it was like they didn’t belong to me.

“Why can’t I feel my legs?” I asked him, desperate for an answer.

He frowned, poking my right leg. I felt nothing. He hit it, still no response. So, I punched it myself.

“Wake up! Wake up!” I yelled at them, hammering them with my fists.

Still nothing.

Pain exploded in my head instead. It was like someone was digging their nails into my brain, tearing it apart. The guy beside me couldn’t help. He didn’t know what was wrong, either. Couldn’t blame him. I didn’t know where I was, why I was here, or who I was. I had nothing in my head.

I might have said that I was re-born inside that guy’s body, if that was ever possible. At least it would have made things easier to understand. Unfortunately, that was my body and that was me.

I blacked out after the pain finally broke me.

The top bed was the first thing that caught my eyes when I woke up. I thought about hammering my legs again before the back of my head could send pain alarms. It stung. I ran my hand to the back of my head. Pulling it back, it was red. The sight of blood on it frightened me.

I studied the room I was in, trying to catch a familiar face of the people who were there, but they were all strangers. I didn’t even know who I was. How would I recognize any of them?

I thought about asking for help from someone, but no one seemed like he would be pleased to offer a hand.

Shirtless men covered in tattoos. Some cleaning, others bullying them. Some flexing muscles. Scars. Missing eyes. Men. Muscles. Drugs. Men. Orange clothes. Men. Men. Men. Men. All men.

Prison?

But why would I be here?

The guy who found me earlier returned. I sighed in relief to see a familiar face.

“You’re awake,” he said, sitting on the edge of my bed.

“I’ll pass out again if I don’t stop this bleeding,” I muttered, pressing on the back of my head.

“Oh, shit!” He peeked at the wound, eyes wide.

His reaction was more than enough to tell me how bad my condition was. He jumped up and ran off. I couldn’t track where he went. I was slipping back into darkness again.

My eyelids felt heavy. They fell, like curtains closing on the show. Goodbye, world. Goodbye, my life. I enjoyed those few minutes of my life, even though I knew nothing about it. I liked myself even though I didn’t know who I was.

I jolted back when someone touched my shoulder. The guy came back with a needle, thread, and three pills. He lifted me up by the shoulders and offered me the pills.

“Here. They’ll numb the pain,” he said, holding them out.

I didn’t hesitate. Probably drugs, but at this point, who cared? Becoming a drug addict was the least of my worries compared to the pain.

I crushed them under my teeth, then felt the sharp sting as he stitched my head. The pills barely worked. I clawed at my legs, desperate to feel something, even a tickle of pain. But I still got nothing.

“Done,” he said, tossing aside the bloody pillow and replacing it with a new one, stolen from the bed beside mine. He smiled, offering his hand. “I’m Ace.”

I stared at his hand, trying to think of a response. What did I have to say? Nice to meet you? No. A name! My name. But what was it? Jake? Steve? Kevin?

None of them sounded right.

The guy snapped his fingers, catching my attention. “It’s clear I’m trying to be nice.” He raised an eyebrow, his hand still hanging between us. “A little help, please?”

“I would like to, but... I-I don’t know my name.”

“You don’t know your name?”

I shook my head, and the movement made me dizzy. Then, I passed out again.

When I opened my eyes, the sunlight of the next day creeped through the little window. Waking up in the same bed, I scanned the room and I could recognize everyone’s faces. I was grateful to have at least one memory, even if it was just from the previous day.

Everything was in the same place. The same tattooed guys, the same old men, the same young lads, and the same muscular fellas—my cellmates.

My smile dropped as I realized it all. There was no chance the previous day could be a dream and I would wake up with my body and identity. It was all real.

“Still dizzy?” a voice asked.

My mind screamed, ‘You know this voice.’ I agreed. That was... his name was... What was that guy’s name?

The guy helped me up, adjusting the pillow behind my back. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled out a cloth from his pocket, unwrapping a piece of bread.

“You must be hungry,” he said, handing it to me.

Thinking about it, I was famished, as if I hadn’t eaten for ages. Maybe I hadn’t. Who knows how long I had been locked in that empty room?

Taking the piece of bread with both hands, I gulped my saliva. I took a bite. I chowed. The bread tasted salty at first, but soon enough a sweet taste mixed in. I took a bite after a bite, without emptying my mouth. If the guy didn’t ask me to slow down, I would have choked on that piece of bread. No one was gonna steal it from me. I wondered why I had that habit.

That was the best thing I’d eaten. Ever. Or at least since I’d woken up in this life.

“Do you know anything about me?” I asked between bites.

“Not much,” he said, tucking the cloth back in his pocket. “I only know that you’re the transferred boy.”

“Transferred boy?”

He nodded. “It’s been a year and a half since they moved you here. From juvie.”

I stared at him, struggling to believe it. I’d been a young criminal? Deep down, I had no criminal instinct. Though I knew nothing about myself, I believed I used to be a decent person. Someone who followed the rules. Someone who wouldn’t hurt the smallest creature.

Looking around the cell, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of it all being a mistake. That I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and around the wrong people.

“Do you know what happened to me?” I asked him after demanding his help to go to the toilet.

“All I know is that some fuckers used to mess with you,” he replied, wrapping my arm around his neck. He locked his arm around my waist to keep me balanced. “You were their little puppy.”

In this jungle, being a puppy could cost you a limb, your sanity, or even your life. Without growing your fangs, you’d never make it out of this survival game. It was hunt or be hunted, and the weak were swallowed whole.

I didn’t like that. I knew I wasn’t the first puppy, but I refused to admit that I was weak and surrendered to them. To be the only one who was a stranger to himself seemed off.

Navigating around the cell, we were more like ghosts. I would sometimes knock something off to catch anyone’s attention. But only Ace would rush to me. At first, I thought him and I were the outcasts of prison. But I had been proved wrong when he fought with his men against the guards to get me a wheelchair.

The fuckers who used to mess with me never showed up again. I expected them to kick Ace’s ass for how close him and I were becoming. But nothing happened.

Ace was only twenty-nine years old, but he was powerful. He was the youngest among the men who used to rule prison. Despite his age, he always had power over the prisoners in our cell. Maybe that’s why ‘the fuckers’ didn’t dare to come near me again.

Maybe if he found me a day or an hour sooner, I wouldn’t have lost my memory. I wished I had met Ace before that night. Things would’ve been different.

“We need to make something clear, kid,” Ace said, clicking on the buzzer. He shaved my hair off, careful with my injury.

Looking at me from the mirror, he added, “If you want me by your side, protecting your ass and keeping those fuckers off your back.” He jerked my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Don’t you ever stab me in the back.”

He didn’t have to say more. His look made the message clear. Death. That’s what I saw.

I agreed. That was our deal. Ace would protect me only if I was loyal to him. I was ready to sacrifice my life for him. He saved it, so he particularly owned that life. I gave him the full control to do anything with it.

I became a marionette, controlled by Ace. The strings were visible. I knew they overpowered my will, yet I agreed.

Despite the outcomes, the conditions, and the risks, I accepted the deal.