Volume 1: Fallen from Grace
Summary: Jack, while scavenging for food near a dumpster, is bullied by other homeless people. He realizes that to survive, he must adapt to this harsh world.
Chapter 4: The Rules of the Underworld
The cold pierced through Jack like a thousand icy needles, penetrating every pore. Huddled into a ball, the thin cardboard box provided no defense against the brutal winter winds of New York. The edges of the box were torn and ragged, allowing icy gusts to snake in like venomous serpents, licking at his numb cheeks. His once pristine tie now served as the sole protection around his neck, coated with dust and unidentifiable stains—a silent mockery of his past.
Hunger was no longer a simple physical sensation but a soul-devouring agony. His stomach felt like an empty void, consuming the remnants of his will. He recalled the half-eaten, cold pizza he had found outside a fast-food restaurant last night—his only meal of the day. Its sour stench nearly made him vomit, but the instinct to survive forced him to devour it greedily.
Jack squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the surrounding noises and odors. The decaying smell from the dumpster, the low moans and coughs of the homeless, and the distant wail of police sirens all stabbed at his thoughts, making sleep impossible. The hustle and bustle of Wall Street, the exquisite cuisine in high-end restaurants, the warm comfort of his apartment—all seemed like distant memories, no longer part of his world.
Suddenly, a shadow blocked the faint light from the streetlamp. Jack snapped his eyes open, warily eyeing the newcomer. A tall man, layered in tattered clothes, loomed over him. The man's hair was disheveled, resembling a bird's nest, his face crisscrossed with deep wrinkles, his eyes cloudy yet sharp, like those of an eagle.
"Hey, new guy. Looks like you're not quite used to life here," the man said in a raspy voice, tinged with mockery, as if enjoying the sight of a drowning cat.
Jack remained silent, clutching himself tightly, like a wounded beast. He knew showing any sign of weakness could invite more trouble in such an environment.
The man didn't seem surprised by Jack's silence. He crouched down, poking Jack's shoulder with a dirty finger. "Don't be so tense. I'm not here to take your spot. Just thought you're different from the others—you still have a whiff of… upper-class about you."
Jack frowned, hating the feeling of being seen through so easily.
"To survive here, you need to learn the rules," the man continued, his voice low and powerful, both a warning and a threat. "First rule: don't expect anyone's pity. Second rule: never trust anyone, including me. Third rule: survival of the fittest. Got it?"
"Rules?" Jack finally spoke, his voice hoarse with a hint of despair. "What rules? This place is chaos."
"Chaos? Maybe. But within this chaos, there are laws," the man smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. "At the very least, don't encroach on others' territories, avoid those with connections, and don't wander alone at night. Of course, if you're strong enough, you can set your own rules."
Jack listened to the man, a chill running down his spine. He understood this was a world without legal constraints, governed only by raw violence and deceit. He needed to adapt quickly, or he would never escape this nightmare.
"I'm Marcos," the man extended his hand, looking at Jack. "I think we should get acquainted."
Jack hesitated. He didn't want too much involvement with these people. But he knew he needed allies, even if temporary ones, in this unfamiliar world. He reached out and shook Marcos's rough, firm hand—the grip almost pulling him into the abyss.
"Jack," he said simply, withholding his surname and keeping details about himself to a minimum.
"Jack, I see anger and resentment in your eyes. Tell me, how did you end up here?" Marcos asked, his gaze filled with curiosity and probing.
Jack took a deep breath, knowing he couldn't fully hide his past. He needed Marcos's help, at least for now.
"I was framed," Jack said, bitterness and rage filling his voice. "I was falsely accused of financial fraud, lost my job, my home, everything."
"Financial fraud?" Marcos raised an eyebrow, a glint of cunning flashing in his eyes. "Looks like you've got quite a story. But that doesn't matter now. What matters is that you're here. To survive, you must let go of your pride and adapt."
Marcos stood up, pointing to a dilapidated warehouse nearby. "That's our turf. We gather there, us homeless folks. It may not be paradise, but it beats sleeping on the streets."
Jack followed Marcos into a dark alleyway. The stench of rotting garbage permeated the air, piles of refuse towering around them, laden with filth and germs. Suppressing his disgust, he closely followed Marcos.
They arrived at the warehouse. Rusty iron gates covered in graffiti and grime stood before them, the doors wide open, emitting a cacophony of sounds and mixed odors that made breathing difficult.
Marcos led Jack inside. The warehouse was crowded with homeless individuals, some lying on the ground asleep, others huddled around fires for warmth, and some engaged in arguments or fights. The entire space resembled a massive junkyard, filled with despair and decay.
"Welcome to hell," Marcos said with a twisted smile. "This is your new home."
Marcos guided Jack to a corner, pointing to a piece of worn canvas on the ground. "That's your spot. Don't complain about its dirtiness—it'll at least give you a decent rest."
Jack looked at the filthy canvas, overwhelmed with humiliation and anger. He had once been a Wall Street elite, living in luxurious apartments, enjoying the best life had to offer. Now, he was reduced to mingling with society's lowest rung, sleeping on this dirty canvas.
But he didn't complain; he knew it would serve no purpose. He had to be strong, endure everything for his revenge, and reclaim what was rightfully his.
Silently lying on the canvas, he stared at the pitch-black ceiling, images of his past flashing through his mind. Those who had trusted him, loved him, and whom he had helped—he couldn't let them down. He had to rise again for them and for himself.
Taking a deep breath, he silently vowed: he would return to Wall Street, make those who framed him pay! He would reclaim his former glory and make those who had looked down on him reconsider their judgment!
From that moment, Jack embarked on his journey of survival in the underworld. He had to learn its rules, meet its people, and use everything at his disposal to climb back to the top. He would apply his Wall Street wisdom to this new battlefield.
He knew the path ahead would be fraught with thorns and dangers, but he was prepared. Using his intellect and courage, he aimed to conquer this cruel world and recreate his brilliance! He wanted New York to remember—never underestimate a homeless person, for they might have once been your boss!