George's Last Reincarnation

CHAPTER ONE — THE NIGHT GEORGE DIED

Police sirens screamed in the distance, but they were the least of his problems.

He pressed his back against a cold brick wall, chest heaving, heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted out.

Two men lay motionless near a dumpster, their blood mixing with the rainwater at his feet. George wiped his knife on his shirt. “Come on,”

he whispered to himself. “Move.”

A voice echoed from the mouth of the alley: “GEORGE KANE! WE KNOW YOU’RE HERE!”

Not police. Worse. Gang hunters. Eight of them. George slid deeper into the shadows. He knew the rules of the street, you survive by being louder, meaner, quicker. Tonight he wasn’t any of those.

Tonight… it felt like the world wanted him gone. One of the hunters kicked a trash can aside. “He’s bleeding. Check the trail!”

George looked at his arm, a bullet had grazed him earlier. Blood dripped steadily.

They would find him soon. He tightened the grip on his knife, but his hand trembled. Not from fear. George didn’t fear men. He feared something else tonight. Something he didn’t dare name.

He tried to move, but the alley blurred around him. His head swayed. His legs weakened. Voices drew closer. Then, A gunshot. Not at him , above him. A neon sign cracked and came crashing down, exploding into sparks beside him.

“Found him!”

someone shouted. Footsteps thundered. George pushed himself to his feet, stumbled into the street — and froze. Two vans screeched to a stop in front of him. Doors flew open.

Masked men poured out. One pointed at George. “That’s him. END IT.”

George ran. Rain blurred everything. His breath tore through his throat. His legs burned. Bullets chased him, hitting cars, walls, metal shutters. He ducked behind a parked bus, panting. A voice called out mockingly:

“You’re finished, Kane! Everyone wants you dead tonight!”

George whispered,

“Yeah… that’s what it feels like.”

He peeked around the bus. A man aimed directly at him. George stepped out, Click. The gun jammed. George didn’t think, he tackled the man into a wall, slammed his head twice, grabbed the fallen pistol, and ran again.

He didn’t get far. A car swerved from nowhere, crushing into him. George rolled over the hood, hit the asphalt hard, and lay there gasping

Three hunters approached. “This is the end, George,”

one said. George spat blood. “You’ve been saying that for years.”

The man raised his gun. “This time, we mean it.”

George closed his eyes.

Then, A child’s voice behind him whispered: “Don’t open your eyes yet.”

George’s eyes snapped open anyway. But the street was gone. The hunters were gone. The rain stopped. He stood in a silent place, a fog stretching forever. George turned slowly.

The child stood there, thin, barefoot, wearing a soaked shirt though there was no rain here. His eyes were too calm for a child. George stared. “Who… are you?”

The boy ignored the question. “You died.”

George frowned. “I can’t be dead. I was still”

“You died,”

the boy repeated softly. “For the sixth time.”

George’s breath caught. “What?”

The fog shifted. Figures formed within it, tall, thin, ghostlike, watching him. Their eyes glimmered like dying stars. One stepped forward. “George Kane. You have fulfilled six cycles.”

George shook his head. “I don’t, I don’t understand.”

The spirit’s voice deepened. “You will.”

George took a step back. “What do you want from me?”

The fog thickened. The spirits answered together: “You.”

George felt something grip his chest, a cold pressure that squeezed his lungs, twisted his ribs, and dragged his soul toward the ground. He fell to his knees, choking. “Stop!”

he gasped. But they didn’t. “You lived brutally,”

the spirits whispered. “You served us well. But you failed our final task. Your death tonight was not destiny, it was your mistake.”

George coughed violently. “Just… send me back. Like before. I can try again.”

The fog stilled. The spirits went silent. Then the boy stepped forward. “George…”

he said quietly. “They can’t send you back again.”

George froze. “…What?”

The boy’s face was blank. “This is the last time. Your final reincarnation. After this… there is nothing.”

George’s heartbeat stuttered “No. No, no, no, you’re lying.”

“I don’t lie,”

the boy said. “I only warn.”

The fog trembled. The spirits lifted their hands. “You will return once more,”

they said. “But only once. Use it well.”

George reached toward them. “Wait, WAIT, THERE’S MORE I NEED TO KNOW!”

But the fog opened beneath him like a pit. He plunged through screaming, and slammed into bright light, screaming air, screaming voices, “Keep pushing! He’s crowning!”

No. No. NO. Not again. Hands lifted him, slapped him, wrapped him in a blanket. A nurse smiled. “A healthy baby boy!”

A doctor asked, “Name?”

The exhausted woman on the bed whispered, “George. His name is George…”

George’s newborn lungs wailed, but his adult soul was breathless with horror. He looked toward the doorway. The boy stood there. Same soaked shirt. Same dead-calm eyes. He whispered:

“Last life, George. Don’t waste it.”

The lights flickered,  And the boy vanished. George lay in his mother’s arms, trembling inside a tiny body. For the first time in all six lives…

He was truly afraid. George couldn’t move. His tiny newborn fingers curled helplessly as nurses bustled around the room. All he could do was listen, and think. The boy’s warning echoed like thunder in his skull: “Last life… don’t waste it.”

A nurse leaned over him. “Look at those eyes. So focused.”

George shut his eyes quickly. He didn’t want them seeing how awake he truly was. A man rushed into the ward. “Is he here? Did he come out?”

His father. Young. Tall. Nervous. He touched the baby’s cheek gently. “George… welcome to the world, son.”

George wanted to scream, I’ve been here six times already, but only a soft coo escaped. The doctor cleared his throat. “Congratulations. Healthy boy, strong cry. Everything looks perfect.”

Perfect. George felt anything but perfect. He felt trapped, for the first time in six lives. The nurse lifted him. “We’ll take him for cleaning.”

George was wheeled down a long hallway filled with buzzing lights. Each flicker made him tense. A voice whispered beside him: “You feel it, don’t you?”

George froze. Another infant lay in a nearby crib, but its eyes were open… too open… watching him. No. Not an infant. Something wearing an infant. George whispered inside his mind: What are you?

The newborn’s lips never moved, but the voice echoed directly into his thoughts. “I’ve seen your souls pass through the Veil. Six times.”

George’s chest tightened. Then tell me what’s happening to me. “You’re marked,”

the voice said. “The spirits that brought you back… they don’t bring anyone back without a price.”

George’s heart thudded. What price? Before the creature could answer, a nurse lifted the strange infant away. “Weak little thing,”

she murmured. “Needs observation.”

As the crib rolled away, the infant’s eyes stayed locked on George. Its voice echoed one last time: “You’ll understand soon, George Kane. The seventh life is never merciful.”

The lights above George exploded, spraying sparks. Nurses screamed. The hallway plunged into darkness. George lay in the rolling crib, staring at the ceiling as a cold wind swept through the newborn ward.

And from somewhere deep in the dark… something breathed.