Rebirth It All

Power makes you blind, and I was no exception. The morning of the accident was no different than any other day of my life—at least, that’s how it started. I woke up to the soft hum of my automated blinds retracting, sunlight spilling into my penthouse bedroom. The smell of fresh coffee wafted in from the adjoining kitchen. Everything was as it should be—perfect.

I rolled out of bed and stretched, staring out at the city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows. My city. My empire. I didn’t just live above the world; I ruled it. And today was another day to prove it.

“Good morning, Mr. Kane,” came the voice of my assistant, Clara, over the intercom. She always sounded nervous, though I never gave her a reason to be—at least, none that I cared to admit.

“Your 10 a.m. with the board is confirmed. The media will be releasing the statement about the New Haven wage adjustments at noon. Oh, and Gerald called. He wants to discuss the Mercury Tech acquisition.”

I snorted at the last part, grabbing the coffee a silent maid had set on the marble counter. Gerald was predictable, always calling to ‘discuss’ my moves when he was really fishing for weaknesses. He’d find none.

“Tell him I’ll call when I have time,” I said, sipping the coffee and ignoring the slight burn on my tongue. “And remind him that my decisions aren’t up for debate.”

“Yes, sir,” Clara replied, her tone clipped.

By the time I was dressed in a tailored navy suit and stepping into the private elevator, I was already thinking about the next move. The New Haven factory was my latest conquest—another acquisition that promised profits. Cutting wages was a calculated risk, a move designed to maximize efficiency. If the workers didn’t like it, they could leave. Labor was replaceable, after all.

The thought didn’t linger in my mind. It was just another decision, another step forward. That’s how I saw everything—numbers, opportunities, tools. People weren’t people; they were pieces on a board, and I was the one moving them.

When I stepped out of the elevator into the lobby, my driver was already waiting, the sleek black sports car polished to perfection. It wasn’t my usual car—it was a newer acquisition, a machine of beauty and speed. I’d barely driven it since it arrived, and today, I felt like taking it for a spin.

“Cancel the board meeting,” I said, tossing my phone into the passenger seat. Clara’s voice came through the car’s speakers almost immediately.

“Sir, the board is expecting—”

“They’ll wait,” I cut her off, starting the engine. The roar was satisfying, like the growl of a predator. “I need a break. Push everything back a few hours.”

There was a pause before her reluctant reply. “Yes, sir.”

The mountain roads called to me. Twisting, winding paths that offered a challenge even to the most skilled drivers. It wasn’t about the destination—it was about the thrill. The roar of the engine, the grip of the tires on sharp curves, the speed that made everything else blur away.

I barely noticed the signs warning of falling rocks or sharp turns ahead. Rules like that were for ordinary people, not someone like me. I pressed the accelerator harder, feeling the car surge beneath me, the world outside rushing past in a kaleidoscope of greens and grays.

A sharp bend appeared ahead, the kind that would make most drivers slow down. I didn’t. The adrenaline coursing through me drowned out the little voice of caution in my mind. I could handle it. I always did.

But then, something happened.

The back tires skidded. For a moment, I thought it was a simple miscalculation, something I could correct. I yanked the wheel, but the car didn’t respond the way it should have. The rear end slid out farther, and suddenly, I wasn’t in control anymore.

The guardrail loomed ahead, and I barely had time to register it before the car slammed into it. The impact was violent, shattering the glass and sending a deafening screech through the air.

And then I was falling.

The weightlessness hit me first, a sickening sensation of being untethered. The car tumbled through the air, and I could see flashes of jagged rocks below. My mind raced, not with regrets or prayers but with disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. Not to me.

The impact, when it came, was brutal. The world went dark in an instant. No pain, no sound, just an endless void that swallowed me whole.

I don’t know how long I floated there, in that empty nothingness. It felt like hours, or maybe seconds. Time didn’t exist. I couldn’t feel my body, couldn’t think beyond the overwhelming sense that something had ended.

But then, slowly, something began to change. A strange warmth spread through the darkness, and with it came a faint hum, like the sound of a distant heartbeat.

And then, I opened my eyes.

The first thing I noticed was the smell—stale sweat and cheap detergent. The second was the room around me. It was small, cramped, with peeling wallpaper and a single flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling.

This wasn’t my penthouse.

My head pounded as I sat up, and my hands—rough, calloused hands that didn’t belong to me—came into view. I stared at them, my heart racing, confusion threatening to overwhelm me.

A cracked mirror hung on the wall opposite me, and I forced myself to stand, my legs shaky and unfamiliar. When I reached it, I almost didn’t recognize the face staring back at me.

It wasn’t mine.

The man in the mirror was younger, his skin tanned from years of hard labor. His dark eyes held a weariness I’d never known, and his hair was unkempt, falling into his face in messy strands.

Panic rose in my chest. I reached up, touching the stranger’s face, and the man in the mirror mimicked me perfectly.

“What the hell…” I whispered, my voice hoarse and unfamiliar.

But no answer came. Only the realization that everything I had—my name, my wealth, my power—was gone.

And I was someone else entirely.