Rebirth It All

Chapter 2: Waking in a Stranger’s Life

The first thing I felt was a deep, bone-weary exhaustion—the kind I’d never known in my old life. My body ached in ways I didn’t think were possible, as if it had been stretched too thin and battered for years. The face in the mirror still haunted me, and for a moment, I wondered if I was dreaming.

But it wasn’t a dream.

The room smelled of damp clothes and mildew, and every corner seemed to hold some secret layer of grime. There were no marble countertops, no expensive art on the walls. Just a rickety bed with a thin, patched-up blanket and a nightstand that wobbled when I placed my hand on it.

“Who am I?” I muttered, my voice still rough and foreign.

I stumbled to the only other piece of furniture in the room—a small wooden desk with a stack of papers and a cracked phone on it. The papers were receipts, bills, and a note scribbled in messy handwriting.

“Leo—Rent overdue. Pay by Friday or you’re out.”

Leo. That was the name scrawled across the envelope next to the note. My hands trembled as I picked it up, flipping it open to reveal more overdue notices and a paycheck stub.

Leo Torres.

The name meant nothing to me, but the sinking realization that it was now my name made my stomach churn. I searched through the rest of the desk, hoping for some clue, some explanation. Instead, I found only more evidence of a life I didn’t recognize—a worn ID card with my new face on it, a wallet with a single crumpled bill, and an old photograph of a woman and a child.

I stared at the photo, my mind racing. The woman looked kind, her smile warm despite the weariness in her eyes. The little boy beside her couldn’t have been older than five, his grin missing a front tooth. Were they Leo’s family? My family?

The sound of a door slamming snapped me out of my thoughts.

“Leo! You better be up!”

The voice came from outside the room, rough and impatient. My heart raced as footsteps pounded down the hallway. A moment later, the door burst open, and a man with a wiry frame and a permanent scowl stood in the doorway.

“Come on, man. You’re gonna be late again, and if you are, Garza’s gonna dock your pay. You can’t afford to lose any more hours.”

“I—” My throat tightened, my mind scrambling for a response.

The man rolled his eyes. “What’s wrong with you? Hungover again? You’re lucky Garza didn’t fire you after last week’s stunt.”

“I’m... I’m fine,” I managed, my voice shaky.

The man gave me a long look before shrugging. “Fine, whatever. Just get moving. We’re already behind schedule.”

He left as quickly as he’d come, leaving the door wide open. I stood there, frozen, until the sound of more voices and shuffling feet drifted down the hall.

I couldn’t stay here. I needed answers, and standing in this dingy room wasn’t going to give them to me.

I quickly changed into the clothes hanging on a chair—worn jeans and a threadbare shirt that smelled faintly of sweat and detergent. They were a far cry from the tailored suits I used to wear, but they fit this body like a second skin.

When I stepped into the hallway, I was hit with the full chaos of the apartment complex. People milled about, shouting greetings or arguing over small disputes. Children ran past me, laughing and dodging their parents’ half-hearted scoldings. The walls were cracked, the paint peeling, and the air smelled faintly of cooking oil and damp concrete.

I followed the flow of people down a narrow staircase, trying to blend in. Every step felt surreal, like I was walking through someone else’s nightmare.

Outside, the world was no kinder. The street was alive with noise—honking cars, vendors shouting about their wares, and the chatter of people going about their day. The buildings were old and cramped, with faded signs advertising pawn shops, convenience stores, and a mechanic’s garage.

It was a far cry from the pristine cityscape I used to look down on from my penthouse.

I didn’t know where I was going, but my body seemed to remember. My legs carried me down the street, past familiar faces that I didn’t recognize but who seemed to know me.

“Leo! Don’t forget the rent!” someone shouted from a window above.

I gave a half-hearted wave, unsure of what else to do.

As I walked, bits and pieces of Leo’s life began to unfold. The factory where he worked was only a few blocks away, a towering, smoke-belching building surrounded by rows of identical gray structures. The air grew heavier the closer I got, the smell of machinery and oil clinging to everything.

A group of men stood outside, smoking and talking in low voices. One of them spotted me and called out.

“Leo! You’re cutting it close again, man. Garza’s gonna eat you alive.”

I forced a nod, not trusting myself to speak.

Inside the factory, the noise was deafening—machines grinding, metal clanging, and voices shouting over the din. The air was hot and stifling, and the floor was slick with oil and grime.

A man who could only be Garza approached me, his expression a mix of annoyance and exhaustion. He was built like a tank, with arms as thick as tree trunks and a voice that could probably silence the entire factory if he wanted.

“You’re late, Torres,” he barked.

“Sorry,” I muttered, lowering my gaze.

“Save it,” he snapped. “Get to your station before I dock your pay again. And don’t screw up this time.”

I nodded and quickly moved past him, my heart pounding. I didn’t even know where my station was, but my body seemed to. Muscle memory took over, guiding me to a section of the factory where a line of workers was assembling parts.

The work was mindless and repetitive, but it was grueling in a way I hadn’t anticipated. My arms ached after only a few minutes, and sweat poured down my face as I struggled to keep up with the pace.

By the time the lunch bell rang, I was exhausted. I slumped onto a bench in the break area, my hands shaking from the strain.

“Rough morning?” a voice asked.

I looked up to see one of the workers sitting across from me, a woman with kind eyes and a tired smile.

“You could say that,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

She chuckled. “Hang in there. It gets easier.”

I doubted that, but I forced a smile anyway.

As I sat there, the weight of my new reality pressed down on me. This wasn’t a dream or a punishment that I could escape. This was my life now—Leo Torres’s life.

And for the first time in years, I felt truly powerless.