The Whimsical Fate of A Heir

As he carefully inspected himself, Victor noticed something peculiar. His hands, or rather, the energy that manifested as his hands, were translucent, almost ethereal. He could see through them, and yet they felt solid to the touch.

"What the hell am I now?" he muttered, carefully every part of his hand. "Some kind of ghost? Or maybe a spectre?"

After a while of investigation, Victor decided to give up understanding his situation anymore but instead, he decided to take advantage of the situation and with a sense of curiosity ignited, he began to explore by propelling himself forward.

"Wow….." Victor blurted out, feeling completely mesmerized by his surroundings. He had been travelling for what felt like hours, propelled by his own will, and yet the void seemed to stretch on endlessly. There were no landmarks, no points of reference, just an infinite expanse of darkness.

Victor then spun around, trying to get his bearings, but it was futile. Every direction looked exactly the same. At the same time, Victor felt a strange sense of vertigo as if he were adrift in a sea of nothingness.

"Like I said, this place is truly bizarre," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "It feels like I'm floating aimlessly in some kind of endless black hole."

As Victor continued to explore, his curiosity grew with each passing moment. He wondered if any other beings like him were in this void, any other lost souls wandering as well. 

Without thinking much, he strained his senses, listening for any sound or sign of life, but after some time, from what he could understand, there was nothing but the echoing silence of his thoughts. 

"Well, that was a waste of an effort but at least, now I know that I don't have to raise some unnecessary hope."

As Victor continued to explore the void, a strange sense of peace settled over him. The initial terror and confusion had subsided, replaced by a peculiar sense of calm. He felt a strange connection to the void, a sense of belonging as if he had always been meant to be here.

Victor quickly closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, trying to understand that strange feeling. Instead, he sensed an odd energy coursing through him, a life force that seemed to emanate from the void itself.

"What the hell is this?" he muttered, looking at himself while his hands clutched tightly. "I felt both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time as if I had consumed a shit ton of drugs."

"What is this place really? Is this heaven?" he then asked, looking around, feeling confused by this discovery. "Or is it hell? Or is it something else entirely?"

In his mind, the thought of heaven brought a wry smile to his lips. Heaven, with its pearly gates and harp-playing angels, seemed a far cry from this desolate void. Hell, on the other hand, seemed too harsh, too punishing. Compared to those two places, this place felt neutral and at that same time, isn't…?

"I seriously don't understand what is going on here." He groaned.

At that moment, Victor tried to recall any religious teachings he had been exposed to, including stories of the afterlife, but his memory was a bit hazy. 

"Ah, this sucks ass…." 

For many reasons, Victor sighed, annoyed as he had never been a particularly religious guy in his entire life, and was more of a pragmatist than a believer. But now, faced with the unknown, he questioned everything he thought he knew.

A chilling thought suddenly struck him. "Could this be... purgatory?"

"If I'm not wrong, that's where you wait before you go to heaven or hell," Victor muttered, feeling that it was the only explanation he could come up with that fit the current predicament as he opened his eyes. "But…I don't remember signing up for any waiting rooms to meet the devil any time soon."

He couldn't help but chuckle darkly, the sound swallowed by the emptiness, feeling a little proud at his own jokes. "And besides." 

"I don't think they have a VIP lounge for guys like me. You know, the ones who stained their hands with a little too mu…" Victor then scoffed but his words soon trailed off when he just remembered something. "Wait, no, that's not right."

"Purgatory isn't a waiting area for judgment, and if I recall correctly," he murmured, realising his mistake. "It's more akin to...a punishment space for sinners."

"If that was the case, why am I still intact?" Victor questioned, feeling the situation's absurdity and his existence getting increasingly weird by the second. "If I were stuck in purgatory, I should be a broken yet messy shell of my former self by now."

"I mean…" Victor chuckled nervously, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "I've done quite a lot of jobs in my entire life that were so dirty and evil that it can easily book a one-way VIP ticket straight down to the bottom layer of hell."

As he closed his eyes again and tried to imagine what the hell would look like, the image in his mind showed vivid images of a hellish landscape, demons with grotesque faces, and flames that danced with malevolence. 

 "Despite the fact I don't regret any of it, not one damn bit…" Victor sighed, opening his eyes with a solemn look. "I was kind of expecting some kind of divine retribution after I died and not… whatever this is." 

A sudden gust of wind, though there was no discernible source, somehow ruffled Victor's hair. "Honestly….'

"Where's the punishment I deserve? Where's the torture? Is the devil on a coffee break or something?" He questioned, glanced around, feeling perplexed that nothing had happened to him yet. 

"Maybe…is this the punishment? Or am I just stuck here? Waiting for some kind of judgment?" he mused, his eyes scanning the featureless landscape.

As Victor gradually adjusted to his situation, he felt a sense of calm wash over him, a foreign yet familiar peace. It was like a warm blanket on a cold night, soothing and comforting.

"If anything…." Victor muttered, the words barely audible in the silence. He had never felt this way before. "This felt really…nice."

As a gangster, his life had been in a constant state of danger. Deep down, Victor always felt that someone was always out to get him, always a threat looming over his head especially when he had gained his position.

Now, though, he felt a sense of tranquillity. It was as if all the world's weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Victor could feel the tension in his muscles melting away, and his mind was clear and focused.

"I don't understand," he said, his voice a whisper. "Why am I feeling this way?"

A thought occurred to him. Maybe this was the punishment he had been expecting. Maybe this was his hell. But it didn't feel like hell. It felt like heaven.

"So, is this it, then?" Victor asked, his voice barely a thought. "Is this the end?"

"Death finally got its hand on me, huh?" He then muttered, his voice a little more than a thought echoing in the blackness. "What a shocker."

In the past, Victor had cheated death a dozen times before, always with a cocky grin despite being in a critical state a lot of times. Now, there was just a hollowness where his bravado used to be.

"No pain, no worries," he said with a ghost of a smile after a moment of silence. "Well, this isn't exactly the afterlife I pictured, but then again, who am I to argue?"

Even in this situation, Victor almost missed the thrill of a good brawl, the camaraderie of his family, and the satisfaction of a job well done. But those were just echoes now, whispers in the endless dark.

As Victor drifted along the endless void, time ceased to have any meaning. Hours turned into days, or maybe it was the other way around. There was no sun, moon, stars, or even a way to tell. Just an endless expanse of nothingness, a void that swallowed all light, sound, and even the comforting presence of his own thoughts.

At first, the silence was overwhelming. Victor tried to count the seconds, to find a beat or rhythm, in the endless stillness, but it was hopeless. Each tick of the nonexistent clock dragged on, an eternity in itself. 

"Damn it," he muttered, his voice a low growl in the oppressive quiet. "This isn't working."

Next, he tried to recall the faces of his loved ones—the warm smiles of his comrades, the mischievous grin of his adopted son, even the infuriatingly smug face of his old rival. But these cherished images, which were sharp and clear, began to fade, like old photographs left too long in the sun. 

"Oh come on," Victor groaned, feeling frustrated by it before he then tried to recall the taste of all his favourite alcohols, the feel of the silk lining his suits, the thrill of a well-executed crime. But those sensations, too, slipped away, leaving behind an emptiness that wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"I gave up," He sighed before chuckling at the irony of this entire situation. "I've regained all of my memories but I gradually couldn't rem-Huh?"

Victor couldn't help but become stunned when he noticed the absence of a crucial component of himself. It was…. fear.

For him, there was no more fear of death, pain, or betrayal. There was also no more fear of failure, of being caught by the hypocritical bastard, or of losing everything. In his entire life, he had lived on the edge, in a constant state of high alert, but now, there was only this… this emptiness.

And in that emptiness, a strange sense of peace settled over him. A peace that transcends understanding, a calm that defied logic. It was a peace that came not from joy or contentment, but from the absence of all feeling, all sensation.

"Maybe this is the real peace I never found in my life," he mused, a melancholic acceptance colouring his thoughts. "No more running while dodging bullets, no more fighting, no sleeping with one eye open, and no more bullshit that I have to clean up after."

"No more… especially no more of those goddamn crappy meetings with that blockhead bastard!" Victor said before erupting into laughter, with him clutching his stomach. "Those endless hours sitting in that stuffy room, listening to fucking Tony drone on about some half-baked scheme while I just sitting there wanted to strangle the bastard every second for each crap that came out of his mouth. Or worse, having to sit through those stupid 'team-building' exercises where we had to pretend to be fucking trees or some shit."

He chuckled, the absurdity of his past life finally hitting him. "Remember that time we had to do that trust fall? I almost pushed that slimy little weasel, Andrew, off the roof! I swear, I'd rather face a firing squad than another one of those ridiculous retreats."

Victor shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. "And don't even get me started on the suits that Emma made. Those goddamn tailored nightmares! They were more uncomfortable than a straitjacket. I'd rather go commando than wear another one of those things. And the shoes that her little brother made! Don't even get me started on the shoes."

He paused, a wave of nostalgia washing over him. "But you know what I'll miss?" 

"My favourite whiskey. Good old Glenlivet," he mused, a hint of sadness in his voice. "That smooth, smoky taste… Ah, the memories."

Victor sighed, the image of a dimly lit bar, a glass of amber liquid swirling in his hand, and the comforting hum of jazz music fading into the background. 

"And the girls," he added with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Those beautiful, fiery women… always a welcome distraction from the day's chaos."

Victor couldn't help but chuckle at the memory of a particular brunette with eyes like molten gold and a laugh that could melt glaciers briefly warming the chilling emptiness. 

"But hey," he shrugged, a philosophical air about him, "all good things must come to an end, right?"

To Be Continued