Yet, even with the weight of my mistakes, I labored in this new world.
Though 'labor' might not be the right word.
Survival was my trade now, the slums my new home.
The kind of place people pretended didn't exist.
The kind of place that stank of piss and rotting flesh.
The kind of place where even the guards didn't bother coming unless they were looking for an excuse to bash someone's skull in.
The eastern slums.
A place where only the dregs lived.
And now?
Now, I was one of them.
Me.
A man who once walked these streets as a proper citizen.
Who once had a name that mattered, who once had a home with walls that didn't crumble at the touch, a family that didn't have to go to sleep with their ribs pressing against their skin.
Now, I lived the same as the ones who had been smuggled in.
The forgotten.
The undocumented.
The ones who had no rights, no place in this city.
The ones who were only tolerated because of Nasir's "mercy."
How the Hell did it come to this?
