After a couple of hours, he was discharged from the hospital. He couldn't stay longer, or he'd have to pay extra, and he didn't have a penny to his name to do so.
He sighed as he was wheeled out of the hospital.
"Take it easy, sir. Don't stress yourself too much and always take your meds on time," the nurse said, handing him a bag filled with protein bars, some medications, and a get-well-soon sticker, then went back into the hospital.
He stood at the entrance of the hospital, crutches holding his weight as he stared at the parking lot.
"Seems bigger in real life than in his memory," he muttered, descending the stairs slowly, step by step.
The crutches helped hold his weight, but the pain still stung in his leg from the so-called accident.
"I got to remember, where does he live?" he whispered, filtering through his memories for the answer
"Silverstone Avenue, 5th Street. He has a mini-lounge there. I hope it's still his," he said, walking toward the nearest bus stop.
Heading back to his family house would just be second-grade suicide.
"I've got to get revenge for him, but how do I start?" he muttered, settling down on the chair at the bus station.
"There's so much to do. Where do I even begin?" he thought hard.
"Firstly, I need to find a place to rest. My whole body aches," he said, still foreign to himself.
In a few, a bus rattled to a stop in front of where he was sitting. He climbed into it with the little money he got from the Good Samaritan who saved his life.
"I'm glad he was thoughtful enough to drop a couple of dollars for upkeep," he said, nearly crying.
The bus rattled through the streets, neon lights blurring on the screen as it drove. He admired the life that had been granted to him, though it was not his, he still appreciated it, and in return, he would be sure to avenge Liam Maddox.
The bus rattled to a stop near a white gate.
"This is Silverstone Avenue, sir. 5th Street is just around the corner. Just walk ahead and take a right turn, then you'll see it," the driver said.
"Thank you. Here's a tip," he appreciated, flipping a coin at the driver. "Safe journey."
He stared at the white fence for a while, admiring the structure and architecture, before skidding off to 5th Street.
He did as the driver said and found a blue-colored fence and a sign that said Welcome to Fifth Street.
He walked, staring at the houses in the clearing, until he saw a house that resembled the one in his head.
"This must be it," he muttered.
He glanced at the fence, looking for locks, but he only found an automated one.
"Guess he really was rich."
He was used to crude locks that needed keys. This one needed a fingerprint, eye scan, and a passcode.
"I guess that's probably why they didn't know about this place," it seemed to be a secret hideout for him.
He placed his finger over the scanner. It took a while because of the injury, then finally opened with a buzz. He then conducted the retinal scan before inputting the passcode he remembered being associated with it.
The gate made a creaking sound before it slid open.
"Nice," he said, walking onto the well-designed front porch.
"This guy definitely has taste, and that's one thing I can boldly give him credit for."
He unlocked the door with a passcode before walking into the house. It wasn't big, it was small, like a bungalow, but well-designed with well-colored paintings and art.
He stared at the living room for a while, admiring the design.
"Damn."
He shrugged toward the couch and pounced on it like he hadn't seen a couch before.
"So soft," he purred.
He lay on the couch, staring at the PVC ceiling, slowly drifting off to sleep.
"I wish I had an anchor. Something that would guide or help me in getting this revenge," he muttered, his eyelids closing .
Then, a loud beep woke him from his thoughts.
"What was that?" he jolted up, glancing around the room.
The beep came again from an old payphone bolted into the wall.
He stood up and wanted to walk over to the payphone, but then he stopped.
"It's probably faulty," he concluded, sitting back down on the couch.
Then the beep started again, louder this time, and it didn't seem like it was going to stop anytime soon.
Out of frustration, he leaped toward the payphone with the intention of smashing it, but when he reached it, he saw a red light blinking, which meant there was a message waiting to be read.
"Lucky," he said, then picked up the pay phone. Immediately, a hologram filtered out of the payphone, and letters began scribbling across it.
[Pawn to King protocol activated]
He stared at the texts.
"What... the... hell?" he whispered, his face devoid of emotions.
Then, more texts scribbled across it.
[SYSTEM BOOT SEQUENCE: INITIATED
USER: LIAM A. MADDOX
STATUS: UNCLAIMED / ERASED
SYSTEM TYPE: LAUNDERING
VERSION: P2K.01
PROTOCOL: RECLAIM WHAT WAS LOST AND GAIN REVENGE]
He stared at the texts more than he wanted to, trying to make out what the payphone was trying to tell him.
"What's this?" he asked, as if it would respond.
The text cleared out, and new text scribbled across it.
[BEGINNING INHERITANCE SCAN]
Then, a red laser peeped out of the payphone and shone on his forehead. In a matter of seconds, his head started aching. It was like information was being dragged out of his brain without his permission.
Then, after a while, it stopped. New words were scribbled across the screen.
[ACCESS GRANTED]
[PIECE: PAWN]
[ROLE: KING IN MOTION]
He stared at the scribbled words a while longer before his sluggish brain started piecing things together.
"Wait!" he shouted. "This... this is a system?" he asked, staring at the part that said 'system type'.
"So, what is your purpose?" he questioned, hoping to be answered.
[Guiding the confirmed user toward their goal: Revenge]
His brain was slowly piecing things together.
"A guide. Just what I prayed for," he said, a smile tugging at his face.
"But how do I get revenge on people who have more power and money than I do?" he asked.
[ASSET CACHE: LOCATED
ACTIVATE? Y/N]
He stared at the text and, out of curiosity, responded, "Yes."
Then, a drawer across from where he stood flew open. He walked over to the drawer, the payphone still in hand.
Inside the drawer, he saw a burner phone. Two prepaid cards. Keys. A ledger, actual paper, real ink filled with names and addresses. A .38 revolver. Clean and unregistered.
He stared at the objects.
"How does any of this help?" he asked, but the system didn't respond.
He brought out the objects, inspecting each one of them. Inside the ledger, he saw some words that shocked him.
A trust in his name. A bank in Zurich. A fixer in Queens who owed a favor. Codes, names, and passwords to unknown accounts.
The system didn't indicate where this all came from, but one thing was now on his mind.
"First step toward the goal," he smirked.
"Maddox family, I'm coming for all of you. Especially you, cousin."