James sank into the dark waters with his hands tied behind his back and a plastic bag on his head. It covered his sight, what little he'd see in the darkness anyway, and made it difficult to breathe. But not too much, not too much, because they hadn't tied it; it was simply on top of his head. If he shook it a bit, just a bit... He put it to the test and managed to get rid of the bag. One step forward, though that wouldn't save him.

  He was sinking hopelessly and, on top of everything, the funniest thing was he didn't know how to swim.

  Maybe another person could have surfaced, swimming without much trouble. Maybe that's why they'd left his feet free, because they didn't intend anything more than to scare him. But he could die anyway. What the fuck was he talking about? The son of a bitch had stabbed him. Of course they wanted to kill him.

  One way or another, dying was dying. It didn't matter what intentions they'd had; it only mattered that he couldn't hold his breath much longer and then he'd drown. And that, even if they found his body, nobody would miss him.

  And that's it. He'd come so far to die now, when he hadn't even crossed the starting line, when he was doing nothing more than really preparing to live and enjoy his second chance. Not a chance. He couldn't die like this, no.

  But no matter how much he tried, he couldn't even get rid of the ropes on his wrists. He could leave that for when he surfaced, in theory, but he didn't know how to swim. It would be very useful to be able to move his arms and legs at the same time, and no, he wasn't capable. Fuck, he couldn't even break the ropes. He hadn't wanted to break all his bonds from the start, so this was an especially bitter ending.

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  Then James stopped moving. He stopped holding his breath, laughing underwater, though of course no sound was heard. An inhuman sound, that didn't even seem like a laugh.

  How stupid he was. How much panic for nothing. Right? How the hell was he going to drown when he could float to the surface whenever he damn well pleased?

  Stone skin. Activating it, he transformed into a stone statue and immediately floated back to the surface. Now he just had to reach the shore. Of course it was easier said than done with zero swimming experience, but fear of death was good motivation. He didn't need any other.

  It couldn't be that hard. If others were capable of doing it, so was he. Little by little he dragged himself as best he could, but he felt very stupid and very clumsy. He felt like in a castaway movie, and not precisely as the protagonist, but as an extra.

  When he reached the shore, he almost started crying from relief. He could barely breathe, because almost, fuck, he almost didn't make it. But the fear left quickly; anger and hatred took its place.

  Three people had done this to him. Three people had to pay and die.

  He got up and staggered in the darkness of the night, soaked from head to toe. He tried to return to the point where it seemed most likely they'd thrown him. A shadow crossed his path. They'd left thinking him dead, but one of them, at least, not fast enough. Or maybe he'd suspected he might survive and was there to finish the job.

  In any case, even though it was a very dark night, with few stars and the moon didn't illuminate much either, he saw his face clearly enough. And the guy also saw his.

  "I'm going to rip your guts out, you fucking animal," James spat, his face transforming into that of a demon.

  If he killed someone, he'd lose his second chance, he could even go to jail. He was very aware of that. But he didn't give a damn. The only thing he could hear, the only thing that really mattered, was blood pulsing like war drums.