Reincarnated Mercenary on Duty

At the same time Frank Williams died, far away in a world that wasn't Earth, a man in a police uniform was chasing a gangster. This man, Frank Miller, was running through the dark streets of Daeton, the industrial center of Veltheria. He had been following the criminal for a while when suddenly, the gangster disappeared.

Frank stopped, looking around. The alley was dark, and there was no sign of the criminal. He paused, unsure of what to do. Then, out of nowhere, a sharp pain hit him from behind. A metal pipe struck his head hard. Frank's vision blurred, and he collapsed to the ground, clutching his skull. Blood pooled around him, and the gangster, seeing him unconscious, ran off into the night.

The next thing Frank knew, he woke up in a hospital. His eyes fluttered open, and he saw the sterile white lights above him. The scent of antiseptic filled the air, and soft beeping noises echoed around him. Something didn't feel right. The room wasn't like any hospital he knew.

Footsteps approached, and Frank turned his head. The motion sent a sharp pain through his skull. He winced as a man in a white lab coat appeared beside him, followed by a few others. They were strangers, yet somehow… familiar.

"How are you feeling, Frank?" the man asked softly.

Frank's brow furrowed as he tried to focus. "Who... are you? Where am I?" His voice was rough, as though he hadn't spoken in days.

The doctor's smile faltered, his concern growing. "You're at Daeton General Hospital. I'm your doctor."

A woman entered the room, her eyes scanning Frank's condition. "We found you unconscious in an alley after a blow to the head. We weren't sure you'd make it, but thank God you're okay."

Frank turned his head slowly to look at her, his confusion deepening. "And you are?"

She sighed, folding her sleeves with a hint of frustration. "You don't remember me? Maybe another knock to your head will help jog your memory."

The doctor stepped in, his tone calming. "Easy, Officer. The concussion was severe. His memories are probably a little scrambled. Just give him some time. Everything should return to normal soon."

Frank listened carefully, his confusion growing. The last thing he remembered was fighting a group of killers—he had died in that fight. So, how was he still here? Alive?

Frank's gaze drifted to a small reflective surface beside the bed—a metal tray catching the light. Without thinking, he turned his head to look.

The face that stared back at him was not his own.

His reflection was that of a younger man, with sharp features, a different jawline, and eyes that weren't his. Frank reached out instinctively, touching the unfamiliar skin. His fingers felt the smoothness of the face, but it wasn't his.

His gaze drifted across the room, landing on a small metal tray beside the bed. The light from above glinted off its surface, and Frank, without thinking, turned his head to look at his reflection.

The face staring back at him wasn't his own.

It was younger, with sharper features. His eyes, his jaw—they were all different. Frank reached out a shaky hand to touch his face, his fingers feeling the unfamiliar skin.

"What… what the hell?" he whispered. "This isn't me…"

A sudden sharp pain shot through his head again, and this time, a flood of memories rushed in. They weren't his memories—yet they felt so real. Faces, names, a whole life that didn't belong to him.

"So… I did die," he murmured to himself. "But instead of going to whatever afterlife killers like me deserve, I ended up here." He let out a humorless chuckle. "A magical phenomenon… transmigration. Guess it really happens."

A new life. A new name. A new identity. Frank Miller.

Frank Miller, a cop from Daeton. He was part of the Violent Crimes Unit, chasing down criminals, solving cases in a city drowning in corruption. And then, in his last memory, Frank Miller had been hit on the head—just like he had been now. He had died in the street.

"And now I'm in his body, A cop. How ironic… A killer ends up in a cop's body" Frank said, more to himself than anyone else.

His mind whirled with the impossible truth. He wasn't in his old world anymore. He was in Veltheria—a world that wasn't Earth. I never expected a world other than Earth existed, and it's so similar to Earth.

This world was called Veltheria, a place eerily similar to his old home but undeniably different. The nations, the cities, even the continents had strange names: Velmara, Zarutha, Eryndral, Luthadel Basin, etc.

He smirked faintly. "I guess I'm a citizen of Velmara now. And this city, Daeton… Looks like it's going to keep me busy."

Frank cracked his knuckles. "Alright, kid," he said softly, speaking to the soul of the boy whose body he now inhabited. "You didn't deserve to go out like that. But since I'm here now, I'll make sure your life wasn't wasted."

The faintest grin tugged at his lips. "A killer in a cop's body… Sounds like the start of an interesting story."

"I'll live the life I could never live in my old world." He leaned back on the hospital bed, closing his eyes. "Thank you, God, for giving me a second chance."

"It's good to finally rest," Frank murmured to himself, sinking into the worn-out mattress. After days of relentless attacks, his body ached, his mind heavy with exhaustion. "Finally, some peace. I'm going to use it well."

He let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes, allowing the quiet of the room to wrap around him.

But just as he began to drift off, a voice—clear, cold, and unnatural—sounded directly in his mind.

"Hello, Host."

Frank's eyes snapped open, and he sat up. "Who goes there?" he asked aloud, looking around the room. But the room was empty—there was no one there.