The smell of cheap disinfectant and stale sweat clung to the parking garage like a bad memory. Alex Reyes leaned against the cold concrete pillar, the rough texture biting into the back of his threadbare jacket. His shift ended an hour ago, but he lingered in the shadows, dreading the walk home. Home. A cramped apartment that smelled of sickness and despair, where the constant, soft wheezing of his mother was a grim reminder of a battle they were losing, one painful breath at a time.
The doctor's words echoed in his head, a cold, clinical death sentence. "The treatment is experimental, Mr. Reyes. And expensive. Without it..." He didn't need to finish. Alex had seen the numbers. A mountain of debt so high it blotted out the sun.
A sleek, black sedan with tinted windows slid into the garage, its engine a purr that seemed too refined for this place of chipped paint and oil stains. It parked not in a designated spot, but in the shadows near the service entrance. Instinct, honed from two tours overseas and a lifetime of looking over his shoulder, told him this was trouble. This was nothis problem. His problem was the stack of bills on the kitchen table and the hollow look in his sister's eyes.
He pushed off the pillar, intent on leaving. But the car doors opened, and four men got out. They moved with a purpose that was all wrong for a parking garage. Three were bulky, armed with pistols tucked into their waistbands. The fourth was smaller, wiry, clutching a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist. His eyes darted around, nervous.
A transaction. It had to be. And in Westgate City, that never meant anything good.
Alex froze, melting back into the darkness. Not your fight,he screamed at himself. Walk away. For once in your goddamn life, just walk away.
The wiry man said something, his voice a high-pitched whine that echoed in the cavernous space. One of the bigger men laughed, a harsh, grating sound. Then, everything happened at once.
The laugh was cut short as the big man drew his pistol and, without a hint of hesitation, shot the wiry man in the knee. The sound of the gunshot was a physical thing, a thunderclap that slammed into Alex's chest. The man screamed, collapsing onto the oil-stained concrete, the briefcase clattering beside him.
"Code's too much trouble," the shooter grunted, his voice gravelly. "We'll take the hand."
Jesus Christ.Alex's military training screamed at him to act, to neutralize the threat. But his reality, the crushing weight of his life, held him pinned. He was unarmed. Outnumbered. He was nobody's hero.
He fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking. 911. Just call 911. Be a good citizen. A faint, bitter laugh escaped his lips. Good citizens didn't have their lives dismantled by medical bills.
The gravel-voiced man raised his gun again, aiming at the writhing man's head. A final shot. Cleanup.
Something in Alex snapped. It wasn't bravery; it was a surge of pure, undiluted rage. Rage at the men for their casual cruelty. Rage at the world for being this way. Rage at himself for being powerless. Before he could even process the thought, his body was moving.
"Hey!" The word ripped from his throat, raw and loud.
Four heads swiveled towards him. Four pairs of eyes, devoid of humanity, locked onto his. It was the single stupidest thing he had ever done.
Gravel-voice smiled, a predatory flash of teeth. "Well, look what we have here. A rat in the dumpster." He gestured with his gun. "Kill him. Make it quick."
The two other thugs drew their weapons. Alex's world narrowed to the three dark muzzles pointed at his chest. This was it. This was how he died. In a stinking parking garage, for nothing. His mother would die alone. His sister would be left with nothing.
Time seemed to slow. He could see the subtle shift in the lead thug's shoulder as he started to squeeze the trigger. Alex braced for the impact, for the end.
It never came.
Instead, a searing, electric pain exploded behind his eyes. It was like a ice pick made of lightning was being driven into his brain. His vision whited out, and he stumbled, expecting to hit the ground.
But he didn't fall. When his vision cleared, it was overlain with something impossible. A transparent, blue-tinted interface, hovering in the air before him. Text scrolled in a crisp, futuristic font, cold and impersonal.
[CRITICAL STRESS DETECTED. HOST NEUROLOGICAL PROFILE COMPATIBLE.]
[INITIATING SYSTEM BONDING... 5%... 40%... 100%]
[THE VIGILANTE SYSTEM IS NOW ONLINE. WELCOME, ALEX REYES.]
"What the hell?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. Was he hallucinating? Was this some kind of dying dream?
The thugs were still there, looking confused by his stumble. Gravel-voice snarled. "What are you waiting for? Shoot him!"
The system interface flashed, new text appearing with terrifying urgency.
[EMERGENCY PROTOCOL ENGAGED.]
[MISSION: SURVIVE]
[OBJECTIVE: NEUTRALIZE ALL HOSTILE THREATS. TIME LIMIT: 180 SECONDS.]
[FAILURE: TERMINATION.]
A three-minute timer appeared in the corner of his vision, numbers already ticking down relentlessly: 02:59... 02:58...
Panic and confusion warred within him. But the instinct to survive, drilled into him by the military, took over. This was a new piece of intel. A new weapon. however insane.
The system didn't stop. Lines of text highlighted the three armed men.
[TARGET ACQUIRED: Hostile (Gunner) - LVL 2]
[TARGET ACQUIRED: Hostile (Gunner) - LVL 1]
[TARGET ACQUIRED: Hostile (Gunner) - LVL 3 - PRIMARY THREAT]
Gravel-voice was Level 3. The system even provided a flickering reticle over each man, and as it passed over their bodies, text pop-ups appeared.
[SCANNING...]
[TARGET 1 (LVL 1): DOMINANT HAND: RIGHT. MARKSMANSHIP PROFICIENCY: LOW. SUGGESTION: CLOSE DISTANCE.]
[TARGET 2 (LVL 2): DOMINANT HAND: LEFT. VISUAL ACUITY: IMPAIRED (RIGHT EYE). SUGGESTION: ENGAGE FROM RIGHT FLANK.]
[TARGET 3 (LVL 3): COMBAT EXPERIENCE: HIGH. THREAT ASSESSMENT: ELEVATED. WEAKNESS: SLOWER RECOIL MANAGEMENT.]
It was feeding him information. A mad, impossible heads-up display from hell.
The first thug fired. The shot went wide, sparking off the pillar behind Alex. The sound jolted him into motion.
He dove behind a parked SUV, his heart hammering against his ribs. 02:30.
Okay, you crazy bastard. Let's play.
He peered around the bumper. The two lower-level thugs were advancing, while Gravel-voice hung back, providing cover.
[SUGGESTED ACTION: USE ENVIRONMENT FOR CONCEALMENT. VEHICLE PROVIDES INADEQUATE COVER AGAINST SUSTAINED FIRE.]
"No shit," Alex muttered, scrambling on his hands and knees to the next car over.
Another shot. The window of the SUV he'd just left exploded in a shower of glass.
He was trapped. Cornered. The timer read 01:45. Despair began to creep in again. What was the point? This thing in his head was just giving him a front-row seat to his own execution.
Then, a new prompt appeared, different from the others. It glowed with a soft, almost enticing light.
[SUBDUE TARGETS NON-LETHALLY. REWARD: $500. +5 FAME.]
[NEUTRALIZE TARGETS WITH LETHAL FORCE. REWARD: $2,000. +10 INFAMY.]
The numbers hung in the air. 500.Itwouldn′tevencoveraweekofhismother′smedication.2,000. That was... real. That was a down payment. That was hope.
The choice was an abomination. A sick joke. But in the space between two heartbeats, surrounded by violence and the scent of his own fear, it was no choice at all.
"Lethal," he breathed, the word tasting like ash in his mouth.
[CONFIRMED. LETHAL PARAMETERS ENGAGED.]
A surge of cold energy flooded his limbs. It wasn't warmth or power; it was a chilling clarity. The world sharpened. The fear receded, replaced by a hyper-focused calm. The system reticle over the nearest thug (LVL 1, Right-handed, Low proficiency) glowed red.
[OPPORTUNITY: TARGET IS RELOADING. ENGAGE NOW.]
Alex didn't think. He moved.
He burst from behind the car, closing the distance in three long strides. The thug looked up, eyes wide with surprise, fumbling with his magazine. Alex's military training took over, guided by the system's cold logic. He didn't throw a punch. He executed a maneuver.
He grabbed the man's wrist, twisted hard until bone snapped, and wrenched the pistol from his grip. In one fluid motion, he brought the weapon up, pressed the barrel against the man's chest, and pulled the trigger.
BANG.
The sound was deafening up close. The man crumpled, a look of profound shock frozen on his face.
[TARGET NEUTRALIZED. +50 XP.]
[INFAMY +10.]
[$500 CREDITED.]
The notification was so cold, so impersonal, juxtaposed with the warm blood spray on Alex's hand. His stomach lurched, but the system's artificial calm held it down. 01:00 remaining.
The second thug (LVL 2, Left-handed, Impaired right eye) screamed in rage and opened fire. Bullets sparked around Alex. The system flared.
[EVASIVE MANEUVERS RECOMMENDED. MOVE TO RIGHT.]
Alex dove to the right, rolling behind a concrete divider. The shooter tracked him, firing wildly with his left hand, exposing his right side. Just as the system said.
As the thug paused to aim, Alex popped up. He didn't aim for center mass. The system reticle had already calculated it. He aimed for the man's right flank, a larger target area for someone favoring their left. He fired twice.
The man grunted, stumbling backward, his shots going wild into the ceiling. He hit the ground and didn't move.
[TARGET NEUTRALIZED. +75 XP.]
[INFAMY +10.]
[$500 CREDITED.]
Two thousand dollars. The thought was a delirious, horrifying mantra in his head. He turned. Gravel-voice. Level 3.
The man wasn't panicking. He was a professional. He had taken cover and was watching, waiting for a clean shot. The timer bled down: 00:25.
"You're dead, you freak!" the man yelled.
[PRIMARY THREAT: PREDICTING HEADSHOT ATTEMPT.][SUGGESTION: FLUSH TARGET WITH SUSTAINED FIRE.]
Alex raised his stolen pistol and emptied the remaining rounds towards the man's position, not aiming to hit, just to keep him pinned. The thunder of gunfire filled the garage. He heard the man curse, ducking deeper behind his cover.
00:10.
Alex was out of ammo. He dropped the pistol. This was it. He was out of time, out of options.
**[ANALYZING ENVIRONMENT...][
HAZARD DETECTED: LEAKING FLAMMABLE FLUID (VEHICLE 4M TO YOUR LEFT).][
IGNITION SOURCE: SPARKING ELECTRICAL WIRES (CEILING, 2M FROM TARGET).]**
A plan, insane and brutal, formed in his mind in an instant. He sprinted, not towards the man, but towards the car with the leaking fluid. He kicked a piece of shattered plastic near the pool of gasoline, sending it skittering across the floor. It slid to a stop directly beneath the sparking wires.
Gravel-voice, seeing Alex unarmed and running, rose from his cover, a triumphant smirk on his face. He took careful aim.
00:03.
The sparking wires touched the pool of gas.
WHUMP.
A line of fire erupted, racing across the floor directly between them. The sudden inferno made the thug flinch, his shot going high.
00:01.
In that split second of distraction, Alex charged throughthe flames, the heat searing his pants leg. He came out on the other side, a phantom wreathed in smoke. Gravel-voice's eyes widened in sheer terror. Alex didn't punch or kick. He slammed his full weight into the man, driving him backward.
The man's head connected with the edge of a metal dumpster with a sickening, final CRUNCH.
He slid to the ground, motionless.
[TARGET NEUTRALIZED. +100 XP.]
[INFAMY +10.]
[$500 CREDITED.]
[MISSION COMPLETE: SURVIVE.]
[REWARD: INITIAL BOOTSTRAPPING FUNDS: 1000.TOTALCREDIT:3500.]
[LEVEL UP!]
[You have reached Level 2. Attribute Points Available: 5.]
The timer vanished. The garage fell silent, except for the crackle of flames and Alex's own ragged, gasping breaths. The cold clarity left him, and the world rushed back in—the smell of blood, gasoline, and cordite. The weight of what he had just done crashed down on him.
He looked at his hands. One was smeared with blood. The other was trembling violently.
A soft chime echoed in his mind.
[NEW MISSION AVAILABLE.]
[LOCATE AND NEUTRALIZE ALL REMAINING EVIDENCE. DISPOSE OF BODIES. CONTACT CLEAN-UP CREW VETERAN JOEY. HIS NUMBER IS...]
Alex stared at the four corpses lying around him. He looked at the notification of the $3500 now—somehow, impossibly—credited to him. He thought of his mother's face.
He leaned over and vomited onto the concrete.
Then, wiping his mouth, he stood up straight. His eyes, hard and empty, found the briefcase still handcuffed to the first man's corpse.
He had made his choice. There was no going back.
"Okay," he whispered to the voice in his head, to the city, to no one at all. "What's next?"