Episode 1 – "Smoke Break"
Cold Open: Bad Decisions
Micheal was thirty years old, lived in his father's cramped two-bedroom townhouse, and smelled like weed and stripper perfume. His phone was blowing up with texts he had no intention of answering. Bills stacked on the counter. His stepmother humming in the shower down the hall. And Micheal? He was sprawled on the couch in his boxers, drinking warm beer for breakfast.
"Bro," Micheal muttered to no one, squinting at the ceiling. "If Jesus wanted me to get a job, he'd've given me Wi-Fi that don't lag during porn."
He farted loudly, didn't even acknowledge it, and checked his reflection in the blank TV screen. Still handsome enough. Smooth smile. Beard lined up just right. Locs hanging messy but somehow working. Micheal wasn't the type to try. Women just… gave in. Married ones. Single ones. Demonic ones. He didn't care. If she had a pulse—or at least some kind of heartbeat—Micheal was probably sliding in.
Cue the shower shutting off. His stepmom, wrapped in a towel, walked past the living room.
"Mornin', Micheal," she said sweetly.
Micheal raised his beer in salute. "Morning, future divorce settlement."
⸻
Act 1: The Club & the Blunt
Later that night, Micheal was out with a random crew at "Club Pandemonium," a sleazy hole-in-the-wall that doubled as a demon gambling den. He was high, drunk, and broke, but that never stopped him before.
On stage, strippers with glowing red eyes slid around poles like serpents. At the bar, a troll was shotgunning tequila straight from the bottle. In the back booths, cloaked figures were trading souls like poker chips.
Micheal leaned against the counter, eyeing a girl in black leather pants who was clearly way out of his league. Didn't matter.
"Hey," Micheal slurred. "You ever had sex with a disappointment? Cuz tonight might be your lucky night."
She laughed. Actually laughed. He had her. Five minutes later, they were in the back room, limbs tangled, Micheal muttering jokes mid-thrust. She pulled out a blunt—dark, glowing embers like hellfire—and shoved it between his lips.
Micheal inhaled deep. Wrong move. His lungs screamed. He coughed so violently he thought his ribs cracked. The blunt sparked, flared, then dissolved into smoke inside his chest.
"Uh…" Micheal wheezed, eyes bulging. "That—cough—ain't—normal—"
And then it happened. His whole body melted into black metallic smoke.
The girl screamed. The bed collapsed. Micheal's vaporized body poured through the floorboards like a busted smoke machine.
⸻
Act 2: Baptism by Fire
Downstairs, a mission was in progress. Five hunters—armored, armed, and pissed—were battling a horned beast twice their size. The monster was tearing the bar apart, claws carving neon signs into sparks.
Micheal's smoke form erupted right into the chaos. His face re-formed in the haze, still grinning.
"Yo," he said, voice echoing metallic. "Where the hell are my pants?"
The hunters froze. The monster roared. Micheal instinctively lashed out, his smoke hardening into razor-edged tendrils. They sliced through the beast's leg, spraying ichor everywhere. Micheal himself had no idea how he did it—his body moved on its own, like muscle memory from a martial artist he'd never met.
The hunters gasped.
"Who the hell is this guy?" one yelled.
"Doesn't matter, he just stole the kill—"
Before they could finish, the beast collapsed. A glowing EXP orb floated in the air. Micheal, still half smoke, stumbled forward and ate it.
[LEVEL UP!]
• Micheal – Level 1 → 2
• EXP: 0/1000
• Prestige: 0
Micheal blinked at the glowing HUD only he could see. Then he burped. "Tastes like ass. But like… expensive ass."
The hunters cursed as Micheal absorbed their mission rewards. He didn't care. He was laughing his smoke-shrouded ass off.
⸻
Act 3: The Offer
Back outside, Micheal re-solidified, butt-naked in the alley, smoke still trailing from his pores. He was grinning like an idiot. His phone buzzed with a text from his dad:
Dad: Where are you? Rent is due. Don't make me ask your stepmom.
Micheal smirked. "Already made a down payment on that, pops."
The hunters cornered him, weapons drawn. "Who the fuck are you? You can't just steal mission XP like that!"
Micheal shrugged, still naked. "I dunno, bro. One second I was smashing, next second I'm Ghost Rider's vape pen."
They hesitated. Then their leader sighed. "You're coming with us. You've got potential. And if you don't join… we kill you."
Micheal thought about it for a half second. "Counteroffer: You let me join, I'll take all your girlfriends. Win-win."
They didn't laugh. He didn't care. He'd just leveled up, felt unstoppable, and realized he might actually like this. Missions. EXP. Power. Saving lives—by accident or not.
He spit out a trail of smoke like a cigar puff. "Fine. Let's hunt."
⸻
Act 4: Home Trouble
Back at home, Micheal crept through the front door. His dad was asleep in the recliner, TV still on. His stepmom was waiting in Micheal's room—wearing nothing but a smirk.
"So," she whispered, sliding onto his bed, "what's this I hear about you joining hunters?"
Micheal grinned, stripping off his jacket. "Baby, I joined the XP grind, but trust… I'll prestige inside you first."
⸻
Cliffhanger: Level Grind
Next morning, Micheal's HUD blinked awake with a new notification:
[MISSION AVAILABLE]
• "Street Sweep" – Hunt Class D monsters in the subway tunnels.
• Team size: 5
• Reward: 1000 EXP
Micheal yawned, lit a blunt, and smiled. "Time to go smoke some shit for real."
He blew a ring of black metal smoke that cut through his bedroom wall like a buzzsaw. His dad yelled from downstairs. His stepmom moaned from under the sheets. Micheal didn't care.
Micheal had leveled up. Micheal was immortal. And Micheal was about to be the most disrespectful, inappropriate, unkillable hunter the multiverse had ever seen.
[TO BE CONTINUED…]