The cop's finger was a pale, tense curve on the trigger, a sliver of white against the dark metal. Every instinct inherited from Leo's past life screamed at him to comply, to grovel, to surrender and hope for mercy from the system that had always ground him under its heel. But that voice was a ghost, a fading echo drowned out by the System's glacial presence and the intoxicating, metallic taste of power he'd felt just moments ago. Surrender meant a return to nothingness, to agony, to permanent erasure. Resistance meant a chance, however slim. There was no choice. There was only survival.
[100 VILLAIN POINTS DEDUCTED.] [SHADOW SHROUD ENGAGED: ONE-TIME USE.]
The world didn't go dark. Instead, the deep shadows of the grimy alley—pooling in doorways, clinging to overflowing dumpsters—seemed to detach and surge towards him. They flowed over his skin and clothes like a second, living skin, a cloak of concentrated darkness that bent the light around him. He didn't become invisible; he became a blurry, indistinct smudge against the brickwork, a human-shaped hole in reality. The cop's eyes, previously narrowed in focus, widened in sheer, uncomprehending shock. His aim, once rock-steady, wavered for a split second as his brain struggled to process what it was seeing.
"What the—" the cop began, his professional demeanor cracking.
It was all the opening Leo needed. He didn't think; he moved on pure, System-fed instinct, his body reacting faster than his mind could follow. He dropped into a low crouch as the gun roared, the report deafening in the confined space. The bullet cracked into the brick where his head had been, spraying fragments of old mortar. The acrid smell of cordite filled the air. Leo lunged forward, not away, closing the distance in two frantic steps. The cop, trained for conventional fights against predictable criminals, was utterly unprepared for a target that seemed to melt through the darkness itself.
Leo's foot swept out in a clumsy but brutally effective arc, connecting hard with the cop's ankle. It wasn't a skilled martial arts move; it was a street fighter's trick, fueled by his new body's terrifying strength. The man grunted in pain and surprise, his balance failing. As he fell, Leo grabbed for the gun, his hands finding the man's wrist. They crashed to the wet, filthy ground in a violent tangle of limbs, the flashlight clattering away and spinning, casting crazy strobes of light across the alley walls.
It was a short, ugly, desperate struggle. The cop was stronger, heavier, more experienced. He landed a sharp, jarring jab to Leo's ribs that made him grunt, the pain a bright flare even through his newfound tolerance. But Leo was desperate, empowered, and possessed a viciousness the cop could never anticipate. He fought dirty. He sank his teeth into the wool of the man's jacket sleeve, tasting coarse fabric and the coppery tang of blood as he broke the skin beneath. The cop cried out, a raw sound of shock and pain, and his grip on the pistol loosened for a critical half-second. Leo wrenched it free, scrambling backwards like a crab, putting a few feet of precious distance between them.
He stood over the downed officer, breathing in ragged, shuddering gasps, the cold, alien weight of the gun foreign and terrifying and utterly, addictively thrilling in his hand. The Shadow Shroud flickered and died, its energy spent, its one-time use exhausted. He was fully visible again, standing over a representative of the law he'd spent his last life fearing, a smoking gun in his hand.
The command was ice water down his spine. Kill a cop? This wasn't some college kid in a street robbery. This was a line, bright and indelible, that he hadn't known was still there inside him. Crossing it meant there was no going back, ever.
"Don't… don't do it, kid," the cop gasped, clutching his bleeding arm, his eyes fixed on the barrel of his own gun. His face was pale, beaded with sweat from the pain and the adrenaline. "This doesn't have to go any further. You're in enough trouble. Put it down."
Leo's hand trembled. The old Leo was shrieking inside, a cacophony of fear and ingrained compliance. The new Leo, Viper, saw the cold, hard logic. A living witness was a problem. A story. A man who could point a finger, testify, and put him in a cage. A dead one was… a solved equation. A closed file. The System was right. It was the only rational choice. The only way to guarantee his own survival.
[NEW OBJECTIVE: 'CROSSING THE RUBICON'] [ELIMINATE THE LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICER. PROVE YOUR RESOLVE.] [REWARD: [FIREARMS PROFICIENCY LV. 1], 500 VILLAIN POINTS, [VILLAINOUS REPUTATION] UNLOCKED] [FAILURE: SYSTEM SEVERANCE. HOST TERMINATION.]
The threat was absolute. Final. There was no negotiating, no alternative route. This was the true test, the real tutorial. This was the price of the power he'd been promised. He remembered the boot in his ribs, the taste of his own blood, the crushing humiliation of his first death. He would never be that weak again. He would never be at the mercy of anyone.
His trembling stopped. His breath evened out into a cold, steady rhythm. The world narrowed to the man on the ground before him, a man who had become nothing more than an obstacle. "The first rule of power," Leo said, his voice eerily calm, almost conversational, "is that you never leave an enemy behind you."
The cop's eyes widened in dawning, absolute horror. He opened his mouth, maybe to plead, maybe to shout.
Leo pulled the trigger.
The report was a final, definitive period on the sentence of his old life. It wasn't loud this time; it was just… final. He stood there, the gun smoking in his hand, watching the life fade from the cop's eyes. There was no thunderclap of divine judgment, no seismic shift in the universe. Just the steady, indifferent drip of water from a broken drainpipe and the distant, fading wail of a siren blocks away. He felt… nothing. No guilt. No remorse. No triumphant surge. Just a cold, vast, and empty silence that was quickly filled by the System's notifications scrolling past his eyes.
[OBJECTIVE: 'CROSSING THE RUBICON' - COMPLETE.] [REWARD: [FIREARMS PROFICIENCY LV. 1] ACQUIRED. 500 VILLAIN POINTS AWARDED.] [VILLAINOUS REPUTATION SYSTEM UNLOCKED. INFAMY GAINED: 'COP-KILLER' (LOCAL, LOW KEY). LAW ENFORCEMENT AGGRESSION INCREASED.] [TITLE UNLOCKED: 'RUTHLESS INITIATE']
Knowledge, smooth and instinctual, flooded his neural pathways—firearm safety, proper grip, isosceles stance, recoil management, sight picture. The gun in his hand suddenly felt like an extension of his own body, familiar and comfortable. The shock of the act began to recede, replaced by a pragmatic urgency. He had to move. That gunshot, though expected, would draw every cop in the vicinity.
He dropped to one knee and quickly, efficiently frisked the body. He took the two spare magazines from the cop's belt, a set of handcuffs, and his leather wallet. He didn't look at the ID. A name, a family, a life—that would make it harder. The man was a resource, nothing more. A source of ammunition and intel. He stuffed it all into the red backpack. He then wiped the gun down roughly with the inside of his shirt, removing his prints, and tossed it into a nearby overflowing dumpster. It was evidence, but it was also a hot weapon he couldn't be caught with. He'd get a new one. A clean one. The cop's backup piece was now his.
He fled the alley, his [Basic Stealth] skill making his flight seem like a natural shadow shifting in the night. He didn't run in a panic; he flowed, moving with a purpose he'd never possessed before, sticking to the deepest shadows, his footsteps silent on the wet pavement. He found a different, deeper darkness several blocks away, a recessed doorway to a closed butcher shop, the smell of old blood and sawdust faint in the air. He finally let himself lean against the cold metal door, his heart hammering, not from fear, but from the aftershocks of adrenaline and a terrifying, exhilarating sense of liberation.
He'd just killed a man. A cop. And his only regret was that he hadn't gotten a better reward for it. A laugh, sharp and brittle and entirely devoid of humor, escaped his lips. He was really doing this. He was really him now. Viper.
He pulled up his system interface, the blue glow illuminating the grim doorway.
[NAME: LEO "VIPER" JIANG] [TITLE: RUTHLESS INITIATE] [VILLAIN RANK: NEOPHYTE] [INFAMY: 15 (LOCAL)] [VILLAIN POINTS: 500] [SKILLS: [BASIC STEALTH LV. 1], [FIREARMS PROFICIENCY LV. 1]]
The [Villainous Reputation] tab was new. He focused on it.
[REPUTATION: LAW ENFORCEMENT - HOSTILE (AGGRO +25%)] [REPUTATION: CRIMINAL UNDERWORLD - UNKNOWN] [REPUTATION: CIVILIAN POPULACE - UNKNOWN] [CURRENT NOTORIETY: 'COP-KILLER' - A low-key rumor spreading on police bands. Increases threat response from law enforcement.]
So, he'd made his first real mark on the world. Good. Let them be afraid. Let them know something new and dangerous was crawling through their city. He then checked the [Skill Tree]. It was a vast, holographic web of interconnected nodes, most greyed out. At the very bottom, two were lit: Stealth and Firearms. Branching from [Basic Stealth] were paths to [Silent Step], [Shadow Melding], and [Pickpocket Mastery]. From [Firearms Proficiency], paths led to [Quick Draw], [Marksmanship], and [Improvised Weapons]. The costs ranged from 200 to 1000 VP. He had options. He needed to be smarter, not just stronger.
Leo had almost forgotten it. He slid the red bag off his shoulder and unzipped it. Inside were clothes, a few textbooks on economics… and a thick, yellow envelope. He tore it open. Cash. A lot of it. Stacked bills, mostly twenties and fifties. Probably a few thousand dollars. Tuition money, or something else. His laugh was louder this time, a genuine, day-making sound of pure, undiluted joy. The kid had delivered his first real score without even knowing it.
Beneath the money, nestled at the bottom of the bag, was a small, black, faux-leather ledger. He flipped it open. It wasn't a student's notes. The pages were filled with tight, coded entries—times, locations, initials, and what looked like… delivery manifests? Numbers that could be weights or prices. This wasn't a college kid. This was a courier. And he'd just intercepted a delivery for someone who very much would not be happy about it.
The System was silent for a moment, processing this new variable. Then, a new prompt appeared, its text glowing with a subtle, urgent intensity.
[CHAIN QUEST INITIATED: 'WOLF AMONG WOLVES'] [OBJECTIVE: DECIPHER THE LEDGER AND IDENTIFY THE OWNER OF THE INTERCEPTED DELIVERY.] [NEXT STEP: LOCATE THE DROP POINT FOR TONIGHT'S SCHEDULED DELIVERY. DECIDE: COMPLETE THE DELIVERY AND COLLECT THE FEE, OR AMBUSH THE RECIPIENT AND SEIZE THEIR ASSETS.] [WARNING: THE LEDGER'S OWNER WILL BE SEARCHING FOR THEIR LOST PACKAGE AND THE ONE WHO TOOK IT.]
Leo stared at the cryptic entries, his mind already working, cross-referencing the times and locations with his mental map of the city. This was bigger than a tutorial. He'd just graduated from petty theft and stumbled into the gears of a real criminal operation. The stakes had just exploded. He wasn't just hiding from cops; he was now prey for a different, likely far more dangerous, kind of predator. And the only way out was to become the most dangerous predator of them all. He wasn't just in their world now; he was in their game. And he intended to win.