People say you never forget your first kiss.
I say you never forget your first knife.
The first kiss leaves you breathless.
The first knife leaves you breathless and leaking.
But hey, memories are memories.
Let's rewind.
My death was the opposite of cinematic. There was no tragic violin soundtrack, no slow-motion tears. Just a jittery crackhead in an alley and a knife. Just an average, mundane death-a tragic, stupid end that'll be in the news for a day and forgotten by tomorrow.
-
-
"Wallet," he croaked.
That was his grand line. One word. Didn't even shake me down with style, the attempt was pathetic, unskillful, or lacking in the finesse one would expect from a seasoned criminal.. No 'Give me your cash, punk,' no 'Stick 'em up!.' Just 'wallet.' though. I didn't have a dollar on me, only an ID and some useless receipts to make my wallet look full.
I almost laughed before he even stabbed me.
But then-oh, he did stab me. Right in the gut. Right in that soft, fleshy part you don't even think about protecting until it's too late. Cold metal in, hot liquid out, as he pulled the knife free.
He panicked. His pupils shrank to pinpricks, and his whole body shook like a wind-up toy about to snap. His lips mumbled, "oh God oh God," over and over like a broken record.
And me?
I laughed.
Why?. Because his fear was so pure it deserved applause. He looked more scared than I felt, standing there shaking like he'd just murdered Santa Claus.
Imagine dying and your final act is making your killer piss himself. Beautiful.
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-
The world dimmed. My body crumpled. My blood hit the ground with a soft pat pat pat. He ran as I dropped to the ground, but once I was sure he was gone, I walked in the opposite direction.
I had to press my luck to see if I'd survive and worry about hospital bills later. I cursed my luck for selling my phone the other day and myself for taking a shortcut through the alley to my dorm. After walking for twenty straight minutes and not finding anyone to help, everything went black.
Black. Endless. Void.
Then it came the voice.
It was a glitchy, mechanical static that crawled right into my skull.
[System Initialization…]
[Identity Erased. Soul Transferred.]
[Welcome, Host, to the Horror System.]
'Horror System?'
That sounded like a knockoff game you'd find in a bargain bin.
But then my eyes opened.
The city was still here. Same cracked sidewalks, same stink and wet trash, same light signs buzzing like flies.
I checked my reflection in a darkened shop window. Same face. Same pale skin. Same tired eyes. Fifteen again. Me, but not me. A ghost in flesh.
And then the static returned:
[Horror System: Active.]
[Objective: Generate Fear.]
[Fear Points: 0.]
[Exchange: Points may be traded for abilities, skills, privileges.]
[Bonus: Reputation multiplies Fear Point gain.]
The words glowed in my mind, then faded like someone had switched off the subtitles.
Well. That was new.
Scare people. Earn points. Spend points. Get strong.
Basically a loyalty program for psychopaths.
I grinned.
Fear was my new currency. And unlike money, fear was everywhere, cheap, renewable, dripping from every fragile little human walking the streets.
'Time to test the system.'
I picked the first poor soul in my path a bored clerk in a convenience store.
The place reeked of mop water and stale gum. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like electric mosquitoes. The clerk barely looked at me, slumped over the counter, face glowing in the light of his phone screen.
Perfect.
I grabbed a soda from the fridge, walked up to the counter, and bam slammed it down hard enough to crack the glass. Carbonated foam gushed across the counter like a geyser.
The clerk flinched, nearly falling off his stool. His eyes went wide, his chest jerked. Fear. That perfect, involuntary spike.
And then I felt it. A shiver inside me, like someone had just dropped a coin into my brain.
[Fear Points: +1.]
One point. For a soda.
I bit back a laugh, just smirking while he shouted, "Jesus, what the fuvk is wrong with you kid!." His voice trembled just enough to make me want to break another one.
But I didn't push it.
I left the store, sprinting and one soda in my hand.
One point down. An infinite amount to go.
The city stretched around me, restless and boring, but for today I saw it differently. Every stranger was a walking ATM. I just had to figure out the right PIN code.
The System mentioned reputation. That meant rumors. Legends. Urban myths.
I could become the faceless kid in alleys. The laughing corpse. If people whispered my name in fear, my points would skyrocket.
It was all just business. Terror was the product. Humanity was the market.
And I?
I was the retail theft.
I found myself back in the alley where I'd died. My grave. My origin story.
The bloodstain was still there, dark and sticky on the concrete. I crouched, ran a finger through the dried crust, and lifted it to my lips. Tasted iron. Rusty, bitter.
"Disgusting," I whispered, and almost vomited.
The addict who killed me was still out there, probably sweating through withdrawals, haunted by the sound of my laughter. Did he see me in every shadow? Hear me in every quiet moment?
I hoped so. Fear had a long shelf life, and I intended to cash it in.
But I wasn't going to waste my first masterpiece on him. Not yet.
A hunter doesn't test his rifle on the prize buck. First, you start small. Rabbits. Birds. Something you can afford to mess up.
And then, when you're ready, you take the big shot.
I stood, stretched.
"Let's get rich," I told the night.
________________________________________
A Note from the Author,
This is going to be my first attempt at an original novel, and I wanted to share it with you all.
Please note that I feel this first chapter might be missing a little something, and that the execution might be a bit rough, so I'll probably edit it later
Also, a quick heads-up about the release schedule it will likely be irregular. As writing is a hobby for me, my full-time job will take priority, so I won't be able to post new chapters every day. Thank you for your understanding!