Chapter 4 – Blood on the Docks
The rain had not stopped for three days.
London stank of wet brick, piss, and whiskey. But the Whitechapel docks were alive again—men moving crates under the smuggler's watchful eye, money flowing back into Alexander's vault.
Alexander stood on the pier, cigar glowing faintly in the fog, coat collar raised against the drizzle. His enforcer shadowed him silently, eyes scanning the mist.
"Report," Alexander murmured.
The smuggler lit his own cigarette. "Shipments running smoother, Boss. The Ratskins won't touch us anymore after that pub scene. But…" He hesitated. "…word is, Sabini's boys are watching. They don't like new blood."
Alexander smirked. "Then let them choke on it."
The system pulsed.
[New Mission: Secure Whitechapel Docks (Full).]
Reward: £1,000, +10 Reputation, Unlock: Smuggler Upgrade Route.
He exhaled smoke, amused. So the game wants me to get my hands dirty again.
A horn wailed in the distance—fog parted to reveal a steamer easing into port. Men rushed forward with ropes and crates. But shadows moved among them—Sabini's men, sharp suits, brass knuckles, blades flashing.
Chaos erupted.
The enforcer stepped forward instantly, Tommy gun spitting fire into the fog. Men screamed, fell into the water, blood mixing with rain.
Alexander walked calmly through it all, hands in pockets, cigar clenched between his teeth. He wasn't rushing, wasn't shouting. He was smiling.
He reached the nearest Sabini thug, who was frozen between fear and rage, and leaned close enough for the man to smell smoke and whiskey.
"Tell your boss…" Alexander whispered, "…London already has a devil."
Then he drove his knee into the man's gut and tossed him into the water.
By the time the guns went silent, the docks were his. Bodies floated, crates stood stacked in neat rows, and the men who remained bent their heads to the sharp-suited stranger who had appeared from nowhere.
[Mission Complete.]
Funds: +£1,000
Reputation: +10 – Rumors spread further.
Upgrade Route Unlocked: Smuggler → Route Captain.
Alexander blew a smoke ring into the fog. "Good. London moves for me now."
But as he turned, the smuggler lowered his voice. "Boss… whispers are reaching Birmingham. The Shelbys. They'll hear soon."
Alexander smirked. "Then let them. I'd like to meet them."
Chapter 5 – Cold Blue Eyes
Birmingham.
The Shelby offices buzzed with cigarette smoke and ledger books. But at the center of the storm sat Thomisina Shelby, cigarette dangling from crimson lips, her ice-blue eyes cutting across the room like knives.
Arthurina grumbled from the corner, whiskey in hand. "Word is, someone's stirring up trouble in London. Not Sabini. Not the Jews. Someone new."
Thomisina tapped ash into a tray, lips curving in the faintest of smiles. "I've heard."
A folder slid across her desk—newspaper clippings, dock reports, whispers. The Devil in London. A man who appeared from nowhere, sharp suits, cigars, an army of shadows.
"He's not one of ours," Polly muttered, worry flickering in her gaze. "He's dangerous. Too sudden. Too clean."
Thomisina leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowing. "Clean, perhaps. But not invisible."
She closed the folder with a snap.
"Send someone to watch him. Quietly. If he moves into Birmingham, I'll know."
Her voice was soft, but the chill in it was absolute.
Back in London, Alexander sat in his safehouse, smoke curling around the dim room. The smuggler's upgraded ledger sat before him—routes branching out, profits doubling. His enforcer oiled the Tommy gun in silence.
The system glowed.
[Upgrade Available – Smuggler → Route Captain. Cost: £1,500.]
He paid without hesitation.
The smuggler straightened, eyes gleaming sharper. "Boss. We've secured new docks in Kent. Smuggling lines from America will open soon. Bigger ships, bigger profits."
Alexander grinned. "Perfect."
Another puff of smoke. Another step higher.
But even as he laughed, the system flickered again—strangely.
[Warning: Unknown Observer Detected.]
He froze, eyes narrowing.
Somewhere in the foggy streets above, a Shelby spy watched from the shadows, scribbling notes of a tall, devilishly handsome man in a long coat, cigar glowing faintly in the night.
The report would go straight to Thomisina.
And in Birmingham, her cold blue eyes would narrow further.
The game had begun.