Kurt sat in the alley, just breathing. His chest rose and fell while his mind spun in useless circles, chasing answers that weren't there.
He knew things. How to throw a punch. How to read. The fact that cigarettes existed and he probably wanted one. But his name? Where he lived? What he did for a living?
Fucking nothing.
A blue screen suddenly flickered into existence in front of his face, and this time he was in a proper state to actually notice.
[RESURRECTION SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
[Welcome, User]
Kurt jerked backward, his hand splashing into something wet and foul smelling. "What the—"
The screen didn't care about his reaction. It just kept displaying information with the casual indifference of a parking meter.
"Oh, for fuck's sake." He finally realized where his hand was and wiped it on the cleanest bit of wall he could find, which wasn't saying much. Shifting his attention back to the glowing screen afterwards.
[Deaths: 1]
[Ability Gained]
[Kinetic Absorption - F Rank]
He stared at it, then he waved his hand through the screen. His fingers passed through it like smoke and the text stayed fixed in his vision, visible only to him.
"Right. So I'm either dead, insane, or some poor bastard's idea of a joke." He stood up slowly, testing his legs and they worked fine. Better than fine, actually. Like he'd just woken up from the best sleep of his life instead of dying in what was presumably a dungeon.
With a chime, the screen flickered and changed.
[RESURRECTION SYSTEM - LEVEL 1]
Name: ??? (Locked)
Deaths: 1
Near-Deaths: 0
[ATTRIBUTES]
Strength: 8
Agility: 9
Perception: 7
Luck: 5
Available Points: 3
[ABILITIES]
[Kinetic Absorption - F Rank]
- Absorb impact damage and convert to temporary strength
- Cost to next rank (E): 5 points
[Reaper Detection: DORMANT (30 days)]
[Next System Level: 9 deaths remaining]
Kurt read it twice, his eyes lingering on the "Name: ???" line. Even the bloody screen didn't know who he was.
"Deaths. Plural." He looked down at his hands again, turning them over. "So I died. And now I'm... what? Respawning like some video game character?"
The screen offered no commentary. Just cold, clinical data about his apparently shit-tier statistics and a single ability that sounded about as useful as a parachute with a hole in it.
While he was still wrapping his head around the first, another notification popped up.
[NEW QUEST AVAILABLE]
- Discover Your Identity
- Reward: 5 Points
Kurt barked out a laugh. "Oh, you're taking the piss now, aren't you? 'Discover your identity.' Brilliant. Any hints, or am I supposed to wander around asking random strangers if they know some bloke with amnesia?"
The screen, predictably, said nothing.
"Thought so." He dismissed it with a thought, and it had vanished. But the knowledge remained, embedded in his mind like instinct.
He seemed to have an idea of what the system was. He vaguely knew what it could do. He just didn't know who the hell he was.
Did he have family? Friends? A lover? Regardless of the sudden quest, he needed to know. Not to gain stupid points but for his own sake.
At the far end, the alley opened onto a street. He could hear traffic, voices, car alarms. Basically, the ambient noise of a city going about its business.
Kurt started walking. His legs carried him with easy confidence, like his body knew what it was doing even if his brain was still catching up. He stepped over a puddle that definitely wasn't water and past a dumpster that smelled like something had died in it.
Then he emerged onto a street that looked like the architectural equivalent of giving up. Buildings with barred windows, storefronts with metal shutters, and people moving with the hunched posture of folks who knew better than to make eye contact.
A sign across the street caught his eye. Bold red letters on a faded white background: F-RANK DISTRICT.
F-Rank. Just like his statistics and ability.
"Oh, this just gets better and better." He turned in a slow circle, taking in the district. Everything looked run-down, dangerous, poor. The kind of place where people got stabbed for their shoes and nobody bothered to call for help.
His kind of place, apparently.
Kurt watched as a man with a knife casually approached a passerby. "Aren't those my shoes?" The passerby understood without question and immediately took them off.
"The shirt looks familiar too," the man added, and the passerby began unbuttoning, tears welling up in his eyes.
Kurt kept moving with his head down, mimicking the way people moved with the careful awareness of prey animals. Eyes constantly scanning, hands near weapons, and nobody trusting anyone.
Kurt felt oddly at home.
Then a commotion of raised voices and a woman's scream erupted from a side street. Kurt's instincts told him to walk away, mind his own business, but curiosity was a persistent bastard.
He turned down the side street.
The alley was narrow and dark. Two men had a lady backed against a wall. She was small, had a young look, with dark blue hair, a bow strapped on it, and wide frightened teal eyes.
The men were bigger, uglier, and clearly not interested in conversation. "Just give us the cores," the taller one said. "Nobody has to get hurt."
"Please," the girl whimpered as her hand clutched a small pouch at her belt. "I need these. I have to pay rent, I—"
"Not our problem." The shorter man grabbed her wrist. "Hand them over."
She struggled, tears streaming down her face. "Please, no!"
Kurt watched from the mouth of the alley and something felt off. The girl's fear seemed... performative. Too much trembling, too many tears. And the men's positions were wrong. They weren't even boxing her in properly. She had an escape route if she wanted it.
Still, it wasn't his business.
He turned to leave, then...
"Help!" the girl screamed, her eyes locking onto him. "Please, someone help me!"
The two men turned to look at him and the taller one's face twisted into a sneer. "Walk away, mate. This doesn't concern you."
Kurt studied them. The positioning. The body language. The girl's calculated desperation.
"You know," he said like he was having a chat, "I'd love to play the hero. Swoop in, save the damsel, maybe get a grateful kiss for my troubles. Very satisfying, that." He leaned against the wall and pulled out a cigarette he didn't remember having. "But here's the thing... this is bollocks."
The girl's expression flickered. Just for a second, the fear vanished, replaced by something calculating.
"What are you talking about?" she said, voice still trembling. "Hello... they're trying to rob me here!"
"Yeah, I got that. Except you're not actually scared are ya?" Kurt patted the same coat he discovered the pack in and found a lighter. "Fantastic."
He lit the cigarette, took a drag, and turned his attention back to the obvious scam job. "You're good, I'll give you that. The tears are a nice touch. But your stance is all wrong. You're not trying to get away. You're positioned to move toward whoever comes to help."
The shorter man's hand moved toward his jacket. "You've got quite the imagination, friend."
"And you've got a knife up your sleeve. Left side, if I'm not mistaken." Kurt blew out smoke. "Let me guess how this works. Sweet damsel in distress attracts a hero. Hero intervenes. She gets close, distracts him, and you two lovely gentlemen relieve the hero of his valuables, if he's got any. Simple. Effective. Probably works nine times out of ten in a shithole like this."
The girl straightened up, tears drying instantly. Her whole demeanor changed as shoulders went back and eyes got sharper. "Dang it, we're blown."
"Yeah." Kurt smiled. "So here's what's going to happen. You three are going to find a different alley and a different mark, and I'm going to continue my existential crisis in peace. Sound good?"
The taller man pulled a knife. "Or we could just take your shit anyway."
Kurt sighed. "Brother, there's no shit to take. So can't we just have a civilized conversation and part as friends?"
"No."
"Fair enough."
The man lunged and Kurt sidestepped, stuck out his foot, and watched the bastard tumble face-first into a pile of trash.
The shorter man came next with his knife pointed out. Kurt caught his wrist, twisted, and drove his knee into the man's stomach and watched the knife clatter to the ground.
The woman pulled out a small blade, unsure of her actions and came at him from the side. Kurt spun, grabbed her arm, and yanked her off balance as she stumbled into the shorter man, and they both went down groaning lightly.
The taller man got to his feet, wiping filth from his face. Then he looked at Kurt, at his two partners on the ground, and apparently decided this wasn't worth the trouble.
"Fuck this," he muttered, and ran.
The other two scrambled up and followed as the young lady cried out not to leave her behind while running, leaving Kurt alone in the alley with his cigarette and his thoughts.
"Well, that was bracing." He took another drag and looked at the spot where the girl had been. A small piece of paper lay on the ground where she'd dropped it.
Kurt picked it up and read. It had an address on it and a single word: "Foxhole."
"This definitely won't be important in the near future." He pocketed the paper and kept walking.
***
The streets got marginally less terrible as he moved deeper into the district. The buildings were still ugly, but at least they had intact windows and the people looked slightly less likely to stab him for sport.
He walked for what felt like hours, taking in the chaos. People fought in the streets, some with fists, others with bursts of energy that crackled through the air and left scorch marks on the ground.
He watched a woman lift a car with a flick of her wrist and hurl it at a man who dodged and retaliated with a blade of compressed air.
'Essence.' The word surfaced in his mind without context. Whatever it was, people here used it like breathing.
Kurt eventually found himself standing in front of what looked like a bar. The sign above the door read "The Gaping Ass" in faded letters, and through the grimy windows he could see people inside.
"The Gaping Ass." He said it out loud, testing the words. "That's one hell of a name."
He needed information. Needed to figure out who he was, where he was, and why he had a bloody resurrection system in his head. And apparently, he needed to do it in a bar called The Gaping Ass.
"Well, when in Rome... or whatever shithole this is."
Kurt pushed open the door and stepped inside.
***
A/N: I hope you're enjoying this so far. Add to Library and send a power stone or two if you're. Thank you and peace!