I woke up to someone knocking on my door.
Not gentle knocking. The kind that said open up or I'm kicking this door down. My first thought: police. They'd connected me to the construction site. Game over.
I grabbed my phone. 6:47 AM. Eighteen missed notifications from the app.
The knocking got louder.
"Kane Rivera?" A woman's voice. Professional. Sharp. "I know you're awake. Open the door."
I pulled on jeans and limped over. Every step sent lightning through my ribs. The bruises from last night had turned my entire torso into a Jackson Pollock painting—purple, yellow, some experimental greens.
I cracked the door open, chain lock still engaged.
The woman in my hallway looked like she charged five hundred dollars an hour. Mid-thirties, tailored black suit that probably cost more than my rent, hair pulled back so tight it could cut glass. She held a tablet in one hand and designer coffee in the other.
"Kane Rivera," she said. Not a question.
"Depends who's asking."
Her smile was a surgical instrument. "Victoria Cross. I represent clients interested in your recent work."
My blood turned cold. "I don't know what—"
"We can do this in the hallway," she interrupted, "or inside. Your choice. But I promise you want this conversation private."
I closed the door, unlatched the chain, opened it again.
Victoria walked in like she owned the building. She scanned my apartment with the expression of someone inspecting a crime scene. Eviction notice on the floor. Protein bar wrappers everywhere. Mattress with no frame.
"Charming," she said, meaning dear god.
"Look, about last night—"
"That's exactly why I'm here." She set her coffee down and activated her tablet. My Hero for Rent profile appeared. Stats. Mission history. Everything. "Level 3 in under seventy-two hours. You completed a C-Rank rescue mission while Level 2. Survival probability: twelve percent. Six hostages extracted. Zero casualties."
She swiped. "And you found Margaret Chen's cat."
"Mr. Whiskers was right there—"
"Mr. Whiskers," Victoria repeated, like she was testing the words for poison. "Five-star review. Margaret wants to hire you again. Her grandson's being bullied."
I stared. "You're serious."
"I'm always serious." She closed the tablet. "You've been flagged for Elite Client Access. Most heroes wash out at F-Rank. You hit it in three days and you're already forty-seven percent toward E-Rank."
"Is this where you recruit me for some secret organization?"
"No. This is where I tell you the app you downloaded isn't an app."
Silence.
Victoria's smile vanished. "It's an interface. A connection to something much larger. The missions are real. The money is real. The stats, the skills, the levels—all real. But what you're actually doing?" She leaned forward. "You're being tested."
"Tested for what?"
"To see if you're worth investing in." She pulled something from her pocket. A black card. Matte finish, no writing except a phone number embossed in gold. "Elite Clients pay premium rates. They also expect premium results. Yesterday's gang operation? That was a fluke. You survived through luck and desperation."
My luck stat flashed in my mind: 2/10.
"Elite Missions require preparation," Victoria continued. "Training. Equipment. Strategy. The app will provide some of that. But you'll need more." She handed me the card. "Call this number. Tomorrow, 9 AM. Someone will bring you what you need."
"What I need for what?"
"Your first Elite Mission." She picked up her coffee. "Client is a CEO. His daughter's been kidnapped. Ransom demand is twenty million. Police are involved but ineffective. He wants results in forty-eight hours."
My mouth went dry. "That's not a mission. That's a suicide run."
"It's a B-Rank mission. Payment is fifty thousand credits."
Fifty thousand. Fifty thousand dollars.
"You're insane," I said. "I'm a college student. I found a cat and barely survived three gang members with a crowbar. You want me to rescue a CEO's daughter?"
"I want you to try." Victoria walked to the door. "The app chose you, Kane. It doesn't make mistakes. Whether you're smart enough to accept that opportunity is up to you."
She paused at the threshold. "Forty-eight hours. Call the number or decline the mission. But know this: Elite Clients remember refusals. Forever."
The door clicked shut.
I stood there, holding the black card, thinking about fifty thousand dollars.
My phone buzzed.
ELITE MISSION AVAILABLE
CLIENT: Richard Holloway (CEO, Holloway Industries)
MISSION: Rescue Kidnapped Daughter
DIFFICULTY: B-RANK
PAYMENT: 50,000 CREDITS
TIME LIMIT: 48 HOURS
ACCEPT / DECLINE
Below that, another notification:
WARNING: Your current level and equipment are insufficient for this mission. Recommended minimum: Level 5, Combat Gear (Basic), Support Team.
Current Status: Level 3, No Equipment, Solo
Estimated Success Rate: 4%
Four percent.
I looked around my apartment. At the eviction notice. The empty fridge. The life that was slowly crushing me into dust.
Then I looked at the black card.
I made the call.
The voice that answered was male, emotionless, efficient. "Name."
"Kane Rivera. Victoria Cross sent me—"
"Address."
I gave it.
"Tomorrow, 9 AM. Don't be late."
Click.
I spent the rest of the day researching Richard Holloway. Billionaire tech CEO. His company made security software, ironically. Daughter's name: Sophia. Sixteen years old. Kidnapped three days ago from her private school. Police had no leads. Media was calling it "the crime of the decade."
And I was supposed to solve it.
"I'm going to die," I muttered.
My phone buzzed. Not the app. A text from my roommate from freshman year, Derek.
Derek: Yo dude, you coming to Marcus's party tonight? Gonna be sick.
I stared at the message. Normal college student things. Parties. Friends. A life that didn't involve gangs and hostages and missions with four percent success rates.
I typed back: Can't. Got a big project due.
Not a lie.
At 8:47 PM, my phone buzzed with a new mission:
MISSION: Campus Security
CLIENT: Anonymous
LOCATION: University Campus, East Building
DIFFICULTY: F-RANK
PAYMENT: 300 CREDITS
TIME LIMIT: 2 HOURS
DESCRIPTION: Investigate reported suspicious activity. Verify and report. No engagement required.
Three hundred credits. Easy money. Low risk.
I accepted it. I needed something simple. Something to clear my head before tomorrow's insanity.
The East Building was the old science facility, scheduled for demolition next month. Nobody used it anymore. Asbestos issues, structural problems, the usual.
I arrived at 9:15 PM. The building was dark, surrounded by chain-link fence and warning signs. The app marked a specific room on the third floor.
I slipped through a gap in the fence and entered through a side door someone had pried open.
Inside, the building was a tomb. Water damage. Mold. The smell of rot and decay. My footsteps echoed off broken tiles. Emergency lights flickered, casting everything in sickly red.
Third floor. Room 347.
I pushed the door open.
The room was empty except for a table in the center. On the table: a laptop, open, screen glowing.
And next to the laptop: a photo of me.
My student ID photo. The same one from my Hero for Rent profile.
Below it, handwritten in red marker:
WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
My blood turned to ice.
The laptop screen changed. A video started playing.
It was footage from the construction site. Me fighting the gang members. Me opening the cages. Me rescuing the hostages.
Every angle. Multiple cameras. Professional quality.
The video ended. A message appeared:
YOU HAVE 24 HOURS TO DECLINE ALL MISSIONS AND DELETE THE APP.
OR WE EXPOSE YOU.
ASSAULT. VIGILANTISM. UNLAWFUL IMPRISONMENT.
YOUR CHOICE, HERO.
My phone buzzed.
MISSION UPDATED: CAMPUS SECURITY
NEW OBJECTIVE: NEUTRALIZE THREAT
DIFFICULTY ADJUSTED: C-RANK
ADDITIONAL PAYMENT: +2,000 CREDITS
I heard footsteps behind me.
Multiple sets.
I turned.
Three figures stood in the doorway, backlit by the emergency lights. They wore masks—plain white, featureless, horror movie material.
The middle one spoke: "Delete the app, Kane. Walk away. Live your normal life."
"And if I don't?"
"Then we make sure you never complete another mission."
The one on the left pulled out a metal pipe. The one on the right cracked their knuckles.
My phone buzzed one more time:
COMBAT INITIATED
ENEMIES: (×3)
WARNING: ENEMIES POSSESS UNKNOWN ABILITIES
RETREAT RECOMMENDED
I looked at the photo of myself on the table. At the video evidence. At the three masked figures blocking my only exit.
Then I smiled.
"You know what's funny?" I said. "You went through all this trouble. The cameras. The threats. The dramatic reveal."
I picked up the laptop and threw it at them.
They scattered.
I grabbed the table and flipped it, creating a barrier, and ran for the window.
"Stop him!" one shouted.
I hit the window with my shoulder. Old glass. Weak frame. It shattered.
I was on the third floor.
Below me: dumpsters. Piles of construction debris. Maybe six feet of clearance if I aimed right.
AGILITY CHECK REQUIRED
CURRENT AGILITY: 6/10
FALL DAMAGE MITIGATION: 40%
I jumped.
The world went sideways. Wind. Gravity. The horrible certainty that I'd miscalculated.
I hit the dumpster bags at an angle, rolled, fell off the side, and slammed into the concrete.
DAMAGE TAKEN: 28 HP
CURRENT HP: 22/50
CRITICAL: LOW HEALTH
Everything hurt. But I was alive.
Above me, the masked figures appeared at the broken window.
I ran.
Four blocks away, I collapsed in an alley—my third alley in three days, a personal record—and checked my phone.
MISSION COMPLETE: CAMPUS SECURITY
THREAT NEUTRALIZED (TACTICAL RETREAT)
2,300 CREDITS TRANSFERRED
WARNING: YOU HAVE BEEN MARKED
HOSTILE ORGANIZATION: UNKNOWN
THREAT LEVEL: MODERATE
RECOMMENDATION: INCREASE COMBAT EFFECTIVENESS
A new message appeared:
FROM: VICTORIA CROSS
I heard about your evening. Exciting. The people hunting you are called "The Cleaners." They hate what we do. They'll try to stop you. Don't let them.
Your equipment arrives in 11 hours. Get some rest.
You'll need it.
I looked at my HP bar: 22/50. My credits: 9,000. My list of enemies: growing rapidly.
Tomorrow, someone would bring me equipment for a mission with a four percent success rate.
Tonight, someone wanted me dead.
I pulled up the Elite Mission notification.
ACCEPT / DECLINE
My finger hovered over DECLINE.
Fifty thousand dollars. A CEO's daughter. Kidnappers. The Cleaners. Victoria Cross. A mystery app that had turned my life into a video game with real consequences.
I thought about my mom. Working two jobs. Worried about me. Sending me texts asking if I'd eaten.
I thought about the six people I'd saved from those cages.
I thought about who I was three days ago: broke, failing, drowning.
And who I was now.
I pressed ACCEPT.
My phone chimed.
ELITE MISSION ACCEPTED
TIME REMAINING: 47 HOURS, 23 MINUTES
PREPARATION PHASE INITIATED
GOOD LUCK, HERO. YOU'LL NEED IT.
Somewhere in the city, a sixteen-year-old girl was waiting to be rescued.
And I was the idiot who'd just volunteered to try.