The rain started falling ten minutes after Adrian McCall lost everything.
Not the dramatic kind of rain that movies loved—the heavy, symbolic downpour that matched a man's suffering. This was thin, persistent, irritating. It soaked into his jacket slowly, crept down the collar, dampened the papers clutched in his hand until the ink began to blur.
Termination notice.
Black text on white paper.
Signed. Stamped. Final.
Adrian stood under the awning of a closed convenience store, staring at the glass reflection of himself like it might blink and tell him this was a misunderstanding. Thirty-one years old. Unshaven. Tie loosened. Eyes sunken, but not from sleepless nights—no, from the slow erosion of hope.
Behind the glass, neon advertisements flickered. Buy two, get one free.
Funny how the world kept offering deals.
The email had come first.
We regret to inform you…
Then the security escort.
Then the walk of shame past coworkers who wouldn't meet his eyes.
Then the final insult: the HR manager—Melissa—offering him a tight smile and a pamphlet about "coping with sudden career changes."
Sudden.
Adrian exhaled slowly and folded the paper, careful, deliberate, as though the neatness mattered. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He already knew who it was before he checked.
Unknown Number
He answered anyway.
"Mr. McCall," a man's voice said smoothly. Calm. Confident. The kind of voice that never worried about rent. "This is Victor Hale, representing Hale & Partners."
Adrian's jaw tightened.
"Your firm," Victor continued, "has accepted our settlement terms. Effective immediately, you are to cease all involvement with the Rothwell case."
Settlement.
The word tasted bitter.
"You falsified evidence," Adrian said quietly. "Your client killed a man."
A pause. Then a chuckle.
"Be careful with accusations," Victor said. "They can be… expensive."
Adrian closed his eyes.
The Rothwell case had been his chance. Not promotion—justice. A pedestrian hit-and-run covered up by money and influence. Adrian had followed the paper trail, uncovered the shell companies, traced the bribes.
And then his own firm had pulled him in.
Drop it, they'd said.
You're not seeing the bigger picture.
Don't be naïve.
Victor's voice lowered. "You should be grateful. Some people don't land on their feet after pushing too hard."
The call ended.
Rain slid down Adrian's cheek, indistinguishable from sweat or something else. He laughed once—short, humorless.
"So that's it," he murmured to no one.
Justice had a price tag. He just couldn't afford it.
By nightfall, the city had swallowed him whole.
Traffic roared past in rivers of red and white light. Umbrellas collided. Laughter spilled from bars. Somewhere above, penthouses glowed warm and untouched by the weather.
Adrian walked.
No destination. Just movement.
His apartment was waiting—technically. But the landlord's final notice sat unread in his inbox. Three months behind. He could already imagine the forced politeness, the we tried to work with you speech.
His phone buzzed again.
Mom
He didn't answer.
What would he say? Hey, remember how you said things would get better if I kept my head down? Turns out the city prefers it when you stay broken.
A sudden shove knocked him sideways. Adrian stumbled, catching himself on a lamppost as a group of men passed, laughing loudly. One of them glanced back, eyes lingering with faint contempt, then looked away.
Invisible.
That was the word.
Not poor enough to matter. Not rich enough to be protected. Just… disposable.
Adrian straightened slowly, his heart beating harder than it should have. Not fear. Something else. A pressure in his chest, building over years, compressed into a single, suffocating moment.
He looked up at the skyline.
Glass towers. Corporate logos. Billboards smiling down like gods who had never bled.
The city didn't care.
And for the first time, Adrian realized something with terrifying clarity.
Maybe it never deserved his respect.
The alley was narrow and dim, lit by a single flickering bulb. Adrian hadn't planned to turn into it. He just… did. The noise of the street faded behind him, replaced by the drip of water and the distant hum of machinery.
He leaned against the brick wall and slid down until he was sitting on the wet concrete.
His hands shook.
"Get a grip," he muttered.
But his body didn't listen.
His career was gone. His savings were thin. His reputation—poisoned. All because he'd tried to do the right thing in a system that rewarded the opposite.
A sound echoed from deeper in the alley. Footsteps. Unhurried.
Adrian tensed.
Three men emerged from the shadows. Hoodies. Relaxed postures. Predatory smiles. One of them twirled a knife lazily, like a toy.
"Wrong place, man," the tallest said.
Adrian stood. Slowly. His pulse thundered in his ears.
"I'm just leaving," he said.
The man laughed. "Nah. You're just arriving."
They moved fast.
The first punch caught Adrian in the ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs. Pain exploded. He doubled over, gasping, and a boot slammed into his side.
"Wallet," someone said. "Phone too."
Adrian tried to resist—instinct more than courage. The knife pressed against his throat. Cold. Final.
In that moment, something inside him snapped.
Not fear.
Resignation.
So this is it, he thought. Reduced to this.
The city taking its final cut.
His wallet was ripped away. His phone followed. The men laughed, already losing interest.
Then the knife-holder leaned closer. "You know," he said casually, "people like you always think the rules matter."
He stepped back.
Adrian slid down the wall again as they left, his body trembling, pain radiating through him in sharp waves. Rain soaked his hair, plastered it to his forehead.
He stared at the ground.
A broken laugh bubbled up and died in his throat.
"Rules," he whispered hoarsely.
The word felt obscene.
Something changed.
At first, Adrian thought it was dizziness. The alley blurred, shadows stretching unnaturally, bending toward him like curious onlookers.
Then a sound—not heard, but felt.
A low, resonant hum, vibrating through his bones.
[Analyzing Host Emotional State…]
Adrian froze.
The voice was calm. Mechanical. Indifferent.
[Conclusion: Host exhibits extreme resentment, disillusionment, and suppressed aggression.]
"What…?" His lips barely moved.
The air in front of him rippled.
A translucent interface flickered into existence, sharp lines cutting through the rain like something that did not belong.
[Compatibility confirmed.]
[Villain Authority System initializing…]
Adrian's heart slammed against his ribs.
Hallucination. Shock. Concussion. Any explanation was better than the alternative.
[This world operates on power, influence, and hypocrisy.]
[You have been crushed by all three.]
The words felt invasive. Accurate.
[Would you like the ability to rewrite your position within this hierarchy?]
Adrian swallowed.
"And the cost?" he asked.
A pause.
[You will rise by ruining lives.]
Images flashed through his mind—Victor Hale's calm smile. Melissa's averted gaze. The laughing men in the alley. The city's towering indifference.
Ruining lives.
He should have recoiled.
Instead, a strange calm settled over him.
"I already tried playing fair," Adrian said quietly. "Look where that got me."
The interface pulsed.
[First Task Generated.]
[Target: Victor Hale.]
[Objective: Publicly dismantle his professional standing.]
[Reward: Authority Points + Skill Unlock.]
Adrian laughed.
Softly. Dangerously.
"Of course," he murmured.
The rain fell harder.
And for the first time in his life, Adrian McCall didn't feel invisible.
He felt seen.
Somewhere else in the city, Victor Hale paused mid-sentence during a dinner meeting, a sudden chill crawling up his spine. He frowned, shaking the feeling off.
Just stress, he told himself.
After all, the system always protected its own.
He had no idea how wrong he was.