South Town's nights were always more "lively" than its days.
Cloud stood on the rooftop of an abandoned building, feeling the explosive power surging through his body. He stretched luxuriously, his bones cracking in a satisfying series of pops.
The Super Soldier Serum's effects exceeded even his imagination.
...
[Host: Cloud (Super Soldier Trial Active)]
[Constitution: 20]
[Strength: 20]
[Agility: 20]
[Spirit: 12]
[Source Points: 50]
[Overall Assessment: High-quality human male. You might now be able to tank one of Terry's Power Waves head-on. (Friendly reminder: Please don't actually try this.)]
...
Looking at those three gleaming "20s," Cloud felt like he was floating.
Right now, he felt like he could punch a cow to death!
No—two cows!
He felt like a walking "life winner." Vision like a hawk, hearing that rivaled Daredevil.
Strength... well, probably not Hulk-level, but in this "starter zone" called South Town, it should be plenty for stomping noobs.
"System, scan the nearby area. Find me some high-value experience packs." Cloud gave the order like a customer browsing a menu.
[Ding! Scanning... Located: Three blocks away, 'Butcher Gang' members conducting 'unauthorized fundraising' activities.]
[Target count: 5. Armed with cleavers, steel pipes, and other melee weapons. Combined threat level: Low. Estimated plunder yield: Medium. Navigate to location?]
"Butcher Gang? Sounds nice and fat." A cruel smile curved Cloud's lips. "Navigate. Let's go!"
He stepped back a few paces, then burst into a sprint. His legs exploded with terrifying force.
At the rooftop's edge, he leaped!
"Woohoo~ We have liftoff!"
Cloud's body traced an exaggerated arc of over thirty feet through the air, easily clearing the gap between buildings and landing steadily on the opposite roof.
The landing barely made a sound—just two shallow footprints pressed into the surface.
This feeling... incredible!
The Super Soldier Serum's enhanced physique let him ignore terrain obstacles, approaching targets via the most efficient, most covert routes possible.
...
"Hehehe, sweetheart, stop struggling! Hand over everything valuable, or my knife here might slip!"
In a dark back alley, five tattooed thugs had cornered a white-collar woman just getting off work. Sleazy grins plastered their faces.
The woman was pale with terror, trembling as she clutched her handbag, staring at these wolf-like men with despair.
"Please... let me go... I'll give you all my money..."
"We'll take the money. And you... we're taking you too!" The leader—a guy with a scar across his face—leered as he reached his filthy hand toward her cheek.
That's when a lazy voice drifted in from behind them like a ghost.
"Working overtime this late, gentlemen? True role models of South Town's labor force."
The five thugs whipped around. An Asian youth in an ordinary jacket was leaning against the alley wall.
"Who the hell are you, punk? Playing hero?" Scarface spat viciously. "Scram if you don't want to die!"
"Now, now." Cloud slowly straightened up, rolling his wrists as he walked toward them. His smile grew brighter. "I'm not here to play hero. I'm here to... rob you."
"Huh?"
The five thugs froze, then erupted into raucous laughter, doubled over, tears practically streaming.
"Did he just say—he's going to rob us?"
"Hahaha! Is this kid drunk or did a donkey kick him in the head? One guy, bare-handed, robbing five of us with knives?"
"Best joke of the year! I hereby award him the Nobel Prize in Comedy!"
Even the woman was looking at Cloud like he was an idiot, her last shred of hope evaporating.
"Done laughing?" Cloud asked softly.
"Since you're in such a rush to die, I'll help you along!" Scarface's smile vanished, replaced by murderous intent. He swung his cleaver in a vicious overhead chop.
The woman squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch the bloody scene.
But the expected scream never came.
Instead, she heard a crisp clang—like metal striking metal.
She cautiously cracked open one eye, and the sight made her forget to breathe.
The youth had caught that heavy cleaver—with just two fingers.
The blade hovered less than an inch from his forehead, unable to advance a single millimeter further.
"How... how is this possible?!" Scarface's eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He pushed with all his might, but the cleaver might as well have been welded in place.
"Too weak. Too slow. Angle's too predictable." Cloud shook his head, his tone like a martial arts master critiquing a junior student. Disappointed.
"This is the best you've got, and you dare call yourselves muggers? You're insulting the time-honored profession of robbery."
As he finished speaking, his fingers clamped down.
CRACK!
The steel cleaver snapped in his grip.
Scarface stared at the broken handle in his hand, brain short-circuiting.
Then Cloud moved.
His figure seemed to teleport, appearing instantly before Scarface. A simple, direct punch—no flourishes—slammed into his abdomen.
THUMP!
A muffled impact. Scarface's body folded like a cooked shrimp, eyes bulging.
Last night's dinner came spraying out of his mouth. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious on the spot.
The remaining four thugs went pale with terror, finally realizing what kind of iron plate they'd kicked.
"RUN!"
The four scrambled to flee.
"Running now? Too late."
Cloud's afterimages streaked through the narrow alley.