Chapter 1 — The System Arrived Late
The notification arrived three seconds after Anton should have died.
He was already on the ground when it chimed.
Not collapsed — placed there by impact. The alley wall still trembled faintly, dust sliding down brick seams in lazy threads. Pain came later. First came the inventory check: fingers moved, legs responded, lungs worked. Good enough.
Then the system spoke.
[Deferred Cognition Interface — Initial Sync Complete]
Anton stared at the rain-slick concrete inches from his face. Water pooled around his knuckles, darkening old scars. He breathed once. Twice.
"Late," he muttered.
The man who had hit him stood a few steps away, breathing hard, knuckles red. Not big. Not small either. One of those fighters who survived by ending things quickly.
Anton recognized the type instantly.
Fast resolution. No patience.
The system didn't say any of that.
[Environmental Scan: Urban Subsector — Low Threat]
Anton almost laughed.
The other man lunged again.
Anton rolled — awkwardly, deliberately wrong. His shoulder scraped brick. Pain flared. The lunge missed by less than a handspan. Close enough that Anton smelled cheap stimulants on the man's breath.
"You're slow," the man said, surprised.
Anton agreed.
He pushed himself up, movements uneven, weight shifting late. Anyone watching would have called it desperation.
The system tried to help.
[Combat Data Collection Active]
[Opponent Classification: Brawler-Type]
[Outcome Probability: 23%]
That felt optimistic.
The man stepped in, punch already traveling — clean, efficient, aimed for the jaw. The kind of strike that ended alley fights and careers.
Anton stepped back.
Too far.
His heel slipped in the water. Balance broke. The punch skimmed past his cheek, missing by accident rather than skill.
The man grinned.
Anton's left hand twitched.
Not toward the punch.
Toward the space the man would occupy after committing.
There was no dramatic wind-up. No shout. No technique the system could name.
Just timing.
Anton's fist touched the man's ribs — lightly. Almost apologetically.
A breath later, force arrived.
Compressed. Delayed. Focused into a point no wider than a coin.
The man folded.
Not flew. Not collapsed.
Folded — like his body had briefly forgotten how to exist in that shape.
He hit the ground without a sound.
Silence reclaimed the alley.
Rain continued.
The system hesitated.
[Technique Registered: Inconclusive]
[Force Classification: Minor Impact]
[Threat Reassessment: Pending]
Anton leaned against the wall, chest rising slowly now. His knuckles ached. Good. That meant it worked.
He looked down at the unconscious man.
"Should've finished faster," Anton said quietly.
The system finally updated.
[Survival Status: Confirmed]
Anton closed his eyes.
Three seconds too late.
That, he suspected, was going to be a pattern.
Above the alley, the city continued to move — indifferent, layered, ancient in ways the system hadn't started to measure yet.
Somewhere deeper, something watched.
Not him.
Just the outcome.
And the system, for once, had nothing useful to say.