Scarface's hand never reached Luificar's collar.
The moment the man's thick fingers extended, Luificar's body acted before his conscious mind could issue a command. His left hand snapped up and caught Scarface's wrist, twisting it outward at an angle that sent a jolt of pain shooting up the thug's arm. Simultaneously, Luificar's right foot swept forward and hooked behind Scarface's ankle. A sharp pull, a twist of the hips, and the two-hundred-pound enforcer was airborne for a split second before crashing onto the sticky pavement with a sound like a side of beef hitting a butcher's block.
The air rushed out of Scarface's lungs in a wet gasp. His head bounced off the concrete. His eyes went wide with shock and pain, the confident sneer completely erased from his face.
Fifty-two seconds remaining.
The younger thug, the one with the permanent sneer, stared at his fallen partner with his mouth hanging open. His brain was still processing the image of a scrawny eighteen-year-old orphan flipping a grown man onto his back like a judo master. That hesitation was a luxury Luificar could not afford.
He stepped over Scarface's groaning form and closed the distance to the second thug in two quick strides. The system's combat reflex package was flooding his nervous system with information. He could see the slight shift in the young man's weight that indicated he was about to throw a wild right hook. He could see the way the thug's eyes flickered to the left, telegraphing the punch before his muscles even began to move.
The hook came, wide and clumsy. Luificar ducked under it, feeling the wind of the blow pass over his hair. He drove the heel of his palm upward into the soft underside of the thug's chin. The impact jarred his wrist, but the effect was immediate. The young man's teeth clacked together with a sickening crack, and his eyes rolled back as his brain rattled inside his skull. He crumpled to the ground next to Scarface, unconscious before his knees hit the pavement.
Thirty-eight seconds remaining.
Luificar stood over the two fallen men, his chest heaving. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel his pulse in his temples. The combat reflexes were still active, flooding him with a cold, tactical awareness that felt completely alien to his usual state of mind. He scanned the street. A few pedestrians had stopped to stare. A woman with a shopping cart was already pulling out her phone, her thumb hovering over the emergency call button.
Twenty-two seconds.
He knelt down next to Scarface, who was trying to push himself up on his elbows while gasping for breath. Luificar grabbed a fistful of the man's leather jacket and pulled him close enough to smell the cheap cologne and stale cigarettes on his breath.
"Listen to me carefully," Luificar said, his voice low and flat. "You are going to deliver a message to Mr. Herrera. Tell him I don't have his money. Tell him the debt died with the old Luificar. Tell him that if he sends anyone else to collect, I won't just put them on the ground. I will put them in the ground. Do you understand?"
Scarface's eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and confusion. This was not the scared, desperate kid he had been sent to intimidate. This was something else entirely. He nodded frantically, a thin line of drool escaping from the corner of his mouth.
Eight seconds.
Luificar released his grip and stood up. He turned and walked away, forcing his legs to move at a steady, unhurried pace. Running would make him look guilty. Running would attract more attention. He counted down the seconds in his head.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
[Combat Reflex (Novice) duration expired.]
The change was instantaneous and brutal. The cold, tactical clarity vanished like fog burned away by a morning sun. In its place rushed a tidal wave of exhaustion and pain. His wrist throbbed from the palm strike. His shoulder ached from twisting Scarface's arm. His legs felt like they were filled with wet sand. But worse than the physical exhaustion was the psychological whiplash. For sixty seconds, he had been a weapon. Now he was just a scared young man in a dirty jacket, walking away from two unconscious bodies with seven dollars in his pocket.
He turned the corner and leaned against the brick wall of a closed laundromat, forcing himself to take slow, deep breaths. His hands were shaking. He looked down at them and saw that the knuckles on his right hand were already starting to bruise.
[Combat Encounter Resolved.]
[Performance Evaluation: Acceptable.]
[Reward: Tier 1 System Access Unlocked.]
[New Functions Available: Inventory (1 slot), Minimap (50-meter radius), Attribute Panel.]
The blue screen materialized in front of him again, and this time there was a new tab glowing softly at the edge of his vision. He focused on it, and the Attribute Panel expanded.
[Host: Luificar Traman]
[Strength: 4]
[Agility: 5]
[Endurance: 3]
[Intelligence: 7]
[Charisma: 6]
[Note: Average human adult male baseline is 5. Host physical attributes are below average due to malnutrition and muscular atrophy. Intelligence and Charisma values are carried over from previous host identity.]
Luificar let out a bitter laugh that turned into a cough. Below average. He had just spent two weeks of his life to temporarily boost a body that was objectively worse than the average man on the street. And now his wrist was throbbing, and he still hadn't eaten anything.
[Nutritional Warning: Host blood sugar levels critically low. Recommend immediate caloric intake.]
"Shut up," he muttered at the screen. "I know."
He pushed himself off the wall and continued walking toward the bodega. The adrenaline was fading, and the hunger was returning with a vengeance. His stomach felt like it was trying to digest itself. He reached the corner store and pushed through the door, a small bell chiming overhead.
The bodega was cramped and smelled of spices, cleaning products, and the faint sweetness of overripe fruit. A bored-looking Middle Eastern man sat behind a plexiglass barrier, watching a small television mounted in the corner. Luificar grabbed a bottle of water, a package of peanuts, and the cheapest protein bar he could find. He placed them on the counter.
"Four eighty-five," the clerk said without looking away from the television.
Luificar handed over five of his seven dollars. The clerk gave him fifteen cents in change and went back to ignoring his existence. Luificar took his meager supplies and stepped back outside, tearing open the protein bar with his teeth. It tasted like chocolate-flavored cardboard, but it was the best thing he had ever eaten.
He sat down on a nearby bench and activated the new minimap function. A translucent circular overlay appeared in the corner of his vision, showing a top-down view of the surrounding fifty meters. Small dots represented people moving along the sidewalks. The two dots representing Scarface and his partner were still stationary, but now there were three more dots converging on their location. Backup. Or an ambulance. Either way, he needed to get farther away.
He studied the minimap, memorizing the layout of the surrounding streets. Then he noticed something strange. At the very edge of the minimap's range, nearly fading into static, was a dot that wasn't gray like the others. It was gold.
[System Notification: Anomaly Detected.]
[A person of interest is within scanning range. This individual possesses latent supernatural potential. Recommendation: Investigate.]
Luificar stared at the golden dot. Supernatural potential. He had just discovered that there was more to this city than grimy streets and loan sharks. There were others like him. Or at least, others who could become like him.
He stood up, finished the last of his peanuts, and began walking toward the golden dot. Forty years of life remaining. Seven dollars and fifteen cents in his pocket. And a minimap leading him toward something he didn't understand.
The Urban Overlord System was done with the tutorial. The real game was about to begin.