Cole Shaw returned home after dropping the four people off. He wasn't worried they would stiff him—sending them back had been a warning as much as a favor. Once those three knew each other better, they'd be less likely to try anything stupid.
Ding—an alert blinked in his head: Payment received.
He checked his phone. The transfer had come through. The three men, it turned out, were better men of business than they'd looked.
Ding—Congratulations, host. Commission complete. Reward issued: USD $500,000 + Beginner Driving Proficiency.
A stream of system messages flowed into his awareness. Cole let a grin break his face. Beginner Driving Proficiency wasn't limited to cars; the skill would let him master any vehicle—land, sea, or air—almost instantly.
Ding—Main task generation triggered. Please select an option.
Option 1: Join a mercenary team. Time limit: one month. Reward: Combat Mastery.
Option 2: Form a mercenary team. Minimum personnel: six. Members must be rated B+ or above. Time limit: one year. Reward: Special Forces Base (SSS-level item). Note: recruiting any S-level talent grants additional rewards.
The prompt hung there. Cole considered both.
Option one was the simplest. He could finish it inside three days and certainly within a month. The reward was tidy, valuable.
Option two's rewards were richer—far richer—but harder. Forming a mercenary outfit wasn't difficult on paper; register a security firm, file paperwork. The real challenge was recruiting people of the right caliber. Blackwater had scaled quickly because it had both cash and political patrons—SEALs who could open doors. Cole had neither massive funds nor a political backer. Recruiting top-tier talent should have been impossible.
Then he remembered something practical: this wasn't the old life he'd had; this was the movie-multiverse. Talent existed in the seams of plotlines now. If he could play the long game, six high-calibre members in a year was not impossible.
"System, what's my rating?" he asked.
Ding—Host rating: A+.
A+ wasn't S-level, but Cole accepted it. Gun Master helped, but raw combat mastery still lagged. A+ was fair.
After a moment, his decision formed. "System, I choose Option Two."
He wasn't prepared to be outclassed. The world was already slipping in Fast & Furious and The Expendables; he expected other franchises to arrive. A year to recruit six B+ or better mercs—possible and ambitious.
Ding—Account transferred to [REDACTED].
A bank notification popped on his phone. Ten dollars moved into a trading account he used for stocks. He frowned—an agency fee? Too small to matter, too specific to ignore.
Then the television flicked. The feed had been hijacked—adult footage splashed over the news channel. Hacker signature. That kind of brazen stunt wasn't low-key; it felt like someone showing they were back, flexing.
Cole listened to the small internal logic of it. Mature hackers kept their heads down; they didn't broadcast unless they wanted attention. Whoever played that move wanted people to look.
His phone rang. Jason Tate. College buddy. Top student, now attached to some lab experiments with a tutor. They'd been tight—both had eaten shit in school together and watched each other's backs. Jason borrowed money for experiments and always promised future windfalls; Cole had never minded.
"Hey, man—haven't heard from you in ages. You planning to borrow cash?" Cole said when he answered.
"Think I'm that desperate?" Jason replied, then changed tone. "Tomorrow is the school's sixtieth anniversary. Big events. Want to come? The girls are supposed to be incredible."
Cole laughed. "All right. I'll be there."
They confirmed a plan and hung up.
Cole let his mind flex around the system's new contract and the small disturbances—the hacker, the odd ten-dollar transfer—then set both aside. Recruiting a team would require attention. He'd start mapping names, contacts, and likely targets tomorrow.