LOCATION: THE ALLEY — 03:42 AM
Rain kept falling.
The mirror was empty now. Just bloodstained glass and my dumb, terrified reflection blinking back at me like a rookie who'd wandered into the final act of an action movie without reading the script.
My hand was still shaking from that first kill. The weight of the pistol suddenly felt real. Not cool-movie real. Heavy. Cold. Human-real.
> 🔸 "System Sync Complete."
⚠️ "Tutorial Phase: 23 hours, 58 minutes remaining."
🎯 "Next Objective: Eliminate Pursuers (x5)."
🏆 Reward: Combat Awareness (Lv.1)
"Pursuers…?" I muttered.
Screech of tires and then—
Four blacked-out muscle cars peeled into the alley from both ends like it was choreographed by Michael Bay on cocaine. Doors slammed open. Men in suits. Clean. Precise. Guns already drawn.
One of them barked, "Target reacquired. Orders are to bring him in—dead or bleeding."
Why is it never alive and unharmed?
I backed toward a dumpster. Real classy battlefield. Still had two guns, but one was jammed and the other smelled like it had a body count already. Probably cursed. Probably mine now.
> 🟥 "Threat Level: Lethal."
🧠 "Tactical Hint: You're Outnumbered. Use Environment."
My brain screamed run but my body decided fight.
The first guy raised a submachine gun. I ducked, rolled toward the dumpster, and—
CLANG.
Something metal fell out. A crowbar. Rusty. But my HUD pinged it like it was Excalibur.
> 🔹 "Improvised Weapon: Acquired."
Skill Available: Brutal Efficiency (Lv. 0.1)
Screw it.
I grabbed the crowbar, spun up from cover just as the first guy rounded the dumpster—he didn't even finish his curse word before I cracked him across the jaw.
CRUNCH.
> ✅ "Headshot (Blunt)."
🆙 "+1 Brutal Efficiency XP"
"JESUS!" someone yelled.
Nope. Just me.
I grabbed his SMG mid-fall, turned, sprayed—
RAT-TAT-TAT.
Another suit went down clutching his thigh, screaming something about protocol. A third ducked behind a car and started lobbing rounds like he was blind-firing in a game. My aim sucked, but I kept pressing the trigger like I had unlimited ammo and zero therapy hours.
> ☠️ "2 Enemies Down. 3 Remaining."
🔸 "New Status Effect: Adrenaline Surge (Lv.1)" "All reflexes +5% for 90 seconds"
With my heart hammering and breath shallow I dashed, vaulted over a hood, dropped onto the last guy flanking me from the left. He gasped.
Too late. Gun muzzle met his throat.
POP.
> ☠️ "Kill Confirmed."
🆙 "Skill Unlocked: Close Quarters Execution (Lv. 1)"
One left.
He had better aim than the others. And he was already calling backup.
> 📡 "Incoming Transmission Detected: SIGNAL — RED WITCH"
What the hell was a Red Witch?
Didn't matter. I dove behind cover again and peeked at my HUD.
Low ammo. Jammed gun. Cracked ribs probably. A crowbar covered in someone's teeth.
And then... A new popup.
> 🔥 SYSTEM UPGRADE AVAILABLE: Do you wish to activate "Wick Mode?"
Wick Mode?
There was no button, only a prompt.
"Say the phrase."
Say what phrase?
Suddenly, like a whisper in my own voice — the answer came:
"Yeah... I'm thinkin' I'm back."
The world stopped.
Colors deepened. Sounds slowed. My HUD snapped into crisp clarity.
> 💀 WICK MODE: ACTIVATED Reflexes boosted. Bullet time enabled. Pain suppressed. Style… upgraded.
I walked out from behind cover like I was strolling through a lobby with jazz playing in my head. The last goon opened fire—too slow.
I weaved between bullets like I'd done this before.
Slid under his arm then whispered, "Wrong alley."
CRACK.
Gun to the chin. Instant nap.
> ☠️ "All Pursuers Eliminated."
🎁 REWARD: Combat Awareness (Lv.1) Unlocked.
🎖️ BONUS UNLOCKED: Weapon Familiarity Tree [Gun Kata | Improvised | Signature Kill Lines]
---
I stood alone again. Rain washing the blood off my jacket. Body count: five. Emotional damage: pending.
My breath finally slowed and then, another pop-up:
> 📡 "Transmission Incoming... RED WITCH: Connection Established."
🎥 Holographic Feed Engaged
A glowing red figure formed in the air. A Woman in sharp suit, pale skin, black lipstick and eyes like crosshairs.
She stared straight at me.
"You're early," she said.
"Yeah, well," I replied, leveling the pistol at the feed, "bad habit of mine."
TO BE CONTINUED.