Chapter 5: The Rift in Harlem
Morning came too fast.
Styles sat outside the shelter with his hood pulled low, cigarette dangling from his lips, sipping cheap coffee like it was champagne. His Level marker still glowed faintly at 15—a perfect disguise. In truth, the infection had rocketed him to 45 after the slaughterhouse fight. His muscles hummed with brute force, his reflexes so sharp he could catch a fly out of the air if he wanted.
Nobody knew. Nobody could know.
That was the game now. Hide the secret, keep the grin, and let everyone think he was just a joke with good luck.
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Scene 1: The Married Detective
The academy cafeteria buzzed with chatter, rumors flying faster than bullets. Styles ignored it. He sat at a corner table, one leg crossed over the other, casually texting.
A woman slid into the seat across from him—a detective, older than most recruits, already ranked Level 60. Her badge gleamed, her jacket sharp, and the wedding ring on her finger caught the light.
She smirked. "You're Styles."
He blew smoke into the air. "Depends. If your husband asks, I've never heard of him."
She laughed softly. "You're trouble."
"Yeah," he said, leaning forward, "but I'm the fun kind."
By the time breakfast ended, she'd slipped him a keycard to an unused office. By noon, the door was locked, her jacket was on the desk, and her lips were on his.
Afterward, she adjusted her ring like nothing had happened. Styles lit a cigarette, grinning at the ceiling.
"Married detectives," he muttered. "Always the boldest."
Another secret. Another conquest. Another layer to his legend nobody could ever confirm.
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Scene 2: Mission Briefing
The alarm klaxons cut through the halls, breaking the calm.
Mission Code: 0157.
Threat: Dimensional Rift – Unknown Entity.
Location: Harlem rooftops.
Reward: 20,000 EXP.
The room went dead silent.
"A Rift?" Marisol whispered, face pale. "On our shift?"
The instructor's voice thundered. "This isn't a drill. A crack between worlds opened on 125th Street. Unknown entity is attempting to breach. You will contain it until higher ranks arrive. Understood?"
The rookies nodded shakily. Styles smirked. Finally. Something fun.
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Scene 3: Harlem Rooftops
The city skyline burned orange under the setting sun. On the rooftops of Harlem, the squad moved cautiously, weapons raised. The air itself shimmered ahead, warping like heat waves.
The Rift pulsed—a jagged tear in the sky, edges glowing like molten steel. From it leaked whispers that weren't human, voices that crawled under the skin.
Then it tore open.
A shape spilled out. Black wings. Eyes like burning coal. Its form twisted, impossible to look at directly. The marker above its head glowed faintly, alien: LEVEL 50+.
Marisol gasped. "That's… not from here."
The entity shrieked, and the building shook.
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Scene 4: The Encounter
It moved faster than the rookies could react. One swipe of its claw sent two cadets flying, their weapons scattering. Another scream rattled windows for blocks.
"Form up!" the instructor roared. But panic broke the squad apart.
Styles stepped forward, cigarette smoke curling around his face. "Guess I'm on babysitting duty again."
The Rift Entity lunged. Styles slipped past the strike, speed carrying him inches from its claws. His fist drove upward into its jaw, snapping its head back. The creature staggered, shrieking.
"Come on," Styles muttered, smirking. "Hit harder."
It roared, wings spreading wide, claws crashing down. Styles dodged again, faster than the rookies' eyes could track. Every movement was hidden under the illusion of luck—tripping, slipping, near-misses that looked clumsy but weren't.
Then he struck.
His fist slammed into its chest, the rooftop cracking under the force. The entity convulsed, screeching as black smoke bled from the wound.
The rookies gasped. "It—it's weakening!"
Marisol stared, eyes wide. No… that's not luck. He's too fast.
Scene 5: The Rift Closes
The Rift pulsed violently. The entity howled, its body tearing apart as the crack sealed itself shut, sucking the creature back into the void.
The air stilled. The rooftop fell silent.
Above the squad's heads:
+20,000 EXP.
The rookies cheered weakly, collapsing in relief. Most jumped multiple levels.
But in Styles' hidden vision:
+40,000 EXP.
Level Up → 85.
He dragged on his cigarette, hiding the grin tugging at his lips. Eighty-five already. At this pace, I'll Prestige before they even learn how to aim their guns.
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Scene 6: Suspicions Grow
Back at the academy, the whispers turned sharper.
"Another mission, another miracle."
"No weapon. No wounds. Just… luck?"
"He's hiding something."
Marisol cornered him outside the cafeteria, eyes burning. "I saw it. Your speed. Your strength. That wasn't an accident—you're hiding something."
Styles leaned against the wall, cigarette glowing. "You keep staring at me like that, people are gonna think you're in love."
She shoved him. "I'll find out. I don't care how long it takes."
He grinned, brushing ash off his hoodie. "Or maybe you'll just fall for me first."
She stormed off. Across the hall, the detective from earlier winked at him. Styles smirked.
Suspicion keeps me interesting. Secrets keep me alive. And women… they keep me entertained.
⸻
Scene 7: Nightfall
Back at the shelter, Styles sat on his bunk, staring at his hands. The veins under his skin pulsed black before fading. His fists tightened, bending the bed frame with no effort.
His body thrummed with energy—brute power, brute strength, brute speed. And now… something else. Something that came from touching the Rift.
He laughed softly.
"Level eighty-five in five missions. Nobody's catching me. Nobody ever will."
The city roared outside, restless, hungry. Tomorrow would bring another encounter. Another fight. Another woman. Another secret.
And Styles would own them all.
[TO BE CONTINUED…]