Transmigration and a System.
It was the Holy Grail of internet fiction tropes, the narrative equivalent of winning the lottery while simultaneously being struck by lightning. It was so agonizingly cliché that a bubble of jagged laughter clawed its way up my throat.
"Of course," I choked out, the sound bouncing off the high end minimalist furniture. "Why not? Throw in a magic ring and a wise old grandpa, and we'll have a full set."
[Exactly! Why not?] The System's voice chimed, seemingly delighted by my encroaching insanity. [Look, you're the new guy, fresh meat in the grinder. This world is specifically designed to turn ambitious people into red paste on the pavement. So, Management 'don't ask, they don't do lunch' has seen fit to provide you with a complimentary starting gift pack. Consider it a 'noob protection' bundle. We don't want you dying in the tutorial.]
The blue screen hovering before me shimmered, the text dissolving into a new list that made my breath hitch.
[Gift Pack Contents:]
Super Soldier Serum
Hacking Mastery
Firearm Mastery
Combat Mastery
[Would you like to receive your gifts now, Host? Just say 'yes', nod your head, or interpret it through interpretive dance. I'm not picky, I just need confirmation.]
I stared at the floating words. My hesitation lasted less than a second. In a world where Homelander could laser a plane out of the sky because he was having a bad hair day, being a "normal human" was a terminal diagnosis.
"Yes," I said, my voice hardening.
[Awesome! Commencing integration. Fair warning: this might feel a little… weird. And by weird, I mean invasive.]
Weird was an understatement.
The Super Soldier Serum felt like a celestial lightning strike aimed directly at my mitochondria. A white-hot river of energy detonated in my chest, surging outward with the ferocity of a breaking dam. It tore through my veins, invading every cell, every fiber of muscle, and every strand of DNA. It wasn't painful, exactly. It was a sensation dialed up to eleven. I felt my muscles coil and tighten, the fibers knitting together with the density of steel cables. I felt my bones increasing in density, humming with a profound solidity.
Then, my senses exploded.
The world suddenly came into terrifyingly high definition. The ambient hum of the penthouse's HVAC system became a rhythmic thrumming I could feel in my teeth. The scent of coffee drifted in from a neighboring apartment, distinct and separate from the smell of expensive leather and my own rising sweat.
The headache from the hangover vanished instantly, replaced by a clarity so sharp it felt like waking up for the first time in my life. My body, already aesthetic in the mirror, now felt like a predatory machine, idling with suppressed horsepower.
But the System wasn't done.
The Hacking Mastery hit me next. It was a waterfall of blue data cascading directly into my cerebral cortex. Encryption algorithms, network architectures, zero-day exploits, and decades of computer science crammed into a single second. A sharp spike of pressure bloomed behind my eyes, a migraine trying to form, but it was washed away by a cool wave of absolute understanding.
I glanced at the sleek smartphone resting on the bedside table. I looked at it and saw the vulnerabilities in its OS, the backdoors, the pathways. I knew how to turn it into a remote listening device or brick it from across the room without touching a button.
Then came the Firearm Mastery.
Images flashed through my mind like a stroboscopic nightmare. The weight of a Glock 19, the recoil of an M4 carbine, the delicate trigger pull of a Barret .50 cal. I understood ballistics, windage, and elevation. I knew how to strip a rifle blindfolded and reassemble it before a coin hit the ground. My hands twitched, fingers curling around imaginary grips, muscle memory forming for weapons I had never held.
Finally, the Combat Mastery.
This was the most violent integration. It was a storm of kinetic energy downloading into my nervous system. Over a hundred martial arts flooded my consciousness. Judo, Jiu-Jitsu, Ninjutsu, Krav Maga, Muay Thai, Boxing. I felt the snap of a broken arm in a joint lock, the impact of a shin against a femur. My body learned how to move with lethal economy. I knew how to kill with a strike to the throat, how to disable with a touch, how to turn my own body into a weapon of mass destruction.
When the deluge finally stopped, I slumped against the floor-to-ceiling window, gasping for air. Sweat dripped from my nose, landing on the expensive carpet.
I stood up slowly. The room hadn't changed, but I was fundamentally different. Ten minutes ago, I was prey. Now?
I looked at my right hand. The fingers were steady, the veins slightly more prominent. I felt a hum of power beneath the skin.
I needed to test it.
I reached for the handle of the heavy glass door that led to the balcony. It was a solid piece of brushed steel, designed to look sleek. I wrapped my fingers around the cool metal.
I squeezed.
CRUNCH.
The sound was sickening, like a robotic bone snapping. The brushed steel deformed in my grip, twisting and buckling like soft modeling clay. Metal groaned and sheared under the pressure of my fingers.
I stared at the ruined handle, then at my palm. Not a scratch.
[See? Told you it would be awesome,] the System chirped, its voice echoing in my head with the enthusiasm of a proud parent. [You're not exactly Homelander. Let's not get cocky but you could definitely give that shield-throwing fraud Captain America a run for his money. Congratulations, Aryan. You've graduated from 'helpless civilian' to 'low-level badass'.]
I released the mangled steel, letting the metal fragments drop to the floor.
"Alright, System," I thought, pushing myself away from the window and wiping the sweat from my brow. The initial shock was fading, replaced by a coldpragmatism. "Explain everything. No more surprises. I want to know exactly what you are, what you can do, and how I can survive this psychotic circus."
[Your wish is my command! Let's pull up the user manual. Try not to fall asleep.]
The blue screen flickered and refreshed, displaying a minimalist interface.
[SYSTEM INTERFACE]
HOST: Aryan Spencer
EXPERIENCE POINTS (XP): 0
POWERS: None
INVENTORY: (50 Grids)
[Okay, let's break it down,] the System began, shifting into the tone of a slightly sarcastic tour guide. [This is your main dashboard. You can control it with your thoughts, or by gesturing with your hands like you're conducting an orchestra. Personally, I recommend hand gestures when you're alone. Makes you feel like a sci-fi wizard. Very chic.]
I raised a hand and swiped left in the air. The screen followed the movement instantly. I focused my mind and willed it to swipe back. It was seamless.
[First up: Inventory,] the System continued. [You've got 50 grids. Think of them as magic pockets that ignore physics. You can store pretty much anything in them as long as it isn't currently breathing. The best part? Each grid acts like a video game slot. It can hold an unlimited number of the same item. You want to stack a million dollars in one grid? Go for it. A thousand assault rifles in another? Easy. To use it, just focus on an item and think 'store' or 'retrieve'.]
I looked around the room and focused on a decorative velvet pillow sitting on a nearby armchair. I reached out with my mind. Store.
The pillow vanished.
I looked at the interface. The first grid now showed a smallicon of the pillow.
Retrieve.
The pillow materialized in my hand instantly. It was exactly as it had been. This was a fucking logistical warehouse.
[Next, the main event! The reason I'm called the Plundering System! It's all in the name, my friend. This is the part where we turn you into a predator. When you kill a person with superpowers, I can plunder their ability.]
I froze. "Plunder their ability? You mean I can take their powers? Permanently?"
[Bingo! Give the man a cigar! Here's the mechanics: Once you land the killing blow on a Supe. And it has to be a kill, no knockouts. A message will pop up. You'll have a choice to make. Option A is to 'Retain' the power. If you choose that, the power becomes yours. If you kill a Tier 3 Supe, you get their Tier 3 power. Simple as that.]
"And Option B?" I asked.
[Option B is for the discerning Host who prefers to grind and level up. You can choose to 'Convert' the power into Experience Points, or XP for short. Think of it as recycling. Instead of keeping a useless power, you break it down into XP.]
The interface screen shifted, displaying a glowing green chart.
[XP CONVERSION RATES]
Tier 1 Power Conversion: 5000 XP
Tier 2 Power Conversion: 3000 XP
Tier 3 Power Conversion: 1500 XP
Tier 4 Power Conversion: 500 XP
Tier 5 Power Conversion: 100 XP
"And what do I do with all this shiny XP?" I asked rhetorically, though I already had a hunch.
[You upgrade! Let's say you plunder a garbage Tier 5 power like… I don't know. The ability to communicate with squirrels. You can use XP to force that power up the evolutionary chain!]
Another chart appeared, this one red.
[POWER UPGRADE COSTS]
Tier 5 → Tier 4: 500 XP
Tier 4 → Tier 3: 1500 XP
Tier 3 → Tier 2: 3000 XP
Tier 2 → Tier 1: 5000 XP
I stared at the numbers. It was the gamification of murder. A perfectly designed loop to incentivize hunting. If I wanted to survive Homelander, I couldn't just hide. I had to hunt.
I had to become the apex predator in a city full of monsters.