Lucifer spent the next five days in a blur of ceaseless activity.
He was a man possessed, driven by the memory of Raven's gratitude and the terror of facing super-threats with only a plywood defense.
He accepted every Bronze-rank job available, prioritizing speed and low visibility. Without his car, he was relentless:
He worked a double shift as a dish washer in a filthy restaurant, utilizing his $150 earning to buy a sturdy, albeit used, scooter.
He used the scooter for high-speed document runs, weaving through Gotham traffic like a ghost.
He continued his manual labor jobs, hauling crates and mixing cement, utilizing the nine-minute cooldown window for his force field every chance he got.
His progress was slow but steady, a constant chipping away at the massive goal.
He also brought something from the store.
It wasn't expensive and it didn't count toward the million dollar goal.
It seemed like the million dollar goal wasn't the actual amount but the total amount he earned.
The new ability, Basic Empathy, was surprisingly useful, allowing him to instinctively sense the aggressive intent of thugs or the sheer panic of a mark about to get jumped, giving him precious seconds to maneuver away.
By the end of the fifth day, his body was protesting every movement, but his system stats were rising:
[Current Funds: $107,510]
[Delivery Rank: Bronze (Needed for Silver: 30 Successful Deliveries, 9 High-Risk Deliveries.)]
[Tier 3 Force Field Activated (10/10)]
[Focus Training: 60/60 Minutes]
Lucifer was hunched over his tiny desk, exhausted, when the final notification popped up.
[Tier 3 Force Field has reached Max Capacity!]
[Tier 3 Force Field Upgraded to Tier 4!]
[Tier 4 Force Field Specifications:]
Duration: 2 minutes
Cooldown: 7 minutes
Sturdiness: Tier 4 (Can shield the user from multiple heavy blunt attacks, most non-magical knives and shivs, and one direct hit from a medium-caliber handgun. Sturdy as thick steel plating.)
A slow, tired smile spread across his face. Steel plating. Now that was a defense he could rely on for the occasional Gotham mugging.
He leaned back, finally allowing himself a moment of rest. He had secured the Bronze rank, earned enough for basic survival, and upgraded his shield four times. But he was stuck.
The Bronze Rank ceiling of $200 per job meant the remaining 892,490 Credits would take an impossible amount of time to acquire.
He needed a high-payout job. He needed a Silver Rank.
Lucifer pulled his scooter into a small, nondescript coffee shop in a semi-respectable part of town—a place where the criminal elements wore suits instead of hoodies.
He was there to meet a contact about a potential 'high-risk' delivery needed for his Silver Rank progression.
He sat nursing a terrible cup of coffee, the Basic Empathy skill humming faintly.
He sensed the usual low-grade mixture of greed and anxiety from the patrons.
Then, the energy in the room shifted.
A wave of cool, calculating Apathy and absolute Confidence washed over him.
A tall, impeccably dressed man in a charcoal suit and expensive sunglasses approached his table.
The man's posture was military-precise, and his expression was utterly blank.
He slid into the opposite chair without asking.
The system, ever vigilant, immediately flared an assessment.
[Target: John Doe (Cover Identity)]
[Status: Covert Agent / Logistics Handler / High-Value Target Tracker]
[Threat Level: B (Hidden Potential: A)]
[Remark: Highly trained. Affiliated with a major, yet currently unknown, international security conglomerate. Do not engage physically.]
(From now on threat level is F-S)
B-level threat in a suit, Lucifer thought, suppressing a groan. This was why he hated high-risk jobs.
"Lucifer Morningstar?"
The man asked, his voice a smooth, low baritone, devoid of inflection.
"Who's asking?"
Lucifer replied, instinctively reaching for the power command for his shield.
The man ignored the question and slid a thick, dark envelope across the table. It wasn't money; it was a sealed manifest.
"We have an urgent, high-priority logistics requirement. The destination is Stark Tower, Manhattan, New York. The receiver is Tony Stark himself. You are required to deliver this package directly and personally. We have secured your border passage."
Lucifer's mind reeled. Stark Tower? The last time he got involved with a high-tier comic character, it nearly destroyed his apartment.
"Manhattan is out of my jurisdiction, and I'm Bronze Rank. The payout on a job like that is usually Platinum-tier,"
Lucifer countered, trying to keep his voice steady.
"And why a delivery service? Stark has his own security."
The man leaned forward slightly, his eyes still hidden behind the dark lenses.
"Mr. Stark is currently… grounded. His access to certain foreign and restricted materials is being monitored. He needs this package delivered outside of standard, traceable corporate channels."
He paused, then pushed a keycard and a slip of paper across the table.
"The payout is non-negotiable: $10,000 in cash, upfront. And upon confirmed delivery, $25,000 added to your system account. The job will be designated a High-Risk/Platinum-Tier Classification for your records."
Lucifer stared. $35,000 for a single job.
That was nearly all his accrued savings combined(Not including reward from mission), and it would give him the necessary Platinum-Tier tag to immediately unlock higher-paying jobs.
It would also count as one of his High-Risk deliveries needed for Silver Rank.
"And the package?"
Lucifer asked, his voice dry.
The man opened a sleek, inconspicuous briefcase on the floor and carefully pulled out a compact, metallic canister, about the size of a water bottle, but visibly humming with energy. It was sealed with multiple magnetic locks.
He placed the canister on the table. As Lucifer's hand instinctively hovered near the item, the system went ballistic.
[Item: Vibranium-Synthetic Isotopes (Unstable)]
[Worth: $500,000,000 (Five Hundred Million Credits)]
[Danger Level: S (Avenger-Level) (Highly Volatile)]
[Remark: Raw materials for creating a new element.]
Lucifer's face was stone. He was holding half a billion credits worth of volatile material that could attract the attention of the freaking Avengers.
This wasn't just a high-risk delivery; this was a potential cosmic-level catastrophe waiting to happen.
"This package… this is what's going to get me killed,"
Lucifer whispered.
"You will be paid exceptionally well for your time, Mr. Morningstar,"
The man stated, his hand resting near the briefcase, a silent threat.
"You have four hour to reach the designated transfer point outside the city. Accept or decline."
Lucifer looked at the metal canister, then at the $35,000 reward, then at the Avenger-Level danger.
He was terrified, but he also knew his million-credit goal was unattainable without this kind of leap.
"I accept,"
Lucifer said, his voice flat. He took the canister, the keycard, and the upfront cash, feeling the weight of the unstable isotopes in his hand.
"Let's go to Manhattan."