I spent the rest of that afternoon wandering the city with Han's tablet weighing down my backpack like a brick of guilt.
Five names. Five lives. Five people the world would arguably be better off without.
Raymond Booker, the thug. Maria Voss, a drug dealer who'd gotten three teenagers killed with tainted product. Chen Wu, a loan shark who'd driven two people to suicide. Darius Cole, a domestic abuser with a restraining order he violated weekly. And finally, Vincent Kane, a con artist who specialized in scamming elderly people out of their life savings.
All terrible people. All actively making the world worse.
And I was supposed to pick one to murder.
My phone buzzed. Mom asking when I'd be home for dinner. I texted back that I was studying with Jake and would grab something out. Another lie to add to the growing pile.
The sun was setting by the time I found myself in front of a small park near the Warehouse District. Not the nice kind of park with playgrounds and families—this was the kind with broken benches and teenagers smoking behind the basketball courts. The kind of place where people came when they didn't have anywhere better to be.
I sat on one of those broken benches and pulled out Han's tablet, scrolling back to Raymond Booker's file.
According to the notes, Booker ran his operations out of a gym on Cascade Street. He'd be there most evenings, collecting "protection" payments from local businesses. Han had included surveillance photos—Booker entering the gym, leaving it, standing outside smoking with his crew.
All I had to do was follow him. Wait for an opportunity. Use Clean Kill when he was unaware.
Simple. Clinical. Like following a recipe.
Except the recipe ended with a corpse and me becoming a murderer.
"You look like you're carrying the weight of the world."
I jerked up, nearly dropping the tablet. A girl stood a few feet away, maybe my age, with striking green eyes and hair dyed a vibrant purple. She wore all black—band t-shirt, ripped jeans, combat boots—and had the kind of casual confidence that suggested she didn't give a damn what anyone thought.
I quickly locked the tablet screen. "Just thinking."
"Heavy thoughts for a Tuesday evening." She gestured at the bench. "Mind if I sit? My usual spot got taken by some kids dealing weed."
I shrugged, trying to look casual while my heart hammered. Predator's Eye had already activated.
[Unknown Female - Level 3 Shadow]
[Threat Assessment: Low]
[Emotional State: Curious, Guarded]
[Weakness: Relies on mobility, low Endurance stat]
[Optimal Kill Method: —]
I forced the analysis away. This was just a random person. Not a target. Not prey.
She sat down, pulling out a vape pen and taking a long drag. "You just Awakened, right? You've got that lost puppy look all the newbies get."
"That obvious?"
"Trust me, I remember. Day after my Awakening, I sat in this exact park for like six hours trying to figure out what the hell to do with my life." She exhaled a cloud of vapor. "I'm Raven, by the way. Yes, it's a nickname. No, I'm not telling you my real name."
"Marcus."
"Nice to meet you, Marcus." She studied me with those sharp green eyes. "So what'd you get? Your Class, I mean."
"Rogue."
"Solid choice. Good utility, lots of build options." She gestured at herself. "I got Shadow. It's like Rogue's edgy cousin. More stealth focus, less combat power."
Despite everything, I felt a flicker of genuine curiosity. "What kind of skills?"
"Mostly crowd control and evasion. I can blend into shadows, create areas of darkness, that kind of thing. Not great for solo dungeon diving, but I've been making decent money doing stealth escort missions." She grinned. "Rich people pay surprisingly well for someone who can get them places unnoticed."
It sounded almost normal. A Class with limitations and specializations, finding a niche in the post-Awakening economy.
Not like mine. Not like a Class that required murder to function.
"You don't seem that excited about being a Rogue," Raven observed.
"Just a lot to process."
"Fair enough. The System dumps a ton of information on you all at once. Took me weeks to really understand my skill trees." She paused. "You heading anywhere? I was about to grab dinner at this taco place nearby. Their carnitas are insane."
I should have said no. I should have made an excuse and left. But the idea of sitting alone with Han's hit list was unbearable, and Raven seemed... normal. Like someone I could talk to without lying about every single thing.
"Sure," I heard myself say. "Tacos sound good."
The place was a hole-in-the-wall joint called Rosita's, squeezed between a laundromat and a pawn shop. The smell of grilled meat and spices hit me the moment we walked in. Raven ordered like she came here every day, rapid-fire Spanish to the woman behind the counter. I just pointed at the menu and said "same."
We grabbed a corner table with plastic chairs and laminated menus that had seen better days.
"So," Raven said, attacking her first taco with enthusiasm. "What's really bothering you? Because you've got that look people get when the System throws them a curveball."
I hesitated. Obviously I couldn't tell her the truth. But maybe...
"What if your Class wasn't what you expected?" I asked carefully. "What if it pushed you toward things you didn't want to do?"
Raven wiped salsa from her chin. "You mean like how Shadow basically requires me to operate in morally gray areas? Yeah, I get it."
"What do you mean?"
"Shadow Class is optimal for, let's say, activities that work better in darkness. Theft, espionage, infiltration." She shrugged. "The System literally built my Class around being sneaky and underhanded. First month after Awakening, I got a quest to successfully steal something without being detected."
I leaned forward. "What did you do?"
"Stole a candy bar from a convenience store. Technically completed the quest, got my skill point, felt like garbage about it." She took another bite. "Point is, the System doesn't always align with our moral compass. You've got to figure out how to work within it while staying true to yourself."
"And if you can't? If the Class requirements are fundamentally opposed to who you are?"
Raven gave me a long, considering look. "Then you've got a choice. Adapt or suffer. The System doesn't care about our feelings. It just is."
We ate in silence for a minute. The tacos really were incredible—smoky, spicy, with that perfect char on the meat. For a few bites, I could almost forget about the quest timer counting down in my peripheral vision.
"Can I ask you something?" Raven said. "And you can tell me to fuck off if it's too personal."
"Go ahead."
"You're not really a Rogue, are you?"
I nearly choked on my taco. "What?"
"Relax, I'm not accusing you of anything. Just..." She gestured vaguely. "You don't have the vibe. Rogues usually can't wait to talk about their skills, their builds, optimization strategies. You look like someone at a funeral."
My mind raced. How much had I given away? Was she someone dangerous? Should I run?
Predator's Eye offered its analysis.
[Emotional State: Concerned, Non-Threatening]
[Threat Level: Minimal]
"It's complicated," I finally said.
"Isn't everything?" Raven leaned back in her chair. "Look, I'm not trying to pry. But if you ever need someone to talk to about Class stuff—someone who gets that the System isn't always sunshine and roses—I'm around."
She slid a napkin across the table with a number scribbled on it. "That's my burner phone. I keep it separate from my main line for... work reasons. Text me if you need anything."
I pocketed the napkin, not sure what to say. This stranger had just offered me something I desperately needed—someone to talk to. But I couldn't risk it. Couldn't drag someone else into this nightmare.
"Thanks," I managed.
We finished eating and walked back toward the park where we'd met. The streets were quieter now, most of the shops closing up for the night. A few Awakened were out, probably heading to or from dungeons based on their gear.
Normal people living their Awakened lives.
"This is me," Raven said when we reached a bus stop. "Thanks for the company, Marcus. Try not to overthink things too much. The System is what it is—all we can do is make the best of it."
She boarded the bus and waved through the window as it pulled away.
I stood there for a long moment, then pulled out Han's tablet again.
Raymond Booker's file stared back at me. According to the surveillance notes, he'd be at his gym right now. Collecting payments. Threatening people. Being exactly the kind of scum that made the world worse.
I could do this. I could follow him, wait for the right moment, use my skills. One quick strike. He'd never see it coming. The world would be marginally better off.
And I'd be a murderer.
My hands were shaking as I opened my Status window.
[SERIAL KILLER - Level 1]
[Current Kill Count: 0]
[Quest Timer: 28 days, 7 hours, 14 minutes remaining]
Twenty-eight days. But who was I kidding? Waiting wouldn't make this easier. Every day of delay was just more time to lose my nerve, to talk myself out of what had to be done.
If I was going to do this, I should do it now. Get it over with. Cross the threshold and deal with the consequences.
I pulled up the map on the tablet. Booker's gym was twelve blocks away. Forty-minute walk. Less if I jogged.
My phone buzzed. Jake again, asking if I wanted to run a low-level dungeon tomorrow. Sarah posting about her successful enchantment stream. Tyler sharing another workout video.
My friends, living their lives, completely unaware that I was standing on a street corner deciding whether to commit murder.
I started walking.
Not toward home. Not toward safety. Toward Cascade Street. Toward Raymond Booker's gym. Toward the point of no return.
Each step felt heavier than the last. My stomach churned. My Class skills were already activating, painting the world in tactical assessments. Optimal routes. Blind spots. Escape paths.
Hunter's Patience began stacking as I focused on my target.
[Hunter's Patience: Stack 1]
[Bonus: +2% to Perception and Planning]
The gym came into view. A rundown building with barred windows and a flickering neon sign. Three guys stood outside smoking—Booker's crew, according to the photos. One of them was Booker himself, unmistakable with his prison tattoos and dead eyes.
I stopped half a block away, concealed in the shadow of a closed storefront.
Predator's Eye gave me everything I needed to know.
[Raymond Booker - Level 8 Thug]
[Threat Assessment: Moderate]
[Current Status: Distracted, Unarmored]
[Weakness: Exposed back, slow reflexes from alcohol consumption]
[Optimal Kill Method: Approach from behind, blade to kidney, secondary strike to throat]
The analysis was cold. Clinical. Perfectly calculated.
All I had to do was wait for him to separate from his crew. Follow him. Strike when he was alone.
[Hunter's Patience: Stack 2]
My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it. This was real. This was actually happening. In the next hour, I could complete my first quest. Level up. Become what the System wanted me to be.
Or I could turn around. Go home. Wait for the penalties to start. Hope that somehow, someway, there was another option.
Booker laughed at something one of his crew said. The sound carried across the empty street—harsh, mocking. The laugh of someone who'd never faced real consequences for his actions.
I thought about the shopkeeper he'd put in the hospital. The people he extorted. The victims in his case file.
This man deserved to die.
Didn't he?
My hand drifted to my pocket, where I'd put the small folding knife I'd bought this afternoon. Nothing fancy. Just a tool. A means to an end.
[Hunter's Patience: Stack 3]
Booker stubbed out his cigarette and said something to his crew. They laughed again, then headed inside. But Booker stayed outside, pulling out his phone.
He was alone.
Vulnerable.
Target acquired.
[Clean Kill is ready to activate]
All I had to do was move. Cross the street. Get close. Strike.
One kill. That's all it would take to buy myself another month. To quiet the System's demands. To prove I could do what was necessary.
I took a step forward.
Then another.
The distance closed. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten.
Booker still hadn't noticed me, absorbed in his phone.
Five feet.
My hand closed around the knife.
[Clean Kill - Ready]
[Target is unaware - Damage bonus active]
[Proceed? Y/N]
I was right behind him now. Close enough to smell his cigarette smoke. Close enough to see the tattoos on his neck. Close enough to kill.
This was it.
The moment everything changed.
The moment I stopped being Marcus Chen and became something else.
My hand shook as I reached for the knife.
And then—
A car turned onto the street, headlights washing over us both. Booker looked up from his phone, half-turning.
His eyes met mine.
[WARNING: Target awareness increased - Clean Kill bonus lost]
"The fuck you want?" Booker growled, sizing me up.
The moment shattered. The spell broke.
I couldn't do it. Not like this. Not yet.
"Wrong address," I stammered, backing away. "Sorry."
Booker watched me retreat with suspicious eyes, but didn't follow. Just shook his head and went back to his phone, dismissing me as irrelevant.
I walked away quickly, my whole body trembling, the unused knife burning a hole in my pocket.
[Hunter's Patience: Stacks lost]
[Opportunity missed]
I made it three blocks before I had to stop and lean against a wall, gasping for breath.
I'd been ready. The System had given me everything I needed. The target was perfect—a genuinely evil person who deserved what was coming.
But I couldn't do it.
Not tonight.
Maybe not ever.
[Quest Timer: 28 days, 6 hours, 42 minutes remaining]
I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and texted the number Raven had given me.
I think I'm in trouble.
The response came back almost immediately.
Where are you?
I gave her my location. Fifteen minutes later, she pulled up in a beat-up Honda, concern written across her face.
"Get in," she said.
I did.
And as we drove away from Cascade Street, away from Raymond Booker and my failed first kill, I wondered if I'd just made the biggest mistake of my life.
Or if I'd managed to hold onto my humanity for one more day.
[Quest Timer: 28 days, 6 hours, 29 minutes remaining]
To be continued...