image [https://cdn.midjourney.com/5c3fdf9f-b4a1-4c4f-a6c3-6fc0e767164a/0_0.png]
----------------------------------------
During their chat, Peter had re-entered Hanover, stopping in front of a pizzeria. The sign on the door said Closed, but there were a few people inside, and the lights were on.
“System, I’d like to disguise myself. Can you grow my hair and beard?”
“I don’t care, you choose. Add some tattoos to that.”
“Concealment, buddy. The word is concealment.>
After parking the Yamaha in an alley, Peter entered the restaurant, keeping his helmet on as the System had suggested. A Latino man in his thirties, probably the owner, closed the shutters and escorted Peter to a table. There were three more people there: a slim woman with a generic Venom superhero costume, a policeman in his forties with steel eyes, and, to Peter's amazement, the campus guard he met the day he saved Regina.
"Something to eat or drink?" the owner asked.
"A lemonade? With a bent straw, please," Peter said, lowering his voice to sound rough and older.
Returning a minute later with the drink, the man put it before Peter. The young man awkwardly started to sip the liquid, raising his helmet just half an inch. It was lukewarm but good.
"I'm Garcia, the owner. I also organize protests," the man said, taking a seat.
"Kostel," the Campus guard said. "I spy around the University, taking photos of Cultivating manuals and sneaking them outside to benefit the Uncultivated. Many form a core if they can read good books."
Who would have thought, Peter thought.
"I roll as Shadow," the masked girl said. "I run a monster shelter, saving innocent lives and offering them for adoption after we train them."
I'm not the only one with a monster pet? Peter gloated.
“Time to introduce yourselves,” Garcia said, looking first at the policeman. “You were referred to us by the Albany branch.”
"Moment… work stuff,” the policeman said, looking at his phone, typing something, then putting the phone on the table. “ You can call me Bill. My thing is protecting the freedom fighters from the law.”
“That’s a real good thing,” Garcia said. “And you’re here because?”
“I was newly appointed to run the Hanover precinct. They’re investigating a robbery at a cultivators’ club. I thought: if the local Resistance is involved, I’ll keep them out of jail,” the officer walked his gaze over them.
“We’re not the type to go clubbing,” the campus guard laughed, joined by the restaurant’s owner. Venom girl appeared a little tense.
"I’m Impulse," Peter said, anticipating Garcia’s question. "I hunt crazed monsters for parts.”
“Interesting gun you have there,” the policeman squeezed his eyes.
“Wanna see it?" Peter unholstered his gun slowly. He offered it with the grip toward the policeman but, at the last second, turned it and fired point blank in the man’s face.
Kinetic Impulse activated.
The officer's head exploded, reduced to smithereens, the extremely loud bang deafening everyone. The recoil was not huge, but it was big enough to make the pistol jump from Peter's hand due to its awkward position. It fell in a crack between two couches. The System started screaming, then shut off. The girl froze in place, whizzing.
"Whoa!" Garcia pushed his chair away with his feet, raising his hands.
Kostel began to fumble with his revolver, trying to point it at Peter, who rolled duck over the couch. The weapon clicked empty several times. "Fuck… I forgot to reload…"
"Stand down; he was not a cop!" Peter yelled, patting the floor for his pistol.
“Because you say so?” Kostel shouted, trying to insert bullets into his gun but failing.
“He comes to a Resistance meeting the next day after a heist and asks who did it? C’mon!”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“I was at the club yesterday,” Venom croaked with a feeble voice. “There was no robbery. Two guys fought, that was all.”
“Don’t move! Stay behind the couch, or I'll shoot,” Kostel ordered idiotically. His revolver was still empty, and he was basically asking Peter to stay behind cover. “I’ll check his clothes… no police ID, that’s strange.”
“His phone is unlocked,” the girl said, trying to grab it, but the guard reached it first.
“Oh my God! He’s right!” Kostel blurted. “I’m reading the last messages: I have the Resistance cell in front of me. A girl and a biker acting suspiciously. There’s a reply: Prioritize getting back the pills. If they’re guilty, arrest them. He says: I’m not into arresting business; this wastes my time. Last answer: OK, do what you want. Oh no! He was an assassin… Look, photos of his victims,” Kostel retched, tuning the screen toward his friends.
Even from his position, Peter could see photos with the pretended officer next to dead bodies, like a hunter posing next to his trophies. Adults, but also kids. Garcia vomited. Peter profited to take back his gun and rose, keeping the barrel down.
"Kostel, put the phone on the table."
"Please don't kill me!" Garcia kneaded his fingers.
"Listen to me!" Peter yelled. "Calm down. I just saved your lives. I’ll clean the scene, and I’ll leave. We never met!"
"If the police find out, they’ll close my restaurant," Garcia mumbled.
Ignoring the owner, Peter pulled the body and the phone inside his spatial storage. There was a visible hole in the wall behind the table, so he picked a knife from a table, pulled the bullet out, and gathered the case from the floor as well.
Finally, Peter rushed outside and drove away after starting the motorcycle on the second try. There was no one on the streets and no sirens approaching. It seemed they were in the clear. He managed to reach twenty miles an hour, an improvement. Ten minutes later, Peter stopped near a high-tier monster forest and willed the body out of his Spatial Storage.
A notification showed in his eyes, overlapping with the corpse.
Do you want to Loot and Store the dead Cultivator’s core? Y/N
Warning: Consumption of sentient meat is considered a felony in System Worlds. If the target you killed was sentient, Looting works only on cores (if present), armor, and weapons.
The System spoke for the first time after a long period of silence.
“Do I need to wash the inside of my backpack because of the brains and the blood?”
Peter forwarded his hand over the body, thinking: Loot. A round object floated up from the corpse, disappearing into his storage, followed by the man’s gun, a Sig Sauer, as far Peter could guess. Next, Peter pushed the body over the railing and beyond the protection totems. The fake policeman rolled a few times and stopped in a thicket. Within seconds, a bear's paw appeared from the shadows and snatched it. Shivering, Peter rode the Yamaha back to town, his mood for a late hunt all but gone. He changed into his old clothes in a back alley, stored the motorcycle, and got the bike out.
Once in his studio, he collapsed on an armchair, taking his head into his hands.
“Everything about him screamed fake,” Peter mumbled, remaining in the same position. “A stranger appears at a Resistance meeting and asks about stolen drugs? And what kind of cop prioritizes a few pills over a fight and drugged kids? You know what Sherlock says: when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
“There… was a slim chance he was the real deal,” Peter’s voice choked. “For a second, I imagined myself living with the guilt… And then I imagined myself not living if he was a killer, and I acted on that. If only I had a reliable partner who would check the assassin’s phone as soon as we arrived instead of bitching about my life choices all evening.”
“I’m one of Daniel’s couriers,” Peter said abruptly. “I should have told you earlier. And I want to become a black market trader as soon as I have the money.”
“I don’t like being poor… I had a fun childhood, but my parents struggled to meet the month’s end. They’re too nice for their own good… They have this HEMA and re-enactment business. If we go to kindergartens for a show, we end up paid in cookies and lemonade… Never mind, it’s another story. Before the cultivators arrived, I was ready to start my own shop, trading luxury goods online. Watches, art, antiques, wine, cigars, this kind of thing. The cultivators destroyed all that. People are stashing gold, and that’s it.
“The black market is my only option to make a good living. The health system has all but collapsed, and alchemic cures sell big. That’s why I’m learning Alchemy, and I bear being bullied by eighteen years old. I stole those pills to see if they could have some medicinal use. You know, sedatives, whatever.”
Announcement: A new tutorial session with the Grand Sage Elfidor is available.> “In the morning… Show me my stats, please.” Name: Peter Hillden. Age: 24. Lvl. 11. Main Class: Impulse (Bespoke) Physical: 28 Mental: 15 Mystical: 14 25 AP to invest “Put two in Physical, five in Mental, and six in Mystical. Let’s keep the rest for later. And tomorrow, we go hunt monsters.” There was a certain gloating in the System’s message. Peter snorted and went to sleep.