Robert stepped out of Sister Margaret's bar into the gloomy Brooklyn alley, flipping a black card idly between his fingers.
"Eliminate Jeff Mond of the Russian Ross gang—Reward: $1,000."
It was the lowest-paying black card Weasel had, but Robert didn't have much choice. Higher-level black card missions required a 10% deposit upfront, money he definitely didn't have. Weasel had already done him a favor by fronting the hundred bucks on this one.
Robert glanced down at the card's details. Weasel had provided some basic intel about Jeff Mond, including his usual haunts. Unfortunately, Robert was new to Brooklyn and had no idea how to navigate the maze of streets. Taking a cab would've been the smart move, but right now, he was about as financially solvent as a soggy cardboard box.
No money, no cab.
He sighed. He needed a miracle—or at least a wallet.
As if summoned by the universe itself, two figures suddenly blocked his path at the alley's exit. Both were young, both wore hoodies and mean expressions, and one of them had two prominent gold teeth gleaming in the dim light.
"Yo, Asian guy!" the gold-toothed one sneered, holding up his fist like it was supposed to scare Robert. "Empty your pockets—wallet, phone, everythi—"
He never got to finish the sentence.
Robert, without hesitation, swung his leg upward with pinpoint accuracy, landing squarely between the gold-toothed mugger's legs.
The young man's eyes bulged nearly out of their sockets. A quiet, miserable whine escaped his lips as he crumpled to his knees, mouth agape in a silent scream.
The other mugger—a man with dirty dreadlocks—froze, his eyes wide as saucers. He'd clearly seen some resistance before, but Robert's decisive, merciless reaction was something else entirely.
Before the dreadlocked man could move, Robert lunged forward and delivered a solid punch to his jaw, sending him sprawling to the concrete.
Ignoring the pained groans of his victims, Robert quickly searched their waistbands.
Sure enough, this was America—land of freedom, bald eagles, and generous street-side weapon drops. He found a pistol tucked neatly into the waistband of the dreadlocked mugger.
"Wow," Robert murmured appreciatively, testing its weight. "America's loot system really is impressive. You'd never get drops like this anywhere else."
He flicked the safety off with practiced nonchalance and pointed it directly at the dreadlocked man's forehead.
Instantly, the mugger lay perfectly flat on the ground, hands interlocked behind his head as if he'd rehearsed the move hundreds of times before. The fluidity of the surrender was truly admirable.
"Hey, man, it was all just a joke!" the dreadlocked mugger whimpered.
Robert smiled warmly, gun still trained. "Oh, don't worry—I love jokes. Tell you what: you list all your worst crimes, and I'll decide whether or not you're worth shooting."
The dreadlocked mugger blinked in confusion. "Huh?"
Robert sighed impatiently, gesturing with the pistol. "Quickly, now! How bad are you?"
"Uh… I've mugged some folks? Stolen phones and wallets?"
Robert glanced at the faintly glowing panel only he could see. New text flashed up:
[Target does not meet conditions]
Robert shook his head solemnly. "Sorry, buddy, not bad enough."
The dreadlocked man swallowed. It was an oddly disheartening judgment to hear. Feeling strangely defensive, he added, "I-I also never pay my prostitutes!"
Robert checked again.
"Still not enough," he frowned.
"I peeked at my neighbor while she was showering once!"
Robert rolled his eyes. "Creepy, but still not evil enough."
"I… I shoplifted!" the mugger pleaded desperately.
"Nope. That's weak sauce."
The dreadlocked man began blurting out increasingly petty misdemeanors, his voice rising to a panicked squeak. It was impressive—this was a level of confession that even the NYPD struggled to coax out of hardened criminals, yet here he was, spilling his guts in a Brooklyn alley.
Robert, however, remained thoroughly unimpressed. He'd been hoping to trigger the unlock for his new talent, but this mugger simply wasn't cutting it.
"Seriously?" Robert scoffed, interrupting the man's rambling confession. "That's the best you've got? You call yourself a bad guy? You're embarrassing every supervillain who ever lived."
The dreadlocked man went silent, defeated. You've got the gun, buddy—you make the rules.
Robert sighed deeply, disappointed. "Forget it. Achievements never come easy."
He quickly frisked both men, confiscating their cash, phones, and a second pistol tucked into Gold Tooth's pants.
"Now," Robert announced cheerfully, "I said everything valuable. That includes your buddy's gold teeth. Oh, and those Jordans you're wearing—are they authentic?"
The dreadlocked mugger stared up at him, mouth open in disbelief. He realized suddenly that compared to the ruthless Asian man standing over him, he was practically a saint.
As Robert pocketed their valuables, he grinned down at them. "Thanks for your cooperation, gentlemen. Consider this payment for an important life lesson: if you want to survive in crime, step up your game. Seriously, do better."
He walked away, leaving the two muggers stunned and penniless behind him.
Now armed, cash in hand, and significantly better equipped, Robert walked out onto the busy Brooklyn street. He felt strangely energized. Mugging muggers wasn't his original plan, but life was all about improvisation—and in his new mercenary career, he'd need plenty of practice at that.
His eyes flicked back to the black card:
Jeff Mond—Russian Ross Gang.
Robert smiled grimly. He might not have planned to go into this line of work, but if he was going to survive in this world, he needed power, resources, and allies.
More than anything, he needed these titles unlocked.
Maybe Jeff Mond would be the first step toward that goal.
Robert hailed a passing taxi, leaning into the window as it rolled down. "Know where to find the Ross gang?"
The cabbie looked skeptical, but a twenty-dollar bill quickly changed his mind.
"Hop in."
As the taxi pulled away, Robert checked the game panel again. Still locked, still no confirmed targets. He knew it wouldn't be easy.
But Robert was ready for the challenge.
After all, immortality came with certain perks—like having infinite chances to get things right.
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