Pain.
That was the first thing Russ felt. Not sharp or screaming, just this dull, cold ache, like someone had stuffed his entire body with heavy stones and then dropped him in a frozen lake. Every breath he took felt like it was scraping along the inside of his chest. The air he breathed in was thick, wet, full of smoke and rot. He coughed hard, doubling over, and the taste of blood immediately flooded his tongue.
His eyes blinked open slowly.
A rusted ceiling came into view. Then cracked stone walls. No windows. The buzzing of flies filled the air like static. Somewhere far off, a baby cried, high-pitched and pitiful. Closer by, a man groaned like his soul was leaking out with every breath. The whole place stank. Mold, piss, something metallic that might've been blood or rust. Russ couldn't tell the difference anymore.
He pushed himself upright, slowly, like an old man waking from a coma. His limbs felt foreign. Unfamiliar. His muscles didn't respond the way he remembered. They were too tight. Too thin. Too... small.
His hands trembled in front of him. Pale. Covered in grime and old scabs. The fingers were bony, the nails cracked. His arms looked like sticks. Bruised. Skinny. Weak.
This wasn't his body.
Then, clear and sharp, a voice rang out in his head.
[Serial Killer System Activated.]
Russ flinched. Not because the words appeared in the air, they didn't. They echoed in his skull. Like a second thought trying to push out the first. Not his voice. Not his rhythm. Cold. Robotic.
[Welcome, Russ.]
[You have been chosen. Your new life begins now.]
Silence followed.
He didn't speak. Didn't react. Just stared down at the strange hands in his lap, breathing slowly. Everything felt distant. His heartbeat was steady, maybe a little fast, but not wild.
[First Tutorial: SURVIVE.]
[Threat Level: Low.]
[Incoming hostile in 10 seconds.]
Ten seconds.
That was all the time he had. Ten seconds to make a move. Any move.
He scanned the room. Fast. Eyes flicking over the space like a predator. One doorway. No door. A few wooden planks nailed to the walls, barely holding them together. In the corner, a pile of broken furniture. Old chairs, rotting wood. And on the floor, beside a dead rat, a knife. Dull, rusted, but still a knife.
He lunged. Not gracefully. Just desperate. He grabbed a large splinter of wood first, long and jagged, then the knife. The handle was sticky with something dried and foul. He ignored it.
[9.]
He crouched low, near the doorway, his back to the wall. Grip tight around the wooden shard, the knife tucked beside his thigh. Breath slow. Eyes open. Every muscle tensed.
[8.]
New world. New rules. New body. But this wasn't his first time being hunted.
[7.]
He didn't remember saying yes to any of this. No contract. No bright light. No death screen. Just pain, then this.
[6.]
It didn't matter. He was here now. And that meant survival came first.
[5.]
His heart was pounding. But it was a steady rhythm. A beat he could work with.
[4.]
There were no weapons better than desperation. No armor stronger than intent.
[3.]
And Russ had plenty of both.
[2.]
A shadow darkened the doorway.
[1.]
The man stepped inside.
Russ moved.
He lunged with the wooden shard, slamming it forward. Not perfect, not deep, but it hit. Right in the thigh. The man screamed and stumbled, dropping a knife he had been holding. Russ kicked it away, hard. It clattered across the filthy floor.
Then, using every bit of force he could muster, he slammed his shoulder into the man, driving him back. They crashed into the stone doorframe. The man's head cracked against it. Once. Twice.
Again.
[Critical Hit.]
The body crumpled.
Russ didn't let go of the wooden shard until the twitching stopped.
He dropped it. Grabbed the rusted knife. Held it in both hands, chest rising and falling fast. The man was still breathing. Barely.
[Congratulations. Tutorial Complete.]
[Skill Unlocked: Improvised Weaponry Lv. 1]
[New Trait Acquired: Cold Focus – Under threat, mental clarity improves by 50%.]
The system spoke without emotion. It could've been reading a weather forecast.
Russ stared down at the blade in his hands. The fight had lasted seconds, but he felt like he'd aged years. Not from exhaustion.
From understanding.
He had control.
He grabbed a sheet from a broken cot, ripped it into strips, and tied the man's hands behind his back. Tight. Neat. No wasted movement. He checked the body. Found a pouch of coins, a piece of dried meat, and a flask that smelled like cheap liquor. He pocketed it all.
Then he stood. Walked to a sliver of glass leaning against the wall.
His reflection looked back at him.
Young. Probably fourteen, fifteen at most. Gaunt. Greasy hair, hollow cheeks. The kind of face people ignored. A face that wouldn't make the news.
But the eyes...
They were his.
Dead. Cold. Watchful.
He whispered, voice low, "Where am I?"
[Location: Maw District, Grimharrow City.]
[Maw District: Crime Zone. Population: 890,000. Law Enforcement: 0.]
No cops. No rules. Just bodies. Just predators.
Russ took a breath. Let it out slowly.
This wasn't hell. Hell had rules.
This was worse.
He looked down at the tied-up man. Didn't feel pity. Didn't feel hate. Just noted that the man hadn't tried hard enough. Hadn't been smart enough.
That made him a stepping stone.
He stepped over the body without hesitation.
There was no joy in him. No thrill. No celebration.
Only motion.
Only thought.
If this was the new world, then so be it. He would learn its shape, its laws, its rhythm.
And then he would bend it to his will.
One body at a time.