Chapter 11: The Final Two (and a Public Spectacle)
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: ONLY TWO UNIQUE DEATHS REMAINING FOR UPGRADE PROTOCOL INITIATION. FINANCIAL THRESHOLD MET. RECOMMEND: FINAL KILLER DIVERSIFICATION. PROCEED WITH CAUTION, PUBLIC VISIBILITY INCREASING.]
"Caution, System? That's rich, coming from a digital entity that's essentially encouraging me to get myself repeatedly murdered," I muttered, adjusting the ridiculous, oversized hat I'd found in a discarded costume shop. My "Basic Illusion Casting" was making it subtly shift colors, just enough to be distracting but not enough to be truly noticeable unless you were really paying attention. Which, in New York, nobody ever was. Especially not after an alien invasion. Everyone was too busy trying to pretend things were normal, or silently freaking out in public. My "Advanced Tactical Awareness" was buzzing, picking up on the general state of the city: jittery, suspicious, and ripe for some Adam Stiels-level chaos.
I was at 18 unique deaths. Two more. And the $50 million mark had been officially surpassed. My bank account, which was now a series of offshore accounts and encrypted digital ledgers, was looking delightfully plump. "Stiels' Salvage and Cosmic Curios" was an unofficial empire, built on alien wreckage and my uncanny ability to be resurrected. Who knew getting killed could be such a lucrative business model?
"Alright, Adam, two more. Make 'em count. Something memorable. Something that screams 'I died for your entertainment, and also for a minor stat boost.' And ideally, something that nets me a useful skill, not just 'basic ability to recognize different types of pigeons.' Unless they're, like, super pigeons."*
My goal for the next death was a police officer. Not just any officer, but a nervous rookie. Someone whose kill would be accidental, a tragic mistake, and ideally, provide me with some kind of law enforcement-related skill. My "Tactical Awareness" quickly pinpointed a perimeter checkpoint, manned by a few weary-looking NYPD officers. One, in particular, was young, visibly stressed, and kept fumbling with his sidearm. Jackpot.
I walked towards the checkpoint, making sure I looked suspicious but not overtly threatening. I was carrying a small, empty duffel bag, which, thanks to a minor illusion, seemed to bulge suspiciously as if filled with something illicit. My "Basic Intimidation (Mild Effect)" was working overtime, making me seem just a little bit shifty, a little too confident for a civilian, but not overtly hostile. Just enough to put an already anxious rookie on edge.
As I approached the checkpoint, I deliberately made eye contact with the rookie. He tensed. His hand went to his gun. Perfect. My "Basic Parkour" suddenly made me incredibly clumsy, sending me stumbling towards a pile of precarious debris that was teetering precariously over a street lamp. It looked like I was about to either fall or grab something from the pile.
"Hey! Stop right there!" the rookie yelled, his voice cracking. He drew his weapon, his hands visibly shaking.
"Oh, this is going to be good. The poor kid. He's going to remember me for the rest of his career. 'That one time I accidentally shot a guy who then just... got up.' Therapy bills, here we come!"*
I dramatically tripped, flailing my arms. The illusion on my bag flickered, making it look like a piece of Chitauri tech was about to tumble out. The rookie, clearly overwhelmed and believing I was reaching for something, squeezed the trigger.
A single gunshot cracked through the air. The bullet struck me square in the chest. Not a pleasant sensation. It felt like a very aggressive punching bag workout. My vision swam, and I collapsed.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: DEATH DETECTED. KILLER: NYPD OFFICER (IDENTIFICATION: OFFICER BEN CARTER). SKILL ACQUIRED: BASIC LAW ENFORCEMENT PROTOCOL KNOWLEDGE.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: IMMORTAL SYSTEM ACTIVATED. YOU HAVE 1 LIFE REMAINING AGAINST OFFICER BEN CARTER.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: 19 UNIQUE DEATHS RECORDED. CURRENT PROGRESS TO UPGRADE 1: 19/20.]
I gasped back to life, my chest aching, but my mind suddenly flooded with an absurd amount of information about police codes, chain of command, and the proper way to fill out a report. Basic Law Enforcement Protocol Knowledge? Well, I guess that meant I could now argue my way out of a speeding ticket with surprising accuracy. Or, more likely, annoy a police officer with excruciatingly detailed legal precedents.
Officer Carter was staring, his face pale, his gun still smoking. His fellow officers were rushing towards him, their faces a mixture of concern and bewilderment. They hadn't seen me revive, thankfully. I was still somewhat concealed by the dust and debris.
"Oh, dear," I mumbled, pushing myself up. "Someone needs to work on their aim, Officer. Though, I admit, the dramatic collapse was pretty convincing, even for me."
Before they could fully process the impossible sight of me getting up, I used my "Basic Wall-Crawling" to scramble onto a nearby fire escape, disappearing into the labyrinthine alleys. I could hear their confused shouts behind me.
"One more. Just one more. And then, glorious upgrades! Who's left? Someone truly desperate. Someone who will kill me in a way that makes me look like a tragic hero, just for the irony."*
My "Advanced Tactical Awareness" scanned the city. The Avengers were busy with press conferences and cleanup. The remaining criminals were mostly small fry. I needed a grand finale. A public spectacle.
And then I saw it. On the news feed on my salvaged, battered phone. A live report. A bank, several blocks away, was being held up by a desperate, cornered criminal. He was clearly unhinged, yelling about the invasion, about being left behind. He had taken hostages. And he had a very large, very unstable-looking gun. Perfect.
This was my grand finale. My 20th unique death. And it would be glorious.
I sprinted towards the bank, my "Basic Parkour" making me surprisingly agile over the debris. My mind raced, plotting. How to make this look like a noble sacrifice, yet still get myself killed by the bad guy?
I arrived on the scene. Police had the bank surrounded. SWAT teams were moving in. The criminal, a disheveled man in a dirty hoodie, was visible through the shattered windows, holding a terrified bank teller. He was shouting incoherently, his gun waving wildly.
I needed to draw his fire. And I needed it to be unambiguous.
I used my "Basic Illusion Casting" to create a subtle, ethereal glow around myself, making me appear slightly more heroic, slightly more destined for a dramatic end. Then, I boldly stepped out from behind the police line, ignoring the shouts of the officers.
"Hey, pal!" I yelled, my voice carrying surprisingly well. "You know, this hostage thing? It's really bad for your public image. Especially after an alien invasion. People are already on edge. Now's not the time to be a dramatic villain. Unless you're, like, a really good dramatic villain. Which, judging by your choice of hoodie, I'm guessing you're not."
The criminal's head snapped towards me, his eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and pure, unadulterated fury. "Who the hell are you?! Get back!" he shrieked, his gun wavering.
"Me? Oh, just a concerned citizen," I said, putting on my most innocent, yet infuriating, smile. "And a firm believer in leaving hostage situations to the professionals. Speaking of which, your grip on that poor teller looks a little unprofessional. Have you considered a stress ball? Or maybe a nice cup of chamomile tea?"
He roared, completely abandoning his focus on the teller. My plan was working. He aimed his gun directly at me, his finger tightening on the trigger. The police officers behind me were shouting, urging me to get down.
"This is it. The big one. The final death for the upgrade. What skill will I get from a desperate, unhinged criminal? 'Basic Hostage Negotiation'? 'Ability to Annoy People into Surrender'? I'll take either. As long as it's unique."*
He fired. The gunshot echoed through the street. The impact was brutal, a sickening thud. Darkness claimed me.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: DEATH DETECTED. KILLER: UNIDENTIFIED CRIMINAL (IDENTIFICATION: 'MAD DOG' MARVIN). SKILL ACQUIRED: BASIC ESCAPE ARTISTRY.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: IMMORTAL SYSTEM ACTIVATED. YOU HAVE 1 LIFE REMAINING AGAINST 'MAD DOG' MARVIN.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: 20 UNIQUE DEATHS RECORDED. UPGRADE PROTOCOL INITIATING. PLEASE STAND BY FOR SYSTEM RECALIBRATION.]
I gasped back to life, body convulsing, the phantom gunshot wound still tingling. Basic Escape Artistry? Not exactly what I was expecting, but surprisingly useful! I instinctively felt a strange understanding of knots, locks, and restraints.
"Escape Artistry? So now I can escape from a straitjacket. Or a really complicated shoelace knot. Excellent! My life is now infinitely more entertaining!"*
I quickly scanned my surroundings. The criminal was staring at the spot where I'd fallen, his eyes wide with utter terror. The police were still shouting. No one had quite processed what had just happened.
I pushed myself up, giving a weak, bewildered smile to the onlookers. "Well, that was... dramatic," I coughed. "I think I just had a very intense dream about a very angry man and a very loud bang. I should probably lay off the late-night pizza."
Before anyone could react, the System Message popped up, blinding my vision.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: UPGRADE PROTOCOL COMPLETE. IMMORTAL SYSTEM UPGRADED TO LEVEL 1.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: NEW PERK UNLOCKED: MISSION PERK. THE SYSTEM WILL NOW GENERATE HIGH-RISK, HIGH-REWARD MISSIONS.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: DEATH LIMIT INCREASED. YOU CAN NOW DIE UP TO 2 TIMES TO THE SAME INDIVIDUAL BEFORE PERMA-DEATH.]
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: CONGRATULATIONS, ADAM STIELS. YOUR JOURNEY HAS ONLY JUST BEGUN.]
A wave of intense, exhilarating energy washed over me. I felt stronger, clearer, more connected to the System. My previous deaths, the pain, the confusion – it all coalesced into a refined understanding. I was no longer just some random dude who revived. I was officially, tangibly, more. And I could die twice to the same person now. This was a game changer.
My eyes landed on the bank teller, who was now being safely escorted away by a cop. She looked shaken, but unharmed. Good. My dramatic demise had at least served a purpose beyond my own personal gain. Mostly.
"Well," I said to myself, a triumphant grin spreading across my face, "that was a productive morning. Now, about these high-risk missions... I wonder if they involve more Rickrolling?"