Well… shit.
I let out a low chuckle, half from disbelief, half from relief.
Looks like I might be fine after all.
The headache from the fall still pulsed behind my eyes, but it wasn't the kind of pain that made me panic anymore. It was background noise—like the city itself. Birmingham didn't care if you were hurting. It only cared if you were useful.
I sat on the edge of the old bed, elbows on my knees, trying to steady my breathing. The room smelled like smoke, damp wood, and stale whiskey. Jack Shelby's room.
My room.
I was still processing that when my vision shifted.
Not blurred. Not dizzy.
Layered.
A translucent holographic screen unfolded in front of my eyes like it had been waiting for me to stop moving. It hovered just at the edge of my sight—close enough to read, far enough that it didn't feel like a hallucination.
It was too clean. Too modern.
Too real.
MAFIA SYSTEMUser: Jack Shelby Status: Active
Welcome.Complete tasks to earn rewards.
My throat went dry.
"…A system?"
The words didn't answer. They didn't need to.
Below the welcome message sat a row of tabs. Only three were clear. The rest were smudged out, blurred like they were locked behind a fogged window.
[Tasks][Stats][Shop][???][???]
My focus snapped to Tasks.
The interface responded instantly.
ACTIVE TASKObjective:
Earn 50 Reputation
Reward:▸+5 Perks▸ £100
I stared at the number so long it stopped looking real.
£100.
Jack's memories surfaced without permission—men working factory shifts until their hands bled for a pound a week. Two, if they were lucky. Even a Peaky Blinder didn't casually carry money like that unless it came with blood on it.
This wasn't a "reward."
It was bait.
I swallowed hard. "Holy shit…"
The system stayed silent, patient as a judge.
My eyes drifted back up.
+5 Perks.
Perks sounded like the kind of nonsense you'd hear in a cheap story—until you realized the screen was hovering in your own damn vision.
I narrowed my eyes. "What are perks for?"
A new prompt slid into place as if it had been waiting for the question.
PERK INFORMATION Perks may be exchanged for:▸ Items in the Shop▸ Attribute Points for physical traits
All system functions require perk points.
I felt my pulse spike.
"So perks are currency…"
That changed everything.
Money mattered. Reputation mattered. Fear mattered. But perks?
Perks sounded like the lever behind the whole machine.
If every system function cost perks, then earning perks wasn't just "progress."
It was survival.
A cold excitement crawled up my spine, cutting through the last of my panic.
If I can earn perks… I can build myself into something people can't ignore.
I forced myself to breathe slowly.
"Alright," I murmured. "Let's see the stats."
The moment I focused on Stats, the tab expanded cleanly.
STATUSName: Jack Shelby
Alias: None
Affiliation: Shelby Family
Rank: Associate
Territory: None
Status: Active
Influence: 12
Fear: 8
Reputation: 15
Current Cash:£3
I froze on the last line.
"Three pounds…"
A short laugh escaped me—dry, almost offended.
Three pounds wasn't nothing, not for an average man. It could feed you. Keep you drinking. Keep you alive.
But for a Shelby?
For someone meant to stand beside Tommy at a table where men's lives were negotiated like prices?
£3 was a joke.
And then my eyes went back up the list.
Associate. Territory: None.
Not trusted enough to hold ground. Not respected enough to be independent. Useful—but replaceable.
That was what the system was telling me, without saying it out loud.
You're not secure. Not yet.
My jaw tightened.
"Physical," I whispered, more to myself than the screen. "Show me my physical stats."
The blurred icons shimmered—and one of them sharpened into focus like it had been unlocked by the question alone.
[Physical]
The tab opened.
PHYSICAL STATUS – JACK SHELBY
Strength: 10
Stamina: 8 (Average human: 10)
Vitality: 10
Agility: 7
Luck: 4
I stared at Luck: 4 and let out a slow breath.
"Figures."
If luck was real, mine had been bad enough to get me flattened by a truck and dropped into 1919 Birmingham—inside a gangster's body—right in the middle of a storm.
A four felt generous.
Then I looked back at the rest.
Strength: average. Vitality: decent. Agility: low.
And stamina…
8.
Below average.
I didn't need the system to explain that one. Jack's memories were full of smoke and whiskey. Nights blurred by drink. Mornings fueled by cigarettes. War damage that never healed properly.
And then there was the fall.
The system didn't show injuries in bright red letters. It didn't coddle.
It just gave me numbers and let me draw my own conclusions.
I'm not built to dominate right now.
I'm built to survive.
I leaned back against the wall and shut my eyes for a second, letting the information settle into my bones.
A system in a mafia world.
Not power. Not magic.
A scoreboard.
A set of rules that didn't care how I felt.
Only what I did.
I opened my eyes and looked at the task again.
Earn 50 Reputation.
I already had 15.
So I needed 35 more.
And the reward…
£100 and 5 perks.
The money would change my position overnight. The perks could change my body, my options, my future.
But reputation?
Reputation in this city wasn't earned by smiling.
It was earned by making sure people remembered you.
Jack Shelby's name meant something right now—barely.
But if I stayed quiet, stayed "injured," stayed passive…
Tommy would notice.
Arthur would get bored.
Jon would get suspicious.
And in a family like this, "replaceable" didn't mean you got fired.
It meant you disappeared.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my mind to sharpen.
"Okay," I said under my breath. "How do I earn reputation in Birmingham?"
The answer came instantly, not from the system—
From Jack's memories.
Collection routes. Debtors. Fear.
People who owed the Shelbys money and tried to pretend they didn't.
People who talked too loud at pubs.
Men who needed to be reminded of where they stood.
And it didn't always require violence.
It required control.
Visibility.
A moment that became a story.
I stood and reached into my pocket, feeling the coins there like an insult.
£3.
Not enough to buy power. Not enough to buy men. Not enough to buy safety.
So I'd have to earn something that couldn't be stolen out of my hands.
Reputation.
I took one last look at the system panel hovering in my vision.
The tabs sat there calmly, like they were waiting for me to step into my role.
Not "new life."
Not "fresh start."
A cage with better lighting.
I swallowed, grabbed my coat, and stepped out of the room.
The hallway outside was quiet, but the house itself felt alive—like it listened. Like it watched.
Like it judged.
Tommy's going to test me soon, I thought. Maybe he already is.
I made it to the bottom of the stairs and paused, feeling that faint pressure behind my eyes again—like the system was tracking my next move.
Not guiding.
Not helping.
Just counting.
And somehow, that made my decision simple.
In a city like Birmingham, you either became the kind of man people stepped around…
Or you became the kind of man people stepped over.
I pulled my coat tighter and walked toward the street.
Toward the Garrison.
Toward the people who already feared the Shelby name—
And the ones who didn't fear it enough.
The holographic display stayed in the corner of my vision, silent and steady.
ACTIVE TASK: Earn 50 Reputation
Current Reputation:15 / 50
I didn't smile.
But my blood warmed.
"Alright," I murmured.
"Let's start climbing."