Since I joined STARS less than a month ago, my nights have become endless marathons. No sleep can quell my whirling thoughts, as if my mind refuses to surrender to rest.
I have engaged in non-stop training sessions until dawn, desperate to exhaust this devouring energy that animates my being. It is as if I have been imbued with a superhuman force, a power that rumbles within me, ready to explode at any moment.
Some days, I find myself thinking that it is perhaps similar to Naruto's Uzumaki blood, this inexhaustible reserve of endurance that pulses through my veins. But the similarities end there, because what inhabits me is darker, more mysterious.
The streets of the city, even under the dark veil of night, are never quiet. Regular patrols weren't enough to quell the constant whisper of crime creeping in the shadows. That's when I decided to step in, to become the silent guardian of the streets, hunting down criminals who dared to defy the law and sow chaos.
I started with the petty thugs, the cheapskate thieves, and the half-crazed junkies who roamed the dark alleys. But soon, my encounters escalated, turning into brutal confrontations with dealers armed to the teeth.
Bullets whizzed around me, dancing their macabre ballet, but they only spurred me on, fueling the adrenaline that pulsed through my veins.
Some fell under my blows, their bodies lying in the darkness, mute witnesses to my solitary crusade. I stripped them of their meager possessions, their money tainted by crime, before anonymously delivering the seized drugs to the police station.
A shadow among shadows, a faceless vigilante who slips through the streets like a shadow, leaving fear and mystery behind him.
To avoid arousing suspicion, I took care to hide my face behind a dark hood, hiding my identity from those who might seek to discover me. The darkness is my ally, my black coat a second skin that protects me from prying eyes.
Body: ON/OFF
- Strength: 1466 kg / 80 kg
- Speed: 55 m/s / 10m/s
- Resistance: 2300 kg/cm² /2300 kg/cm²
My physical abilities have become monstrous, it doesn't surprise me that Doctor Birkin in the game seems immortal after his infection, if he had had more time to mutate, I don't know if he would really be killed by the explosion on the train. I think I could easily master him in his first form.
I am able to jump up to 7 meters high and when I run at full speed, I can easily overtake cars, I am not yet at the same level as Wesker when it comes to dodging, for now, if I dodge at the maximum of my speed, I break my ankles.
I still have a month before the mansion and I am not yet strong enough to handle the various fully mutated animals. I think I will have to attack the different underworlds in order to continue training while eradicating the scum of this city and earning a little money in the process.
The darkness of the night is my domain, an endless training ground where I can push my body beyond its limits. My being vibrates with an inextinguishable energy, a raw force that only asks to be channeled, to be shaped by effort and discipline.
I did not join the ranks of STARS out of a sense of justice, but rather out of a desire for domination, a thirst to push my body to its limits and extract every ounce of its latent power.
The city streets are my playground, a battlefield where I can meet every challenge with unwavering determination.
Wielding an iron bar as an extension of my will, I charge into the narcotics' lair with feline agility, my heightened senses ready to anticipate my opponents' every move.
Bullets whizz around me, but I dodge them with acrobatic grace, my movements defying gravity as I engage in a deadly dance with death.
The narcotics are helpless against my unleashed fury, my muscles overloaded with power crushing any resistance in their path. In one fluid motion, I use my iron bar as an extension of my will, shattering my enemies' defenses with brutal efficiency.
Every fight is a lesson, an opportunity to hone my skills and sharpen my reflexes. I leap with superhuman agility, dodging enemy fire with disconcerting ease, my movements seeming almost prescient as I dance through bullets with insane grace.
When the chaos finally calms down, the defeated narcotics lie at my feet, silent witnesses to my overwhelming power. I struggle to put the drugs away in the space for the police station while taking the money and anything else I can use.
Mostly simple glocks and lots of ammunition, either loose in boxes or ready-to-use magazines. There is even rifle and submachine gun ammunition, but this one seems to be packaged to be sold, it seems.
The gloomy silence of the night is broken by the crash of firearms as I exit the narcotics' den, victorious but not unscathed. A shotgun blast tears through the air, and I feel the brutal impact in my back, an explosion of pain that threatens to overwhelm me.
The host has suffered 3000 kg/cm 2 per bullet to the back. No modifiers are applied.
I stagger, my body reeling in shock, but I refuse to give in to weakness. My fingers instinctively close around my iron bar, ready to strike back even in my apparent vulnerability. Stars dance before my eyes, but I fight against the darkness that threatens to engulf me.
I feel the warm blood running down my spine, a burning sensation that bites like fire. Shards of metal dig into my flesh, but instead of buckling in the pain, I focus on the healing that pulses within me, a mysterious force that refuses to accept defeat.
Bullet fragments begin to be expelled from my gaping wound, a macabre dance of metal and flesh that speaks to my resilience. The pain turns to a tingling sensation as my skin regenerates.
Meanwhile, the sole survivor of the attack stands frozen, his pale face marked with dread as he contemplates the impossible. Terror grips him as he realizes I am not a mere mortal, but something much darker, much more terrifying.
His urine spills onto the ground in a foul pool, a silent testament to his absolute terror at my apparent resurrection. His shotgun no longer gives him a sense of safety.
my body is still weak but the way i approach him is surely a horrifying sight because i can almost hear the frantic beating of his heart
I take on a voice from beyond the grave as I stand next to him. "Your soul is tainted, you will have to face judgment."
After hearing my words, the man drops his rifle as his eyes widen in pure terror.
He picks up a chain with a cross on it before falling to his knees, clutching it in his hands as he prays with his eyes closed
I feel my body returning to normal so I put my hands around his neck.
He looks into my eyes with a crazy look. I break his neck thus ending tonight's hunt
"Body," I say, irritated by the fact that my raincoat is completely useless.
Since I joined STARS less than a month ago, my nights have become endless marathons. No sleep can quell my whirling thoughts, as if my mind refuses to surrender to rest.
I've engaged in non-stop training sessions until dawn, desperate to exhaust this devouring energy that animates my being. It's as if I've been imbued with a superhuman force—a power that rumbles within me, ready to explode at any moment.
Sometimes, I think it's similar to Naruto's Uzumaki blood—that inexhaustible reserve of endurance pulsing through my veins. But the similarities end there. What inhabits me is darker, more mysterious.
Even under the veil of night, the city's streets are never quiet. Regular patrols aren't enough to silence the whispers of crime that slither through the shadows. That's when I decided to step in—to become the silent guardian of the streets, hunting down those who dare to defy the law and sow chaos.
I started with the petty thugs—the cheapskate thieves and half-crazed junkies who haunted the alleys. But my encounters quickly escalated into brutal confrontations with heavily armed dealers.
Bullets whizzed around me in a macabre ballet, but they only spurred me on, feeding the adrenaline that surged through my veins.
Some fell under my blows, their bodies lying in the darkness—mute witnesses to my solitary crusade. I stripped them of their meager possessions, their money tainted by crime, and anonymously delivered the seized drugs to the police station.
A shadow among shadows, a faceless vigilante slipping through the streets, leaving behind fear and mystery.
To avoid arousing suspicion, I took care to hide my face under a dark hood, masking my identity from prying eyes. The darkness is my ally—my black coat, a second skin shielding me from the world.
Body: ON/OFF
Strength: 1466 kg / 80 kg
Speed: 55 m/s / 10 m/s
Resistance: 2300 kg/cm² / 2300 kg/cm²
My physical abilities have become monstrous. I'm no longer surprised that Dr. Birkin seemed immortal after his infection. If he'd had more time to mutate, I don't know if the train explosion would've truly killed him. I'm convinced I could handle his first form with ease.
I can now jump over 7 meters high. At full speed, I outrun cars. I'm not yet at Wesker's level when it comes to dodging—in fact, dodging at top speed still breaks my ankles.
I still have a month before the mansion incident. I'm not yet strong enough to handle fully mutated creatures. I'll need to assault the different criminal networks, continue training, eliminate the city's filth, and earn money along the way.
The darkness of the night is my domain—an endless training ground where I push my body beyond its limits. My being vibrates with untamed energy, a raw force that demands discipline and control.
I didn't join STARS out of justice, but from a hunger for domination—a thirst to push myself further and draw out every ounce of latent power.
The streets are my playground. My battlefield.
Armed with an iron bar as an extension of my will, I charge into a narcotics den with feline agility, my senses sharpened, ready to anticipate every move.
Bullets tear through the air—but I dodge them with acrobatic grace, defying gravity as I dance with death.
The criminals stand no chance against my unleashed fury—my overpowered muscles crush resistance like twigs. My iron bar becomes a precise, brutal instrument, shattering defenses in one fluid motion.
Each battle is a lesson, a chance to sharpen my instincts. I leap with inhuman agility, dodging fire with ease, my every motion calculated, almost prescient.
When the chaos ends, the defeated lie at my feet—silent witnesses to overwhelming power. I gather the drugs to anonymously deposit them at the station, while pocketing whatever else I can use.
Mostly simple Glocks and an abundance of ammunition, either loose in boxes or packed into loaded magazines. Even rifle and SMG rounds—packaged for resale, clearly.
The night's silence is shattered by the roar of a firearm as I exit the den—victorious, but not untouched.
A shotgun blast rips through the air and slams into my back, an explosion of pain that nearly knocks me off my feet.
The host has suffered 3000 kg/cm² of impact per shell to the back. No modifiers applied.
I stagger, reeling from the shock, but I refuse to collapse. My fingers instinctively tighten around my iron bar, ready to retaliate despite the pain.Stars blur my vision, but I cling to consciousness.
Warm blood trickles down my spine, searing like fire. Shrapnel digs into my flesh—but instead of crumbling, I focus on the regeneration coursing through me. A force that won't allow me to die.
Bullet fragments slowly eject themselves from my wound, a grotesque dance of metal and flesh. The pain turns to a tingling warmth as skin and muscle knit back together.
Across from me, the shooter—now the lone survivor—stands frozen, his face pale and eyes wide. He's paralyzed by terror.
Urine stains the ground beneath him—his only answer to the impossible sight before him.His shotgun, once a source of confidence, now feels useless in his hands.
My body is still recovering, but the way I approach him must be terrifying—I can almost hear the frantic pounding of his heart.
I speak with a voice that seems to come from beyond the grave."Your soul is tainted. You will have to face judgment."
The man drops the gun. His eyes widen, consumed by horror.He grabs a chain with a cross, clutching it as he falls to his knees, muttering prayers with eyes shut tight.
My body stabilizes. I walk forward and place my hands around his neck.He opens his eyes and stares into mine, madness flickering in his gaze.
I break his neck—ending tonight's hunt.
"Body," I mutter, irritated that my raincoat has once again proven utterly useless.
Body: ON/OFF
Strength: 1466 kg / 80 kg
Speed: 55 m/s / 10 m/s
Resistance: 2534 kg/cm² / 2534 kg/cm²
The next day, I return to my unit without showing anything. Less than half an hour passes before we receive our mission.
The atmosphere in Bravo Team is electric as we prepare for a critical operation. Enrico Marini, our charismatic leader, delivers the briefing with military precision, detailing the objectives calmly and clearly.
Beside him, Forest Speyer and Richard Aiken—two seasoned veterans—exchange knowing glances, their tactical instincts razor-sharp, ready to be deployed at a moment's notice.
Kenneth J. Sullivan and Edward Dewey, our team's pilots, perform a final inspection of the helicopter. Their flying skills will be crucial.Rebecca Chambers, our field medic, quietly checks her equipment, her gestures precise, her mind already prepared for the worst.
Kevin Dooley, the sniper, adjusts his rifle with intense focus, his eyes already scanning for potential threats beyond our immediate surroundings.
And then there's me—Gerald King. Just one more elite member of the team, my true nature carefully hidden beneath a mask of normalcy.
The mission seems simple: infiltrate the Central Bank of Raccoon City, where armed robbers are holding employees hostage and threatening to blow the building. As we race toward our objective, a familiar surge of excitement builds in me—a feverish anticipation mixed with unwavering confidence in my team.
We enter the bank in perfect formation, moving like a well-oiled machine. Our advance is a deadly dance of precision.The robbers, caught off guard, quickly lose their arrogance. Panic sets in as they realize they're facing something far beyond their league.
In the chaos, I let my abilities slip through, just enough to tip the scales—my monstrous strength and lightning speed making short work of any direct threat.
But I make sure it all looks natural—calculated movements, precise strikes. Nothing flashy.Only once do I falter: a robber takes aim at the hostages, and without thinking, I deflect the bullet mid-air with my knife before putting him down with a headshot.
That's the only moment my teammates might have caught a glimpse of something… unusual.
Meanwhile, the others prove their worth brilliantly.
Enrico leads the assault with unwavering authority. Forest and Richard expertly cover our rear.Kenneth and Edward, stationed outside, have already neutralized several robbers who tried to flee using our helicopter.
Rebecca remains alert in the background, ready to step in. Her calm presence is a silent pillar of strength.
As the dust settles and the last threats are subdued, the hostages gather around us—relieved, grateful. Their faces reflect the emotional weight of their survival.They thank us sincerely, some with tears in their eyes.
Enrico, ever the professional, gives a humble nod. "We're just doing our job, ma'am," he says in his usual calm, firm voice.
Forest, with his dry humor, adds: "But hey, if you want to buy us a coffee, we won't say no."
Richard nods with a wink. "Or maybe a good meal? All this action makes you hungry."
I offer a modest smile, grateful for the team and for the moment of camaraderie."It was a well-coordinated effort," I say with sincerity.
Rebecca, ever the pragmatist, shrugs lightly. "Well, I didn't do much this time," she says, modestly. But the kindness in her gaze shows how essential her presence really was.
We exchange a knowing look—unspoken respect between comrades.Proud but humble, we walk away from the Central Bank, ready for the next challenge, guided by the same quiet determination that defines Bravo Team.
The best part of working with STARS? Aside from the paperwork, most of the logistics are handled by the external staff.
That night, I resume my usual activities—but this time, with a little extra.
I stand in front of what appears to be a completely ordinary warehouse, according to the reports. But from the last dealer I took out, I learned about a secret underground passage in the back—unknown to law enforcement.
Time to check my gear.
I've got 20 Glocks and over 500 bullets, a shotgun and nearly 200 shells, and my trusty iron bar.What's great is that identical weapons only take up one slot in my inventory—and bars stack the same way. I use a metal bar in melee instead of the police batons to avoid leaving traces.
I think I'm ready.