It's been a week since Felicia and I pulled off that heist. A whole month has passed since I woke up in this world, and I'm finally getting comfortable, not just with Marvel but with the start of my criminal life.
Progress has been steady. My missions are advancing, my skills are sharpening, and most importantly, I've finally completed my first mission.
My first completed mission. It was a great accomplishment for me. And damn, was the reward worth it.
When I received the Expert level [Driving] skill, my entire perception of the road changed. It wasn't just knowledge flooding my brain—it was instinct. Suddenly, I wasn't just handling a car; I was commanding it.
Precision driving, J-turns, curb riding, PIT maneuvers, spin recovery—things I had only seen in action movies felt natural. I could predict weight shifts, engine responses, and road traction without thinking.
The explanation said this skill was equivalent to ten years of driving experience, but let's be real—no casual driver reaches this level in a decade. This was professional driver territory.
And I earned it.
With this, I wasn't just some taxi driver anymore. I was the getaway driver.
But that wasn't my only improvement. After the fifth successful first-aid attempt, I unlocked my third skill: First Aid.
As soon as I received it, I learned the basics of proper wound cleaning, hygiene, and dressing, how to apply pressure to stop bleeding without hesitation, basic CPR, and a few other essential skills.
I flexed my fingers, remembering the sensation of securing a bandage the right way, of feeling a heartbeat under my care. The difference between an amateur and a better amateur who actually knew what he was doing.
Of course, I did not get many chances to use this skill. Since then, I have managed only one more successful first aid incident.
Skills:
Driving (Expert)
Martial Arts (Novice)
First Aid (Novice)
And then there was Martial Arts. The one skill that was not progressing. I hadn't leveled up despite two weeks of daily practice alone and with Uncle Niko, and I knew why.
Training was not enough. I needed real fights. Sparring and drills would only take me so far—without combat experience, I would be stuck for months and maybe longer. I needed to hit someone and get hit back.
But was I about to go looking for a fight? Hell no.
My Vigilante mission was on hold until I had at least Apprentice-level Martial Arts. I refused to end up like some idiot rushing into battle just to get folded like a cheap lawn chair.
The five thugs that died because of my actions? That was different.
I hadn't planned to kill them. It just… happened.
Do I feel guilty? No.
Do I feel anything at all? …Not really.
Maybe that should worry me.
But I don't have time for moral dilemmas. Not in this world.
Missions:
Taxi Driver (100/100) (Complete)
Vigilante (5/100)
Paramedic (6/100)
Delivery (10/100)
Burglary (5/100)
I finally completed the Taxi Driver mission. It was the easiest, and now that it's over, I can focus on more… unconventional means of improving myself.
The others? Not so simple.
The Vigilante mission is staying on ice. I'm not touching that until I hit Apprentice level in Martial Arts. The five bodies I've racked up were unintentional—flukes of circumstance. Actively going out to pick fights with criminals? Yeah, no. That's just asking for trouble.
The Paramedic mission is going nowhere fast. Even though I managed to get a First Aid skill after five successful treatments, I've barely had the chance to use it since. It turns out random people don't just let you bandage them up, and without a proper medical background, I'm stuck waiting for someone to bleed out in front of me before I can do anything useful.
The Delivery mission is frustrating as hell. The only source of progress is the corrupt cop, which means my ability to level up is tied directly to that fat bastard's whims. I even tried getting a job as a pizza delivery guy, thinking it would count. Nope. After running around like an idiot, I checked the mission log—zero progress. You'd think dodging traffic to deliver pizzas before time would count as high-stakes delivery, but apparently, my system doesn't give a shit about pepperoni emergencies.
Finally, I have a new mission added to my list: Burglary. I got it after successfully completing the burglary with Felicia.
Description: Execute successful robberies without being caught
Objective 1: Execute 20 successful robberies without being caught
Reward: Skill: Stealth (Apprentice)
Objective 2: Execute 50 successful robberies without being caught
Reward: Skill: Stealth (Adept)
Objective 3: Execute 100 successful robberies without being caught
Reward: Skill: Stealth (Expert)
The skill in the reward will be a great addition to my growing list of skills, but I just can't go every day looking for places to rob.
After our last job, Felicia stopped sulking and finally acknowledged my existence again. While she hasn't invited me on another heist, she did let me borrow the Boxville whenever I wanted to do a job on my own. She even offered to fence my loot—for a cut, obviously.
As for my share from our last heist, I got three grand. That's big money for me right now.
I've been using my taxi job to scope out easy targets. Since I don't have Felicia's expertise or connections, my options are limited to small homes in shady parts of the city—places with minimal security and no high-profile owners.
But I'm avoiding Hell's Kitchen and Harlem like the plague.
That's just asking for trouble. I already have enough trouble breathing down my neck—I'm not stupid enough to add another.
Oh well, let's get back to my job. I have to make the eleventh delivery.
I stopped in a shady part of the city for the delivery, and I realized that this had been happening more and more lately.
Whatever, let's drop the package and leave quickly.
The drop location was a trash can in an alley. When I found the trash can that matched the description, I dropped the package in it. As I wanted to turn around and leave, a voice stopped me in my tracks.
"Look, boys, a rat lost his way on our turf," a thug said with a menacing grin that showed more rotting teeth than actual teeth as he came out with two other thugs from a building in the front.
I heard steps from behind and looked back to see two more coming from the back with sadistic smiles. With three in front, two in the back, and walls on my left and right, I was blocked from all sides.
The one in the lead in my front wore knuckles on his hands, two had bats, and the rest were barehanded.
I let out a bitter smile. Was I cursed? Or do I have a crow's mouth? Just a while ago, I thought I wouldn't fight, but here I was, surrounded by thugs who didn't look like they would let me go with just a nice chat.
I held up my hands, playing it casual. "Oh, sorry, fellas. Someone called for a taxi, but I didn't see that person. Probably a mix-up. I'll just—"
The cold, hard tip of a bat pressed into my back. Ah. Thought so.
I held my ground as the lead thug stepped closer, his eyes locking onto mine. He was taller, bulkier—built like a guy who thought hitting the gym thrice a week made him invincible. His breath reeked of cigarettes and bad decisions.
"What's the hurry?" he said, voice thick with fake politeness. "You can leave. But first, tell us what you put in the trash can." His eyes never left my eyes.
Was that move supposed to scare me? It might have worked when I first woke up in this world, but with all that I had been through in the last month, that barely fazed me.
"What do you put in a trash can? Of course, it's trash," I said matter-of-factly, maintaining his gaze.
The reply shocked him a bit. He didn't think a scrawny guy like him would dare talk back to him in that tone. He started laughing hard, and his fellow thugs joined in the laughter. The kind of laughter that told me they were already thinking of ways to break my ribs.
"Boys, looks like we got a smartass here," the leader smirked. Then, faster than I expected, his hand shot out, grabbing my collar.
His breath was in my face. Burnt tobacco and cheap beer.
"You better pray that's the truth," he growled, all humor gone. "Or you're gonna regret talking to us like that."
He jerked his chin at one of his guys without breaking eye contact.
The thug nodded and strutted over to the trash can. Slow. Deliberate. Like he already knew what he'd find.
I watched as he pulled out the neatly wrapped package and held it up, inspecting it. His fingers prodded the edges, searching for an opening.
Then, he pulled a knife from his pocket with a practiced motion.
Of course, he had a fucking knife. Just what was missing in the upcoming slugfest.
The thug jammed his knife into the package's center and sliced downward. The moment the blade ripped through, a fine white powder began to spill down.
Of course, that fat fuck made me deliver drugs.
I put my hand on my head and rubbed it as a headache began to creep in. I exhaled slowly.
I was sighing too much these days.
The fight was inevitable.
"Remember, kid, if you ever find yourself in an inevitable fight, then remember three rules:
Hit first.
Hit hard.
Hit fast."
I suddenly remembered Uncle Niko's advice as I sighed once again for the inevitable.
"You have got balls, smartass. Our Black Dog gang just claimed this turf, and you delivered drugs here without our permission and without paying us the tax. Tsk, Tsk, Tsk. And on top of that you dared talk back to us in that cocky tone," the thug said sneered.
Just as I was about to punch, I stopped. Black Dog?
"Is your leader's name Volt?" I asked, half curiously and half trying to hide my smirk.
"What—" the thug became shocked by the question, and that was the perfect moment as I hit him with a perfect uppercut at the tip of his chin. One punch, and he hit the pavement like a sack of bricks. Uncle Niko would be so proud.
I looked at the downed thug and the other thugs looking in shock. Nah, they didn't look like the type who could establish their own Cuntry.
The rest of the thugs stared at their fallen leader like their brains were buffering.
Taking advantage of their momentary lapse, I close in on another knife-wielding thug. He was currently the most dangerous. A sharp hook to his left temple. He reacted, but it was somewhat late. Though not perfectly, the punch connected as he jerked his head back. But the force was enough only to disorient him.
Since I couldn't knock him out, I went for the next best thing and kicked the knife away from his hand. It was easy because, due to the pain and concussion, his grip was loosened.
Then the pain came. A bat slammed into my back. Fire shot through my spine, knocking the air from my lungs. My vision blurred for a split second as my knees buckled beneath me.
I held back a cry as I thanked OAA that the bat was not aimed at my head. Wincing in pain, I barely dodged another swing as I turned around. The other three thugs looked at me as if they wanted to gut me alive.
I cracked my neck, flexing my fingers.
Three-on-one slugfest?
Yeah, I've had worse.
Let's dance, assholes.
I gritted my teeth and raised my left arm at a perfect ninety-degree angle, intercepting the bat swinging down toward my head. The impact rattled my bones, sending a wave of pain through my forearm. A second bat came swinging at my stomach—I barely managed to block it with my right arm.
With both my arms busy and me locked in place, I couldn't block or dodge the punch to my solar plexus. The air rushed out of my lungs in a violent gasp as my knees buckled. It hurted like a bitch. My entire body screamed at me to drop—but I couldn't afford that luxury.
Gritting my teeth, I tried to leave the encirclement. I needed to escape the encirclement and then run away, but doing it was harder than saying it.
I dodged a kick by stepping sideways, but was met with a bat to my right shoulder. A reckless idea popped into my head as I took that opportunity, and while the thug hadn't pulled back his bat, I pivoted sharply and threw a low, brutal kick at one of the thug's Achilles tendons while taking another bat near the left shoulder blade.
At least my reckless attack served some purpose. The thug was effectively out of the fight as he fell, taking the kick and lying on the ground clutching his foot, grunting in pain.
Two more to go.
It might be because my reckless, ruthless, and near suicidal way of fighting intimidated them, so they didn't attack immediately. Hesitation was clear in their eyes as they looked at me, but they didn't make the next move.
These kinds of thugs were used to bullying the weak, but the moment they came across someone more ruthless than them, someone who fought back, they were at a loss for what to do.
I considered taking the chance to run—I had already put one down. If I made a break for it now, I could probably escape with minimal injuries.
But before I could make a decision, a bloodcurdling scream echoed from the building where the first three thugs came out from.
The screams were chilling and horrifying, and they sent a shiver down my spine.
Gunshots rang out in the distance—but then, silence. No shouting. No threats. Just the eerie, suffocating quiet that came after a slaughter.
A thug came running out of the building. Visceral fear was painted on his face.
"Run!" he shouted desperately to his fellow thugs. He ran fast, but he didn't make it.
It looked like the rest of the Black Dog gang members were deeper in the left alley, and something had happened to them that terrified that thug to his core.
A sharp crack rang out as a stone struck his back, sending him sprawling onto the pavement with a pained shriek. He tried crawling away, nails digging into the asphalt, desperate—but his body refused to cooperate.
And then she appeared.
She was dressed in purple from head to toe. A crop top clung to her form, ending just above her belly button. Skin-tight latex leggings hugged her legs, paired with a cropped biker jacket that barely reached her waist. A choker sat snug around her neck, complemented by fingerless gloves. High-heeled boots, just as purple as the rest, completed the look.
Okay, that was too much purple.
Her black hair, which reached mid-back, lightly swayed as she walked leisurely with a blank face towards the thug who had fallen from the stone hit.
He looked back at her with abject horror. His breaths turned into frantic whimpers.
He watched in terror as she reached his face. She didn't even bother to look down and stomped her heel down on his head.
SPLAT
The head was crushed like a fucking watermelon. She didn't even look down. Didn't even pause. Like she had just stepped on an insect.
She could hide her face behind a mask of indifference, but I think I saw something much deeper. It was like she was struggling with something outside her control, as if she didn't want to do what she was doing but had to do it for some reason.
Despite how indifferent and cold she tried to look, I noticed the momentary flickering in her eyes as she stomped her feet.
After that thug, it was the turn of the thug whom I hit in the Achilles tendon. He barely got up, but she held his head and smashed it into the wall.
She kicked his bat towards her hand and threw it towards another thug before me. The bat hit his head, and he fell with a shout. There was no way he would ever get up again.
The last thug was smarter and turned to run, but she picked up a broken brick from the side and threw it straight at him. The brick hit squarely on his head, and he was out.
With her strength and purple outfit, I had an idea of who she was. I think there is only one man who was so obsessed with her and the colour purple, so she could only be one person.
Name: Jessica Jones
Tier: E3
Power: Superhuman Strength, Superhuman Durability, Superhuman Vitality, Limited Flight
Damn, she was my first E3. That was already a very strong superhuman. One wrong move, and I would join those thugs on the ground. The difference between us is like the difference between a street thug with a knife and a trained soldier with a large machine gun waving it around with practiced ease.
I wanted to use Kara to approach her on more neutral grounds for a slow, careful game, rather than when I was in enemy territory with her on the hunt for those enemies, and the possibility that she might consider me an enemy, too.
But plans don't mean shit when you're one heartbeat away from death.
I had to figure out a way to not only keep myself from becoming a blood splatter on the wall but also to influence her, as I didn't know when I would get this opportunity again.
As I observed her subtle emotions and expressions, I felt that if I played my cards right, I could not only save my life but also make substantial progress towards securing a loyal enforcer.
But no matter how grand my plans were, I wouldn't lie, I felt my heartbeat stop for a moment when Jessica finally turned to me and looked at me with those cold, indifferent eyes.
I was suddenly having second thoughts.