Liam didn’t drive ho imdiately.
That would be stupid.
He took three turns off his usual route, doubled back twice, and drove the old, rattling sedan into a shadowy alley three neighborhoods away. He stopped beneath a crumbling overpass, where the light was weak and the streets rarely saw patrols. Then, he stripped.
The janitor uniform, soaked with sweat and stinking of industrial cleaner and blood, went straight into a black garbage bag. The gloves, the worn shoes, the cap—all of it. He changed into clean, casual clothes from his duffel bag: dark jeans, a fitted grey hoodie, and running shoes. Sothing neutral. Forgettable.
His face still itched like hell.
The prosthetic mask he’d used to age himself into "Harold Milton" had clung tightly to his skin all day, and now every muscle in his face begged for relief. He reached into the duffel and peeled off the final layer: the artificial skin. As it ca loose, he hissed—sensitive spots under his eyes burned where the glue had clung too long. His skin beneath was damp, flushed, irritated.
He threw the mask into the bag, zipped it up, and shoved it into a nearby dumpster behind an abandoned repair shop. The car? Left parked there still in ignition. By morning, it would be either stolen or crushed in a junkyard. Either way, it wouldn’t be traced back to him.
Only then did he make his way back ho—on foot for several blocks, then with a quick ride on a public e-scooter. Low tech. Untraceable. Exactly how he liked it.
By the ti he reached his apartnt, the sun had already dipped beneath the horizon, and the cool evening breeze carried the faint scent of wet asphalt and fading daylight.
He stepped through the front door, expecting silence.
Instead, he saw her.
"...Lana?"
Lana was sitting cross-legged on his couch, completely relaxed, with a bowl of popcorn half-eaten beside her and another handful spilled all over the cushions. Her eyes were locked on the TV screen, where an old action flick played at full volu. She didn’t even notice him co in.
Liam blinked.
For a second, the sight felt surreal.
After everything—Colton’s screams, Amara’s mutilated face, the fake janitor act, the silenced gunshots—it was like walking into an entirely different world. One where cute girls wore oversized shirts and watched movies like nothing outside existed.
He glanced around. Her phone was far across the room, resting facedown on the coffee table. No chance she had seen the news. No alerts. No texts. Just her... and her popcorn.
Then he rembered. Right. Lana was staying with him until her parents ca back next week.
As he shut the door behind him, she finally noticed.
Lana’s head snapped around.
"Oh, you’re back!" she said, getting up quickly.
She moved toward him but stopped a few feet away, her face wrinkling in confusion.
"...Where the hell were you?" she asked, brow furrowing. "And—ugh, you sll like... moldy diapers and rotten garbage. Ew."
Liam froze for a heartbeat. His mind raced.
She didn’t know anything. Good.
But she did sll him.
He’d intentionally layered his disguise with a chemical stink to sell the look of a crusty old janitor—and now it was clinging to his skin like death.
Thinking fast, he forced a sheepish look.
"There was a plumbing issue near the restaurant," he muttered. "Burst sewage pipe. I was walking past when it blew. It got all over the sidewalk, and yeah... so of it hit ."
Lana blinked, her face twisting in sympathy.
"Oh my god, that’s disgusting," she said. "That... that explains it. Ugh. You reek."
"Thanks," he said dryly, walking past her toward the stairs. "I’m gonna shower before I pass out or lt."
As he reached the top of the stairs, he heard her behind him, muttering, "You better not sit on that couch before you do."
He smirked.
Once in his room, Liam shut the door behind him, tossed his hoodie onto the floor, and cracked his knuckles.
Then he opened his system interface.
A familiar blue glow flashed before his eyes.
---
[SYSTEM INTERFACE OPENED]
[New Class Available]
[Exp: 2400 / 10000]
[All Stat 20]
[ 10 Skill Point]
---
[Liam Carter] – Level 3
Strength: 54 / 1000
Agility: 52 / 1000
Endurance: 48 / 1000
Intelligence: 48 / 1000
Skill Points: 12
Gun Mastery: Level 2
Dragon Step: Level 1
---
Liam whistled under his breath. "That’s a good jump."
His EXP had leapt from 950 to 2400. Just as he expected. He had been doing so dirty stuffs these days, the system had clearly registered his actions as worthy of serious gains. But the new class? Still locked. Still unreadable.
He tapped the corner of the interface.
Nothing.
The system wasn’t ready to show its hand yet.
Fine. He’d wait.
Liam rolled his neck with a quiet crack and stripped down. He stepped into the bathroom, turned the shower knob, and let the water run steaming hot. As the first spray hit his skin, he closed his eyes.
Tonight had been brutal.
But effective.
And as the blood and stink of the evening washed away, all he could think about was what ca next.
---
When Liam ca back downstairs, he felt like a new man.
His skin was finally clean, no longer suffocating under latex and glue. The warm water had done its job, washing away the stench of sweat, bleach, and blood. His dark hair was damp and pushed back, a towel draped loosely over his shoulders. He now wore a simple grey T-shirt that fit snug across his chest, paired with black joggers. Casual. Comfortable. Normal. Nothing about his current look hinted at the nightmare he had orchestrated just hours earlier.
As he descended the final step, he heard the soft ding of Lana’s phone.
She was still on the couch, leaning forward now, her legs tucked beneath her and her eyes wide, glued to the screen in her hands. Her fingers trembled slightly as she scrolled, her lips parting in disbelief. The bowl of popcorn had been forgotten entirely.
Liam walked silently behind her.
Curious, he leaned forward just enough to catch a glimpse over her shoulder.
What he saw made him smile inside.
News Alert: Colton Virreli and Amara Larry Hospitalized After Brutal Attack in Top Floor Office
The article was detailed, complete with blurry photos of stretchers and bloodied floors. Amara’s face was reportedly "permanently disfigured," with severe lacerations and the complete loss of her right ear. Her modeling agency had released a vague statent, but between the lines, it was clear—her career was over.
That’s what you get for trying to ruin soone else’s beauty, Liam thought coldly.
But it was Colton’s fate that truly caught attention.
"...Multiple gunshot wounds to all four limbs. Groin trauma... Severe blood loss... Current condition: Comatose..."
Lana’s face twisted. She didn’t pity them, not really. But the level of cruelty... the precision of it... It made her shiver. Whoever did this wasn’t just angry. They were thodical. Cold. Vengeful.
And standing right behind her.
Liam watched her breathe faster, her thumb trembling slightly on the glass as she scrolled further. He wondered for a mont—What would her expression be if she knew? If she realized the man who orchestrated this terrifying scene was not miles away but inches behind her, calm as a lake?
Then she gasped.
A soft sound, sharp and stunned, as her eyes locked onto a new headline embedded in the story.
Leaked Confession: Colton Admits to Exploiting Models and Orchestrating Attacks
There was a video.
Lana’s breath hitched as she pressed play.
The screen cut to Colton’s, trembling face. His voice was hoarse, broken, laced with pain and fear.
"I... I held girls back because they wouldn’t sleep with ," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I promoted others who complied. I gave them false success... to protect my own ego. To feed it."
He coughed violently.
"I... I sent people... to scar Lana. Because... because she turned down. I... I thought if her face was ruined..."
Lana slapped her hand over her mouth, tears filling her eyes—not from sorrow, but from the pure, overwhelming surge of justice.
He confessed.
Every word. Every sick, dark secret.
The monster was exposed. And more importantly—destroyed.
She turned suddenly, spinning on the couch as she looked up at Liam, her eyes bright and brimming with excitent.
"Liam!" she breathed, voice full of disbelief and joy. "Did you see this?! Oh my god—he confessed to everything! Everything!"
He didn’t say anything.
Just gave her a faint, crooked smile.
But as she stared at him, her expression slowly shifted.
"...What’s wrong?" she asked, brows furrowing. "You’re smiling but... it’s weird. Like... you look like you’re smiling through a stomach ache."
Liam’s eyes narrowed.
She was right.
Sothing did feel wrong.
Suddenly, everything felt too quiet. The house... the air... the lights... Everything was still. Too still. He glanced toward the kitchen, then to the windows. Nothing had moved. No shadows. No sounds.
But his skin prickled. His instincts scread.
Sothing’s wrong.
He stood straighter, his smile fading as cold dread crawled up his spine.
Then it happened.
A single, sharp beep echoed in his mind, piercing and chanical, followed by a red flash across his vision.
---
[ALERT: DANGER APPROACHING]
[ESTIMATED CHANCE OF SURVIVAL — 0.0001%]
[RECOMNDATION: RUN]
---
Liam’s breath caught in his throat.
What?!
The system had never done this before. It had never issued a warning like this. Never evaluated his survival chance, and certainly never told him to run.
RUN.
That single word hit harder than any bullet.
This wasn’t a normal threat. It wasn’t a rival gang mber.
No... this was sothing else. Sothing so powerful, so completely out of his league, that the system—his system—believed he didn’t even stand a fraction of a chance.
His mind raced. Who? How?.
Lana noticed the change instantly.
"...Liam?"
His eyes snapped to her.
He tried to keep calm, but it was too late. His body had already tensed, the primal part of his brain sounding alarms like wildfire.
"...Get up," he said, voice low. Firm.
"What?"
"Lana. Get up. Now."
She froze, confused and alard.
But Liam wasn’t looking at her anymore.
His gaze had shifted—toward the front door. Sothing was out there. Sothing... coming closer.
****
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