Chapter Seven - To Hunt Or Not To Hunt, That Is The Challange

Opening the door, I step out into my new home city, New York, New York. I always though it was a bit bizarre that Americans would name both the state and the city the same. Oh well, not every nation can be as intelligent and original as us brits. Even though everything about us is nicked from nearly every single nation, ethnicity and language the world over. We are the ultimate expression of multi-cultural diversity. Our country has been raped by some many other countries and nations, that we have forgotten what our ancestors used to look like.

America, though, went the other way. It decided to massacre and commit genocide on the native population and replace it with a pre-defined selection of mankind and call in Civilisation, like it is something unique and special, and not something built on the graves of so many innocents.

So there, the UK is way superior to America. Even though we commenced on world domination and liked to institute slavery just for giggles, and we liked to but orphan children to good use in the mills. And we loved the idea of torture, cutting the hands off of thieves who stole bread just to continue surviving. Ah, the good old days.

What was I saying?

Oh yeah, New York. And when I stepped out onto the kerbside, I had to shield my eyes, and the bastard Sun chose the exact moment to glare down into my eyes specifically because it’s a hateful dick. When I finally managed to lower my hand, after I had walked off and hid behind a particularly tall building, I finally managed to take in my surroundings. Just a few feet away lies the door to ‘The Facility’, which I have now dubbed as so shall forever be known to all mankind. Yeah, I get to name stuff now, I gave myself that power, and all shall bow down before my awesome might.

It’s a plain and unassuming building, one among hundreds of others, in no way standing out. Or maybe it is standing out for its ability to be nothing special, like all the other shops and apartments and other building all along this thoroughfare has its own individual characteristics. Although it does seem to nobody is paying any attention to it whatsoever. We do seem to be trained to ignore the plain and quiet, to just shove it to one side as being unimportant.

Looking around, trying to decide what I should do next, I spot an interesting sight. There, across the street from the facility and a little further on to the right of the building is a small café ‘Martha’s Coffeehouse’, a bald headed guy in a nice suit and overcoat is sitting at one of the tables reading a newspaper. Although looking closely, I can see that his eyes are not moving as they are reading, but like they are barely scanning the top of the paper, keeping an eye on the front door of the facility, with very occasional glances over to me. Without my heightened perception, I don’t think I would have noticed. Eh. Weird how I didn’t notice the difference from the additional stat points until just now. Looks like they do make a difference. I can’t wait till I level them really high, I wonder what I will be able to do then. *Drool*.

And do you know what? I must admit to some doubt on my part of infiltrating the underworld, and of finding the boss. Raised as I was, I had no real contact with any criminal elements, I was never in trouble with the police, hell, I didn’t even know how to approach someone to buy pot. My original plan was just to create so much chaos, that eventually I would draw the criminals out then take over their operation, then continue from there. I know, sounds like a lot of work. Personally, I would have probably quit and just joined the Heroes. They at least will give me basic training and tutorials.

Now I have to make a choice. Do I sneak over there, shove the blade into baldy’s side, and threaten him to give up ‘The Boss’s’ location and hope to hell he doesn’t have advanced training or that he doesn’t have backup, or do I leave, and observe him from a distance and try to track him. Hmm. Before finding myself in this new body, I would have been across the street and making him look like a shishkabob in a heartbeat, but now, I’m not so sure.

Finally, I make the logical choice (Yeah, yeah, I know), decide to go hide and track my quarry. If he does have backup, he will send them after me, and I can set an ambush for them. So decided, I wait until his eyes leave the building to make a routine sweep of the newspaper, and to begin to turn the page, I turn into the alley to my left, and make my way deeper into the turns to get closer.

There, just a few turns later, I spot a ladder, leading up to a set of stairs leading up to the roof, the trouble is, the ladder is about ten feet off the ground, probably kept that way to stop people like me from spying into the apartments they lead to. Positioning myself, it’s time to test how strong I really am. Before I would not have made this kind of jump, probably not even with a springboard, maybe with a trampoline, but that is just wishful thinking. Bunching myself down, coiling my muscles for this superhuman feat of acrobatics, concentrating on grabbing the ladder on reaching the target height, I launch myself up.

Guess what, still a klutz. I banged my fucking head right on the bottom rung. It is really hard to judge distances straight up. And it really did hurt a lot, it’s a right bitch to stop yourself from crying because you know that whilst it will help with dealing with the frustration, but if someone catches you crying, you think that they think that you’re a little bitch and weak. A totally macho attitude, but it’s hard to fight nature and social conventions sometimes. Maybe if I rent a new motel room later tonight, I can have a real bawl fest then. But I’ve got work to do for now.

Trying again, but positioning myself away from the ladder, this time I intend to launch myself up and forwards, to give myself a greater chance of success. It’s much easier to judge the distance this time with a different perspective.

And, JUMP!

Wahoo, I made it. That was so badass, shame no-one saw it. Maybe later on, I’ll get a video camera installed somewhere on me to record my awesomeness, and I’ll charge extortionate prices for people to see the video, but pound them into the dirt if they reply that they haven’t seen the video of my might. Fucking Cheapos. Can’t spare a dollar for true inspiration.

Climbing the rest of the way to the roof, I carefully sneak my way across to the edge and take a peep over. And down below, but a little bit to my left is Mr Baldy. But he is standing up now, the newspaper laying on the table forgotten. I can see a wire leading from his ear down into his shirt, like the mic’s you see on police procedural shows sometimes. I know. Why hasn’t some super tech invented the subdermal implants to eliminate this antiquated technologies? Because they be selfish blud. They hoard most of the more advanced techs for their organisation or for the elite military units. Can’t give the plebs a leg up. Lucky for me though. Every little advantage helps at this point.

He is speaking into his wrist, probably calling for that backup that I never saw. He is swivelling his head around, probably trying to get a bead on where I went, but he is not moving from his station. This tells me that he has some training at least, relying on his team rather than go running off. I can’t make out exactly what he is saying, but it sounds urgent, so I am extrapolating the ongoing conversation. The chances are high that I’m right.

There, converging on his position are six other trench coat wearing bad guys. Well, they could be good guy police, staking out a possible meeting point for the criminals, but something, maybe my intuition, is telling me that they are very bad for my health. Whilst concentrating on these new players, focusing on trying to remember their faces, I feel a weird sensation. Like I am stretching an invisible hand out to one of the new ones. Tall, he looks like he is slightly over six feet, sandy brown hair cut in a military crewcut, with shades and a scar leading down from his right eyebrow, with a blue trenchcoat, I feel a connection suddenly snap into place.

Congratulations! You have gained the Target Tracker Skill.

Target Tracker – Spend your mana to attach a link to your target, knowing where it is in relation to your position. Able to sense exact location in relation to the user. At closer distances, within 15 feet radius, able to see target outline through any obstruction.

Maximum Distance : 500 Ft.

Maximum Targets : 3

Mana Cost : 10

Duration : Indefinite – Until target is either dead or outside skill range

Target Tracker : 57/1000 – Beginner Tier

I so love my new life, this shit is so awesome. But my new highest priority is to find or make mana potions. It will take half of my current mana to tag three targets and like two days for the mana to fully regenerate naturally.

Keeping an eye out, Mr Tall and boring takes up position next to Mr Baldy, each facing a different direction, but retaking their seats. Shit, ten mana wasted. But I did gain that new skill, finally, something that actually uses mana. Two of the seven strangers split to the right and the other three to the left, probably in search of me. Damn, too many. Concentrating on Mr Tall, I will the connection to disconnect, which it does so with an inaudible snap. Taking it slowly this time, I try to observe each of the teams. The ones going right are closest to the alley which I slipped into, although it is entirely possible that Team Lefty can enter from a different direction.

The Lefties do indeed enter into the closest alley, but team member One stops at the entrance, taking up a guarding position, his hand hovering at his hip, shit, I think he has a gun. Fuck, they probably all do, gotta be careful, or menstrual cramps here I come. Member two is still venturing on though. I concentrate on Mr Stalker and manage to successfully tag him.

Mana : 40/60

Scampering over to the other side of the roof, Team Righty are continuing down the sidewalks, with each member splitting off into each alley they come to. No need to target them as I gotta conserve the mana.

I can sense Mr S(talker) slowly closing down on my position. Do I try to ambush Mr S and kill him, then one by one lure out the maybe professional killers and make them the prey? But what if they aren’t part of Mr Z’s operation, but a competitor, or police of some kind? And not to mention, PROFESSIONAL KILLERS!

But I can’t do nothing, I need information, and I need to make this fight happen on my terms, not theirs.

Okay, let’s try for a knockout takedown, then if I can deadlift Mr S and carry him back to the roof and interrogate him, that would probably be best.

So then decided, I sneak back over to the set of stairs down, reach the final landing, but carefully and quietly lower the ladder. Bloody thing hasn’t been oiled recently, if ever, as it is making a slight squeaking sound. I wonder if the sneak bonus of muffling sounds is having an effect? Scientific study later, serious stuff now.

When the ladder finally reaches full extension, I creep down as quietly as I can and hide behind a nearby dumpster. Reaching into my inventory, I equip the dagger. Staying fully concealed, I rely on my new ability kicking in when Mr S is close enough that I will be able to make out his outline. 50 feet. 40, 30, finally 15, and suddenly, like a ghostly apparition, Mr S appears, fully hidden behind the dumpster. Hunkering down into a tight ball, with the dagger pointing down, ready, I can see Mr S suddenly stop. Shit, did I just make a sound? No, not me must be something else.

Then a second later, a yowl rings out, and a black and white cat suddenly darts past my hiding place. Mr S must have spooked the poor kitty. Looking back at him, Mr S suddenly looks a lot less tense, although he now has his gun out. I don’t know guns at all, as in Britain we are sensible, making guns illegal, thereby cutting down on the murder rates significantly. It looks like a 9mm or something similar to what police on tv shows have, Glock maybe. The detail is so fine, I can actually see him take a small breath, smile slightly, then re-holster his weapon. Sauntering like he has totally forgotten why he is in the alley, he walks with a relaxed gait right by my hiding place.

Now or never Dude. Then a ghost image of me and Mr S appears. It is showing me how to take down Mr S with a punch to his temple with the hilt of the dagger, and a sense of tension is telling me to be ready to pounce. Fractions of a second seemingly pass agonisingly slowly, then, there. Go.

I pounce, swinging the dagger just a Mr S has cleared the dumpster. Perfect knockout. Now I just have to lug his body up to the roof and hope to the high heavens that I haven’t caused any serious damage to his brain, otherwise extracting the information is going to get messy.

Carrying a limp body is not actually all that hard. NOT. Bloody bugger kept on slipping off my shoulder, and it is even harder when climbing straight up. Need to get some rope for occasions such as these, the list continues. I solved the problem by taking one of the shirts in my inventory and ripping it into strips, which I tie around Mr S’s left arm slung over my shoulder, connected to his right leg, next to my hip on the right.

Even with the added stats to the strength modifier, it takes a lot out of me. When I reach the set of stairs, my stamina has been reduced to single digits. I am going to have to rest for a couple of minutes to let it get back to full to continue my climb. Bringing up the ladder to hopefully hinder any more goons from reaching my position too easily, I breathe a sigh of relief.

Shit, black goatee Goon is coming in from the left, I am hoping to all that loves me that he doesn’t look up. He’s coming closer to my staircase. Yes, I have now claimed it as part of my new dominion. I push myself back and slightly behind the metal stairway, to better break up my image from below. Maybe the metal grating will help, rather than raise suspicions. Mr BG is now under the staircase, looking left and right, maybe is looking for Mr S. He raises his hand to his ear, tilts his head like he is trying to make out what is being said, then suddenly starts legging it.

The weird thing is that they are totally silent whilst all of this is going on. Even Mr S, when I smacked him with my trusty dagger, which I am now going to call Billy, yes, Billy the Dagger is his name-o. I once read that it takes extraordinary discipline to stay silent like that. Not a lot of people are capable of staying quiet for so long.

Now that my stamina has regened to full, I start the lugging again up the stairwell. The drain is not so bad this time, seeing that it isn’t a straight climb up. Even so, two flights and I need to rest again. It takes about ten minutes to finally make it to the roof.

Laying Mr S down on the gritted surface of the roof, I proceed to strip my prisoner. No, it is not that I want to lick his banana and have a play with his bouncies, I just need to take away any potential weapons. With the added benefit that when I question him, being in the buff will take away some of his confidence. Maybe I can suggest that if he doesn’t give me what I want, then things will get Physical. With a capital F.

Taking off his overcoat, I search through his pockets, but all I find are some sunglasses. I place these to the side. When I am done with the strip search, all of the items will be going into my inventory. Finders keepers, possession and law and all that. Want not. Maybe I can gain some levels if the items are worth enough.

The overcoat goes to a pile behind me. As I have found out, spare clothing is a desirable thing indeed. Never know.

With the removal of the overcoat, the gun and holster are revealed. This time, it’s a revolver of some kind. I have no idea of the make or model. That it is a revolver is the current extent of my knowledge. This and the holster goes next to the sunglasses. Now the blue striped tie goes onto the clothing pile, followed swiftly by the shirt.

Dude, this guy is so totally ripped. I might just have to keep him after all, break him to my will, and start a harem with this guy as the headliner. Dreaming for a second or two, I come back to the situation. Keep it in your pants. Just so you know, I am an equal opportunity lover. And I tend to have weird tastes. Like attraction to guys who are maybe trying to kill me. Go figure. Gently running my hands across his chest, I lightly tweak his nipples. Shit, I think he starting to come too.

Taking the dagger back into my right hand, the ghost image appears again, this time with a vector of my arm rising and smacking into his other temple this time. This guide must operate according to my goals and aims. Useful. Hopefully, with more experience, it won’t be so necessary, it is a little creepy after all. Raising my arm, something doesn’t feel quite so right. Bringing my arm down back in front of my face, another ghost image appears, showing me that I am holding the dagger wrongly. Re-positioning my grip to mirror the ghost image, I then club Mr S back into oblivion.

Searching through his trouser pockets, I don’t find anything in his front pockets, but in his back pocket, next to a very tight ass, is his wallet. Opening it up, there is a driver licence. Apparently, his name is Benjamin Jenkins, or as his new nickname, BJ, age 32 from Virginia, Newberry Hill. Very appropriate. And oh goody, over a thousand bucks in hundred dollar notes. Jackpot. Immediate adding the loot to my inventory directly, I get so very appreciated news:

Congratulations! You have reached Level 8

+2 to all stats.

Requirements for next level:

Kill 2 Sentients (0/2) – Loot $1,000 (400/1000) – Unlock 5 Skills (4/5) – Upgrade 5 skills to Novice tier (3/5)

Just two more levels before my milestone upgrade. Can’t wait to find out what tasties I will be receiving. I’m starting to get a little excited here. Calm down, if BJ wakes up to find a weapon of such immense size against his throat, then the interrogation won’t start out on the best possible footing. Think of, I don’t know, think of farts. Farts so aren’t sexy, no they aren’t. Fuck, I am the worst sort of pervert. Fine, then think of a gender re-assignment surgery where they cut open the penis and invert it. Yep, that does it in record time. It fact, it works so well, that it is trying it's very best to climb back up into my stomach. Master of my own Body. That will be my new title when I reign supreme.

The wallet contains some credit cards, and also a magnetic strip card, like an employee swipe card, but it’s blank. Interesting. If this was a movie, the card to gain my entry to an ultra super secret high tech weapon manufacturing warehouse, with the armaments capable of destroying entire cities. And it would be my destiny to blow the aforesaid warehouse to smithereens. Well, sod that. If there are some MAD weapons, I will be stealing the shit out of the competition, then hold the world hostage for like, a bazillion pounds, with me as the overlord as all of humanity. But knowing my luck, a paltry 8 after all, it probably leads to some boring HR building with fuck all in it except for paper files about shop keepers.

Taking off his trousers, they too go into the pile, leaving BJ in his boxer briefs, mud brown socks and black shoes. Well, saving the best for last, I take off the shoes and socks, toss them into the growing pile, and eye hungrily the briefs. Slowly, millimetre by millimetre, I inch the brief down. How disappointing. His junk is so small, a newborn would outsize him. Harem idea out of the window. Whipping the last garment off and over my shoulder, I get up and shove all of the pilfered items into my inventory. And with mounting frustration, looks like that just stealing items doesn’t count as loot, looks like I have to sell them to make them count.

That’s strange, I can’t find the mic or the radio this perp must have on him. Mr Baldy had one, so it stands to reason that BJ must have one too. Looks like I’ll have to ask him when he wakes up. Maybe I missed something in his clothing. But searching through, I carefully inspect every stitch, but still no mic. Oh well, every new couple has their secrets, the thrill is finding them out, and making new secrets together.

Kneeling back down, I am finally ready to get some answers. I was going to wake him up immediately, but I reign in my impetuousness. Taking out the partially destroyed shirt, I create some more strips, leaving me with a collar and two arms, useless, which I throw away. That makes eight strips.

I turn BJ over onto his front and drag his arms behind him. Taking one strip, I proceed to tie it around his left arm, leaving a couple of loops free at his wrist, middle and top of the forearm. I also do this with the right arm as well. Then I take the third strip, I lace it into knots between the loops, binding the arms together into a binding that is virtually impossible to get out of.

I have watched too many movies and read too many books of villains and heroes being tied up with rope at the wrists only to be so stupid. Reach the fingers into the knot, or saw a through the binding. With the knots I have just performed, even if he did reach and undo the first knot, he wouldn’t be able to reach the middle and to binding.

I copy the same onto his legs leaving two strips. One goes over his eyes, so if I do decide to employ some force interrogation methods, he can’t tense up to reduce the impact, nor can he try to avoid the blow. The last, I tie a ball knot into the middle a few times, then wrap it around his throat. If I need to, I can tighten the strip with the ball pressing into his trachea, shutting off his breathing. Crude but effective. In theory anyway. Time to test the hypothesis.

Propping him, so he sits up against the edge of the ledge, I bring back my right fist and punch him as hard as I can into his precious place. This has the helpful effect of relieving some pent up frustration from my destroyed fantasy and also cause BJ to regain consciousness with prejudice.

He opens his mouth like he is going to shout out, I try to clamp my hand over his mouth. But instead of a scream or a shout, he vomits right over my hand and into his lap. Gross. I start to gag, but I manage to stop myself. Goblets of food stick to my hand. I shake them off. Maybe punching him there wasn’t such a great idea after all.

BJ starts to moan pitifully. I sympathise, I really do. But I have a job to do. I’m going to need a shower after this. Several.

He takes several panting breaths, gasps, and takes one huge breath in, holds it and releases. Then he just sits there quietly, not saying anything, not asking any questions. Totally compliant.

“BJ, BJ, BJ. You are in a real sorry state. Look, I know that you and your colleagues were watching the facility where Mr Z was holding me. I just need to know who ‘The Boss’ is and where I can find him, who you are working for – if you are not, in fact, working for ‘The Boss’ - and where the card in your wallet allow access to is.” And I ask all this in a polite and light tone like this is just a big misunderstanding, and that if he tells me what I need to know, then we can all go on our merry way. Of cause, I intend to kill him after this, which he probably knows. I can’t take the chance that he won’t seek retaliation for the pain and humiliation that I have caused him.

He remains quiet, just quietly breathing, in and out, in and out. Not even a rank and serial number.

“Look BJ, since you aren’t telling me what I want to know, this is how it is going to go. First I am going to gag you. Then I am going to spend exactly five minutes hurting you. Then I will take the gag out, and you are going to tell me some interesting things. If not, we will rinse and repeat till you do. And against my better instincts, I am going to be honest with you. We both know that I can’t let you live. If you tell me everything, I will knock you back out, then slice open your neck arteries where you will bleed out nice and quietly and painlessly. I will telephone the police and tell them where you are located, with your ID on your body. Then any family you have can get some closure. What do you say?”

BJ then sits quietly for a minute or so, and I give him the time to contemplate the choice. It’s a hard one to make. Quick and merciful and it gives his wife or mother or other family members, the opportunity to grieve, or the alternative, which is a brutal end, with potentially no identification being made when someone finally finds his body, buried in an unknown grave simply labelled as John Doe.

Finally, with tears running down his cheeks, he nods. I let out a mental sigh of relief. I admit I was petrified and sick to my stomach with the thought of torturing this man. I think I would have done it, but for now, I don’t have to know if I have that kind of sickness inside of me. I might talk a big game, but hopefully, that is all it is, talk.

“I work for Mrs Fredericka Samwell, underboss to the Supervillain, Sun Reaper, as part of the syndicate. Sun Reaper is currently in a silent war with Mr Killock, a normal underworld boss, a newcomer who is trying to eliminate members of the syndicate. We know the man who runs the facility, who you probably know as this ‘Mr Z’ works for Mr Killock. We followed him here, hoping to find Killock’s central operating area, but as yet, he hasn’t made direct contact. The card allows access to the law offices of Rain, Wind and Michael, down on 23rd and 6th, Mendoza Building, 22nd Floor. Mrs Samwell is working undercover as a legal secretary there. Please, I’ve told you what you wanted to know. Just end it, please.”

“Thank you Ben, and I’m sorry for this.”

I knock him out with the dagger. His head lolls forward, resting on his chest. Gently placing the knife, I make two incisions on either side of his neck, digging in till a rush of blood burst forth, then open the wounds wider.

Stepping back to avoid the spreading pool of blood, I watch quietly as the life leaves his body. I leave it for a few minutes, then I lean forwards and place two of my fingers on each of his wrists. No pulse. Just in case he was a person of faith, I say a few words, entreating any divine entities to take the man's soul, and make sure he finds a measure of peace.

He might not have had the same consideration if he had caught me, but that doesn’t mean that I have to do the same.

Taking his wallet from my inventory, I open it up and place it between his bound arms, wedged securely, so it doesn’t soak in the blood.

Stepping back, and checking over the front edge, I can’t see any of Ben’s associates, looks like they cleared out to follow another lead. When I get down, I’ll find a payphone or something, and phone it in like I promised.

Opening my skills menu, I wonder if I gained any proficiencies in my dagger mastery.

Congratulations! You have learned the new skill: Climbing! Reward: 500 Exp.

Climbing : The ability to scale tall building with hard work and effort. With increase levels of this ability, you will find that no obstacle will ever be insurmountable.

+10% extra Grip

Climbing : 157/1000 – Beginner Tier

Congratulations! You have increased your proficiency in: Balance!

Immunity to Vertigo

Able to remain upright when running

Balance : 0/1000 – Amateur Tier

Congratulations! You have increased your proficiency in: Sneak!

30% Reduction to all noise made whilst sneaking

15% Increase to camouflage when stationary and hiding.

Sneak : 0/1000 – Amateur Tier

Congratulations! You have increased your proficiency in: Dagger Mastery!

+10% Experience gained when using a Dagger

Dagger Mastery : 0/1000 – Novice Tier

Congratulations! You have increased your proficiency in: Target Tracker!.

Maximum Distance : 600 Ft.

Maximum Targets : 3

Mana Cost : 9

Duration : Indefinite – Until target is either dead or outside skill range

Target Tracker : 0/1000 – Novice Tier

Congratulations! You have gained x2 levels. You are now Level 11!

+4 to all stats.

You have the option to unlock one of three milestone bonuses:

Character Store – Inner Fortress – Additional Information

Kill Two Sentients (1/2) – Loot $1,000 (400/1000) - Unlock 10 Skills (5/10) - Upgrade 10 Skills To Novice Tier (5/10) – Upgrade 5 Skills To Amateur Tier (3/5)

Finally!