Chapter 1

The rain poured in relentless sheets, battering the thin metal roof of Dr. Ethan Cross's rundown clinic. Inside, the dim, flickering light barely illuminated the narrow hallway and the peeling paint on the walls. Ethan sat slumped at his desk, staring at the unpaid bills piling up. His phone buzzed, and the name of his landlord flashed on the screen for the third time that day.

"Not now, Mr. Glover," Ethan muttered, letting the call go to voicemail. He rubbed his temples, trying to will away the tension.

"This isn't what I signed up for," he murmured to himself. "Years of medical school for…this?"

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, frantic pounding on the clinic door.

"Open up!" a deep voice barked, muffled by the sound of the storm.

Ethan jumped. His heart raced as he stood, hesitating. No one came to this clinic at this hour unless it was an emergency—or trouble. Another loud bang on the door.

"Doctor! Open the damn door before we break it down!" the voice growled again.

Ethan rushed to the door and unlocked it. The moment the latch clicked, the door was shoved open, and two masked men barged in, dragging a third figure between them. The man's expensive suit was soaked with blood, his head lolled to one side, and a ragged wound in his abdomen was dripping onto the floor.

"Help him," one of the masked men snarled, shoving the bleeding man onto Ethan's operating table.

Ethan froze. "I…I don't—"

"You don't what?" the other man snapped, pulling a gun from his waistband and pointing it at Ethan's head. "You're a doctor, aren't you? Save him, or you're dead."

Ethan swallowed hard, his throat dry. He glanced at the patient—mid-50s, unconscious, pale as a ghost. The wound was deep, and he was losing blood fast.

"I'll…I'll try," Ethan stammered, pulling on gloves with trembling hands. He turned to grab his medical kit, his mind racing. The equipment here was barely functional, and his trauma surgery skills were rusty at best. But with a gun pointed at him, there was no time to argue.

"What happened to him?" Ethan asked, trying to buy time as he cleaned the wound.

"None of your business," the gunman snapped.

Ethan's eyes darted to the patient's face. There was something familiar about him, but he couldn't place it. He pushed the thought aside and focused on the task at hand. Clamping the wound, he tried to stop the bleeding, but it was worse than he'd thought. Internal damage. He needed better tools, a proper surgical setup—things he didn't have.

The heart monitor beeped erratically. Ethan's panic rose.

"He's going into shock," he said, his voice shaking. "I need to open him up and—"

"Then do it!" the gunman barked. "Or we'll open you up!"

Ethan's hands trembled as he made the incision. The bleeding was too severe. He clamped vessels, suctioned the blood, and worked as fast as he could, but the patient's heart rate kept dropping.

"Come on, come on," Ethan muttered under his breath. He reached for the defibrillator, his last hope. The old machine whined as he powered it up, the paddles sparking weakly. He shocked the patient once. Nothing. Twice. Still nothing.

"Dammit!" Ethan shouted, slamming the paddles onto the table. The monitor let out a long, unbroken tone. Flatline.

The room fell silent except for the rain pounding on the roof. Ethan stared at the lifeless body in front of him, his chest tightening. He'd failed.

"No…" he whispered. "I tried everything. I—"

"What do you mean, he's dead?!" the gunman roared, grabbing Ethan by the collar and slamming him against the wall.

"I—I couldn't save him," Ethan stammered. "The wound was too severe! I didn't have the right tools—"

The man's fist smashed into Ethan's jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor. Blood filled his mouth as he looked up, dazed.

"Do you have any idea who this is?" the gunman hissed, looming over him. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

The other man grabbed his partner's arm. "We don't have time for this. We need to get out of here—now."

They hauled the body off the table and stormed out, leaving Ethan slumped on the floor, gasping for air. His hands were still shaking as he wiped the blood from his mouth. He didn't know who the man was, but judging by the masked men's reaction, this was far from over.

The Next Morning

Ethan woke to the sound of pounding on his door. For a moment, he thought it was a bad dream. Then the pounding grew louder.

"Open up, Dr. Cross! This is the police!"

Police? Ethan's stomach churned. He scrambled out of bed, his thoughts racing. The masked men must've reported him. Maybe they thought he killed their boss on purpose.

He opened the door cautiously, but his blood ran cold when he saw the officers. They weren't here for an investigation. Their guns were drawn.

"Dr. Ethan Cross, you're under arrest for the murder of Senator Marcus Holt," the lead officer said.

Marcus Holt. The name hit Ethan like a freight train. Senator Holt was one of the most powerful politicians in the country, infamous for his corruption and ruthless tactics. And he'd been on Ethan's table last night.

"N-no, wait," Ethan stammered. "It was an accident! I tried to save him!"

"Save it," the officer snapped, motioning to his men. "Kill him."

"Kill me?!" Ethan's voice cracked. "I didn't—"

A gunshot rang out, shattering the doorframe. Ethan bolted, adrenaline surging through his veins as he sprinted down the alley behind the clinic. Bullets whizzed past him, and the sound of shouting officers grew louder. He turned a corner, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst.

As Ethan ducked into an abandoned warehouse, gasping for air, a strange, robotic voice echoed in his mind.

"System Activating: Emergency Protocol. User: Ethan Cross. Life-threatening situation detected. Do you wish to survive?"

Ethan froze, his eyes darting around the empty room. "W-who's there?" he whispered.

"System Online. Do you wish to survive?"

Was he hallucinating? His head throbbed, and his vision blurred. But the footsteps of his pursuers snapped him back to reality.

"Yes!" he hissed. "Yes, I want to survive!"

The voice responded immediately.

"Objective: Escape your pursuers. Temporary combat skills unlocked. Knowledge upload commencing."

A sharp pain shot through Ethan's head, and suddenly, his mind flooded with information. Techniques he'd never learned. Reflexes he'd never had. It was like he'd been training for this moment his entire life.

The warehouse doors burst open, and two officers stepped inside, guns raised. Ethan didn't hesitate. He grabbed a rusty pipe from the floor and moved like a shadow, disarming one officer with a precise strike and knocking him unconscious. The other officer hesitated, his finger trembling on the trigger.

Ethan lunged, twisting the gun out of the man's hand and shoving him into a stack of crates. He didn't wait to see if the man got up. He ran, disappearing into the labyrinth of alleys.

Finally, he collapsed in a hidden alcove, his breath ragged. The voice spoke again, calm and clinical:

"Objective complete. Reward: Temporary safe house and basic resources."

Ethan leaned back, his mind spinning. Whatever this "system" was, it had just saved his life. But at what cost?