Chapter 4

Ethan Cross sat at a rusted table in the corner of the underground market, his fingers drumming nervously against the chipped metal surface. The fake IDs he'd bargained for lay tucked in the pocket of his jacket, each one a lifeline. The man he'd just saved was stable, and word had already begun to spread through the market.

"Hey, you're the doc, right?" A wiry teenager with a buzz cut approached him, glancing around nervously. "You patched up Rick in the back?"

Ethan glanced up, his instincts warning him to stay quiet. But something about the kid's desperation softened his wariness. "What's it to you?"

"My sister," the boy blurted, his voice cracking. "She got roughed up bad by some thugs. She's bleeding real bad. Nobody here will help us. Please."

Ethan sighed. He knew the smart move was to leave. He'd already risked too much staying here this long. But he couldn't ignore the fear in the kid's eyes.

"Where is she?" Ethan asked, standing.

The boy's face lit up with relief. "A couple blocks from here. I'll take you!"

Ethan hesitated, his hand brushing the IDs in his pocket. Every instinct told him to walk away. But the words slipped out before he could stop himself. "Lead the way."

The boy led Ethan through a maze of narrow streets, each turn taking them further from the relative safety of the underground market. Eventually, they reached a run-down apartment building. The stairwell reeked of mildew, and the flickering light above barely illuminated the graffiti-covered walls.

"She's in here," the boy said, pushing open the door to a cramped apartment.

Inside, a young woman lay on a threadbare couch, her face pale and her breathing labored. Blood soaked the bandages hastily wrapped around her arm, and her shoulder was swollen and bruised. Ethan knelt beside her, his doctor's instincts kicking in.

"She's lost a lot of blood," he muttered. "What happened?"

"Some guys tried to rob us," the boy said, his voice trembling. "She fought back, but one of them had a knife."

Ethan peeled back the bandages, grimacing at the jagged wound. It was deep, but not life-threatening if treated properly. He worked quickly, using what supplies he'd managed to salvage from the market. His hands moved with practiced precision, each stitch a small victory.

"Will she be okay?" the boy asked, hovering anxiously.

"She'll be fine," Ethan said, tying off the final stitch. "But she needs rest and clean bandages every day. Keep the wound dry, and don't let her move that arm too much."

The boy nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. "Thank you. I don't… I don't have any money, but—"

"Don't worry about it," Ethan said, standing. "Just take care of her."

By the time Ethan returned to the market, whispers about the "doctor" had already spread. Vendors and criminals alike glanced his way as he passed, their conversations filled with curiosity and respect.

"That's the guy who saved Rick."

"Yeah, and I heard he patched up some girl in Sector D earlier."

"Finally, someone down here who knows what they're doing."

Ethan did his best to ignore the attention, but it was impossible to shake the feeling that he was being watched. He slipped back to the stall where he'd gotten the IDs, hoping to collect them and leave unnoticed.

"Doc," the vendor greeted him with a grin. "You're becoming quite the celebrity around here."

"I'm not looking for fame," Ethan said curtly. "Just give me my IDs, and I'll be out of your hair."

The vendor chuckled, sliding a small envelope across the counter. "Here you go. But you might want to stick around a bit longer. People down here don't forget someone who saves lives. You could make a real name for yourself."

Ethan shook his head. "A name is the last thing I need right now."

As Ethan turned to leave, a large man stepped into his path. His broad shoulders and scarred face made him an intimidating presence, and the way the crowd parted around him suggested he was someone important.

"You're the doctor everyone's talking about," the man said, his voice a low rumble. "Name's Grayson. I run things around here."

Ethan's grip tightened on the envelope in his pocket. "I'm just passing through."

Grayson smirked. "Doesn't look that way to me. Word is, you've saved two lives in one day. That's not something people forget easily."

"What do you want?" Ethan asked, his voice tense.

Grayson leaned in slightly, his expression unreadable. "A man like you could be useful to someone like me. I've got a lot of people who get hurt in my line of work. You help them, and I make sure no one lays a finger on you while you're here."

Ethan frowned. The offer sounded tempting, but he knew better than to trust a man like Grayson. "And if I say no?"

Grayson's smirk faded. "Then you walk out of here alone, with no friends and no protection. It's your call, Doc."

Ethan hesitated, weighing his options. Staying meant entangling himself with dangerous people, but leaving meant giving up the only semblance of security he had. The system's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Recommendation: Establish alliances to strengthen survival odds. Current probability of success: 52%."

Ethan clenched his jaw. He hated how the system always seemed to know exactly how to push him. Finally, he met Grayson's gaze.

"I'll help your people," he said carefully. "But I don't take orders, and I don't owe you anything."

Grayson's grin returned. "Fair enough. Welcome to the neighborhood, Doc."

That night, as Ethan prepared to leave the market, he couldn't help but notice the way people looked at him now. In a single day, he'd gone from a fugitive on the run to someone people whispered about in hushed tones. The doctor who could fix anything. The man who might just be worth protecting.

But as he stepped into the shadows of the city, Ethan knew that his newfound reputation came with a price. Every life he saved would draw more attention. And in a world where enemies lurked around every corner, attention was the last thing he needed.

The system's voice broke the silence.

"Objective complete. New skill unlocked: Enhanced Diagnosis Level 1."

Ethan sighed, the weight of the day pressing down on him. "Yeah, thanks for that. But I have a feeling this is just the beginning."

And he was right. The underground wasn't just a refuge—it was a battlefield. And Ethan Cross was about to find himself right in the middle of it.