Chapter 17
[Third POV]
Shrugging off his jacket, he draped it over the backrest of a chair before settling into the seat. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes remained sharp as he stared forward into the dimly lit space.
A moment of silence passed before his voice cut through the air, cold and steady.
"Now then, Detective… are you finally ready to give me the details I've been asking for?"
Alan Sloane sat slumped in his chair, wrists bound behind him, his disheveled shirt clinging to his sweat-drenched skin. His eyes were bloodshot, and his jaw clenched tight, but despite the exhaustion from a night of captivity, he still held on to his silence.
David sat across from him, completely at ease. He leaned back in his chair, an elbow resting on the armrest, fingers idly tapping against the table. The light above cast sharp shadows over his mask, making him appear more like a ghost than a man.
A beat of silence passed before Alan finally spoke, voice rough from thirst and frustration.
"You think this little game is gonna break me?" he rasped.
David tilted his head slightly, amused. "I'm sure, Detective. But I don't need to break you. I just need to wait."
Alan glared at him, but David didn't press further. Instead, he casually pulled out a thin file from his jacket and laid it on the table. With slow, deliberate movements, he flipped it open, revealing neatly stacked documents and crime scene photos.
David tapped the first one. "John Matthews. Shot in the back of the head inside his apartment. Evidence went missing, and the case was ruled a botched robbery." He dragged his finger across the page.
Alan didn't react.
David flipped to the next file. "Melissa Carter. Found dead in her car at the bottom of the river. Ruled as an accident." His voice remained detached. "Except she had defensive wounds on her hands and scratches on her arms."
David continued, flipping to another case. "David Renz. A small-time accountant found dead in his home. Heart attack, or so the report said." He let the silence stretch before adding, "Funny how a 'heart attack' left bruises on his throat."
David flipped to the fourth case, the one he was truly interested in. "And this one. Emily Brown. Four years ago." He tapped the paper. "Car crash, intersection wreck. No skid marks, no signs of braking. It looked like some other vehicle was crashed into it, these are the photos of the car."
David leaned back, watching him carefully. "So tell me, Detective. Who was paying you to make them disappear?"
"How did you get these reports?" Alan asked.
"You are not in a position to ask questions, but I will humor you and answer to that. You aren't the only dirty cop in your precinct, Detective." He replied. "So now that I have answered your question, how about answering mine?"
Alan stayed silent. His nostrils flared, his breathing heavier, but he refused to speak.
David waited a moment longer, then sighed. He shut the file, stood up, put on his jacket and without a word, turned and walked toward the door.
Alan blinked, watching as David reached the exit and opened it. Panic flared in his chest.
"H-Hey! Wait!" Alan's voice cracked as he struggled against the restraints. "Come back here!"
David didn't even glance back.
Alan tugged harder, but the chair was bolted to the floor. He gritted his teeth, muscles straining. "Damn it! Let me go! You think walking away is gonna do anything?! You hear me?! Let me go! "
David stepped through the door.
The second the door clicked shut, Alan felt his stomach drop.
The silence was worse than the questioning. His breath came faster, ragged. He looked around, the walls suddenly feeling smaller, the air heavier.
Who the hell is this guy?
Alan's throat tightened as he yelled again, his voice more desperate this time.
"Come back, you son of a bitch!"
---
---
[David's POV]
I stepped out of the room, the metal door shutting behind me. I took of my mask.
Alan was breaking.
The panic in his voice, the desperation, I had been waiting for it. Guys like him didn't crack under pain alone. They were used to threats, used to bargaining their way out of tight spots.
But silence? Isolation? Starvation? That was a different kind of torture.
I leaned against the concrete wall, crossing my arms as I ran a hand down my face.
Alan was a dirty cop. Someone had been paying him. Covering his tracks. Making sure his involvement in those five cases never saw the light of day. That kind of protection didn't come cheap. Which meant whoever was pulling the strings was powerful enough to keep him buried.
The question was, who?
And more importantly, why was my mother's death covered up?
My jaw clenched, anger creeping up. I inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled, forcing myself to let go of the tension.
I couldn't afford to let emotions cloud my thinking. Not now. Not yet. Not ever.
With that thought, I pulled up my [Status] screen.
[STATUS]
[Name: David Arthur Brown
Age: 25
Race: Human
Strength: 20
Agility: 20
Intelligence: 25
SP: 725
Lottery Stack: 2/3 draws
Skills: Hand-to-Hand Combat Mastery, Parkour Mastery, Hacking Mastery, Perfect Recall, Cooking Mastery, Bullet Time, Eye Color Manipulation, High-Speed Calculation (Psycho-Pass – Shinya Kogami's Combat Analysis), House Cleaning Mastery
Inventory: Glock 17 (5 Mags, Leg Holster), $20,000 Cash, Knuckle Dusters (Hidden Knives) – 2 nos, Luce & Ombra (Devil May Cry), Senbons (Naruto), Full Potion x 5 (That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime), Elucidator & Dark Repulsor (Sword Art Online), Yubashiri (One Piece), C-147B Paladin (Splinter Cell), Christian Wolff (The Accountant), "Monster" Ford Mustang GT (Death Race), Jason Bourne (The Bourne series)
Character Assimilated:
-Deadshot (DCEU)
Character Assimilation:
1.Nil
2.Nil
Characters Summoned:
1.Nil
2.Nil
3.Nil
Missions:
Primary Mission: Revenge
Objective: Make those responsible for your mother's murder pay.
Time Limit: 9 months
Rewards: 500 SP, A Skill, Mystery Box]
Ever since I fully assimilated Deadshot, I could feel the shift in my mindset.
It wasn't something drastic, nothing like losing myself or becoming someone else. But the way I thought, the way I acted… it was different.
If it had been the old me, I never would have considered kidnapping Alan Sloan, much less putting him through interrogation and psychological torture. The thought alone would have been enough to make my stomach turn.
Now?
It still left a bad taste in my mouth.
But I did it anyway. Because there was no other option.
Revenge demanded cruel actions. And if breaking a corrupt detective was what it took to get closer to the truth, then so be it.
Over the past two months, the last two times I drew from my lottery gave good results. I acquired two Character cards that will be immensely helpful: Christian Wolff (The Accountant) and Jason Bourne (The Bourne Series).
Additionally, I obtained a car from the Death Race series, the "Monster" Ford Mustang GT, complete with all its gadgets, including Frankenstein's mask and ring.
Furthermore, I gained an extra Character Assimilation slot and three Character Summoning slots, allowing me to summon up to three people.
And tomorrow I would be drawing my next set of lottery cards.
I am really skeptical about how I am getting the characters that are trained to kill.
But they did come with other exceptional skills.
So beggars can't be choosers. And now in this world I am a beggar even with my skills. I might be street level and could survive on the streets. But if I had to survive in this world I need to get strong and increase my network and allies.
I checked my tablet to ensure no one was lurking nearby. I had set up mini cams around the warehouse to monitor any suspicious activity.
Reviewing the day's footage around the warehouse, I saw only animals mostly cats and homeless individuals passing through the area.
Then I put my tab in the inventory, I walked out of the warehouse, my mind drifted to the events at the nightclub earlier. Suddenly, I stopped and slapped my forehead.
I had given Elena my phone, gotten her number and told her to call me once she reached home safely without giving my number. Now, I felt like an idiot.
I quickly texted her.
- Hey, it's me, David. Just checking in. Hope you got home safe.
I hit send and exhaled, slipping my phone back into my pocket. I wasn't sure if she'd reply, but at least I had done my part.
Shoving my hands into my jacket pockets, I walked down the empty street, the cold night air biting at my skin. The warehouse district was quiet at this hour, with only the occasional distant sound of a passing car or the rustling of stray animals.
I had planned to stay low for the next few days, but tomorrow's lottery draw had me on edge. No just tomorrow's every lottery I pulled had me on the edge. Every rewards
A vibration in my pocket broke my thoughts.
Elena: Made it home. Thanks for helping us out in the club, Sir Knight. :D
I stared at the message for a moment. I chuckled
I typed back:
-Glad to hear, My lady. Good Night. Sleep well.
I smirked at my own reply before shaking my head and slipping the phone back into my pocket.
Time to head home.
For the first time in nearly three months.
The thought should have been comforting. It wasn't. If anything, a strange sense of unease settled in my chest.
I walked through the quiet streets, hands tucked into my pockets, my hood pulled up. The night air was cold, but I barely noticed.
When I finally reached my apartment building I reached my door, I hesitated.
Nothing seemed out of place. I had left a small piece of paper wedged between the door and its frame before leaving, carefully placed on both edges. It was still intact, undisturbed. Only then did I unlock the door and step inside.
I stood there, my eyes scanning the space. My mind kept telling me everything was fine.
But my paranoia wouldn't let me relax. I pulled out a bug detector and swept the entire apartment, moving methodically through each room. Only after finding nothing did I allow myself to breathe easier.
The apartment was coated in a thin layer of dust, the air stale from being shut for nearly three months. I left the door open, along with the windows, letting the cold night air sweep through the space. It helped push away the lingering stillness, though the paranoia in my gut remained.
I got a house cleaning skill and and with it, the entire process became effortless. Moving through each room, I wiped down surfaces, swept the floor, and tidied up with swift, precise movements. In no time, the place looked noticeably cleaner. Tossing the small trash bag by the door, I headed into the kitchen.
A moment later, there was a knock.
I turned, to find Claire Temple standing in the doorway with her handbag on your shoulder.
She looked a little more tired, but then again, that was expected with her job. Her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.
For a brief second, neither of us spoke.
Claire paused at the doorway, her gaze briefly sweeping over the open windows and the faint scent of cleaning supplies in the air.
"You're back," she said, her tone neutral.
I set down the cloth I was using and replied face her. "Yes."
"I assume you've spoken to Jayden?"
"I have. I mean I spoke on phone, He told me he's been doing fine."
She gave a slight nod. "You asked me to keep an eye on him before you left. There hasn't been any trouble."
"I appreciate it," I replied.
She regarded me for a second before responding. "Noted. Good night, then."
"Good night."
With that, Claire turned and walked to her apartment. I resumed cleaning.
--
--
[The Next Day]
I woke up later than usual. After nearly three months of training, my body had grown accustomed to a strict schedule, but last night's exhaustion had caught up with me.
Rubbing my eyes, I sat up and stretched. My stomach grumbled. I had nothing to eat. Well, nothing fresh. But I did have some basic ingredients in my inventory—eggs, bread, milk, and a few other essentials. Just enough for a simple breakfast.
I made my way to the kitchen, rolling my shoulders as I grabbed a pan from the cabinet. With practiced ease, I cracked a few eggs into a bowl, whisking them lightly. The stove flickered to life, and I poured the eggs in, letting them sizzle.
While the eggs cooked, I toasted some bread and heated a cup of milk. My mind drifted as I plated the food.
I had changed. Two months ago, I would've made instant ramen or grabbed a takeout meal. Now, cooking felt… natural. Not just because I had Cooking Mastery, but because I had been living off homemade meals for months during training.
After finishing my meal, I exercised for about an hour, bodyweight workouts, flexibility drills, and a few sets of shadowboxing.
Dressed in a casual hoodie and jeans, I checked my wallet. Still had plenty of cash in it. Time to restock my kitchen.
--
--
The nearest supermarket was only a few blocks away. It was a quiet morning, not many people out. I walked in, grabbed a shopping cart, and began picking out what I needed.
As I stood at the checkout counter, waiting for my turn, my attention drifted to the TV screen mounted on the wall. A breaking news banner flashed across the bottom.
"U.S. Military Officer Commits Suicide Bombing in Tennessee—Authorities Investigating Possible Terror Links."
My fingers froze around my wallet. The name of the attacker appeared on the screen: Chad Davis.
I knew that name.
This was the plot of Iron Man 3.
Iron Man 3. Extremis. AIM. Killian. Then, Phil Coulson's team would be moving soon, setting up their operations.
But that had nothing to do with me. They could do whatever they wanted, chasing super-powered threats, dealing with S.H.I.E.L.D. politics, but my priority remained the same.
Revenge.
Everything I had done in the past few months, the training, the assimilation, the surveillance, was for that goal. I wasn't about to get distracted just because the larger Marvel events were unfolding. But I have to make plans to survive in this world.
"Sir?"
I blinked. The cashier was looking at me, waiting. I hadn't even realized she had finished scanning my groceries.
"Right." I pulled out some cash and handed it over. After collecting my bags, I stepped outside.
To be Continued...