Moses_Onojeghwo

In a world where justice is dead and corruption reigns, Riven Kane is a street survivor with nothing to lose. That changes the night a mysterious System chooses him.

Execution Code: Activated.

Branded as an "Executor," Riven gains the power to eliminate high-level criminals—those untouchable by law. But after his first kill, the System binds him to an irreversible contract: every sanctioned execution must be carried out.

As his strength and kill count grow, Riven is recruited by Death Protocol—a secret organization of elite Executioners who carry out justice on a higher level. Some are heroes. Some are monsters. And some have lost themselves to the thrill of the kill.

Now, as Riven rises through the ranks, he must uncover the truth behind the System, the Protocol, and his own unraveling humanity—before the Executioner becomes the executed.

MY EXECUTION CODE SYSTEM

The city never slept, but tonight it was screaming.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Red and blue lights danced across rain-slick streets, reflecting off cracked glass and bloodied concrete. A crowd had gathered behind the police tape, murmuring, whispering.

"Victim is female, age twenty two. No ID on her. Same pattern as the others—neck snapped, body arranged. Sick bastard left a red ribbon again."

The officers spoke like they were describing the weather.

Her body, stiff and pale, was wheeled into the coroner's van. Her face was peaceful, as if she'd fallen asleep to a lullaby only she could hear. But no one saw the flicker under her skin. No one noticed the faint pulse of red light dancing along her fingers.

[Override Detected: Unique Skill Unlocked]

[UNIQUE SKILL ACTIVATED: RESURRECTION]

It began with a shudder. A spark. A glitch in death itself.

Her eyes snapped open—white, lifeless one second, burning red with code the next. Her lungs gasped in silence. Skin flushed with warmth. Bones reset. The heart, long still, pounded back to life with digital rhythm.

She sat up in the body bag, eyes blinking against the cold florescent lights of the morgue.

A scream never left the coroner's lips.

Death Protocol Headquarters – Central Surveillance

Cigar watched the feed like a man watching history rewrite itself.

"Run it again," he said, lighting another cigar with trembling hands.

The footage looped—Kira rising, the code pulsing, the sudden disappearance. The system had flagged it in real-time. Not just an Executioner.

A Unique Skill. One the system itself didn't predict. One it had only whispered of in fragmented data. And now it was real. Living. Walking.

"She's the perfect soldier," Cigar muttered. "No fear. No pain. No failure."

He stood, turning to the shadowed council behind him. "We cannot let this opportunity slip."

One voice emerged from the dark: "And the brother?"

"Leave him," Cigar said. "For now. He's a pawn. She—she's the goddamn future."

Unknown Death Protocol Facility – Level Zero

She woke strapped to a table. Tubes in her arms. Digital pulses fluttered across her veins like glowing veins of red lightning. A dozen doctors in black coats typed furiously on hovering screens.

Her memory was broken. Names scattered. Faces blurred. But pain—pain was clear.

Red Judgment. Flash. Binary Sword. Clone. Resurrection.

They installed every combat protocol. Fed her every lethal line of Execution Code. Tested her regeneration. Shot her. Burned her. Cut her. Again and again.

Just a perfect response to a single command.

They gave her no name. Just a designation:

Protocol: Rcall