Gang's Reckoning

Vincent stood his ground, locking eyes with Voss's razor-sharp grin. The garage felt like a pressure cooker—smoke thick, tension thicker.

Voss's crew shifted, their smirks twisting into something feral. Vincent's gut churned—he'd walked into a viper's nest, and these bastards were ready to bite.

A wiry guy with a shaved head and a jagged scar across his lip stepped up, cracking his knuckles. "Big talk, motel bitch," he spat. "Let's see you swing."

Vincent's pulse hammered in his chest, the weight of the moment pressing down. He wasn't built for this, never had been. But retreat? That had never been his way.

He'd thrown punches back in the day, sure, but not against a room full of goons who'd probably gutted guys for laughs. His fists balled, mind racing for an out.

The system buzzed like a live wire in his skull. The neon-blue screen blazed.

[Combat Mode: Initiated.]

[Tactical Awareness Module: Temporarily Unlocked.] 

[Engaging Hostile Target.]

His body moved before his brain caught up—his knees bent, shoulders squared, hands raised like he'd been born for this.

'What the fuck?' Vincent thought, but his limbs were on rails, the system seizing full control.

The Scar-lip guy swung a sloppy right hook. Vincent's body slid left, with fluid ease, his arm snapping up to block.

The guy's fist grazed him, and Vincent's own hand shot out, smashing Scar-lip's jaw. Blood sprayed through the air, teeth clacking together as the dude stumbled, face split wide open.

Vincent's mind reeled, but the system didn't pause. The garage exploded into chaos around him—Voss's crew roared, circling like sharks. Scar-lip lunged again, spitting a mouthful of blood, aiming a fist at Vincent's ribs.

The system twisted his torso, dodging the blow, and Vincent's knee slammed into Scar-lip's gut. The guy retched, folding over, and Vincent's elbow crashed into his neck, dropping him down in a bloody heap.

[Target Neutralized.]

The air turned savage. Four thugs charged, a blur of swinging fists, stomping boots, and glinting steel. The system suddenly turned Vincent into a goddamn reaper.

One guy, with a Buzzcut, a beefy bastard, swung a pipe—Vincent ducked, the metal whistling past his left ear. His fist smashed Buzzcut's nose, blood gushing out in a thick stream, cartilage crunching inward. Buzzcut screamed, collapsing, face now a red mess.

The one with a Ponytail pulled a switchblade, slashing at Vincent's chest. The system slowed time, the blade's arc flaring neon-blue. Vincent's hand caught Ponytail's wrist, twisting hard until it snapped with a pop.

The knife skittered away across the floor, and Vincent's boot crushed Ponytail's right knee, the crack echoing sharp as blood pooled from the guy's busted nose from a follow-up elbow.

[Multiple Targets Engaged. Threat Level: Critical.]

The rest of the crew swarmed in a blood-soaked frenzy. A lanky guy with a chain swung wildly—Vincent's body rolled underneath the chain, grabbed it mid-swing, then yanked Lanky off balance.

His fist slammed into Lanky's temple. Blood spurted out as the guy crumpled to the ground, his scalp split open.

Another thug, face tattooed, landed a fist to Vincent's jaw, blood trickling from his split lip. Pain flared, but the system pushed through, Vincent's knee smashing Tattoo's groin, then his fist caving in the guy's cheek, blood and teeth flying.

A third came with a crowbar, swinging for Vincent's skull. The system sidestepped, wrenching the bar free, and Vincent drove it into the guy's ribs. Blood sprayed as the thug screamed, collapsing, clutching his side where red soaked his shirt.

The last guy tackled Vincent, pinning him against a car. Blood from Vincent's lip smeared the hood, but the system twisted his body, flipping the guy over, and Vincent's boot stomped his chest, blood bubbling from the dude's mouth as he gasped.

Vincent stood there, chest heaving, the garage now a battlefield of blood and wreckage. Blood slicked the floor's concrete, pooling under the groaning bodies.

His knuckles ached, dripping with red, his ribs screaming under his shirt, face stinging with cuts, but he was still standing.

The system's grip finally eased, control slowly trickling back. "Unbelievable," he rasped, wiping blood from his split chin.

Voss stayed put, lounging against the counter, cigarette vanished, eyes sharp and unreadable. His grin cut through the tension like a blade. "Goddamn, motel boy," he said, slow-clapping. "You're a fuckin' animal."

Vincent's blood-smeared fists clenched, adrenaline still roaring. He wanted to talk, to dial this shit down, but Voss was already reaching behind the counter. A pistol gleamed as Voss raised it, aiming square at Vincent's chest.

[Critical Threat Detected. Engaging Override.]

The system took over, and Vincent's body moved faster than thought, closing the distance in an instant. His hand locked around Voss's wrist, twisting until bones ground against each other.

The gun went off, the bullet tearing into the ceiling, plaster crumbling down in a dusty rain.

The pistol hit the floor with a sharp clang. Voss lashed out with a wild left, but Vincent intercepted it, his knee driving hard into Voss's gut.

Voss wheezed, and Vincent grabbed his collar, yanking him up, other hand locking around Voss's throat. He lifted, Voss's boots scraping air, face purpling.

The garage echoed with ragged breaths and strained groans. Vincent's voice cut through the noise, cold and unwavering. "You don't lay a hand on the Stardust. You don't even look at it. Understood?"

Voss choked a laugh, blood on his teeth from a split lip. "Big words… for a corpse."

Vincent's grip tightened, blood from his knuckles smearing Voss's jacket. "Push me, and I'll bury you," he snarled. "Next time, I don't stop."

He shoved Voss back hard, the gang leader crashing against the bar counter, coughing out choking coughs, still clutching his throat. The grin stayed, sharp and unyielding, still there.

"This ain't done yet, kid," Voss rasped, wiping at the fresh blood. "You've just started a war."

Vincent didn't blink or even flinch. "Then I'll finish it," his voice cold.

The system chimed, showing;

[Task Progress: Neutralize Local Threat – 50% Complete.]

[Next Step: Secure formal agreement with Ricky Voss within 48 hours.]

[Tactical Awareness Module: Partially Integrated.]

Vincent stepped back, eyes sweeping over the wreckage of the garage—blood-streaked concrete, bodies sprawled twisted in pain. His hands trembled as he pushed through the door into the cold night, the system's grip loosening with every step.

Pain hit him all at once—busted knuckles, aching ribs, blood drying stiff on his skin. He had fought fiercely, but none of it had been him.

The system made him into a fucking monster, and it scared the hell out of him.

But it still kept him alive.

***

Stephanie stood behind the counter, sorting key tags. Her eyes widened suddenly when she saw him. "What the fuck, Vincent? You look like you got hit by a truck."

He forced a grin, blood stinging his split lip. "Just bonding with the locals, Steph," he said.

She snorted, but concern flickered across her expression. "Don't die on me, dumbass."

"Working on it," he said, limping to his room.

The system buzzed in his head.

[Qi Cultivation Required: 30 Minutes.]

[Physical Condition: Compromised. Initiate Recovery Protocol.]

Vincent collapsed onto the bed, blood flaking off his stained hands. Voss wasn't backing down—men like him thrived on grudges and spilled blood.

He pushed himself up with a grunt, sitting cross-legged on the mattress. The moment he began the Qi breathing routine, warmth seeped through his body, dulling the ache in his ribs and clearing his muddled thoughts.

[Qi Cultivation: 30 minutes completed. Basic Breathing Technique – Level 1 Progress: 15%.]

[Qi Energy: Latent Potential – 3% Unlocked.]

Vincent smirked, flexing his blood-crusted fingers. The system was a ruthless bastard, but it was shaping him into something unstoppable.

Tomorrow, he'd sign Marcus's contract, then force Voss into a truce—or snap him like a twig.

[Rest Period: Initiated. Prepare for tomorrow's objectives.]

His eyes drifted shut as he sank into the bed, exhaustion finally took him over.