The following morning dawned with radiant sunlight, painting the world in a cheerful glow, as if the universe itself was conspiring to lift spirits.
When Jason stirred from his slumber, the system—missing in action for a full day and night—finally flickered back to life with a triumphant chime.
[Ding! System update completed!]
[Update Note 1: Expanded point recharge options. The host can now recharge points directly from a bank account balance. Conversion rates and currency types remain unchanged.]
[Update Note 2: Recruitment mission overhaul. Recruiting allies no longer requires manual persuasion. The system will automatically implant a virtual memory for both the host and the ally.]
[Update Note 3: New items added to the system shop. Host, please explore at your leisure.]
Jason skimmed the update notes, his mind buzzing with excitement, sleep evaporating like morning dew under the sun’s relentless gaze. He felt a surge of energy, his pulse quickening as the possibilities unfolded in his mind like a treasure map.
He glanced back at Harley, still lost in the blissful depths of sleep, her soft breathing a stark contrast to the chaotic whirlwind of his thoughts. Careful not to disturb her, he sat up slowly, his movements deliberate, as if the weight of the system’s revelations anchored him to the moment.
The first update was straightforward enough, and oh, how it thrilled him. In the past, recharging points meant dealing with cold, hard cash—physical bills he had to touch with his own hands. A pain in the ass, to say the least. In the twenty-first century, who the hell carried wads of cash anymore? Even the shadiest of black-market deals went down through untraceable Swiss bank accounts. For a guy like Jason, who thrived on opportunity, that limitation was a goddamn shackle. Now, though? The system had unshackled him. Points could be siphoned straight from a bank account, no fuss, no muss. This opened a whole new world of targets—fat-cat CEOs, corrupt politicians, hell, maybe even a rogue billionaire or two. The possibilities were endless, and Jason’s grin widened at the thought.
But then, a lightning bolt of regret struck him. "Fuck!" He muttered, slamming his fist against his thigh, the sting barely registering against the pain of his realization. That bastard Kingpin! That son of a bitch had a Swiss bank account stuffed with two billion dollars. Two. Fucking. Billion. If Jason hadn’t been so quick to snuff out that crime lord’s miserable life, he’d be sitting on a fortune right now. Converted to points? That’s 200,000 points in his pocket. Enough to max out his stats and those of his four closest allies, turning them into an unstoppable force. He could practically see it—his crew, powered up, tearing through anyone who dared stand in their way, ruling the streets like gods among men. The thought sent a shiver of exhilaration down his spine.
"Fuck!" He cursed under his breath, his intestines twisting with regret. If only he’d known. If only the system hadn’t screwed him over with its shitty timing. An earlier update, or even a fucking heads-up about the recharge feature, and things would’ve played out differently. He could’ve played the long game, kept Kingpin alive just long enough to drain that account dry. Now? All he had was a missed opportunity and a bad case of blue balls from what could’ve been.
Shaking his head to clear the bitterness, Jason turned his attention to the second update. This one was a game-changer too. Recruiting allies used to be a tedious chore—tracking down some poor bastard based on the system’s cryptic hints, then wasting hours sweet-talking them into joining his crew. Half the time, he felt like a used-car salesman pitching a lemon. Now? The system would just implant a memory, convincing the recruit they’d been ride-or-die with Jason from the jump. No hassle, no bullshit. He couldn’t help but smirk. The system was finally starting to pull its weight.
Both updates were a massive win, and they stoked his curiosity about the third. If the system was stepping up its game this much, what else did it have in store? "Come on, you piece-of-shit system," He muttered with a grin. "Show me something good. Hell, give me a dozen updates like these."
He opened the system shop, navigated to the "Recently Added" section, and—holy shit—his eyes nearly popped out of his skull.
[Shop (Superpowers): Mind Control, Telekinesis, Healing, Energy Manipulation, Cryokinesis, Weather Control, Laser Vision, Shapeshifting, Steel Skin, Intangibility, Teleportation, Angelic Wings, Aquatic Mastery, Ultrasonic Waves, Lycanthropy, X-Ray Vision, Invisibility, Pyrokinesis, Shockwave, Lightning...]
Jason swallowed hard, his throat dry with awe. "Are you fucking kidding me?" He whispered. Superpowers. Actual, honest-to-God superpowers. His heart pounded like a jackhammer as he imagined the chaos he could unleash with even one of these in his arsenal.
"Stay cool, stay cool," He told himself, forcing his racing pulse to slow. He clicked on one power at random, his fingers trembling with anticipation.
[’Mind Control’ Superpower Description: No physical contact required. Read and manipulate thoughts, memories, and actions of others at will.]
"Holy fuck!" Jason’s jaw dropped. This was next-level. Mind control? He could waltz into someone’s head, twist their thoughts like putty, and make them dance to his tune. A wicked grin spread across his face as he imagined the possibilities. Why skulk in the shadows when he could control the goddamn Justice Department? Hell, why stop there? Get close enough to the President, and he’d be running the whole damn country. The world, even. The thought sent a rush of adrenaline through him, his mind spiraling with wild, delicious scenarios. Rob a bank? Pfft, too small. He could walk into Fort Knox and have the guards hand him the gold. Or better yet, make some Wall Street prick transfer billions to his account with a smile.
"Buy it. Gotta fucking buy it," He muttered, practically vibrating with excitement as he clicked the purchase interface.
[Mind Control Level 1]
Prerequisites: Strength, Agility, Endurance, Intelligence—all attributes must exceed 50 points.
Cost: 100,000 points.
"What the fuck?!" Jason’s excitement screeched to a halt, replaced by dumbfounded shock. The prerequisites were fine—he could dump his remaining 10 attribute points into Intelligence and meet the requirement no problem. But the price? One hundred thousand points? That’s one billion dollars. For a Level 1 superpower? "Are you shitting me, system?" He growled. "You might as well rob a bank yourself!"
He frantically checked the other powers. Every single one—telekinesis, invisibility, lightning, you name it—started at the same insane price: 100,000 points. "Motherfucker!" He spat, his mood crashing harder than a stock market bust. Right now, he didn’t have ten thousand points, let alone ten. Hell, he was scraping by with zero. The system was screwing with him, dangling these god-tier powers just out of reach, like a carrot in front of a starving donkey.
"Fucking tease," He grumbled, slumping back against the headboard. But then, a new thought crept in, cooling his temper. One billion dollars for a superpower wasn’t actually that bad, was it? If he could get his hands on that kind of cash, he’d be unstoppable. And if he could sell these powers—say, double the price—every government, every billionaire, every wannabe supervillain would be clawing over each other to buy. Two billion a pop? They’d empty their vaults in a heartbeat.
Jason chewed on his finger, his brow furrowing as he calculated. Where the hell could he get that kind of money? Yesterday, he’d been all bravado, shooting his mouth off to Stan about steering clear of New York’s underground turf war. But now? A billion dollars was just a month or two of diving headfirst into that chaos. Maybe he’d been too quick to dismiss Stan’s offer. A small voice in his head whispered, ’Go back. Tell Stan you’re in.’ But the thought made his skin crawl. Crawl back to Stan after all that big talk? Admit he’d been too hasty? He could already hear himself: "Uh, hey, Stan, about yesterday... maybe I didn’t think it through. Can we, uh, talk?" Fuck that.
No, he needed another way. A smarter way. He pulled out his phone and dialed Stanfield.
"Morning, Stan!" He said, forcing cheer into his voice.
"Boss? Calling this early? What’s up?" Stan’s voice carried a mix of curiosity and suspicion.
Jason chuckled, playing it cool. "Nothing major, man. Can you get me and Harley out of New York?"
"You’re leaving New York?" Stan sounded baffled. "Didn’t you just say you wanted to lay low, live the quiet life for a bit? It’s been, what, a day?"
"Yeah, well," Jason said, his mind racing for a believable excuse. "Harley’s got this itch to go shopping. You know how girls are—gotta have their bags, their dresses, all that jazz. Gotta keep her happy, right?"
Stan’s confusion deepened. "What, New York’s malls don’t cut it?"
Jason smirked, ready with his cover story. "Nah, man, New York’s on lockdown. Army’s crawling all over the place. Even in disguise, we can’t just stroll through Fifth Avenue. So I figured, why not take her somewhere else? Los Angeles sounds good, doesn’t it?"
"LA, huh?" Stan paused, then shrugged it off. "Alright, fine. Tomorrow morning, you and Harley disguise yourselves and head to Central Park in Hudson Valley. I’ll send one of my guys to pick you up and get you to the airport. DEA’s got a private jet that’ll take you to LA."
"Perfect. Done deal." Jason hung up, his heart racing with anticipation. New York was a powder keg right now—military everywhere, heat on every corner. Starting trouble here was a one-way ticket to a body bag. LA, though? That was a fresh playground. A city ripe with opportunities to make some serious cash. He could already feel the weight of those points in his pocket.
"Oh-ho!" A strange, mischievous laugh echoed behind him.
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