The sun had just started rising—weak rays crawling over the ruined cityscape, brushing faint light across the blood-streaked stone. Smoke still curled zily from the broken towers. Adrian sat beneath the shade of a dying tree, back pressed against the bark, silent.
His Remington was gone. His sniper, discarded after the st kill. Just his gloves, torn and bloodied, rested on his p.
He stared at the horizon. Calm. Cold. But inside, something twisted.
“This ain’t how it was supposed to go…”
He exhaled slowly.
Pulled into a medieval dump. Betrayed the moment his boots hit dirt. Forced to kill with tech these fools couldn’t even comprehend. The look on the princess’s face before her skull caved in—it burned behind his eyes.
Even now, with the system in standby, he could hear its hum.
A sleek HUD flickered faintly in the corner of his vision.
> [Status: Safe Zone – No Targets Detected]
[Point Reserve: 300]
[Weapon Systems: Deactivated]
[Emotional Load: 79% - Suggesting Temporary Rest]
Adrian let out a bitter ugh. “Emotional load… yeah, no sh*t.”
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, letting the stress roll over him for the first time since nding in this twisted world. The shade cooled his skin, the silence soothed his nerves.
He wasn’t broken. Just tired.
This world made him a killer. But he was still from Earth. A version of Earth that bled chrome and circuitry—a world of guns, grit, and ghosts. Not this primitive fantasy crap.
“System,” he muttered, half-asleep, “wake me if something breathes wrong.”
> [Acknowledged.]
And with that, Adrian let go. For just a moment, the assassin closed his eyes beneath the whispering leaves… resting before the next storm.
A rustle in the brush.
Then… breathing. Not the kind that warned of a predator—no. This was shaky, erratic, too close. Too intimate.
Adrian’s eyes snapped open.
A face hovered inches from his own—flushed, dark-skinned, and dirt-smudged. An elf. Female. Busty. Her chest heaved with each breath, fabric barely clinging to her curves. Her cloak—or what remained of it—hung in tatters. Thorned vines scratched across her toned thighs, now streaked with red. Blood… but not hers.
"Please… help…" she whispered, voice cracked with exhaustion.
Adrian’s gaze dropped for a second.
Her thighs were plump, legs trembling. She colpsed to her knees in front of him. Her fingers weakly clutched his shirt. His eyes narrowed—noticing then, his own lower cloth was sshed. Torn. Not by her—he’d have known—but recent.
He tensed, jaw clenching.
"The hell happened to you?" he asked, voice low.
The elf looked up, eyes gssy. “There are people… they tried to—”
She stopped. Her lips trembled. Her pupils dited with fear.
“Tried to what?” Adrian asked again, colder this time.
She didn’t answer. Just whimpered.
“Please…” she whispered again. Then her body gave in, and she slumped against him, unconscious.
Adrian caught her before she hit the ground, his muscles instinctively steady. He stared down at the woman resting in his arms, breathing shallow.
Still warm. Still alive.
He looked past her, scanning the tree line. His assassin instincts fred to life.
Whoever had chased her… might still be near.
He slowly stood, lifting her with ease. His voice was a whisper to the system.
“Bring up weapon systems. Someone’s about to regret waking me up.”
Still under the tree's shade, Adrian id the unconscious elf gently against the trunk, her breathing shallow but steady.
“System,” he muttered, sharp eyes scanning the treeline. “I need something light. Silent. But lethal.”
A familiar mechanical chime responded.
> [Weapon System Online]
"For today’s taste, sir… may I suggest the B9 Talon Twins—low-tier, compact 9mm pistols. Precision-calibrated. Dual wield potential. Hollow-point rounds. Two magazines. One in each hand—twelve in each."
Two sleek pistols materialized, their matte bck finish absorbing the sunlight. Adrian took them slowly, running a finger along the edge of the barrel like a sommelier inspecting a vintage bottle.
“Banced. Feather trigger. Hollow-points.” He nodded with quiet approval. “Good for a messy finish.”
The magazines clicked in with that satisfying finality. Lethal readiness.
> [Additional Gear Suggested]
"For the road ahead, a touch of fir: GravSilk Tactical Mask. Filters air. Masks identity. Matches your tone."
A tight-fit mask formed, dark and smooth. Adrian pulled it over his mouth and nose without a word. His breathing slowed.
> [Utility Deployment Ready]
"Today’s final fvor? Choose from the following menu…
D-15 Whisper Bomb: Smoke grenade. 12 seconds thick fog. Silent escapes or loud entrances.
VX-MicroCorrosive Beads: A toxic finish. Melts iron and skin in seconds. Careful—these don’t forgive.*"
He selected both.
Two small canisters—one with a soft silver gleam, the other a translucent, sickly green—dropped into his hand.
"Perfect," he said under his breath, slipping them into his coat as his gaze returned to the bloodstained elf.
There would be answers… and bodies.
Adrian crouched low behind the slope, eyes fixed on the wild campfire ahead. The voices of fifteen men spilled through the trees—mocking, leering, filthy. They were discussing the elf. Laughing about what they’d do once she woke up.
He clenched his jaw.
With a practiced flick, he unpinned the matte-bck cylinder in his hand—D-15 Whisper Bomb.
"Twelve seconds of thick fog," he whispered to himself. "Silent escapes. Or loud entrances."
The grenade arced through the trees and nded dead center of the group.
Fssssshht—POP.
In an instant, a rolling wave of heavy smoke bnketed the area. A choking fog swallowed the camp, dragging their silhouettes into a gray void. Panic rippled.
They never saw the second one.
Adrian lobbed a small matte capsule next—this one etched with hazard-yellow lines and a biohazard insignia.
VX-MicroCorrosive Beads.
"Toxic finish. Melts iron… and skin. In seconds," Adrian muttered as he rose and strode forward. "Careful—these don’t forgive."
The canister hissed, then burst midair. Dozens of near-invisible beads scattered like mist, tching onto metal, skin, and cloth. Where they touched, corrosion spread instantly—eating through steel as if it were paper. Screams erupted. Men cwed at themselves, armor melting, flesh sizzling with acidic hiss.
One tried to stagger away—his gauntlet dissolving, bone peeking through.
Then the real pain started.
Adrian stood just outside the smoke, twin B9 Talon Twins steady in his grip.
"Hollow-point 9mm rounds," he murmured, stepping into the fog. "Designed to mushroom on impact. Rip apart tissue. No clean exits."
He fired the first shot.
Bang.
Target 1—mid-torso, just under the rib cage.
"Liver shot. Ruptures instantly. He’ll bleed out internally in minutes, paralyzed by pain."
The man dropped, clutching his side as dark blood gushed from his mouth.
Adrian moved.
Bang.
Target 2—left shoulder, precisely into the joint.
"Ball socket shattered. Arm’s dead weight now. He can’t lift a weapon anymore."
The man screamed, falling back into the grass.
Bang.
Target 3—clean hit through the cheekbone.
"Zygomatic arch destroyed. Shattered bone tears facial nerves. He’s blind on that side now."
The hollow-point burst the side of his face, spinning him like a doll.
Bang. Bang.
Targets 4 and 5—double tap.
Chest and then throat.
"First round colpses the left lung. Second severs the trachea. Can’t scream. Can’t breathe."
Both fell backward, gurgling. One kicked once, then went still.
Someone rushed out of the smoke with a bde.
Adrian sidestepped with a smooth pivot, lowered one pistol.
Bang.
Target 6—right thigh, dead center.
"Femoral artery. He’s got less than sixty seconds before unconsciousness."
The man shrieked, stumbled, then fell. Adrian followed up.
Bang.
Headshot. "Skull breach. Instant shutdown."
Target 7 tried to shield his face. Adrian aimed lower.
Bang.
Upper stomach.
"Celiac plexus. Drops blood pressure instantly. Nausea, colpse, and death follows."
The man dropped to his knees. Another shot.
Bang.
Spine, lower back.
"T7 vertebrae shattered. Paralyzed from the waist down. Won’t walk again."
A figure ran in panic.
Bang.
Right ankle. Bone snapped.
"Achilles gone. He’s crawling now."
Adrian didn’t even stop walking.
Bang.
Final mercy—headshot. "Gone."
He rolled his shoulder, twin pistols tracking every twitch.
Bang.
Target 9—elbow.
"Ulna shattered. Bde’s gone."
Bang.
Chest—heart. "Lights out."
Bang. Bang.
Two rapid shots.
Targets 10 and 11—neck and chin.
"Carotid artery. Then jaw dislocated. Blood chokes faster than they can scream."
He popped both mags clean. Twelve down.
Smoke swirled around him as two survivors tried to fnk.
He ejected both mags with a click.
"Reload."
Slid new magazines in. A smooth cck as slides snapped forward.
Bang. Bang.
Targets 12 and 13—eyes.
"Orbital fracture. Straight into the brain. One pull. One kill."
Last man stood shaking. Knife in hand.
Adrian sighed.
Bang.
Kneecap gone. The man howled, colpsed.
Adrian walked up. Looked him in the eyes.
Bang.
Point-bnk—forehead.
"Brain stem. Everything goes still."
Silence. Smoke settling.
Adrian stood in the aftermath of metal, smoke, and ruined bodies.
Twin pistols still warm in his hands.
"Precision. Pain. Perfection." he muttered. "Toys may be low-tier… but the hands that use them aren’t."
DING — +650 Points Gained
The sound faded into the smoke.
Fifteen corpses melted into sludge behind him—armor, bone, and pride erased by precision shots and searing toxins. The fog still hung in the air like death’s breath. His twin pistols dissolved into pixel dust, vanishing as if they had never existed.
He walked—slow, silent—back toward the grove where the dark elf slept beneath the trees, untouched by the carnage.
The sun was rising. But the warmth never reached his eyes.
He stopped, gncing once over his shoulder at the trail of ruin he left behind.
Then, with a low voice cold enough to kill gods, he muttered—
"I’m not the Boogeyman. I’m the one you send to kill the f*cking Boogeyman."
---
How are you enjoying the ride so far?
Adrian’s just getting started, and the bodies are already piling up. The system's cold, his trigger finger’s colder, and the world? Well, it better brace itself.
Let me know what you think—this chapter was one hell of a hit.
More blood, more grit, and maybe… a little heart next time. Or not.
Stay locked in. The Boogeyman walks.
