Chapter 1 – Scarface (1984)
In a dark alley, a tan-skinned man, probably of Latin origin, lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, enjoying the calming effect the smoke brought. After a few seconds, he exhaled the smoke from his lungs while watching some people walking down the busy streets with sharp eyes.
The man was wearing simple clothes, nothing flashy—something that allowed him to blend in with the crowd.
He kept smoking for a while until he saw an old acquaintance.
"Hey Ramon, you got it?" A woman in her twenties, wearing a tight dress, approached him with a smile on her face.
"You're late, Vic," Ramon said, his voice hoarse and not at all friendly.
"Oh, come on. You know I wouldn't screw you over." The girl chuckled, pulled out some rolled-up bills, and handed them to Ramon, who didn't even bother to check and just shoved them into his pocket.
"Here," he said, handing her a few small packets of white powder. The girl immediately smiled and shoved them all into her purse.
"Thanks. You have no idea how bad people needed this. There's gonna be one hell of a party tonight." The girl smiled, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and turned to leave.
Ramon watched her walk away, not really caring what she was going to do or where she was headed. That wasn't his problem.
The night went on as usual. Familiar faces came to him, handed over the cash, grabbed the powder, and left—no small talk, nothing.
Around 9 PM, Ramon finished another cigarette and lit one more—the last one in his pack.
"Tsk... damn, I'm gonna have to buy more," he grumbled, annoyed that he was out but didn't make a move to leave. He still had one more delivery, then he could call it a night.
Thinking about the last customer, Ramon once again turned his eyes silently toward the busy street when suddenly a faint sound echoed behind him.
"Hm?" Ramon turned around to check what had caused the noise behind him, but before he could react, a pair of strong arms wrapped around his neck from behind in a brutal chokehold.
Ramon dropped his cigarette to the ground and struggled to break free. He felt his throat being crushed as he was suffocated to death. In desperation, he tried to reach for his gun, but it was useless. Within seconds, his vision went dark, followed by the soft sound of bones snapping.
Ramon collapsed, dead, onto the filthy alley floor while his killer didn't even care, simply dragging his body deeper into the alley.
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"System initiated – Universal travel complete – Anchor successfully established." A robotic, artificial voice echoed in Marcus's mind, but he paid little attention to it for now.
Instead, he stared at the man's body in front of him while searching through his pockets. He grabbed everything the guy had—cash, drugs, keys, documents, and a short-barreled Taurus .38 revolver.
Marcus felt no remorse for the man. After taking everything, he tossed the body into a dumpster before walking out of the alley.
Out on the street, Marcus was met with crowds of people coming and going. He watched them with interest—their clothes were straight out of the '80s, and neon signs glowed brightly, casting different colors onto the streets.
Marcus took it all in with mild interest before getting into his new car, a brown Chevrolet Chevette, and driving away.
"So... System," he suddenly spoke while driving aimlessly. "Any info on where I am?"
"Scarface," the artificial voice answered in his mind.
"The 1980s version, I assume," Marcus replied, turning down a street to the right.
"Correct" the voice confirmed.
"What's my mission?"
"The Host must create complete disruption in the original timeline of this world, generating as much chaos as possible."
"Hm, easy. I just need to kill Tony Montana when he shows up, and that's it," Marcus said as he pulled up in front of a convenience store.
"Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that."
"Happiness never lasts for the poor," Marcus muttered, hearing the system's indifferent tone crush his tiny dream of an easy job. He sighed as he stepped inside the store.
'Explain.'
"The Chosen, the Protagonist, the Hero, the Destined—doesn't matter the world. There is always someone who holds that title," the system explained while Marcus listened closely, trying not to get distracted as he grabbed a chocolate bar.
"These people carry with them a large part of the world's destiny—at least 50% of it—and because of that, they are protected by the rules of the world."
'In other words, fate.'
"Exactly. If you want to eliminate a Chosen, you must first eliminate the other 50%."
'Meaning... killing or preventing secondary characters from contacting the protagonist. Love interests, mentors, stuff like that.'
"Exactly."
Marcus grabbed some chips, sodas, water, and a few other things while filtering the new information the System provided.
'By the way, do you have a name?' he asked while paying for his groceries.
"System is fine."
'Seriously? Don't you want me to give you a name, like Cortana or Skynet?'
"I'd like to inform the Host that I am a machine without an emotional system, unlike JARVIS or Cortana. My creators made me this way specifically to avoid corruption and, most importantly, to fulfill one purpose: assist my Host in his journey while remaining completely impartial. I will never seek to favor or harm you based on your actions."
'I see.'
Marcus paid for his things and, after a quick exchange with the cashier, left the store.
'By the way, System,' he suddenly said as he got into the car, 'do you have any other functions besides taking me to other worlds?'
"Yes. But first, you'll need to survive this world and advance to the next one."
'Why?'
"My function is to serve as your anchor in this world, allowing you to integrate perfectly without attracting much attention. For that, I'm connected only to your physical body. If I unlock other functions, I'll need to merge with your soul. However, that comes with a risk—if you die, I cease to exist."
'For someone with no emotions, you sure sound pretty afraid of dying.'
"I am not afraid. My programming requires that the Host survive at least three worlds before allowing me to connect to his soul as a means of self-preservation."
'However, passing through three worlds doesn't guarantee that you'll unlock other functions, right?'
"Correct. That will only happen if I determine that you have a high probability of failure after completing the first three worlds. Understand that, as an anchoring system and an Omniversal Key, I am an extremely rare artifact—even among higher-level beings."
'Uh-huh.'
Marcus drove silently for a few more minutes until he arrived at his destination—a gun shop.
He didn't go in. Instead, he stayed in the car, watching the place for a while. It was nearly 10 PM, and the shop was still open, which meant the owner would be closing soon.
Marcus wasn't in a hurry. He lit a cigarette and sat there silently.
At 10 PM, just as he expected, the lights went out, and a middle-aged man came out after locking the security gate.
Marcus watched quietly as the man walked away. Then he looked back at the shop, a slight smile forming on his lips.
"Guess it's shopping time."