New York never slept—but in the alleys of Hell's Kitchen, it twitched.
Sirens howled far off like hungry wolves, muffled by the hum of flickering streetlights. Trash danced in the wind. Somewhere, a bottle shattered. Laughter, screams, then silence.
He stood above another body.
Still warm.
Blood soaked the sidewalk beneath the man's head, but it didn't faze him anymore. The thug had tried to mug an old man outside a liquor store. Now he was dead. Simple math.
The teen in the hoodie exhaled slowly and knelt beside the body.
"Shadow Extraction."
The shadows around the corpse stirred like oil on water. Darkness spread under it unnaturally, seeping up like ink, then sank the corpse beneath the ground. A black mist rose, and a shape emerged—hunched, muscular, its violet eyes locked onto him.
[Shadow Soldier Created: Mugger Lv.1]
He nodded at it. "Welcome to the fold."
That made two.
The first shadow, the Thug, emerged behind him without a word. The new Mugger joined him, kneeling.
He opened his Status screen again.
---
[STATUS]
Shadow Power: 1.78
Shadow Storage: 2/10
Active Shadows:
Thug (Pistol, Street Smarts)
Mugger (Knife, Close Combat)
---
He was growing stronger.
Each new shadow increased the depth of the abyss within him—like a well that grew wider, darker, and more alive.
He looked at the wallet in the mugger's coat. A thick wad of cash.
He took it, flipped through.
"Three hundred in cash?" He scoffed. "Not bad for thirty seconds of work."
He checked the alley. Empty. Dead cameras.
Just the way he liked it.
He'd learned fast: criminals were prey, not predators. And no one missed them.
---
Later That Night – Abandoned Warehouse
He returned to the warehouse he'd claimed as his hideout. Rusted, forgotten, and perfect. Shadows pooled naturally here. Cold. Isolated.
The shadows followed him inside, dissolving into the floor as he entered. They rested beneath him, dormant until called.
He locked the door, sat down on an overturned crate, and opened the Inventory for the first time.
A simple grid appeared, like a basic game menu—clean, minimal.
Inside:
[Pistol – 1]
[Cash – $750]
[Knife – Bloodied]
[Stolen Phone – Locked]
He grinned.
"It's not much… but it's a start."
He added the new money and weapon. The phone? He tossed it to the side. The shadows might know how to unlock it.
"Scan: Phone."
---
[Scan Result]
Device Model: Burner Phone
Encryption: Basic
Recent Activity: Drug deals, drop points, debt records
Password: 1802 (known via shadow's memory)
---
He blinked.
"Nice."
He unlocked it and started reading messages. Drug routes. Names. Meeting points. These weren't just street rats—this was a network. Territory. Turf. Trade.
An idea clicked.
"Money… comes from the top."
If he wanted to get rich fast—and silently—he couldn't just kill small fry.
He needed the middlemen. The ones who handled cash, not just guns. Dealers. Fixers. Runners.
And he needed to clean the money.
---
The Next Day – Lower East Side
He dressed differently now. Not just a hoodie, but gloves, cap, sunglasses. The city didn't pay attention to the homeless or the cautious.
He followed a name from the mugger's phone—"Lenny"—a mid-level fixer who managed a few blocks and handled illegal bets and weapons.
Lenny had a routine.
Every afternoon at 3:00, he walked out of a betting shop with a duffel bag, stepped into an alley, and smoked the same damn cigar.
And today?
The shadows were waiting for him.
As Lenny lit up, a whisper of cold blew behind him. The light dimmed for a split second.
"Wha—?"
A hand grabbed his throat and slammed him against the wall.
The teen appeared from the dark, eyes cold, lips neutral.
"Shhh."
A shadow blade pierced Lenny's side silently. The man gasped, trembling.
"You're going to give me your cash," the teen said softly. "Then you'll sleep."
"No—no—"
"Shadow Extraction is… cleaner when the soul's fresh."
One slice, one death.
And one new soldier.
---
[Shadow Soldier Created: Fixer Lv.2]
Abilities gained:
Money Laundering
Network Access (Local)
Safe House Keys
Crypto Wallet Access
---
He looted the duffel.
Stacks of bills. Rolled, rubber-banded, unmarked.
Over $9,000.
He tucked the duffel into Inventory.
"You've already paid for your sins. Now you'll help fund my future."
He walked away, and the shadows followed.
---
Night – Hideout
He sat cross-legged in the center of the warehouse. The shadows circled him, silent guardians.
The Fixer now stood behind him, his form taller and more distinct than the others—still wearing his jacket and cigar, but his eyes glowed purple like stars drowned in oil.
He accessed the crypto wallet through the fixer's memories.
$28,000. Untouched. Clean.
He transferred it to a new shell account, created through the fixer's contact list.
Within hours, he had a legal identity, a bank account, and an investment profile.
And the next day?
He bought his first Stark Industries shares.
---
Three Weeks Later
The shadows grew. He had six now. Thugs, muggers, a sniper, a fixer, and a getaway driver. All with skills. All obedient.
With every death, he felt stronger. Sharper.
His Shadow Power ticked upward like a rising tide. His mind adapted faster. His reflexes tuned to silence.
He no longer blinked at blood. He no longer hesitated.
He had rules now:
Only kill criminals.
Never be seen.
Never leave a body.
Extract, adapt, evolve.
---
One night, as he overlooked the city from a rooftop, the Fixer emerged beside him.
He looked at the phone in his hand. Stark Industries stock was climbing. The Ten Rings would soon kidnap Tony.
The future was approaching.
"Let them play hero," he muttered. "I'll stay in the shadows."
He tightened his fist. Shadows rippled around his feet.
"Because in the dark… I'm the king."
---