May 31st, 2024 – Vermont.
Three weeks until graduation.
The bus rumbled through winding mountain roads, its suspension creaking with every bend. Rain had fallen earlier that morning, and the asphalt shimmered with the leftover sheen of a world too clean, too quiet for the chaos that brewed inside the boy riding in the back.
Chad Redfield sat in the last row, alone.
The vinyl seat stuck to his skin through his damp hoodie. His fingers were clenched tight on his lap, knuckles white from tension, not temperature. He wasn't cold. He wasn't even trembling.
He was waiting.
For what, he wasn't sure. Something to change. Something to snap.
He stared out the window as the trees blurred past, watching the mist drift lazily between the trunks.
At 5'9", Chad had always been just average. Just there. Not short, not tall. Not weak, not strong. Not ugly, not remarkable.
But inside, he burned.
The other students ignored him. They always had.
Even now, as his golden-blonde hair had grown longer and his body had started to tighten from his private MMA training, he still wore the stink of "nobody" to them.
They didn't notice the way his red eyes glowed faintly in the shade. Not yet.
They didn't see the hours of reading, of lifting, of sharpening himself when no one was watching.
They didn't feel the pressure building behind every glance. The way the weight in his stare had changed.
But they would.
He wasn't going home.
Not really.
He lived in a house too big for a fake family — the Redfield estate — nestled beside Lake Mansfield like something out of a catalog. All dark timber and stone. Wide porches. Clean windows.
To the outside world, he had it all.
A mother. A father. Two sisters. A legacy.
But they didn't see the silences at dinner. The unspoken tension. The glances between Lili and the Doctor. The quiet resentment in Luna's eyes. The fearful glances from Mia when she thought he wasn't looking.
They didn't hear the way his foster father spat the word "boy" like it meant burden.
They didn't see how Lili never corrected him.
But worse than all of that?
They didn't see what Chad saw.
They didn't feel what he felt when Lili brushed past him in the hallway, her soft hand grazing his arm. When she leaned too close to fix his collar. When she whispered "You've grown so much."
They didn't feel the heat it lit in his chest — the pull.
Or the pain.
Because even that was stolen.
He had no blood here. No name worth carrying. The Doctor made that clear with every clipped sentence, every withheld praise.
And now?
The man wanted him gone.
Three weeks until graduation. Then you're out.No money. No inheritance. No help. Just go.
And Chad had nodded.
He'd smiled.
But inside?
He planned.
He watched. Waited. Counted every late-night business trip. Listened at the door when the Doctor fought with Lili in whispers. Took note of every wince, every quiet apology.
And then, just last week, the final thread snapped.
He'd hidden in the trunk of the Doctor's car.
Followed him.
Heard everything.
Multiple affairs. Cold laughter. Hotel rooms in New York. Montreal. D.C.
"She's a good face for the family. That's all."
"He's not mine anyway."
Chad had climbed out of that trunk a different person.
He hadn't said a word.
Not to Lili. Not to anyone.
But inside, something settled.
Cold.
Heavy.
Sharp.
You'll see soon, old man. Everyone will.I don't need to prove I belong. I'm going to take everything.One step at a time.
The Redfield estate rested on the edge of Lake Mansfield like a secret.
It was two stories of old timber and stone, sharp angles softened by ivy-covered balconies and windows that stretched wide over the mist-kissed water. The lake behind it shimmered silver in the dying light of late spring, and the surrounding forest swayed in silence, like it too was holding its breath.
To outsiders, the house was a dream — wealth tucked away in the Vermont hills.
To Chad, it was a prison that wore a beautiful face.
He stepped through the front door that evening and let the scent of roasted chicken and garlic butter wash over him. It smelled like home. It even felt like home.
But it wasn't.
Because the moment he entered, the air shifted.
Lili appeared in the archway from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She smiled — gentle, sweet, almost too soft.
"You're just in time," she said. "Dinner's ready."
Chad stared at her for half a second longer than necessary. Then he nodded.
"Thanks."
She tilted her head at him with that same maternal warmth. And something beneath it. Something neither of them spoke aloud.
Behind her, Mia peeked around the corner — shy, soft-eyed, her hair tied up in a bun too big for her delicate frame. She quickly disappeared when she saw him looking.
Luna descended the stairs in athletic shorts and a tight sports bra, a towel slung over one shoulder. Her eyes met Chad's for a split second before she scoffed.
"Don't get weird," she muttered, brushing past him and heading for the dining room.
Dinner was quiet.
The four of them sat at the long oak table. Lili served the plates herself — chicken, green beans, roasted potatoes. Everything perfectly arranged. Her hands moved gracefully. Trained. Almost ritualistic.
Chad sat across from the Doctor.
He didn't speak.
Just cut his food with surgical precision, as always. Fork. Knife. Chew. Swallow. Sip. Repeat.
Lili tried to keep the mood light. Asked Mia about her art project. Complimented Luna on her last swim meet.
But no one really responded.
Not until the Doctor set down his fork.
"Chad," he said, voice clipped. "Graduation is in three weeks."
Chad nodded. "Yeah."
"I expect you to be gone by then."
Lili's fork froze halfway to her mouth.
"Darling, maybe we should talk—"
"No," he said flatly. "We've done more than enough. He's not my blood."
Silence dropped like a stone.
Mia stared at her plate.
Luna kept chewing.
Lili blinked slowly, looking between the two of them.
"Can we not do this right now?" she whispered.
Chad didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't show anything.
Just nodded.
"Understood."
He stood up. Carried his plate to the sink. Rinsed it clean.
Lili stood too, following him quietly.
"Chad…" she said once they were out of earshot. Her voice was barely a whisper.
He turned.
She reached up — not touching him, not quite — but almost.
"You know we… care about you. Right?"
Chad looked down at her. At her eyes. Her pink eyes. Her delicate face. Her lips.
And smiled.
"I know."
Then he turned and walked away.
Back to his room.
Back to the silence.
Back to the fire.
It happened the night after dinner.
The Doctor stood at the front door, keys in hand, checking his wristwatch with mechanical precision. The same black Lincoln waited in the driveway — always clean, always polished, a symbol of control on four wheels.
Chad stood beside him, hoodie zipped to the collar, hands in his pockets.
"You said you wanted me to teach you," the Doctor said. "Get in."
Chad said nothing. Just opened the driver's side door and climbed in.
The car rolled out of the driveway and onto the forest road. Headlights cut through drifting mist. Silence filled the cabin, thick and tense. The only sound was the low purr of the engine and the rhythmic click of the turn signal at every curve.
Minutes passed.
Then —
"Stay in your lane."
Another pause.
"You're turning too wide."
Another.
"Keep it slow. Deer come out this time of night."
Chad gripped the wheel tighter.
His eyes flicked to the speedometer, holding steady at thirty-five.
"Can I pick it up a little?" he asked.
"No."
"Just a bit."
"I said no."
The tone. That tone. The one that dripped with dismissal. The one that said, You're lesser. You always were.
Chad's fingers flexed on the wheel. He smiled.
But not kindly.
"Alright then," he said. "Watch closely, Father."
He slammed the accelerator.
The Lincoln roared.
The Doctor shouted — something clipped, panicked.
"What the fuck are you doing?! Slow down!"
Chad didn't.
Trees blurred past. The needle climbed. Fifty. Sixty. The tires hissed against the damp road. The headlights caught the curve — and Chad didn't flinch.
A rise ahead.
The car lifted for half a second — airborne.
Then — crash.
Back down. Hard.
The frame shuddered. The suspension groaned. Metal bit pavement.
The Doctor slammed a hand to the dash.
"You'll kill us both!"
Chad laughed.
Soft. Sharp. Unbothered.
Then —
Eyes.
Wide. Wild. A deer.
Standing in the road, frozen in the beam.
Chad didn't swerve.
He didn't brake.
He leaned forward.
And hit the gas.
The impact was instant.
Glass shattered.
Metal shrieked.
The deer exploded through the windshield.
Its antlers impaled the dashboard. The car spun — once — then again — and then flipped.
Everything turned white.
Then black.
Then pain.
When Chad opened his eyes, he was upside down.
Blood blurred his vision.
Smoke hissed from the hood.
The world tilted.
The seatbelt crushed his chest.
He groaned. Reached for the release. Yanked.
Fell.
His back slammed the ceiling — now the floor — as glass bit into his palms.
He pushed up. Crawled.
The smell of gas was sharp. The night air sliced through the shattered window.
He turned.
The Doctor was still in the seat.
Still strapped in.
Still silent.
Chad crawled closer.
"Father...?"
No response.
Then — moonlight broke through the trees.
And he saw it.
Blood.
Everywhere.
And the antler — driven through his chest like a blade.
Chad sat back.
Stared.
No movement. No sound.
Just death.
And in that moment, in that silence — something bloomed inside him.
Not horror.
Not panic.
Peace.
Then — a voice.
[+50 XP]
[+1 Soul]
[Level Up]
[Class Unlocked: ROGUE]
[Race: HUMAN – Passive Traits Activated]
The text wasn't real.
But it was there.
Hovering.
Burning into his mind.
[Choose Bloodline: GREENSKIN? Y/N]
Chad stared at it.
He thought about the Doctor. About the house. About everything that had ever been taken from him.
He smiled.
Yes.
The night was still.
Wind whispered through the trees. Fog slithered across the forest floor.
Chad stood outside the wreck, the cold biting into his skin. Blood trickled from a cut above his brow. His hoodie was torn, soaked with rain and gore.
Behind him, the Lincoln smoked quietly. Inside, the Doctor was slumped in silence, antlers buried deep through his chest.
Ahead of him, sprawled in the ditch, the deer gasped.
Alive.
Barely.
Its chest heaved in short, broken rhythms. One antler shattered. Legs twitching. Glazed eyes staring at nothing.
And then at him.
Their eyes met.
And something ancient stirred inside Chad.
This is your moment.
Write the story.
If anyone asked what happened, he had a simple answer:
The deer killed his father.
And he killed the deer.
Clean. Noble. A tragedy wrapped in heroism.
His breathing slowed.
He stepped forward.
The deer whimpered.
He climbed onto its broken form and raised his fists.
And he struck.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
The deer cried out, but he kept going.
Flesh split. Bone resisted. His knuckles screamed.
Still, he didn't stop.
This wasn't just a mercy kill.
This was a rite.
His fists grew slick. His sleeves soaked red. The hoodie — the one Lili bought him — was ruined.
He growled and grabbed the deer's skull, forcing his thumbs into its eyes.
The sockets gave way.
He pushed deeper.
And the deer went still.
Then —
[+25 XP]
[+1 Soul]
[Bloodline Acquired: GREENSKIN – Level 1]
• Strength +2
• Stamina +2
• Physical Resistance (Minor)
• Pheromonal Aura (Passive)
• +5% Melee Damage
Pain hit.
Not just muscle pain. Not even broken bone pain.
This was systemic. Molecular. Evolutionary.
Chad dropped to his knees.
He screamed, hands clutching at his skull.
Veins bulged. Bones shifted. His chest swelled. Muscles tore and rebuilt themselves.
His skin flushed, then paled. Steam rolled off him like fire meeting frost.
His breath became thunder in his lungs.
And then —
Silence.
He rose.
Taller.
Stronger.
His hoodie now tight around his chest. His spine straighter. His fingers curling into the dirt with unnatural control.
He touched his face.
Sharper jaw.
Harder bone.
Not green.
Not yet.
But different.
Better.
He wasn't just Chad Redfield anymore.
He was becoming something else.
Something more.
Something that no one could ignore.
By the time Chad reached the edge of the Redfield estate, the sun was just beginning to rise.
The fog still clung to the forest, curling low over the gravel road like steam rising from freshly spilled blood. His clothes were soaked, torn, and crusted in mud and dried gore. His breath was slow, measured — not ragged like someone who'd just walked miles in the dark.
He felt alive.
Different.
His steps were heavier now. Not in exhaustion — but in weight. Presence.
The mansion came into view through the trees, still cloaked in the pale gray hush of dawn. Its windows gleamed faintly, gold and white light spilling from the kitchen.
The house that once loomed over him like a silent judge now looked smaller. Dimmer.
His.
He stepped inside, silent as smoke.
The scent of coffee lingered. Something sweet — maybe pancakes. He caught the clatter of a spoon in a cup and the low hum of a radio playing some old, forgettable tune.
Then he saw her.
Lili, standing at the kitchen island, pouring coffee into a floral porcelain cup. Her back to him, her robe cinched loosely at the waist, hair still damp from an early shower.
He stepped into the light.
She turned.
The mug slipped from her hand and shattered.
"Chad?"
Her voice cracked — not from anger or fear.
From shock.
He looked like something that had clawed its way out of a myth.
His eyes burned crimson.
His frame was broader, his chest stretching the torn hoodie. Blood smeared across his arms, drying at his collar, soaked into his pants.
Lili rushed forward, hands trembling. "What happened to you? Are you—are you hurt?"
He didn't answer.
He just stared.
At her face.
At the way she looked up at him.
At the way her robe clung to her waist.
He could smell her shampoo. The faint citrus and vanilla scent wrapped around his senses like a drug.
"I'm fine," he said at last. His voice was deeper now. Weightier.
"What happened?"
He hesitated.
Then simply said: "There was an accident."
Footsteps echoed upstairs.
Mia appeared first, wearing a pale hoodie two sizes too big, sleep still in her eyes. She froze halfway down the stairs.
"Chad...?"
Then Luna, hair up, face bare, phone in one hand. Her gaze snapped to the blood. The cuts. The look in his eyes.
"Where's Dad?" she asked flatly.
Chad didn't blink.
"Dead."
Luna's expression didn't change. But her fingers slowly lowered the phone.
Mia covered her mouth. Her knuckles turned white.
Lili stumbled backward a step.
"What... what do you mean dead?" she whispered.
Chad walked to the sink and turned on the faucet.
He let the water run over his hands as the blood swirled down the drain.
Later, they sat around the kitchen table.
Lili had managed to call the authorities. Chad told them exactly what they needed to hear: a deer in the road. A crash. An attempt to save him.
His voice was calm. Steady. Believable.
Too believable.
No one questioned him.
He noticed the way Lili couldn't stop staring at him. The way Mia kept stealing glances. The way Luna's usual venom had gone quiet.
Not just because of what happened.
Because of what he looked like now.
What he felt like now.
Chad Redfield had walked into the woods a boy with no name.
He returned a man with blood on his hands, a system in his head, and a hunger he could no longer ignore.