He slipped the overhand with ease—too much ease. His partner's fist sailing through empty air.
The added dexterity and perks from the Kerenzikov made it effortless, almost unnatural. The gym buzzed around him—the sharp smack of gloves on heavy bags, the rhythmic shuffle of footwork on worn mats.
"Jason! This is a light spar!" Victor shouted from outside the ring, leaning against the ropes, his sharp gaze locked onto them. "James, great head movement!"
Jason grunted, stepping back to gain space and reassess. James was always good at dodging—one of the best in the gym—but never this good.
James bounced on his toes, eyes locked onto Jason's stocky frame. He felt like he was having the best performance of his life, slipping almost every hit with ease.
A jab. Then another. James weaved between them seamlessly. It was like Jason was fighting with weighted gloves.
Then came another overhand—heavy, sloppy, strong.
James saw it for what it was.
A chance.
He leaned back, the glove narrowly missing his face. Before Jason could pull his hand back, James punished him with a lightning-fast jab, glove smacking clean against his face.
Jason snarled, frustration boiling within, something that Victor spotted and with a sigh called it. "Okay! Okay!" He shouted "Round!"
"Jason, good footwork today, get on the bags for 10" Victor called as he entered the ring. "James, over here"
James pulled his gloves off as he walked toward Victor, his heart still steady despite the intensity of the spar.
Victor studied him for a moment, arms crossed. "You feeling good?"
James nodded, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah. Great, actually."
Victor's gaze sharpened. "Too great."
James froze for half a second, but forced a shrug. "What do you mean?"
Victor sighed. "I've been training you for what? Three years? You've got good reflexes, great footwork—but today?" He shook his head. "You were making Jason look like a beginner."
James fought the urge to glance away. "Isn't that a good thing?"
Victor pressed his lips into a thin line, he just hummed. "How you feeling about the fight?" He suddenly asked, switching the subject.
Victor was taking about James upcoming debut amatuer fight this weekend. James shrugged, he felt confident, better than ever even, especially after his new…upgrades.
"I'm good, feeling better than ever" James said with ease as he met Victors grey eyes. The far older man watching James with intensity.
Victor nodded "Good, let's get you weighed" he said as he headed to the corner of the gym, where a scale was left ready for any fighter.
He got on the scale, Victor frowned as they both looked down at the weight. Victor studies James before looking back at the scale.
177 Lbs
"You been eating more?" he asks, his voice casual, but his eyes sharp.
James frowned, seven pounds? That couldn't be right. He flexed his fingers and rolled his shoulders. He felt the same, light, fast, no sluggishness, no extra weight hanging on his frame.
But numbers don't lie.
The answer came to him quickly, the Kerenzikov.
"Not really. Just been hitting the weights a bit more, I guess." James answered quickly.
Victor snorts. "Well, seven pounds in a week ain't 'a bit more'—that's a problem."
James forces a chuckle. "Guess I gotta live in the sauna for a while, huh?"
Victor doesn't laugh. Just gives him a long look before patting his shoulder. "Yeah. You better."
James nodded, dreading the weight cut, but there was no choice—170 or nothing.
"Just remember at the weigh in, you'll be tested" Victor said, James suddenly eyes widened at Victor's implication.
"Vic I'd never" James said quickly, as he stepped off the scale.
Victor exhaled through his nose "I'm not accusing you of anything James. But seven pounds in a week? No fat gain? That doesn't happen naturally, you know that"
"Vic, I wouldn't, you know that" James persisted "I'd never risk this, this is my dream-" he continued but Victor cut him off.
Victor set a firm hand on James shoulder. "Cut the weight" His gaze hardened. "No shortcuts, James"
James clenched his jaw, eventually nodding with a sigh. "Yeah, of course" he muttered.
Mission - Sweat it out!
Goal - Cut weight to get back to 170lbs before the weigh in!
Reward - 500 EXP!
Failure - Disqualification from your first ever fight and Victors disappointment!
His eyes slid over to the lonely rowing machine left in the far corner of the boxing gym, he let out an exhausted sigh.
He hated cardio.
—-
James kicked the door shut behind him, dropping his gym bag onto the floor. His skin was warm with sweat, and his hoodie clung to him uncomfortably. He just wanted a shower. Maybe some sleep.
Then the smell hit him.
His gaze shot to his bedroom door, still held closed by a chair stuck underneath the door handle.
Mission - Skeleton in your closet!
Goal - Dispose of the body without anyone tracing it back to you!
Reward - Kiroshi Optic Implant (Right Eye)
Failure - You're arrested!
He sighed, dropping into his sofa, running his hands down his face. How the hell was he meant to deal with this!?
Why did he even have to dispose of the body? The guy broke into his house and tried to kill him!
Was that not self defense?
The police couldn't arrest him for that could they?
He shook his head, he didn't know anything about the law, maybe he should get a lawyer? He groaned, dropping his head back against the sofa, quickly he needed a distraction so he called his system.
Name - James Buckley
Title - Murderer
Age - 19
Eddies - €3,000
Level - 14
STR - 14
END - 11
DEX - 20
INT - 9
WIS - 9
8 Attribute Points!
Skills
Inventory
Missions
Store
He clicked on Inventory, a large pop up showing a 10x10 grid of empty boxes. He hadn't ever tried to put anything in there yet, only using it for the Kerenzikov.
He grabbed a couch cushion, holding it towards one of the empty boxes, the cushion disappearing from his hands and becoming a small icon taking a place in the inventory.
James stared at the screen, processing what just happened. The cushion—gone from reality, sitting neatly in his inventory like some video game loot. His lips parted slightly. Then, testing a theory, he tapped the cushion's icon.
Pop.
The cushion reappeared in his lap like it had never left.
"…Holy shit." He muttered. His mind raced. Could he store anything? Everything?
Quickly he grabbed a cold glass of water, placing it into the inventory carefully, making sure not to spill any of the liquid. He used his phone to make sure one minute passed, and once it did, he tapped the cup of water icon.
The cup of water appeared in his hands, still as cold as when he put it in. James let out a breath, his grip tightening around the glass.
His mind ran through the potential implications—food that never spoiled, drinks that never got warm, weapons and tools ready at a moment's notice.
His gaze drifted toward his bedroom door.
His pulse quickened.
A morbid thought ran through his mind, insane really. But if it worked…
He'd have an easy way out.
James stood, wiping his palms on his jeans. His feet carried him toward the door before his brain could catch up.
He hesitated.
A deep breath.
Then, he gripped the chair wedging the handle shut and pulled it free.
The door creaked open.
The stench hit him first—stale copper and decay.
Suddenly a hard knock at his door startled him, his eyes widening as he slammed the bedroom door closed.
"Shit" he muttered as he placed the chair back against the door, his fists clenching tightly as he eyed his front door.
Another knock, louder this time.
"I heard you slam a door, just open up." The voice was female, flat, tired with a sense of authority. "I just gotta ask a few questions."
James didn't respond, instead deciding to play dumb and stay silent until she left.
A few moments of silence passed before he heard a tired sigh come from the other side of his front door. "Listen, I just need to ask a few questions, if you don't answer I'm going to need to call the cops"
Those words caused James eyes to widen as his gaze flicked to his bedroom door, a dead, bloody body hidden behind it,
James' heart pounded in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears. He could feel the sweat on the back of his neck, a cold, slick sensation that had nothing to do with his workout.
His mind raced. Call the cops? Could he afford that? Was there any chance they'd believe his side of the story—self-defense? Or would he be cuffed and dragged off to a cell before he even had a chance to explain?
He'd bashed a man's face in, his face little more than broken bone and brain matter…and he didn't even call the police afterwards…
They wouldn't believe him, surely…
His breathing picked up in intensity, another knock pounding at his door. He couldn't let her call the cops. He couldn't.
"What do you want?" He called out, his voice as stable as he could keep it, though it wavered.
"To ask some questions." The woman repeated with a sigh, sounding tired with this. James nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek before he decided to walk towards his front door.
He opened it slowly, and peeked out towards the woman. She was shorter than him, with shoulder length black hair wearing a leather jacket with dark ripped jeans. She had eyebags, and a flat uninterested look plastered onto her face.
"Questions?" He asked, impatiently as his gaze ran down the hallway making sure none of his neighbours were looking.
"Yeah" the woman answered as she fetched her phone, flipping it and showing him a picture of a very, very familiar man.
The ginger man, the same man that was now dead in his bedroom.
James' heartbeat stuttered in his chest, though he tried to keep a normal look on his face as he looked back at the woman.
"Recognise him?" She asked flatly, her eyes scanning his face with a sharp intelligence. James didn't audibly respond, only shaking his head in the negative.
"He went missing about a week ago, his last known location was just outside this apartment building, last night" she continued.
James shrugged "I was out last night" he said, latching onto the excuse.
The woman across from him hummed, pulling her phone away and scrolling for a moment before turning it back to him.
What she showed him stole the breath from his lungs, a screenshot from a Security camera, him running home last night, a panicked look on his face.
"You were out?" She questioned, her eyes fixed onto James face. The younger man didn't even respond, his jaw clenching as his Kerenzikov seemed to itch at the back of his neck.
"Listen, I don't know what you're involved with, but this guy" she said as she scrolled back to the familiar ginger man's face. "He's involved in some shady shit" she said bluntly.
"I don't care what or who you're personally involved with, but you might wanna tell me before some of his friends come knocking" she explained.
James remained silent, his eyes narrowed instinctively, his jaw clenched and the implant on his neck emitting an almost silent electrical humm.
She sighed "Keep your secrets" she reached into her pocket, James tensing at the action even as she pulled out a card and flicked it onto his doorstep.
"But if you do remember something, call me before someone worse finds you" she advised before turning on her heel and leaving.
The sound of her footsteps faded as silence once again embraced the young boxer. He looked down at the card, it had landed face up.
Jessica Jones, Private Investigator.
—-
Thoughts? Any ideas for future implants? Any specific builds you guys want James to follow? Any future characters you want him to interact with?
Let me know!! All ideas are useful!!