The train screeched to a stop as Daan stepped off the platform into Graycloud. It wasn't the capital or the most populated city of Uchaina, but it sure was its crime capital.
Smog and pollution clung to the air like a permanent haze, and the towering, half-finished buildings added to the eerie sense of desolation that hung over the place, that and a famous saying among the three islands.
"You can't have shit on Graycloud."
Daan had visited Graycloud a few times in the past, but never for anything good. It was the kind of place where men kept their heads low, and women took their earrings off.
The local heroes here were barely better than the villains, often turning a blind eye to the rampant crime and corruption as long as they got paid off. It was perfect for what he needed.
The streets were crowded with shady characters, and neon signs flickered overhead, advertising everything from weapon deals to illegal fighting rings, all in the open air.
But Daan wasn't here for the usual grime and hobbies, gambling and drinking the cheapest alcohol he could find; this time, he had a mission—stop whatever cursed tape was wreaking havoc before it spread too far and receive the juice rewards of his new system.
But first, food.
His stomach growled as he spotted a small kebab spot on the side of the road, right next to the train station.
The sign was barely legible, but the smell of sizzling meat and cheap beer was enough to draw him inside.
He ordered the "House Special," whatever it was, and sat down on a plastic chair with the Soda-Cola logo in bright red letters, scanning the street for anything out of place.
As he absentmindedly chewed his Kebab, Daan couldn't help but wander back to the system's latest mission. A cursed tape that kills men and drives women insane... It sounded like something straight out of an old horror movie.
Yet here he was, hunting down what could be a legitimate supernatural threat in the middle of a crime-infested city, and somehow, it wasn't the most bizarre thing to happen in his life.
He was so lost in thought that he almost didn't notice the familiar voice calling his name.
"Daan? That you?"
Daan blinked, looking up to see a tall, broad-shouldered man with a buzz cut and a wicked grin standing by his table.
It took him a second to recognize the face—Drejo Pen, an old friend from high school and the only bastard he knew who couldn't pronounce his name.
"Drejo?" Daan asked, surprised. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Drejo laughed and clapped Daan on the back, almost knocking him off his seat. "Same shit as always, man. Hustling, running with the wrong crowd. Type shi." He slid a chair cross from Daan, his grin widening. "But what about you? Never thought I'd see you in a place like this."
Daan shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Just looking for work. Could use some cash."
Drejo's eyes lit up at that. "Work, huh? Well, you're in luck. I'm running with a pretty big crew these days. Got connections. If you're serious about making money, I could introduce you to the boss."
Daan's interest was piqued. This was precisely the kind of lead he needed—an introduction to the local gang bosses could get him closer to finding the source of the cursed tape. But he couldn't let Drejo know that.
"Yeah?" Daan leaned back, feigning casual interest. "Who's the boss?"
Drejo glanced around the stall, ensuring no one was listening, before lowering his voice.
"They call him Smoking. Tier 1, B Grade villain. Runs most of the operations in this district—drugs, weapons, you name it. He's the real deal, man. If you need cash, he can hook you up."
Daan nodded thoughtfully, keeping his excitement in check. "Alright. Introduce me."
They left the stall after Daan finished his Kebab, and the overly hairy man gifted Daan a Soda-Cola to put up a good image in his business and navigated through Graycloud's maze of narrow streets and crumbling buildings.
Drejo led him to a half-finished construction site—a looming, four-story building that seemed abandoned, save for a few thugs loitering outside. They eyed Daan suspiciously as he followed Drejo inside.
The interior was just as rough as the exterior—exposed beams, wires hanging from the ceiling, and piles of debris littered the floor. But as they climbed the stairs, things started to change.
The second floor looked like a living area, and the third floor was full of thugs playing video games on a GameStation 5 connected to a Plasma TV put together with tape on the ground.
When they reached the fourth floor, the hall was fully furnished and well-decorated, with plush carpets, velvet drapes, and dim lighting. It was like stepping into a completely different building.
Drejo knocked on a heavy door at the end of the hall, and after a moment, a voice called from the other side. "Come in."
They entered a large room with a massive wooden desk at the far end. Behind it sat a man with graying hair, a lean build, and a cigarette hanging from his lips.
His eyes were sharp, and he had a dangerous edge despite his relaxed posture. This was Smoking.
"Boss, this is my friend Daan," Drejo gestured toward Daan. "He's looking for work."
Smoking eyed Daan for a moment before taking a drag from his cigarette. "Work, huh? What kind of work?"
Daan met his gaze evenly. "Anything that pays."
Smoking chuckled, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Straight to the point. I like that." He gestured for them to sit. "Let's talk."
Daan and Drejo took seats across from him, and for a while, the conversation was casual—mostly about the district, the people, and the current state of things in Uchaina.
Smoking seemed to control everything, from the local gang operations to the heroes who occasionally tried to interfere.
Eventually, the topic shifted, as Daan had hoped, to something more personal.
"So, Daan," Smoking said, leaning back in his chair. "You into women?"
"Is that a trick question?" Daan said as he raised an eyebrow.
Smoking laughed. "No tricks, kid. Just curious. Women are either a distraction or an asset in this line of work. And from what I hear, you've been keeping yourself busy with at least one lately."
Daan's mind flashed to Ana, but he kept his expression neutral. "I get by."
Smoking's grin widened. "Good answer. See, most guys in this business let women get under their skin and mess with their heads."
"You can't afford that, but you also need to soften up. It's like a steam pot: You can't hold the lid forever, or it'll explode, and you can't get rid of the lid, or else it would just be a pot. There's a reason you need to let the steam out, you know what I mean."
Drejo nodded in agreement. "Yeah, man. You gotta stay focused. But hey, if you're ever looking for some action, we know a few girls who—"
"I'm not interested in distractions," Daan interrupted, keeping his tone firm. "I'm here to make money. That's it."
Smoking studied him for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. Then he nodded, seemingly satisfied with Daan's response. "Smart. Very smart."
Smoking leaned back in his chair, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. "Alright, Drejo. I got a job for you," he said, tapping the ash off into a glass tray.
"One of our guys, Johnny, has been acting... off. He's holed himself up in his apartment for the past week and hasn't checked in or answered his phone."
Daan just noticed Smoking had picked up an Italian accent, just like on the Fapranos.
Drejo raised an eyebrow. "What, you think he skipped out? Ran with the cash or somethin'?"
Smoking shook his head. "Not Johnny. He's reliable, too reliable, too loyal to pull something like that—he's like a dog. But here's the thing—he's not the only one. A couple of my guys have turned up dead this past week."
"No signs of a fight, no wounds. They just... dropped, mouths foaming. No clue what killed 'em."
Daan's ears perked at that. His mission was to hunt down something that sounded exactly like that.
"Rival gang?" Drejo asked, leaning forward. "Maybe," Smoking muttered, rubbing his chin. "Or maybe it's something worse. Johnny was close to those guys, so I need you two to check on him. If he's alive, bring him here. If he's not... find out what the hell happened. I'm not letting this shit slide."
Drejo nodded, tapping his fingers against the armrest. "Got it, boss. We'll get it done."
Daan gave a slight nod, masking his intrigue. He didn't need to push; the pieces were falling into place naturally.
The drive to Johnny's apartment complex was quiet, the engine of Drejo's beat-up car humming as they cruised through the grim streets of Graycloud.
"This place is a dump," Drejo grunted as they pulled into the parking lot. The apartment complex looked almost identical to Daan's—peeling paint, cracked windows, and the faint smell of mold lingering in the air.
"No offense," Drejo said, looking at Daan, "None taken," Daan answered.
They climbed the narrow stairwell to the third floor, the dim overhead lights flickering weakly.
Johnny's apartment was at the end of the hall. Drejo banged on the wooden door. "Johnny! Open up, man!" No answer, just the low hum of static from a television inside.
Drejo glanced at Daan, pulling a small pistol from the waistband of his pants. "Get ready. This could be bad."
Daan nodded, taking a step back before kicking the door hard. The wood splintered around the lock, and the door swung open with a loud crack.
The apartment was a mess—clothes, trash, and beer bottles scattered across the floor. In the center of the room, Johnny lay sprawled on his back, his mouth foaming, his eyes open and lifeless.
"Shit," Drejo muttered, crouching next to the body, checking Johnny's pulse out of habit. "Dead... just like the others."
But Daan wasn't looking at the body. His eyes were locked on the old TV in the corner of the room. A woman—pale as moonlight—was wriggling through the screen as if trying to crawl inside the TV.
Her skin shimmered unnaturally, her curvaceous body outlined beneath a thin white nightgown that barely concealed anything. Her ass bounced slightly as she struggled to pull her hips through the screen.
Daan and Drejo stared in stunned silence as the strange woman wiggled her ass, trying to squeeze through the small screen.
For a moment, it looked ridiculous, almost comical—until she finally slipped through with a wet squelch.
The TV screen flickered one last time before powering off with a loud pop, spitting out a dusty VHS tape. As it hit the ground, the tape burst into flames, burning to ash within seconds.
Drejo blinked, his mouth slightly agape. "Did... did you just see that?"
Daan swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. "Yeah," he whispered. "A ghost just crawled inside the damn TV."
For a long moment, neither of them moved, both too stunned to process what they had just witnessed. The only sound in the room was the faint hum of the static still echoing in their ears.
Finally, Drejo shook his head, holstering his gun. "What the fuck is going on, man? Can't have shit on Graycloud."
Daan exhaled slowly, his mind racing. The system's mission flashed in his mind again. 'Only room for one fake demon on this island.'
"We need to tell Smoking," Daan muttered, his gaze still fixed on the charred remains of the VHS tape.
Drejo nodded. "Yeah... but you're explaining that shit."
Daan gave a nervous chuckle, wiping his palms against his jeans. "Sure. Can't wait to see how that conversation goes."
With one last glance at Johnny's lifeless body, Daan turned toward the door, now broken, lying on the ground.