Mister Depay had been one of the first to claim a Legendary-Grade Mythic Item during the early stages of the Crypt outbreaks. That alone had made him untouchable, but now Mason had a chance to change all of that.
'I need to move faster than that bastard,' Mason thought, his mind racing.
The best plan would be to prevent Mister Depay from getting his hands on the item in the first place. If Mason could reach it before him, it would change everything.
He clenched his teeth, a ghost of the pain from his past life—where his limbs had been cut off—still haunting him. The memory wasn't just painful; it was a reminder of the hellish existence he had endured.
'This isn't just about revenge,' Mason reminded himself. 'I need to avoid repeating that life.'
His resolve solidified. With one last glance at the police station, he turned and started to leave. Time was short, and now that he had returned to the past, there were a thousand things to do.
'First... Europe,' he thought. The most profitable Crypts had emerged there, and that was where he needed to head. He couldn't afford to waste any more time.
But just as he was about to step forward, Mason froze. A realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
'Wait... wasn't I flat broke at this point?'
The truth slapped him in the face. In his present circumstances, he didn't even have enough money to cover basic bills like electricity and water. Forget a plane ticket to Europe—he couldn't even afford a decent meal.
Mason let out a deep sigh. 'I could probably pay off my overdue phone bill with the cash I just swiped, but that's about it.'
He mentally calculated the time left before the Mythic Item era officially kicked into gear. Based on his past life, he guessed there were about two months left. Yet here he was, struggling with day-to-day survival, much less making it to the high-stakes Crypts across the ocean.
'Damn it, why did I erase those winning lottery numbers from my memory?' he cursed. For all his excellent recall, that one crucial detail had slipped away.
As he stood there contemplating his next move, a sharp voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Hey! Mason Monroe!"
Mason turned toward the sound and spotted a group of men standing outside the police station. They had a sneering look on their faces, the kind that immediately sent a wave of annoyance through him.
'Who are they?' Mason wondered. But the answer came quickly. They were his former superiors, the ones from the company where he had been exploited—back when he was just another disposable employee trying to make ends meet.
One of them spat on the ground and motioned aggressively for Mason to come over. Their body language was clear: "Get over here, or we'll deal with you."
Mason knew they didn't want to have a friendly chat. Whatever they were planning, it wasn't good for him. But instead of feeling cornered, Mason's lips curled into a smile.
'Perfect,' he thought, a plan already forming in his mind. 'These punks might be exactly what I need.'
Inspector Kim spotted the men approaching and his eyes widened in shock.
"Huh? Those bastards? I finally caught them! They used you as a human shield last time and took off!"
Kim looked ready to charge at them, but Mason raised a hand to stop him.
"Relax, Inspector. I'll handle this. Besides, I need something from them."
"What? You need something from them?"
Mason glanced back. "Might want to call an ambulance, just in case. It'll get messy if they end up dead."
Inspector Kim blinked, completely thrown off by the comment.
'What? Which side is going to die here?'
"Wait a second! Mason, what the hell are you talking about?" Kim yelled, trying to follow. But before he could react, Mason had already disappeared into a nearby alley.
Mason knew the first thing he had to do now that he was back was settle old scores. But "settling" wasn't quite the right word. He had a lot of unfinished business, and the men coming his way were at the top of the list.
They were part of a criminal organization, the ones who had roped him into dirty work back in high school when he was desperate for cash. After that, they kept him chained to their schemes, squeezing every bit of usefulness out of him.
Mason had been little more than a slave to them.
'If I recall, I worked for these bastards until my mid-twenties when I finally got my abilities.'
The Mason of this time had been robbed, manipulated, and exploited, too scared to run and too broken to fight. He sighed as the memories came flooding back.
These guys had used Mason's extraordinary memory for their art smuggling operations. They had planned to get him deep into debt by purchasing fake art, but when they realized how sharp he was, they kept him around for other reasons.
And here they were again.
"Look at this, our little Mason, still hanging around like a lost puppy. What, no respect for your Superiors?"
"Time to get to work," one of the thugs sneered, cracking his knuckles.
There were four of them. They stood blocking the alley, each one looking more intimidating than the last. One of them held a small wooden box, likely filled with stolen artwork.
"Alright, let's get moving. We're on a schedule, you worthless piece of trash."
One of them smirked, glancing toward where Inspector Kim had been moments ago. "Looks like he's getting smarter. Sent the cop off on his own, huh?"
"Maybe he finally figured out he should stick with us. He knows what happens to people who don't, right?"
"Yeah, such an easy gig. Twice a month off, pay for doing nothing, and we even teach him some tricks. Kid oughta be grateful."
Mason smirked at their delusions, shaking his head. They were making a huge mistake. They assumed he'd ditched Kim because of their threats.
But the truth was far more practical.
Mason didn't want the Inspector there because things were about to get ugly, and it would complicate matters if a cop witnessed what he was about to do.
"Come on, Mason, stop wasting time and—ugh!"
Before anyone could react, one of the thugs went flying backward, crashing into the wall, his front teeth clattering to the ground. It had all happened so fast, the others barely registered the punch.
Mason brushed off his fist, chuckling.
"Morons."
"What the hell?!"
"The reason I ditched the Inspector is so I don't get arrested for excessive self-defense."
"You—You dare lay a hand on us?!"
Mason calmly adjusted his shirt, looking almost bored. "Oh, and by the way, you can let your boss know I'm done. Consider this my formal resignation."
"W-what? Are you out of your mind?" The remaining thugs looked confused, as if trying to figure out what had gone wrong. This wasn't the same Mason who used to grovel at their feet.
But Mason wasn't finished. He cracked his knuckles, giving them a menacing grin.
"Before I go, there's just one more thing."
The men looked at him in shock.
"Any of you got some cash on you? I think it's time I collected my back pay—and maybe a little compensation for my troubles."
The men didn't know what hit them. Mason Monroe had changed completely.