The alley reeked of filth and desperation, the cold night air cutting into his exposed skin. Hunger clawed at his insides, but the sight of the two men fighting over scraps made it clear—food was a luxury he would have to fight for.
He took a deep breath and scanned the area. The refuse piles were not just a place for scavenging; they were a battleground where the desperate clawed for survival. Every movement, every glance, was calculated. Weakness meant death, or worse.
A hunched-over old man nearby tore into a stale loaf of bread, his eyes darting around like a cornered rat. Further down the alley, a group of three ragged men whispered to one another, casting occasional glances at the others in the area. Predators. They weren't looking for food—they were waiting for someone to weaken, for someone to let their guard down.
He clenched his fists. He had no weapon, no armor, no advantage. But he did have the system.
[Survival Instinct Activated: Danger Level - Moderate]
His breath hitched. Danger level? That was new. Was this some sort of warning? Or was it an evaluation of the situation? He wasn't sure, but he wasn't about to ignore it.
A flicker of movement caught his eye. The young boy from earlier—the one whose bread had been stolen—was creeping along the alley's edge, eyes locked onto a pile of discarded vegetables. His tiny hands reached out—
And then, one of the predators moved.
A lanky man with sunken cheeks lunged forward, grabbing the boy by the collar. The child yelped, struggling, but the man held firm. "What do we have here?" he sneered. "Trying to steal from our pile?"
The other two men stood, forming a loose semicircle around the boy. One of them cracked his knuckles. "You gotta pay, kid. Nothing's free."
The boy whimpered. "I—I just wanted a little—"
The first man raised his hand. "Lesson time."
A decision had to be made. Intervene or walk away.
[Adaptive Growth: Combat Awareness Slightly Increased]
His muscles tensed. Why now? Was the system responding to his instincts? Testing him? Whatever the reason, he had to act. He couldn't beat three men, but maybe he didn't have to.
He grabbed a loose brick from the ground and hurled it at the leader's leg. It struck hard, sending the man stumbling with a curse. "Who the—"
Using the distraction, he surged forward, snatching the boy's wrist and yanking him free. "Run!"
The boy didn't hesitate. He bolted, disappearing into the shadows. But now, the attention was on him.
The leader recovered, eyes blazing. "You just made a mistake, stranger."
The three men advanced, spreading out to surround him. His heart pounded. This was bad.
[Survival Instinct Activated: Danger Level - High]
He gritted his teeth. He wasn't going to win this fight with strength. He needed another way. Think. Think.
His eyes darted around, searching for anything that could help. A pile of crates. A broken glass bottle. A puddle of something dark.
Then, an idea formed.
He took a slow step back, feigning hesitation. "You're right," he said, voice shaking slightly—just enough to sell it. "I did make a mistake."
The men smirked, buying into his fear.
Then he kicked over the closest crate, sending a swarm of rats scurrying into the alley.
The reaction was immediate. The men recoiled, some cursing, others flinching as the vermin scattered underfoot. He took the opportunity and bolted. Survival wasn't about winning fights—it was about not losing them.
He ran until the shouts faded, until the alleyways blurred together. Finally, he ducked into a narrow passage and collapsed, breath ragged.
[Adaptive Growth: Evasion Skill Slightly Increased]
He let out a shaky laugh. "Guess that's something."
He had food. Not much, but enough to last the night. More importantly, he had learned a lesson: this world was brutal, and hesitation could get him killed.
Tomorrow, he would need a plan. A way to get stronger. A way to survive.
Because next time, he might not be able to run.