Scum Of The Earth : System Of Dominion

Arthur leaned back in the threadbare armchair of his dingy apartment, twirling a half-empty glass of whiskey in one hand. The high of walking out of Victor King's office alive and with a deal in motion had faded. King hadn't called yet, but Arthur knew better than to just wait around. 

"The waiting game, huh?" he muttered, taking a swig of the cheap liquor. His eyes flicked to the glowing blue screen hovering just at the edge of his vision,the System interface. 

It had been two days since the System of Dominion activated and turned his near-death experience into the most surreal twist of his life. And now, with time to kill, Arthur finally decided to dive deeper into it. 

Arthur willed the main menu open, and the translucent display shifted, revealing a series of tabs. 

[System Menu

-Stats

- Abilities 

- Quests 

- Inventory ]

"Stats, huh?" Arthur said, selecting the option with a mental flick. 

A new screen materialized, showing a breakdown of his physical and mental attributes. 

[Stats Overview 

- Strength: 20 

- Agility:18

- Endurance:15 

- Charisma: 21 

- Intelligence: 19

- Luck: 30 

(Note: Average human stats range from 5 to 10.) 

] 

Arthur whistled low. "Well, would you look at that? I've gone from scrawny to borderline superhuman." 

The stats explained a lot. The morning after the System activated, he'd noticed he felt... different. His steps were lighter, and his grip stronger. Even his reflexes seemed sharper. 

A wicked grin spread across his face. "Time for a test drive." 

Arthur headed to the gym in his apartment complex, a room so rarely used it might as well have been a storage closet. The equipment was outdated, and the air smelled faintly of mildew, but it was enough for what he had in mind. 

He approached the rusting bench press and slapped on two plates. A total of 150 pounds, it was not much by professional standards, but it was more than he'd ever attempted before. 

"Alright, let's see if these stats are more than just pretty numbers," he muttered, lying down and gripping the bar. 

With a steady exhale, he pushed. The weight felt... light. Too light. Arthur frowned and added more plates, increasing the load to 200 pounds. Then 250. 

By the time he was lifting 300 pounds without breaking a sweat, he was laughing out loud. 

"This is insane!" he said, setting the bar back in place. He flexed his arms, marveling at the subtle but noticeable definition in his muscles. "I could probably throw someone across the room if I wanted to." 

Next, he tested his speed. Using the cracked wall mirror as a reference, Arthur practiced punching. His fists blurred as they moved, the speed was exhilarating. He tried sprinting across the gym, and before he knew it, he was at the other end, barely winded. 

"Not bad for a guy who couldn't run a block without wheezing a week ago." 

The tests continued—he leapt higher than he ever thought possible, his landings were balanced and controlled. Even his endurance surprised him; after an hour of nonstop movement, he was barely tired. 

"Alright, System," Arthur said, hands on his hips, "you've officially won me over. Let's see how far we can push this." 

Arthur's phone buzzed just as he finished his impromptu workout. He snatched it up, grinning when he saw the unknown number on the screen. 

"Victor King," he said, answering with mock cheer. "And here I thought you'd forgotten about me." 

King's voice was as cold as ever. "Don't flatter yourself, Arthur. The deal's happening tomorrow." 

Arthur leaned against the wall, intrigued. "Do tell." 

King sighed, clearly annoyed by Arthur's casual tone. "You'll be representing me. The deal is simple: a trade of 1.5 million in cash for a shipment of goods. High-value imports. You don't need to know what's in the shipment; just ensure the exchange goes smoothly." 

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "High-value imports? Sounds sketchy." 

"It doesn't concern you," King snapped. "Your job is to handle the handoff and ensure the cash and shipment are accounted for. Do that, and you'll get your cut." 

Arthur's smirk widened. "How much are we talking, exactly?" 

"A six-figure cut," King replied. "But only if you don't screw this up. And Arthur..." His tone darkened. "You won't be going alone. I'm sending someone to keep you in line." 

Arthur chuckled. "Ah, the classic babysitter move. Can't say I'm surprised." 

"Good," King said. "Be at the docks by 10 a.m. sharp. If you're late, the deal's off—and so is your partnership with me." 

Arthur saluted the phone, even though King couldn't see him. "Understood, Victor." 

The line went dead. Arthur pocketed his phone, his mind already racing. 

Arthur decided against wearing a suit for the occasion. Instead, he donned a simple leather jacket, jeans, and a sneaker, clothes that made him look more like a street hustler than a businessman, plus it was far easier to run in a casual outfit than in jeans should things go sideways. 

As he approached the meeting point at the docks, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The air was too still, the shadows felt too long. 

"Paranoia," he muttered. "Thanks, System." 

When he arrived, a group of King's men was already waiting. They were a rough-looking bunch, armed and alert. Arthur gave them a casual wave. 

"Punctual, that's surprising ," he said, in a light tone 

His eyes were immediately drawn to the largest man in the group, a towering hulk of muscle with a permanent scowl. Arthur strolled up to him, extending a hand. 

"You must be the babysitter," Arthur said, his grin teasing. 

The man ignored the gesture, his stony silence spoke volumes. 

Before Arthur could press further, a woman's voice cut through the tension. 

"Actually, that would be me." 

Arthur turned, and his breath hitched. 

She was stunning—tall and poised, with raven-black hair that flowed over her shoulders. Her sharp dress hugged her slender, yet curvy figure perfectly, and a faint beauty mark above her lip added to her allure. She walked with an air of authority, her high heels clicked against the pavement like a metronome. 

She extended her hand, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Lena King. Victor's wife. I'll be overseeing this little transaction." 

Arthur blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. He quickly recovered, taking her hand. "Mrs. King," he said smoothly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" 

Her grip was firm, and her gaze unyielding. "Victor thought it best to send someone he trusts. And since trust is a rare commodity with you, I decided to handle this personally." 

Arthur chuckled, withdrawing his hand. "Fair enough. Though I have to say, I didn't peg King as the sharing type." 

Lena's smile didn't waver. "He isn't. Which is why I'm here to make sure you don't try anything... creative." 

Arthur's grin widened. "Wouldn't dream of it." 

But as they prepared to head to the meeting location, Arthur still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong or was about to go wrong.