SSS-Rank Corporate Predator System

The bounty was a screaming, blood-red headline in the quiet darkness of his apartment.

A quarter of a million dollars.

That was the price someone had put on his continued existence.

Miles stared at the screen, a cold, hollow feeling spreading through his chest.

"Well," he whispered to the empty room.

"I guess this is what it feels like to be famous."

"Seventeen assassins," he thought, leaning back in his chair so hard it creaked in protest.

"Seventeen of them."

"In this city."

"Probably within walking distance."

"That's more people than I've had a conversation with in the last year."

The system's previous recommendation flashed in his mind, unwelcome and deeply unhelpful.

[RECOMMENDATION: IMMEDIATELY CEASE ALL HOSTILE OPERATIONS. GO TO GROUND.]

"Right," Miles muttered, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Go to ground."

"Excellent advice."

"I'll just crawl into a hole and pull the hole in after me."

"Maybe I can hide in the library."

"I could build a little fort out of encyclopedias."

"No one would ever find me there."

"They haven't found those books since 1983."

He knew it was a stupid idea.

He couldn't run.

He couldn't hide.

Silas Cross had the whole city in his pocket.

There was no ground deep enough to disappear into.

The only way out was through.

He had to fight.

But seventeen to one were not great odds, even for a kid with a ghost in his head.

He needed an edge.

He needed something new.

He needed a miracle.

And then, as if on cue, the system's usual calm, clinical text was replaced by a flashing, urgent alert that filled his entire field of vision.

[WARNING: UNPRECEDENTED ENERGY SURGE DETECTED.]

Miles sat up straight.

"What now?" he asked.

"Did someone order a pizza and use my credit card?"

"Because that's the last straw."

[ACCUMULATED COMBAT EXPERIENCE HAS REACHED CRITICAL THRESHOLD.]

[INTEGRATION OF FOREIGN SYSTEM ENERGY FROM HOSTILE 'KAELEN VANCE' IS COMPLETE.]

He felt a strange warmth spreading through his body, starting from his core and radiating outward.

It wasn't painful.

It was… powerful.

It felt like a dam inside him was about to break.

[SYSTEM CORE HAS REACHED LEVEL 3.]

[INITIATING EVOLUTIONARY PROTOCOL.]

"Evolutionary protocol?" he said aloud, his voice a little shaky.

"That sounds… dramatic."

"And potentially very messy."

"Is this going to hurt?"

[THE PROCESS MAY CAUSE MILD DISORIENTATION,] the system replied, which he was pretty sure was its way of saying, "Yes, this is going to hurt a lot."

The world dissolved into a storm of light.

He was back in that digital void, the endless space made of pure information.

He saw the silver sphere of his own system, his Echo Protocol, hanging in the darkness.

It was humming, vibrating with a new, intense energy.

He saw a second, smaller sphere of crackling, orange light—the remnant of Kaelen Vance's fire system—orbiting it like a tiny, angry moon.

The silver sphere pulsed once, and a tendril of pure light shot out, wrapping around the orange sphere.

It pulled the smaller energy source inward.

The two systems touched.

And the universe inside his head exploded.

He felt a wave of raw, untamed power wash over him, a fusion of his own cold, precise energy with the chaotic, burning rage of the pyrokinetic.

He saw flashes of Vance's life.

Forgotten battles in sandy, war-torn countries.

The cold satisfaction of a kill.

The burning desire for more power.

He was feeling another man's memories, another man's soul.

Then, his own system asserted its dominance.

The silver light consumed the orange, absorbing it completely, filtering out the consciousness and leaving only the pure, raw energy behind.

The silver sphere glowed brighter, larger, its surface shimmering with a new, complex pattern of light.

[EVOLUTION COMPLETE.]

The world snapped back into focus.

He was in his chair, his body trembling, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

He felt… different.

The same, but more.

Like a cup that was now filled to the very brim.

[SYSTEM CORE AT LEVEL 3.]

[ALL EXISTING SKILLS HAVE RECEIVED A MINOR PERFORMANCE BOOST.]

[NEW PRIMARY FUNCTION UNLOCKED.]

Miles leaned forward, his exhaustion forgotten, his heart pounding with a new, hopeful rhythm.

"Show me," he whispered.

A new icon appeared in his vision.

It was a silhouette of a person splitting into two identical copies.

[NEW FUNCTION UNLOCKED: CLONE DISPATCH.]

Miles just stared.

And stared.

And then he started to laugh.

It was a quiet, slightly unhinged sound in the silent apartment.

"A clone?" he said, a wide, disbelieving grin spreading across his face.

"You're telling me I can photocopy myself?"

"That is the most ridiculously amazing thing I have ever heard."

[THE FUNCTION ALLOWS FOR THE CREATION OF ONE SEMI-SENTIENT COMBAT CLONE,] the system explained, its tone as dry as ever.

"[CLONE] WILL POSSESS 75% OF THE HOST'S CORE ABILITIES AND SKILLS.]

"[CLONE] IS CAPABLE OF INDEPENDENT ACTION BUT WILL ADHERE TO THE HOST'S PRIMARY DIRECTIVES.]

"[HOST WILL EXPERIENCE A DIRECT, REAL-TIME SENSORY LINK, ALLOWING FOR DUAL CONSCIOUSNESS.]

Miles's mind was racing, the strategic possibilities lighting up in his brain like a Christmas tree.

A perfect alibi.

A perfect scout.

A perfect distraction.

He could be in two places at once.

He could be sitting in history class while his other self was dismantling a corporate asset.

He could be having a normal conversation with Clara while his clone was hunting the assassins who were hunting him.

This didn't just give him an edge.

This changed the entire game.

This was his miracle.

"Okay," he breathed, his laughter fading into a look of cold, calculating determination.

"How do I do it?"

[SIMPLY FOCUS YOUR INTENT AND ISSUE THE VERBAL OR MENTAL COMMAND: 'DISPATCH'.]

Miles stood up.

He walked to the center of his small living room, the most open space he had.

He closed his eyes.

He focused on the new well of power inside him.

He pictured a perfect copy of himself standing in front of him.

He took a deep breath.

"Dispatch," he commanded, his voice firm and clear.

The air in front of him began to shimmer, just like it did when he used [Phantom Drift].

But this time, it didn't fade.

The shimmering intensified, pulling the shadows from the corners of the room toward it.

The shadows coalesced, twisting and solidifying.

A shape began to form.

First, the feet.

Then the legs.

Then the torso and arms.

Finally, the head.

It was like watching a sculpture being made from pure darkness.

In less than ten seconds, it was complete.

Standing before him was a perfect, silent copy of himself.

It was wearing the same worn jeans, the same dark hoodie.

It had the same tired look in its eyes.

The clone tilted its head, a small, curious gesture.

Then, it raised a hand and gave him a small, nonchalant wave.

Miles stared at his double, at his own face looking back at him.

He felt a strange, disorienting connection, a second set of eyes, a second mind, linked to his own.

He could feel the worn carpet of the apartment floor under both his own bare feet and the clone's sneakers.

This was going to take some getting used to.

He looked at his perfect, silent twin.

He saw the exhaustion.

He saw the weight of the world in its shoulders.

But he also saw something new.

A flicker of a dangerous, predatory light in its eyes.

His eyes.

He thought about the seventeen assassins.

He thought about the quarter-million-dollar bounty.

A slow, cold, and deeply satisfied smile spread across his face.

And across the face of his clone.

"Alright," Miles said to himself.

And to himself.

"Time to go hunting."

And to finish them all.