Chapter 9: A Mercenary’s Path

Michael sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at his hands. His fingers flexed, feeling the muscle memory of the countless fights, the gun recoil, and the feel of a knife in his grip. The system had made him sharper, faster, and more skilled than he could have ever been without it, but at times like this, when things were quiet, he found himself remembering his past life on Earth.

He had been an ordinary guy, just another face in the crowd, until fate—or maybe the God in the void—had decided otherwise. Now he was a highly trained mercenary, armed with a supernatural system and surrounded by a world of fast cars and deadly enemies. It was almost too surreal to believe.

But it was real. And the events of the last few days, with the cartel and Rafe's involvement, made him realize that his past life was well and truly behind him. He was in deep now, and there was no turning back.

Morning Light and Reflections

The sun was barely rising over the LA skyline when Michael decided to take his Ducati Panigale V4 R for a ride. The bike had been a reward from one of the system sign-ins, its sleek black frame and roaring engine the perfect reflection of Michael's own transformation. The bike represented speed, precision, and power—all things he'd gained through the system.

He zipped through the city streets, weaving between cars and feeling the cool morning breeze against his skin. The thrill of the ride helped clear his mind, focusing him on the task at hand.

The events of the past few days had thrown a wrench into his plans. Rafe's cartel involvement, Dom's crew being targeted—everything was shifting faster than Michael had anticipated. But what bothered him the most was the lack of clarity. He needed more information before making his next move.

As he parked the Ducati outside a familiar coffee shop, his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Dom.

"Yo, you still breathing?" Dom's deep voice asked through the phone, a half-joke, half-serious.

"Barely. What's up?"

"We've got some heat. The word on the street is that Rafe's boys aren't too happy with you. They know you've been snooping around."

Michael smirked, leaning against the bike. "Good. Let them come. It'll make things easier if they show themselves."

"Don't get cocky, brother. We don't know what they're packing."

"I'll handle it."

Dom paused for a moment, his tone turning more serious. "I trust you. Just watch your back."

Michael hung up, taking a deep breath. It was time to dig deeper into his network of contacts. The cartel wasn't something to take lightly, and Rafe's involvement meant there was more at stake than just fast cars and street races.

The Mercenary Life: Flashback

The first two years after Michael's military training had been a whirlwind. At the age of 20, fresh out of his father's rigorous regimen, he had taken up work as a mercenary. His skills were sharp, and with the system giving him additional abilities, Michael had quickly made a name for himself in the underworld.

The missions had been dangerous but profitable. The system provided rewards based on where he was, and he'd often find himself in some of the most remote or chaotic regions of the world, collecting skills and cash like a video game protagonist. His first major reward had been an HK416 rifle—lightweight, versatile, and deadly accurate. It had seen him through more firefights than he could count.

In those two years, he had mastered the art of being a ghost—slipping in and out of enemy territory, taking down high-profile targets, and vanishing without a trace. Each mission had honed his skills further, and each success had fed into his growing reputation.

But there was always a cost.

As a mercenary, Michael had learned not to trust anyone easily. The constant danger and the moral grey areas of his work had hardened him. But now, working with Dom and his crew, he was starting to feel something different—loyalty. Trust. Maybe even friendship.

System: New Location Sign-in

As Michael walked into the coffee shop, he felt the familiar hum of the system activating.

New Sign-in available: Big's Coffeehouse.

He grinned, mentally tapping the notification.

Sign-in completed: Big's Coffeehouse.

Congratulations! You have received: Advanced Tactical Planning Skills.

The knowledge flooded his mind, every fiber of his being absorbing the strategies and tactics used by elite military and special forces around the world. He could now plan operations with cold, calculating precision, anticipating every possible outcome and ensuring his victory before a fight even began.

It was the perfect skill for what was coming next.

Meeting with an Old Contact

After grabbing his coffee, Michael headed downtown to meet an old contact from his mercenary days. Vince, a former Marine turned weapons dealer, had been a key figure in LA's underground for years. If anyone had information on the cartel's movements, it was Vince.

The building was a run-down warehouse, the kind of place where shady deals went unnoticed. Michael parked his bike and walked through the rusted doors, greeted by the smell of gun oil and cigarette smoke.

Vince was sitting behind a desk cluttered with blueprints and ammunition. His thick beard and tattoos made him look more like a biker than an arms dealer, but Michael knew the man was sharp.

"Long time, no see, Mercer," Vince said, using the alias Michael had adopted in the mercenary world. "Heard you've been busy."

Michael sat down, keeping his expression neutral. "Always am. I need some info on a cartel moving product through the docks. I think they're trying to muscle in on the street racing scene."

Vince raised an eyebrow, lighting a cigarette. "Cartel's getting greedy. They've been expanding into all kinds of business lately—cars, drugs, guns. And yeah, I've heard they've got their eyes on Toretto's crew."

Michael leaned forward. "Any idea what they're planning?"

Vince blew out a puff of smoke, glancing over at a set of crates labeled with foreign markings. "They're moving something big through the ports. Heard it's military-grade hardware, though I can't confirm exactly what. But they've got connections south of the border. Big money backing them."

Michael's mind raced. Military-grade hardware? That was a whole new level of danger, and if Dom's crew got caught in the crossfire, it could mean disaster.

"I need specifics," Michael said, his voice low.

Vince took another drag of his cigarette. "I can get you more, but it's gonna cost you."

Michael smirked, pulling out a thick envelope filled with cash—the latest reward from a sign-in. Vince glanced at the money and nodded.

"Alright," Vince said, pocketing the cash. "I'll get you what you need. Just be careful, Mercer. These guys aren't playing around."

Michael stood up, his mind already formulating a plan. "I always am."

The Calm Before the Storm

Later that night, Michael sat in his apartment, cleaning his Glock 19 and preparing his gear. The new tactical planning skills from the system were already kicking in, helping him plot out the next steps in his investigation. Dom's crew was in the crosshairs, and if they weren't careful, the cartel's shadow would soon engulf them all.

He picked up his phone and sent a quick message to Dom:

"Meet me tomorrow. We need to talk."

The storm was coming, and Michael knew that the next few days would be critical in deciding how everything would play out. He wasn't just a street racer or a mercenary anymore—he was something more.

And whatever was coming, he was ready for it.

End of Chapter 9