First blood

The sound of gunshots echoed in the air, tearing through the calm of the night like a sharp knife. The guests attending the banquet rushed into the house, seized by panic. Some stumbled over the furniture in their desperation to find refuge.

Ethan, alert to the chaos unfolding, quickly lifted the corner of his jacket and drew his Glock. He gestured for the guests to hide, and then walked with determined steps towards the backyard.

As soon as he crossed the threshold of the door, he saw him. Cole Moody, no more than twenty steps away, held a revolver with a trembling hand, aiming directly at Proctor, who was on the other side of the pool.

—Bang! —another shot rang out. Cole's gun misfired, and the plates on the table next to Proctor shattered, scattering across the marble floor.

Proctor did not flinch. His expression was cold, unflappable, as if the imminent danger were merely an annoyance.

"Damn German hick!" shouted Cole, staggering as he raised the weapon again. You knocked out all my teeth, I'm going to kill you.

Cole's face was covered in scars, and he was missing most of his teeth. Every time he spoke, saliva dripped from his mouth, falling into small puddles at his feet.

—Cole, I'm warning you, put the gun down right now —Ethan stepped forward, aiming his Glock directly at Cole's chest.

Cole's bloodshot eyes turned towards Ethan with fury. Without thinking twice, he turned the revolver towards him. Ethan felt the chill of death lurking, but he didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger.

—Bang, bang, bang!

The shots echoed in the night, and blood gushed from Cole in a dense, dark spray. His body trembled violently before collapsing backward, falling into the pool with a dull splash. The blood spread in the water, creating a huge red flower that glided across the surface.

From the darkness, a staggering figure appeared. It was Hood, covered in blood, with a gun in his hand. He stopped upon seeing Cole, now a floating body full of holes.

"Son of a bitch," Hood murmured, spitting on the ground before putting away his weapon.

Brock, Emmett, Siobhan, and others began to leave the house; they had been evacuating the civilians from the place. None of them had carried weapons that night; they never imagined that a banquet would turn into a battlefield. However, now that Cole was neutralized, they hurried to maintain order among the remaining guests.

Those who had hidden in the corners of the backyard saw that the situation had calmed down and, not wanting to get into more trouble, began to leave the place quietly.

"Chief Hood, are you okay?" Brock approached Hood, inspecting the wound on his head.

—It's nothing serious. I was in the parking lot looking for something when Cole attacked me —Hood replied, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand.

"Chief, they've called an ambulance," Emmett reported, frowning.

"Ethan, it's okay, put the gun down," he instructed Ethan, lowering his hands as a sign of calm.

Ethan, still with adrenaline coursing through his veins, finally came to his senses. He nodded and put the Glock back in its holster, his fingers still trembling.

When the ambulance arrived and after Ethan cooperated with the authorities to file his statement, Hood asked him to go home. He didn't ask Ethan to hand over the weapon. He knew that if someone decided to avenge Cole, Ethan would need to be armed to protect himself.

This incident reminded Ethan that he needed to get more weapons for personal defense as soon as possible. With the space the system offered him, he didn't have to worry about transportation or storage issues.

Ethan submerged himself in the cold waters of the lake, letting the cold bite his skin and numb his thoughts. The dark water enveloped him like a silent embrace, and he let himself be carried away, floating in the stillness of the night. He closed his eyes, allowing his body to relax as his mind returned to the backyard, to the sound of gunshots, and to Cole's body falling into the water.

Ethan let himself sink a little deeper, allowing the water to cover his ears, muffling the sounds of the outside world. Here, in this liquid silence, he tried to organize his thoughts. Could I have done something different? Could I have avoided all that? The answer, raw and direct, arose in his mind: "No." The moment Cole turned the gun towards him, he had no choice. It was kill or be killed, and he chose to be the predator, not the prey.

If the Moody brothers were seeking revenge, he would be ready. Because in this world where fiction and reality blended, there was no place for weakness; if he wanted to survive, he had to do what was necessary.

 As she swam, she felt the discomfort of her first murder slowly fading away. Once his mind cleared, he got out of the water and exhaled, invoking the system.

To his surprise, there were no new tasks or skill points. Everything remained silent.

Ethan turned off the system with a sigh, frustrated by the inactivity. When would a new task be activated?

The sound of approaching vehicles interrupted his thoughts. Two beams of light pierced the darkness. Ethan quickly swam to the small dock and hid behind a large tree, pulling the Glock from its holster.

A Rolls-Royce slowly parked in front of the house. Proctor got out of the car, walked towards the porch, and knocked on the door with a series of firm knocks.

"You don't need to knock, I'm here," Ethan said, emerging from his hiding spot with empty hands, while putting the Glock back in its place.

Proctor looked at him in surprise, but said nothing. Ethan, ignoring the look, walked naked to the dock, picked up his clothes, and began to get dressed.

"Mr. Proctor, what brings you here so late?" asked Ethan, putting on his shirt.

—Kobe steak, my best product —Proctor replied, handing him a package wrapped in wax paper with a smile.

"Thank you." Let's go inside and talk —Ethan took the steak and opened the door, casting a glance at the driver who remained next to the Rolls-Royce.

The driver, impeccably dressed in a suit and bow tie, adjusted his glasses with his fingers and smiled at him.

"This is my assistant, Borden," said Proctor, noticing Ethan's gaze. Let him wait outside, it doesn't matter.

Once inside, Ethan put the steak in the refrigerator and took a bottle of bourbon from the display case.

"A drink?" he asked, pouring two glasses.

"Of course, thank you," replied Proctor, taking a seat on the sofa across from Ethan.

"I came here tonight to thank you for saving my life," Proctor raised his glass in a gesture of gratitude.

"You don't have to thank me, I just did my job," Ethan replied, clinking his glass with Proctor's before drinking in one go.

Proctor watched Ethan as he drank, a shadow of concern crossed his face.

"Drink slowly, there's no rush," he said, placing his glass on the table.

Ethan wasn't one to force anyone to drink, so he simply poured more bourbon into his glass without saying anything. Unexpectedly, Proctor also finished his drink in one gulp.

Ethan raised an eyebrow and offered him a cigarette, lighting it for him as he relaxed on the couch.

"Whatever happens, I owe you a favor, Ethan Morgan," Proctor said, exhaling a puff of smoke.

Ethan remained silent, letting Proctor's words hang in the air.

"I know that some people in this city are happy to see me fall, including our young mayor," Proctor paused, searching for the right words. I hope this doesn't affect your opinion of me.

"I don't think you care what I think of you," Ethan replied, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

—You're right. To be honest, I don't care what people think of me. I just hope we don't end up on opposite sides —Proctor stared intently at Ethan—. After all, your father and I had a good relationship, you know? I gave him that deer head —he added, pointing to the fireplace.

Ethan followed Proctor's gaze to the deer head hanging over the fireplace, a gift he had not expected.

"By the way, I came here to warn you about the Moody brothers," Proctor continued. Although they are idiots, they are very united. If you kill one, the others will come for you.

Ethan nodded slowly, letting Proctor's words sink into his mind. He knew that the Moody's revenge was inevitable, and he would have to be prepared for what was to come.

—If you need help, just look for me and I'll repay the favor from tonight. — After speaking, he set the glass aside and left without saying anything else.

When Proctor left, Ethan remained seated in silence, drinking alone while contemplating his next moves. He knew he couldn't just wait for death to catch up with him. He would have to act, and soon.