Episode 4 — Smoke and Mirrors
The lower decks of Nexus City stank like piss, cocaine, and cheap perfume. Neon lights flickered over broken concrete while dealers leaned against walls, whispering about product that could kill a man twice. Prostitutes smoked glowing alien cigarettes, their laughter hoarse and bitter.
Kairo Shin walked through it all in uniform, cigarette dangling, blood dried on his boots from last night's betrayal. Nobody stopped him. Nobody dared. Word spread fast: the psycho rookie who turned a cartel warehouse into a butcher shop and ripped a rat detective in half was not the one to fuck with.
He didn't care about the stares. He didn't care about the whispers. He cared about the assignment.
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New Orders
The Commander's voice echoed in his head from earlier:
"Shin, a multiverse arms ring is running out of the city. They've got dirty cops on payroll, feeding them weapons, covering tracks. Drugs are bad enough, but guns? They'll start wars across worlds. Track 'em. Kill 'em. Same rules as last time—make it ugly."
Kairo smirked when he remembered. Ugly was the only way he worked.
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The Arms Exchange
The trail led him to a nightclub on the river, its walls shaking with bass, neon dragons twisting in holograms across the roof. Inside, half the police force drank with dealers, snorting glitter-powder off dancers' thighs while gun crates lined the backroom.
Kairo slipped inside like smoke. Nobody noticed him at first, too busy drowning in drugs and pussy.
A half-naked girl staggered toward him, pupils blown wide, lipstick smeared. "Heyyy, officer… wanna buy me a drink?"
Kairo's eyes swept over her—track marks down her arms, bruises under the makeup, dead inside. He exhaled smoke in her face. "Drink water before you choke on someone else's dick."
She blinked, confused, before giggling hysterically and falling into a dealer's lap.
Kairo's eyes locked on the backroom door. The deal was happening there.
Dirty Cops
Inside, three cops in uniform shook hands with cartel leaders, stacks of multiverse rifles glowing on the table. Rounds the size of soda cans glimmered in boxes beside them.
One cop laughed, snorting a line off his palm. "You boys keep paying us, and you'll be shipping nukes through Nexus like candy."
The dealer smirked, sliding credits across the table. "And nobody will stop us. Not even your little psycho rookie."
Kairo stepped inside, calm, tentacles writhing just under his skin. "You rang?"
The room froze.
The cops spun, hands on weapons. The dealers reached for knives and pistols.
Kairo exhaled smoke. "Protocol says I should cuff you. Guess what? I don't give a fuck about protocol."
The tentacles burst out, liquid steel shredding the room.
One cop fired—tentacle through the face. Skull gone.
Another raised his hands—tentacle through the stomach, intestines spilling across the rifles.
The third screamed, begging, "Wait, Shin—we're brothers in blue!"
Kairo grinned coldly. "No, you're rats in shit."
The tentacle wrapped his neck and yanked until his head popped clean off, blood spraying the glowing rifles.
[Assassinations Confirmed.]
[Level Up: 7.]
[Intelligence Increased.]
Kairo's brain sharpened again. He saw the whole network instantly—smuggling lanes, buyers across galaxies, which officers took bribes, which captains looked the other way. The entire cancer mapped itself in his mind.
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The Comedy of Carnage
One dealer cowered in the corner, pants soaked in piss. "Please, man, don't kill me—I got kids—"
Kairo stubbed his cigarette out on the man's forehead. The dealer screamed.
"Should've worn a condom, dumbass," Kairo muttered before splitting him in half with a single whip of steel.
Another dealer, bleeding out on the floor, spat blood. "Y-you're fucking insane…"
Kairo smirked, lighting a new cigarette off the burning pile of crates. "Nah. I'm efficient."
The flames spread, cooking bodies. Ammo exploded in bright sparks. The nightclub above kept pounding bass like nothing happened.
The Betrayal Inside
As Kairo stepped out of the backroom, one of his fellow officers—the rookie from his squad, Jensen—blocked his path, gun shaking in his hands.
"Kairo… stop. You can't just… you can't just slaughter cops. There's rules. There's laws."
Kairo raised an eyebrow, calm. "You pointing that pea-shooter at me, Jensen?"
The rookie's hands shook harder. "They're still police! You can't—"
Kairo took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaled in Jensen's face, and chuckled. "You're either with me… or you're a corpse. Pick quick."
Jensen's lip trembled. He lowered the gun.
"Good boy," Kairo muttered, patting him on the cheek. "Now go write me a report that makes me look like a saint."
Jensen nodded, pale, eyes wide with fear. Kairo walked past him, tentacles retracting into his skin, looking human again.
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Aftermath
By morning, the nightclub was ash. Bodies crisped inside, weapons melted. Official reports would say "fire." Civilians would say "gang war."
But everyone on the streets whispered the same thing: Shin did it. The psycho cop.
Back at HQ, officers avoided him like plague. Some looked at him with hatred, others with awe. The Commander just poured whiskey, handed him the bottle.
"Another job well done," the Commander muttered.
Kairo took the bottle, swigged deep, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Job's not done. Job never ends."
The Anti-Hero's Climb
That night, Kairo sat alone in his apartment, lights off, staring at the city skyline. Smoke curled in the dark. His parents were still dead. His humanity was still gone. And every kill only made him sharper, deadlier, colder.
Limitless worlds. Limitless crimes. Limitless betrayals.
And every one would make him stronger.
He wasn't afraid. He wasn't loyal. He wasn't good.
He was just the best.
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[Current Level: 7 | Intelligence Status: Tactical genius. Predictive. Reads criminal networks instantly. Calm, colder, deadlier.]