His eyes had transformed from their initial fear and confusion into something sharp and determined.
If there was no going back, then he'd survive here on his own terms—and live better than anyone else!
His gaze drifted to the skyscraper standing in the center of the city like a dark emperor's throne—Geese Tower.
That's where South Town's strongest man resided. And surely, the richest "loot" as well.
"Geese Howard..." A dangerous smile curved Cloud's lips as he gripped the brick hidden in his jacket.
"Your South Town? I'm taking it. Along with everything you've got!"
...
The air in South Town was always a symphony of scents.
The aroma of grilled hot dogs. The dampness wafting from sewers. The sour fermentation of garbage bins. And the faint undertones of gunpowder and blood. Together, they composed this sin city's unique "urban perfume."
At the moment, Cloud was sitting at a street-side hot dog stand, using the $123 "fortune" he'd plundered from that unlucky bastard to enjoy his first proper meal since transmigrating.
The hot dog was huge. The sauce was generous. The taste was pure American capitalism.
"System, would you say the locals here are a bit too friendly?" Cloud chomped away while chatting mentally with the system.
"I've only been here a few days, and everyone I've met either has a gun to my head or is in the middle of a street shootout. My sense of security is basically on par with playing real-life CS in Syria."
[Host, according to database analysis, South Town's crime rate consistently ranks in the nation's top three. Friendly reminder: Around here, "friendly locals" means if you leave home without a gun, you can't even say hello properly.]
"Damn! That 'friendly reminder' is useless." Cloud rolled his eyes.
After two days of reconnaissance, he'd basically figured out his situation.
This was indeed the KOF world—a place where fighters walked the streets like regular folks and gangsters were as common as stray dogs.
South Town was essentially the first elite monster zone outside the starter village. The zone boss was named Geese Howard—a domineering CEO who enjoyed free-falling from his building's rooftop.
As for Cloud himself? A transmigrator who'd been completely powerless until a starter pack helped him reverse-kill one minion. Combat power: approximately 0.5 geese.
"The road ahead is long and winding; I shall search high and low just to survive." Cloud chugged a big gulp of cola and let out a satisfying burp.
Getting stronger was going to take careful planning.
First: stockpile Source Points, do some "whale spending" on gacha, and see if he could pull something good.
Relying on plundering street thugs for their "Flailing Fist Mastery" and pocket change? He'd be waiting until the cows came home before he amounted to anything.
Just as Cloud was debating whether to mug another lone "experience pack" or try his luck at an underground fighting ring—
Not far away at the intersection, screeching brakes and a woman's scream shattered the street's noise.
"Oh? South Town's signature entertainment is on?" Cloud perked up instantly, wolfing down the last of his hot dog before quietly making his way over.
He saw a convertible sports car surrounded by three sleazy-looking punks harassing what appeared to be a tourist couple.
The leader—a bleached-blond guy—was playing with a butterfly knife, its blade glinting in the sunlight. The other two were leering disgustingly while trying to grab the girl.
"Hand over your wallets and watches! And this pretty little lady can come have a drink with us—we'll take real good care of her!" The blond's words were filthy beyond measure.
The couple had gone pale. The boyfriend had mustered enough courage to shield his girlfriend, but his trembling legs betrayed his terror.
Bystanders gave the scene a wide berth. Some pointed and whispered from a distance, but no one dared intervene.
This was South Town. Apathy was the best camouflage.
Cloud hung back in the crowd, eyes narrowed, assessing.
He wasn't some saint who'd charge in hot-headed. He was evaluating—evaluating how much these three were "worth."
Three grunts. At most they'd cough up some spare change and basic fighting skills. Not much meat on these bones. But Cloud's hyena instincts were already stirring. He was calculating whether, in the coming chaos, he might be able to slip in and "accidentally" snag a wallet or two.
Just as the blond punk lost patience and was about to make his move, a lazy yet sunny voice drifted in from the street corner.
"Hey, c'mon, c'mon! Bullying people in broad daylight—isn't that a little not OK?"
Everyone turned to look. A tall young man in a red vest and blue jeans strolled over, a red baseball cap emblazoned with "Fatal Fury" on his head.
He had a piece of straw dangling from his lips and his hands stuffed in his pockets. His gait was casual, and he wore a carefree smile that made him shine like California sunshine—utterly out of place in South Town's gloom.
Cloud's pupils contracted violently the instant he saw that red cap.
Holy crap! It's him! Fatal Fury! Terry!
The protagonist of Fatal Fury! One of the soul characters of the KOF series! An idol to countless players!
Cloud's heart pounded uncontrollably.
This was completely different from the trash mobs he'd encountered before. This was a living, breathing, moving and talking legendary figure! A genuine powerhouse!
"Where'd this blond punk come from, sticking his nose in your granddaddy's business? Got a death wish?" The lead thug clearly didn't recognize the "value" of the man before him. He waved his butterfly knife threateningly.
Terry spat out the straw, scratched his head, and flashed a bright grin full of white teeth—like the boy next door.
"I just think, maybe you guys should back off now. I'll buy you all a cola. How's that sound?"
"Screw your cola!" The blond was infuriated by Terry's dismissive attitude. With a roar, he lunged forward, knife-first.