The words had barely settled in his mind when the System pinged again. A new notification cut across his vision, sharp and urgent.
Quest Update — Threat level increasing. Estimated arrival: 4 hours, 12 minutes. Recommend: prepare or relocate.
Damian's blood went cold. Four hours. That wasn't a vague warning anymore—it was a timer on top of the timer. Something was coming, and now he knew roughly when.
He pushed off from the door and crossed to the window, peering through the dusty glass. The street below looked the same as always: vendors packing up their midday goods, a few children still kicking the deflated football, an okada rider weaving through the sparse afternoon traffic. No men in hoodies. No lurking figures.
But the System didn't lie. Not about threats.
He pulled up his status again, the text flickering into view.
Player Status — Level: 0. XP: 0/100. Stamina: 68/120. Threat scan: Clear within 50m, but elevated risk detected at 4h mark.
Recommendation: Acquire resources. Identify escape routes. Do not remain in a single location for extended period.
The System was practically telling him to run. But running without a plan was just dying tired.
Damian's gaze drifted to the window again, but this time his focus was on the skyline beyond the cramped buildings. In the distance, a sleek tower rose above the rest, its glass surface catching the afternoon sun. The Hero Association headquarters—or at least the Lagos branch. He'd walked past it a hundred times, staring up at the heroes coming and going, wondering what it felt like to be one of them.
Now he had a power, but that didn't make him a hero. The Association had strict entry requirements: registered abilities, background checks, sponsorship from an existing hero. Even if he walked through their doors right now, they'd laugh him out. An unranked nobody claiming he could slow time? They'd assume he was delusional or desperate.
But they had resources. Information. They tracked threats before they escalated. If something was coming for him, the Association might already know.
Damian shook his head. No. Going to them was a gamble he couldn't afford. If they discovered the System—if they realized he had something no one else possessed—they wouldn't protect him. They'd lock him down, study him, turn him into a lab project. Heroes didn't get where they were by sharing power.
He was on his own.
His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen—a news alert from a local channel. He almost swiped it away, but the headline stopped him.
Hero Association Issues Elevated Threat Warning: Unidentified Anomaly Detected in Mainland District. Residents Advised to Remain Vigilant.
Damian's thumb hovered over the screen. He tapped the notification and skimmed the article. The Association's sensors had picked up an energy spike early this morning—around the same time the blackout had hit his neighborhood. They hadn't identified the source, but they were classifying it as a potential Class-D threat. Low priority, but enough to put out a warning.
His stomach tightened. They were talking about him. Or whatever the System had done when it embedded itself. Either way, the Association knew something had happened, and they were watching.
Four hours until the threat arrived. And now the heroes were on alert.
Damian shoved the phone into his pocket and moved to the door. He couldn't stay here. His apartment was a dead end—one entrance, no back exit, too many blind spots. If something came for him, he'd be trapped.
He needed to find somewhere open. Somewhere with exits. Somewhere he could use his skill if he had to.
He pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway, then stopped.
The hallway was empty. Just the usual cracked walls, the flickering fluorescent light at the far end, the smell of cooking oil drifting up from the floor below. But something felt different. The air was heavier, charged in a way that had nothing to do with Lagos humidity.
Damian's hand tightened on the doorframe. He pulled up the threat scan.
Local Threat Scan — Range: 50m. Status: CLEAR. No entities detected.
Nothing. But the feeling persisted—that prickling at the back of his neck, the same sensation he'd had when the man in the hoodie was watching him earlier.
He stepped back inside and closed the door, his heart hammering. Paranoia would get him killed, but so would ignoring his instincts. The System had given him a timer for a reason. Something was coming, and it wasn't just a vague energy spike the Association was tracking.
Damian crossed to the kitchen and grabbed a knife—the largest one he owned, a dull thing with a chipped handle. Not much of a weapon, but better than nothing. He slid it into his waistband, covering it with his jacket.
He pulled up his status again, scanning for anything he might have missed.
Player Status — Level: 0. XP: 0/100. Stamina: 68/120.
Stat Points available: 0.
Next level rewards: 5 stat points. Unlock: ???
He needed to level up. But the only quest he had was survival—no objectives, no clear path to earning XP. The System had given him the ability to grow, but it hadn't handed him the keys. He had to figure this out on his own.
Recommendation: Do not remain in a single location for extended period.
He looked around his apartment one last time. The peeling wallpaper. The stack of unwashed dishes. The cracked mirror that had reflected a nobody for twenty-two years.
He wasn't that person anymore.
Damian turned and walked out the door, letting it click shut behind him. He didn't look back.
---
The streets were busier now, the afternoon rush beginning to build. Damian moved with the crowd, his head low, his eyes moving constantly. Every few minutes, he checked the threat scan.
Clear. Clear. Clear.
But the timer kept ticking.
3:47:12. 3:42:08. 3:38:55.
He found himself drifting toward the waterfront district, where the buildings were older, the streets narrower, the crowds thinner. It was easier to see who was following him here. Easier to run if he had to.
He stopped at a small market stall, buying a bottle of water and a pack of biscuits. The vendor—an old woman with tired eyes—handed him his change without a word. Damian pocketed it and moved on, unwrapping the biscuits as he walked. He needed to keep his energy up. His stamina was still recovering, but hunger would drain him faster than any skill.
As he turned onto a quieter street, a flicker of movement caught his eye. He froze, his hand moving instinctively toward the knife at his waist.
A cat darted out from between two buildings, a streak of orange fur vanishing into a drainage pipe.
Damian exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Just a cat.
But the tension didn't leave him. He checked the threat scan again.
Local Threat Scan — Range: 50m. Status: CLEAR.
Nothing. But the feeling was still there—that weight in the air, that sense of being watched. He glanced up at the rooftops, at the windows of the buildings around him. Empty. Silent.
He was alone.
3:21:44.
Damian found a bench near the waterfront, a spot with clear sightlines in all directions. He sat, his back against the metal slats, his eyes scanning the street. The water beyond was brown and sluggish, carrying the city's refuse toward the Atlantic. On the far shore, he could see the lights of the island districts—the towers of the Hero Association, the gleaming offices of the corporate sponsors, the homes of the people who had never wondered if they'd eat tomorrow.
He thought about the Association's warning. Class-D threat. Low priority. They'd send someone eventually—probably a junior hero looking to earn some credibility. And when they arrived, they'd find nothing. Or they'd find him.
What would he say? That a System had chosen him, given him powers, told him to survive? They'd think he was crazy. Or worse, they'd believe him.
He pulled up the System interface one more time.
Player Status — Level: 0. XP: 0/100. Stamina: 72/120.
Primary Quest: Survive — Time remaining: 3:17:28.
Warning: Quest difficulty may increase as timer decreases. Estimated threat arrival: 3:12:00.
Three hours and twelve minutes until something arrived. Something the System considered a threat. Something that, if he failed, would kill him.
Damian leaned back against the bench and closed his eyes. His hand rested on the knife at his waist. His skill hummed at the edge of his awareness, ready to activate.
He was alone. No allies, no backup, no one who would come looking for him if he disappeared.
But he had something he'd never had before: a chance.
And he wasn't going to waste it.
Let them come.