The morning sun filtered weakly through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Jordan estate, casting long golden streaks across the polished marble floors of the sprawling mansion in Manhattan's Upper East Side. To an outsider, the place was a monument to old money and new ambition with Italian marble, crystal chandeliers and original Warhols on the walls. But to Bradley Turner, it was a gilded cage he had lived in for eight long years.He stood in the vast kitchen, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing a cast-iron skillet that had already been cleaned twice. The task was pointless; Victoria Jordan, his mother-in-law, had insisted on it after last night's dinner party, claiming he had "missed a spot." It was just another way to remind him of his place: the live-in son-in-law, the tolerated parasite who had married into the family and refused to leave.Bradley glanced at the clock on the wall, the time says 8:47 a.m. Evelyn would be upstairs still, probably scrolling through her phone in their be

The Jordan estate’s grand dining room had never felt smaller.Bradley stood just inside the doorway, hands still faintly smudged with garden soil, watching the scene unfold like a slow-motion car crash. The long mahogany table usually reserved for formal dinners with senators and CEOs had been commandeered for an emergency family meeting. Crystal glasses and a half-empty decanter of Macallan sat abandoned amid scattered papers and phones.Victoria Jordan presided at the head, her silver hair pulled into a severe chignon, face carved from ice. She wore a navy silk blouse that probably cost more than Bradley’s entire wardrobe. Her eyes fixed on him with undisguised contempt.Evelyn sat to her mother’s right, legs crossed elegantly, staring at her manicured nails as if they held the secrets of the universe. She hadn’t looked at Bradley once since he’d been summoned from the garden.And then there was Leo.He occupied the chair opposite Victoria, an ice pack pressed to his swollen jaw, dr

The clang of metal doors echoed like gunshots as Bradley was escorted into Block C at Rikers Island. The guard, a thick-necked man with a shaved head and a name tag reading “Ortiz” shoved him forward with casual indifference.“Home sweet home, Turner. Bunk 42. Touch nothing that ain’t yours, and maybe you’ll last the week.”Bradley stepped into the dorm, the stench hitting him first: a mix of sweat, bleach, mold, and something sour he didn’t want to identify. Sixty bunks lined the walls in two tiers, most occupied by men who looked up with predatory curiosity. Tattoos crawled up necks and arms; eyes assessed him like fresh meat.He kept his gaze forward, walking the narrow aisle to bunk 42 bottom, near the toilets, as expected. The thin mattress was stained yellow in places, the pillow flat and gray. He dropped his issued bedding roll onto it and began making the bed with mechanical precision, the way he’d learned in the brief intake orientation.Conversations resumed around him, but

The isolation cell felt different now.Bradley sat cross-legged on the cold slab, eyes closed, the blue glow of the system interface illuminating his mind like a private screen. The pain from the second attack had vanished completely with bruises faded, cuts sealed, ribs no longer tender. Whatever this system was, it wasn’t just giving him strength in the moment. It was rewriting his body.He focused on the translucent panel.**Urban Ascendancy System****Host: Bradley Turner** **Level: 2** **XP: 100/500 to next level** **Health: 100/100** **Strength: 14** **Agility: 12** **Intelligence: 15** **Charisma: 8** **Available Points: 0****Skills Unlocked:** - Basic Combat Module (Level 1): Enhanced reflexes, instinctive knowledge of hand-to-hand techniques, pressure points, and improvised weapons.**Active Quests:** - None**New Notification: Daily Login Reward Available**He mentally selected the notification.[Daily Login Reward claimed: +50 XP, Minor Healing Potion x

Days passed by very fast with strict routine at Rikers Island which couldn't by bent by any means.The morning count was every 5:30 a.m. followed by the slop for breakfast and then yard time if the weather allowed, showers under lukewarm water that cut off too soon, endless hours in the dorm with nothing but concrete walls and the low hum of male voices. Bradley moved through it all with deliberate calm, his body was becoming stronger now and his senses sharper. The system had turned him into something new, someone patient, watchful and lethal when needed.The assassination attempts had stopped since other inmates were now scared of attacking him, but there were other means to silent a man without the use of brute force.Word had spread through the block like wildfire: the “dead man” who couldn’t be killed. Six professional hitters down in two nights, and he’d walked away without a scratch. Inmates gave him space and nods of respect in the chow line, some even offer extra dessert fro