The last thing Detective Sean Riggs remembered was the sterile smell of bleached hospital sheets, the steady, annoying beep of a heart monitor, and the suffocating weight of lung cancer pulling him into the dark. He had spent his final months wasting away in a white room, a decorated homicide detective reduced to a skeleton, wishing he could have died in the line of fire instead of fading out like a flickering candle. He had closed his eyes, welcoming the cold numbness of death. It was supposed to be over. So why the hell did his lungs suddenly burn with a sharp, painful gasp of air? Sean’s eyes snapped open. He wasn't looking at a white hospital ceiling. He was staring at cracked, damp concrete. The air smelled of rust, urine, and sour sweat. ‘What is this?’ Sean thought, his detective instincts instantly firing through the confusion. ‘Did the resuscitation fail? Am I in a morgue?’ He tried to push himself up, but a rush of pain tore through his ribs, forcing a painful groa

Damien didn't even look back as he walked toward the stairs. "Think of it as a status update," he said coldly. As he ascended the stairs, his mind was already moving a mile a minute. The Kingston family was trapped by their own arrogance. They wouldn't call the cops because they were afraid of what a real investigation would reveal. They would try to make his life a living hell inside this house to force him out. Good. Let them try. It gave him the perfect vantage point to execute Trial Task 2. He reached the small, cramped guest room at the end of the hall, the place they had forced him to sleep in while he acted as their servant. He closed the door, and as he did, his vision flashed blue once more. > [SYSTEM NOTICE: Trial Task 2 Progress Update.] > [Target: Julian Kingston’s hidden black-box footage. Current location detected: A private safe inside the Kingston Corporation Headquarters.] > [Warning: A secondary anomalies detected in the city. Triggering preparation for Trial T

Before the leader could turn his head back, Damien’s heavy plastic clipboard caught him directly across the throat. The sharp, strong edge shattered the man’s windpipe with a sickening ‘crack'. As the leader choked, spraying blood, Damien grabbed his wrist, twisting it so hard without mercy, until the bones snapped, forcing the silenced pistol to drop directly into Damien's waiting palm."What the—!" the second killer yelled, lunging forward.Damien didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger twice. Two soft sounds' echoed through the garage. The second killer took two rounds directly to the center mass, his chest erupting in crimson as he collapsed backward onto the floor like a sack of stones.The third assassin, panicking at the sudden, terrifying transformation of the "clerk" into a dangerous man, drew his knife and lunged wildly at Damien's exposed side. Damien felt a sharp pain across his forearm, but his expression didn't even flicker. He stepped inside the man's guard, drove his e

"Yes, Miss Vance," Sarah replied respectfully. "The truck belonged to Apex Logistics. The man who was driving it... his name is Damien. Two years ago, he married into the Kingston family, a mid-tier family that runs a construction and real estate business. High society considers him a running joke. They call him the 'trash son-in-law'."Elena’s brow furrowed, a flash of deep anger crossing her beautiful features. "A trash son-in-law? The man I saw yesterday killed two professional assassins with bare hands and a clipboard. He handled a firearm like an elite operator. You're telling me he’s a submissive housewife for a third-rate family?""The records are consistent, Miss Vance," Sarah explained, her voice hesitant. "According to the public file, he was recently detained for a hit-and-run accident involving his brother-in-law, Julian Kingston. He was released yesterday morning because the case suddenly fell apart due to missing evidence. The Lin family treats him like an absolute serv

Damien didn't argue. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled, slightly damp fifty dollar bill, part of the petty cash he had quietly withdrawn from an automated teller earlier that afternoon. He slid it across the wood.The landlord snatched the bill, checking it against the light before tossing a rusted iron key onto the desk. "Room 3B. Top floor. Don't break the plumbing."Damien took the key and ascended the creaking staircase. Room 3B was nothing more than a room containing a squeaking iron cot, a stained mattress, and a single window that rattled violently against the storm. Water dripped rhythmically from a leak in the ceiling, pooling in a rusty tin can in the corner.It was a far cry from the opulent, silk-sheeted master bedrooms of the Kingston villa. Yet, as Damien closed the door and locked it behind him, he felt an immense sense of relief. The suffocating, toxic air of his ex-wife’s home was gone. The cage was broken.He sat down on the edge of the hard cot,