BLACK DRAGON CONTRACT

Chapter 3: A Homecoming to Hell

Marco stopped at a rest area to clean himself up before going home. The neon lights in the Brooklyn subway station public restroom flickered, emitting a low, headache-inducing hum. The air smelled of a mix of ammonia, old vomit, stale iron, and despair. A fitting place for a fresh murderer.

Marco stood before a cracked ceramic sink, staring at his reflection in the foggy mirror. He looked repulsive; stains of blood and grime clung to his body—proof that he could never return to being the kind, naive Marco he once was.

The tap water ran heavily, turning reddish-brown as it mixed with the dried blood on his hands and face. He scrubbed his skin raw, nearly peeling it off, trying desperately to remove every trace of Rizyo and Benny’s DNA.

"Gone... just disappear, you bastard," he hissed, rubbing his scraped knuckles.

Marco flinched, not because of the blood, but because of his reflection in the mirror.

His eyes…

Marco Rossi’s eyes were previously a warm brown, the type Maria fell in love with ten years ago. Eyes that could still laugh even when their wallet was empty and life was tough.

But now?

Under the sickly neon light, his irises appeared darker, almost jet black, with a faint blue ring pulsing around his pupils every time he blinked. The gaze was cold. Empty. Like the eyes of a dead fish—or a shark, gleaming from the deadly ocean depths.

[RECOVERY STATUS: 98%]

[ADRENALINE RESIDUE: DECREASING.]

[ADVICE: HOST REQUIRES CALORIC INTAKE AND REST.]

Marco punched the mirror.

CRASH!

Cracks spread like a spiderweb, fracturing his reflection into dozens of horrifying little pieces.

"Shut up," Marco snarled at the empty air, "Get out of my head!"

The System did not answer. There was only silence and the dripping of the faucet.

Marco took a deep breath, trying to suppress his still-pounding heart. He smoothed his wet hair, put the stolen, stale-smelling hoodie back on, and stepped out into the night. He had to go home. He had to see them. His family.

***

Marco’s apartment was on the fourth floor of a red brick building whose elevator had been dead since the two-term presidential election. He climbed the stairs with heavy steps. His knees felt weak, a side effect of the "life span payment" the System had just extracted, compounded by the trauma that haunted Marco's mind.

When he reached the fourth-floor corridor, Marco’s heart stopped for a second. A flood of shock and nausea overwhelmed him without warning.

Door number 402.

His front door. It was wide open. Its hinges were broken, the wood splintered where it had been violently kicked in.

"Maria!" Marco screamed. His fatigue instantly vanished, replaced by pure panic. He ran inside.

The scene inside was worse than the docks.

The cramped apartment was utterly destroyed. The cheap sofa where they usually watched TV was overturned, its foam savagely slashed and pulled out. Broken dishes were scattered across the kitchen floor. Their old tube TV was gone. Even Maria's underwear drawer was pulled out and its contents scattered across the floor, trampled by muddy boots.

This was degradation. This wasn't debt collection; this was a genuine threat and terror.

"Arcy… Sweetheart?"

A sound of sobbing came from the corner of the room, behind an overturned dining table.

Marco jumped over the broken glass. There, huddled on the cold wooden floor, was Maria. His wife was clutching Sofia, their seven-year-old daughter, as tightly as possible. Sofia hid her face in her mother's chest, her small body trembling violently.

"Oh God..." Marco fell to his knees, embracing both of them at once, "Maria, I'm here. I’m home, sweetheart. Papa is here,"

Maria looked up. Her beautiful face was puffy, her makeup streaked with tears. There was a red bruise on her cheek—the mark of a slap.

Seeing that bruise, something dark within Marco snarled. The System's voice buzzed quietly:

[TARGET ANALYSIS: MARIA ROSSI. MINOR INJURY. PERPETRATOR: LIKELY VINNIE'S HENCHMAN.]

"They came..." Maria sobbed, gripping Marco's jacket until her knuckles turned white, "Those men... they took everything. Mama’s heirloom necklace... this month’s grocery money... Sofia's doll..."

"Shhh, it's okay. Let them take it," Marco whispered, kissing the top of Maria's head, then moving to kiss Sofia's hair, "The important thing is that you two are safe. You're not badly hurt, are you?"

"The big man slapped Mama..." Sofia whispered quietly, her voice hoarse from crying.

Marco felt his jaw clench until his teeth ached. He cupped Sofia's small face with the hands that had (now clean, but had recently) killed people.

"Listen to Papa, Sofi," Marco said, gentle but intense, "That bad man will never slap Mama again. He will never come back here again. Papa promises!"

"Where were you, Papa?" Sofia asked, looking into her father's eyes, "Papa smells weird. Like strong old iron and... a smell..."

The smell of blood.

Marco flinched. He hastily released the hug, backing away slightly, "Papa... Papa just finished hard labor at the docks. Lots of rust clinging to me. Sofia, darling," Marco evaded.

Maria stared at Marco. She was not stupid. She noticed the strange shirt, the hoodie (stolen jacket) she’d never seen before, his scraped knuckles, and the completely different aura her husband carried. But Maria was too scared to ask. She just needed reassurance.

"Sofia needs to sleep," Maria said hoarsely, trying to gather the remains of her sanity, "Come on, sweetie. Go to bed. Papa is home!"

They carried Sofia into the narrow bedroom, which, thankfully, the thugs hadn't completely ransacked. Marco tucked his daughter in, waiting until her breathing settled and she fell asleep from exhaustion and crying. He loved Sofia deeply, his only child. A beautiful, lively, and... clean little angel.

Marco stood still for a long time, stroking Sofia's wavy blonde hair. Her breathing was now regulated, her small nose reddened from crying too long. Sofia was still only 7 years old, a lively and cheerful child. And Sofia was Marco's whole world.

Suddenly, the feeling returned.

Marco’s hands trembled, snapping him out of his reverie. A realization brought him back to the reality he now faced. His heart wavered; was he still fit to be called a 'father'?

Marco offered a bitter smile, immediately standing and stepping out. After the door to Sofia's room was firmly closed, Marco and Maria stood in the middle of the ruined living room.

The atmosphere shifted, filled with awkward silence.

"Arcy..." Maria began, her voice trembling, "Did you get the money, honey? Vinnie said... if it wasn’t paid tonight, he would..." Maria couldn't finish the sentence. Her tears broke out again.

Marco looked at his wife. The woman he had once promised the world to now stood amidst the ruins of their home, half-dead with fear. Guilt stabbed Marco's chest, hurting worse than any bullet.

He couldn't tell her that he had just broken Rizyo's neck, crushed Benny's head, and sold a year of his life to a system. This was truly beyond his control.

Marco stepped forward, pulling Maria into his embrace. He exhaled slowly.

"It's over," Marco whispered into Maria’s ear, "The problem is solved, sweetheart. And I promise you, Vinnie... he won't be coming after us again,"

"Arcy... where did you get the money to pay off the debts?" Maria asked against Marco's chest, "We don't have anything left!"

"I took care of it, darling. Believe me, everything is handled!"

Maria looked up, meeting Marco's eyes. She searched for a lie. But what she found was burning intensity. The fear of loss, the residual adrenaline from the murder, and the fierce desire to feel "life" all mixed into one.

"I was so scared earlier," Maria whispered, her hands tracing Marco’s chest, feeling her husband’s hard, fast heartbeat, "I thought they were going to kill us... or Vinnie was going to rape me, Arcy..."

"No one will dare touch you, as long as I’m alive. And I guarantee that, sweetheart!" Marco growled. He kissed Maria's lips. It wasn't their usual soft husband-and-wife kiss, but a hungry, demanding kiss, full of wild passion.

Maria responded just as aggressively. Fear triggered adrenaline, and adrenaline fueled desire. She needed proof that Marco was tangible safety, that they were still alive after this night of hell.

"Come here, Arcy..." Maria pulled the collar of Marco's jacket, dragging him toward their master bedroom, whose door hung crookedly.

Marco looked at his wife's face under the light of the streetlamp filtering through the window. Beautiful but fragile. The only sacred thing left in this cruel world.

"No matter what happens, don't ever leave me again, Arcy..." Maria hissed, pulling Marco's head down to deepen their kiss.

Marco didn’t answer with words. He answered with touch and an embrace, as if to ensure that the woman in his arms was real and not a System hallucination. That night, on the messy sheets of their bed, Marco tried to eliminate the trauma from the events at the docks. Even though it was impossible…

Marco held Maria tighter when the system notification blinked again.

DING!

[Next Target: Vinnie's Headquarters. Reward: Seed Money].

[Advice: Form a Team First].

Marco adapted to the system. It was a reminder of the control over his life's trajectory, starting now. And a new chapter was about to begin.

***