World of the Apocalypse: Kane’s Evolution System

Chapter 5 Merit II

The girl stumbled forward. The moment she was about to step out of the alley, she whispered a frantic warning: “He didn’t run—he’s still back there!”

The very next second, the short gangster lunged from the shadows, raising his gun straight at Kane!

A flurry of gunshots tore through the night. Terrified, the girl dropped to the ground with her hands clamped over her head, screaming. Kane stood at a cunning angle, steadying his pistol and firing rapid controlled bursts.

The gangster crumpled to the ground. Kane dared not venture into the unlit depths; he stepped forward and fired a finishing shot into the ringleader’s head to eliminate any lingering threat entirely.

He glanced down at a graze wound on his shoulder left by a stray bullet and exhaled quietly. This fight had been a razor-close call.

Just then, Hawk hobbled over to the alley mouth clutching his injury. He stared at the bodies strewn across the ground with a complicated look, his voice trembling. “Is that all of them?”

“Two got away.” Kane turned to face him, his eyes turning icy cold in an instant. “You came looking for me earlier. What did you want to talk about? Spit it out now.”

Hawk froze on the spot, only just remembering he’d originally come to pick a fight and assert his dominance.

Kane took a step forward, pressing the muzzle of his pistol hard against Hawk’s forehead, his tone frigid enough to cut bone. “You think you can lecture me on District rules? I’ve walked out alive from hellish traps like the Triple Barriers and Yama’s Leap—what makes you think you’re worthy?”

A gunshot exploded inches from Hawk’s ear, deafening and intimidating.

Hawk went rigid all over, his pupils blown wide, his bravado utterly shattered.

Kane tossed the pistol onto his chest and warned flatly: “From now on we patrol side by side. Stay out of my way. Next time my finger slips, the stray round might not miss you.”

With that, he turned to the girl and asked her about what she’d endured in a low, steady voice.

An hour and a half later, at the precinct’s exclusive police hospital.

Lying on the operating table, Hawk picked up Wade’s call and instantly switched to a sycophantic tone, rushing to claim all the credit. “Captain Wade! My unit stumbled across cross-district violent outlaws mid-patrol. Every one of us moved without hesitation and took down their leader Matsushita right there on the scene! This fugitive was tied to a cold case four years old! This achievement’s more than enough for our squad to win top honors and promotions—you’ve got to push my report up the chain!”

Rage roared from Wade on the other end of the line, his voice dripping with murderous intent. “Merit? You’ve ruined everything I’ve worked for! Matsushita was my planted asset. The operation was about to wrap up, and you threw it all to waste! You fool!”

Hawk’s face blanched instantly, scrambling to make excuses. “Captain, that’s not how it was—I lied earlier. Truth is, I went to pick a fight with Kane, and Cruz dragged me into the bust against my will…”

The call went dead without another word. Hawk collapsed back onto the hospital bed, his body ice-cold, swallowed by utter despair.

The interrogation room of Precinct Unit One hung thick with taut silence.

Kane twirled a pen between his fingers, glancing at the shaken teenage girl Raven across the table, his tone calm. “Feeling steady enough to talk?”

Raven nodded faintly, still dazed; the terror of her brush with death lingered fresh in her eyes.

Kane stood, poured a cup of hot water, and slid it toward her. After a few brief reassuring words, he began filling out standard interrogation paperwork.

Twenty-year-old Raven had traveled to the District solely to find work. She was just about to recount every detail of her abduction when the interrogation room door flew wide open.

Chief Superintendent Cole stepped inside with Cruz and several other officers, cutting the interview short at once.

“No need to press further,” Cole said gently yet with unassailable authority, turning to Raven. “Support staff are already here to take care of you. You may leave first; the precinct will handle all follow-up on the case.”

Kane raised an eyebrow, thoroughly confused. Cole had not been present at the tavern earlier, yet he knew exactly who the hostage was—and he was sending her away before critical witness statements could be taken. The whole scene was wildly out of line with protocol.

He studied Raven closely: tall, exquisitely featured, with smooth, flawless skin that marked her as nothing like the toiling poor. On the District’s fringe, where supplies ran scarce and survival was brutal, such pristine refinement spoke volumes about her unusual background.

Downstairs, an official electric shuttle from the Novara Press & Publicity Department had been waiting for ages. A team of dedicated handlers collected Raven and drove off without delay, their crisp, formal procedures betraying immense institutional clout.

He watched the official shuttle pull out of sight. Cole wiped the smile off his face and ordered everyone to his office in a low, grave tone. Cruz sidled over to Kane and muttered in quiet awe—this rookie had stumbled on an enormous opportunity right after reporting for duty, catching the Superintendent’s full attention.

Inside the office, Cole could barely contain his delight, clapping Kane firmly on the shoulder to heap praise on him.

Matsushita, the cross-district violent fugitive, was wanted for a string of severe felonies and had lain low in the unregulated zones for years. Central Precinct had hunted him fruitlessly this entire time, yet the moment he snuck back into the District, he’d been taken down by Kane, who’d only just signed on. This single takedown had brought immense prestige to their precinct.

But Cole’s tone shifted sharply afterward, laying out the dilemma. “Your merits are undeniable, but you’ve been on the force less than twenty-four hours with zero official service history to back your file. An extraordinary, skip-level promotion would spark rampant gossip among the squads—I cannot rush this.”

Cruz immediately spoke up to defend Kane, arguing that every bit of credit had been earned through Kane risking his life. He’d led the entire operation: neutralizing the armed fugitive and rescuing the hostage, so there was no need to fear petty complaints.

Cole shot an exasperated glare at the hotheaded Cruz, then turned back to Kane and made a clear, binding promise. Within one month, he would formalize Kane’s transition from trainee constable to full Constable Class III, simultaneously filing paperwork for a Merit Citation Class III to pave the way for promotion to Constable Class II by year’s end.

Given his extremely short tenure and lack of established credibility with the rest of the officers, Kane would not receive an official squad leader title for now. Instead, he would be granted de facto authority as a deputy squad leader registered internally within the precinct, without an official system rank; his formal leadership posting would follow once he’d solidified his standing. On top of that, a one-time special cash bonus of one thousand US dollars would be issued separately, and he would additionally be nominated for the Outstanding Individual of the Year award at the end of the month.

Kane knew this was unprecedented preferential treatment. He snapped to attention, saluted to express his gratitude, then left the office alongside Cruz.

Once the two men were gone, Cole dialed the administrative clerk and gave specific instructions on how to draft the incident report for the tavern shooting. He ordered them to deliberately obscure Hawk and his group’s original motive of picking a fight, retaining only records of their participation in the law enforcement response to lay groundwork for subsequent disciplinary and reward decisions within the squad.

The next day, in the hospital ward.

Hawk lay in bed recovering from the gunshot wound to his hip. When his fellow officers relayed the final reward and disciplinary rulings, his composure shattered completely.

The entire squad was awarded a Collective Class Three Merit Citation, with compensation distributed uniformly to all officers injured during the operation: $3,000 for severe wounds and $1,000 for minor injuries. Yet the key individual honors—the Personal Class Three Merit Citation, eligibility for promotion to Class Two Constable, and de facto deputy squad leader authority—all went to Kane, the newly arrived rookie.

Seething with resentment and a profound sense of injustice, Hawk burned with unrelenting bitterness. He had sustained the worst injuries in the entire shootout and thrown himself into the fray at the frontlines, only to end up a mere footnote, with all the critical credit snatched away by Kane. He knew everyone was aware he had headed to the tavern solely to pick a fight with Kane, not to perform his official duties; that fact stripped him of any grounds to contest the merits.

What no one realized, however, was that the ultimate victor in this scramble for recognition was neither the indignant Hawk nor Kane, who had made a name for himself in a single battle.

Cruz, who had played only a supporting role with no standout heroic moments, quietly received an accelerated skip-level promotion. He was elevated straight from Class One Constable to Class Three Sergeant, appointed Deputy Captain of Squad Three, and his Personal Class Three Merit Citation was fast-tracked for approval. His meteoric rise happened entirely behind closed doors, without fanfare.

Every insider within the precinct was secretly alarmed, instantly grasping the unspoken rules governing their unit: those who risk their lives in combat fare worse than those who strategically align themselves with the right factions, and officers who stand out with bold brilliance lag far behind those who lie low and bide their time. Real resources and influential connections always lurk in the shadows.

On the day the dust settled from the incident, Wade—Hawk’s patron and Captain of Squad One—boarded a train bound for Novara in low spirits, triggering a complete reshuffle of power dynamics within the precinct.

The credit from the Matsushita case failed to integrate Kane into Squad One; instead, it pushed him firmly to the fringes of the unit. Out of the squad’s forty-five officers, only a handful of marginalized members including Holt and Cruz were willing to associate with him. The core inner circle all gave him the cold shoulder on purpose.

This ostracism even spilled over into the dormitories. His roommates avoided open confrontations or direct hostility, yet subjected him to relentless emotional isolation through cold indifference.

The moment Kane stepped into the dorm, the others would fall silent or file out altogether; as soon as he left, chatter and commotion resumed immediately. Everyone labeled him a troublemaker who had crossed Hawk, and they seethed with jealousy over the rookie claiming credit for a major case, banding together to freeze him out.