THE RISE OF THE SYSTEM OVERLORD

CHAPTER 35

The Hunter Becomes the Hunted

The neon lights flicker above me, casting long, distorted shadows against the rain-slicked pavement. The undercity breathes in short, sharp bursts—the hum of generators, the distant shouts of drunken gamblers, the occasional echo of a gunshot deeper in the slums. I keep my hood low, my face hidden beneath the dim glow of passing advertisements.

Every step I take feels measured, deliberate. The bounty on my head has tripled overnight, and now the city itself is hunting me. Every set of eyes lingering too long could belong to a mercenary weighing their chances. Every whispered conversation could be about me.

I pass a group of thugs loitering near a broken-down hovercraft, their voices dropping as I move past. One of them, a brute with cybernetic arms and an ego too large for his own good, sneers.

“Dead man walking.”

I don’t break stride. I don’t react. That’s exactly what they want—a sign of weakness, a flicker of fear. But fear has no place here. Not anymore.

I take the next alley, slipping into the darkness between two towering buildings. The walls close in around me, the air thick with oil and decay. The entrance to one of my last safe houses is just ahead. I slow my steps, scanning my surroundings.

Something’s wrong.

The door is ajar, the old biometric lock flickering erratically. Someone forced their way in.

I press my back against the wall, drawing my pistol in a silent, fluid motion. My heartbeat slows, my breathing steadies. I listen—no footsteps, no movement, only the faint crackle of a screen inside.

I step in.

The room is dimly lit, stripped of most of its furniture. My safe houses are never meant to be lived in, only passed through. But something—or someone—is waiting for me.

A terminal screen blinks in the center of the room. The secure line has already been activated. I take a cautious step forward, my gun raised.

Then, a voice. Distorted. Familiar.

“You’ve been marked for something bigger than you realize.”

I freeze. The voice is scrambled, the encryption masking the identity of whoever’s on the other end. But the weight of their words settles in my chest like a cold stone.

“And what’s that?” I say.

There’s a brief pause, a hesitation. Then—

“The system isn’t afraid of what you’ll destroy. It’s afraid of what you’ll create.”

The words hit harder than a bullet. My mind races, dissecting them, searching for meaning. I’ve spent years dismantling the system, exposing corruption, tearing down the carefully constructed façade of control. And now they think I’m going to build something?

“Who are you?” I demand.

The line goes dead.

A trap.

I move on instinct, diving to the side just as the first shot rips through the space where I’d been standing. The bullet slams into the terminal, sending sparks flying.

Footsteps. Shadows moving.

They found me.

I roll behind a metal crate, gun raised. My mind sharpens, calculating. These aren’t regular bounty hunters. Their approach is too precise, their silence too disciplined. These are specialists.

An elite strike team.

Another shot whistles past, embedding itself into the wall inches from my head. The impact kicks up dust, clouding my vision. I hear the telltale hum of energy weapons charging.

They aren’t here to capture me. They’re here to erase me.

I press my back against the crate, breathing slow. Three of them. One on the right, two flanking from the left. They think they have me pinned.

I let them believe it.

The moment the closest one steps into range, I move. I twist low, firing a clean shot through his visor. He crumples before he can react. The others react fast, their weapons tracking my movement, but I’m already in motion.

The second man swings his rifle up, but I close the distance too fast. I drive my elbow into his throat, hearing the satisfying crunch as he stumbles back. He chokes on his own breath—long enough for me to fire a round into his temple.

Two down.

The last one hesitates. It’s the briefest moment, but I see it—the flicker of doubt, the realization that he’s alone now. He knows he’s already lost.

I grab his wrist before he can fire, twisting his arm until he drops the weapon. His breath comes out ragged, adrenaline and fear battling for dominance.

“Talk,” I growl, shoving him against the wall. “Why send an elite unit after me? What does the system think I’m going to create?”

His lips part, but before he can answer, I see it.

A blinking red light on his collar.

My gut tightens.

Self-detonation.

I shove him away as the explosion rips through the room. The blast sends me flying backward, crashing against the wall. My vision blurs, my ears ring with the deafening sound of destruction. Heat scorches my skin, debris pelting my body.

For a moment, everything is white noise.

Then—silence.

Pain radiates through my body, but I push myself up. The safe house is destroyed, the strike team reduced to nothing but ashes and twisted metal.

But the message lingers.

“The system isn’t afraid of what you’ll destroy. It’s afraid of what you’ll create.”

I don’t know what that means. Not yet. But I know one thing for certain.

I’m done running.

I step out into the night, my mind sharper than ever. The hunt isn’t over. It’s only just beginning.

And this time, I won’t be the one being hunted.