The room went silent—so quiet Marcus could hear the heartbeat of the guy with the split eyebrow. Their terror was raw now. Gone was the petty thug bravado, the cocky "easy money" smirks. All four intruders looked like they'd aged ten years in the span of ten minutes. The ones on the ground stopped moaning. Even they understood: this teenager, this supposed "burger guy," could end them here and now—and no one would ever know.
"N-No! Please, man!" one of them—the youngest-looking—stammered. "We swear, we won't come back. We're nobodies. Not even part of the main crew!"
"You think I care?" Marcus asked. "You broke into my house. You brought guns. You wanted to rob me—maybe kill me if I didn't comply fast enough. And now you want a favor? Mercy?"
He turned the barrel of the gun slightly, letting the tension build as it passed over each of their faces, then finally rested it on the fourth guy—the one who hadn't spoken yet. The quiet one.
"What about you?" Marcus asked. "You look smarter than the rest. Got anything useful to say?"
The man's lips trembled. "Y-Yeah," he said hoarsely. "I can give you names. Drop locations. Corvo's backup stash house. Look—he runs low-level gigs from a pawn shop near Cypress and 9th. Upstairs is his office. We were told to report back to someone named Ludo if things went smooth. They've been pushing people to watch routes. Your truck showed up on the radar because it moves through high-value zones. Word is—if you have that much traffic, someone's protecting you, or you're moving something hot."
"And you thought you'd test the theory with guns?" Marcus narrowed his eyes.
"N-No! I mean yes—I mean, it wasn't my call. Ludo sent us in. He said we could keep what we found, long as we didn't make noise."
"Well," Marcus said, "You made noise. And what about revenge? Let's say I let you walk out of here tonight. What stops you from ratting me out to your friends? Or sending someone worse to clean up your mess?"
"I swear," the man with the broken hand wheezed. "I swear on my life—we won't! We're done, man! You've got skills. You're not what we thought. We got no beef now. This was just a job! That's all!"
"We'll disappear," another one piped up, desperate. "Look, we'll even call Corvo's drop line and tell him the target was a no-show. A dry run. He'll move on. Hell, you can tip the cops after we leave! They'll raid the shop and bag half his gear. It's not like we're in tight with them—we're disposable. Just let us go."
Marcus stayed silent.
Inside, his brain was processing. Analyzing each micro-expression, monitoring the tones of voice, checking for deception. The system enhancements had given him more than speed and power—it gave him instinct, awareness, the ability to detect slight inconsistencies. He wasn't a human lie detector—but he was close. And right now, they were telling the truth.
But the truth could always change.
"Alright," Marcus said after a long pause. "Here's the deal. You're going to write down everything you know. Names. Drop points. Contact numbers. Gang tags. Anything that might get a cop to take notice. I'll decide what to do with the info."
"Y-Yes. Absolutely. Of course," the tall one said quickly, already digging into his pocket for a crumpled notebook and pen. His hands trembled so badly he almost dropped it. The guy soon wrote down all the information that came to his mind and wrote down everything that he knew.
"Now get out from the back door. The only reason you have clothes on your body is because you have been truthful and you didn't try to use the knife at the back pocket of yours. You passed your test, and thus as a reward, the rest of you get to keep your limbs perfectly fine. The two of you should visit a hospital. Hope you have insurance. Now get the fuck out of my place." Marcus roared by the end.
The fact that Marcus knew that one was carrying a knife and also the location of the knife, made all 4 them almost leap in fear. How did this guy know? This wasn't normal. Was he some kind of omnipotent being?
This is absurd and creepy! No, we can't come back here even in our own nightmares.
Then he turned and looked at the notebook in his hand. Corvo. Ludo. Eastside Spikes.He had names now. He had leads. Not that he would go and be a hero! This had nothing to do with him and would just tip the police off and they can take care of the rest. He wasn't bullet proof, not yet. And for the first time since he'd enhanced himself, he had a reason to use his power on something bigger than survival.
He walked to the sink, rinsed his hands slowly, then dried them with a towel. His heart rate had already returned to baseline. His eyes felt sharp. He looked up at his reflection.
"Not bad for a dumb cook," he muttered to himself.
And then, he smiled. He had really transformed himself and everything around him was real.
------
Days passed.
Marcus didn't sleep much.
He didn't need to, not like before. The biological enhancements that had sharpened his body and mind also allowed him to run efficiently on shorter rest cycles. But even so, rest had become a luxury he didn't feel safe indulging in. The week crawled by, uneventful but heavy with anticipation. No retaliations. No more footsteps outside the building. But Marcus didn't trust it. He lived like a man waiting for lightning to strike twice. The week crawled by, uneventful but heavy with anticipation. No retaliations. No more footsteps outside the building. But Marcus didn't trust it. He lived like a man waiting for lightning to strike twice.
Each morning, he went to the truck, served food like normal. Kept his eyes on the crowd. Every regular face was memorized. Every unfamiliar one got a brief analysis: posture, clothing, potential concealment, escape routes. It was second nature now, almost instinctual. He was watching for Corvo's retaliation—or Ludo's.