Rain tapped the side of his face like fingers. Soft. Then harder. Then sharp.
Cain stirred.
He couldn't breathe. His lungs pulled at the air like they were filled with gravel. Something wet slipped down the corner of his mouth he didn't know if it was blood, rain, or both. His back was pressed against uneven concrete, his legs were numb, his head throbbed with something beyond pain.
The alley around him was narrow and full of rot. Trash bags split open. Steam hissed out of a cracked vent. Neon from a bar sign flickered red and green above the dumpsters, staining the wet walls like smeared blood.
Cain blinked against the blur.
He reached for his ribs too slow. His hand felt wrong. Smaller than it should be. Thinner. A sharp bone jutted under his skin where there should've been muscle. His breath caught again, shallow and fast.
This wasn't his body.
He froze. For three full seconds, he didn't move, didn't breathe.
Then it came.
[System Activated: Reclaimer Sync Incomplete...]
[Timer Initiated – 5 Years Remaining]
A chime like glass cracking in his head.
He flinched.
And then another voice. Not the system.
It came from inside him. Closer than thought.
"No. No. What is this? Why can't I move? Who are you?"
A headache slammed behind his eyes. Cain clenched his jaw and rolled to his side. Vomit came up. Acid. Nothing else.
That voice was alive. Not imagined.
He shoved it down. Mentally, forcefully, like slamming a door shut. The pressure didn't stop, but it dulled muted into background noise. For now.
Cain pushed himself up with one arm and got his back to the wall. Breathing hurt. His teeth chattered. Rain soaked through the torn shirt clinging to this new, borrowed body. It was skin and bones. Barely that.
He scanned the alley. One end led to a chain link fence covered in barbed wire. The other sloped downward into the city. He couldn't see past the steam rising from a busted sewer line.
His mind ran silent. Years of instinct clicked into place.
Assess. Move. Hide later. Survive first.
Cain grabbed a bent metal pipe near the trash pile and used it to get to his feet. His left leg buckled. He steadied it. The hand holding the pipe shook, not from fear but weakness.
This body was broken. But it would do.
Footsteps.
He heard them just before the shape appeared. A shadow at the far end of the alley. Then another. Two figures stepped through the steam, half-laughing, slow and cocky.
One of them cracked his knuckles. The other spun a cheap butterfly knife between his fingers.
"Fresh meat," the taller one muttered. "Didn't even crawl far."
Cain didn't speak.
They walked closer. Boots slapping puddles. The one with the knife crouched, made a clicking sound with his tongue.
"You hear me, rat?"
Cain stepped sideways, putting the wall to his back. His fingers shifted subtly on the pipe. His center of gravity lowered.
The kid lunged. Sloppy. Overconfident.
Cain moved once. A pivot, low. The pipe caught the kid's knee on the way down. Bone cracked. A scream tore out. He didn't stop he stepped in, jammed the pipe across the side of the neck. The kid dropped, coughing blood and water into the street.
The other froze, stunned. Just for a second.
Cain turned.
The second one raised his fists, backing away now, suddenly unsure.
"I shit, man"
Cain didn't follow. He didn't speak. He just stared, one hand soaked red, chest rising like a wolf fresh from the kill.
The second thug ran.
Cain watched until the footsteps vanished.
Then the pain hit. Adrenaline gone, his ribs screamed. The pipe slipped from his hand and hit the pavement with a clang.
The voice came again, sharp and panicked.
"You're not me. What did you just do?"
Cain gritted his teeth and pressed his palms to his temples. The alley spun. A rush of static drowned everything.
Then another chime. Cold and precise.
[Target Neutralized – +12 Hours Granted]
[Reclaimer Thread Stabilizing... Sync Progress: 3%]
Cain's eyes narrowed.
So that's what the timer wants.
Cain stared at the numbers burning behind his eyes.
[4 Years, 364 Days, 23 Hours, 48 Minutes]
The countdown had moved. Twelve hours. Just for killing a thug.
Not justice. Not survival.
It was a rule. A system. And it had one demand.
Keep killing. Or die.
He ran his tongue along his teeth. They didn't feel like his either crooked, chipped, dry. Blood was still in his mouth. His knees were shaking now, not from fear but exhaustion. The pipe in his hand felt heavier than before.
He turned toward the alley's mouth. Rain hit harder now thicker drops, cold against his raw skin. He stepped out into it and felt the chill drag straight into his bones. The street outside wasn't much better. Cracked concrete. Flashing neon signs. Trash soaked in gutter runoff.
People walked with their heads down. They didn't look twice. That was good. He needed time.
But time was exactly what he didn't have.
The system had taken that away.
Five years to climb back to the top. Less, if he stopped moving.
He passed a broken vending machine blinking red across the street and leaned against the corner of a closed pawn shop. His breath came short. Shaky. He coughed into his palm red again. This body was running on borrowed fuel.
Cain wiped his hand on the back of his shirt. No use hiding it. He looked like every other dying rat out here. But something about that… worked. No one watched a ghost.
"You shouldn't have done that."
The voice stabbed through his skull without warning. Eli again.
"You didn't have to kill him. You could've just why are you even in here?"
Cain hissed through his teeth and pressed two fingers into his temple. The headache came like a wave. Hot and deep. He leaned into the wall and forced his breathing to slow.
"This is my body. You shouldn't be in it."
"Then take it back," Cain muttered under his breath.
A man passed by on the sidewalk and gave him a wide berth. Cain didn't look up. He just counted his heartbeat. Tried to outlast the noise in his head.
It didn't go away. But it dulled again. Sinking back into the corners of his mind like a bruise under ice.
Don't talk to it. Don't feed it. It's just noise.
He pushed off the wall. His legs still hurt. But he could move.
And movement was everything.
He turned down a side street smaller, darker, with rusted fire escapes and flickering blue lights from old security cams. He needed food. Shelter. Clothes. The ones he wore clung to his skin like wet rags, heavy with blood and street water.
Another turn. A tighter alley.
This one didn't stink as bad. The rain here pooled slower. Less trash.
There. A guy slouched under a makeshift awning. Thin jacket. Unlit cigarette in his mouth. A flick blade in his hand. Tossing it up, catching it, again and again.
Cain slowed. The guy looked up. Narrowed eyes. Scar under one cheek. Didn't look scared. Didn't look drunk either.
"You look lost," the guy said.
Cain didn't answer.
The man stood, casual, spinning the knife once before flipping it closed. "We don't like ghosts wandering down our alleys. You ain't part of Guttercrew. You look too soft for even the kids."
Cain took one more step. "Don't care."
That made the man grin. "You will."
He moved fast.
The knife came out mid-step. Blade glinting. Straight thrust toward Cain's ribs.
Cain let his shoulder drop, twisted into the movement, and caught the guy's wrist mid-swing. The motion nearly failed his muscles gave out halfway, but he forced it through. The knife missed.
Then Cain's knee came up. Hard.
The man gasped. Stumbled. Cain wrenched the knife free, elbowed him in the neck, then pressed the blade just under the man's eye.
Close. Breaths between them. Rain falling between their faces.
"Try again," Cain whispered.
The man froze. His hands opened. Dropped something a patch. Black cloth, silver thread. A stitched emblem: a rat skull with a crown.
Cain didn't blink.
Guttercrew.
The man stared at him. "You hit fast for a half-dead stray."
Cain eased the blade back a little. "I need in."
The guy wiped his mouth, spat blood into the alley wall. "Into what?"
"Your crew."
"You got a name?"
Cain hesitated.
Then he gave one.
"Ghost Rat."
The man gave a dry laugh. "You naming yourself now?"
Cain didn't answer.
The man grinned with cracked teeth. "Alright, Ghost Rat. Let's see if the rats bite back."
He turned, waved Cain to follow.
Cain glanced once at the cloth in his hand.
Then stepped forward