A Tyrant In Dc

A dim crescent moon hung low over Gotham, casting weak silver light onto the derelict warehouse Allen now stood before. The rusted exterior and cracked windows screamed abandonment, but the muffled sounds of voices and faint basslines seeping out betrayed its true nature. Bloodfang was here. He could feel it in his bones. The system had confirmed it, and every junkie he'd interrogated before snapping their necks had pointed him here.

Allen adjusted the tight ski mask clinging to his face, the cool fabric brushing against his skin. His Under Armour shirt clung to his body like a second skin, and the combat pants and boots made him feel more prepared for this grim task ahead. He patted his hip where his newly acquired sidearm rested. The "HK VP9" – a custom silenced pistol with enhanced stopping power, designed for stealth but packed enough force to take down a raging bull.

He pulled the slide back, chambering a round. "Alright, Bloodfang," he muttered, his breath fogging in the chilly night air. "Let's see if you're worth all this trouble."

The warehouse's front door was a bad idea. Too many eyes, too much risk. Allen moved along the side of the building, his footsteps muffled by the grimy ground beneath him. He found a side window, cracked open just enough to wedge a blade under and lift. With a swift but careful motion, he slipped inside, landing silently on the concrete floor.

The stench hit him first. A nauseating blend of sweat, cheap booze, and decay. He stayed low, taking in his surroundings. Rows of crates were stacked high, and dim overhead lights flickered ominously. Voices echoed from deeper inside—some laughing, others arguing.

Allen's lips curled into a cold smirk. Time to clean house.

The first guard didn't even hear him coming. Allen crept up behind the man, who was leaned against a crate, scrolling on his phone. With one fluid motion, Allen grabbed him by the chin and yanked it back, snapping his neck with a sickening crack. The body slumped to the floor silently.

[+5 EXP. Total: 572/1000.]

"Off to a good start i didnt even know killing them gave yo exp," Allen whispered, slipping deeper into the shadows.

Two men stood guard near the next section, smoking and sharing a laugh. Allen crouched low, his movements cat-like as he approached. He tossed a small metal screw toward a stack of crates, drawing their attention. The guards turned, distracted by the noise. Allen struck.

The first man went down with a swift elbow to the temple, knocking him unconscious before he could react. The second spun around, but Allen was faster, driving a knife into his throat. The man gurgled, clutching his neck as he sank to the floor.

[+10 EXP. Total: 582/1000.]

[+3 EXP. Total: 585/1000.]

As Allen moved deeper, the voices grew louder. He counted at least five men in the main area, lounging around a makeshift table stacked with cash, drugs, and weapons. One man stood apart, barking orders—clearly the leader of this group.

Allen's gaze narrowed. This was it. Bloodfang's lieutenants.

He reached for his "HK VP9", screwing on the suppressor. Time to get messy.

The first shot was silent, the bullet punching through the nearest man's skull. He dropped instantly, his beer spilling across the table. The others froze for a split second, eyes darting around in confusion. Allen didn't give them a chance to react. He fired twice more, dropping two more men before the rest scrambled for their weapons.

One man charged at him with a machete. Allen sidestepped, using the man's momentum to slam him face-first into the table. With a quick twist of the neck, the man was out cold.

[+7 EXP. Total: 592/1000.]

Two more rushed him from opposite sides. Allen ducked under a wild swing and drove his fist into one's ribs, the force of his enhanced strength shattering bone. The man collapsed, wheezing. The other swung a crowbar, but Allen caught it mid-swing, wrenching it free and smashing it across the man's jaw.

[+10 EXP. Total: 602/1000.]

The leader stood alone now, his pistol trembling in his hands. "Who the hell are you?!" he shouted, his voice cracking.

Allen tilted his head, his ski mask hiding the twisted grin spreading across his face. "I'm the one cleaning up this shithole. Don't worry, you're next."

The man fired, but Allen was already moving. The bullet whizzed past as Allen closed the distance. He grabbed the man's wrist, twisting it until the gun clattered to the floor. A punch to the gut left the leader gasping, and a knee to the face finished the job. The man crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

[+10 EXP. Total: 612/1000.]

The room was silent now, save for Allen's heavy breathing. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, a grim testament to his efficiency. He wiped the sweat from his brow, his adrenaline still pumping.

[Quest Update: Clear the Bloodfang Warehouse. Progress: 8/12.]

Allen frowned. There were still more. His gaze drifted to a door at the far end of the room. It was heavy, reinforced, and slightly ajar. He approached cautiously, gun raised.

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside… and froze.

The room was lined with cages, each containing terrified, malnourished faces staring back at him. Children, teenagers, and adults alike, all crammed together in filthy conditions. The air was thick with despair and fear.

Allen's fists clenched. His blood boiled. "What the hell is this?" he growled under his breath.

The system chimed in his head. [Bonus Objective Unlocked: Free the Captives. Reward: ???]

Allen's gaze hardened. "Alright, Bloodfang," he muttered, his voice low and venomous. "

To Be Continued...