The dam rose in the distance like some vast and slumbering beast of steel, its bulk outlined in harsh white light that cut through the surrounding darkness. The main reservoir of the city—Feitsu Dam, or whatever it was actually called—stood guarded not by locks and signs, but by men. Many men.
Two hundred of them, at least.
Jeff lay crouched in the brush at the forest's edge, half-hidden among damp leaves and brittle branches, staring out at the structure with narrowed eyes. Floodlights swept across the perimeter in slow, methodical arcs, guard towers standing like watchful sentinels while armed soldiers paced their routes below, rifles slung with casual familiarity.
It was… a lot.
"…Yeah," Jeff whispered to himself, "this is kind of overkill for water."
He scratched his cheek, frowning.
Why did a normal city even need this much military? It was just water. People drank it. Brushed their teeth with it. Occasionally dropped their phones into it.
But then again—
Jeff had spent enough time online to know that everywhere in Asia seemed to hate everywhere else in Asia for reasons no one ever explained properly. History, pride, food, flags—something like that. Everyone wanted to be number one, apparently.
"Whole continent's like a ranked match," he muttered. "No chill."
Still, the result was clear.
Security.
And lots of it.
Drones buzzed faintly overhead from time to time, small blinking lights drifting across the sky. Cameras lined the outer walls. Motion sensors—probably. Jeff didn't actually know what those looked like, but he was sure they were there.
"Man… where are the robots though?" he whispered, peering harder. "Like, if I was the military, I'd totally have robots. Gundams maybe. Just one big one standing there like—'Don't touch the water.'"
He paused.
"…Actually, that'd be kinda impractical."
A beat.
"…Still cool though."
Jeff blinked, then shook his head slightly.
What was he even thinking about?
He was crouched in a bush.
Holding a bio-weapon.
Planning to poison a city.
And he was thinking about anime robots.
"…Focus," he muttered, lightly slapping his own cheek.
The reality remained the same.
The place was locked down.
A high fence wrapped around the perimeter—thick, reinforced, and lined with barbed wire. Even worse, faint warning signs hung along it, and though Jeff couldn't read all of them clearly, the universal lightning bolt symbol was easy enough to understand.
Electric.
"Yeah, I'm not touching that," he whispered.
Even with his newly upgraded, slightly-less-useless body, he was still very much killable. In fact, being electrocuted to death while trying to climb a fence would be an extremely stupid way to go—and even Jeff had standards.
He shifted slightly, squatting deeper into the bushes.
From afar, the soldiers looked… relaxed.
Too relaxed.
Some walked their routes with lazy steps, rifles hanging loose. Others chatted quietly, their attention drifting. It was secure, yes—but it wasn't perfect.
Nothing ever was.
"…If I was an emo elf rogue right now," Jeff murmured, squinting at the fence, "I'd just hit stealth mode. Maybe roll a crit. Use, like… advanced trigonometry or whatever."
He nodded to himself.
"That's how stealth works."
But unfortunately—
He was not an emo elf rogue.
He was Jeff.
A pale, underqualified human with the physical strength of a motivated toddler and a very bad plan.
"…Yeah, this sucks," he sighed.
For a moment, he considered giving up.
Not permanently—just temporarily. Maybe go back, rethink things, watch a few tutorials or something. "How to infiltrate military bases for beginners." There had to be something like that online.
Then—
Movement.
Jeff's eyes narrowed.
At the far side of the perimeter, the main gate shifted.
With a low, mechanical rumble, it began to open.
"…Huh?"
Jeff leaned forward slightly, peering through the branches.
Lights shifted. Voices carried faintly through the air. A vehicle—maybe—was approaching or leaving. The soldiers near the gate moved differently now, attention focused, positions shifting just enough to create something rare.
A gap.
Not wide or safe, but something possible.
Jeff's expression slowly changed.
"…Oh."
His grip tightened slightly around the container in his hand.
And for once, his dumb luck might actually be enough. An opportunity had appeared.
From the shadowed edge of the forest, where Jeff crouched half-swallowed by brush and damp earth, the great gate of the dam groaned open, and from within that harshly lit enclosure emerged a small procession that at once drew his wandering attention into a sharper, quieter focus. Several soldiers in dull green uniforms dragged forth a figure between them—a short, broken man, his body limp with exhaustion and marked everywhere by violence. Blood darkened his clothes, his face swollen and split, his steps no longer his own as he was hauled like refuse toward the threshold. Behind them came another: a tall, pale, thin officer whose posture carried the casual arrogance of one long accustomed to obedience and consequence never reaching him.
Jeff leaned forward slightly, squinting through the dimness, straining with what he believed to be his heightened "white man senses," catching fragments of their voices as they cut through the cold air.
"Don't think I won't shoot you!" the officer barked, his tone sharp with contempt. "Your little wife's having a real good time with me. Come back again, and you're dead."
The words fell like rot upon the night. Then, with a careless motion, the officer drove his boot into the smaller man's side, sending him crumpling fully to the ground. The wounded figure coughed, blood spilling from his lips, before he was dragged the last few feet and cast beyond the gate like something no longer worth the trouble of killing. The barrier closed behind him, sealing the light away, leaving him in darkness.
Jeff watched.
The man—no more than a dwarf in stature, though clearly older and worn by labor—lay there trembling for a time before forcing himself upright, his movements unsteady, his breath ragged. His face, beneath the grime and blood, had turned a dull ashen gray, and though his body shook, he did not cry out. He simply stood, turned, and began to walk away from the dam, into the forest, as though guided by nothing but the faint instinct to continue existing.
"Oh… damn," Jeff murmured softly.
There was no real pity in his voice, only a distant acknowledgment, as though he were watching some particularly heavy scene in a film he only half understood. Judging by the man's rough clothes and the dust ground into his skin, Jeff guessed he was some kind of miner from nearby—one of those background NPC types who existed only to suffer in stories like this. There were no female soldiers in that camp, that much was obvious, which meant the rest was easy enough for Jeff's mind to assemble in its own crude way.
"Yeah… officer guy couldn't keep it in his pants," he muttered. "Classic villain behavior."
The place was remote, cut off enough that power meant something absolute. A man like that—rank, authority, soldiers at his command—wouldn't fear the police, and even if someone called them, Jeff was fairly certain it would end badly for the caller instead. The world worked like that. He had learned enough to know it.
His gaze followed the smaller man as he staggered into the woods—into the same woods where Jeff himself crouched unseen.
"That look…" Jeff whispered, tilting his head slightly. "Yeah. That's despair, alright. Poor guy."
And then—slowly, lazily—something in Jeff's mind clicked into place.
There's… a way.
He shifted slightly, eyes narrowing as the idea formed, crude and immediate.
"System," he thought, his voice low even within his own head, "what happens if the blacklight virus gets injected straight into someone? Like, no mixing, no water, just—bam."
The response came without delay.
"Warning. This constitutes an extremely dangerous action. A concentrated blacklight virus will fundamentally alter the subject's existence."
Jeff's lips curled faintly.
"…Stronger?"
"More accurately: the subject will become an extremely fearsome lifeform."
Jeff's grin widened, sharp and stupid and full of misplaced excitement.
"That's exactly what I want," he whispered. "I mean, think about it—if I juice this guy up and he goes full psycho on those soldiers, that's basically free chaos. I just walk in after. Easy."
Without hesitation, he spent the single, lonely Despair Point he had earned. In his hand, alongside the cold metal container, there now appeared a syringe—simple, functional, perfectly suited to draw from the swirling crimson within. Jeff carefully extracted a small amount, watching the liquid settle into the chamber with a kind of fascinated satisfaction.
Then he looked up.
The dwarf was closer now, moving slowly along a narrow path through the trees, his steps uneven, his breathing audible even from a distance. Jeff climbed lightly onto a small rock, peering through the branches, his scarlet eyes fixed upon the man as though observing some fragile experiment waiting to begin.
And then, in what he believed to be a smooth, alluring tone—something between a whisper and what he imagined villains sounded like—Jeff called out:
"Hey… handsome. Do you… want revenge?"
In stories—at least the ones Jeff half-remembered—there were always figures like this. Pale, foreign, other. Tempting. Offering power in exchange for something never clearly defined.
White men, in Jeff's understanding of mythology, were exactly that. Dangerous. Corrupting. The kind that showed up at the worst moment and made everything worse.
And Jeff—being a particularly low-grade example—did his best.
The wounded man stopped.
"Who…?" he croaked, lifting his head weakly, eyes scanning the darkness with wary confusion and a flicker of fear.
Jeff didn't step out. Not yet.
Instead, he spoke again, louder this time, less subtle, because subtlety was not something he possessed.
"Your wife's out there selling herself, man. You're just gonna take that? Really? You should drag her back home and—y'know—fix that situation."
The words were crude, misplaced, and entirely Jeff.
"I…" The man faltered, his voice breaking as memory flooded back. Once, there had been something resembling a life—simple, perhaps, but whole. A wife, a home, something worth returning to. Then came the officer, with his authority and his soldiers and the quiet certainty that nothing would be done to stop him. The man had gone to the police, had spoken the truth—and for that, he had been imprisoned, accused, humiliated.
And when he returned—
He had seen it with his own eyes.
His wife, not resisting, not crying, but nestled in the arms of that pale, thin man.
The memory twisted inside him like a blade.
"No money… no power…" he whispered hoarsely. "I've already lost everything."
Hatred burned there—but it had nowhere to go.
"No…" Jeff's voice came again, softer now, leaning into something that almost resembled persuasion. "You've still got your life."
The words slid into the man's mind like poison.
"Do you want revenge? Take this… special steroid I've got. You'll be strong. Strong enough to slap the people who took everything from you."
Slap them.
The simplicity of it struck something deep and broken.
The man's hands trembled, slowly clenching. The officer's face returned again and again in his mind, that thin, mocking expression, that voice, those words. The pain in his body only sharpened it, feeding the fire already consuming him.
Revenge.
For his wife.
For himself.
For everything.
For the first time in his life, the man felt a clarity that cut through the despair. A single, desperate need.
Power.
"…Give it to me," he said at last, his voice low, shaking. "Please… give me the steroids."
And so, without knowing it—
He accepted the hand of something far worse than the men he hated.
Jeff's bloodshot, faintly glowing eyes lit with a crude, almost childish excitement as he watched the man before him tremble beneath the weight of his own hatred. Yes—this was it. This was exactly the kind of person he needed. A man with nothing left, a man already broken, already teetering on the edge—someone who would grab at anything, no matter how insane, if it meant even the illusion of revenge. Jeff never tired of this sight. In truth, the closest he had come before was watching people online rage-quit games after he beat them, hurling insults and calling their mothers things that didn't even make sense—but this… this was better. Real. Messy. Alive.
"Good," Jeff murmured, his voice dipping into what he imagined was something dark and cinematic. "I can feel your anger. Now accept your destiny, and once more you will rule the galaxy—and… we shall have peace. Or, uh… you'll get your wife back. Same thing."
The man blinked, confused, his battered face tightening as if trying to make sense of the nonsense—but he was given no time to speak. A flicker of silver cut through the dark as Jeff burst from the bushes with all the subtlety of a falling rock.
"Hey man, take this shit!"
Before the man could react, Jeff grabbed him by the collar and drove the syringe forward with surprising precision, the needle sinking into the side of his neck. The man shouted something sharp and furious in a language Jeff didn't understand, his voice breaking into a cry as the crimson liquid began to flow, slow and steady, into his body.
Then came the reaction.
With a sudden burst of strength, the man shoved Jeff back and drove a savage kick upward, catching him squarely between the legs.
Jeff collapsed instantly.
The syringe slipped from his hand, clattering uselessly to the ground—empty.
"You dare grab me?!" the man roared, staggering backward, rage and pain twisting his features. "I'm not your child, you psycho bastard! What did you put in me?!"
Jeff, meanwhile, knelt on the forest floor, clutching himself with both hands, his face contorted in silent agony.
"…That… was uncalled for…" he wheezed.
But even as he spoke, something changed.
The man froze.
His eyes—already wild—flashed, the whites flooding with a deep, unnatural crimson. His body shuddered violently, muscles tightening, swelling, expanding beneath torn fabric as though something beneath his skin was forcing its way outward. His beard lengthened, spilling down over his chest, his frame thickening—not growing taller, but wider, denser, packed with unnatural mass.
Jeff slowly lifted his head.
"…Oh," he whispered.
Before him, the transformation accelerated. Muscle layered upon muscle in grotesque excess, his proportions warping into something monstrous—like a compact, overbuilt titan, absurd and terrifying all at once.
"Oh, mother Mary…" Jeff breathed, eyes widening as he watched the man's body twist into something new. "That's like… a dwarf Hulk. But… Asian."
A true monstrosity took shape.
The man—no, the creature—tilted its head back and released a low, guttural howl toward the sky, a sound that carried through the forest like the cry of something no longer bound by human limits. Its skin split in places, revealing thick cords of crimson muscle beneath, pulsing and alive. Bone jutted outward, forming jagged claws along its elbows, while its fingernails lengthened into blade-like talons.
It grew… not cleanly, not naturally—but in layers, as though flesh were being stacked upon itself without regard for form. Bloated. Heavy. Wrong.
At last, it stilled.
And then—it looked at Jeff.
Those massive, glowing red eyes fixed on him, and slowly, impossibly, it smiled—a wide, sharp, almost mocking grin that mirrored Jeff's own in a twisted reflection.
Jeff stared back.
"…What the fuck is that?"
The creature dropped suddenly onto all fours, its bulk shifting with unnatural ease. Its claws tore into the earth as though it were digging, testing, feeling. Its mouth opened, revealing long, jagged fangs, and from within, a tongue too long, too thick, slid out and dripped with a dark, corrosive fluid that hissed faintly as it touched the ground.
Then—
"UGHHH—AAAH!"
It roared.
Not like a man.
Not even like an animal.
But something in between—and beyond.
And then it ran.
With terrifying speed, its powerful limbs drove it forward like a berserker unleashed, tearing through the undergrowth toward the dam as though guided by instinct alone—drawn by something it could not name but desperately desired.
Jeff staggered to his feet, still slightly hunched, and followed at a distance, pushing through the trees until he reached the edge of the forest. From there, he watched.
The creature didn't slow.
Didn't hesitate.
It slammed directly into the front gate.
Metal screamed.
The structure buckled.
And then—
Alarms erupted.
Lights flared to life.
Voices shouted.
Gunfire followed.
Jeff blinked slowly.
"…Okay," he said after a moment. "Well. That just happened."
He tilted his head, watching the chaos unfold, then nodded to himself as though making an important decision.
"Yeah… you need a name."
He spread his hands slightly, as if presenting something grand.
"Little Hunter," he declared.
The name hung there.
Perfect.
Jeff closed his eyes briefly, tilting his head as he listened—the roars, the screams, the frantic shouting of soldiers, the sharp crack of gunfire echoing into the night.
"…Nice," he murmured.
Then he opened his eyes again.
"…Oh."
A pause.
"…Oh, wait."
The realization hit him slowly.
Sweat began to form along his pale face.
"If the government figures out I was here…" he muttered, voice tightening, "…I'm actually screwed."
He stood there for a moment, thinking.
Or trying to.
Nothing came.
No plan.
No escape route.
No clever solution.
Just the very real understanding that he had just unleashed something extremely illegal, extremely visible, and extremely traceable.
"…Okay," Jeff said at last, nodding firmly to himself as if arriving at a stroke of genius. "Then I'll just go all in."
He straightened slightly, gripping the metal container in his hand.
"If everything's already chaos," he reasoned, "then no one can track anything. That's… that's how it works."
A perfect plan.
In his mind, at least.
"…Yeah," Jeff muttered. "I'll just start the apocalypse for real."