On Interstate 80 from Chicago to New York.
Right now, Rorschach had only one thought:
If he'd known the drive would take this long, he should've just flown.
It had already been five hours since he left Chicago. Even pushing the speed the whole way, he was still about two hundred kilometers out from New York.
He grabbed the coffee beside him and took a long swig. With the road fairly empty, he let his attention drift a little.
In his mind, fifty‑two streaks of blood‑red light floated quietly.
He did a rough count. He had definitely killed more than that in the park last night.
Judging by the number of red streaks, some of the dead gunmen were probably just "freshly trained"—no blood on their hands yet, their sins not heavy enough to generate Justice Value when executed.
Still, fifty‑two points were enough to level up two skills.
Rorschach swept his mental panel quickly over the ones eligible for an upgrade:
Unarmed Combat Mastery (80/100), Cold Weapons Mastery (70/100), Tactical Sniping Mastery (60/100), Counter‑Surveillance Mastery (80/100), Tracking Mastery (80/100), Medical Mastery (70/100).
Unarmed Combat was a no‑brainer. For someone fighting on the front line of the city's rot, that one had to go up.
As for the rest… his gaze moved back and forth between Counter‑Surveillance and Tracking.
If he were a wanted man right now, his past exposed, Counter‑Surveillance would be the obvious first pick.
But he was still a cop.
After weighing it up, he chose to upgrade Unarmed Combat and Tracking. The first would give him a big bump in close‑quarters power; the second would make it far easier to find and run down targets.
Twenty points and twenty points. With a thought, forty red streaks vanished.
Screech—!
The pickup slammed on the brakes hard enough to skid, tires carving long black arcs on the asphalt before it finally shuddered to a stop.
Inside, steam seemed to roll off Rorschach's body as a flood of knowledge crashed through his head. Muscle memory surged awake throughout his frame, like it was being reforged a thousand times over.
When the rush finally ebbed, he drew a deep breath and let his awareness slide back into the present.
Two new skills glowed on his panel:
Unarmed Combat Mastery → Extreme Combat
Upgrade effects: The host's hand‑to‑hand skills reach a peak, allowing efficient combat in extreme environments (high altitude, underwater, confined spaces, etc.).
Extreme Adaptation: Maintain superior fighting ability in extreme conditions.
Extreme Burst: Unleash terrifying combat power for short periods.
Extreme Reflex: React instantly under extreme stress, avoiding lethal damage.
Tracking Mastery → Trace Analysis Master
Upgrade effects: The host can infer a target's movement pattern and condition from minute traces.
Trace Reading: Track a target via footprints, broken branches, and similar signs.
State Analysis: Judge the target's speed, mood, and physical condition from their traces.
Environmental Reasoning: Use environmental clues to predict the target's future route.
He exhaled slowly. His shirt was soaked through.
The upgraded skills looked great on paper. The process of getting them… not so much.
Extreme Combat, Trace Analysis Master.
The first looked very similar to Gun‑Fu—both built for handling enemies in the worst possible conditions. Faster reactions, sharper technique, more explosive power.
Shame there was no live test handy to see what it could really do.
As for Trace Analysis Master…
He checked the road around him, made sure it was clear, then stepped out of the truck to the shoulder.
He crouched and ran a fingertip lightly along a faint tire mark in the dirt.
In a heartbeat, information bloomed across his mind.
"Vehicle turned right, not going very fast—about ninety klicks an hour. Tread pattern runs horizontal, wear is even. Owner mostly drives in the city and takes decent care of it."
He tapped the ground, feeling the hardness.
"Depth is uneven. There was something in the trunk. Front‑wheel drive; front impressions are deeper than the rear."
"Tread has deep symmetric grooves and a wide profile. Off‑road tires."
From one tire track, he'd pinned down speed, drive type, load, tread style, and driving habits.
He stood up, genuinely surprised.
He hadn't consciously reasoned any of that out. It had just… appeared.
Trace Analysis Master was interesting.
Back in the cab, he eyed the twelve remaining red streaks in his mind and started to dump them into Counter‑Surveillance.
Then something else caught his attention—the little box off to the side:
Bed* Mastery (99/100)
He realized only now that it was nearly capped.
He stared at the label, shrugged, and without overthinking it, pushed Counter‑Surveillance up to 91, then tossed his last point into that skill.
A warm current surged out from his core, ran through every inch of him, and when it faded he focused on the new label.
Desire Control
Upgrade effects: By reading breath, body temperature, muscle tension, and other physiological signals, the host can adjust in real time, prolonging encounters and creating addictive dependency.
Long‑Term Control: Take absolute dominance in a relationship, establishing both physical and psychological dependence in the partner.
Intel Extraction: In special situations, use desire to fog a target's judgment and draw out information.
"What the actual f*ck is this supposed to be?!"
——————————————
New York, Manhattan.
While Rorschach was still reeling from his "upgrade," the Irish brothers were staring at a mansion estate in the distance, both frowning.
"You're sure that car really came in here?"
"I dropped twenty grand to bribe the community security chief and pull the footage. I'm not wrong."
"Then this makes no sense. We're working a trafficking case. How the hell did we end up here?"
Connor glanced at his brother, then instinctively looked at the brass plaque by the gate.
Aside from the street name and house number, a line of golden letters gleamed on it:
Puff Daddy.
"Who knows what kind of filthy crap these Hollywood celebrities get up to when nobody's looking."
(End of Chapter)
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