I Die to Rise: Resurrection System-Chapter 94: I Am God!
Cassandra’s plan was simple. Act drunk, cause a ruckus at the checkpoint, get arrested.
Pretend? Bollocks to that.
The only problem with that plan was why the hell would he *pretend* to be drunk when he could get absolutely, magnificently shitfaced for real? Make it a proper show. Method acting at its finest.
So, taking one for the team, and maybe enjoying it a bit too much, Kurt arrived at the borders of the A-rank district completely bollocked, bottle of bourbon in hand, and immediately started throwing a fit.
"D-rank hunter not good enough for you bloody wankers, that it!?" he slurred, fumbling with his zipper.
He unzipped right there, right in front of the cameras, and took a long, theatrical piss against the border wall.
The guards at the checkpoint froze with eyes wide, staring in disbelief. Then one of them finally shouted. "You! That’s public indecency!"
Kurt zipped up, stumbled sideways, and hurled the bourbon bottle at the gate with all the coordination of a newborn giraffe. "Come and get me then, you glorified mall cops!"
The glass shattered, and he made a drunken sprint toward the checkpoint entrance.
He got maybe three steps before two guards tackled him to the ground, slamming him face-first into the pavement. One of them pressed a knee into his back, grinding his cheek against the concrete.
"Certification, runt!?" the guard barked.
Kurt grinned into the pavement. "I think I have it somewhere in my pocket."
The guards immediately started patting him down, rough hands searching through his coat. They found nothing but a lighter and a pack of cigarettes.
"Oh, that’s right," Kurt said, voice muffled against the ground. "My bad, officers. See, the thing is, I left it with your mother last night. Lovely woman. Very flexible."
Before the guard could react, Kurt’s stomach lurched violently, and he threw up all over the man’s boots and trousers.
"Piece of shit!" The guard’s face went red, losing it as he kicked him, boot slamming into Kurt’s ribs while his mates laughed, then hauled back and drove a fist into his gut.
Kurt barely felt it through the alcohol haze, but he folded anyway, groaning dramatically and curling up on the ground like he’d just been shot.
The rest happened fast.
They dragged him into a holding cell, stripped him of his coat, and left him there for twenty minutes before hauling him into a dark interrogation room.
Two guards with batons took turns whipping him across the back and ribs, just for the fun of it, and Kurt gritted his teeth through the pain he barely felt.
Then two men in expensive suits and sunglasses walked in, and the beating stopped.
They had to be official Dungeon Authority representatives. The kind of bureaucratic vultures who processed prisoners and decided their fates with a rubber stamp and zero sympathy.
They sat down across from Kurt under a flickering fluorescent light, and for a moment, nobody spoke.
Finally, one of them opened a folder and cleared his throat. "Kurt Manchester. We have you on indecent public exposure, assaulting and harassing an officer, disrupting the peace—"
"You know whose peace I disrupted just before coming here?" Kurt interrupted, grinning through split lips. "Your mum’s. She said I could disrupt her peace anytime, mate."
The official’s fist clenched on the table, jaw tightening, but he took a slow breath through his nose, maintaining his composure, and continued. "Assaulting and harassing an officer, disrupting the pe—"
"You know what they call people who wear sunglasses indoors?" Kurt interrupted again, still slurring slightly.
This time, the other man smiled faintly and took off his sunglasses. "No. What do they call them?"
Kurt squinted at both of them, then grinned wider. "A douchebag. I’m looking at a pair of douchebags."
He paused, glancing at the one who’d removed his glasses. "Okay, looking at one douchebag then," he corrected.
Suddenly, a hand shot across the table and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him halfway out of his chair and slamming him against the wall. The interrupted official’s face was red with rage, veins bulging in his neck.
"Listen here, you D-rank worthless piece of crap," the man snarled. "I could kill you right here and no one would ever know. You’re just some nobody. Worse than stepped-on gum."
He tightened his grip, and Kurt’s vision started to blur around the edges.
"Now where was I..." The man released him, and Kurt slumped back into the chair, gasping. "Disrupting the peace. And worst of all, trying to get into the A-rank district without the right certification."
The other official adjusted his tie, glasses still off, expression calm. "And that alone is worth ten years in the Circle."
Whoever said bureaucracy was dead? Because in an instant, Kurt was blindfolded, cuffed, and tossed into the back of a transport van heading straight for a ship docked at the A-rank district harbor.
***
[SHIP HORN BLARING]
The sound echoed through the cargo hold, indicating they’d arrived at the border of the Garden. Kurt straightened in his seat, face still covered by a black sack that smelled like sweat.
"Here we go," he muttered.
All the prisoners were walked out of the ship in a single-file line, and the sacks were ripped from their heads. Kurt blinked against the sudden brightness, squinting at the massive wall of vegetation surrounding them.
The Garden loomed ahead, a dense jungle of bioengineered horrors that looked beautiful and deadly in equal measure.
Flowers the size of car tires bloomed between towering trees with bark that pulsed faintly, like they were breathing.
They were herded onto a blimp that lifted off smoothly, carrying them over the Garden and toward the Walk. Kurt pressed his face against the window, watching the green canopy pass beneath them, and he could’ve sworn one of the trees turned to watch the blimp pass overhead.
The blimp landed on a concrete platform in the Middle Ring— The Walk. The prisoners were issued light brown prison uniforms that smelled of industrial detergent after processing, and they all shuffled out, looking identical.
Kurt changed without complaint, already cataloguing exits, camera angles, weak points in the identical buildings that stretched forever in every direction, while scratching at the rough fabric because it itched like hell.
Then the Warden showed up.
He was a thick man, barrel-chested with a pot belly straining at the buttons. A belly that contrasted sharply with his muscular arms.
His blue military uniform was pressed to perfection, medals gleaming on his chest, and his face was all hard lines.
"I am the Warden!" he bellowed, pacing in front of the line of prisoners like a drill sergeant inspecting fresh recruits. "In here, I am God! You are all locked up here for being worthless maggots! And I only expect one thing from you maggots. I say jump, you ask how high!"
Kurt couldn’t help it. A small snort escaped his lips.
The Warden’s head snapped toward him immediately, eyes narrowing, and he strode forward until they were nose to nose. "Something funny, boy?"
"Nope," Kurt said, still grinning. "Nothing funny at all, Warden."
The Warden’s boot came up fast, slamming into Kurt’s chest and knocking him backward. He hit the ground hard, and before he could recover, the Warden’s boot came down on his face, grinding his cheek into the concrete that cracked a little from the impact.
"There’s always one like you," the Warden said, twisting his boot slowly. "It’s always best to show them quickly where they stand."
He kept grinding, staring at the other prisoners, and pointed. "The same goes for all of you!"
Kurt tasted blood. His nose throbbed. But he kept grinning.
Finally, the Warden stepped back, wiping his boot on Kurt’s shirt like he was scraping off dog shit. "Get them into their fucking cells."
The guards all dressed in full body armor, faces hidden behind black helmets that also muffled their voices, moved in immediately, grabbing prisoners by the arms and dragging them toward the cell blocks. Kurt was hauled to his feet, head spinning, and shoved forward.
"In here, number 222."
A cell door hissed open after a key card was swiped at the scanner, and Kurt was pushed inside. It slammed shut behind him with a metallic clang that echoed down the corridor.
Kurt sighed and took in the room, and it was a joke. Barely wide enough to stretch his arms horizontally. A metal bunk, a toilet that looked insulted to exist, and four walls that pressed in like they had opinions.
He scanned the small space, sweeping for cameras. There were none. At least they respected privacy.
He sat on the bunk, rolled his shoulders, and raised his hand in front of his face. "Here goes nothing."
With a deep breath, he snapped his fingers, and immediately, a small flame flickered to life on his index finger.
"Correction warden," he exhaled slowly, grinning. "In here... I am God."
A notification screen materialized in his vision, bright blue text floating in the dim cell.
[NEW SYSTEM QUEST]
[- Find Riley Richards]
[- Reward: +5 Points]
Kurt dismissed it with a thought and pulled up his ability list. He had 100 points burning a hole in his metaphorical pocket, and it was time to spend them wisely.
First priority: mobility. If he was going to navigate a prison system built to disorient and trap, he needed to be slippery.
[UPGRADE CONFIRMED]
[Elasticity → Plastic Man: C-Rank]
[Cost: 30 Points]
[Available Points: 70]
[Notice: Elasticity has evolved to Plastic man]
[New Description: Host’s body can now stretch, compress, and reshape with comic-book absurdity. Limits still apply]
Kurt flexed his hand experimentally, and his fingers stretched like taffy, extending a foot before snapping back to normal length. "Bloody brilliant."
It was perfect for reaching through bars, slipping cuffs, maybe even squeezing under doors if he got creative.
Next up: utility. If he was going to pull off a prison break, he needed to be able to swipe keys, weapons, anything that wasn’t nailed down.
[UPGRADE CONFIRMED]
[Swindler → Theft: C-Rank]
[Cost: 25 Points]
[Available Points: 45]
[Notice: Swindler has evolved to Theft]
[New Description: Steal objects from targets within extended range without physical contact or line of sight. Weight limit significantly increased. Can now steal intangible things]
Kurt’s grin widened. He had 45 points left. Enough for one more upgrade, or he could spread it across multiple abilities.
"Alright, let’s see..."
He scrolled through the list, considering his options. What else would be useful in a place designed to strip hunters of their power?
