“OH MY GOD!!!”
“?”
“Dead center! That’s freaking unreal!”
“No way in hell!”
The shout died out, and the range went dead quiet.
It took a beat before disbelieving whispers started trickling in.
Sheriff Shanik’s eyes were glued to the target, a slow, hungry grin spreading across his face.
Black-and-white paper target. Every white ring untouched. Every black scoring zone punched full of bullet holes.
Insane raw talent.
Razor-sharp combat instinct.
Imagine swapping this target for some scumbag hiding in the shadows, pouring lead straight into the dark—not a single miss.
A thought popped into Shanik’s head: this kid might just knock Los Angeles’ crime rate down ten whole points.
“A genius.”
“A goddamn genius. The kind that hunts darkness. Our Anti-Crime and Narcotics Unit needs guys exactly like you.”
“I spent ten years grinding, forging my tactical team into a tight, lethal unit. But you, Damon. If you sign on with us? We’re gonna make history.”
Shanik strode over and clapped a heavy palm down on Damon Hart’s shoulder. His voice boomed for everyone on the range to hear.
“Alright, listen up. Trainee Damon Hart, badge number 9527, has passed the LAPD internal evaluation. Effective immediately, he’s an official officer with the Los Angeles Police Department Anti-Crime and Narcotics Division!”
“Get his paperwork squared away stat.”
“Everyone, welcome him.”
Shanik started clapping, his eyes bright with expectation and respect.
The applause rolled out. Dozens of hardened SWAT operators lifted their hands, and not a single one grumbled.
Cops out here, especially the ones who run headfirst into danger every day, don’t play nice just for show. LA cops are blunt, rivalries are out in the open, and these guys had their share of friction behind closed doors.
But Damon’s shot pattern—only the black zones, nothing else—had shut all the doubt down cold.
“Damon, if you’re in a bind on a call, hit SWAT up anytime.”
“We’ve got your six. Fire support, city cover, whatever you need.”
A couple of tactical operators stepped forward to shake his hand, burning his face into memory.
A quiet smile tugged at Damon Hart’s lips.
To everyone else, his marksmanship looked like magic. Only he knew he’d started out with nothing more than basic shooting skills.
The real edge was that crime-crushing talent.
A gift from the system. It stacked extra accuracy, faster draw speed, target lock bonuses. All he needed was a quick sight picture, squeeze the trigger, and the bullets homed right in on that dark zone.
Still, Damon hadn’t expected this kind of reception from Narcotics and SWAT.
Everyone always said LAPD cops were hard to get along with. But now he saw it: when you’re all chasing the same thing, hunting the shadows, fitting in wasn’t half as tough.
He turned the thought over in his head, a quiet sense of awe settling in.
A little while later, Sergeant Julia Hayes took him to pick up his kit, fill out the forms, and sign for his sidearm and ammo.
That’s when it hit.
【Ding.】
【System Alert.】
【Mission Complete: Pass the LAPD internal evaluation.】
A faint glow unfolded in front of Damon, like a score sheet popping up after a trial.
【Mission Completion: 100%】
【Standout Performance: Shots landed exclusively on dark zones, zero stray rounds. Fast-tracked for recruitment.】
【Mission Rating: S】
【Rewards: 10 Attribute Points, 5 Skill Points】
【S-Rank Fast-Track Bonus: +5 Attribute Points, +2 Skill Points】
【Rank Promotion: Trainee Officer → Full Officer. Special Reward: Concealable Bulletproof Tee + Bulletproof Shorts Set】
Damon pulled up his status screen in his mind, no hesitation, and started allocating points.
Three core stats. Constitution handled durability, immune response, recovery, stamina—the foundation of everything. He dumped five points there first.
Strength wasn’t just punching power. It translated to sprint speed. Stronger legs meant faster bursts. This wasn’t some video game where agility owned all the speed.
Agility governed reaction time, situational awareness, learning, and fine motor control.
His final call: +5 Constitution, +8 Strength, +2 Agility.
That left seven Skill Points.
He didn’t overthink it. All seven went into Pistol Marksmanship. Basic → Intermediate → Advanced → Elite → Master. Straight to Gun God.
Five points blew the skill cap wide open. Pistol mastery hit the absolute ceiling.
“Last two points into Close-Quarters Combat.”
A rush of adrenaline washed over Damon. Few men could beat the high of getting stronger, refining yourself piece by piece. Only catch? No infinite points to burn.
The second the points locked in, a warm surge flooded every fiber of his body.
It felt like his frame was about to split open from the power.
Damon fought the sensation down, said he was hitting the head, locked himself in a bathroom stall.
The upgrade energy went to work reshaping him. Billions of cells woke up, fresh and vital. Muscles, skin, bones shifting silently.
His skin looked smoother, but the protection beneath spiked hard. His weight ticked up as muscle density climbed, bones thickening subtly.
At the same time, a flood of firearms knowledge crashed into his brain.
It was like fifty straight years of nothing but pistol work, day in and day out. Every handgun model on the planet felt familiar, more natural than his own fingers.
People talked about the ten-thousand-hour rule for mastery. But fifty years of nonstop drilling? That was how you forged a Gun God.
“I bought this with points, but the muscle memory is burned into me. It feels like I put in those fifty years myself.”
Gun God tier pistol skill was the absolute peak of handgun craft on this planet. Not many people in history could devote fifty years, every single day, to perfect one thing.
If Damon stepped back on the range now? Fifty meters, dead center, every shot.
His hand-to-hand skill settled into muscle memory too, like a decade of brutal, consistent training etched into his bones.
Five minutes later, the transformation finished.
He was lean, dense, perfectly balanced. His height climbed from 188 cm to 189 cm.
Energy hummed nonstop inside him.
His sight and hearing sharpened, his awareness of every small sound and movement around him multiplied. He controlled his own body with surgical precision.
His stat sheet hung in his mind:
【Damon Hart】
Rank: Full Police Officer
Attributes: Strength 17, Constitution 14, Agility 12 (Average human baseline: 10)
Skills: Gun God Tier Pistol Marksmanship, Advanced Close-Quarters Combat
Available Attribute Points: 0
Available Skill Points: 0
Special Gear: Concealable Bulletproof Tee, Bulletproof Shorts
“Now I’ve got Advanced CQC stacked on top of a physique way above average. Seven, eight regular thugs won’t get within arm’s reach. Throw in Gun God marksmanship…”
“Out here in this dangerous city, I can finally look out for myself.”
Damon stared at his reflection in the stall mirror. Tall, sharp-featured, powerfully built. He liked what he saw. He bent his knees, running through a takedown stance for restraining suspects. Something he’d drill again and again.
With a thought, he pulled out the system’s bulletproof base layer.
The US police rank structure was messy, different rules state to state, stacked tight. Chief of Police, Deputy Chief, Sheriff, Officer, the whole ladder.
He’d only been a trainee before. Now that he was a full officer, every rank-up came with a one-of-a-kind system gift—nothing like standard department issue.
This bulletproof shirt and shorts were exactly that.
Ice-silk fabric, soft against the skin, woven from some unknown futuristic material.
【Stops pistol and carbine rounds; no bodily harm on impact. Even large-caliber hits won’t kill you outright.】
【Soft as regular clothing at rest. Instantly rigidifies on high-speed impact to bleed off force.】
【Self-cleaning. Minor damage repairs slowly over time.】
A priceless piece of gear.
Damon changed into the base layer right there in the stall.
The tee covered his torso, shoulders, upper arms. The shorts protected his vitals and thighs. Even if he took a round to the forearms or calves, it almost certainly wouldn’t be fatal.
Once dressed, he unzipped his official gear bag.
LAPD kit was practical, no fancy fluff.
Three summer uniform sets: shirts, trousers, service shoes. Three autumn sets, two insulated winter jackets.
One tactical vest, one Blank ST ballistic plate carrier, one multi-purpose duty belt.
Belt rig loaded with: OC pepper spray, APS steel handcuffs, 1118B baton, high-lumen flashlight, nitrile gloves, C07GP3 police folding knife, electronic control device.
That electronic control device was the famous Taser. Damon had seen plenty of clips online, though some tough suspects could still fight through the shock.
And buried under everything else in the bag? There was a real heavy hitter!