Jayden Cross's life had never been on the up. Not now, not last week, not ever. If there was a highlight reel for misery, he'd probably narrate the whole damn thing with a mic and a whiskey glass.
By the time he was five, he'd already forgotten what happiness tasted like.
Maybe it was strawberry pancakes on a Saturday morning. Maybe it was warm socks and cartoons before bed. Either way, whatever "happy" was, it packed up and left without leaving a note.
His parents? Walking red flags wrapped in bad decisions and overdue bills. They didn't just split until he was seven, but let's be honest—their love expired long before the paperwork showed up. Their nightly arguments were like free horror podcasts: loud, depressing, and wildly inappropriate for children.
Every single night, Jayden would hold his baby sister in his arms like a damn human soundproof blanket, pressing her head into his chest and whispering; "Don't listen, baby. It's just noise. They're just tired, okay?"
He knew she heard every word anyway.
She always did.
For two years, that was the nightly routine. Cry. Cuss. Break a few plates. Threaten to leave. Stay. Repeat.
Then came the final blowout—the grand finale in their slow-burning apocalypse.
And of course, Jayden wasn't even home for it.
Because why would he be?
God forbid he actually didn't even get to shield his sister one last time from the emotional World War Z happening in their shitty two-bedroom apartment.
When he got back, all he found was a battlefield.
Broken glass on the floor. Shattered TV screen leaning against the wall. The grass coffee table split in two like someone body-slammed it. Divorce papers on the kitchen counter, signed in the kind of angry handwriting that said "I hope you rot."
And his father—center stage—drinking straight from a half-empty bottle of something cheap, eyes hollow, breath soaked in guilt and ethanol.
Jayden, being a little idiot with too much hope and zero timing, opened his mouth.
"What the hell happened?"
Spoiler: Bad idea.
The next thing he knew, he was getting tossed into the wall like a used tissue, courtesy of Daddy Dearest. Not that it surprised him. That was the thing about having an emotionally constipated father—everything turned into violence when his feelings got too loud.
From that moment on, Jayden learned three things:
1. No one's coming to save you.
2. People who say "family is everything" clearly haven't met his.
3. Lying makes life easier—at least until people start believing you.
And Jayden became damn good at it.
He learned to smile without meaning it.
To laugh at jokes he didn't find funny.
To pretend he gave a shit.
Sarcastic? Absolutely.
Calculative? You bet.
A liar? Only when he opened his mouth.
But beneath all that smooth-talking, eye-rolling, deadpan energy was just a kid who got left behind too many times to count. A boy who held his sister too tight and learned too young that vulnerability gets you wrecked. So he made himself unshakable.
"You're a handful," his father had said once—bottle in hand, spit flying, voice slurred and venomous. "Maybe that's why your mother found some rich bastard and ran off. Left me here with a kid I never asked for and a mouth that won't shut up."
Jayden remembered that night clearer than most.
The smashed bottle.
The sting in his cheek.
The silence after the door slammed shut.
He didn't even cry. Not that time. He just stood there, staring at the divorce papers taped to the wall like some shitty badge of failure. His father called himself the victim, but Jayden had learned young that losers don't take blame—they just pass it on to someone smaller.
And he was the smallest thing in the house.
He lived seven more years in that hellhole. Seven years of silence, bruises beneath the collar, flinching at the sound of footsteps, pretending everything was fine. The only thing he ever thanked his mother for was taking his baby sister when she left.
At least one of them didn't have to grow up in that wreckage.
Did he hate her? Hell yes.
Did he love her for protecting his sister? Even more.
It crossed his mind once—maybe twice—to run to her door, fall to his knees, beg her to take him in. But he never did. He knew how his father operated. If Jayden vanished for a day, he'd drag the past straight to her doorstep, rip apart her new life, and crush the light out of the only girl in the world who still smiled like the sun.
So he stayed.
He watched from a distance as his sister laughed with her friends, played in parks, lived a life he wasn't allowed to touch. He didn't know when he became so selfless. So protective. But he was. And strangely, he was proud of that.
Not that it made his life any better.
He still wore bruises like undershirts.
Still learned how to eat pain and smile like it tasted sweet.
His father didn't teach him love or respect. Just fear.
And fear? That shit carved its way into his bones. It taught him how to stay silent. How to prepare for the next blow. How to never complain—because complaining only made it worse.
The only thing he could thank life for was tuition. He went to school.
With a good head on his small, slumped shoulders, backed by a spineless posture, Jayden dreamed of something better. A future. An escape.
Then came Amara.
A gift, a beacon of light in his grey dull life!
And for the first time in years, he felt... warmth. She smiled like she saw him. Touched his hand like he mattered. Said words no one else bothered to say. And Jayden? God help him—he fell.
Hard.
He became a full-blown simp.
Blind to red flags, deaf to warnings, and absolutely not ready to let go—even when he saw her lips on Tyler's in the hallway.
Even when he saw her laugh like it was nothing.
Still, he came back with blue roses, a teddy bear, and a love letter that read "My Heart in .mp3."
Still, he wanted to forgive her.
Still, he thought he was the one for her.
But she left.
Like his mother.
And her new man? Her new "friends"? They made sure he left with scars.
Just like his father used to.
Only this time, something cracked inside him.
And just when the world had reduced him to background noise—a punchline in some sick high school comedy skit—the universe changed the script when he woke up.
[Ding! Welcome to the Ultimate System, Host.]
As if someone finally decided that seventeen years of emotional torture was enough. That maybe, just maybe, it was time for the underdog to stop playing nice.
That maybe the "author" of his miserable story had stood up and said:
Let's switch things up. Let's give him claws. Teeth. Control.
Let's turn him from zero to villain.
From nobody to Apex fucking predator.
Jayden didn't need explanations. He didn't ask "why me." He just accepted it like pain, like breath.
He was done being the joke.
He was ready to rewrite everything.
*
[Ding! First Mission: Complete system synchronization and unlock main missions!
Time Limit: 2 Minutes.
Reward: Role Option Function!]
Jayden exhaled, eyes sharpening.
Two minutes?
He'd been waiting his whole damn life for this.