It had been a bloody tiring morning, my mind running in circles with all the little details I had to work out. And now, here I am, back in my room, staring at the same screen for what must’ve been the hundredth time, reading over my core skills and system sets. But none of it’s sinking in—not really. Something was off. There was more to this than I’d been letting on. My eyes eventually fall to the heavy end of the Grifter System, the bit I’d been avoiding like the plague. The Legacy section. Didn’t know much about it, but I knew I’d have to get the answers sooner or later. So, I take a breath, tap into my thoughts, and ask, “Jenifer, you there, luv?”

  A second pulse hits my mind, and I feel her presence—calm and smooth. “Hello, Harry. How can I help you today?”

  I let out a sigh, the weight of it all pressing down on me. “I know about my system skills, but what’s this Legacy section? Can you fill me in?”

  Another subtle pulse runs through my mind, and I feel something click—like a door opening. She responds, “Your Legacy Data is the blueprint of your prior life and all the other factors that contributed to your presence here in this world. Would you like me to continue?”

  “Please, darlin,” I say, a bit of tension leaving my chest as she continues.

  “Computing…” she murmurs, her voice warm but methodical. “Your Legacy Data is as follows: your family name and its ties to criminality computes to 2000LD, plus the monetary gains on your biggest score prior to your death computes to 100LD. Finally, your potential within the system grants you an additional 100LD. Would you like me to continue?”

  I mentally nod, already taking it all in. “Yes, go on.”

  “Harry, not everyone with the Grifter system has this level of Legacy Data. As such, it can be used in one of three ways. You can transfer the data to improve both your core and system skills, transfer it to coinage and add it to the ledger system, or convert the lot into System Charges… let me know how to proceed.” Her tone shifts slightly, becoming a bit more serious now. “Be warned, once the Legacy Data points are used, they are lost.”

  System Charges? I raise an eyebrow. “And what are they?”

  “System Charges, in your human terms, are like ‘wishes.’ They allow you to transport elements of your past into our world or can be used to aid in a situation. But be warned, they are finite and cost 1000 Gold to purchase more.”

  It was a lot to take in. More than a lot, really. I thank Jenifer, feeling my head spin as I lay back on my bed, trying to work it all out. One thing’s for sure—nothing was simple in this world, my thoughts hung on Jennifers words until I dozed off. I wake up an hour later, feeling a bit more refreshed but still not quite sharp. I call Jenifer back up, scroll mentally to the Legacy Data, and take another look at it. Something’s still bugging me, so I ask, “Jenifer, I have a question. How would you proceed if you had to…?” I pause, a bit tired from the nap, my thoughts still foggy.

  A few minutes pass, and I can feel her calculating, running the numbers in the background. “Harry,” she finally responds, “I would convert it to skills and charges. The ability to earn Gold is easier, improving system stats, not so. Would you like me to proceed?” I mentally nod, and within seconds, I see the full system grid pop up in my field of vision—her amendments all lined up, clear as day. I take it all in, weighing the options, knowing I’ve just made a pivotal choice.

  I look over the system grid and see that my core skill and one system skill have both improved—nothing major, but it’s something. I also notice I’ve gained two System Charges. It’s a start, I guess. Not much, but I’m not complaining. Small steps forward, right? I give a quiet thanks to Jenifer, feeling a twinge of gratitude for thanking her.

  ***

  The room stank of stale whiskey and regret. Louise lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling Finbar’s heavy arm draped across her like a bloody dead weight. She could barely breathe without his fat fingers digging into her side. He was snoring like a freight train, blissfully unaware that she was already halfway out the door—mentally, anyway. The bloke was asleep, and she had the whole world spinning inside her head.

  She ran through the night’s events in her mind, replaying the sound of those gold bags dropping—one, two, three, four—and the feeling that came with it. Like the world was shifting underneath her feet. Finbar was hiding something, and the thought of him being clever enough to keep it from her made her skin crawl. But here she was, stuck in his bed, pretending this was all fine, pretending she wasn’t counting the seconds until she could ditch him.

  Her stomach churned. She hated this. Hated the way he thought he had her under control, like she was just another toy to play with. But the truth? The truth was, she had a plan. It wasn’t about the money—that was just the icing on the cake. It was about taking back control. She’d play his game for now, get what she needed, then take it all away from him.

  A part of her wanted to shake him awake, slap him across his stupid face and tell him to stop thinking she was some naive little bird. But then she’d be on the street, back to square one. And Louise didn’t do square one. She did power plays. She did patience. She did waiting for the right moment, like a snake coiling up before it strikes.

  Finbar grunted in his sleep, pulling her closer. She could feel his breath on her neck, but all she could think about was how much longer she could put up with this. How much longer she could pretend. She was itching to get out of here, to put the plan into motion. She wasn’t stuck in this filthy little world forever, not if she had anything to say about it. But today? Today, she had to keep her cool. Keep up the act. Make him think she was still his.

  But she knew one thing for sure—this wasn’t going to last. Not for long.

  At least that’s what she kept telling herself. In fact, she’d been telling herself that for almost two bloody years now. A day at a time, a game to play, and Finbar was just a pawn in it. At least, that’s what she told herself every time he woke her up with that bloody vulgar kiss of his, all hot breath and sticky lips.

  The bastard started to stir, mumbling something incoherent as his arm tightened around her. Louise resisted the urge to shove him off, instead closing her eyes tight and pretending to be asleep. He’d do it in a minute, she knew. He always did. Like clockwork. First, he’d try to be sweet, then he'd get frustrated, and by the end of it, he'd be demanding attention. Just like every other day.

  Sure enough, it didn’t take long. “Louise,” he grunted, his voice thick with sleep and whisky. “Wake up, yeah? Got plans for us today.”

  She didn’t budge. Not yet. Let him simmer a bit.

  “Louise!” he repeated, a little more forceful this time, giving her shoulder a shove.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Mm-hmm,” she mumbled, pretending she was still half in a dream. “Go back to sleep, Fin. I’ll be up in a minute.”

  “Up now, love. C’mon, you’re lookin’ like a right tease,” he muttered, leaning down to plant his disgusting kiss on her cheek.

  Louise couldn’t help but smirk, even with her eyes closed. She rolled her body just enough to keep him guessing. “Tease, eh?” she purred, her voice all soft and honeyed, “Don’t you worry about that, darling. You’ve got to get up yourself. Inn’s opening soon, needs a good scrub, and I’ve got to get the staff in order. No time for foolin' around.”

  Finbar grumbled, his fingers trailing down her arm, trying to coax her out of bed. “You’re just avoiding me, that’s what it is. Always too busy, huh? Always got a bloody excuse.”

  Louise gave a little laugh, barely audible. “It’s not an excuse, darling. It’s called work.” She slid her arm out from under his, stretching it languidly across the bed. “And unless you’re planning on opening the bloody doors yourself, I suggest you let me do mine and you do yours.”

  His eyes narrowed, but Louise could see the challenge there—the need to dominate, but she was already three steps ahead. She flashed him a wink before slipping out of bed, pulling the sheets with her. “But hey, don’t worry,” she added with a flirtatious grin, “We’ll finish this... later.”

  Finbar's scowl deepened as she turned to leave, but she could already feel the power shift. She wasn’t just his anymore—she was starting to make her own moves.

  She padded across the room, naked as the day she was born, and made a beeline for the wardrobe. Her reflection in the mirror flickered for a moment, a ghost of herself. She hated the woman looking back at her. But that woman was the one who had to play the game. So, she pulled on the next skin-tight outfit—black leather, short enough to show off her legs, tight enough to make her feel like she was suffocating. It was the uniform. The bloody costume she’d put on day after day because, as much as she despised it, it was part of the act. Part of the charm. The illusion.

  Minutes later, she was downstairs, slipping between the sticky tables and the leering eyes of the punters. The regulars, the idiots, and the lewd arseholes who swarmed this hellhole like flies to shit. They’d come for one thing: the experience. And Finbar made sure they got it. Drinks flowing like a bloody river, drugs slipped in the back like nobody knew, potions passed around like candy. And the girls, always the bloody girls, scantily clad and dancing on the tables to some twisted beat. Finbar’s joint was a bloody circus, and she was meant to be the ringmaster.

  But she wasn’t the one pulling the strings. She wasn’t the one calling the shots. She was just the hostess—just the bloody window dressing, smile plastered on her face while the real filth went on behind the scenes. And as she passed the punters, their eyes following her like vultures, she felt a stab of disgust twist in her gut. But she couldn’t show it. Not now. Not in front of them. So, she offered a smile, made her rounds, and did what she had to do. It was the game. And she had to keep playing it.

  Louise ambled up to the bar, the low hum of the inn already alive with the kind of noise she’d long stopped hearing. The punters—drunk, lecherous, and oblivious—were already at it, sloshing their drinks like there was no tomorrow. It wasn’t even 9 a.m. yet, but in this cesspit, it didn’t matter.

  She didn’t ask for any of this. This life. The hostess. A Level 1 in the Grand System, chosen for her the moment she drew her first breath. She hadn’t even known what it was then, couldn’t have. But the system knew. It’d laid out the path, locked her into it. She was born to be this—draped in flesh, serving drinks, playing the part. A smile for the fools, a tilt of her head to keep them hungry. The system chose. She didn’t.

  But she’d made it work. That was the only choice left. Adapt. Survive. And if it meant skimming a little off the top, well, who was going to notice? The system didn’t mind. It never did.

  Her mind flickered to the interface, that quiet buzz in the back of her head. The takings for the day already flashing before her. More than enough.

  She mentally nudged the system, a flick of thought, and ten shiny coins slipped into her hidden sub-system. Enough to disappear for a few days, maybe. She could vanish—hit the road, lay low, take a breather.

  But a few days was never going to be enough. She didn’t just want to escape this place. She wanted a new life. And that? That would take a hell of a lot more than just ten coins. One day, she’d gather enough, plan it out. But for now? Ten coins would have to do.

  She couldn’t help but think of Finbar, his mood shifting like the wind. One minute he was charming, the next, he could fly off the handle at the smallest thing—over nothing. She’d seen it before, and she knew it’d happen again. If he found out she was skimming, it could get ugly fast. But for now, she was safe. He was busy with his own mess, and she had a little breathing room. She just had to keep her head low... for now.

  Louise moved like a secret through the filth, all hips and hellfire, swanning past the usual scum that parked themselves at Finbar’s place like mould on bread. It was barely nine, and already the joint was dripping in sweat, smoke, and sin. Cards slapped, coin clinked, and someone was definitely losing a tooth in the corner.

  Then the door creaked.

  Charlie Thornby. Applewood aristocrat turned local eccentric. Walked in like he hadn’t a care in the world, coat swinging, grin cocked sideways, shoes too clean for this place by half. Straight to his usual perch: corner booth, front-row seat for the morning girlie shuffle.

  She was already pouring his drink. Ember-whiskey, frostvine rocks—though today, she added a fresh black coffee, just to keep him guessing.

  “Oi, oi,” she said, sliding both over with a wink. “Didn’t think we’d see your posh mug this early. Rough night? Or chasing the early worms?”

  Charlie sat, legs wide, chin high. “Meeting a new associate. Bought himself the old tax office.”

  Louise blinked. “The tax office? You serious? Who the hell buys anything in Applewood? Thought that place was cursed.”

  “Apparently he sees potential.” Charlie sipped his coffee like it was brandy, lips curled in smug delight. “Eccentric sort. Big plans, he says.”

  Louise leaned on the table, cleavage just so, voice dripping in suggestion. “Big plans, eh? Sounds like the kind of man who ought to have a drink with the locals. Get the... flavour of the place.”

  Charlie smirked. “You mean bring him here?”

  “I mean,” she said, brushing imaginary lint off his lapel, “if he’s mad enough to invest in this dump, he might as well see what he’s bought into. Proper welcome. Introductions. Maybe a dance or two—if he tips better than you.”

  Charlie chuckled into his cup. “Dangerous talk, Louise. You trying to seduce the both of us?”

  “Just setting the bait, darling,” she said with a sly grin. “Up to you to reel him in.”

  Charlie paused, then tipped his cup toward her. “Alright. I’ll bring him round.”

  Louise flashed him that wicked, knowing smile—the one that always meant more than it let on. “Good boy.”

  Louise left Charlie nursing his drink and whatever silver-spoon schemes were clanking around in that head of his. She turned with a sway in her hips—equal parts habit and hazard—just in time to spot one of the lechers near the stage getting handsy with a dancer like he was plucking fruit from a low branch. She stepped in quick, smile tight and words like daggers. “Touch her again and I’ll have your fingers on a skewer, darling. We clear?”

  The fool muttered something into his beard and shrank back into his chair, suitably neutered.

  Louise peeled off and made her way toward the far corner, where barrels lined the stone wall like obedient little soldiers. Janks, one of the bar lads, was crouched down, tapping a keg with more muscle than finesse.

  She crouched beside him, speaking low, like she was commenting on the brew. “Janks,” she said, sliding a coin into his palm, “need ears. Quiet ones.”

  He looked up, sharp as a tack. “Who’s the mark?”

  “Charlie’s mate. Bought the old tax office.” She glanced back toward the booth. “New money. New face. Smells wrong.”

  Janks pocketed the coin. “You want eyes too?”

  “Eyes, ears, the lot. And quick.”

  She stood, already gone before he could answer.

  ***

  I stood there in the middle of the room, looking around at the wreckage of what used to be a tax office—now my new home, for better or worse. It smelled like old paper and damp stone, the kind of smell that digs into your lungs and lingers there. The place wasn’t much, but it didn’t need to be. The bones were good, the structure solid. All it needed was someone who could give it a purpose again. Someone like me.

  I took a step forward, boots grinding against the cracked tiles. It wasn’t exactly grand—the reception desk had seen better days, warped and dusted with a layer of grime. The bell that sat on top was rusted shut, long past its prime, but I wasn’t interested in bells. There was nothing here worth the sound of a chime anyway. This place wasn’t about showing off, it was about making a mark. This was where I’d lay down some roots, finally. The past had a way of sneaking up on you, but it didn’t own me anymore. Not here. Not now.

  I glanced toward the back office. The door was barely hanging on, cracked wood leaning to the side. Through the gap, I saw the shadows of abandoned desks and chairs, overturned and forgotten. Some old paperwork had spilled out of a drawer, dusted with age. Whoever had worked here must’ve been long gone. Left behind like everything else in this town.

  I moved further in, the dim light from the back storerooms casting long shadows along the floor. The windows were filthy, but I’d fix that in time. The walls were covered in grime and the air was thick with silence, but I could already feel the possibilities. The bones of this place, they were strong, and I could make it work—I could make it work. A few repairs here, a little paint there, and it could be something solid. Something real.

  At the back of the room, almost hidden in the shadows, was a door. I walked over, pushing it open with a creak. Beyond it lay a small, walled-off yard, overgrown with weeds and littered with forgotten junk. The stone beneath my boots was cracked, the walls grimy, but there was a rawness to it. A place I could shape, a private corner where I could escape the world and breathe. A garden, maybe. Or just space to think. This town, this building—they weren’t much, but they were mine now. Time to make it count. Time to make something of it I thought as I did another walk around.

  I moved over to the counter, shoving aside a pile of rotting paper and crap that’d been here for God knows how long. It was like a graveyard for tax forms. The kind of place that’d make anyone run for the hills. I wasn’t bothered though—this was mine now, and I was ready to roll up my sleeves. Grabbed a dusty old ledger, tossed it aside, and got to work. Boots scraping against the cracked tiles, the smell of old paper and damp stone hanging in the air like a bad memory. No need to be fancy about it. Just needed a spot to sit and figure out what the hell I was gonna do next.

  I was knee-deep in clearing the mess when I heard it—Charlie! His posh voice echoed through the room like he was trying to make sure even the rats knew he was here. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Posh Charlie, standing in the doorway, peering in like he’d never set foot in a place that looked like it had been bombed. He didn’t even step inside, just called my name, unsure if I was even in.

  “Come in, Charlie,” I grunted, tossing the last bit of rubbish aside and resting my hands on the counter. The door creaked as he finally walked in, his face doing that thing—scrunching up like he’d just bitten into a lemon. The look on his face was priceless. This place? Not his cup of tea.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, grinning that charming, too-good-for-here grin, trying to play it cool with some half-assed small talk. “Bit of a rough spot, eh? You sure this is the one?”

  Then, as if he’d been dying to ask, he dropped it, like it was nothing. “So, what’s the plan with this place, then?”

  I didn’t blink. Just shot him a look and leaned in, voice low. “I’m gonna build something worth having, mate.”