Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!-Chapter 315: Spiteful and Emotionally Damaged Vengeful Sister

Karen smirked through the pain, real soft. The kind of grin you give when the world thinks you've lost but you're about to play your card from under the damn table.

Cedric's private cam. His "don't-trust-anyone" camera. He called it the "fuck-you insurance."

She didn't even breathe too hard. Just swiped the drive like it was routine, slid it into her hoodie pocket, and slipped back out the door without a sound. No need to stick around—she'd already seen more than the cops did in three days.

She dipped out the back, hopping the crooked fence like a pro, hoodie pulled low, heart punching in her chest. The whole neighborhood was dead quiet except some bored dogs barking at streetlights and the occasional flick of a neighbor's blinds.

By the time she got to her cousin's apartment, her Vans were soaked in gutter water and her brain felt like it was buffering. But she kept it moving. One creaky door, one hallway sprint, and she was in her borrowed bedroom.

Lock.

Curtains.

Laptop.

And finally—answers.

Karen smirked.

Cedric's private cam. His ultra-paranoid, "fuck-everyone-I-don't-trust-shit" setup. He always used to call it his fuck-you insurance. Like, literally. Out loud. At family dinners. In front of Grandma. Icon behavior, honestly.

"I told you, Ced," she muttered, voice all wrecked and raspy, "paranoia was your only redeeming quality, you dramatic little gremlin."

She yanked the desk chair, flipped open the hidden panel without thinking—like she'd done it a thousand times in her sleep—and snatched the microdrive. Thing looked tiny, harmless. But it was encrypted like a whore's diary—layers on layers. Ced was weirdly intense about privacy. She'd seen him scream at cookies on websites like they were government spies.

Still, she knew his codes. His backup codes. The dumb shit he used back in middle school when his password was literally "skaterboi2009." She popped the drive into her laptop—

And...

Video feed.

Cedric. Hoodie too big, eyes too tired, fingers slamming keys like he owed the keyboard money. The room looked chill. Nothing floating. No magical sparkle dust. Just LED lights doing their moody little flickers and the hum of overworked fans.

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Then—he paused.

Deadass looked right at the cam.

Like he knew.

Like he knew she'd find this. Like he was staring past death with that smug "I win" smirk he used when he beat her at Mario Kart by cheating with banana placement.

Then—

The feed glitched. Froze. Got all jittery like reality had the hiccups. Karen blinked. The distortion wasn't normal. It felt… heavy. Like something just stepped in. But it didn't walk—it just was. Like some lazy-ass horror movie villain who doesn't obey physics.

Static.

Then—a shadow.

Not the "light source behind me" kind. Nah. This was a shadow that decided to exist. Like it grew a personality and chose violence. It moved forward, but like... not really. It rendered itself forward, all weird and Minecraft glitchy, like a god forgot to update the graphics.

The footage scrambled harder.

The lights dimmed in the video—and in real life, Karen swore the walls around her freaking shivered like they caught a cold. Her breath stuttered. She leaned in closer like a dumb bitch in a horror film, then—

Hard cut. No filters, no music, no cinematic fade.

Just his body dropping like a puppet someone rage-quit.

Then, at the very end—so faint it barely registered—came the whisper:

"Meddling little pest."

She sat there. Just… sat. Like her soul was buffering. Like she couldn't decide whether to cry, throw up, or start swinging at the air.

Her heart was doing the Macarena in her chest. Her hands shook. That voice? That voice wasn't from here. That voice had no business vibing on planet Earth.

She looked down.

Microdrive still in her fist like she was gonna punch someone with it. Her voice cracked:

"What the actual fuck was that?"

The murderer—or whatever bougie celestial whores they were—had cleaned up after themselves like pros. The cops with their CSI scanners and overpriced tech didn't find shit. But Cedric?

That paranoid dumbass always knew.

He left her something. Not super clear. Not "Exhibit A for Court" clear. But enough.

Enough to ruin her week. Enough to change everything.

And now?

What the hell was she even supposed to do with it?

"Hey FBI, I got this haunted USB and a ghost with a superiority complex who murdered my brother in high-def. Can you, like, vibe check it for me?"

Yeah. No. That shit wasn't gonna cut it.

Karen slammed the laptop shut so fast she nearly broke the damn hinge.

She just… sat there.

Like her body forgot how to exist for a minute. Breathing all messed up, heart trying to twerk out of her chest, palms sweaty like she'd just sprinted through a horror film and didn't get the memo that the credits hadn't rolled yet.

That voice?

Not human.

That wasn't your average, everyday serial killer. That was some demonic shadow deity with a superiority complex type shit. That whisper? It had reverb. Reverb, bro. What kind of ancient Walmart murderer uses a death line with reverb?

She stared at the microdrive, clenched in her fist like it was her ex's hoodie she never returned.

"What the fuck was that?" she muttered again, half to herself, half to whatever cosmic stalker might be eavesdropping through the air vents.

****

The cops had missed it. All their shiny tools and "official procedure" and detective trench coats had turned up jack squat. But Cedric? That paranoid little genius had outsmarted literal gods. Left her a damn breadcrumb trail from the afterlife like he was playing 5D chess with Olympus.

And she? She had no idea who was behind it all. She was the weird big sister who stumbled into the game with zero pieces, half a brain cell, and a rage problem.

Still. What now?

But maybe—just maybe—the Ares fucked up.

Because he'd forgot what happens when a girl with no chill, a laptop, and a hoodie that smells like anxiety and Hot Cheetos decides she's got nothing left to lose.

They forgot what grief does to people. What vengeance does to girls like her—the clingy, messy, ride-or-die types who love too hard and hold grudges like religion.

They forgot that humans? Are spite-powered gremlins with wifi.

And Karen?

Karen was about to get real feral.

She wasn't gonna stop.

Not until she had names.

Not until someone paid in blood, tears, or like... an immortal ass-kicking. Even if she had to yeet herself into Mount Olympus with a baseball bat and a Red Bull in each hand.

Let the gods pray.

She wasn't feeling merciful. But what will she even do when she finds out the murderer was a god. What could a mundane like her do? And would she ever find out it was a god who did it?