In the dark alley at night, a small figure walks, head down, eyes glued to the ground, heading for some late-night groceries. This is Benson—standing just 167 cm tall, thin and frail. His weak appearance often makes him an easy target for bullies. However, deep within this fragile body lies a second personality, one that embodies nothing but cruelty, terror, and violence.
Whenever Benson falls asleep, loses consciousness, or meets his demise, his second personality awakens. Known as Dark Mode, this alter ego is the complete opposite of who Benson normally is. Towering at an imposing 198 cm, with ghostly white hair and pale skin, powerful muscles lie concealed beneath his slim figure. His eyes are cold and intimidating, and his claws are long and razor-sharp. Dark Benson spreads chaos and terror, finding joy in toying with weaker opponents, often taunting them with a signature gesture. He giggles creepily, shaking his index finger from side to side, and mockingly whispers, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.”
In addition to his incredible fighting abilities, Dark Mode’s god-like capacity for regeneration places him in the rank of Class-A. His sole purpose is to ensure Benson’s survival. While his host remains unaware of his presence, he heals Benson’s injured or lifeless body in moments of crisis; even a gouged heart can be reanimated in mere minutes. He is also incredibly vengeful, casting great terror on anyone who harms Benson and ensuring they suffer both physically and psychologically. Once he’s done with his business, he swiftly fades back into the shadows, conserving energy for Benson and continuing to watch over him as he rests soundly.
As Benson walks through the dimly lit alley, five thugs emerge from the shadows, their intimidating presence closing in around him and blocking his escape. They recently dropped out of high school and are new to gangster life; this is likely their first attempt at professional mugging.
“Look what we have here,” one thug pulls a cigarette from his mouth after a deep drag, leaning in. “Just a scared little rat wandering the city.” He presses the burning tip of the cigarette against Benson’s face and demands, “Hand over your cash, or else!”
Benson’s hands shake as he struggles to get his wallet, his heart pounding. “Please, don’t hurt me!” he begs, his voice trembles. With shaking fingers, he takes out all his money—20 dollars and 3 cents—and hands it to the thugs, fear clear on his face.
“Are you serious?” one of the thugs shouts angrily at Benson. “That’s all you’ve freaking got?” He stuffs the money into his pocket, grabs Benson by the collar, and pulls him close before delivering a loud slap across his face.
“Yes, sir…” Benson’s voice breaks as tears burst from his eyes while he pleads for mercy. “Please don’t hurt me…” The thug spits a glob of phlegm at Benson’s forehead and then throws him hard onto the pavement. The thugs kick at Benson fiercely. He tries to block the kicks with his arms; nevertheless, he still ends up with bruises all over his body.
One thug pulls out a rusted metal pipe, fury written all over his face. The other thugs notice and try to intervene. “Hey… what the heck are you doing? You could kill him with that!” But it’s too late. He swings the pipe hard, aiming to crack open Benson’s skull. Benson’s limbs go stiff, and his body becomes rigid as he rolls over. His eyes widen, staring blankly at the ground, empty and lifeless.
The other thugs exchange glances, a mix of surprise and unease on their faces. The guy with the metal pipe calmly says, “Let’s get the hell outta here, brothers.” With a shared sense of reluctance, they turn around and casually walk away from the scene.
“Murder is a serious crime…” A tall, eerie man with a vampire-like appearance suddenly appears behind the thugs. They all turn around in shock, realizing that the corpse has vanished from where it lay. In its place stands the ominous figure, looking down at them with a chilling smirk.
“Excuse me… passing through…” Dark Benson says as he dashes past the thugs in the blink of an eye. In an instant, he appears in front of them, hitting one thug hard and sending him crashing into a lamppost. The thug slumps against the pole, sitting there in a daze, his body limp, while the cigarette falls from his mouth and lands on the pavement. Dark Benson walks over to the slumped thug, picks up the still-burning cigarette, and politely says, “Oh… you dropped something…” He then presses the burning tip into the thug’s nose, shaking his finger side to side as he giggles creepily, mockingly whispering, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.” “It hurts…” the thug cries out in pain.
Benson’s cracked-open skull glues itself back together, and the wound on his head seals completely. “Who spat the phlegm earlier?” he asks, turning from the lamppost, his dreadful eyes locking onto the thugs. They exchange glances, their faces pale with terror, hesitating to answer. “Who the freak did that?!” Benson shouts, impatience rising in his tone. The thugs, in a panic, all point at one skinny thug simultaneously. The skinny thug crumples to his knees, trying to explain and apologize. “I… er… just…” But in the middle of his sentence, Benson unleashes a tremendous force, spitting out a glob of phlegm from his throat. It shoots into the thug’s mouth like a bullet, exploding in his throat. He quickly grabs his neck, shutting his mouth tight, but blood streams from the corners as he rolls on the ground, gasping for air in agony. Dark Benson leans in closer, shaking his finger side to side, giggling creepily as he whispers, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.”
The thug with the metal pipe shakes off his fear and gathers all his energy into his right arm, using his ultra move “Rusted Mega Swing.” The pipe swings through the air like a dragon dancing, producing flashy visual effects as it strikes Benson. Dark Benson shakes his finger from side to side, giggling creepily while mockingly whispering, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.” He effortlessly catches the swinging pipe with two fingers. Realizing the overwhelming gap in power between them, the thug’s confidence crumbles, and he feels warmth spreading down his leg as he pees his pants. He freezes in disbelief and fear, paralyzed by the recognition of his own helplessness. Benson swiftly swings his claws in front of the thug, slicing open his gut and spilling his intestines onto the ground. In a desperate panic, the thug frantically tries to shove his insides back into his stomach. His face turns ghostly pale as he pleads for mercy, “Please spare my life…” Within moments, he collapses to the ground, his intestines spilling out in a gruesome display. Benson glances at the fallen thug and mutters, “What a pitiful creature! Perhaps I should have shattered his skull instead.”
The two remaining thugs stand frozen, their expressions blank as if they’ve lost their minds. Satisfied with his revenge, Benson walks past them, his voice laced with menace. “Begone, wretched minions, and let this be your final warning!” Interpreting his words as a cue for mercy, the thugs, driven by panic, fumble and stumble, nearly tripping over each other in their haste to escape Benson.
With his task complete, Dark Benson senses the toll on his host’s energy. He leans against the wall, sliding down to sit on the pavement. As his limbs shrink, claws retreat, and his hair fades back to black, his skin regains its natural color. Dark Benson dissolves into shadow, leaving Benson to sleep soundly, unaware of the chaos left in his wake.
The alley falls silent, and the night returns to its usual quiet, as if nothing had happened. Only the faint glow of a flickering streetlamp remains.
Dark Benson is very cruel and good job