Max cursed under his breath. He knew it. He never should've trusted something like a system.
They play with our feelings, he grumbled inwardly, spilling his frustration. Without much thought, his first instinct was to dash.
He turned and was just about to bolt when something clicked in his head. He halted abruptly and smacked his forehead.
"This situation even turned me into a fool," he scolded himself for the sudden rash action.
Without any destination or plan, his actions would only waste the time limit faster.
Even back in his corporate days, when the deadlines were tight, they planned strategically, breaking down the work and distributing it based on each person's strengths.
He forced his relentlessly pounding heart to slow to a stable rhythm. Breathing in and out, he calmed himself.
Instead of panicking over the ticking timer, he forced himself to plan fast; the countdown wasn't going to slow down for him.
First of all, what did he know, what did he have, and what did he need most right now? his eyes wandered.
He figured the system would throw him into some mission, most likely to another world, though not necessarily too difficult.
The first assignment was compulsory, and the reason behind such enforced action should be either to test the skills of the mercenary or evaluate his reasoning in sudden circumstances.
Hence, he may or may not survive. Everything depended on his preparation. As he had no knowledge of the mission or world beforehand, he had to be ready.
Next, what did he have?
System space, his eyes gleamed. His next step would solely depend on its limitations.
He accessed the space backpack to test its limits.
To his utter shock, the system defined the space not by weight or volume, but by specific item slots selected with harsh conditions.
As per the instructions, he could store: one water bottle (around a litre), edible goods not exceeding 200 grams, a handgun, and one cold melee weapon.
"That's all!?" he exclaimed aloud instinctively.
His voice was loud enough for others to hear, yet he could hardly focus on that now. Each second was his lifeline, slipping like sand through his fingers.
Instead, he even wanted to curse louder at the system when his gaze fell on another instruction:
[Items with visible brand tags will be rejected.]
"What sort of maniac built this thing?" he scowled hard, veins visibly throbbing on his forehead.
Previously, he was limited by space; now he had to be cautious of the tiniest details. Considering all of it, and being forced to race against time, those behind the system definitely wanted him pushed to the edge.
He rubbed his forehead. "This is practically useless, except for emergencies." A tired groan escaped him.
'Unless the mission focuses on survival in a desert, food and water can be found anywhere,' he shook his head in a grimace.
His reasoning was spot-on, and the grim expression on his face intensified.
He licked his parched lips, the timer blinking once more. 3:40 minutes left, descending rapidly, his heartbeat quickening.
'Let's gather the items.' He turned and dashed immediately.
Whoosh—
He followed the memories, and his feet moved faster than ever. Leaping across the staircase, he found his destination—the kitchen.
He bolted into the entrance of the large, open kitchen, perfect for a villa like Knight Mansion.
However, this wasn't the time for admiration. He scanned the shelves, his hands reaching out before his mind could even process what he was grabbing.
Rummaging through, he sighed in relief. His hand tightly clutched a packet of biscuits. Without hesitation, he tore it open and shoved everything into the space backpack, filling it until he reached the defined limit for edibles.
As far as he knew, his house didn't have anything more appropriate. Even if it did, he'd have to move to another room, wasting precious seconds.
The kitchen had almost everything he needed.
Next, he grabbed a water bottle out of the refrigerator. Fortunately, it had no visible brand. He noticed a tiny logo, but he deemed it trivial enough not to be flagged by the system.
He threw it in with the biscuits, the specific slot absorbing the item swiftly.
Ding—!
1 minute and 30 seconds left, the system notified him of his despair.
His face reddened at the rising heat.
He swallowed with difficulty, his dry throat scratching from the inside like sandpaper.
Grabbing another bottle, he gulped it down in a single breath.
Phew.
He inhaled visibly better. As he was about to leave, his eyes landed on the kitchen knives stacked in a stand.
His eyes lit up. He snatched the biggest one, mostly used for meat preparation, threw it into the melee slot, and departed swiftly.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
He climbed the stairs in a rush, fear hammering in his head. He leapt over the top step and bolted into his room.
Gripping the doorknob, he rushed inside and locked it behind him.
His gaze wandered the room, and his legs raced against time. He promptly pulled open a drawer and sighed.
The object inside lit up his face.
"Finally," he gasped with a chuckle. Panting hard but managed to bear with it.
The drawer had carefully hidden a Glock pistol and two fully loaded magazines.
He reached in and held the pistol, admiring it like some treasured artefact. For him, it kind of was, better than gold or diamonds.
Fortunately for him, the previous owner knew how to shoot, unlike Max.
As a young man of 22, previous owner enjoyed shooting, the thrill of it, even attending a gun range and preparing a permit.
Although not an expert, he had enough skill to target a moving object. Of course, even after living in America, known for its gun culture, he'd never hurt a living person.
Only gangsters or lunatics would attempt that, not the heir of a wealthy household.
"Whatever. Better for me," his fingers snaked around the cold thing. Relying on both muscle memory and the inherited instincts from the body's former owner, he struck a practised pose.
It wasn't perfect, but he felt confident enough to pull the trigger if needed.
Ding Ding—!
The system icon blinked red and blue, brighter and more relentless than before. The sound rebounded in his ears like an alarm.
====
10… 9… 8…
====
Seconds passing rapidly.
"Almost over," he breathed out in relief as he shoved the pistol into the space backpack.
"Let's see what you've got, system bro." He chuckled, a fierce glint flashing in his eyes as the final seconds ticked.
Ding—!
5... 4... 3...
Max took one last breath.
2... 1...
And the world around him shattered.
….
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