After taking down The Slick-back, Russell plopped his ass on the ground, gasping for air. He'd been so laser-focused during the fight that he hadn't noticed anything else—only now did he realize how many times he'd nearly bought the farm. His hands and feet trembled, and he completely missed the two system notifications that had chimed in.
Once his heartbeat returned to normal, Russell slowly got to his feet. The subway cop's special ops combat memories and firearms proficiency had already faded from his mind. They weren't completely gone—if he really dug deep, he could find some fragments—but they were hazy as hell, worse than a blackout drunk trying to remember last night.
"Fascinating cards. It's less like equipping a character and more like... unlocking skill training..."
Forgetting wasn't a problem. Russell believed that with enough practice, he'd get the hang of it. Even if 90% of the memories disappeared, that remaining 10% was pure profit.
Russell rolled up his sleeve, examining the bruises on his arm. The injuries he'd sustained while the character card was equipped were still there. So much for his pipe dream—he'd been hoping that equipping a character card would basically give him an extra life.
Now though...
Maybe it wasn't completely off the table. He still had Usain Bolt's character card available. He could die once to test the theory and get a definitive answer.
Russell stroked his chin, hesitating. "Should I... give it a shot!?"
*Ring ring ring~~~ Ring ring ring~~~ Ring ring ring~~~*
An urgent ringtone blared from The Beard's pants pocket, interrupting Russell's death wish. He ignored it at first, but when it rang a second time, he finally walked over and fished out the phone.
An old flip phone, real vintage feel. The caller ID showed no name, just an unknown number.
Russell answered. A slightly muffled, raspy voice came through: "I saw everything. Your performance exceeded expectations. Honestly, you surprised me."
Russell's brow furrowed. He glanced at the black X on the floor and silently moved to cover by the wall. "Who is this?"
If his guess was right, the caller was Cross. But Russell decided to play dumb.
"You're very calm. That's good. But I have to warn you—two blocks away, three squad cars are heading toward your position. Unless you've got a damn good lawyer, you'd better leave. Now."
Only then did Russell realize how unsafe his situation was. Just as he was about to bolt, Cross's voice came through again.
"I left a gray pickup in the ground-level parking garage. Plate number 404-NSFW. Door's unlocked, keys are in the ignition. You should know how to operate it. Get out of there. I'll come find you..."
The call ended. Russell grimaced and pocketed the phone. The third Mission World was very likely connected to Cross. He hated assassins, but he'd have to grit his teeth and deal with it.
Getting down from the top floor of a 60-story building on foot was obviously not happening. Even with his long-distance running skill, Russell wasn't about to torture himself like that. The cops would arrive any minute, so he chose the elevator. Sure, the security cameras would probably catch his face, but he had no choice. Besides, he was certain his face had already been captured on camera before he reached the roof—otherwise, how else would you explain a grown man appearing out of thin air up there?
In the elevator, Russell was caked in dust from the brawl. Coupled with his repairman's outfit, he inevitably drew looks of disgust from the other passengers—especially a few blonde, blue-eyed corporate women. Their gazes weren't just annoyed; they were dripping with snobbish, classist disdain.
As a proud, self-respecting blue-collar worker, Russell wasn't about to tolerate their high-and-mighty attitude. He immediately glared back, his eyes fierce and threatening.
"The hell you looking at? Keep staring and I'll bash your heads in! Cyka Blyat!"
The women instantly went pale. Russell still had the lingering aura of a killer clinging to him, and with that crazy glare... he was genuinely terrifying.
Exiting the elevator, Russell made a beeline for the outdoor parking lot. As he passed the entrance, the city cops were just arriving, fashionably late as always. Russell played it cool, passing them without incident. No dramatic eye contact or anything.
Following the ridiculous plate number, Russell found the gray pickup—a Ford F-150, the legendary Raptor. Just as Cross had said, the door was unlocked and the keys were in the ignition. Russell buckled up, started the engine, released the handbrake, and pulled out of the parking garage.
[User is driving a Ford F-150. Lottery draw triggered. Draw now?]
[User has accumulated three lottery draws. Draw now?]
Russell ignored the system and kept driving. But as he drove, he suddenly realized a problem.
"Where the hell am I supposed to go now?"
From The Beard's dialogue, Russell deduced he had an identity in this world. But the problem was, he had no corresponding memories. He didn't even have a driver's license in his pocket—he had no idea where to go.
Playing it safe, Russell parked in an alley, locked the doors, and started searching the vehicle. The back seat had five sets of clean jackets, baseball caps, and athletic pants—clearly prepared by Cross.
After changing clothes and cleaning himself up in the rearview mirror, Russell finally opened the system interface and began his triple lottery draw.
Time for everyone's favorite part: The Lucky Draw. He needed some skills and character cards to arm himself, so he couldn't help feeling a bit excited. According to the system's previous notifications, two draws were related to his contact with The Slick-back, and one was from the Ford F-150.
The triple draw finished. Russell's equipment list gained three new cards.
[Item Card: M9 (Forget the Desert Eagle, forget infinite ammo—this is all you need)]
[Skill Card: Bullet Time (Scientifically speaking, everything has a logical explanation. You just have to squint hard enough to see it)]
[Character Card: Baby (Déjà Vu)]
Obviously, the first two rewards were linked to Slick. But the third... Russell drew a complete blank on who this guy was. Is it that pop star? The one teenage girls scream for?
And... what the hell does 'Déjà Vu' mean here?
As a rookie still on probation, Russell didn't get the reference. He could only guess that this character had something to do with driving.
The Skill Card Bullet Time was awesome, but Russell didn't use it immediately. What if it was a one-time deal? That'd be a huge waste. Good steel should be saved for the blade's edge. The third Mission World was dangerous—the Bullet Time skill card was a trump card for staying alive. He couldn't waste it carelessly.
Bang bang bang!!
Someone knocked on the driver's side window. It was a grinning Black youth. When Russell turned his head, the guy immediately flashed a friendly smile. "Yo, man, you got the time?"
Russell's eyes swept over the scene. Behind the Black youth were several other guys dressed just as flashy, looking like street punks.
Cha-ching!
Russell immediately returned a polite smile. "Of course I do!"
___________________________________________
Bonus content can be found on my profile page