A piercing alarm suddenly blared in his ears.
Muhammad watched the bronchi before his eyes rapidly turn black. The neural connection was forcibly severed, and the secondhand gaming pod sprang open. Before he could even sit up, a deafening crash came from the door!
The sensor by the entrance glowed red.
A second kick landed, and the already cracked wooden door came crashing down.
The high-caste manager stood outside with more than a dozen thugs. Six or seven people at the front rushed into the shack. Two held pistols, while the others carried iron rods. Several guild players who had fled in defeat from the game during the day had come as well. Though they could not bring their expensive armor into reality, their bodies were still far stronger than those of ordinary people.
The manager spotted the gaming pod in the corner at a glance, and a cruel grin appeared on his face.
"Weren't you pretty good at fighting in the game?"
He raised his foot and kicked the oxygen concentrator beside him.
The machine slammed into the wall, and the tube connected to his mother came loose on the spot. His mother gasped sharply in bed, her withered fingers clawing frantically at her chest.
Muhammad's expression changed.
Over the years, he had been beaten and humiliated. He had even stood outside the door and listened as the manager fabricated bills for his mother's medicine. As long as he could still earn money, he had endured it all.
But this time, they had nearly cut off his mother's oxygen.
Muhammad stepped out of the gaming pod, bent down, and grabbed the fallen wooden door. A layer of rusty iron sheeting had been nailed to its outer side. Psionic energy surged through his arms and into the frame as he