Preparing to Ascend

The S.W.A.T's fearsome reputation needs no introduction. They are well-equipped with superb tactical skills, and even without forming a squad, their individual combat abilities are outstanding—the elite of the elite.

Their weapons include standard gear like the M1911 pistol, MP5 submachine gun, M4 Assault Rifle, Remington M870 tactical shotgun, and Remington 700 PSS sniper rifle, boasting overwhelming firepower capable of suppressing any hardened criminal head-on.

Their personal protective equipment is also highly advanced—combat suits, bulletproof vests, tactical vests, balaclavas, Goggles, ballistic helmets, and more—enough to handle a series of sudden dangers.

With micro-earpiece communicators and command via the armored vehicle's comms gear, they're nearly unstoppable.

When shooting at fixed targets, Bolt could achieve One Hundred Percent Accuracy, but facing the elite S.W.A.T, he had little confidence.

The good news was that this S.W.A.T unit hadn't deployed in full force—only three 5-man combat teams, and they weren't from New York.

As for the sniper team, Bolt couldn't tell if they were hidden. Given the factory's complex terrain, with reinforced concrete obstacles everywhere and no high ground nearby, he figured using the terrain for cover made a sniper hit unlikely.

Thanks to the remnants of the Subway Police's special ops memory, Bolt carefully dragged the unconscious Smith back to the earlier hiding spot with Quintana.

Hoping Smith would wake up and go on a rampage was out of the question. Bolt slapped him a dozen times, backhand and forehand, until his face swelled into a pig's head, but he still slept like a log.

Under Quintana's furious gaze, Bolt briefly checked the M9 and turned to leave.

"Wait, outside are fully armed cops. Are you going out to die?"

Quintana realized Bolt's intention and quickly grabbed his arm. As a companion who'd stuck with him all the way, she didn't want him to throw his life away.

"Sometimes giving up means dying easy, but if you fight, you might take someone down with you. Counting the baby, there are four of us, so killing four enemies is a fair trade!"

Bolt said it half-jokingly, then turned and left, hunched over, closing the door firmly behind him as Quintana watched.

Quintana was stunned. She'd always thought Bolt was a coward, since every time Smith went out to scout, Bolt used protecting her and the child as an excuse to stay.

At that moment, she admitted she'd misjudged him. In a crisis, Bolt didn't flinch—he was a trustworthy companion.

Actually, Quintana wasn't wrong. Bolt was indeed afraid of death. The reason he stepped up was that there was nowhere to run. After the S.W.A.T entered the factory, they never once said "Drop your weapons, surrender and you won't be killed"—not even a deceptive lie.

That meant the S.W.A.T's orders were to kill everyone!

Even a cornered rabbit bites, let alone a living person. Since they'd decided to leave no survivors, Bolt had no choice. He hid behind an old generator and silently opened the system interface.

3 Character Cards: Bolt, Temple Guard, Swart; 3 Skill Cards: One Hundred Percent Accuracy, Death Coil, Bullet Time; 3 Item Cards: Healing Ointment x2, Blood Sucking Bandage x3, and one carrot.

Ignoring the cards he couldn't use or were useless, Bolt only had three usable cards: Swart, One Hundred Percent Accuracy, and Bullet Time.

Calming his mind, Bolt focused, straining to use his enhanced perception, hoping his quicker reactions could break the dire situation.

"System, use 'Skill Card: One Hundred Percent Accuracy'!"

Host equips 'Skill Card: One Hundred Percent Accuracy'. This card is a one-time skill card!

Bolt silently cursed the garbage system for being a scam, then felt a sudden jolt in his heart and spun to fire a shot to the side. Raising the gun, turning, aiming, firing, crouching—the movements were fluid and seamless, as if honed through countless drills and ingrained in his bones.

Bang!

The bullet hit a S.W.A.T member square on, striking the Goggles and piercing the brain. The unlucky guy only saw Bolt's smooth motions before he could even pull the trigger, dropping dead on the spot.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang...

A hail of bullets roared in, overwhelming firepower pinning Bolt down instantly. He only had an M9, helpless against the elite, well-equipped SWAT.

The One Hundred Percent Accuracy skill ended, and Bolt didn't dare linger, terrified the enemy would lob a high-energy flashbang his way. A powerful flashbang with stunning effects was a must-have for special ops—one shot could take him out.

He glanced around the generator; the ground was thick with dust, nothing else. Bolt raised an eyebrow and pulled off his shoe.

On the S.W.A.T side, after losing one unlucky member, one squad laid down suppressive fire while the rest flanked from all sides, closing in on the generator.

"Fire in the hole!"

Just then, Bolt shouted, and a dark shape flew out. The S.W.A.T members instinctively dove to the ground. The moment they hit the dirt, they regretted it—it wasn't a grenade, just a shoe.

"Open fire, free to shoot!!" The squad leader, face-planting in a sprawl, roared in anger, ordering everyone to maintain formation and fire at will.

With his quick thinking, Bolt slipped out of the S.W.A.T's encirclement, trying to lure them away from the room where Smith was hiding.

But the squad leader wasn't stupid. They were experienced, preferring to widen the encirclement rather than fall into a pincer trap. They didn't know Smith was unconscious and Bolt was the only fighter, so they stayed cautious.

That bought Bolt more breathing room. He leaned against a dusty load-bearing wall, heart pounding wildly, unable to slow his breathing no matter how he tried, even his gun hand soaked with sweat.

Bolt took a deep breath and opened the system interface again, eyeing the 'Skill Card: Bullet Time'. No need to guess—it was a one-time skill too. He just didn't know if Bullet Time was timed or only good for one bullet.

Hesitating, he suddenly thought of the last usable Character Card, a glint of thought in his eyes.

He had a plan...

"System, equip 'Character Card: Swart', overlay character skin!"

Host equips 'Character Card: Swart', confirming character skin overlay. Countdown: 180 seconds. Timer starts.

In an instant, Bolt's body and appearance changed drastically. He grew taller, clad in a S.W.A.T standard combat uniform that could easily confuse the enemy, complete with Goggles and helmet.

The only difference was that Bolt had no weapon—still just an M9.

Bolt frowned: "Damn, only 180 seconds. How am I supposed to..."

He stopped mid-sentence, staring at his own gun arm, frozen for a full ten seconds before letting out a creepy laugh: "MD, what a cheat!"

The plan to infiltrate the enemy was scrapped. He was going straight for god mode!

Just then, an assault team member wielding an M4A1 spotted the load-bearing wall where Bolt was hiding. He made a tactical hand signal, and with his teammate's cover, rolled and appeared behind Bolt.

The assault member aimed his gun at Bolt, saw the familiar gear, quickly raised the muzzle, and cursed: "What the hell are you doing? Why aren't you staying in formation?"

Russell turned around, raised his M9, and made as if to fire.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang...

Russell was struck by the hail of bullets. The kinetic force of the rounds sent him flying, and he slammed against the wall, limbs twitching wildly.

Two seconds later, the commando ceased fire, staring at Russell's body pinned to the wall like a trophy. He muttered, "Target eliminated. Note: the enemy is wearing the same combat suit as us! Repeat, the enemy is wearing the same combat suit as us!"

"All squads, adjust formation. Advance in squad mode, search for remaining targets. Eliminate on sight!"

Hearing the command through his micro-earpiece, the commando acknowledged and turned to regroup with his teammates. Suddenly, a thought struck him—the corpse hadn't bled. The wall and floor were riddled with bullet holes, but not a single drop of blood.

The commando wondered what kind of bulletproof vest could be so effective, stopping a rifle burst at close range. Still, he dismissed it—at that distance, Russell's bones were surely shattered.

Just then, a pair of large hands clamped around the commando's neck from behind.

Crack!

Russell set the commando's corpse down, holstered his M9, picked up the M4A1, and reloaded with a fresh magazine. He raised the rifle, aiming at a blurry shadow on the wall.

"Immortality + X-ray vision + wall-piercing + headshots—even I could go 100 kills, 0 deaths with that setup!"

Failure Diary

Life goal: become a minor god by thirty. Now, I'm halfway there—almost thirty.