Who Opened the Skylight

Russell glanced at Smith out of the corner of his eye, confirming the guy hadn't turned into a super carrot-man. Puzzled, he did a double draw and got one Character Card and one Item Card.

Character Card: Smith (A man who can defy heaven with a carrot)

Item Card: Carrot (Eat more veggies, good for body and mind)

Looking at the Character Card he'd drawn, Russell's fear of insufficient firepower eased a bit. He was still figuring out this crappy system and had come up with two conclusions.

First, Skill Cards and Item Cards were way less useful than Character Cards—Subway Police and Swart had never let him down.

Second, the system's card descriptions were just for show, not to be taken seriously. Take Smith's Character Card, for example. Without knowing Smith, based on that description, who the hell knew what the guy could really do?

Seeing Smith still looking unsatisfied, Russell silently activated 'Item Card: Carrot' and pulled another one from his pocket. He took a bite first, confirmed the carrot didn't have any healing effect, then handed the rest to Smith.

Smith didn't mind that Russell had already bitten it. He crunched through the carrot cleanly. With him around to chat, Russell's drowsiness faded, and he drove off, making small talk here and there.

Spotting the M1911 pistol and magazines Russell had prepped for him, Smith didn't stand on ceremony. He tucked them into his coat and spilled everything he'd done on the plane.

Russell was dumbfounded: "So, you offed the senator running for president next Monday?"

Smith said matter-of-factly: "That's right. He's worth more dead than alive."

"But he's a senator—the guy most likely to become president. Killing him means you're in for a world of trouble, isn't it?"

"No big deal. Senator Lattridge has too much dirt. If they really investigate his death, a ton of political scandals will come out. Think about it—if the public finds out the senator they supported is a hypocrite, shouting for gun control while secretly colluding with weapons companies, what happens?"

Russell was silent. Different country, different rules—he didn't know how to answer.

Smith gave the answer: "People will march in front of the White House. The government will be in chaos, public trust will hit rock bottom, and every other presidential candidate will be dragged into it. Not one of them is clean. They'll do everything to cover up the truth of Lattridge's death. Maybe tonight we'll see a news report saying he died of a heart attack."

Russell thought it over: "What if a fearless journalist exposes the truth?"

"A journalist that good exists?"

"Hypothetically!"

Smith sighed: "Then the gun control bill would take center stage. I'd actually hope for that!"

Russell shook his head. Gun control in this country was impossible. Every time a bill came up, gun sales just skyrocketed. The louder the anti-gun noise, the better the weapons companies did, leaving other countries watching in disbelief.

As they talked, Russell frowned. A car had been tailing them in the rearview mirror for a while. At first, he figured it was just the same route, but when it kept pace at a distance, he knew something was off.

Smith glanced at the mirror too, and silently exchanged a look with Russell. They both nodded, took the next highway exit, and Ford headed toward the nearest town.

"Why are people still coming after us? Didn't you say they'd cover up the senator's death?"

Smith shrugged: "We're witnesses, aren't we?"

Russell was speechless. That was true. He, Smith, and Quintana were all witnesses, and the strongest evidence was in Quintana's arms. The baby shared Lattridge's DNA. If the kid's identity came out, the whole truth would surface.

Smith was getting annoyed: "Who do you think it is? The CIA or the Major Shareholder of Hammerson Arms Company?"

If it was Hammerson Arms, even though they were a weapons giant, Smith had some options. But if it was the CIA, he'd have to leave the country and live elsewhere.

"Let's find out..." Watching the car close in through the mirror, Russell yanked the wheel and veered onto a rugged mountain road.

Half an hour later, over ten cars rolled in, disgorging a total of 70 gunmen. Leading them were the Short Leader and the Major Shareholder of Hammerson Arms Company.

The Short Leader glared furiously at the empty Ford and sent a Military Dog into the woods to track. He hated Smith to the bone and couldn't sleep without killing the bastard himself.

Truth be told, Smith owed the Short Leader and the Major Shareholder a thanks. Using their vast connections, they'd buried the truth of Senator Lattridge's death—not an assassination, but a plane crash, with no body to be found.

To the Short Leader and the Major Shareholder, Smith and his group were the last loose ends. Kill them, and their sins would never see the light of day.

Having seen Smith's marksmanship, the Major Shareholder had no interest in hunting in the mountains. He let the Short Leader take charge while he stayed in his armored car, surrounded by guards, waiting for good news.

Seventy well-armed gunmen, all ex-military, with a Military Dog hunting down four people—two of them a prostitute and a baby with no combat ability. This should be a sure thing!

Soon, gunfire erupted in the woods. The Major Shareholder sat in his car, opened the sunroof, lit a cigar, and swirled a glass of red wine, utterly at ease. Senator Lattridge's death was a good thing. Without the gun control bill, his wealth would only grow.

In a patch of grass no one noticed, Russell squinted his dead-fish eyes at the Major Shareholder's luxury armored car. According to his and Smith's plan, Smith would handle the gunmen while he protected Quintana and the baby.

So after circling through the woods, he'd snuck Quintana and the baby back to the car and driven off, only to run into the mastermind here. He told Quintana and the baby to hide, ready to take out the Major Shareholder. A rare chance—miss it, and it'd only get harder.

Russell didn't know the Major Shareholder of Hammerson Arms Company or his identity, but that didn't matter. The system knew!

Host has encountered plot character Hammerson. Triggering draw session. Draw now?

This system was good for something after all!

Russell silently drew and got an Item Card.

Item Card: Bank Card (Contains 500,000 USD, unregistered, non-replaceable, no withdrawals. Lots of limits, but Franklin's flavor is still intoxicating.)

A pretty useless card. Russell glanced at it and ignored it, scanning and memorizing every gunman's position. Including the Major Shareholder, there were 18 people, with weapons ranging from pistols, rifles, and submachine guns to shotguns. His M9 had 15 rounds and two spare magazines.

Crouching in the grass, Russell calculated how to take them all out and realized it was impossible alone.

The gunfire in the woods grew fiercer, with occasional dog barks. Russell looked at Smith's Character Card, thought about it, and decided not to use it.

"System, use 'Skill Card: Bullet Time'."

Host equips 'Skill Card: Bullet Time'. This card is a one-time skill card!

Instantly, Russell's heartbeat raced, and everything around him slowed to a crawl. His perception sharpened—his skin easily felt the wind's flow, and every sound his ears caught was rapidly analyzed and processed by his brain, fed back as clear, concise information.

A feeling of omnipotence surged in his chest. Following it, Russell burst out of the grass, the M9 in his hand sweeping before him as bullets roared from the muzzle.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom---

Russell saw the mist from bullets leaving the chamber and could sense their trajectories—a strange sensation. His reason told him it all happened in an instant, but his vision deceived his brain, crafting an overwhelming sense of reality.

After emptying half a magazine, Russell ejected it and slapped in a fresh one. The gunmen on the other side only then reacted, staring at their dead comrades as they crouched down, hiding behind cars.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom---

Russell raised his gun and fired again. This time, he jerked his arm as he shot, and the bullet's path became eerily flexible the moment it left the barrel.

The curving warheads struck the gunmen from the side. After firing fifteen rounds, Russell felt his heartbeat start to return to normal. Unable to adapt to his suddenly altered senses, the world spun around him. He ducked into the grass nearby, hiding behind a big tree as he gasped for air.

All seventeen gunmen were hit, most killed instantly. A few were wounded but alive, and during Russell's breather, they wailed one by one before passing out.

The Major Shareholder watched this, nearly spilling his red wine. Sitting in the back seat, he was about to crawl into the driver's spot when he suddenly remembered he was in an armored car. He laughed and sat back down.

My car can handle landmines—why would I be scared of a little handgun?

After resting, Russell emerged from the grass and put a few extra bullets into the surviving gunmen. Then he walked up to the armored car and stared at the smug Major Shareholder through the window, at a loss for what to say.

The Major Shareholder swirled his wine glass, raised it in a silent toast to Russell through the window, and downed it.

Russell said nothing. He pulled a grenade from behind his back, yanked the pin, and tossed it through the sunroof on top of the armored car, shattering the Major Shareholder's wine glass.

Major Shareholder: "..."

Motherf*cker, who left the sunroof open?

Failure Diary

I never look at the rankings, because I don't care about empty fame.

A failure begs for support!