I Hate Killers

Russell had a system, and he was also a veteran who had traveled through two worlds, yet he knew very little about his system. He knew neither its name, purpose, nor function, and he did not even understand why it had chosen him.

He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and went to bed. When he woke up, a cold electronic voice appeared in his mind.

There had been no computer leakage, no exploding phone, no falling meteor, no begging old man, and no lucky find at a secondhand market. He had suddenly become one of the lucky ones spoken of by the system.

Russell had asked the system about it before. He was quite resistant to having an unknown thing suddenly appear in his head, but the system had never explained itself. It only told him that he was currently in an internship phase, with insufficient permissions. Only after passing three mission world trials could he become a true Host, at which point everything would fall into place.

There was another thing Russell could not stand: the system did not release mission worlds at fixed intervals. The first two mission worlds had been Subway Surfers and Temple Run, separated by a month and a half. This time, less than two weeks had passed. There was no pattern whatsoever.

Russell hated the feeling of being controlled, of being an unwilling puppet on strings. But before becoming a true Host, all he could do was endure it.

Fortunately, he had already completed two mission worlds. Once the third ended, the truth would finally come to light.

Russell took a deep drag on his cigarette and opened the system interface. An operation panel automatically appeared before his eyes, displaying his current data under the character attributes tab.

Host: Russell

Strength: 10 (7+3)

Constitution: 8 (6+2)

Intelligence: 9 (8+1)

Level: 2

Experience: 150/500

Wealth: 400

The attributes below were all grayed out. According to the system, the following information would only be available once Russell became a true Host. In addition, the famed system shop was also grayed out and could not be opened due to insufficient permissions. The wealth in Russell's hands was effectively worthless.

The three basic attributes—Strength, Constitution, and Intelligence—seemed simple, but each covered a wide range.

First was Strength. It was not simply arm strength or bench press numbers, but a combination of power, speed, agility, and more.

Next was Constitution. It did not merely refer to physical fitness. The five senses, poison resistance, adaptability, health bar, physical resistance, and more were all included under this attribute. Add enough points, and it could even prolong one's life.

Lastly was Intelligence. It was similar to intelligence in games rather than the IQ people often talked about. It could also be viewed as mental power, encompassing coordination, Sixth Sense, mana bar, magic resistance, and more.

The three basic attributes complemented one another, and none could be neglected. It was impossible to become a god by investing in just one. Take Strength, for example: frantically adding points would not turn someone into the Hulk. Without Constitution for support and Intelligence for coordination, it would only create a malformed, fragile thing. Even a simple punch could cause the body to collapse.

Russell distributed the six points he had gained evenly among the three basic attributes, maintaining a balanced state. Given his current condition, with some training, he could reach the level of a national-caliber athlete... in track and field.

As for where the points came from, there was no need to explain. Just like in a game, he received three points every time he leveled up. Since Russell had been a police officer before obtaining the system, both his Strength and Constitution had surpassed the average person's base value of five due to training.

As for his Intelligence, which was three points above normal, that was not something simple training could achieve. It was related to his strange Sixth Sense. He seemed to possess an innate talent for identifying who was vulnerable to attack, who was more innocent, who lacked social experience, or who was more insecure.

His police academy instructor had once evaluated him like this: either become a cop, or become a criminal—and a twisted serial criminal at that!

After briefly looking over his basic attributes, Russell stared at his level for a while. One question deeply puzzled him: if he was only an intern Host, why could he still level up?

Could it be like a public beta, where all levels would be reset afterward?

Suppressing his doubts, Russell opened the skills and equipment list. This list was rather interesting.

Skills:

English Mastery (You should know that English is not just "come on," "oh yes," and "oh my god.")

Marathon Runner (You can run your opponents to death.)

Grappling Combat (Not bad.)

Poison Tongue (Conversations always end because of you.)

Equipment:

Character Card: Bolt (Though he is a flying man, his top speed is only 37.6 kilometers per hour—just one press on the accelerator.)

Character Card: Temple Guard (A monster that guards the idol.)

Character Card: Subway Police (A middle-aged man whom even a jetpack cannot shake off. Rumor has it he came from Delta Force.)

Item Card: Healing Ointment x3 (Treats arthritis in the limbs and joints, relieves muscular rheumatism and muscle pain. Add a little to boiling water and inhale the steam to treat colds and blocked noses, too.)

Item Card: Blood Sucking Bandage x3 (Contains a hundred tiny absorbent pads that can accelerate blood loss from wounds.)

The names at the front were the skills and equipment, while the descriptions behind them were the system's evaluations. Every mission world, or after a mission world ended, would trigger a Lottery Draw. Aside from Grappling Combat and Poison Tongue, which Russell already possessed, everything else had come from the lottery.

Russell had not drawn many rewards, and the system had only given him a sentence or two of explanation. He could only explore things himself and summarize what he had learned about the lottery items.

Skills came in disposable and permanent varieties. The English Mastery and Marathon Runner Russell had drawn were permanent skills. He had previously drawn a disposable skill, Jet Flame, and used it in the Temple Run world. The effect had been quite good: it had directly turned the monster guard into a fireball.

Then that fireball had chased him the whole way!

Character Cards were a damn trap. According to the system, using a Character Card would grant him that person's abilities, but the cards all had time limits. The exact duration depended on luck. It might be ten seconds, or it might be ten minutes.

That was right, ten minutes was the maximum. There was no such thing as permanent.

Of course, he could also use Wealth Points to extend the duration. The cost was charged by the second, and the more powerful the character, the more Wealth Points it consumed.

For a time, Russell had suspected this was a pay-to-win system. Unfortunately, he had not found a recharge portal.

Finally came the Item Cards. The system had kept completely silent about them, refusing to say a single word. Russell had no desire to try them either. Judging by the system's notes on Healing Ointment and Blood-Sucking Bandages, they were even more of a rip-off than the skills and Character Cards. Trying them or not made no difference.

After exiting the interface, his cigarette had already burned down to the butt. Russell did not care that he had barely smoked it. He stubbed it out in the ashtray, stood up, and began stretching his limbs in the room.

Before entering a mission world, the system would not reveal what kind of world it was. If it was like the previous two worlds, it would be another long run. Warming up was absolutely necessary.

Host, please note: the third mission world is about to begin. The final one-minute countdown has now started. Please prepare yourself!

With only one minute remaining, Russell stopped warming up, picked up the glass of water on the table, took two sips, then sat back down in his chair. When he opened his eyes again, the scenery before him had completely changed.

There was no huge monster with a white bone mask and a pitch-black body, nor was there a middle-aged policeman with a beer belly. No one was chasing him this time. He was standing atop a skyscraper.

Beside him stood four blond, blue-eyed foreigners. Including himself, they were all dressed like renovation workers... if one ignored the loaded firearms pulled from their backpacks and their sinister gazes, they really would have looked like renovation workers.

Russell looked at the Mk.11 sniper rifle in his hands, then at the black-and-white photo marked with a red X beside him. With great helplessness, he said, "I told you, I hate killers!"

Fine, I admit it—I'm not a newbie!

PS: This flop begs for support!