Prosperity Town!
A mining town in Arizona. Compared to Phoenix, Arizona's capital, or world-famous landmarks like the Grand Canyon and Hoover Dam, Prosperity Town was nothing at all—so insignificant it could be ignored.
The town lay in the desert, about a two-hour drive from the nearest major city. There were currently over three hundred households, with a total population of fewer than a thousand.
The loss of young and middle-aged workers and the town's severe aging population were only superficial reasons for its decline. Dig deeper, and its economic lifeline had gone wrong.
Prosperity Town was a mining town with a history of only a few decades. At first, there had only been a Mine here. It gradually developed into a town because of the miners' needs.
As its name suggested, the town had once prospered because of mining. There were no inexhaustible mineral veins in the world, so Prosperity Town naturally began its decline.
Russell rode his motorcycle around the town. Though its population was small, it covered quite a large area. Walking through the entire town on foot would take at least a full day.
The relocation advertisements posted along the roadside told him quite a bit about the town. He had few memories of Eight Legged Freaks, much less any knowledge of the town's setting. For now, he needed to watch and listen more.
After circling the town and barely familiarizing himself with the terrain, Russell followed the address on his Driver's License home.
His home address was clearly written on his Driver's License. Russell had assumed his family circumstances were average, but after following the address, he discovered that his family was doing quite well—more than well. They were wealthy.
It was a three-story detached villa with a spacious front yard, complete with trees and a proper garden.
Russell took out his Driver's License and confirmed that this really was his home before parking the motorcycle in the garage. He had no desire to get shot by the owner for trespassing on private property.
His worries proved unnecessary. As he walked toward the three-story house, a small black-and-white French Bulldog darted out through the dog door and bounced around his feet.
"Good doggy, what's your name... Oh, I almost forgot. You're a real dog, not the Idiot System." Russell scooped up the French Bulldog. It barked a few times and stretched its neck eagerly to snuggle closer to him.
The front door was unlocked. That was good news, since Russell had not brought any keys. But it was also bad news, because he had a legal identity but no memories and had no idea how to face whoever might appear.
"You brat, you still remembered to come home? You vanished for an entire day. Were you out street racing again?"
An elderly woman emerged from what was probably the kitchen. She wore an apron and had a cigarette dangling from her mouth. Her appearance was fashionable, with permed curls and makeup. Her light purple eyeshadow showed that she refused to admit she was old—at least, she still felt young at heart.
Russell was a little stunned. The old woman was white, while he was Asian. How had fate arranged for them to become family?
Could it be...
Was he mixed-race?
He didn't look like it!
Russell did not know how to address her. He frowned and put on a pained expression, then walked over, removed the cigarette from her mouth, and crushed it in the ashtray.
"At your age, you should smoke less, if only for your own sake."
With that, Russell carried the French Bulldog upstairs. Normally speaking, his bedroom should be on the second floor.
The old woman was highly dissatisfied. She called after Russell's retreating back, "You brat, you should call me Aunt Gladys!"
"Okay, Aunt Gladys!"
"Dinner will be ready soon. Don't go upstairs yet."
"Save my portion. I'll eat later."
Hearing the response from upstairs, Gladys shook her head and muttered to herself, "Kids in their rebellious phase are so annoying. This child is getting more and more rude!"
Russell searched the second floor but failed to find his room. Just as he was at a loss, the French Bulldog helped him greatly by barking wildly at the ceiling. His room was actually on the third floor: an attic that could only be reached by pulling down a ladder.
The room was somewhat messy. Clothes waiting to be washed were strewn all over the floor, and the air carried the familiar mildew smell of a boys' dormitory, coming from the stinky socks in the corner.
Russell opened the window to keep the room ventilated, then cleaned it up while he was at it. He also tossed the source of the Poison Gas into a garbage bag.
The attic was less than twenty square meters, with a separate bathroom. The remaining space was divided among a bookcase, wardrobe, single bed, and computer desk, making it feel somewhat cramped.
Russell turned on the old, bulky computer. It took a long time to boot. He failed to find the information he wanted in the folders, then got up and searched through the bookcase. Fortunately, there were five diaries. Through scattered entries, he gradually came to understand his identity.
First, Gladys was not related to him by blood. His biological parents had been Chinese workers at McCormack Mine, and they had died in a mining accident when he was young.
Mr. McCormack, the mine owner, had adopted him. McCormack had died half a year ago, and before his death, he had asked his sister Gladys to take care of Russell.
Gladys had no children of her own and had raised Russell all these years. Russell had lived here for a long time. Even the French Bulldog named Bruce had been named by Russell.
According to the diary, Russell had been very fond of Batman comics during that period...
Uh, this was Batman's darkest moment!
Russell put down the diary, still somewhat dazed. His family owned a mine. Even as an adopted child, he possessed part of the inheritance rights. The reason it was only part was that Mr. McCormack had an engineer son who had left for a major city ten years ago.
A portion of Russell's vague memories was stirred. If he remembered correctly, the male lead of the story was the engineer who had been away from home for ten years—the guy with the little mustache.
The fleeting memory vanished in an instant. Afraid he would forget, Russell immediately wrote the scattered fragments into the diary, recording as much as he could. Though he still did not know what the World Quest was, it surely involved spiders. After all, this was originally a monster movie about spiders.
The cause of the story—the reason the spiders mutated en masse—came from unidentified chemicals in a transport truck.
Russell wrote the three words "Jinkela" in his diary. Considering that the spiders had grown wildly as if they had eaten steroids, calling it Jinkela was perfectly reasonable.
Yes, that Jinkela fought over by Africa and Japan!
Jinkela! Spider Keeper! Mine! Shopping Center!
Russell wrote down several keywords and used them to piece together the fragmented memories in his head, trying to reconstruct the complete plot.
Unfortunately, he had watched the movie in bits and pieces back then, mainly to watch Big Chest Girl Ashley.
It wasn't that he simply liked the actress. It was because he coveted her beauty... Pah, he had that backward. It wasn't because he coveted her beauty; he simply liked the actress!
Asking him to reconstruct the entire plot now was truly difficult, but a few keywords were enough.
In monster movies, the ending was either the monsters killing humanity or humanity killing the monsters. In Eight Legged Freaks, the spiders were lured into the Mine and blown to death. Russell believed his World Quest should also be to eliminate the spiders. Otherwise, it would be to protect someone through this spider attack.
"Russell, your dinner is in the kitchen. Remember to wash the plate."
"Okay, Aunt Gladys. I'll come down after a shower."
Russell closed the diary and decided to visit the Mine tomorrow. He also needed to pay the Spider Keeper a visit, as well as the Shopping Center. Of course, he could not let Ashley's lead go cold either. The World Quest would most likely be triggered by the male and female leads. Since the male lead had not returned yet, the female sheriff was the most likely possibility.
Russell opened the wardrobe to get clean clothes for a change, only to discover an M9 pistol inside. It was the M9 that had come from an Item Card in the Assassin Alliance world. After some thought, he locked it in the bedside table.
By the time Russell finished showering and came downstairs, the French Bulldog was already curled up in its bed, sleeping soundly. Gladys sat in the living room, reading the newspaper while listening to the radio.
Russell carried his dinner and sat across from Gladys. The radio was full of fabricated gossip, mixed with unbearable profanity and Black slang. The host said whatever came to mind, with no logic whatsoever.
Russell kindly said, "Aunt Gladys, at your age, you shouldn't be listening to this anymore. Believe me, you should switch to some classical music. It can cultivate your temperament and keep you feeling young."
Gladys put down the newspaper and gave Russell a sidelong glance. "You brat, do you have a problem with my age?"
"Fine, my mistake!" Russell shrugged. "I just think... he's talking nonsense. Don't you agree?"
"No. You haven't experienced society, so there are many things you don't understand. The host may seem crazy, but he's satirizing reality. I think he knows a lot of inside information."
Russell: "..."
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