Confirming Identity, Sorting Through Clues

Prosperity Town!

A mining town in Arizona, it was nothing compared to the state capital Phoenix, or the world-famous Grand Canyon and Hoover Dam. Prosperity Town was utterly insignificant, too obscure to even register.

The town sat in the desert, about a two-hour drive from the nearest big city. It had over three hundred households, with a total population of less than a thousand.

A massive outflow of young labor and a severely aging population were the surface reasons for the town's decline. Digging deeper, the root cause was a problem with the town's economic lifeline.

Prosperity Town was a mining settlement. Its history only stretched back a few decades. Originally, there was just a mine shaft here, and the need for miners gradually turned it into a town.

As the name suggested, the town had boomed during a prosperous mining period. But no ore vein was inexhaustible, so Prosperity Town had naturally started its downhill slide.

Russell rode his motorcycle around the town for a while. Despite its small population, the town was surprisingly large in area. On foot, it would take at least a full day to walk the whole place.

He learned a lot about the town from the relocation ads posted along the roads. His memories of Eight Legged Freaks were sparse, and he had no background on the town's setting at all. He needed to observe and listen more now.

After circling the town once, he barely got a feel for the layout. He drove home following the house numbers.

His home address was clearly written on his Driver's License. Russell initially thought his family was average, but following the house number, he found his family was well-off—not just well-off, but wealthy.

A three-story detached villa with a large front yard, complete with trees and a garden that looked well-maintained.

Russell pulled out his Driver's License to confirm this was indeed his home before parking the motorcycle in the garage. He didn't want to get shot by the owner for trespassing.

His worry was unnecessary. As he walked toward the three-story building, a small black-and-white French Bulldog burst out of the dog door, jumping around his feet.

"Good doggy, what's your name... Oh, almost forgot, you're a real dog, not the Idiot System." Russell scooped the French Bulldog into his arms. It barked a few times, stretching its neck to get close to him.

The door was unlocked. That was good news, since Russell didn't have a key. But it was also bad news, because he had a legal identity but no memories, and didn't know how to face whoever was about to appear.

"You little brat, you actually remembered to come back? Gone all day without a trace, were you out street racing again?"

An elderly woman walked out of what was probably the kitchen. She wore an apron and had a cigarette dangling from her mouth. She was stylishly dressed, with permed hair and makeup. The light purple eyeshadow showed she refused to admit she was old—at least, she had a young mindset.

Russell was a bit stunned. The old woman was white, and he was Asian. How had fate arranged for them to be family?

Could it be...

His character was mixed-race?

Didn't look like it!

Russell didn't know how to address her. He frowned, put on a pained expression, walked over, took the cigarette from her mouth, and stubbed it out in the ashtray.

"At your age, you should smoke less. If not for anyone else, at least for yourself."

With that, Russell carried the French Bulldog upstairs. Logically, his bedroom should be on the second floor.

The old woman was displeased and called after him, "You little brat, you should call me Aunt Gladys!"

"Okay, Aunt Gladys!"

"Dinner's almost ready. Don't go upstairs yet."

"Save me a portion. I'll eat later."

Hearing his reply from the second floor, the old woman Gladys shook her head and muttered to herself, "Rebellious little brats are so annoying. This kid's getting more and more rude!"

Russell searched the second floor but didn't find his room. Just as he was at a loss, the French Bulldog helped him out, barking wildly at the ceiling. His room was on the third floor—an attic you had to pull down a ladder to reach.

The room was a bit messy. Dirty laundry was strewn all over the floor. The air had that musty smell common to boys' dorms, coming from a pair of stinky socks in the corner.

Russell opened the window to air out the room and did a bit of cleaning. The source of the Poison Gas was thrown into the trash bag.

The attic, less than twenty square meters, had a separate bathroom. The remaining space was taken up by a bookshelf, a wardrobe, a single bed, and a computer desk, making it feel a bit cramped.

Russell turned on the bulky old computer. The boot time was long. He didn't find the information he wanted in the folders, so he got up and searched the bookshelf. Lucky for him, there were five diaries. Through the scattered entries, he gradually learned about his identity.

First, Gladys had no blood relation to him. His biological parents were Chinese-American workers at the McCormack Mine, who died in a mining accident when he was young.

The mine owner, Mr. McCormack, adopted him. Half a year ago, Mr. McCormack passed away, and on his deathbed, he asked his sister Gladys to take care of Russell.

Gladys had no children of her own. She had been raising Russell all these years. Russell had lived here long-term. Even the French Bulldog named 'Bruce' was named by Russell.

The diary recorded that Russell was really into Batman comics back then...

Well, that was the worst Batman has ever been slandered!

Russell put down the diary, still a bit dazed, because his family owned a mine. Even as an adopted child, he had partial inheritance rights. The reason it was 'partial' was because Mr. McCormack had an engineer son who had left for the big city ten years ago.

A vague memory was triggered in Russell. If he remembered correctly, the male lead of the story was the engineer who had been away for ten years—the one with the mustache.

The fleeting memory vanished in an instant. Afraid he'd forget, Russell immediately wrote the scattered fragments in the diary, as much as he could. He didn't know what the world mission was yet, but it had to involve spiders, since this was originally a spider-themed monster movie.

The cause of the story—the reason the spiders mutated—was an unknown chemical substance on a transport truck.

Russell wrote down 'Jinkela' in the diary. Considering the spiders grew like they were on steroids, naming it Jinkela was no problem at all.

That's right, the Jinkela that Africa and Japan fought over!

Jinkela! Spider Rancher! Cave! Shopping Mall!

Russell wrote down a few keywords, using them to piece together the fragmented memories in his mind, trying to reconstruct the full plot.

Unfortunately, he had skipped through this movie back then, mainly watching for Big Chest Girl Ashley.

It wasn't that he simply liked the actress—he was after her looks... Pfft, no, he wasn't after her looks—he simply liked the actress!

It was a bit much to ask him to piece together the full plot right now, but a few keywords would do.

In monster movies, the ending either had the monsters killing the humans or the humans killing the monsters. In Eight Legged Freaks, the spiders were blown up in a mine explosion. Russell figured his world quest should also involve wiping out the spiders—or else protecting someone from surviving the spider attack.

"Russell, your dinner's in the kitchen. Don't forget to wash the dishes."

"Got it, Aunt Gladys. I'll take a shower first."

Russell closed his diary and decided to check out the mine tomorrow. He'd also swing by the spider breeder's place, and the shopping center too. Of course, he couldn't drop Ashley's thread either. The world quest would likely trigger from the male and female leads. The male lead wasn't back yet, so the female sheriff was the most likely candidate.

Russell opened the closet to grab a change of clothes, but found an M9 pistol inside. From the Assassin Alliance world, an Item Card had given him that M9. After a moment's thought, he locked it in the bedside drawer.

By the time Russell came downstairs after his shower, the French bulldog was already snoring in its bed. Gladys sat in the living room, reading a newspaper while listening to the radio.

Russell sat across from Gladys with his dinner. The radio blared a mess of made-up gossip, laced with foul language and Black slang. The announcer rambled on without any logic, saying whatever came to mind.

Russell kindly said, "Aunt Gladys, you're too old for this stuff. Trust me, you should switch to some classical music. It'll refine your taste and keep your mindset young."

Gladys put down the newspaper and shot Russell a sidelong glance. "Brat, you got a problem with my age?"

"Alright, my bad!" Russell shrugged. "I just think... he's talking nonsense. Don't you agree?"

"No, you haven't lived through society. There's a lot you don't get. The announcer seems crazy, but he's satirizing reality. I think he knows a lot of inside info."

Russell: "..."

Whatever makes you happy!

Broke author begging for support, recommendations, and bookmarks!