Allocating Emotion Points

Azazel did not speak of the past, yet relying solely on his teleportation ability, he shone brilliantly in X-Men: First Class.

Blink's spatial shifting ability in the battlefield of Days of Future Past was indeed too dazzling to ignore, darting like a phantom through a hail of bullets and running the Sentry ragged.

Yet when it came to level-three mutants, Wolverine's image was the most profound, for that nearly undying super-healing ability coupled with an indestructible Adamantium skeleton made him an unfallable legend.

Within the Level Four tier, the White Queen's diamond form and Mental Defense could be called top-tier, while Professor X's telepathy was all the more a strategic-grade existence. As for Magneto, Erik Lehnsherr, massive controversy existed around him.

Simply manipulating metal could only be classified at the Level Four Mutant tier, whereas that version of him in the era of Apocalypse who could manipulate the magnetic field of the entire Earth had undoubtedly stepped over the threshold of Level Five.

Moving further up were monsters like Jean Grey and Franklin, who additionally possessed the moniker of Omega Mutants.

The terrifying nature of Omega Mutants was sufficient to dominate an era, making them even more dreaded by the human military than Professor X and Magneto.

The problem is whether this is purely the cinematic universe, or if it includes the vastly more massive Marvel Comics Universe? Russell pondered inwardly.

If it was the latter, facing those terrifying entities that destroyed planets and reshaped the universe on a whim, his current bit of ability truly was not enough.

"Hey, white punk."

A rough voice rang out, and a bulky Black man nearly two meters tall blocked his path, obscuring the sunlight that had just risen in the sky.

This body of Russell's stood at one meter eighty-two, yet he still stood a head shorter before the other person, a fierce oppressive force rushing over him.

Jerry grinned, sizing up the "white-skinned punk" before him with ill intent, his blue prison uniform half-open and revealing granite-like, powerful pectoral muscles.

"All of you get the hell away! Didn't you see Boss Jerry doing business?" Three mutants behind him, similarly clad in blue prison uniforms, were crudely driving away the people around them.

Lewd smiles hung on the three dark red faces, their gazes sweeping across the crowd like they were picking out goods.

The complexions of several nearby mutants changed drastically upon hearing this, instinctively covering their buttocks as if recalling some unbearable memories, and they retreated in a panicked scramble.

The rest gathered in the distance, pointing at the three of them while whispering, anger and fear mixed into the chatter.

Russell turned around, calmly looking at these four swaggering fellows, and sighed inwardly.

Sure enough, no matter which world or which prison it was, there would always be such scum who built "order" through bullying and perverted desires.

Race had no meaning here, and the distorted forms of power were always similar.

However, today they had clearly chosen the wrong target. A sliver of icy sharpness flashed across the depths of Russell's eyes.

In the distance, several fully armed prison guards also noticed the commotion over here, leaning lazily against the wall with cigarettes dangling from their mouths, casting teasing gazes amidst puffs of smoke without the slightest intention of stepping forward to stop it, as if enjoying an upcoming play.

Jerry looked around, confirming that the guards really were ignoring it as usual, and the smile on his face grew even broader, a greedy green light burning within his crimson pupils.

"Kid," he lowered his voice, carrying a threatening tone, "if you don't want to be humiliated in full view of everyone, then don't resist and obediently come with me to the shower room, it makes it easier for everyone."

Before his words had even faded, that arm, almost as thick as Russell's thigh, lunged forward viciously.

The two Black lackeys behind him licked their yellow teeth excitedly, making disgusting smack noises and already beginning to fantasize about the ensuing scene of "enjoying" this fair-skinned prey.

Crack—

A crisp bone fracture and a wretched shriek erupted almost simultaneously.

[Psychic Telekinesis Control experience +0.2]

The ferocious grin on Jerry's face instantly twisted into extreme agony; his eyes bulged outward, and clutching his crotch, he collapsed directly onto his knees before Russell, veins on his forehead bulging like earthworms while beads of sweat the size of soybeans rolled down his dark cheeks.

"Boss! Boss, what's wrong with you?!"

The lewd smiles on the faces of the three lackeys instantly froze. Lost in filthy fantasies, they hadn't seen what happened at all.

Seeing their boss collapse to the ground after a miserable scream, the two of them hurriedly squatted down to shake Jerry.

The two frantically slapped Jerry's unresponsive cheeks, attempting to wake him up, while the other pointed trembling fingers at Russell, his voice carrying fear and bravado:

"You... what did you do to our boss?!"

[Emotion of fear +1]

[Emotion of fear +1]

[Emotion of fear +1]

Hearing this unusual and miserable shriek, the prison guards watching the commotion in the distance finally put away their teasing expressions, gripping their batons and running over quickly.

The lead guard caught sight of Jerry lying unconscious on the ground and that striking patch of blood at his crotch, his expression sinking as he demanded in a stern bark, "Who did this? Who beat him like this?"

"It's him, he did it!" The two lackeys squatting on the ground supporting Jerry pointed at Russell in unison, panic lingering in their gazes.

Russell stood in place, expressionless and with an air of detachment, his gaze pausing slightly on the newly added 3 points under the Emotion Points column on the panel, but he sneered inwardly.

Fine then, no more pretending.

Not a single one of those dog-faced wretches wearing human skin in this prison today would be leaving alive.

How many mutants had these organizations in the movies persecuted for the sake of so-called research? In the memories of this body's original owner, those were the sufferings after drug injections, along with hatred and loathing toward this base.

Just as he prepared to unleash his telekinesis, a familiar voice reached his ears.

"Number 47." Conrad parted the crowd and walked over, his face carrying his habitual indifference and disgust. "Don't cause trouble here. Let's go, come with me to the Laboratory."

Two tall, fully armed white guards in black uniforms immediately stepped forward, preparing to grab Russell's arms from either side.

"There's no need to hold me," Russell said calmly. "I can walk by myself."

Going to the experiment was fine too; destroying the enemy starting from the internal core wasn't even more interesting?

Under the gazes of hundreds of people, filled with astonishment, confusion, and fear, the unconscious Jerry was hurriedly carried toward the infirmary.

As for Russell, accompanied by Conrad and the two guards, he walked toward the cold, deep passageways inside the experimental base.

"Brandon, that brat... his name was Russell, right? He's only been here a month, hasn't he? He actually laid Jerry out!"

"Hell, did you see how he threw that punch? I didn't see a thing, yet Jerry is a level-three mutant. Even though his mutant ability was suppressed by the collar, how long has his brute strength reigned supreme in District D..."

Not only were these two guards whispering among themselves, but the other mutant prisoners on the exercise yard had also gathered together, whispering to each other as they cast complex gazes toward the passageway entrance where Russell had vanished.

Inside the passageway, as he followed Conrad toward the experimental zone, Russell quietly brought up the virtual panel in his mind.

[Emotion of fear +1]

[Emotion of surprise +1]

[Emotion of shock +1]

In a mere moment, the Emotion Points figure in the corner of the panel began to jump rapidly from 3, ultimately stopping at 124 points.

This figure roughly matched the approximate number of mutant prisoners out on the yard.

"So that's how it is." Russell understood immediately.

Emotion Points came from the intense emotional fluctuations others experienced because of him, especially strong reactions like shock and fear.

The system was hinting to him that if he wanted to grow rapidly, he had to constantly create big scenes and make himself the focal point of attention.

Can these Emotion Points be used directly to upgrade abilities? He immediately tried injecting the Emotion Points he had acquired into the experience bar behind "Psychic Telekinesis Control".

Yet there was no reaction at all. It seemed that allocating points to level up ability experience bars was somewhat unrealistic.

Only the "pending unlock" mark behind "Molecular-level Control" on the panel could possibly be related to it.

He concentrated his attention over there.

Instantly, the 124 Emotion Points on the panel began to decrease rapidly. At the same time, a new progress bar appeared beside the words Molecular-level Control (Pending Unlock) and began to slowly fill.

[Unlock progress: 1%]

[Unlock progress: 2%]

When the Emotion Points were completely depleted, the progress bar stopped at the 6% mark.

So Emotion Points are the key to unlocking new skills. Russell understood.

It seems that in the future, besides diligently practicing skills to raise proficiency, if I want to grow strong quickly, I'll have to constantly stir up trouble—big trouble—and let enough people see me to generate Emotion Points.

A short moment later, passing through several heavy silver metal doors that required permission cards and iris verification, they finally arrived at the core area of the experimental zone.

The scent of disinfectant in the air grew more pungent, mixed with some indescribable chemical reagent odor.

Conrad stopped at the doorway of the final Laboratory, labeled "High-risk Test Subject Processing Room".

He had no intention of going in, merely turning sideways and using his gaze to signal for Russell to enter alone.

The look he gave Russell was quite complex; that habitual disgust was rarely tainted with a trace of almost imperceptible pity, as if he were looking at a death row inmate about to step onto the execution ground, or perhaps a test specimen destined to be dissected.

Russell's brows twitched almost imperceptibly.

Conrad's gaze confirmed his guess; being brought here this time was definitely no routine check, but rather a more direct procedure.

And he was that white mouse lying on the surgical table.

Unfortunately, the identities of the executioner and the executed had already completely reversed since the system prompt sounded last night.

Inside this seemingly harmless youth's body, a fierce beast capable of tearing apart its cage now lurged.

Under Conrad's complex gaze, Russell straightened the thin prison uniform on his body, stepped forward with a composed expression, and entered the Laboratory suffused with an unpleasant odor.