Arthur didn't hesitate. He bolted toward the entrance of the building ahead, every nerve in his body screaming for him to move faster. His heart pounded in his ears as the sharp sound of gunfire echoed behind him. A second later, the bullet hit.
"CRACK!"
"AGHHH!"
Arthur screamed as pain shot through his body.
His right shoulder was pierced by the bullet, the force of it sending him crashing into the doorframe. He stumbled, slamming his left shoulder into the door, the impact sending waves of agony through his body.
He could feel the bone crack under the pressure, his body protesting against the brutal treatment.
His vision blurred from the shock and the searing pain, but he forced himself to keep moving, his hand still clutching the briefcase.
The man behind him yelled triumphantly, his voice ringing through the night.
"I got him! I got him!" the man screamed, his footsteps pounding closer as he chased Arthur into the building.
Arthur's mind was clouded with pain. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he staggered through the door, the world around him spinning.
Every muscle in his body screamed for him to stop, to give in, but he couldn't. He had come too far.
His phone buzzed urgently in his pocket. Through the haze of agony, Arthur pulled it out with trembling fingers, barely able to focus on the screen. A single word flashed on the display:
> Extraction
With the last of his strength, Arthur pressed the button. His fingers barely grazed the screen before the world around him started to warp, twisting and folding as though the very fabric of reality was being torn apart.
He stumbled, the briefcase still clutched tightly to his chest as the pain in his shoulder reached an unbearable peak.
His vision swam, and for a moment, the world seemed to collapse in on itself.
The shop, the men, the bullet—it all faded into a blur of light and shadow.
And then, everything went black.
Arthur awoke with a start, gasping for air. His chest heaved as his eyes flew open, the memory of the bullet tearing through his shoulder still fresh in his mind.
He lay there for a moment, his body tense, expecting the pain to return, but it didn't. Instead, there was only a strange, unsettling calm.
He sat up slowly, blinking in the dim light of his surroundings. He was no longer in the warehouse district.
The cold, decrepit building where he had made his escape was gone, replaced by what appeared to be a plain, sterile room.
The walls were smooth, white, and unmarked, and the air was still and quiet, almost unnaturally so.
Arthur glanced around, his pulse still racing. "Did I fail the mission? is this a hospital?" he thought, his heart pounding.
His mind scrambled to catch up with the events that had just unfolded. The men chasing him, the briefcase, the gunshot.
Then, with a jolt, he realized something. His shoulder—both of them, actually—felt… fine.
His hand shot up to his right shoulder, where the bullet had torn through him not long ago. His fingers probed the area cautiously, expecting to find blood, a wound—anything to explain the intense pain he had felt. But there was nothing. No injury, no scar, not even a bruise. His left shoulder, which had slammed into the doorframe, also felt perfectly fine.
Arthur frowned, disbelief clouding his thoughts. He clearly remembered the gunshot, the searing pain, and the way his body had screamed in agony as he collapsed into the building. Yet here he was, perfectly healed, as if none of it had happened.
"Was I hallucinating? I didn't actually travel to the past?" He thought, but before he could make sense of it.
His phone buzzed again. Arthur glanced down at the screen, where a new message appeared.
> Host, you have successfully completed your first mission. As this was your first experience, all injuries sustained during the mission have been healed. However, this benefit will not apply to future missions.
Arthur let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his mind spinning as the weight of the message sank in.
The system—the World Travel System—had healed him. His body, which had been ravaged by pain just moments before, was now whole again.
But it wasn't the healing that troubled him. It was the final part of the message: "This benefit will not apply to future missions."
The reality of what he had signed up for crashed over him like a wave. The next time—if there was a next time—he wouldn't be so lucky.
If he was injured, it would stay with him. And given the nature of these missions, there would be a next time. Arthur's hands trembled slightly, the adrenaline of the night still coursing through his veins.
The phone buzzed again, pulling him out of his thoughts. Another message flashed across the screen.
Performance Ranking: C
Arthur's brow furrowed. C? He clicked on the ranking, a new window expanding to explain the details of his performance.