At first, he thought it was a glitch. A lucky bug in the new nanite combat suit. But as he approached the main reactor building, taking fire from two watchtowers, the truth became terrifyingly clear. Bullets tore through his jacket. He felt the hot, sharp sting of each impact. He grunted. He stumbled. But he did not slow down.
He should be dead. Or, at the very least, crawling through the snow, leaving a red trail behind him.
He looked down at his shredded chest, then up at the sergeant. The man’s eyes were wide, his hands shaking. He took a step back, crossing himself.
Jones didn't run. He didn't hurry. He walked out of the base, past the bodies of the men he'd killed, past the craters from the grenades he'd ignored. The extraction helicopter was waiting on a frozen lake. The pilot's jaw dropped as he saw Jones approach—a walking corpse, clothes in tatters, face smeared with blood, but moving with the casual stride of a man out for a Sunday stroll. igi unlimited health
His health bar stayed at 100%.
He pulled the trigger. Morozov fell.
He just walked.
This? This was a walking simulator through hell.
"No," he said quietly, as the helicopter lifted off and the missile base shrank below. "I'm not okay. I'm immortal. And there's nothing more boring than a war you can't lose."
"What are you?" the sergeant whispered in Russian. At first, he thought it was a glitch
He reached the control room. General Morozov, a pale, thin man with a cybernetic eye, stood behind a bank of computers. His guards had already fled. Morozov stared at Jones, who was leaning against the doorframe, leaking blood from a dozen wounds but standing perfectly upright.
Morozov laughed, a dry, terrified sound. "Then kill me. You've won."
"Sir? Are you... okay?" the pilot stammered. Bullets tore through his jacket
Jones climbed into the cabin and slumped into a seat. He looked at his reflection in the dark window. A ghost stared back.