But the gray never came. He sat up, brushed the dirt off his fatigues, and kept walking.
He just walked.
The guards saw it, too.
A grenade rolled to his feet. He kicked it away. It exploded behind him, shrapnel tearing into his legs. He felt a hot spray of blood. A moment later, the wound knitted itself shut. The health bar didn't flicker. igi unlimited health
He closed his eyes. Somewhere in the code of the world, a zero had turned into a one. A limit had been removed. And David Jones, the last man who could truly feel fear, was now trapped in a game with no game over screen.
Inside the base, it was chaos. Alarms blared. Soldiers poured out of bunkers, rifles blazing. They were trained to fight enemy commandos, not ghosts. Not men who absorbed their fire like a sponge absorbs water. Jones didn’t bother taking cover. He didn’t flank. He didn’t use smoke or stealth.
He had unlimited health. But he had never felt more dead. But the gray never came
Morozov laughed, a dry, terrified sound. "Then kill me. You've won."
Boom. A geyser of snow and black earth. He’d been thrown ten feet. He’d landed on his back, groaning, waiting for the screen to fade to gray and the dreaded words: Mission Failed.
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. The guards saw it, too
He should be dead. Or, at the very least, crawling through the snow, leaving a red trail behind him.
He walked right up to the front gate. A heavy, bearded sergeant emptied an entire PKM machine gun magazine into his chest. Jones staggered back, holes appearing in his coat like a swarm of angry moths. Blood dripped onto the snow. He felt his ribs crack. His lungs screamed.