Bab 1: My Friend
Be careful when you wish upon the stars. You never know when one of them will actually come true. So far, one part of my wish has materialized. If my speculation is correct, I will eventually gain my unique power. The trigger mechanism remains unknown—I wasn't too specific about it.
But that doesn't matter. All I know is that I need to prepare. One of my preparations has been training in martial arts. Honing my combat skills is crucial for survival. A sharp fighting instinct would go a long way in ensuring my survival. That's why a huge chunk of my time is spent on honing it.
Nevertheless, a transmigrator true trump card is the plot. Less time is spend keeping track on it, that is due to the lack the resources to access information. I don't have the money, technology, or any tools for information gathering. So far, the information I've gathered is shallow, providing a vague insight into the progression of this world. However, the information is enough for me to understand important characters. I am familiar with their actions and locations and have set plans. The only piece missing is to awaken my system to begin getting involved. After all, there is not much a normal human can do in this universe.
That's why my focus right now is to not get my ass beaten by my training partner.
My opponent targets my leg with a swift low kick. I immediately raise my leg to block the strike and counter with a right-handed punch. He responds adeptly, raising both arms to meet my fist like an iron wall. Simultaneously, we retracted our offenses, each of us readying to strike again.
My speed gives me an edge, allowing me to launch another attack first, this time with my left fist aiming at his torso. In a split second, he sees an opening and goes for a counterattack, aiming a punch at my head. He thinks he has an advantage, assuming I have left myself vulnerable. How wrong he is.
As soon as he moves for the strike, my right arm is already raised in a defensive position, shielding my head. With his body now exposed, I seize the opportunity and strike his stomach with a powerful punch. The impact sends a surge of pain through his body, evident from the look of anguish on his face.
My body stops, knowing full well that the spar is over at this point. This is a spar, not a battle to the death. Nevertheless, my mind wanders. I think of my next move after that punch. My first thought is to continue attacking once more on the stomach with the intention of damaging the liver. Although my current skill isn't accurate enough to pinpoint the liver, close proximity is enough. On the chance it did succeed, Adam would go into shock, quivering in pain. That would give me enough time to wind up another punch, this time directly at his jaw. A well-placed blow to the jaw could cause a whiplash effect, moving his head rapidly. This could lead to a concussion or a knockout as the sudden movement would make his brain impact the inside of his skull.
"Motherfucker! That hurts!" he screams, clutching his stomach.
A normal reaction, but something about it feels odd. I brush it off, thinking that it was nothing of notice. I was too busy rubbing my victory in his face. "Well, you said no mercy. I was just fulfilling your wish," I said, grinning.
"Wipe that smug look off your face. That was a lucky shot," he says, defending his dignity.
"If that is what you need, Adam, to sleep better at night, go ahead and believe that my victory was purely luck," I mock him.
"Motherfucker," Adam says before he jumps at me. If this were new, I would be surprised, but this is the usual occurrence. Normally, I would struggle for a while trying to make distance. Today is different; I've thought plenty about how to counter his usual bull rush. My solution is simple but effective: trip him. I've noticed many times that whenever he charges at me, he has little control over his movement. He accelerates to the utmost, making it difficult for him to change direction. If I execute it timely, I can take advantage of this weakness and trip him. My gamble is spot on. He notices my leg but has little ability to stop, leading him to trip.
Like a barrel, the 1.81-meter Adam tumbles over and smashes directly on the mat, making quite a sound. "Quite" would be an understatement since the whole gym is looking at both of us. If Adam were a stranger, I might refrain from laughing, but since he's not, I laugh hysterically along with some other trainees who find it funny.
Adam, the victim, also laughs along. Though once everyone dies down, he says to me, "I couldn't even be mad. Let's get drinks after this; beers on you." I nod, and cheerfully he makes his way toward the changing room.
Some would say drinking while training is stupid, especially for someone striving to survive in a new, dangerous world. My response is that I am simply human. Alcohol allows me to take my mind off the looming threat that riddles my waking moments. Sure, right now it is peaceful, but every time I am sober, I don't feel safe. I feel like a mouse surrounded by cats.
Adam and I drink the night away, enjoying each other's company. He was the first person I met when I awoke in this universe on a stormy night. Our encounter was odd to say the least. The body I have possess seems to be in quite the condition. I could barely crawl, much less find any help. Luckily, he came right before I was about to pass out. Though what I find odd is the fact that, there seems to be certain shine lacing his arm.
Thinking of it. I find it odd that I would notice such a detail in a dire situation. Yet it sticks to me till now.
Aside from that unusual detail. I was truly a lost man that day. While limping with Adam supporting me. I was able to witness New York, my birth city, in a different light. A home that was familiar yet distant. The streets and roads were the same, but the details around the buildings were vastly different. Billboards, newspapers, posters, and more. Depicted characters from my world, yet their identities were altered. Robert Downey Jr., an actor, was now a billionaire. At first, I was surprised and in denial of the reality of the situation. However, as more pieces fell into place, the puzzle became complete, and the image became clear. At that moment, I realized that one part of my wish had come true. As for the second part, I only hope its activation doesn't involve danger.
After having our drinks, we walked back home. Jokes are told, and loads of other shenanigans ensue. One time we almost got into a fight with another drunk person. Adam, being more tolerant to alcohol and stepped in to save me. His movements were sharp, everything was smooth. When I first witnessed these incidents, I thought he fights better when drunk, but now another thought became apparent in my mind. Maybe he had a past, one that's dark. That would be cool.
It happened so suddenly; without warning, we were knocked unconscious before reaching home. The pain still pulses now. I look around to get a clue of my surroundings, but nothing comes to mind—the room is too dark to see more than a meter. I thought I would panic, be scared. Oddly, I didn't; quite the opposite, I was composed. I don't know the source of my calmness. All that matters is that, for now, this is good.
I flex my arm to assess the restraints around my hand. Whoever these guys are, they are thorough. They tied my wrists with rope and taped my hands, making escape significantly harder. My legs got the same treatment. It seems escape through my own means isn't a good option. Waiting patiently is the only solution.
I turn to my left, noticing Adam still unconscious. Bruises cover his face, evidence of a struggle. There's much to speculate, but I know for sure Adam didn't go down without a fight. It was a bad decision—he could have been killed—but he likely did it to protect me.
The wait is miserable. Even though I'm collected, the fear of the worst outcome lingers in my mind. I want to call out into the darkness, but that would only irritate my captors. The proof is in the distant cries of pain from those who caused a disturbance. Their attitude toward us makes me realize that doing nothing will most definitely kill me.
Kidnapping rarely ends well. The only scenario where the victim gets out alive is ransom. Since Adam and I are poor, the chance of us being kidnapped for ransom is small. That leaves several disturbing possibilities.
Human trafficking is the most likely, meaning we are probably going to be labor slaves or forced into some other form of exploitation. Another, more dangerous speculation is organ harvesting. That is the worst possibility. Although it is a chance, it is one I am not willing to take.
There are other scenarios too. They might force us into criminal activity, using us as pawns in their illegal enterprises. It's possible they have some personal vendetta or are using us to send a message, keeping us alive for leverage or as examples. In the most extreme cases, they could be planning to use us for unethical medical or scientific experiments. Knowing this world's tendencies, this one is looking more and more likely.
These thoughts swirl in my mind, each one more terrifying than the last. I know I can't afford to wait passively for whatever fate they have in store. I need to act, and I need to act soon.
The stakes shift my plan from A to B. I can no longer stick with being patient. Knowing that my eyes are useless, I utilize my other senses to gather information. Throughout the time I've been in the room, I concentrate on every sound I can hear.
I hear the shuffling of feet, the subtle variations in footsteps hinting at different individuals moving around. There's a pattern to the steps, a rhythm that suggests there are at least five kidnappers patrolling or stationed nearby. Occasionally, I catch snippets of hushed conversations, confirming multiple voices.
The breathing patterns of those around me, though faint, help me estimate about twenty captives. It's difficult, but the sheer number of different breathing rhythms, some fast and panicked, others slow and resigned, give me a rough count.
The space around us is vast and echoey. Sounds travel and bounce off distant walls, reinforcing the idea that we're in a large, empty structure—likely a warehouse. The air feels cooler and more open
, with occasional drafts suggesting high ceilings and wide-open spaces.
Occasionally, I hear the faint clinking of metal, possibly chains or tools, and the scraping of objects being moved. These sounds add to the mental map I'm constructing of our surroundings. The unethical experiment and organ harvesting assumption becomes more prominent due to the presence of what seems like medical equipment.
Based on these observations, I'm certain we're in a warehouse guarded by at least five kidnappers, with around twenty other captives. This realization sharpens my focus. I need a plan to survive and escape this nightmare.
First and foremost, I need to free myself. Fortunately, with a vigorous flexing, I manage to work one finger out from under the tape. The effort takes considerable strength, leaving me breathing heavily. I do my best to suppress the urge to gasp, fearing it might raise suspicion.
As I free my finger, I use it to assess the knot. A few minutes of careful maneuvering reveal that the knot was hastily tied, leaving some slack. I take a moment to steady my breath, focusing on the sounds around me to pinpoint the kidnappers' locations. I wait until one moves further away before continuing.
With the knot within reach, I carefully slide my finger along the rope, feeling for the tension points. I apply gentle pressure, easing the knot bit by bit, ensuring it doesn't tighten further. Each small movement is deliberate, testing how much I can manipulate the rope without drawing attention.
As I work, I stay attuned to any shifts in the environment—the creaking of footsteps, the rustle of clothing, the distant murmur of conversation. Only when the sound is faint do I dare to continue loosening the knot, inching it toward freedom.
This delicate balance of patience and precision gives me hope. The rope is my barrier, but with each calculated movement, I'm one step closer to breaking free.
My mind overexerts beyond its capacity, multitasking between escaping and monitoring. Yet, showing no signs of fatigue, it feels surreal. I want to understand it more, but my current situation prevents me. I push such idle thoughts away, thinking of my next move as the rope is one step away from being untied.
Once the knot is undone, the rope will fall to the ground. I could use my finger to hold it up, but that would only be an obvious sign that I'm no longer restrained. I don't know how the kidnappers can see in the dark, but my best guess is they're using night vision goggles. The more I think about it, the more it doesn't add up. Why didn't they cover our eyes? Instead, they chose to turn off the lights and wear night vision goggles.
I ponder this reasoning while simultaneously freeing more of my fingers from the tape. It's proving difficult due to the layers of tape, and I was lucky my first finger was only lightly covered.
Smoothly, my hand escapes the confines of the tape. I should feel relieved that I'm getting closer to escaping, but as I think further about my plan and the high possibility of death, I remain vigilant.
The room being dark without us having blindfolds makes sense if they don't want anyone to notice that something's going on inside. After all, in the dead of night, a lit warehouse is as bright as the sun. As for the lack of blindfolds, I believe they don't care if we see their identities. Dead men tell no tales.
Another reason could be psychological control. By allowing us to see, the kidnappers can instill more fear and uncertainty, making us easier to control. The darkness and unknown surroundings are disorienting and terrifying. Handling blindfolds for so many captives might also be cumbersome. It's quicker and simpler for them to rely on darkness and night vision goggles.
Isolation might be another factor. Without the ability to see our surroundings, we feel more isolated and less likely to communicate or form plans with each other. Moreover, being able to see our faces allows the kidnappers to better monitor our reactions and ensure we remain subdued.
Additionally, this psychological control could be linked to their need for compliance in potential experiments. By keeping us in a state of fear and disorientation, they can break down our will to resist and make us more compliant subjects for any unethical medical or scientific experiments they have planned. The terror of our situation might make us more docile, easier to manipulate, and less likely to resist or cause trouble.
All this reasoning is merely speculative and serves only to mentally prepare me for those situations. It is better to be ready for anything than be unprepared, especially when I am in the dark about everything.
With my hand free, I wait patiently for an opportunity to strike. Removing my leg restraints is impossible to go unnoticed. My arms alone were already risky enough, so I am willing to wait until one of the kidnappers comes near and use them as a hostage. Risky and stupid, but that is my only option. I understand that this plan would mean I am the only one that escapes. Adam would be left here, and by the time I could save him, he would already be gone. A harsh choice, but I value my own life more.
"I am sorry," I mutter with indifference. The words flow naturally, yet somehow I feel that something is not right.
Taking my mind off the mental deviation, I breathe calmly, remembering everything I have heard. One of them being the opening and closing of doors to the right of me. This is good since the kidnapper that most often patrols alone is there. While he is alone, the others are spread in positions that leave gaps in their coverage. If I am able to take him down quickly, my escape is guaranteed.
I adjust my position, making sure the rope around my wrists still appears tight. I tense my muscles, ready to spring into action. The key is to be quick and decisive—any hesitation could cost me my life.
I focus on the pattern of footsteps. The lone kidnapper's steps are slower, heavier. He is likely carrying weaponry based on the sound of metal colliding, which is good—it shows reliance on long-range weapons. I wait for the precise moment when he is alone to cause a bit of commotion, shaking vigorously.
He shouts, telling me to stop. I don't stop, forcing him to come forward and investigate. The distraction would garner the attention of the others. However, somehow I feel that even with everyone watching, I can do it. Is it confidence? Or something else? Like a snake, my eyes keep track of his distance. Even when shaking like a lunatic, my sight never leaves the kidnapper.
The second he is within reach, he pulls out a pistol, wanting to threaten me. Instantly, my right hand snaps forward while my other hand smacks his gun hand with full force. The pain makes his grip loosen, allowing me the opportunity to snatch the pistol away. The surprise works in my favor, and I manage to secure the pistol.
The others must have noticed and taken aim without shooting. All according to plan—if I were isolated and alone, they would have instantly shot. Nevertheless, I am among the crowd of precious merchandise and their own men. They are hesitant to shoot recklessly, taking their time for an accurate shot. That gives me enough time to put my hostage in a chokehold and hold the gun directly to his head.
His allies shout threats. I respond with my own, "Tell me the way out, or I'll blast his head right open."
My aggression seems to work; they switch from shouting to silence. I am about to shout once more, but at that moment, I hear another set of footsteps. Without realizing it, my body moves on its own, smacking the hostage on the back, rendering him unconscious. I then push his body forward, using it as a meat shield. Simultaneously, my head twitches unnaturally toward the source of the sound, and I fire three shots without hesitation.
I don't have time to comprehend the miracle I have just performed. Everything is smooth and precise; even the seemingly random three shots are not random at all. While I don't fully comprehend everything, the intent behind each shot is clear. Although two of them miss, each one is aimed to maximize the probability of hitting the extra kidnapper.
Witnessing my sudden transformation, I realize that the second part of my wish had been there from the beginning. Only now has it finally triggered.
[First Kill!] = 5 Gold Coins
[Congratulations Host! You have fully activated the Terraria System.]
[Survival Protocol Activation] = Perk: (Terrarian Mind)
**Terraria System**
[Health]: 20/20
[Mana]: 20/20
[Inventory]:
[Perks]: (Terrarian Mind)
[Money]: 5 Gold Coins
[Quest]: [Current Quest Details]
[Shop]
[Crafting]
It seems my "golden finger," as some might call it, has finally arrived. I don't know all the benefits of this Terrarian Mind perk, but one feature is clearly the Terrarian warrior mindset and experience in battle. Reflecting on my rapid proficiency in boxing, it makes sense. My mind has become sharper, capable of multitasking and colder, with little regard for emotional attachment. My accuracy is akin to that of a veteran soldier. It must have been this perk.
That leaves the question: why was it there from the beginning? While pondering this, my gun hand doesn't stop. Using the brief illumination from the gunfire, my eyes track the location of the remaining kidnappers. I note their positions and immediately fire five shots with great precision.
All of the shots hit, but only two are fatal. The others manage to jump in time, letting their bulletproof vests protect them. They grimace, and I fire another volley of bullets, this time ending them all.
The gunshots caused a commotion inside the warehouse, making it hard to hear the footsteps of people approaching the room. I didn't panic; at this point, my confidence level skyrocketed. I knew it wasn't me actually making these miracles happen but my perk. Nevertheless, a man can act cool once in a while.
With that thought, I started my massacre. Time for some John Wick action.
Prowling in the darkness, I reached the door. Swiftly, I punched with all my might, knowing full well that it would knock out the person coming around the corner. My fist smashed into his jaw, sending him tumbling leftward. His friend was sloppy, reacting as slowly as a snail. I punished him with a bullet right to his cranium. The rest must have realized that death awaited them, as their movements stopped dead in their tracks, waiting for me to reveal myself.
That, I did. Sprinting low, I charged at them, ready to unload iron into their brains. The foremost person reacted and shot, but I had anticipated his move. With grace, I slid, lowering myself enough to be out of his shooting line. The other two behind him were about to shoot as well. However, I was faster. Three successive bullets were fired from my sliding position. The first bullet pierced the foremost attacker's knee, dropping him to the ground. The second shot hit the second attacker's shoulder, causing him to spin and fall. The third bullet struck the last man square in the chest. Following the shots were three bodies hitting the ground.
The carnage didn't end there; more people were coming. Picking up the dead men's pistols, I dual-wielded them, readying myself for more life-and-death battles. My thoughts wandered for a moment, wanting to feel a surge of disgust from all the bloodshed. Yet there was none.
I didn't have time to dwell on it. More enemies were approaching, their footsteps echoing through the warehouse. I moved swiftly, blending into the shadows, and positioned myself behind a stack of crates. When two more kidnappers entered, I sprang into action. One received a bullet to the head before he could even raise his weapon. The other tried to flee, but I took him down with two shots to the back.
As I advanced, another group of three men rushed in, armed and ready. I ducked behind a column and fired. The first shot hit the lead man in the throat, silencing his cry. The second man fired wildly in my direction, missing entirely, and I retaliated with a precise shot to his heart. The last man hesitated, giving me just enough time to aim for his head and pull the trigger.
My thoughts wandered again, wanting to feel a surge of disgust from all the bloodshed. Yet there was none.
"What have I become?" I muttered, walking down the corridor wearing one of the kidnapper's night vision goggles.
Steadily, I made my way down the corridor, staying alert for any sound of footsteps. There were none; it was eerily quiet. The silence screamed danger. They must be waiting at the exit, ready to kill me.
As I got closer to the door leading to the exit, the roar of gunshots echoed outside the warehouse. I immediately ducked down, evading the line of fire from whoever was behind the door.
Observing carefully, it became clear that the target wasn't me. No bullets penetrated the door or left any dents. Even with this confirmation, I didn't stand up. Instead, I crawled slowly toward the door.
The gunshots continued, and it became evident that another party was involved. I gripped my gun tightly before opening the door. Welcoming my sight was a shadowy streak. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Yet as I focused, I saw him—a man in some sort of armor, wearing a helmet with horns akin to a devil's. He was brutal, yet swift with his strikes, bashing everyone with some sort of stick.
It didn't take long for me to guess his identity. He was Matt Murdock, the Daredevil.
Weaving through the trees and taking full advantage of his super senses, the kidnappers' night vision became obsolete. Sight wasn't enough to track down a man who could map out the whole place with pure senses. The forest was his territory, and the foolish prey would be massacred.
A man fired round after round, following the trail of Daredevil. He looked around, confused and scared. Big mistake. Like helpless prey, he didn't even realize that danger was behind him. An overhead strike fell upon his cranium, smashing him like a meteor. It was instant—no resistance, just a body falling down.
Seeing it on screen was one thing; reality conveyed far deeper emotions. I was awed—the mastery, the execution, everything was perfect. Truly unnatural, unlike anything a human can do.
I breathed heavily in excitement, fully digesting the reality I was in. This is my life now; this is the imagination I always wanted to be reality. Screw all the danger talks from the beginning. I don't care if I live a short life. I don't care if there are threats from all over the cosmos. The fire burns like an inferno, ready to be released. Ready to show its magnificence upon the world.
I shouted internally: I, Richard, will not live a boring life! I WILL FINALLY TRULY LIVE!
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone