Surviving the Apocalypse with my Multiplier System - Chapter 117: Emergency Mission

“Stop following me!” Asher yelled, his patience running thin. He had let it slide for too long because she had done a lot for him. But now she was everywhere, suffocating him.“I’m only trying to protect you,” she responded.Asher sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I need some space, alright? I can take care of myself.”She didn’t budge, and just kept staring at him with that same obsessive look, like she had no intention of leaving.“Is it because you’re strong now? Are you going to leave me because I'm no use to you anymore?” Her voice had turned cold, sharp enough to cut through the silence.“Of course not, you know that’s not the reason…”“Then why do you want me to stop following you?”“I’m just going to the restroom, for God’s sake!” He massaged his temple, clearly at his wit’s end.“Oh, you should have said that earlier.” She giggled, the earlier tension melting away.“I did,” he sighed in defeat.

I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.

Amid the silence of the aftermath, a sealed envelope was found resting beside the fallen Infinity Blade. Its edges were worn, as though it had been carried for many years, yet the seal remained intact. Gok, known for his stoicism and strength, had written it long before the final battle, anticipating that one day his journey would reach its end.

Cheng Xi, a guileless psychiatrist with a heart of gold, who would do anything for her patients. Lu Chenzhou, a frigid businessman who refuses treatment for his emotional detachment.