Before the gateman could respond, a mont of silence filled the atmosphere. Suddenly, a prompt ford in front of John followed by a cracking chanical voice of the system that echoed in John’s mind.
[DING! The Host has to set his mind for the first mission from the system. The system will award the Host upon successful completion of the mission.]
"The mission? What could the mission be about? And what if I don’t et the mission target from the system, will it cause so punishnt?"John quickly asked.
[The Host will have to take part in the international motorcycle racing tournant that will take place at Golden Racing Stadium.]
[The Host would lose a lot of rewards in the future if he doesn’t get the best out of him. Moreover, the winner of the tournant will be awarded $1billion. The system hopes the Host will participate and attempt luck.]
"$1 billion? I accept the mission." John shouted his left hand brushing his hair in disbelief. He widened his eyes and held the temples and said," I will do my best!"
[The Host has to worry less for the system will upgrade his driving skills. The Host has to compete favorably. The Host has 72 hours to go and apply for the tournant.]
Suddenly, the prompt disappeared, leaving John staring blankly. The gateman, still waiting for a response, wondered what had gotten into John. Had he just been ghosted? Was John pondering the existential mysteries of life or just thinking about what toppings to get on his pizza later?
"Are you okay, sir?" the gateman finally ventured, his curiosity getting the better of him.
John blinked, snapped back to reality. "Oh, uh, yes. Just...thinking about...stuff. Anyway, good night!"
"Good night, sir," the gateman replied, scratching his head. He watched John walk towards the parking lot, shaking his head and muttering, "Man, these city folks are always thinking about weird things. Must be the pollution."
The gateman was a burly fellow, with a round face and a bushy mustache that twitched whenever he spoke. His uniform was slightly too tight, giving him the appearance of a stuffed sausage, but he carried himself with a no-nonsense attitude. As he watched John walk away, his instincts kicked in.
"He must’ve seen a ghost or sothing," he thought. "Or maybe he’s one of those secret agents. Always staring off into space and talking to themselves. Or maybe he’s just really bad at rembering where he parked his bike."
John reached his apartnt and parked his motorcycle, the day’s events swirling in his mind. He entered his apartnt, a modest place with simple decor, and headed straight for the shower.
The warm water cascaded over him, washing away the gri and stress. As he lathered up, he couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Here he was, a regular guy suddenly roped into so mystical mission with a chanical voice in his head.
After his shower, John moved to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and surveyed his options. "Leftover pizza or ran?" he mused aloud. "Ah, who am I kidding? Pizza it is." He grabbed a slice, tossed it into the microwave, and watched it spin lazily.
As it heated up, he thought about the mission. An international motorcycle race tournant? He could barely balance on a bike during rush hour, let alone race professionally. This information just sank into John giving him an imaginary psyche.
The microwave beeped, and he pulled out the slice, blowing on it to cool it down. He took a bite, savoring the gooey cheese and tangy tomato sauce. "Okay, John," he told himself between bites, "let’s break this down.
However, just as he was in enjoynt moods, a hard chanical voice in John’s mind.
[The Host has 72 hours to sign up for the tournant as the mission from the System.]
[The system will upgrade your driving skills with a new racing motorcycle that will be available to the Host in 72 hour ti]
"I hope it will be sothing classic. I can’t just wait to see the day! Whatever that ans. Piece of cake, right?" He chuckled at his own pep talk and finished his al.
John’s apartnt was a cozy space, reflecting his unpretentious lifestyle that he had introduced himself in recently. The living room was adorned with a worn-out couch, a coffee table cluttered with old magazines.
John imagined how his life will be in future. He figured like during these hours he would be handling remote controls, and a TV that would be on its last legs. He would be plopping down on the couch, remote in hand, and flipping through channels aimlessly.
As he settled in, his mind wandered back to the events of the day. The confrontation at the hospital, the unexpected news about Damaris, and now this bizarre mission. "Why ?" he wondered aloud. "Of all the people in the world, why does the universe think I’m so kind of racing prodigy?"
Just as he was about to doze off, his phone buzzed. He picked it up and saw an incoming call from Tyron. John hesitated, then answered, bracing himself for whatever news Tyron had.
"Hey, John!" Tyron’s voice ca through, surprisingly cheerful. "Guess what? We’ve been released!"
"Released? Already? How?" John asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Well," Tyron began, "according to what I wrote in my statent, they let go. Turns out, Rohit’s the main suspect. He was found guilty of multiple charges."
"Wait, so you’re completely off the hook?" John couldn’t hide his astonishnt.
"Yep! But get this," Tyron continued with a chuckle, "Rohit’s been released on bail. A $3 billion bail bond."
John nearly dropped the phone. "What? Three billion dollars? Who has that kind of money just lying around?"
Tyron laughed. "Apparently, Rohit does. Or at least, his friends in high places do. But seriously, the guy’s got more skeletons in his closet than a haunted house."
John snorted. "I always knew there was sothing fishy about him. But three billion? That’s insane."
"Tell about it," Tyron replied. "It’s like he’s so kind of supervillain. Anyway, I’m just glad to be out. What about you? How’s everything on your end?"
John glanced around his apartnt. "Oh, you know, just dealing with so...unusual stuff. But it’s all good. At least Damaris is stable."
"Yeah, thank goodness for that," Tyron said. "By the way, what was all that noise at the hospital? Sounded like World War III broke out."
John laughed. "Oh, just the family getting emotional. You know how it is."
They talked for a while longer, exchanging stories and cracking jokes about Rohit’s dramatic fall from grace. John gestured animatedly as he spoke, his earlier stress lting away in the comfort of Tyron’s humor.
"It’s almost like a bad movie," John said, shaking his head. "First, Rohit tries to off his own kid, then he gets bailed out with more money than I’ll ever see soon in my life."
Tyron chuckled. "Yeah, who writes this stuff? Anyway, get so rest, buddy. Tomorrow’s another day."
"Will do. Good night, Tyron." John replied on the phone."Good night, John." Tyron wished back.
John hung up, switched off the lights, and lay in bed, staring at his phone. He placed it on the nearby bedside table and wrapped himself in the blanket, feeling the weight of the day finally lift. Sleep ca quickly, pulling him into a dreamless, restorative slumber.
The next morning, John was awakened by the cacophony of the city outside. Hooting vehicles, the distant rumble of construction, and the lively chatter of early morning commuters filled the air.
Nevertheless, John rubbed his eyes, sat up, and stretched, feeling the stiffness in his muscles from the previous day.
"Morning, world," he muttered, heading to the window. He pulled back the curtain and peered out. The street below was already bustling with activity. Vendors were setting up their stalls, children were chasing each other on their way to school, and the usual traffic jams were forming.
As he watched, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of a man in a business suit trying to hail a cab while balancing a cup of coffee and a briefcase. The coffee spilled, the man cursed, and the cab zood past. "Ah, city life," John thought. "Never a dull mont."
He turned away from the window, ready to face the day. His mind wandered back to the mission. "Alright, system," he said aloud. "Let’s see what you’ve got for ."
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