I felt an overpowering wave of elation as I stood in the growing puddle of blood. I felt powerful, dignified, and so very right. I had the overpowering urge to find another battle, to shed more blood, to become even-

That's not me.

The visceral disgust made me vomit into the pile of blood. The putrid mixture mixed with the gore that surrounded me. The office was a disaster, wood particles illuminated by the light shining from the broken glass windows, the draft not enough to ward off the smell of death and gunpowder.

I felt so much stronger, so much healthier, but I knew the feelings that came with it weren't real. They were induced. I was rewarded for my senseless slaughter, fed numbers like I would feed a horse. I was being trained, whipped into an instrument of violence.

That was what the system was. That's what this whole damn thing was. That was the fucking point! The robotic voice chose that moment to speak, as if mocking me.

-Corrected Fatal Weakness, granting Unique Skill, "Erudite" -

-Reconsolidated Skill Set.-

-Core Progress 32%-

-Physique changed to Silver Core-

I slammed a fist against the hardwood desk and smashed it into tinder wood. The thing was thick enough to stop bullets, but not me. My senses were off the chart, yet I felt as if they had always been like this. I could hear the shuffle of feet against the sand outside as someone tried to sneak their way to a body. There were three stories and a wall between us. I could see the tears on a newly widowed woman from the window. She was all the way by the gate, hundreds of feet away.

I was even more of a monster now.

My clothes felt even wetter, somehow. I looked down and saw some sort of black ichor oozing from my pores. My vision went black as it dripped from my eyebrows and into my eyes. It smelled like death, even more so than the all too real death around me.

I vomited again, physical disgust mixed with the emotional. I fell to my knees into the disgusting muck, black, red, brown, and green.

I sobbed like a child.

I took a shower in Charle's penthouse. Apparently he lived in the damn city-hall, as the entire third floor was essentially his house. The body of the big melee specialist was slumped against the wall by the door, and I heard wails of pure anguish from outside as the citizens began to count the dead.

With great effort and much scrubbing, the black ichor oozed off my body. What was below disgusted me even more. My skin was clearer than it had ever been, the scars were largely faded, and my muscle definition was immaculate. I had a damn six-pack now, which was ridiculous.

I looked in the mirror. I no longer had a face that looked permanently sunburnt. The skin was a much clearer bronze, the network of scars almost entirely disappearing. The only one still noticeable was the one running across my lips and into my left eye, and it somehow looked less gruesome and more charming.

If it wasn't for my semi-permanent scowl, I could even be called handsome now.

I hated it.

I knew it was another goddamn incentive. Look at him! If you follow my instructions and kill scores of human beings, you too can be just as strong and attractive!

I fought back nausea. Every person on this planet had the system. The whole planet was likely created for the express purpose of nurturing people like me. The waves of monsters, the forced conflict...

I worked up the courage to check my Status screen.

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE

Buck Jones

500,000 CHIPS

Silver Core Occupation: Vagabond

Stats:

BODY- 10.9 (2.0)

SPEED- 16.3 (4.0)

MIND- 8.2 (2.0)

Skills: Rampage V, Infused Shot III.

Traits: Bandito I, Deadeye Mk2 I.

Unique Skill: Erudite, Outlaw.

I could read it, now. I understood every word and concept, even the ones that make no sense. Of course the bracketed stats were bonuses from another skill or trait, isn't that just fucking obvious? It was for me.

I intrinsically knew what the stats did as well. Body governed the body's durability and force. Speed governed how fast my body and mind could move. Mind governed my senses and ability to think, and how much I could use active skills.

I focused on the names, and it displayed further details. It was about time, I suppose.

Rampage- One after another, more and more. Every kill scales your stats, stacking (0.5%) per instance. (50% Upper cap) Infused shot- Channel energy into a shot, enhancing the effect depending on weapon type, intention, and energy channeled. Erudite- Granted skill- Grants full language comprehension for all participating cultures. Deadeye- Use energy to enhance your reflexes to the absolute limit, so fast that your opponents appear to move in slow-motion. Shots are corrected for accuracy within a threshold, making truly impressive feats of marksmanship possible.

Bandito- Includes Quickdraw, Take aim, Penetrating Shot, Fan the Hammer, Single-Action, Riding, And Dual Wield. The beginner levels of a skill for a true outlaw. Encompasses a lifetime worth of practiced violence.

Enhances all merged skillsets.

Merges with Deadeye for extended effect.

Low-level Aura effect: scales off of title(s).

Can name (1) weapon, named weapon(s) scale with the trait.

Can Evolve.

Outlaw- You are perpetually on the run, living the only life the outlaw knows how. Grants a unique mechanic, a permanent bounty. Scale stats and applicable skills and traits by the size of your bounty (Limit 1000%). Bounty hunters will see through any disguise and locate your position from a scaling distance. (5 Feet)

What I expected, more or less. Everything was a reflection of who I was, and what the system wanted me to be. Kill more and become stronger. If I don't? Well, the bounty hunters will, and they would be happy to kill me.

Just like before, I am pushed to violence by violence. It's an endless cycle. I suppose the system changes nothing, just brings it to the forefront. Rewards it. Thrives on it.

I splashed water on my face. Fine, then. Nothing has changed. I'll live the way I always have, day by day, gun in hand. I will find strength. Not to appease the system, but for myself.

It's the only thing I have left.

I found some clothes that fit me. Apparently the old man was quite the gallant in his time, as they fit me despite my enhanced physique, and were stylish as all hell. I looted several different outfits and chose one at random.

He had plenty of hats, but I kept mine. The Chaira method of stitching was one of a kind, after all. I put it on, and it went well with the white and blue waistcoat, and darker, Prussian blue shirt.

I came out of the bathroom, still ignoring the crying and yelling outside. I found and cleaned all of my dropped gear, and still had plenty of ammo on my personage...and on Jeff, which I doubted I was getting back.

Speaking of gear, apparently, I could name a weapon, and it would change. There was an obvious candidate for that. I drew my father's Walker, and-

Named weapon identified. Linking 'Walker' with 'Bandito'.

It glowed brightly in my hands, and when it abated I saw...nothing. It looked the same as before, but I knew it was different.

Buck Jone's 'Walker'

Bronze Tier Evolving Weapon.

A moment from his father, from an age long past. It was quite the revolver for the time.

Now, it has been given new life.

The weapon is now fundamentally linked to 'Infused shot,'. It no longer fires ammunition and instead fires pure energy, filtered and focused to an extreme point.

I could feel that I could blow a hole through a foot of pure steel with this damn thing. How's that, dad?

Enough numbers. I knew what I need to know, and knew what I needed to do. It was time to face the music.

I used the elevator since I could figure out what it actually was now, and came to the bottom floor. I stepped around the many pools of drying blood, trying not to ruin my new boots before I even left the building. I emerged from the front entrance.

There were quite a few people out and about, now. Some were crying over the corpse of a father, mother, or son. Others were dragging bodies out of sight, and more than a few were just staring at nothing.

I heard a horse approach. I hoped it was jeff, and I was quickly proven right.

He casually trotted towards me, prancing around corpses and bloodstains, and offered his side to me.

"Been busy?" he asked, tone jovial. I'd admonish him, but I could use a little gallows humor.

"Yup. There were quite a few human-shaped speedbumps between me and Mr. Woodswork."

Jeff laughed his odd horsey laugh, and I climbed on his back.

"Nice Duds," he remarked.

"Thanks. They're Charles."

"Sounds like a man of taste."

I shrugged. "Only thing he's tasting now is blood and gravel."

Jeff looked around. "I think its more sand and less gravel, actually."

Onlookers gazed at the talking horse, and the only armed man in town still standing. They put two and two together.

I expected some thrown rocks, foolish attempts at retaliation, screaming of "why?!" and "how could you?!" and whatnot, but instead...they just ran. They all scurried like rats in every which direction, screaming their heads off.

"Well, Jeff, I always thought you were rather good-looking, but..." I joked, pretending that I found it funny.

"Aww, thanks buddy, but I don't think it's me. You've got a...uh...presence to you."

"That makes people run in fear?"

"More or less," he said, shrug audible in his voice despite the fact that he couldn't physically shrug.

"And what about you?"

"I feel it, but it's not that bad. Probably because you didn't just kill scores of horses in front of me."

I suppose the effect of the Aura was showing itself. It's not like people running in fear at the mere sight of me was anything new. "Would you feel bad if I killed scores of horses in front of you?"

"Meh, not really. Where are we going?"

I took one last look at the destruction around me and thought for a moment. Well, there was only one real answer for a man like me.

"West."

And so, we left it all behind.