Health: Igi Unlimited

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 snow crunched under David Jones’s boots like broken glass. He was two hundred meters from the front gate of the Russian missile base, and according to his HUD, he had taken three bullets. The first had grazed his left bicep. The second had smashed into his ceramic chest plate. The third—he winced, remembering—had entered just below his ribs.

Jones didn't run. He didn't hurry. He walked out of the base, past the bodies of the men he'd killed, past the craters from the grenades he'd ignored. The extraction helicopter was waiting on a frozen lake. The pilot's jaw dropped as he saw Jones approach—a walking corpse, clothes in tatters, face smeared with blood, but moving with the casual stride of a man out for a Sunday stroll. igi unlimited health

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.

"Sir? Are you... okay?" the pilot stammered. He looked down at his shredded chest, then

Morozov laughed, a dry, terrified sound. "Then kill me. You've won."

Jones shook his head, wincing as a bullet he didn't even know was there worked its way out of his forearm and clinked onto the metal floor. "No, General. I'm the original. I just... I think the universe broke." The snow crunched under David Jones’s boots like

"What are you?" the sergeant whispered in Russian.

He pulled the trigger. Morozov fell.

He should be dead. Or, at the very least, crawling through the snow, leaving a red trail behind him.

The mission objective updated: Reach the extraction point.