I don't require much sleep to feel fully rested, a discovery I recently made. Regrettably, I had to leave my friend and start the day. At the very least, I left her a small tray of food on her desk in her room at our base. I might not have [Fairy Feast], but I can still put together a decent breakfast.
With that done, I began gathering the remaining supplies to take stock properly. Unsurprisingly, it was in bad shape, with most items stolen or destroyed in the chaos. Barely any crate was left untouched.
Such a situation would spell disaster for larger groups, but it should suffice for the two of us for a couple of days at least. Nonetheless, I have access to resources from my home if the worst comes to pass. Yet, relying solely on them would bring about problems and questions which I don't want to deal with. Hence, it's necessary to secure a stable source of supplies.
But why would I need so many supplies? After all, there's nothing left in Vale with everyone gone. We can't mount any meaningful operation with just the two of us. Moreover, news of my supposed death has spread far and wide, making any kind of recruitment impossible.
It's a complete collapse.
And that brings me to ponder about the state of affairs on the other fronts, particularly back in Menagerie. How are Kali and Sienna handling everything? Especially considering that my newfound memories reveal something my previous self didn't know: the White Fang isn't a singular entity. It's actually a coalition of various political and military faunus groups spread across the world.
This development has the potential for infighting and poses a significant risk, a civil war among our own people. This is the last thing we need, as it would make us vulnerable to a direct assault from Atlas or Mistral. They could sweep in, reclaim control over the lands, and reinstate their jurisdiction, essentially reverting Menagerie to the penal colony status it held before.
Yes, it's supposed to be a revelation that should shock me to the core, yet at the same time, its common knowledge.
Menagerie was once a penal colony, a place where the majority of faunus were sent to toil until death or worse.
The Great War retained the same factions, yet the outcome differed. While Vale and Vacuo emerged victorious and secured their independence, a pyrrhic victory, Atlas emerged dominant by quashing the faunus revolution that occurred mid-war. To curry favor with this newfound powerhouse, the world seized the opportunity to brand us as inherently dangerous and prone to violence, justifying the treatment of our kind with prejudice.
Following the successful uprising of Menagerie's penal population against the warden decades later, an array of even more stringent laws was imposed in the following years.
And that wouldn't even be the tip of the iceberg for this timeline.
Fuck.
The weight of this information is enough to make me slump into a chair, releasing a heavy sigh as I pinch the bridge of my nose. I allow myself a moment of discouragement before redirecting my attention to an old laptop I brought along from the base, the sole functioning one among a bunch of them, given that many are broken in one way or another.
After enduring the agonizingly slow booting process, I delve into the internet, or what they call in Remnant, the Net. Activity that is equally exasperating due to the lack of reliable network signal several meters underground, for obvious reasons.
Additionally, our extensive use of multiple encryption tools for protection and tracing data, one of them being a rather peculiar software which contributes quite significantly to the sluggishness of the Net speed. However, this tool makes me frown in doubt when I remember some details. Sienna personally distributed it to all active cells, including herself, which raises some questions as it came completely unannounced. It's impossible that someone within Menagerie possesses the coding expertise required for creating this tool.
I have talents that help me with this stuff, talents which I've chosen to deal with these problems. However, they don't represent a net gain; just a multiplier increase. I need to train all those talents first to acquire all the necessary skills, and most importantly, I need to find a trainer. It's idiotic to think I alone can accomplish everything proposed.
The web searcher finally loads, drawing my focus away from my thoughts. I maintain a lingering gaze on the screen for a brief moment before my morbid curiosity prevails. With a mix of intrigue and trepidation, I type 'News' into the search bar.
The search results arrive with somewhat improved speed, though my screen is swiftly flooded with reports of my supposed demise and Atlas' heroic triumph.
Interviews with the individuals responsible for my alleged execution.
SDC stocks are rising in price. Why is this garbage in this section?
Numerous images depicting my desecrated body flood the screen, a sight that compels my hand to clench into a fist. The impulse subsides as I stumble upon a report detailing the utter obliteration of the Atlas Cell. Each member executed following the extraction of all conceivable information, in accordance with their fucking law.
My cursor hovers over that headline, and I delve into the article, absorbing the details. With the leaders apprehended alive, Atlas' security apparatus managed to trace and pinpoint informants, sympathizers, as well as gangs affiliated with us. This led to a systematic purging, a comprehensive eradication of anyone even tangentially connected to the White Fang.
My demise catalyzed this entire sequence of events, all centered around my supposed execution at the hands of Atlas. Merely a couple of days have passed, yet this topic remains a blazing headline, fuel for the news media to exploit. It's likely to be milked for weeks to come.
Curiously, not once is the infamous James Ironwood mentioned throughout this barrage of news. His name doesn't surface in any news articles or interviews.
Strangely absent.
According to my memories, he was meant to be the prominent boogeyman in the faunus narrative. However, I personally don't know or hear much about him.
I continue to scroll down in search of information about the man, hoping to uncover more details. However, the results remain eerily similar to the earlier news articles.
Perplexed, I decide to take a different approach. I open a new tab and type in James Ironwood's full name, hoping for some insights.
Mixed emotions swirl within me as his public information unfurls on the screen.
James Ironwood; merely ONE of Atlas' generals and a Deputy Headmaster at Alsius.
And owner of a security firm known as Ace-ops.
Wait, what?
He doesn't even hold a council seat? He lacks political influence or control over Atlas!
"Shit…"
This is already fucking things up.
An odd notion pops into my head at that precise moment. I close the tab about Ironwood and swiftly open a new one. My fingers type out 'Arthur Watts'.
Arthur Watts, CEO and primary shareholder of Merlot Industries following a hostile takeover.
Without hesitation, I type Tyrian Callows.
But the search yields nothing. That's impossible; Tyrian should have been a notorious serial killer, escaping imprisonment on multiple occasions. Or at the very least, a small article of his execution knowing my world's reality.
I find myself staring at the vacant screen, my thoughts racing, before I proceed to type an infamous name.
'Cinder Fall'.
Cinder Fall, the proprietor of a private military contractor known as Prometheus Group, which operates in Mistral and Atlas. And with Mercury Black serving as her poster boy.
I close the laptop with a heavy sigh, burying my face in my hands.
"What an absolute mess…" I groan.
Is Salem even active? Or she is just in her evil lair doing nothing, watching everything turn inside out, driving Ozma insane with neglect play? Or does she own a Mega Corp from the shadows and is slowly taking over the kingdoms with her brand of corpocracy?
How did Cinder even become a renowned PMC? Where is Emerald, her lapdog?
This world is fucked up.
Would even the little busted knowledge I have, be remotely useful in any way?
Very likely not.
And I cannot go blind outside, a convoluted world that wants me dead.
It brings me back to those stupid modifiers, which already made things worse. They weren't only added just as an attempt to fix Remnant's lackluster history, but also as an excuse to increase my budget. Regrettably, that was the main reason.
I rub my chin in thought, digging a bit more about my initial build, because it was planned as a base to improve upon. And that quickly brings me to one of my advantages to deal with the problems I indirectly created for myself.
The Company Invasion Orbs.
The Green and White orbs, to be exact.
They would be my advantage over unknown territory.
I square my shoulders and summon the white orb into my hand.
Cradling the white orb, I rotate it until the single eye it contains comes into view.
And then it blinks.
In response, I blink as well, and push that weird moment to the back of my mind. Just another weird thing to add to the list of this fucked death world.
The core concept behind the White orb is to serve as my primary credit printer, earned by winning fights through any means necessary. Ganging up on invaders for swift, effortless victories honor be damned. Here, winning takes all, while defeat equates to eternal damnation. Though, the consequences are more severe for the defender, whereas the invader faces only a week-long cooldown.
Abruptly, the orb's eye darts upward.
Driven by curiosity, I rub the orb with my other hand.
"Newbie Shield active, 127:34:43 hours remaining. Do you wish to cancel your protection?"
"No"
So, I'm granted a week of newbie protection before I'm summoned into battles. It's a helpful addition, although somewhat redundant, since I'm entirely new here. I can simply decline any summons, unless they're accompanied by obnoxious notification pop-ups and annoying sounds.
I tuck the orb back into my pocket space, where it'll remain for a while.
Next in line is the Green Orb, designed to grant me access to a bustling trade hub inhabited by fellow contractors, individuals who could either help me or fuck me over. A mixed assortment, but undeniably a valuable resource for locating items or gathering information to assist me in my own world and find ways to help my home.
Yet, it is exactly what I need.
Unlike its white counterpart, the green orb fixes me with a gaze, a glint of eagerness in its eye. A sense of peculiar delight radiates from it, and it playfully shifts its black pupil, extending an unspoken invitation for me to touch it.
Which I promptly do and rub it like I did with my free hand.
The effect is instantaneous. My entire body is enveloped in a swift, blinding white light, and in the blink of an eye, I find myself standing in a lush green garden, right outside a building with a ridiculously sized entrance.
Instinctively, my hand clasps the hilt of my blade as I assess my surroundings with a hint of unease. However, the tension gradually fades away as I realize there isn't any immediate threat.
Though this peace is short-lived as, mere seconds later, a rift in reality manifests nearby. Emerging from the tear comes... Gilgamesh, accompanied by a green chicken?
"Let go, Enkidu!" The imposing figure, garbed in resplendent red robes, scoops up the green chicken before gesturing dramatically toward the entrance. "Excalibur awaits!"
With that proclamation, he takes off towards the building and disappears upon making a left turn.
I stand there, a bit baffled by the spectacle, but I shake my head, dismissing the strange development of events. I start walking toward the entrance, and as I do so, additional portals open behind me.
Casting a quick glance over my shoulder, I spot a small gathering of individuals. Among them is Bell Cranel, who displays unmistakable dragon traits, accompanied by the… goddess Hestia and a small dog girl in tow.
This already tells me much about what I should expect inside the trade hub. The multiverse is full of infinite possibilities, after all.
Upon crossing the entrance, my attention is drawn to directional signs guiding the way. Subsequently, my eyes land on a sizable billboard featuring a comprehensive list, along with a mini-map etched into the wall.
I decided to snap a photo for future reference.
Drawing closer, I navigate the list using its alphabetical order, eventually locating the section dedicated to the RWBY world, placed on Floor 15-C.
And then there's the Warhammer section, situated on Floor 40-K.
Figures.
I make a mental note to remember the Warhammer section for a later date, then I veer to the right and head toward the elevators. I observe that there's no waiting line; the people simply press the button and step inside as soon as the doors open.
Following suit, I enter a medium-sized elevator cabin with a simple design and press the button for Floor 15-C. The cabin promptly begins its ascent, accompanied by the generic, annoying elevator music that seems to be a universal constant.
I bide my time until the soft chime signals the arrival, prompting the doors to glide open, revealing a scene that can best be described as a grand convention in progress. It's a big gathering, saturated with the essence of the RWBY universe.
Once I step out of the elevator, my initial observation centers on the overwhelming presence of Jaune d'Arcs.
Jaunes of all shapes and sizes.
And Rubys as well.
And Yangs.
That's… expected?
They are like the favorite characters from the RWBY universe. But it doesn't change my opinion, proving my point about originality.
I decided to ignore the unoriginal crowd and walk through the myriad of stalls. It becomes quickly evident that the merchandise being offered isn't strictly confined to items from our world.
Instead, it includes things that shouldn't exist in our reality. For starters, I saw a Covenant grunt shilling for plasma weapons.
Or a small blue-haired mage girl selling potions and magical trinkets.
It dawns on me that while the floor itself is RWBY-themed, the products up for sale hail from various sources and are incredibly diverse. Perhaps this is an intentional strategy to invoke a sense of familiarity among the customers?
I shake my head, dismissing these musings as unimportant details. I proceed toward another billboard embellished with a mini-map illustrating the layout of Floor 15-C.
The whole place is divided into subsections with a general theme.
The entire area is subdivided into sections, each boasting a distinct theme. There's the heritage subsection, followed by areas dedicated to weaponry, armor, vehicles, upgrades, and an assortment of miscellaneous items.
And a food court?
Glancing at my robotic arm and then back at the map on the screen, the decision is rather straightforward. But first I snap a good picture of the whole map, as I won't be returning to that place every time I want to find something.
I make my way toward the trans-humanist subsection, observing the distinct division among the three types: cybermorph, aether morph, and biomorph. And just like my arrival at the floor, I find plenty of Jaunes and Rubys browsing the vast selection of goods. Although I spot Mercury Black checking out cyborgs' legs.
A thought crosses my mind, how many are substitutes or possessions?
I continue to explore until I stumble upon a stand featuring an extensive array of arms, precisely what I'm looking for.
At the stand stands a tall, lanky robot with a smiling emoji displayed on its chest screen. It's none other than Pathfinder, who swiftly swivels his singular red-glowing eye toward me and offers a friendly wave.
"Oh, hello, friend! Something piques your interest?"
I take a step closer to his location. "I need... to improve my arm. Any suggestions?" I raise my prosthetic arm for inspection.
"FAAANTASTIC! Please wait just a moment." The upbeat robot draws nearer, its mechanical components whirring as it analyzes my arm. A cascade of rapidly scrolling code appears on its screen, processing at surprising speeds.
"Yep, yep, I see," Pathfinder chimes, then moves away from me and approaches a nearby wall. He presses a button, causing the wall to pivot, revealing an array of prosthetics in varying sizes and materials. "It's functional, I can grant you that. Buuuut, it's far from optimal. We could easily replace it with a new one from our extensive collection. You just need to tell me your material preference." He darts back toward me, leaning his cyclopean head closer to mine. "Personally, I'm quite fond of Vibranium."
I take a few steps back, creating a bit of distance. "Install a new one? I don't want to replace my arm."
Pathfinder straightens up and claps his metallic hands together. "Ah, the sentimental value. I see, I see."
"Yes, there's a lot of sentimental value attached to it. So, can you improve it?" I ask again.
"That we can? We can." Pathfinder taps his screen a few times, drawing my attention downward. "But that's an additional cost, and you need to specify the upgrades you're seeking, along with your choice of material." He taps once more, conjuring an interactive catalog of metals on his screen.
He quickly swipes through the choices, presenting them to me. "So, would you fancy Orichalcum? Mithril? Aluminum? Adamantium? Or perhaps Necrodermis?"
My focus remains on the metals catalog, quickly noting the absence of price tags beneath each one. "The price varies depending on the material, isn't it?" I ask, fully aware of the answer.
"You are indeed correct!" Pathfinder responds with his signature thumbs-up pose.
I release a sigh, my arms crossing over my chest. "How much for an aluminum upgrade? And how about Necrodermis?"
"Trying to gauge the price difference, are you?" He leans in closer once again, his red eye shining more intensely before flashing what seems like a smile in that eye. "I like your style! So, aluminum would cost you a mere 1 credit, while Necrodermis comes in at 10 credits. The service itself is 2 credits, but you'll receive a one-year guarantee in your time world!"
The robot throws both arms into the air in an exuberant display. "We are the best deal in the market!"
"FUCK YOU!" An irritated voice erupts from the distance.
Pathfinder pays no heed to the interruption and places his hands on his cubic hips. "So, what do you say?"
In my case, the prices draw a frown from me. The least expensive upgrade would consume half of my remaining credits. On the other hand, the finest metals from across the multiverse are tantalizingly within my grasp. I could simply return to my world and amass more credits to buy the absolute best.
Or I could borrow a bit of money.
But no, that would be utterly foolish. I distinctly recall hearing warnings about never going into debt with the company from somewhere.
I rub my chin contemplatively, lost in thought as I weigh my options. Should I explore alternative routes, or would it be prudent to invest a modest sum for a quick upgrade? A boost in power is indeed essential. Given the demands of my world, survival is the main focus at the moment.
Yet, I must also factor in the long-term perspective.
"Do you happen to sell instruction manuals on building and improving one's own prosthetics?" I ask the robot with some curiosity.
"We certainly do!" Pathfinder exclaims, tapping his chest to reveal a catalog of books. "We offer package deals encompassing the essentials and advanced texts for each type of limb construction!"
Raising an eyebrow in surprise, I lean in closer to the screen, confirming that indeed, they have basic and advanced manuals for each limb. Unlike the material catalog, the books are priced, each with a tag beneath it.
A single credit each, a price point that triggers my suspicion due to its inexplicable affordability.
"Why would you even sell instructions on how to do this?" I question, perplexed. It doesn't align with the principles of profit and competition. From what I understand, creating competitors is counterproductive; the aim should be to monopolize the market as much as possible.
Pathfinder merely tilts his head to the side. "Well, would you prefer an entirely new limb right at this moment? Or would you rather spend months learning, counting your company talents? Go through trials and errors before finally achieving a functional product?"
My frown deepens as I contemplate the situation, my fingers unconsciously gripping my chin.
He's essentially offering convenience above all else. Despite my scientific and engineering talents, fully comprehending and mastering the intricacies of upgrading my arm would consume a significant amount of time. Like it has been said before, my talents serve as multipliers, enhancing my skills, but they don't provide an instant and comprehensive knowledge boost.
His argument does hold some merit.
"I'll go for the encyclopedias."
Opting for the manuals not only ensures I can upgrade my arm, but it also grants me the capability to perform maintenance and repairs if needed. This prevents me from falling into the trap of the sunk cost fallacy in the event something goes awry, forcing me to return and pay for repair services.
In the long run, this choice seems the better one.
"INCREDIBLE CHOICE, MY FRIEND!" Pathfinder exclaims, his metallic fingers rapidly tapping the screen's buy button. "The total will be 1 credit. Please confirm the purchase. And remember, all sales are final—no refunds!"
Complying, I confirm the purchase as instructed.
"Payment received! Just a moment, please." The robot rotates its entire body, only to face me once again. "Would you prefer a hard copy or the digital format?"
"Digital."
"Okie dokie!" Pathfinder retrieves a small USB device, plugging it into the side of his head for a few seconds before disconnecting it and presenting it to me. "All set!"
I take the device from his hand and save it in my pocket. I will read them later. Although I have the cyberpunk advantage to learn everything directly to your brain, I might not have access to that technology back in Remnant, but my home should be equipped with it.
"Thank you for your patronage!" The ever-cheerful robot waves his hand energetically. "I LOOK FORWARD TO SEEING YOU AGAIN SOON!"
I offer a nonchalant wave in response before departing from the stand. I open the picture of the mini-map I took earlier, my focus directed towards locating another section that might be useful.
The library section, essentially a glorified book fair, catches my eye. I pivot to my left and head in that direction without delay. As there might be some important information, especially how to improve things.
Upon arriving, it's hardly surprising to find the area less congested compared to the rest of the floor. Nevertheless, the place is brimming with books—countless volumes covering an expansive range of topics.
Piquing my curiosity, my gaze lands upon a draconian figure; Ren, it seems, engrossed in a large book between his hands. It's an unexpected sight, as I wouldn't have pegged him as a book enthusiast; that would typically align more with Blake's…
They aren't THAT/MY Blake.
It shouldn't bother me. They don't know and I don't know them. But it would be for both interests to not stumble into any of them.
So I need to be quick and leave this place as soon as possible.
And I end up going to the first place my eyes catch.
A stand with mountains of books stacked on top of each other.
"Can I help you?" A peculiar figure emerges from beneath the stacks, sporting a hybrid appearance that combines human and canine features. Clad in a formal long coat and donning glasses comes out from below as he adjusts his glasses.
It takes a second for my mind to click and recognize … Dr. Doppler, I mean. This is one hell of a coincidence.
"Yes, I need book packages or encyclopedias about city planning, economics, buildings, qualities, strategies, basics…"
"Eh, eh Stop, stop." He raises a hand as the other one rubs his big forehead. "What precisely do you intend to achieve, and for what purpose?"
I take a brief moment to consider my response. "I have a city in very bad shape that needs to grow and become self-sufficient. I plan to improve everyone's life. Anything that can help me with that?"
The alien tilts his head thoughtfully. "I believe I might have something." He turns around and begins shuffling through the stacks of books. "It's not often we receive a request of this nature. More often, we're asked for basic books on astrology, space travel, monsters... and subjects of a more, ahem, personal nature." He explains while gathering a substantial stack of books. "Most individuals are preoccupied with their own pursuits rather than concerning themselves with the welfare of... well, others."
He deposits the stack of books onto the counter. "These selections should cover the basics of city management, administration, economics, and future development. Additionally, there are volumes offering geographical insights and reference guides for establishing laws."
I give it a long look from top to bottom. There are a lot of books. It will be a pain to organize them.
"Don't you happen to have them in digital format?" I inquire. Despite his apparent steampunk aesthetic, I have a hunch that he offers such an option as well.
The doctor reacts with an indignant huff, turning his gaze away—almost as if he finds the idea offensive. After a brief pause, he sighs. "Unfortunately, you're right. Modern folk seem to have lost their appreciation for physical books."
He disappears beneath the counter for a short while before reemerging, placing yet another USB next to the books.
"Regarding the cost," I ask, "how much for the entire collection?"
"Two credits."
I pondered the price for a moment. Is that cheap? I mean, I just bought a couple of books about prosthetics for a single credit and now there are mountains of books in that USB, but at the price of two.
Did Pathfinder swindle me? What even is the perceived value in this market?
"What's the scope?"
Dr. Doppler heaves a sigh, removing his glasses and pulling out a small cloth from his chest pocket, with which he meticulously cleans the lenses. "You were inquiring about achieving self-sufficiency within challenging circumstances. While it's undoubtedly attainable, it's a goal that demands a significant investment of time. At best, it could take decades; at worst, it may span generations. Of course, unless you possess perks or talents that enable you to mitigate the most pressing issues, achieving this goal will be a gradual process." He checks his glasses before putting them on. "The multitude of books I presented should provide you with a solid, foundational understanding of your envisioned objectives. Yet, please understand; they're not a shortcut or a magical recipe for creating a utopia."
His explanation makes sense. But I can also buy a Waifu that excels in city management, which would speed up everything. Yet, this again confronts me with the issue of opportunity cost and time investment. But knowing the basics would be a great help as I accumulate wealth and purchase the best version of each branch I'm interested in.
"Fine. I will take it."
"Thank you." He slides an iPad toward me, prompting me to finalize the transaction with a single click.
And the new USB is stored safely in my pocket with the other USB.
Casting a final gaze around my surroundings, I confirm that there's no chance of encountering any… troublesome people. Satisfied, I make my exit, heading directly toward the elevator.
It was time to go back to my world. I don't know how time works here, but I prefer to not risk it. The last thing I desire is for my friend to wake up before my return and go out looking for me or have a panic attack and risk her life trying to look for me.
-Forever Fall-
"Update me on the salvage team's progress." She ordered the team supervisor.
The man cleared his throat before responding crisply, "We have successfully completed approximately twenty-one percent of the task, Ma'am." He retrieved a tablet from his waist. "If we maintain our current rate of operation, we anticipate completion by evening."
She nodded, acknowledging the report. The sooner they finished, the faster everyone would go back home. Turning to the right, she walked in the direction where her team went to investigate. However, her pace quickened as soon as she noticed the tallest member already making her way toward her, and soon they stood in front of each other.
"I assume you have made a discovery." She stated in a voice that brooked no doubts.
Instead of answering, her teammate merely tilted her head slightly, gesturing her to follow. She complied, not before making sure none of the workers were paying attention to them.
Soon, the two of them stood in front of the rest of the team, all focused on a large footprint. Winter narrowed her eyes, as the footprint was the size of an adult person if he or she was laying down.
Something that wasn't reported by those psychopaths.
"Vine, report." She commanded.
Vine stepped forward with his scroll in hand and displayed a comparative picture. "This was left by a Behemoth class," he explained. "Fits their average scale size." His gaze returned to the hole. "It was done days ago."
Taking the scroll, Winter scrutinized the image. The footprint didn't align with any of the registered Behemoths, spelling out troubling implications.
"So that explains why MaxTac abruptly cut off their transmission." She speculated, handing the scroll back to Vine. "They were ambushed by Grimm. Anything else?"
"Winter!" The voice of her second-in-command, Clover, reached her ears from a distance, carrying a note of urgency.
Winter swiftly turned to her left, moving closer to her second-in-command. She navigated carefully to avoid tripping over scrapped bots and holes. As the entire place was filled with them, like expected.
As she reached Clover's side, he wordlessly directed her attention to something on the ground. She followed his indication, detecting faint outlines of handprints, dried bloodstains, and clear signs of a struggle.
A body struggling to move.
Without hesitation, Winter spun on her heel and moved away from the scene, activating her intercom.
"General, we've got news."
AN: Before you point it out, yes, Adam did forget that he bought the [Stay in Touch] perk.
Anyway, here it is the rest of the chapter and as you can see, the tone shift is drastic, so it would have ruined the last chapter. But it took me a lot longer than anticipated and my editor/grammar check subscription just expired. That sucks a lot, I mean, I would have happily paid if they hadn't increased the price by a small amount of… 50%, really guys?
Well, some guys told me that those subscriptions services will send you a big discount coupon after a while, so maybe I will recover this tool. Still, sorry guys if you find some grammar mistakes from now on. And lately QQ been getting 502 bad gateways, I hope this doesn't happen and you guys lose chance to read other stories, including mine.
Still thank you guys for reading and see you next time!
