Chapter1

In my previous life, the Vance Corporation stuffed me into an iron barrel and sank me alive to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.

The agonizing pain of suffocation still lingered in my bones, yet I suddenly jolted awake in my own bedroom.

The digital clock on the nightstand flashed red: 11:55 PM.

Exactly five minutes remained before the Corporation's elite cleaners would break down the door to silence me.

What is five minutes enough for?

Enough to hide my feverish younger brother in the closet and kill any thought my parents had of calling the police;

Enough to use waste motor oil, broken glass, and a modified industrial nail gun to transform this apartment into a meat grinder tailor-made for assassins.

When the lock clicked softly from a master key and a red laser sight pierced the darkened living room... these battle-hardened professional cleaners thought tonight would be an easy hunt.

But little did they know, the one who had crawled back from the abyssal hell was a grim reaper who had mastered every art of slaughter.

Tonight is just collecting the interest. Before dawn breaks, I will turn the entire Vance Corporation to ashes.

——

The suffocating sensation of seawater flooding my trachea exploded violently in my chest.

I sprang up from the bed, gasping heavily, as if my throat could still vomit out the freezing, fishy seawater of the Atlantic. The muscles in my limbs trembled violently from subconscious spasms.

The agonizing pain of being stuffed into an iron barrel and sunk into the deep sea in my previous life still lingered in my bones.

There was no time to sort out the disorientation of rebirth. The digital clock on the nightstand flashed in the darkness: 11:55 PM.

Five minutes remained before the Vance Corporation's cleaners would toll the death knell. In five minutes, this place would become a one-sided slaughterhouse.

I rolled out of bed and kicked open the door to the next bedroom.

My seven-year-old brother, Leo, was curled up under the covers, drenched in a cold sweat from a high fever. I ripped off the blanket, scooped him up along with his pillow, and stuffed him into the narrow closet nearby.

"Cover your mouth. No matter what noises you hear outside, do not make a sound." I pinned his shoulders with both hands, my gaze intense.

Leo's eyes widened in terror, tears welling up, but he obediently clamped both hands tightly over his mouth.

The hallway wall light flicked on. My father hurried over in his pajamas, his brow furrowed. "What kind of crazy fit are you throwing in this room in the middle of the night?"

My mother followed closely behind, her face full of worry. Seeing Leo missing from the bed, she immediately walked toward the landline on the hallway wall. "You terrified the boy. He still has a fever, I need to call the community doctor..."

I took a stride forward, grabbing the phone cord before she could reach it, and yanked it hard.

Plaster flaked off the wall around the junction box with a harsh snapping sound. The plastic faceplate shattered into pieces on the floor.

"What are you doing!" my father yelled sternly, reaching out to grab my shoulder.

I turned my body slightly, caught his wrist backhandedly, and used the momentum to shove him back toward the master bedroom at the end of the hall. The movement was so clean he could not react at all.

"Listen to me, there are two unmarked Chevrolets parked downstairs right now." I looked him dead in the eye, speaking rapidly. "Three professional killers with silenced weapons are coming upstairs. They are here to silence us."

My mother covered her mouth and gasped, her face instantly turning pale. My father stood frozen, then frantically fumbled through his pajama pockets. "Call the police... right, use the cell phone to call the police!"

I clamped my hand down on his trembling hand.

"The dispatch center has already been bought off by the Vance Corporation. Your call won't bring the police; it will only urge them to open fire immediately."

I shoved them forcibly into the bedroom and grabbed the doorknob. "Stay inside and lock the door. Unless you hear my voice, do not open it for anyone. Do you understand?"

Click.

Without waiting for a response, I pulled the door shut. The deadbolt of the master bedroom slid into place, temporarily isolating them from the impending hell. Now, this was my solo battlefield.

Time: 11:57 PM.

I turned and rushed into the garage, my brain racing like a precise tactical computer. The close-combat experience forged in the muddy pits of flesh and blood from my previous life was now reviving in every nerve.

This house was about to become a massive trap. I lifted the heavy bucket of waste motor oil from the corner of the workbench and twisted off the cap.

I poured the motor oil directly onto the inevitable path from the entryway to the living room.

The viscous black liquid spread quickly across the solid wood floor, forming an unnoticeable, frictionless zone. Any footsteps attempting a rapid breach would lose their balance here.

Time: 11:58 PM.

I snatched the high-octane gasoline from the shelf and divided it into three wide-mouthed glass bottles. Ripping up a pure cotton work uniform hanging nearby, I tore it into strips and stuffed them tightly into the bottle necks.

Three makeshift Molotov cocktails were complete. The strong stench of gasoline began to permeate the air.

Next, I pulled two bottles of whiskey from the liquor cabinet and smashed them directly on the kitchen's marble countertop.

I quickly swept the sharp glass shards together with a broom and spread them evenly underneath the heavy Persian rug in the entryway.

The surface of the rug looked completely normal, but as soon as anyone weighing over a hundred pounds stepped on it, the sharp glass hidden beneath would instantly pierce the flexible soles of their combat boots.

This rug was now an invisible meat grinder.

Time: 11:59 PM.

I returned to the garage and picked up the heavy industrial nail gun. I removed the front safety mechanism and swapped in an extended steel nail magazine.

Then, I connected a miniature high-pressure gas cylinder to the air inlet. The pressure gauge needle instantly spiked into the red zone.

This construction tool, originally meant to penetrate thick concrete, was now modified into a highly lethal weapon for close-quarters combat. Within half a meter, it could easily shatter human bones.

I retreated into the shadows of the living room, my body pressed tight against the edge of the leather sofa. I suppressed my breathing to a bare minimum.

The entire house was deathly silent, save for the monotonous ticking of the vintage wall clock.

The second hand inched its way toward the top.

12:00 AM.

Midnight fell. No footsteps came from outside the door. The tactical movements of these cleaners were extremely professional; even their breathing was hidden in the darkness.

But I had undergone superhuman training. I caught that faint sound of metal scraping.

It was a specialized master key slowly probing into the brass keyhole.

Click—

With a slight, crisp snap, the deadbolt was forced open by external pressure. The door handle pressed down silently. A narrow beam of light from the hallway sliced through the crack of the door into the dark living room, drawing a pale band of light across the floor.

The door was pushed open.

Three tall, black silhouettes appeared at the doorway like ghosts. They wore black tactical vests and held Glock pistols equipped with silencers.

The red dots of their laser sights swept back and forth in the dark, like the eyes of poisonous snakes.

The lead man raised his left hand, signaling a tactical advance. His heavy leather boot stepped onto the Persian rug without hesitation.

The hunt had begun.

I straightened up slightly from the shadows, gripped the nail gun tightly, and rested my index finger on the cold trigger.