The familiar Darkness.
A deafening, freezing Void wrapped around me from every direction.
How many times had I floated through this nothingness, waiting for the next loading screen?
Hundreds?
Thousands?
Tens of thousands?
Even a rough estimate was impossible.
Whoever kept throwing me into new “adventures” didn’t exactly keep records.
And even if they did, I doubt they’d bother telling me the number.
Besides, even if they did tell me…
I wouldn’t remember it anyway.
How many times had they wiped my memory, leaving behind nothing but raw experience and cynicism?
That question belonged in the same category as asking why I was being dragged through this endless tour of realities in the first place.
The Entity, as I had privately named the bastard behind this entire circus, remained proudly silent.
Whatever it was, or whoever it was, it never held conversations with me.
Maybe I had been given answers before.
If so, my memory was politely sterilized after every “death.”
Everything I retained each time could be reduced to one short command, sharp as a gunshot:
Create Chaos.
And I did.
Diligently.
Enthusiastically, even.
At first, there was simply the System.
The most generic, overused thing imaginable, straight out of some cheap paperback.
Health and mana bars.
Endless grinding.
Boring quests to kill bandits.
Achievements.
Colorful titles.
It was mind-numbingly dull.
By the fifth world, or maybe the fiftieth, I had started feeling physically sick every time that same message appeared in front of my eyes:
“Level Up!
+1 Stat Point Acquired!”
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one getting sick of it.
The Entity eventually got bored too.
The System gained an element of randomness.
Each new world came with a specialized, standardized gimmick.
In one run, I was stuck with a Blacksmith System, forging legendary toothpicks.
In another, I played some kind of mystical fisherman.
There was even a period when I was saddled with a Demon Lord System.
At first, the role-playing aspect was actually kind of fun.
Eventually, though, even that got stale.
Every “adventure” inevitably devolved into the same boring cliché:
Hide your powers until the last possible moment.
Quietly grind.
Move to an area with better experience rewards.
Repeat until victory.
The result was always the same.
I ended up at the top of the food chain, my enemies smeared across the walls, while the Entity on the other side of the screen became bored to death all over again.
Everything changed when my invisible puppeteer decided to throw the entire concept of the System into the trash in favor of absolute, uncontrollable randomness.
And thus, the Gacha was born.
Oh, gods.
The early versions were some gloriously unbalanced bullshit.
Pulling something like the Death Star or Superman wearing a slave collar from a random spin that cost the equivalent of a hundred bucks?
Easy.
Those early Gacha adventures became literal speedruns through entire worlds.
I could erase continents with a snap of my fingers.
In a way, it was actually fun.
And apparently, I wasn’t the only one enjoying myself.
The Entity saw the potential of this circus and dove headfirst into experimentation.
Balance was gradually introduced into the Gacha.
At first, it was barely recognizable as balance.
No more summons purchased with currency or material resources.
Everything became tied directly to my actions.
And then came the patches.
The rules changed constantly.
In one world, I had a Gacha based around creating technological junk, earning Crafting Points along the way.
In another, I had to dissect magical grimoires to earn Research Points.
And then she appeared.
The Chaos Gacha.
That’s where I’m currently stuck.
For some reason, the Chaos Gacha became my tormentor’s favorite.
For several adventures now, the Entity has been obsessively optimizing, polishing, nerfing, and rebuilding this particular concept.
In the previous run, for example, Chaos Points were scrapped and replaced with a system based on Feats.
Tickets for Gacha pulls were awarded immediately whenever I accomplished something sufficiently insane.
So what awaits me this time?
Probably nothing pleasant.
Another round of balance changes designed to screw me over.
New obstacles.
Another batch of entertainment for whatever higher powers were watching.
But I’d gotten used to it a long time ago.
I was having fun.
I was still fascinated by opening up the festering wounds of every new world I was thrown into.
At this point, the process mattered more than the result.
Especially since the ending was always the same.
Oblivion.
“Chaos Gacha (v0.13) activated.
Accomplish Feats, earn Tickets, become stronger, and bring CHAOS to the world!”
Version thirteen.
Not exactly an encouraging number.
Live as long as I have, and you learn pretty quickly that numerology works in the universe with the reliability of a Swiss watch.
Which meant that this time, I was probably going to get beaten hard and often.
“Select Adventure Difficulty: Low, Medium, High, Hell!”
Without hesitation, I mentally selected my usual choice:
High.
Hell?
I’d tried it a couple of times for fun.
Most of those adventures started with me waking up in a piss-soaked alley in the most crime-ridden city on the planet, missing both arms and legs, while also being a hopeless junkie going through withdrawal.
Getting anything worthwhile out of a start like that was extremely rare.
High difficulty was the optimal choice for anyone who wanted to retain at least a shred of sanity at the beginning.
“Select Starting Bonus: Three Enhanced Bronze Tickets, Two Enhanced Silver Tickets, One Enhanced Gold Ticket.”
Oh?
This time, the starting bonus was being given to me right here in the Void.
The Entity had clearly learned from its mistakes.
During the previous run, I had spent my first week strapped into a straightjacket under constant surveillance from cameras and medical staff, which made it physically impossible to activate my tickets.
Good to know that bug had been fixed.
I didn’t remember what I’d done to deserve being wrapped up like a human burrito, but one of the Chaos Gacha’s biggest drawbacks had remained unchanged:
The Ticket had to be materialized in reality and physically torn apart by hand.
Maybe version 0.13 had finally gotten rid of that archaic mechanic too?
The beginning was promising, at least.
Now, for the choice.
Three starting Bronze Tickets?
Funny.
There were five entire tiers above Gold: Platinum, Diamond, Legendary, Mythical, and Divine.
Under normal circumstances, I would have taken Silver without hesitation.
The sweet spot.
Reliable and balanced.
But the word “Enhanced” completely changed the math.
An Enhanced Ticket allowed me to choose one reward from five options.
Which meant I had to take Gold.
No question.
I made my choice and immediately attempted to activate it.
Unfortunately, a solid rectangular card suddenly appeared in my hand.
So the physical summoning mechanic hadn’t been patched after all.
The rectangle felt like a strange mixture of thick cardboard and rough foil.
I tore it apart with a familiar, practiced snap of my fingers.
The Ticket rustled softly before disintegrating into sparks.
I couldn’t actually see anything in the thick darkness around me, but a holographic display instantly unfolded inside my mind.
Five options appeared before me.
Name: Iron Mind
Specialization
Type: Skill
Rarity: Elite
Description:
You possess an iron will.
Your concentration is razor-sharp.
If you do not want to be interrupted, you will not be interrupted.
If you know you must continue, you will continue at any cost.
You can endure inhuman levels of strain.
Even when your body begins to fail, you can force it to keep functioning through sheer willpower.
You gain tremendous resistance to mental attacks and psychological pressure.
Elite.
The very first option.
One hell of a start.
Objectively speaking, though, it wasn’t particularly useful to me.
Without sounding too modest, after hundreds of reincarnations and memory wipes, I already possessed something very similar.
I just didn’t have a System notification confirming it.
My psyche could probably be used as the foundation of a nuclear bunker by now.
“All right.
Hopefully there’s another Elite reward hiding somewhere in the list, and preferably one with a little more meat on it.”
The Gold Ticket could produce rewards of four different ranks: Common, Uncommon, Rare, and Elite.
And despite proudly calling itself a Gold Ticket, the cruel irony was that it usually spat out piles of Uncommon garbage.
Let’s see what the RNG gods had in store for me this time.
I temporarily ignored the Elite skill.
Its rarity was comforting, but it didn’t solve my immediate survival problem.
I moved on to the second option.
Name: Total Concentration Breathing, Intermediate
Type: Skill
Rarity: Rare
Description:
You will master the Total Concentration Breathing technique, allowing you to increase the oxygen saturation of your blood and activate your muscles to their absolute limit, granting superhuman physical strength as long as you maintain the proper rhythm.
At the intermediate level, you can perform the technique reliably enough to actively use it during combat.
Its effectiveness can be improved through training.
Now that was much more interesting than an iron psyche.
Considering the kinds of “adventures” the Entity’s diseased imagination usually threw me into, this wasn’t going to be a leisurely stroll.
Especially on High difficulty.
Experience had taught me that within the first few hours, I would almost always have to run from someone, fight someone, or survive while pushing my physical limits.
A skill that immediately boosted my survivability, strength, and endurance without requiring any prior setup was definitely useful.
More physical power meant a greater chance of accomplishing those precious “Feats,” earning more Tickets, and not dying in the process.
And the fact that it was Rare rather than Elite didn’t bother me at all.
Experience had taught me that genuine treasures sometimes hid among the supposedly inferior tiers.
This was a solid combat buff.
For now, I’d stick with it.
But for the sake of making sure I wasn’t missing anything, I continued down the list.
Name: Deafness
Type: Ability
Rarity: Uncommon
Description:
Allows you to place a curse that blocks the target’s hearing.
It can be applied through physical contact or by throwing a magical projectile in the form of a rune.
Duration depends on the target’s magical resistance.
Hmm.
As a tactical ability, not bad.
Disorienting an enemy during a fight could certainly be useful.
But for me specifically, it was probably a one-way ticket to an early grave.
It was an Ability, which meant it consumed energy.
At first, it would draw from the Gacha’s tiny starting energy reserve.
After that, I’d have to rely on whatever energy system I could develop in the new world.
For a starting ability, Skills were always more reliable.
With my current energy pool, I could probably use “Deafness” three times.
Five at most.
Then I’d collapse from exhaustion, probably with a nosebleed.
Getting eaten by a temporarily deaf but still hungry monster wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time.
Rejected.
Next.
Name: Dark Orb
Type: Ability
Rarity: Uncommon
Description:
Allows you to create a sphere of dark energy and throw it at enemies as a projectile.
Magic again.
And an even more primitive and useless form of it than the previous option.
Why waste precious energy on something I could accomplish by throwing a brick?
Pass.
The final option appeared.
Name: Effective Management
Type: Skill
Rarity: Rare
Description:
You possess management skills.
You can distribute tasks, lead personnel, work efficiently in a multitasking environment, and quickly resolve financial problems.
You could easily manage a corporation.
The last option.
Amusing.
The skill was undeniably useful if I planned to build a financial empire or spend the rest of my life playing corporate office simulator.
But effective time management wasn’t going to stop a bullet in an alley or save me from a mutant’s fangs.
Shame.
It was also strange that none of the five options were items, traits, or even some crappy familiar.
Something like Iron Man’s armor or a laser pistol with infinite ammunition could have put up some serious competition against Total Concentration Breathing.
Whatever.
I’d work with what I had.
I mentally locked in the second option.
Basic combat potential was the foundation of survival.
The System window instantly collapsed into sparks.
Then the familiar darkness of the Void suddenly cracked apart.
A harsh, blinding light slammed into my eyes.
I instinctively squeezed them shut and raised an arm to shield my face.
At the same moment, I became fully aware of my body.
My arm moved exactly as commanded.
My weight shifted onto my legs.
Excellent.
I was standing.
All my limbs were still attached.
I wasn’t a limbless cripple lying in a sewer.
The start could be considered a success.
Then came the sound.
The murmur of dozens of voices.
Ragged breathing.
Panicked whispers.
English.
Another point in the “pros” column.
On High difficulty, I’d occasionally been thrown into worlds where I had to learn the local language from scratch, deciphering guttural noises from the local inhabitants as I went.
Yes, I knew hundreds of languages.
Most of them I couldn’t even remember where or when I’d learned.
But having to waste time on linguistics at the beginning of a run was always annoying.
Once my eyes finally adjusted to the harsh studio lighting, I lowered my hand and quickly surveyed the surroundings.
A crowd.
At least a hundred people were packed tightly around me.
Different ages, genders, and body types, but everyone shared one ridiculous detail.
They were all wearing baggy, gaudy, clown-like jumpsuits with large numbers printed across their chests.
I glanced down.
I was wearing the same colorful monstrosity.
The number 42 was printed in black across my chest.
“Interesting.”
A cynical thought crossed my mind.
“Have I spent as much time across all my lives as it took a supercomputer to calculate the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything?”
I pushed the pointless philosophy aside and switched into analytical mode.
The air was saturated with the sour smell of sweat and raw animal fear.
People around me were trembling.
Someone was quietly whimpering.
Every frightened eye was fixed on the same point.
An empty raised platform ahead of us.
I looked beyond it.
An arena.
An enclosed space.
Figures stood on elevated platforms around the perimeter.
People wearing terrifying clown masks and tactical armor.
And they weren’t carrying balloons.
Black assault rifles gleamed under the lights, their barrels pointed directly at the crowd.
The shooters’ fingers rested on their triggers.
“Even with Total Concentration Breathing, I can’t take this.”
That was my personal tragedy, the one I tried not to think about.
Because of the constant, merciless memory wipes, I rarely retained deep muscle memory.
I was a permanent jack-of-all-trades.
In theory, I knew the mechanics and ballistics of almost every firearm imaginable.
In practice, I was no sniper capable of dropping ten targets in three seconds.
I knew how to hot-wire a car, but I couldn’t escape a high-speed pursuit while driving the wrong way down a highway.
I remembered programming logic, but I couldn’t write a virus more sophisticated than something capable of hacking a supermarket security camera.
What good was knowing the perfect recipe for bear stew if my hands didn’t remember how to properly hold a butcher’s knife?
And now I was facing the same problem.
I took a slow, deep breath.
The special technique immediately responded.
My lungs expanded like a blacksmith’s bellows.
Oxygen flooded my bloodstream, accelerating my pulse.
I physically felt my muscles tighten with steel-like elasticity.
My perception sharpened.
I became faster.
Stronger.
My reaction speed increased.
But against a dozen guns ready to unleash a storm of bullets, it wasn’t enough.
Bullets were bullets.
Superhuman breathing didn’t make my skin bulletproof.
So charging straight into the firing line would be suicide.
I needed more information.
The realization that we were standing in the center of some kind of twisted arena finally settled into place.
The tension in the crowd continued to rise.
Quiet sobs became open crying.
Then the entire crowd gasped in unison.
Something moved on the empty platform.
A tall, slender figure stepped out of the shadows and into the blinding spotlight.
Bright green hair, carelessly slicked back.
An elegant yet obnoxiously flashy purple three-piece suit.
And his face…
Chalk-white makeup, slashed by a grotesque, blood-red smile.
The moment he appeared, it felt as though the entire room warped around him.
An aura of pure, concentrated madness rolled across the arena in waves.
I was certain every one of the hundred people could feel it.
The puzzle pieces snapped together instantly.
I knew exactly what world I’d been thrown into.
“Welcome to the Jokerrrr’s Gaaaaames!” the man sang theatrically, spreading his arms wide.
“One hundred contestants, but only one lucky winner will walk away from here victorious!”
His voice trembled with anticipation and barely concealed hysteria.
“Let the Madness begin!”
He erupted into a rough, barking laugh that would have made any sane person’s blood run cold.
Only then, while scanning the perimeter, did I notice the massive television cameras positioned between the guards.
Red recording lights were glowing.
The lenses followed the crowd.
A live broadcast.
“I doubt any of us bought tickets and showed up voluntarily.”
I snorted inwardly.
Unlike everyone else, I wasn’t panicking.
Instead, a cold, calculating excitement began to burn in my chest.
I estimated the distance between my position and the platform.
I studied the guards’ firing sectors.
I calculated how many seconds it would take me to cross the distance under the effects of Total Concentration Breathing.
There was no opportunity for a quick kill yet.
But the show had only just begun.
An opportunity would come.
The DC Universe was always about filth, theatrics, and absurdly high stakes.
And the laughing psychopath standing on that platform wasn’t merely a threat.
He was a walking jackpot.
Killing a major canon character of his caliber should come with a generous reward.
A Diamond Ticket?
Entirely possible.
And if I got lucky, the System might even cough up a Legendary.
A wonderful beginning.
I had a feeling I was going to like it here.