The guards saw it, too.
"Sir? Are you... okay?" the pilot stammered.
He reached the control room. General Morozov, a pale, thin man with a cybernetic eye, stood behind a bank of computers. His guards had already fled. Morozov stared at Jones, who was leaning against the doorframe, leaking blood from a dozen wounds but standing perfectly upright. igi unlimited health
Jones didn't have an answer. He just raised his sidearm, shot the lock off the gate, and walked through.
His health bar stayed at 100%.
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.
He had unlimited health. But he had never felt more dead. The guards saw it, too
He closed his eyes. Somewhere in the code of the world, a zero had turned into a one. A limit had been removed. And David Jones, the last man who could truly feel fear, was now trapped in a game with no game over screen.
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. His guards had already fled
Morozov laughed, a dry, terrified sound. "Then kill me. You've won."
Inside the base, it was chaos. Alarms blared. Soldiers poured out of bunkers, rifles blazing. They were trained to fight enemy commandos, not ghosts. Not men who absorbed their fire like a sponge absorbs water. Jones didn’t bother taking cover. He didn’t flank. He didn’t use smoke or stealth.