Chapter 003: M1911 and Inventory
Arthur stared at the glowing text, his chest heaving as he tried to process what he was seeing. Slowly, he forced himself to take a breath and calm down.
A system. An actual, functional progression system. He ran a hand through his hair, a disbelieving laugh escaping his lips. I crossed into another universe and got a system. Incredible.
The interface was bare-bones. There was no tutorial, no starter gear, no hand-holding. He was going to have to figure out the mechanics entirely on his own. But Arthur didn't care. It was an undeniable advantage.
He was sitting right in the middle of a sprawling cinematic universe, specifically the Fast & Furious timeline he knew so well. Fast cars, high stakes, and pure adrenaline. It was a chaotic, dangerous world, but the thrill of it was intoxicating.
Still, a cold knot of anxiety twisted in his gut. The Fast & Furious franchise spanned over a decade of escalating insanity. He had seen everything up to Fast X, but missing that final piece of the puzzle left him at a slight disadvantage.
At least the early timeline was grounded. The first few years were just Dom and his crew surviving on grit and street racing.
But later on? The scope exploded. This world would eventually introduce global intelligence agencies, cybernetic super-soldiers, rogue nuclear submarines, and elite private military contractors. It would cross over into pure, world-ending sci-fi chaos.
A cold sweat broke out across his neck. Living in this universe wasn't just about winning pink slips. The survival rate for ordinary people caught in the crossfire was abysmal.
But the system changed the odds.
If I have a proficiency system, he thought, does that mean I can gamify my own survival? Turn any action into a tangible skill?
He wanted to test it immediately. Then he remembered the other notification from the ride over—the voice had mentioned an inventory.
Focusing his thoughts, Arthur mentally reached for the inventory. A strange, spatial awareness bloomed in his mind. He could sense a void tethered to his consciousness. It was small—about three feet in every direction, roughly a cubic meter.
It wasn't much, and he doubted it could hold anything living. He glanced around the cramped apartment. A throw pillow sat next to him on the sofa, alongside a stack of faded car magazines. Grabbing the pillow, Arthur concentrated, mentally commanding the item into the void.
In the next moment, the fabric vanished from his hands without a trace.
Instantly, he could mentally sense the worn-out pillow sitting inside that isolated pocket of space.
Grabbing the stack of magazines, he tried again, filtering them into the void one after another. It worked flawlessly. He spent the next several minutes testing the limits, pulling items in and out of thin air. It wasn't until he gripped the bulky sofa and strained to store it—getting absolutely no reaction from the system—that he finally stopped.
His eyes were bright, his chest rising and falling rapidly. A flush of pure adrenaline heated his face.
An untraceable, secure pocket dimension. It was the ultimate tactical advantage. Even if he didn't have anything incredibly valuable to hide right now...
Wait. Yes, I do.
Arthur bolted up from the sofa and hurried into the cramped bedroom. It held nothing but a mattress and two small nightstands. Relying on the original Arthur's memories, he pulled open the drawer of the right nightstand.
Sitting heavily against the wood was a gun.
Specifically, a Colt M1911 semi-automatic pistol. Living in a rough, unpredictable neighborhood in Los Angeles meant keeping a weapon for self-defense was just common sense.
He picked up the cold steel, turning it over to inspect the chamber and grip. In his previous life, he'd been a bit of a military history buff. He quickly identified it as a modern civilian model chambered in 9mm, rather than the traditional, heavy-hitting .45 caliber.
While the 9mm lacked the massive stopping power of the original, it was highly reliable, and the ammunition was incredibly easy to source. Nestled in the back of the drawer were two loaded magazines and three full boxes of 9mm rounds.
Despite the urge to find an empty alley and test his aim, Arthur knew better than to start firing off rounds in the city. Between the strict laws regarding discharging firearms and his lingering concussion, it was a bad idea.
Instead, he focused his mind. In a blink, the M1911, the spare magazines, and the boxes of ammo vanished into his private space.