After killing twelve people, Noah's mind got excited as if it had successfully conquered the most challenging math problem. His logic deemed it an excellent achievement. Nevertheless, it is nearly emotionless. His heart grew hollow.
The jolt of emotions that usually surged through him after killing people no longer came. No excitement. No guilt. No thrill. Nothing. The only feeling he had was an eerie sense of calm, knowing it was a calculated victory.
Standing near his car, waiting for Seven and his team to arrive, he pulled a menthol cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He inhaled deeply, filling his chest with as much smoke as he could, then exhaled slowly, his eyes fixed on the distant treeline.
He was still annoyed with his system.
Even after all the knowledge he had gained, his experience bar crawled forward like a sloth. Too slow.
