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... o a run with that, his footfalls hitting the ground very briskly and his motion faster than normal human speed.

His head throbbed, at least it ought to, noting he had just taken part in a very rigorous fight, one that almost took his life.

The helicopters followed him now, and Axel, looking back, felt he was in trouble.

Now, he knew the nooks and crannies of his street. But this city? He was well a newbie, and so it would be hard moving around.

The thing was, he h ...

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It was said that Lu Zhi, the richest man in City A, had a wife whose medical skills were so good she could revive the dead!

Lu Zhi said modestly, “It’s not a big deal, but if she claims to be second, no one will dare to say they’re first.”

It was also said that Mrs. Lu was a top-notch hacker whose methods were so ruthless that bad guys frequently begged her to let them off the hook

!Lu Zhi smiled affectionately. “My wife is delicate and fragile. Those villains are just too weak.”

The audience all felt speechless. “You’re making up nonsense. Don’t you feel embarrassed?”

Lu Zhi raised his brows. “Hmm? Does anybody have a problem with that? Please step forward.”

Mrs. Lu was calm and relaxed. “You all like gossiping so much. If you don’t want to keep your tongue, you can donate it to me for research purposes.”

Everyone shivered in fear. “Please forgive us. We won’t do it again.”

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I am Racist.…I mean, my name is Racis T.I was a stand-up comedian. The flop kind. The type who only got laughs when someone else was roasting him.One night, I was doing a gig at a shady, run-down bar—the kind where tattooed bikers drink motor oil for breakfast. I went in with my usual dark humor, but my jokes were getting the same reaction as my dating profile: complete silence.That didn’t sit right with my inner artist, who was already starving to death. So I did what any committed comedian would—I went darker.Turns out, one of my jokes (or all of them?) triggered a guy so hard that he pulled a trigger. Headshot. Instant death.But hey, look at this: A guy got triggered, so he pulled the trigger. That’s wordplay. But who cares? I’m dead anyway.All I wanted was a successful show, people laughing, and maybe a few girls swooning over my wit. I never cared about money. The millions I’d have made would have gone to charity—specifically, 0.001% of it. See? I’m generous like that.Anyway, death is death. My story should’ve ended there.But… if there is an afterlife, I had a simple wish: become a successful comedian, find a loving wife, and have just enough money to afford three meals a day… and maybe a humble little private yacht. Or a jet. But that’s it. Because, like I said, I don’t care about money.Unfortunately, wishes don’t work that way.Because, well—there was an afterlife.And it was absolutely not what I wished for.