My Cell Prison - Chapter 3 - Starting from Scratch

Dr Dalton Wyatt, a world renowned Scientist and Inventor is transmigrated to the body of a high school student Dalton Wyatt who committed suicide due to unfortunate circumstances and complicated life.

Lin Yi traveled across the Douluo Continent, and was presented with an extraordinary divine body by the system.

But something went wrong during the fusion!

The divine body was sealed, and what sealed it was actually a shield with trillions of HP!

Only by breaking the shield can the divine body be unlocked.

In desperation, Lin Yi embarked on the road of seeking death, and asked all the strong men on Douluo Continent to fight for him.

The system also guarantees that rewards will be generated based on the amount of blood dropped from the shield.

As long as a reward can be generated, a critical strike will be triggered, and an additional higher quality reward will be given to Lin Yi!

The higher the damage received, the richer the rewards will be!

…

Bibi Dong: “Are you really looking for death?”

Lin Yi: “Really, I beg my sister to work harder!”

Qian Renxue: “I’ll go, you will actually lose treasure if you hit you?!”

Lin Yi: “Your damage is too low to trigger the purple prize pool. If you use a little force to trigger the black prize pool, the red prize pool is not a dream!”

Chen Xin: “I don’t believe that I can’t break Lin Yi’s shield, from now on I will come to kill him twice a day!”

Lin Yi: “Hey, I don’t even bother to expose you, you are clearly looking at the breakthrough spar that fell from the broken shield! Despicable!”

…

Please, please stop scraping! I am in a hurry to break the shield!

Ask online, who is the strongest person on the Douluo Continent, even if the divine body can’t be unsealed, just use the damage to trigger a golden prize pool for me!

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.