Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
Live Trial: The Death Game of Ten Keyboard Warriors
墨書 Inktalez
The red light in the live stream flickered like a serpent's tongue, brushing against the silver mask of the Judge. He snapped his fingers, and the metallic sound startled a fly dozing in the corner.
"Remember to light up those red hearts, folks," he said, his hoarse voice twisted into a mechanical sweetness by the voice changer. The comment section erupted with a flurry of "What the hell!"
Twelve 4K cameras simultaneously turned towards the dim room. Amidst the groaning of rusty gears, the hexagonal metal door slowly opened, revealing a laser matrix pulsating with eerie blue arcs. The comments rolled frantically: "How much did this special effect cost?" Yet, no one noticed that the Judge's left hand, resting on the control panel, was trembling, its knuckles so pale that the veins beneath his skin writhed visibly.
"Three years ago on the winter solstice, my cat was hanged in this live stream room." He suddenly ripped off the voice changer, and the raw gravelly sound grated painfully against the viewers' eardrums.
The camera cut to an old screenshot of a comment: "Those worse than beasts deserve to die along with their families," with the word "Scarlet" bleeding across a 120-inch curved screen.
Delivery man Zhao Zhiqiang stumbled upon that black envelope while delivering his 58th order. The wax seal bore a burnt cross pattern; it melted into blood droplets as soon as it touched his fingertip. As he nervously scanned the QR code, an AR projection formed in the downpour—a masked figure appeared: "Mr. Zhao, did you ever think that when you commented 'delivery workers should be run over' three years ago, you would one day be fleeing on an electric bike?"
Lin Xiaoman's manicured nails dug crescent shapes into the invitation. Just as the live stream went black, she distinctly saw her old account's comment from three years ago: "The plastic surgery freaks pollute the air." At that moment, an LED light above her vanity exploded, sending shards of glass slicing across her collarbone in a cross-shaped wound.
Wang Jianguo smirked at the gilded envelope while cold air laced with rust blew from the central air conditioning unit in his office. The media company executive habitually opened the tip leaderboard only to find his comment from three years ago—"Scam artists should quit online"—looping on the invitation.
As he loosened his Hermès tie to call security, a piercing alarm suddenly blared throughout the entire floor. Su Qian's live stream still bore the title "Peak Beauty," but she curled up shivering among piles of delivery boxes. Just three hours earlier, she had mockingly tossed the invitation into a shredder; now all her beauty product caps bore that same burnt cross.
When the 23rd brand called to terminate their contract, she finally sliced open that envelope which had mysteriously reappeared on her vanity. Zhao Zhiqiang's electric bike broke down midway across a bridge spanning the river.
The sound of the approaching tanker’s horn coincided with the countdown on his phone. As he crossed the finish line with red-rimmed eyes, he noticed the navigation had automatically switched to a map of the escape room.
In the back seat, the last takeout order was stuck with a note that read, "For my past self three years ago."
When the seven of them gathered in the lobby of the escape room, they were all injured. Lin Xiaoman had only one high heel left, Wang Jianguo’s tailored suit was stained with fire extinguisher powder, and half of Su Qian's false eyelashes had come off.
As the Holographic Projection suddenly lit up, the girl in the JK uniform knocked over a bottle of Evian water—her avatar from three years ago when she had bullied those suffering from depression.
"Welcome to the Confession Room."
The voice of the judge pressed in from all directions, mixed with muffled sounds reminiscent of skulls hitting the floor.
The main screen abruptly split into seven sections, each looping footage of the Participants' most vicious online bullying records. The Danmu pool began to fill with familiar IDs; accounts that once charged alongside them were now flooding in with colorful Danmu shouting "Die."
The circular lights in the ceiling of the escape room suddenly illuminated, revealing the glass monitoring room where the judge was cleaning a scalpel, its blade reflecting light and casting flowing dark patterns on his mask.
When the roar of the first mechanism activating echoed through the room, everyone realized that each wall was embedded with wax figures proportionally replicating their online bullying victims.
Comment 0 Comment Count