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墨書 Inktalez
As the iron door slammed shut, the damp smell of rust mixed with the sour scent of sweat hit me like a wave. I stepped back, rubbing my elbow where I had bumped it, only to collide with the cold metal surface of the table behind me. The surgical instruments clattered together, producing a sound that made my teeth ache.
"Is this some kind of reality show?"
A tattooed man kicked the iron door, causing the entire wall of glass containers to tremble. Inside one labeled "Subject 09," a baby specimen suspended in formalin suddenly opened its eyes.
Screams erupted around me. A young woman in a business suit crouched down, clutching her head; the metal chain of her handbag rattled violently as blood-red comments streamed across the screen: [Exciting start! Tip Rocket x3].
Suddenly, blinding red light illuminated the dome above us, and a holographic projection slowly materialized through the thick fog. A judge wearing a bronze mask floated in mid-air, their mechanical voice crackling with static: "Welcome to Eden, Lambs. Now, let’s announce the rules—"
I counted the ticks of the wall clock; with each tick of the second hand, the judge's voice distorted further. When they mentioned that "the lowest scorer will face audience voting for punishment," a programmer in a checkered shirt suddenly convulsed and collapsed, a bluish barcode appearing on the back of his neck.
"The countdown begins now—thirty minutes."
Twelve monitors lit up simultaneously, displaying panoramic views of the escape room from different angles. Comments flooded the screen like snowflakes: [I want to see that bespectacled nerd get skinned alive] [Betting that guy in a suit won't make it past the first round].
The Mathematics Professor was the first to dash toward the control panel, his coffee-stained sleeves flying as he typed rapidly on the keyboard. The Red-Haired Thug swung a fire axe at a ventilation opening, sparks flying as metal clashed against metal, scorching black marks onto the chemical reagent rack.
"The key is in the third row of containers on the left!" I shouted over the chaos, my nails digging into my palm. Just moments ago, I had seen the cold gleam of metal reflected in the glass when I bumped into the table.
The Office Lady's high heels suddenly stopped clicking. She pretended to adjust her stockings while her fingers stealthily reached toward Container 09.
Comments surged on screen: [Scheming bitch! Tip Rose x99] [Screenshot taken! The key is in the embryo's mouth].
"Give it to me!"
The Tattooed Man grabbed her curly hair and slammed her against the wall, blood splattering onto the surveillance camera. The projection of the Judge twisted grotesquely as Nuo Mian grinned widely, "Violent behavior detected, deducting five points."
When the alarm sounded for the seventh time, the key finally appeared on the central round table. A woman in a fur coat suddenly had a seizure, her diamond-studded phone crashing into a pool of sulfuric acid, releasing a plume of white smoke that revealed Danmu: [The script is too fake] [Refund].
"The voting channel is now open." All monitors turned scarlet, and icons of torture instruments rotated within Danmu. The barcode on the back of the programmer's neck began to bleed as he knelt on the ground, bowing to the camera, the shattered lens from his forehead embedding into his brow bone.
The Judge snapped his fingers, and electric Shackles suddenly tightened around the Tattooed Man's ankles. When Danmu finally stopped on the icon of "Shameful Brand," I noticed the Judge's left pinky twitching unnaturally—exactly in sync with the malfunction frequency of the previous Holographic Projection.
"This is your choice." The Shackles erupted with blue-purple arcs of electricity, and amidst the Tattooed Man's screams, his skeletal tattoo was melting into ink, flowing down his skin to form the three characters "Cheater" in clerical script. Danmu frantically refreshed with the same phrase: [System Error?]
The embryos in the cultivation tanks all turned toward the surveillance direction, three hundred sixty pupils flashing with identical barcodes. I quietly retreated into the shadows and felt in my suit pocket for that gold-embossed Invitation—the edges oozing a pitch-black slime.
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