What malicious intent could NPCs possibly have? C41.2

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Chp41. part2

“The camera,” he said.

From the camera’s perspective, the man was huddled on the floor, his most severely injured head completely obscured by the seat.

This meant the tentacle’s eyes likely weren’t on the tentacle itself; the cameras in the carriage were its eyes.

Disabling its eyes would prevent it from targeting people again, which was probably how everyone was allowed to pass at this station.

After the previous stations, Ning Ge’s mindset had shifted. She no longer cared about ensuring everyone’s survival. Staying in the chaotic carriage was too risky; it was better to resolve the problem completely and be done with it.

Ironically, Pei Han couldn’t reach the man.

The crowd was in a frenzy between them. He could easily navigate the chaotic carriage himself, but without him, Ning Ge and Owen might get hurt. Staying in this defenseless corner was the safest option.

He had no choice but to try throwing the wrench, as Ning Ge had suggested.

Pei Han pulled the wrench from his shoulder bag and weighed it in his hand.

Then, he carefully put it back.

He took two steps forward and suddenly snatched the screwdriver from the hand of a man in front of him.

The man froze, completely bewildered as to how the weapon in his hand had suddenly vanished and ended up in Pei Han’s grasp.

When he snapped out of his daze, his face contorted with rage as he swung a fist at Pei Han’s head.

Before his punch could even come close, the man was sent flying through the air.

Pei Han ignored him, his eyes fixed on the camera across the room. He spun the screwdriver in his hand, then whipped it forward like a dart.

Despite the distance, his aim was still remarkably accurate, but the force was insufficient. The screwdriver bounced off the black hemisphere and clattered to the ground.

Several people were engaged in a heated brawl nearby. The falling screwdriver landed at the feet of one of the fighters, who froze momentarily before snatching it up and lunging at his opponent.

The screwdriver was too light and ineffective. He needed the precious wrench.

“Wait for me,” Pei Han said to Ning Ge over his shoulder.

He strode forward and joined the fray, punching a few unarmed combatants aside before finally cornering someone wielding a weapon. With a few swift moves, he disarmed the man and seized the large wrench he’d been after.

He hefted the wrench with satisfaction, aimed it at the camera, and threw. This time, the impact was decisive. The wrench shattered the camera’s casing and smashed the lens.

The brawlers remained oblivious, still locked in their brutal struggle.

Two minutes passed, and the metal tentacles returned.

The tentacle probed into the carriage, freezing mid-air.

One second, two seconds—time crawled by. The tentacle hung there foolishly, showing no intention of grabbing anyone.

Ning Ge shouted, “Stop fighting! The camera’s gone! It won’t grab anyone anymore!”

No one listened. People continued chasing each other, wrestling, and throwing punches and kicks.

After a long while, someone finally noticed something was wrong and looked at the motionless tentacle.

The tentacle lingered in the carriage for a moment before reluctantly retracting outside.

This time, no one was taken.

The fighting stopped, leaving the survivors battered and bruised. Many were dead, while others lay gravely wounded on the carriage floor, gasping for breath in pools of blood.

Static crackled over the intercom, followed by Lu Juan’s calm voice.

“This is the rear carriage broadcast. All carriages, note that there’s a camera near the ceiling on one side of each carriage. That’s likely its eye.”

Eye? Ning Ge thought. Just end it all already.

The thirty-minute countdown finally ended. The subway sealed its doors and began moving again.

Ning Ge, Pei Han, and Owen immediately rushed to the inter-carriage door of the next carriage, waiting.

A sweet, melodic voice announced, “This subway’s terminal station is Loop Line Station. Next stop: Ningxing Road.”

The connecting door between the carriages slid open.

The new carriage felt different.

There was no fighting, and everyone was completely unharmed, huddled in small groups in the corners.

Some were sobbing quietly, and the atmosphere was heavy and oppressive. Many looked terrified, but unlike the previous carriage, there was no lingering smell of gunpowder.

The door to the Giant Spider compartment stood open, the seats were gone, and the cameras had been smashed. A single-shoulder bag lay in the center of the car, its contents fully equipped.

It seemed they had all been diligently following Lu Juan’s instructions from the broadcast, working hard to pass the trial.

When Ning Ge noticed the red circle on someone’s wrist, she knew they had even passed the Imposter trial without conflict.

Since no one was injured, the tentacles must not have grabbed anyone at the last station.

This carriage seemed peaceful, and in such a car, Ning Ge felt slightly more relaxed.

With her guard down, she began to look around.

Suddenly, Ning Ge patted Pei Han’s arm.

“Look at the screen,” she said, pointing to the display across the carriage.

Above, as always, a line of text scrolled across the display: This subway’s terminal station is Loop Line Station. Next stop: Ningxing Road Station.

The announcement was the same at every stop, nothing out of the ordinary.

“Did you notice the small highlights at the end?” Ning Ge asked. “They’ve changed again.”

Following the station announcement, several small highlights scrolled forward along with the scrolling text.

Now there were three: two above and one below. The bottom highlight was positioned to the right, as if four dots forming a square were missing the bottom-left one.

The highlights were tiny, like display errors, and easily overlooked.

Pei Han glanced at them and immediately asked, “You said they’ve changed ‘again.’ What did they look like before?”

“At the last stop, there were only two highlights—top-left and bottom-right,” Ning Ge replied.

She paused in thought. “I’ve forgotten the earlier ones, except for the station where we were looking for the Giant Spider. All four highlights were there then.”

Pei Han smiled at her. “This is the kind of thing only you would notice.”

He pulled out the marker and said to Owen, “Hold out your hand.”

Owen foolishly extended his palm, then wisely snatched it back, patiently explaining to Pei Han, “Fun fact: that’s a marker pen. This is my hand, not paper. Paper is that thin, white stuff.”

Pei Han wanted to write something.

Ning Ge pulled a bus ticket from her pocket and handed it to him. “Write on this.”

Pei Han took the ticket and began drawing dots on the back.

Each group of dots looked like a square, with two dots in the top row and two in the bottom. But in each group, some dots were missing—one or two here, one or two there, and in one case, even three were missing.

When he finished, Pei Han said, “These are Braille numbers.”

He labeled the dots with Arabic numerals from zero to nine.

The number for this stop was four. The previous stop had been five. The stop where they caught the Giant Spider, with all four dots present, had been seven.

Ning Ge mentally calculated: If Ping’an Street Station, the first ticket check, had been nine; Yongning Road Station, where they removed seats to prevent overcrowding, had been eight; Xingwangli Station, where they found the Giant Spider, had been exactly seven; Jipingmen Station, where the red circle appeared on her wrist, had been six; Anyong Street Station, where the metal tentacle had grabbed them, had been five; then this current stop, Ningxing Road Station, was four.

It was a shrinking countdown.

Owen perked up. “So, if the countdown reaches zero, we’ll be at the Terminal Station?”

Ning Ge, keeping her expression neutral, tried to scare him. “Not necessarily. What if when the countdown hits zero, the whole train just… boom!”

Ningxing Road Station arrived quickly.

The moment the doors opened, everyone simultaneously looked outside.

This time, instead of metallic tentacles, several Masked Men boarded.

The Masked Men were carrying another large box.

The broadcast chimed in: “Dear passengers, the station master at Ningxing Road Station would like to play a healthy little game with you.”

A game? The idea sounded utterly unreliable.

Only Owen seemed intrigued, leaning forward to peer into the Masked Men’s box.

The broadcast continued: “Each passenger will now receive a pedometer. Each round will last five minutes. Shake your pedometer vigorously. After five minutes, we will record the numbers. The top three passengers with the highest counts will each receive a Little Healthy Red Flower. After eight rounds, the top three passengers with the most Little Red Flowers will remain on the train; all others will disembark and transfer to other services.”

The broadcast added: “Whether in individual rounds or the overall competition, ties are possible. If multiple passengers tie for a rank, they will all occupy that single rank, regardless of their number.”

As soon as the broadcast finished, the Masked Men distributed the pedometers, handing one to each passenger.

Ning Ge examined the pedometer handed to her. It was small and square, with a simple design. A number was displayed above a small screen, which currently showed zero. Below the screen was a reset button.

When the Masked Man gave it to her, the number on the screen remained motionless, as if controlled by some mechanism that only activated once the game began.

This time, there was no need to think; the method to ensure everyone’s survival was obvious.

The top three finishers in each round would receive a Little Red Flower. If players tied, they would be counted as a single rank. Therefore, if everyone rolled the same number, each person could receive a Little Red Flower every round.

At the end of the game, if everyone had the same number of Little Red Flowers, they would all share first place and be allowed to remain on the bus.

It was a principle as simple as a kindergarten child could understand.

A man who appeared to be around forty years old suddenly stepped forward. He was thin and slightly stooped, dressed plainly, with a gentle and scholarly appearance that reminded one of a teacher.

Without looking at the Masked Men, he faced the group and spoke in a calm, classroom-like tone, as if addressing a room full of students.

“Don’t be afraid. Although there’s no announcement this time, we still have a way to clear this stage.”

He said, “In each subsequent round, everyone will shake their pedometer the same number of times. That way, we’ll all tie for first place, each receiving a Little Healthy Red Flower. In the end, we’ll all have the same number of flowers and pass the round together, without anyone dying.”

He asked for everyone’s opinion, “How many shakes should we aim for? Ten? Twenty?”

Ning Ge thought, It would be best if no one shook at all, keeping the count at zero. But she wasn’t sure if that would work.

The people in the carriage chimed in, “Teacher Wu, you decide. We’ll follow your lead.”

So the man was indeed a teacher, and his surname was Wu.

He pondered for a moment. “Let’s go with twenty. Too few and we might make a mistake.”

Ning Ge now understood why the carriage had been so peaceful, with no incidents. Someone had taken the initiative to organize everyone.

It took real courage to step forward in the face of so many Masked Men, who could drag people off at any moment.

The Masked Men stood silently, showing no intention of stopping their alliance.

The broadcast suddenly announced, “Round one timer begins.”

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