EARTH SENIOR PLAYER
Part Three
5
"Let you go? Dream on!" Cheryl held him at knifepoint as she backed toward the exit. "You're coming with us!"
"Where to?"
"To see the NPC. Your case has to be reported to management headquarters for a permanent account ban."
And so, with just a small knife, we forced Victor Cross out of Pinnacle Tower. The moment we stepped outside, several police cars came screaming to a halt and surrounded us. Officers fanned out with their guns drawn, aiming at us: "You are surrounded. Drop your weapons!"
Obviously—even a fool could see we were surrounded. But could Cheryl's little knife really be considered a weapon?
I waved at the police and shouted: "Move aside! This isn't what you think—we're trying to save the world!"
The police completely ignored me and continued their amplified warnings: "Do not resist. Release the hostage. Surrendering is your only option!"
"The world isn't what you think it is. Don't get involved in this..." I shouted, waving my arms.
"Stop yelling. They're just NPCs in the game. They won't understand what you're saying." Cheryl restrained my futile efforts, holding Victor Cross hostage as she shouted to the police: "Lower your weapons, or I can't guarantee the hostage's safety!"
"Young Master..." A butler-like figure rushed out of Pinnacle Tower, shouting at the police: "Lower your guns! Quickly, didn't you hear me?! If anything happens to Mr. Chu, can you even bear the consequences?"
The police reluctantly lowered their weapons. Cheryl and I retreated slowly, keeping watch on our surroundings. Suddenly, a blinding flash of light exploded—my vision went white as day, and a deafening buzz erupted in my skull. I thought "Oh no—" and forced myself to look. Several officers had already swarmed in and pinned Cheryl to the ground. The dagger that had been held against Victor Cross's throat lay on the ground beside them.
A flashbang. I never thought I'd experience the effects of such a weapon firsthand.
We were taken to the police station and held for separate interrogation. I explained my worldview—the real one—over and over again to the officer questioning me, but he refused to believe any of it.
After two days of this, I was exhausted. I just closed my eyes and stopped defending myself. Whatever they said, I let them say it.
The officer interrogating me was called out, and when he returned, he asked: "What's your relationship with Cheryl?"
"We're both 'players.'"
"Players?" He chuckled. "You've been brainwashed by her, haven't you?"
I couldn't be bothered to argue. "Believe whatever you want."
"Alright." The officer put away his notepad. "Owen Quinn, you're free to go."
"Go?" I was taken aback. "Go where?"
"Where else? Out. What, you want to stay here?"
"And...Cheryl?"
"Oh, she has a serious psychiatric condition—severe delusional disorder. She's been transferred to Lakewood Psychiatric Hospital."
Lakewood Psychiatric Hospital? I was stunned. That was the most tightly guarded psychiatric facility in the city, housing patients who were either profoundly disturbed or dangerously violent—worse than a prison. Cheryl...that was her fate?
I walked out of the interrogation room in a daze. A staff member returned my personal belongings: wallet, keys, work ID, and an envelope containing my name and ID number.
I gripped the worn brown-paper envelope tightly, my whole body trembling uncontrollably. Cheryl was mentally ill? Everything she'd told me—was it just the ravings of a madwoman? No, no, that couldn't be!
They were all in on it—everyone had conspired against her, against the savior of this world!
5
I went to Beiguan Middle School, trying to find the yellow-haired kid who'd given us the side quest. But to my astonishment, Beiguan Middle School had no such student.
I searched every class, and they all said they'd never seen a kid with dyed yellow hair. Finally I found the grade director, who shook his head repeatedly after hearing my description. "Impossible, absolutely impossible. Our school is a key institution—we don't allow students to dye their hair, and we certainly don't have a bullying problem. You must have the wrong place."
The wrong place? How could that be? I'd seen him with my own eyes—walking out of the school in a uniform, even shaking down two students for their pocket change. How could he have disappeared without a trace, as if he'd never existed?
Had he...been erased? A chill ran through my heart.
I clutched my clothes, then suddenly felt the envelope in my pocket. My heart stirred, and I pulled it out to examine it more closely. Sure enough, in the bottom-right corner, a sender's address was printed in tiny type—so small it was almost entirely obscured by the postmark. It turned out this letter hadn't been handed directly to Cheryl; it had been mailed to her.
I followed the address to the suburbs, to an old, weathered apartment building. I climbed the creaking wooden staircase to Room 302 and rang the bell.
After a moment, a kind-looking middle-aged woman opened the door.
"Who are you looking for?"
"Are you...an NPC?"
"What?" She blinked, startled.
I quickly produced the envelope. "Did you send this letter?"
She glanced at the envelope and smiled. "Oh, that...yes, I sent it. Come in."
She invited me inside and poured me a glass of water. "Please sit down. You're a friend of Cheryl's, right?"
"I...yes. Who are you?"
"My name is Dr. Milleru." She sat down across from me. "I'm Cheryl's attending physician."
My mind went blank. I nearly fainted.
"I understand this may come as a blow—especially if you believed what Cheryl told you." She pointed at her own head. "I have to admit, certain patients with psychiatric conditions can be extremely persuasive in their delusions."
"Dr. Milleru, you...you're a doctor at Lakewood Psychiatric Hospital?"
"That's right." She took a sip of water. "I've been Cheryl's attending physician for a long time. She suffers from a severe delusional disorder—she can't accept reality. We've treated her for a long time without much improvement. As a last resort, we used the latest therapy from abroad—a 'scenario reconstruction' method, where we let her enter a fantasy world of her own creation, and then guide her to discover its absurdity herself, so she can break through the delusion from within. Unfortunately, Cheryl's condition is so severe that this round of treatment, despite all the effort, has been largely ineffective."
I fought against the crumbling of my inner world. "But I saw her get side-quest information from the yellow-haired kid with my own eyes..."
"That person was one of our staff members—a temporary plant to cooperate with Cheryl's scenario. And you, Owen Quinn—you were just someone we selected at random. To make the scenario as authentic as possible, we didn't send a staff member to inform you of the truth in advance. If this experience has caused you any distress, I apologize on behalf of the medical team."
I bowed my head, pressing my hands against my scalp, wanting to tear my hair out strand by strand.
Dr. Milleru stood and patted my shoulder. "Young man, I know the real world can be full of disappointments, pain, and hardship. But no matter what, we have to face it bravely, right? That's the right attitude toward life."
"Thank you." I stood up, head down, and hurried out. I didn't want to show my vulnerability, my despair, to a stranger. I fled down the staircase, my nose stinging, and tilted my head back to look at the sky, inhaling deeply.
A faint, lingering scent drifted into my nostrils.
I froze for a moment, then whirled around and sprinted back up the stairs. When I reached Room 302, I stopped abruptly and pressed my ear against the door.
"Nice acting. You got rid of him—saved me a lot of trouble."
It was Victor Cross's voice! Every hair on my body stood on end!
"I did what you asked. Can you let me go now?" It was Dr. Milleru's voice, trembling slightly.
"Heh. What, NPCs can feel fear too?"
"You know that even though we're virtual characters in Glory, we've been given independent personalities. I don't want to die. Please, let me go."
"Relax, of course I'll let you go. After all, I'm the man who's going to rule this world—how could I break my word? But as an NPC, you were far too careless. You revealed your location. Cheryl has already been locked up in Lakewood Psychiatric Hospital by my people. Why don't you go join her? Inside, you two can try telling more people the truth—see if anyone believes you. Hahaha..."
"No, no! I did what you asked, you can't do this to me—"
"What's wrong with Lakewood Psychiatric Hospital? Beats being dead. Let me tell you something—I'm not unwilling to kill. I just can't be bothered with the hassle. Someone like that kid Owen Quinn—I could kill him as easily as flipping my hand. But I don't want to deal with police investigations and all that fuss. The collider experiment has reached a critical stage, and I don't want any surprises. So you'd better go quietly. Don't make me get my hands dirty."
I kicked the door open. Victor Cross was sitting in the exact spot where I'd been sitting, legs crossed, holding a cup of tea. The front door had been wide open—he must have been hiding inside all along.
Seeing me burst in, Victor Cross's expression changed instantly. "You heard all that?"
"Obviously—I'm not deaf!"
"How did you notice something was off? That shouldn't be possible—the NPC's story was airtight..."
"It was airtight—I believed every word of it. But you were the one who gave it away, Victor Cross. Your cologne gave everything away!"
Victor Cross looked down and sniffed his collar, then suddenly laughed. "Well, well—quite the nose you've got on you. Since you know everything, you won't be needing your life anymore!" As he spoke, his expression darkened. He drew a gun from behind his back and aimed it at me!
"Dr. Milleru"—no, the NPC—screamed: "You're going to kill someone?"
"So what if I kill someone?" Victor Cross grinned in that infuriatingly villainous way of his. He gestured with the gun for the NPC to stand next to me. "One kill or two—it's the same difference. I might as well take you both out and eliminate any future trouble!"
It was the first time I'd ever had a gun pointed at me. My mind went numb; I had no idea what to do. Victor Cross sneered at us like we were two dead dogs. The barrel of his gun seemed to be aimed directly at my heart.
At that moment, a flash of silver streaked through the air. There was a sharp "clang" as it struck his gun, followed immediately by a deafening "BANG"—I could feel the bullet graze past my scalp, searing hot.
All of this happened in the blink of an eye. By the time I gathered my wits, Victor Cross's gun was on the floor and a throwing knife jutted from his right hand—a knife whose shape was achingly familiar. I whipped my head around and saw Cheryl, still dressed in her hospital gown, standing in the doorway!
"You..." Victor Cross's eyes went wide. "Aren't you locked up in Lakewood Psychiatric Hospital?"
"You think a psychiatric hospital can hold me? I'm an Awakener." Cheryl's voice was ice.
"Fine. Since you're here, I'll take care of you both at once—saves me the trouble!" Victor Cross reached for the gun on the floor with his left hand. Cheryl shouted: "Get down!"
I dropped to the ground alongside the NPC. Cheryl lunged forward. Victor Cross fired—his left-handed aim was off, but in rapid succession, a bullet punched through Cheryl's chest. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. I saw a vivid bloom of blood flower across the white fabric of her hospital gown.
"NO!" I screamed, my heart tearing apart.
Cheryl didn't stop. She threw her arms around Victor Cross, and together they crashed through the window, plummeting from the building.
A fierce gust of wind roared in.
Shattered glass scattered like blooming lotus flowers across the ground. Cheryl lay in the middle of them, pale and holy, her breath barely a whisper. Not far away lay Victor Cross, already dead—the knife that had been in his hand was now embedded in his heart.
I gathered Cheryl into my arms, pressing my hands against her wound, but blood kept welling up between my fingers. She reached up and gently stroked my face. "Owen Quinn, don't cry."
But my tears fell like pearls snapping from a string, splattering to the ground, impossible to stop. She smiled weakly. "I'm sorry...I can't be your girlfriend."
"I don't want you to be my girlfriend—I just want you to live..."
Her pupils suddenly dilated, scattering prismatic light. "Owen Quinn, listen to me. You must live well—live until the day the game ends..."
"I know. I promise." I could barely speak through my tears. "I'll report Victor Cross to management headquarters. I'll make sure he's permanently banned."
"That's not all..." She closed her eyes, a frozen smile on her lips. In the wind, I heard her final words.
This is a game—and it's also your life.
END