dramatic death

Lying in Yin Tong's hand was the second letter received this morning.

It was still violently torn diary paper, and the paper had already turned yellow due to the passage of time, making the large messy ink dots on the paper more and more abrupt.

It's like someone broke the nib of a fountain pen.

[September 9th], the middle 15th day seemed to disappear.

He glanced at Christie's little face hidden under the brim of his hat, unfolded the letter, and read it in a low voice.

……

[December 9, sunny]

I sometimes think of the holographic game newly developed by ELF. The promotional release claims that its fidelity can reach the upper limit of 70% stipulated by law. The world that exists is real?

This is a paradox.

Wen He once said that my thinking is as boring as those philosophers who think about what "I" is all day long.However, the life in this school is completely different from what I have experienced before. There are no terminals, no light screens, and even the teaching in class is the "blackboard" mentioned in historical documents, and the textbooks are all expensive precious paper.

These things always give me a sense of "unreality", as if I am in a holographic game at the moment.

If the founder of this school could be peacefully defined, "genius" and "crazy" would probably be at the top of the comment list.I can't prove whether the place I'm in is virtual or real, just like I can't prove that I'm a person, not a piece of data.

I have no way to verify whether the "thoughts" I have at this moment are obtained from "thinking" or "hints" imposed by the "terminal brain".

I feel like I'm going crazy.

When I write this passage, I am still thinking about people's definition of "alive".If one day I forget who I am, will I be born again after amnesia?If I am amnesiac and get this diary and see the "memories" of the past, these "pasts" can enrich the "character setting" of "me", but how can I prove that the "I" in the diary is myself Woolen cloth?

How can I prove that the so-called "evidence" is not fabricated?

I feel like I've hit a dead end.

I need to find out.

There are many ways to find answers. Before thinking about those philosophical questions, I feel that I need to solve practical problems first.For example, how to effectively collect intelligence and then leave this ghost place.

I need to change the status quo of being isolated and verify whether I am in the same dimension as my classmates. In their eyes, "I" is me as a human being or some other unspeakable monster, or a moving garbage Barrel or vending machine.

Did they really not see me, or pretended not to see me.

The verification method is simple.

In yesterday's meditation class, I stabbed my classmate sitting at my front desk with a pen.

There was no way this behavior would have happened.My instructor is not only responsible for communicating with me, but also has the obligation to isolate me from other people. To some extent, he needs to prevent me from talking to others, preventing me from making physical contact with others, and preventing me from actively or passively destroying school facilities. Prevent me from doing anything unusual.

He was the monitor assigned to me by the school, and he was supposed to stay with me every step of the way.However, in yesterday's class, as the class monitor of the second-year A move, he was responsible for going to the school hospital to sign Friday's injection list.

He wasn't there, so no one seemed to have to stop me.

Although I was mentally prepared, I didn't expect things to go so smoothly.The moment the nib of the pen passed my eyes, I was taken aback. I suddenly realized that there are many things I can do. A few days ago, I would only throw broken glass at others, but today I am bold. It's time for murder.

Morality is the last shackles of human nature, and in this school, it is the most fragile and the least valuable thing.

If there were no laws in this world, nothing could restrain your behavior, no one could punish you, what would you be like?

I don't know, I only know that the moment when I stabbed down and pulled out the pen, the blood splatter didn't look like a scene in a virtual game at all.

That scene is very real, so real that if I test my criminal value at this moment, then I will probably face life imprisonment in the White Tower, or be tied to the laboratory bench of a professor of sociology and psychology.I will be abandoned by this society, and I am not even worthy of euthanasia, because I have become a potential criminal, because the existence of such a person means that a crime may be born.

——After the Genetic Conviction Law of the New Era was established, human beings are used to being separated into small gardens in different environments, as if this is the only way to save themselves.

——They call such a world "Utopia" (Utopia).

I heard the classmate at the front desk let out a cry of pain, and realized that I had stabbed him dozens of times while I was in a daze.

The damage done by the tip of the pen is not bloody, but my movements are enough to scare the children in the classroom back again and again.I suddenly found the reason for my behavior. The reason why I tried so desperately to save myself was probably because I realized subconsciously that no one would come to save me.

If I don't try to do something, I may never escape.

I heard that noisy voice reappear in my ear, and it asked in a high-pitched voice: "Why me?"

How do I know why.

I pulled out the silver nib from the back of the classmate at the front desk and inserted it again. I dragged him back by his collar, pinched him by the neck and pressed him to the desk. The voice was hoarse in my ears. shouted, "He's innocent!"

I am thinking of what Stanisje said, every snowflake feels innocent. *

There was chaos in the classroom, some people screamed, some people trembled, but no one came up to stop me.

No one resisted.

It's as if the result of "resisting" - not following the rules - is more frightening to them than being hurt by me.

This is simply ridiculous.

I could see me in their terrified pupils, like a mad beast.I don't know whether to be happy because "I exist" or sad because "the old (good) me is no longer there".

My mind went blank until he (the instructor) showed up at the door of the classroom.

He still looks the same, looking soft and cute like a piece of cotton candy, his eyes will always contain my figure, as if he will never abandon me.

I suddenly laughed.

At that moment, I seemed to think a lot, but I didn't seem to think about anything.I watched the instructor panting through the crowd and walking towards me, his eyes clearly showed three points of fear and five points of anxiety, as well as some imperceptible panic and sadness.

I don't know what he wants to do, but I clearly understand what I want to do.The twisted, revenge-like pleasure penetrated the surface of my heart. I watched his eyes stab the pen into the back of my hand, and heard that thin voice whispering in my ear.

"Look, I've said it all, so don't leave me behind."

……

Yin Tong's hand holding the diary paper trembled, and the yellowed paper almost fell out of his fingers and fell on the bar.He rubbed the back of his hand reflexively, exhaled, and took a sip of water before he managed to recover from his empathy.

Christie glanced up at him, took a sip of the wine in the glass, and stretched out her pink tongue to lick off the remaining muddy liquid along the edge of the glass.

"It's almost time to close it," she commented with downcast eyes, "The review conditions of Duanwang are still not perfect. People like this who accidentally become psychopaths must have something wrong with their genes. They should be sent to the White House at birth." Lock up the tower."

Yin Tong glanced at her, but didn't make a sound, pinched the diary and continued to read.

……

In a way, this counts as a second experiment.

After the glass shattering, my instructor said that I was "the only 'out-of-plan' transfer student at the school in all these years." Could this "out-of-plan" be the reason for my isolation?

What is a "plan"?If I stabbed myself, would it ruin the so-called plan?

If I jump off the roof now, will it destroy the so-called plan?

If I stab (kill) injure (death) another classmate, will it destroy the so-called plan?

Pain can make people feel real, but when the fidelity of holographic games reaches more than 70%, sawing arms and legs may not be the basis for judging reality.

I have already proved that I am in the same dimension as my "classmates", so how do I prove whether the world I live in is virtual or real?

I followed the instructor into the school hospital, found the emergency room with ease, and then put my bloody hand under the warm light of the therapeutic device.

This hospital is probably the only thing in the school that is in line with modern times.

In just an hour, my hands were back to writing.I can go back to the classroom with a bandage and continue to complete my "experiment". According to the current effect, my classmates still need more acting training.

The figure in their pupils proved that they could "see" me.If "isolation" is to make me dependent on the instructor, then what is it that makes my classmates "can't talk to me (observe school rules)" even if they are stabbed?

Could it be more hopeless than death?

Maybe next time I can try to stick a pen through the throat of a passing classmate, to see if that thing is scarier than death.

I heard my instructor sigh.

He looked at my hand under the therapeutic apparatus with a troubled expression, as if he wanted to say something but didn't know where to start.The tip of his tongue licked his lips, and the eye feathers drooped slightly to cover his eyes. I could feel his gaze drawing on my fingers, over and over again, as if to say: "I'm sorry."

Why is he apologizing?

I had a vague feeling that he might know something.He's not like everyone else, he's much more sober than the puppets in the class who only know how to follow the "rules".

But I can't get the answer.

Before I could ask for an exit, he was called away by the nurse who knocked on the door.As if he already knew what he was going to do, the guilty expression on his face dissipated, he heaved a sigh of relief for no reason, and then frowned quickly.

He stood up with clenched fists, turned his back to me and left the room step by step. I watched him close the door of the treatment room with a frown, his solemn expression gradually disappearing through the narrowing gap in the door.

He didn't look at me again, and he didn't come back.

When I left the hospital, he didn't come back.

When I went back to the dormitory, he didn't come back.

Until this evening, he still hadn't come back.

It is 21:35 in the middle of the night, and I am sitting alone at the desk, with a dusty desk lamp in front of me, and I can see the dark night sky outside the window when I look up.

My instructor is not here.

He didn't come back.

Who was he called away by?

Because of me?When does he come back?

I suddenly felt scared, and the resentment mixed with fear was like a big hand clenched my heart. The street lamp outside the window flickered a few times and then went out. In the overwhelming darkness, only this small desk lamp on my desk was lingering. Faint peripheral vision.

I was alone in the room, and I couldn't even read what I had just written in the diary.A childish and thin voice emerged from the darkness, like a child, lying on my shoulder.

Close to my ear, whispering in a low voice.

"You have been abandoned again."

……

A thin layer of sweat broke out in the palm of Yintong's hand holding the diary paper. He folded the part he had read and put it in the envelope, and carefully identified the last line of words under the lined paper.

The diary has been scribbled beyond recognition. Those lines should have been added later, horizontal and vertical, with a calmness that is completely different from the previous wild cursive.

[I will bring him back, as long as he is still there, I can live. 】

The owner of the diary wrote.

【He is mine, he can only be mine. 】