Chapter 1: public class OverrideTest {}
A red laser beam moved to the forehead of the person beside him. With a loud bang, a semi-viscous mixture of blood and plasma splattered onto his wrist.
This was the first scene that unfolded before him after waking up, and it was as terrible as a nightmare.
His mind was blank as he sat in a chair, staring at the man whose head had exploded and now lay lifeless on the ground. The man’s eyes were wide open, just like his own, frozen in shock.
“This is the consequence of attempting to force an exit from the “Holy Alter”.
Accompanied by noise akin to discordant signals in his mind, he heard a voice that sounded sacred, like a hymn in a church.
He realized that his reaction time was abnormally slow, even shifting his gaze to his wrist required considerable effort.
His wrist was severely injured, with flesh and skin turned inside out, revealing mechanical bones and hydraulic joints beneath. The plasma from the man who was killed thirty seconds ago was slowly flowing along the curve of his wrist, moving toward the silver bones that gleamed with a metallic sheen.
His hand trembled uncontrollably, unable to restrain it.
He raised his hand and wiped it on his clothes, attempting to clean off the other person’s blood, but he felt no pain from the wound rubbing against the fabric. His black T-shirt seemed to be soaked in a lot of blood, but he couldn’t see it clearly.
Surveying the surroundings, he noticed several unfamiliar faces nearby. Each person’s expression was different as they faced the dead man in front of them – some displayed obvious fear, while others seemed numb.
As he looked at them, some avoided his gaze, as if they were afraid to make eye contact with him.
He tried to see these faces more clearly, but his field of vision felt like it was submerged in water. His eyes were sore, and without warning, tears streamed down his cheeks. He wiped them away in confusion.
That voice spoke again.
“Congratulations to all survivors for entering this round of the game. Let’s settle the results of the previous game first.”
“Or, you can get to know your new friends in the next round.”
As the voice faded, he heard a faint “beep” sound in his mind. The next moment, a virtual holographic panel appeared in his left field of vision, displaying information about himself:
[Name: An Wujiu
Gender: Male, 20 years old
Game Round: 5
…
Win Rate: 100/100
Danger Level: SSS]
An Wujiu.
Upon seeing these three words, a massive amount of information flooded his mind like overloaded data: the appearance of this world and its distorted operating system, all memories from birth to adulthood, the faces of everyone he had brushed past on the streets, the chaotic red-light district, the artificial blue sky, and the never-ending acid rain.
The vast information overwhelmed An Wujiu, leaving him breathless. A new projection panel appeared to his right, showing that he had earned ten thousand Holy Coins.
All the initial impressions began to piece together some outlines of what was happening – it seemed like he had entered a game where winners could settle rewards in the form of Holy Coins, while losers…
Thinking of the man who fell earlier, he probably just didn’t follow the rules, and the consequence of losing would likely be the same.
All his senses felt real, and he could clearly sense the pain from his injuries. What kind of new virtual reality game was this?
Soon, An Wujiu realized that his memory loss was not typical; it seemed to have been deliberately edited, leaving only fragments.
He remembered the era he lived in — a world where administrative organizations collapsed, national borders blurred, and almost anyone could become a commodity. He even recalled those few individuals standing at the top, the commercial giants who could trample the machinery of nations beneath their feet.
But what about himself?
In his memories, all the scenes were warm and vivid, seen from a first-person perspective, and they all featured the same person. A beautiful and gentle woman embraced him when he was still a child, soothing him to sleep, teaching him how to read and write, and smiling at him.
The scenes played backward, and she gradually aged, but her care for him remained unwavering. She softly called him “An An,” which was his childhood nickname.
But everything came to an end at the bedside, where she lay gasping for breath, covered in transparent and slender tubes, a breathing mask concealing her smile.
This was his mother.
From childhood to adulthood, all memories associated with her, the genuine love he had received, flowed back into this body.
It seemed like the mother in front of the hospital bed was trying to tell him something.
The scenes started to shake, and everything became distorted.
She moved her lips, trying to speak, but her voice was completely drowned out by the sharp noise in An Wujiu’s mind.
Passively withdrawing from the memory fragments, An Wujiu felt immense pain, veins bulging in his neck, and his temples pulsating.
He wondered if his hippocampus had been damaged or if something else had been inserted into his brain. An Wujiu wanted to check if there were any neural interfaces on his body, some microprocessors that might have been inserted, but his heavily injured right hand made it difficult to even lift it; probably, the bone was broken, and his hand continued to tremble.
He raised his left hand and reached behind his ear and the back of his head, only to discover that his hair had grown to waist-length, which he had been completely unaware of.
Unable to stand the trembling any longer, An Wujiu bit down on his right fingertip, furrowing his brow and glancing at a masked figure.
This person stood at the furthest distance from him, tall and wearing a black trench coat, looking like a young man. He didn’t reveal his true face but wore a mechanical mask made of some synthetic material. The surface of the mask was as smooth and white as long-lost sweet porcelain enamel, shimmering with a warm glow, yet the mask still showed traces of blocky assembly.
The front of the mask bore the likeness of the Bodhisattva Guanyin, with gentle eyes and a slight smile. A red dot was placed in the center of the upper brow, dividing lines and metal clips connected to the back of the head, giving the Guanyin-like appearance a subtle sense of fragmentation and machinery.
Seemingly unable to find any interface, An Wujiu let go of his left hand.
He felt deeply puzzled by everything here. He remembered every detail of his interactions with his mother, his growth process, his deceased father, his reliance on his mother, and his lovely younger sister.
At this moment, he should be by his mother’s bedside, accompanying her. So why did he end up here?
“As before, before the formal battle begins, we have prepared a warm-up game for all of you. The survivors who win the warm-up game can obtain advantages in the main game and have the right to choose between single-player or team-based formats.”
The white void in front of them started to flicker as the voice appeared, like a screen glitching with color bars. A round table with eight high stools appeared in front of them.
“Please take a seat.”
Following the instructions, the others took their seats, and An Wujiu didn’t want to be shot to death in the dark. So he followed suit and sat down.
The moment they sat down, a white background with pulsating numerical bars and high-saturation color afterimages appeared around them. After the flickering stopped, they found themselves on the rooftop of a skyscraper. The dim sky was adorned with neon lights, flying craft, tangled tracks near tall buildings, and holographic projections of numerous advertisements that polluted the view, making it a dazzling sight.
An Wujiu felt that his vision had also been impaired. He squinted slightly in the stimulating light, and within his field of view, he could see part of a holographic projection that was forty meters high. It was of a virtual opera actress with an abundance of jewels in her hair, leaning against the skyscraper.
They were standing at the pinnacle of this world, where everything in their sight was a bustling display of light and sound, devoid of the slums with chemical-filled water channels, piles of discarded prosthetic limbs, and unnoticed, decaying corpses in the corners.
With eyes drawn back, the people around the round table exchanged glances, each harboring their own secrets. Compared to the chaotic world outside, this place seemed much simpler — eight people, eight seats, each with a display screen embedded on the table, and nothing else.
At least it wasn’t a game that required violence to determine the winner.
An Wujiu considered his injuries and looked at the others.
The seven others were of varying ages and, at first glance, seemed to have no common traits. Starting from himself and moving from right to left, there was a young woman wearing a cheongsam, a burly man, an elderly Westerner with blonde hair, a man wearing a mechanical Guanyin mask, a thin middle-aged man in a suit, a freckled teenage boy with black-framed glasses, and a red-haired boy who looked about fifteen or sixteen years old.
An Wujiu frowned.
Why was he the only one with such severe injuries?
The noise in his mind grew louder, causing him a headache. He turned his face and looked to his left.
Seated beside him was the boy, who looked quite young, with fiery red hair, wearing a loose and worn-out baseball jacket, and a black hat. He seemed easygoing. His eyes were large and focused on an old Rubik’s Cube that he kept twisting.
Almost instinctively, An Wujiu began to observe the boy. He noticed that both of his feet were on the edge of the chair, and he was leaning forward, his fingers dexterous with no calluses. He had a small and thin physique with no visible arm muscles, suggesting he might not be skilled in combat or using weapons.
An Wujiu extended his left hand towards him and said, “Hello.”
He wanted to say, “Nice to meet you,” but at the moment he spoke, he realized his speech rhythm was off as if he had a speech impediment.
The boy froze, still holding his Rubik’s Cube. His fingers paused, resembling a biomechanical rabbit simulating eating but experiencing a glitch.
“What’s wrong?” An Wujiu spoke softly, not thinking that his attitude was intimidating, especially as he had concealed his blood-soaked right hand under the table.
The boy’s eyes showed wariness, and he didn’t answer, but An Wujiu noticed him glancing uneasily at the middle-aged man sitting diagonally across from him. The man appeared to be at least 40 years old, with sunken cheeks and a shrewd look in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” The man spoke before An Wujiu could say anything, pushing his glasses up his nose with both hands crossed, assuming a classic defensive posture. “An Wujiu, you killed so many people ruthlessly. Now you’re pretending to be innocent. Do you think anyone will believe you?”
With that, the other people at the table also turned their attention to An Wujiu, seemingly waiting for something.
“I don’t… remember.” An Wujiu answered truthfully, speaking slowly and with improper pauses.
In the eyes of the others, this long-haired man had a strikingly perfect appearance, naturally beautiful with no hint of artificiality. His skin was fair, as clean as the moon in the sky without pollution, but his complexion was poor, and his lips were pale.
His eyes were pure, soft, and slightly unfocused, with his fingers trembling slightly. It seemed like he was startled, but also not. His trembling was more suggestive of anxiety or other mental disorders.
This appearance did not match Yang Ming’s description of a bad seed, nor did it seem like someone who could win in the “Holy Alter”.
An Wujiu lowered his eyes and pondered. Judging from the boy’s reaction earlier, even before the man spoke, the people here had already recognized the fact that “An Wujiu is dangerous.”
No matter whether the man’s accusations were true or not, the situation was not in An Wujiu’s favor.
The middle-aged man sneered, pressing his hand on the table, raising an eyebrow, and speaking with a biting tone, “Is it pretending to have amnesia this time? Don’t take us for fools.”
“You really never change. It was the same before. You relied on your pretty face to pretend to be innocent, forming alliances with others, but in reality, you would stop at nothing, and anyone could be used by you.”
As the man described this, An Wujiu felt a sense of disconnection, feeling a bit unsure.
However, he noticed that the mechanical Guanyin on the opposite side listened to the man’s accusation with interest. It seemed like the first time since he came in that this person showed any reaction; otherwise, he would have doubted if he was a machine.
The middle-aged man clenched his fist on the table, “I encountered him in the last round, in the bloody gambling den. An Wujiu swore that he could save everyone and persuaded many people to join his camp. But in the end, he figured out the rules himself and didn’t tell anyone. He just watched those who believed in him die one by one, and in the end, he was the only one left, carrying all the chips of his camp, surviving alone!”
His voice trembled with fear. He pointed at An Wujiu, “If you don’t believe me, you can check the amount of Holy coins he settled in the last round. It must be ten times more than mine.”
After saying this, An Wujiu became even more uneasy.
“Was the competition so intense in your last round?”
This question came from his right side.
He turned his head and saw the young woman in a pink cheongsam sitting to his right. She wore a serpent-shaped necklace around her neck, exuding charm and allure. Her black curly hair was thick and beautiful, radiating a natural luster that was rare even in this era.
She smiled, gazing at her nail polish, and then looked at An Wujiu, intentionally trembling, “Oh, so scary! It seems that handsome guys are not to be trusted.”
An Wujiu belatedly had some thoughts due to her previous statement.
If the competition was so intense, then those who survived should also be formidable.
“Regardless, An Wujiu cannot be the winner of this game. The rest of us must work together to exclude him; otherwise, any one of us could become his sacrifice.”
He spoke with a resolute tone, and the others fell into silence, seemingly agreeing with his proposal.
An Wujiu knew that saying anything at this point would be futile.
Because this proposal was indeed tempting. Although the upcoming game and rules were unclear, it was best to set up a public target like this. Otherwise, any one of them could become the target of the gun.
Just then, the voice appeared again, “Since everyone has taken their seats, let’s get to know each other’s names first.”
As the voice trailed off, a blue light appeared in front of each person, gradually transforming into characters, which were their respective names.
From An Wujiu’s perspective, his name floated in the dark night, almost overlapping with the name of the person opposite him.
The cacophony of noise in his mind momentarily paused.
“Shen Ti”
It was the mysterious mechanical Guanyin.
