There was only half a month left before the contract between Station No. 23 and CCA expired. Once that time was up, he would have to pack his bags and scurry off to the Keyboard District. Station No. 23 of the city radio would forever become a piece of history, and the late-night program Your Moon My Star would be consigned to memories, gathered in the dust of the past.
Well, perhaps he was the only one who would remember it; the peak concurrent viewership for Your Moon My Star had never exceeded a hundred people.
After all, who would want to listen to a middle-aged man in a mid-life crisis cracking bad jokes in a voice he personally considered magnetic?
"Welcome to Your Moon My Star. The good director is me, and I am—Ince No-Last-Name."
Ince murmured this all-too-familiar opening line, deciding to do something meaningful in these final moments.
Even the smallest flicker of a flame wants to strive to glow before it is extinguished, just to be noticed by others.
Even the most inconspicuous light wants to strive to shine upon others, to let them feel warmth.
Thinking this, Ince straightened his collar. Like a man preparing to head onto a battlefield alone, he checked the film in his camera and connected the signal of his communication curtain to Station No. 23, ready to start the live stream at any moment. In a dark room thousands of miles away, a massive server array lit up simultaneously, much like the fire burning in the man's eyes at this moment.
An hour ago, he had received a private email. The content was roughly about moon sugar and the events involving Lin Fan and Rongsen Media from yesterday.
Reality felt far more absurd to him than any opera. This contraband, publicly recognized as extremely hazardous, something that had poisoned and ravaged so many people at the bottom of the city—how could it be transformed into a health product that helps improve thinking and spirit under the beautification of those capitalists?
Things that the city radio stations didn't dare to broadcast? He would do it!
The wails that the countless people suffering in pain didn't dare to let out? He would voice them!
The truth that the upper-class people collectively covered up, while the bottom-class lacked the courage and qualification to expose? He would reveal it!
After connecting to another person's communication curtain, Ince heard a somewhat familiar voice.
"Mr. Ince, 113 Conch Street, Queen's District. Your target is right there. Go."
He felt like he had heard the girl's voice somewhere before, but he couldn't quite place it for the moment.
But that wasn't important. What mattered was that he was about to complete something very small yet very meaningful.
After preparing himself mentally, Ince gripped his camera and plunged into the gray, misty curtain of rain. His black windbreaker was like the spread wings of a raven, glowing with a certain luster from a specific angle.
Queen's District, 9:15 PM.
Dark clouds rolled like ink, and a torrential downpour cascaded, making the entire sky tremble with thunder.
The entire unfinished building was shrouded in gloom. The foul smell of body odor and pungent mold mixed with the metallic scent of rust permeated the air.
Stepping through discarded bricks, broken wood, and debris, and kicking aside several glass bottles that rolled to his feet, Ince reached his destination.
A pale flash of lightning cut across the sky, illuminating the savage silhouette of the interior. Upon seeing the twitching, rolling, mentally depleted, and filthy figures in the shadows of the unfinished building, Ince's heart grew heavy.
The lives of these people at the bottom were being controlled, toyed with, and trampled upon by those above using these kinds of things.
He could film a corner of an unfinished building, but he couldn't capture every shadow in the entire city.
"Do you see them?" The girl's voice came from the communication curtain, her tone slightly rising.
"They are typical examples of those who got high on moon sugar until they became homeless drifters. Let everyone see what they look like."
Whether it was due to the girl's influence behind the scenes, a batch of viewers poured in quickly after he simultaneously started the curtain recording and the Station No. 23 live stream. Countless citizens who had turned on their televisions at this moment, intending to relax after a tiring day, were simultaneously tuned into Station No. 23.
[: Wait, is this... an outdoor live stream?]
[: Where is this? Why did it bring me here?]
[: Are those guys zombies? So creepy...]
Ince held the camera and took a deep breath before approaching a slow-moving, numb-looking sugarhead. After positioning the camera and focusing on the other person's face, Ince held up a V-sign in front of the lens.
"Look over here, everyone. Take a look. This is an outdoor science outreach program. The content is simple: to let people understand the dangers of moon sugar up close."
Feeling the cold iron box approach, the sugarhead in tattered clothes looked up. Beneath filthy hair, there seemed to be a flicker of thought in his clouded eyes. But after a bout of twitching, he quickly lost consciousness again, dragging his unresponsive body along the graffiti-covered wall.
Suddenly, his stomach churned. Under the impact of colorful hallucinations before his eyes, the whole world seemed to be spinning. The sugarhead reached out a withered arm to support himself against the wall, the filth under his fingernails clearly visible.
The sugarhead suddenly bent over and began to vomit violently. Yellowish-white filth instantly poured across the entire wall. To everyone's horror, within the mess of yellowish-white discharge, bright red blood clots were pulsating—those were the man's dissolved internal organs.
[: Did he just vomit out his own organs?]
[: Holy crap, my scalp is tingling.]
[: So disgusting.]
With a heavy thud, the man collapsed into the filth and fell silent. The empty, unfinished building returned to silence, save for the continuous sound of rain outside.
Looking at the scene before him, Ince felt something crawl up his spine, the chill reaching the top of his skull. It was the girl's voice in his ear that reminded him: "Now is the perfect time. Don't let it slip."
He quickly snapped out of it and spoke to all the viewers of the live stream: "Long-term consumption of moon sugar lowers one's immunity, causes a severe decline in physical constitution, and leads to mental lethargy or even loss of consciousness. This poor fellow right here is a living example."
[: But didn't they say moon sugar is a harmless health product? That artists take it during creation for inspiration?]
[: Yeah, wasn't that artist named Lin Fan just exposed for taking moon sugar? They said it was for composing...]
[: You guys believe whatever he says? A bunch of idiots. These are just a bunch of homeless people affecting the city's appearance. Did you actually see them take moon sugar?]
At this moment, the lens turned toward a tent in the corner. It was a hiking tent, the kind most homeless people would pick out of trash heaps and set up simply to call home.
Inside the filthy hiking tent, a man covered in mud and scars laughed weirdly while rummaging through something. Eventually, he pulled a candy bag with a cartoon moon package from a pile of foul-smelling, dirty clothes.
Tearing it open, people watched as the man held the crystal-clear candy in his mouth as if it were a divine object. His body then twitched violently, and he frantically picked up a piece of glass to start harming himself, leaving one savage, terrifying gash after another on his body. Pieces of rotten meat, resembling tree bark, were carved off and fell in large chunks.
Yet the man acted as if he couldn't feel any pain. His movements grew faster and more vicious, and he seemed to enjoy the process, as if it brought him extreme satisfaction and pleasure.
The shocking sight sent chills down the backs of the citizens watching the radio station and the viewers in the live stream.
[: Is this guy crazy?]
[: His body is covered in wounds, so many of them... it's terrifying.]
[: Where's that guy from earlier? Who's the idiot now? Is there really someone who believes the internet saying moon sugar is a health product?]
Soon, the people in the curtain's live stream chat began arguing, each holding their own views. Seeing that the broadcast was having an effect, Ince's spirits rose, but then the girl's warning suddenly sounded in his ear.
"Watch out."
The man in the hiking tent suddenly stood up, pointing the blood-stained glass shard at Ince. With a weird laugh, he twisted his limbs at a bizarre angle and charged forward.
Rate on N.U.
