Only after the adrenaline faded did fear slowly creep up from her calves.
Zhao Weilai was somewhat glad she was wearing her training uniform.
She gripped the stainless-steel handrail to steady herself, her stomach still churning.
Just over ten seconds ago, those teenagers were laughing and fooling around. Now, their body parts were wedged into the nooks and crannies of the carriage.
【Player James Wilson has died.】
【Player Liam O'Connor has died.】
【Player Javier García has died.】
【Player ... has died.】
...
Before the echoes of the screams in the carriage had fully faded, the remaining living players curled into trembling balls.
The musty smell inside the subway grew even stronger.
Zhao Weilai took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.
In an Instance, those who panicked were always the first to die.
She began to carefully scan her surroundings, trying to find any hidden rules.
This was supposed to be a modern carriage.
It had gray plastic seats, matte stainless-steel walls, overhead fluorescent lights, and public service announcements written in blocks of English pasted on the walls.
But now, the entire carriage seemed to be undergoing a strange transformation.
Wherever the blood had splattered, a rust-like corrosion began to spread.
On the matte metal walls, large patches of paint curled and peeled away, exposing the heavily rusted cast iron underneath.
The modern advertising posters faded into yellowed, antique paper, depicting Victorian gentlemen in top hats.
Faint, elegant cursive English displayed tobacco advertisements with blurred lettering.
The plastic seats were now half-plastic and half-dark-brown solid wood.
Where the blood had soaked the handrails, they had turned into brass.
—It was almost like a modern photograph that had been burned with countless cigarette holes, revealing the ancient image hidden beneath.
Two trains from different eras were overlapping.
...
Zhao Weilai carefully stepped over the bits of flesh on the floor and walked to the connection between the carriages.
The original folding stainless-steel partition door had, at some point, turned into a heavy oak door.
Its brass handle was polished bright, and a diamond-shaped glass pane was embedded in the wood.
She tried to push it, but it felt like pushing against a swamp. The wooden door didn't budge at all.
“Was... was this door here just now?”
Zhao Weilai muttered to herself. In the next second, a sudden knocking came from the other side:
Knock, knock, knock!
Knock, knock, knock!
The knocking was frantic, carrying an urgency as if trying to confirm something. Zhao Weilai remained highly cautious and did not respond.
Was it a surviving player from Carriage 2? Or was it something else?
Zhao Weilai strained her ears to listen for a moment longer, but the sound vanished again, as if it had been nothing more than her imagination.
“Phew...” Zhao Weilai exhaled softly, but when she turned her head, she gasped in shock.
At some point, a large crowd had gathered right behind her, following her every step.
The priest, the Indian man, the white woman who had spoken to her earlier, the international student, and the couple from before—all of them clung to her like chicks following a mother hen.
The other survivors in the carriage also stared at her intently, as if terrified she would abandon them and run off.
...
“Shh.”
Zhao Weilai raised her hand and pressed her index finger to her lips, gesturing for silence. She signaled for everyone to back away from the door.
She had no intention of forcing the door open.
The others nodded frantically. Even the Indian man, who was panicking the most, covered his mouth, not daring to make the slightest sound.
It was as if something might leap out and rip his throat open at any second.
The group quickly retreated to the seats at the far end of the carriage.
Only when the knocking had completely stopped did they dare to breathe a heavy sigh of relief.
...
“Thank God, His protection is with us.”
The white woman clutched her chest, her voice still trembling with lingering terror.
She habitually crossed herself, her eyes flicking toward the priest beside her before quickly looking away. Her expression carried a distinct aloofness.
The priest merely gave a slight nod, his voice deep and steady. “The Lord's glory protects every devout believer.”
The white woman's lips twitched, but she didn't reply.
Zhao Weilai didn't know if the two knew each other, so she whispered her instructions: “Come over here. Don't touch any of the blood-stained areas—there's something strange about them. Since we don't know what's going on, try not to touch anything needlessly.”
Like a flock of sheep following their leader, they nodded hurriedly.
They were terrified that a moment's delay would result in the same fate as those teenagers.
The horrific deaths of their fellow passengers were too shocking; no one wanted to gamble with their own life.
There weren't many surviving players left in the carriage.
Zhao Weilai scanned the group, trying her best to keep her voice from shaking to sound more authoritative:
“Since we're forming a temporary team, let's start with introductions. Your name, identity, and whether you've awakened a class... Try not to hide any of this information. We will likely face even worse things ahead, so I need everyone to stick together.”
In an Instance, information was life.
After compiling the information gathered from various Instances and players, the Special Investigation Bureau would review it and use the classic cases as training material.
—Su Ya's team had nearly been wiped out in their last Instance because a rookie player took matters into their own hands and hid crucial information.
The most common mistake newcomers made was making assumptions, which ultimately got themselves and their teammates killed.
...
The group exchanged looks. The first to speak was Mu Xiao, the Chinese international student.
“My name is Mu Xiao. I'm from Hangzhou, and I'm a sophomore studying fashion design at the University of the Arts London. Today, I went to the National Gallery to see an exhibition, and then I took the last subway to head back to my apartment in King's Cross.”
She gripped the strap of her canvas bag, looking visibly nervous under everyone's gaze.
“I was planning to make a few edits to my assignment sketches on the subway, but then this happened not long after the train started...”
At this, she seemed to recall the horrific scene. Her eyes welled with tears, but she forced them back in the next second.
Zhao Weilai gave her a reassuring smile. The white woman beside her was more direct, reaching out to take her hand.
The second to speak was the dark-haired priest.
He bowed slightly, his English carrying a faint Russian accent.
“Koleva Siris. Three months ago, I was transferred from Moscow to serve at the Hagia Sophia Monastery in Istanbul. Today, I attended an interfaith dialogue conference. Tonight, I was planning to stay at an Orthodox church in the city center.”
At this point, he reached up to touch the crucifix on his chest.
“Everything before us is a trial by Satan.” The priest paused, his gaze sweeping over the bloodstains in the carriage. “May the Lord forgive all the departed souls.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the white woman let out a soft snort. “Schismatic.” Her voice wasn't loud, but it was clear enough for those nearby to hear.
She straightened her back and sat upright, looking like a typical British middle-class housewife.
“Margaret Jones. I live in Barking and I am an Anglican. Tonight, I went to a Bible study class in the city center and caught the last train home.”
She placed extra emphasis on the word “Anglican,” her eyes sweeping over Father Koleva with obvious wariness. “All of this is Satan's trickery. God will surely save His believers.”
Father Koleva merely frowned slightly, offering no rebuttal.
Zhao Weilai still didn't understand the unspoken tension between the two.
Mu Xiao, however, had noticed it and looked as if she wanted to say something to her but hesitated.
Next was the South Korean couple.
...
The young man, Kim Myung, held his girlfriend, Park So-na, close. Forcing himself to look calm, he spoke in heavily accented English:
“My name is Kim Myung, and this is my girlfriend, Park So-na. We are travel bloggers from Korea, running a YouTube channel for world travel.”
He gestured to the action camera hanging around his neck, its lens cap still on. “We wanted to film a video about taking the last subway train in London, but we didn't expect...”
He trailed off, his expression extremely grim.
Park So-na looked up and added softly in halting English, “We were supposed to fly to Paris tomorrow...”
Before she could finish, she began to retch.
Kim Myung patted her back, murmuring a few words of comfort in Korean. His tone was irritable yet laced with fear, and he ended with a muttered “shibal.”
Finally, it was the Indian man, Ravi Patel.
His hands were still shaking, and he spoke so fast he was tripping over his words:
“My name is Ravi, Ravi Patel. I'm a software engineer in the City. My car—yes, my car was sent in for servicing. I worked overtime tonight until past ten, so I took the last train. I have a project morning meeting tomorrow, and I still have a module unfinished. I can't die, I can't die...”
His muttering carried a neurotic sense of self-comfort, but no one present interrupted him.
Having finished their introductions, everyone turned their eyes toward Zhao Weilai.
The other passengers in the carriage were also stealing glances in their direction.
In the chaos earlier, everyone had realized that this calm Asian woman was the most reliable person here.
They just didn't dare to approach her uninvited.
...
“I'll keep this brief.”
Zhao Weilai ignored the bystanders and got straight to the point:
“You might not believe what I'm about to say next, but it is all true. We have entered a pocket dimension called an Instance—to put it bluntly, a death game. Only by finding the rules, obeying them, and completing the quests can we get out alive. Likewise, violating the rules means death, just like those people...”
As soon as she finished, Ravi shook his head frantically, his voice filled with terror and agitation. “Then what rules did they violate? Oh God, I shouldn't have taken this cursed train!”
Margaret crossed herself and comforted him, “Child, you're just frightened. This is merely Satan's illusion. God will lead us out.”
God? If there really were a God, these Instances wouldn't exist.
Zhao Weilai felt a wave of helplessness. Suddenly remembering something, she raised her right hand to show them.
The half-meter-long pig-slaying knife in her hand vanished in an instant. In the next second, it miraculously reappeared.
The blade gleamed with a cold light; the body of the knife was heavy, its edge marred by tiny chips.
The carriage fell dead silent.
“An angel!”
Margaret covered her mouth and let out a low gasp, her eyes widening as she muttered to herself repeatedly, “Oh my God... a miracle, this is a miracle. You must be an angel sent by God...”
Father Koleva was also stunned. He stared at Zhao Weilai's hand for a few seconds before lowering his head to pray in a whisper.
Mu Xiao's eyes lit up, and she nudged closer to Zhao Weilai, as if she had finally found a pillar of support.
...
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