Number 2, Zhang Huiran, was voted out with 8 votes, her face full of disbelief, eyes wide open.
The system’s cold voice echoed through the air again.
“Voting for today has ended. Number 2 received the highest votes—8 in total—and is hereby eliminated. You have 30 seconds for your final statement.”
If you knew you only had 30 seconds left to live, what would you do?
Find a comfortable position to lie down?
Or take the chance to format your computer’s hard drive?
Maybe pour gasoline in your room and set it on fire?
Or hurry into the game and spend all your savings on the lottery, hoping to enjoy the treatment of an RMB player in your final moments?
A bright red Arabic numeral floated in the sky: 30.
The number slowly changed, continuously counting down.
Zhang Huiran hadn’t fully recovered from her shock.
She fixed a hateful gaze on Number 3, who turned his face away, unwilling to meet her terrifying eyes.
Why? She had already threatened Number 3—if he voted for her, she would falsely accuse him of being a police officer and drag him down with her.
Why did he still dare to vote against her?
Her gaze then shifted to Number 6, that Shamate woman who wasn’t afraid of the glare and instead locked eyes with Zhang Huiran in a standoff.
Only now did Zhang Huiran remember that Numbers 5 and 6 were a pair! Her looks and figure were far superior to Number 6’s, naturally sparking jealousy.
On top of that, she had gone to bed with Number 6’s boyfriend. Of course, getting Number 6’s vote was inevitable.
Her eyes moved to Number 7—why was this Japanese high schooler doing this?
Numbers 7, 8, 12, 13, and 14 were all influenced by Number 10, Liu Qingzhu. Realizing this, Zhang Huiran aimed her furious glare at Number 10.
He remained expressionless, smoking as usual, not even bothering to look at her.
Thinking of this, she finally lost her sanity. Ignoring the risk of exposure, she suddenly climbed onto the long table and pounced on Liu Qingzhu like a leopard.
She hurled every insult she could think of, her fists relentlessly striking the middle-aged man’s face.
Liu Qingzhu didn’t fight back because the rules forbade killing or incapacitating others during normal hours.
What if he accidentally killed someone in retaliation?
He could lose his own life. Unlike this madwoman, he dared not act recklessly.
So Liu Qingzhu silently endured the abuse, lasting just over twenty seconds.
“I won’t forgive any of you, even if I die.”
“You bunch of bastards! I’ll be waiting for you underground.”
“You all look human, but you’re beasts with human faces!”
“I’m not the killer! You idiots don’t vote for the damn killer and make me a civilian! You’re all idiots!”
Zhang Huiran was on the brink of collapse, cursing everyone around her.
No one replied; they simply let her rant, perhaps out of pity since her time was nearly up.
She didn’t understand how it had come to this. Numbers 11, Xuanyuan Najiang; 5, Zhou Yulong; and 9, Zheng Wen, had all promised to take the vote away from her. So why did she still have as many as 8 votes?
Number 1, Zhou Wei, though clearly disgusted with Zhang Huiran, didn’t vote for her out of loyalty to the team. So why did Number 13 cast a vote for Number 2? He was also on Zhou Wei’s team—why break the rules and betray his own people?
Why hadn’t Number 5 kept his promise to vote for Number 10? And that coward Zheng Wen, Number 9, didn’t dare vote for anyone else, even voting for herself! What use was that?
She was kind and didn’t want trouble, but Zhang Huiran cursed her to rot for it.
Still cursing, Zhang Huiran pointed fingers at everyone.
She was filled with hatred for all of them, but powerless—unable to do anything, even kill.
If she had a gun, she would have taken them all out, but bare-handed, it was impossible.
Still, the middle-aged man’s face was marked with several red scratches from her nails.
Number 1, Zhou Wei, couldn’t bear to watch any longer. He frowned, stood up, and slowly climbed the stairs. The others followed suit and left.
Suddenly, the nearly broken woman knelt on the ground, clutching Number 10, Liu Qingzhu’s leg, her head striking the floor hard.
“I don’t want to die. Please save me. I don’t want to die! I beg you, save me!” Her tearful plea cut like a knife.
Liu Qingzhu helplessly lit another cigarette, his hands trembling so badly he couldn’t even light it properly.
Seeing no response, Zhang Huiran crawled over to Number 11, banging her bloodied forehead on the floor again.
“You’re a teacher, right? Please, save me. You’re a teacher—you can’t just stand by and watch me die! Please, I—”
Before she could say more, Xuanyuan Najiang suddenly slapped her hard—a crisp sound likely heard throughout the second floor.
And it wasn’t over; he followed with several brutal kicks, as if trying to beat her to death.
“Don’t touch me with those dirty hands! Get lost!” Xuanyuan Najiang was furious.
Didn’t he fear punishment for breaking the system rules? Why act so out of character?
If it was just because his pants were dirtied by her hands, he shouldn’t be this angry.
The woman on the floor was covered in blood. Number 11 wasn’t done yet—he grabbed her face with his right hand, silencing her.
Zhang Huiran was too weak to resist and glanced at the countdown in the air—only 5 seconds left.
In that instant, her entire world shattered. She felt a hot flow beneath her; the seat was soaked—a loss of control.
Suddenly, Zhang Huiran’s head exploded—not with sound or smoke, but as if shattered into pieces.
Brain matter scattered everywhere, mostly on Xuanyuan Najiang, who was closest and thus visually impacted the most.
He vomited on the spot, whether from shock, fear, or disgust.
Especially chilling were her headless thighs twitching a few times, as if still alive. This startled Numbers 11 and 10—one fell from the chair to the floor, the other vomited while collapsing weakly, fainting for a few seconds before regaining consciousness.
“Murderer! You killer! You’re the one who killed her!” Xuanyuan Najiang pointed at Liu Qingzhu with hatred.
“Oh.” The middle-aged man picked up the unlit cigarette and lighter, pocketed them, and stood up, ready to leave. Number 11 seemed to want to say more and rushed over, grabbing Liu Qingzhu’s shoulder.
The disheveled man turned around, but instead of his usual listless gaze, his eyes were cold and sharp, like blades glinting with deadly light.
This startled Xuanyuan Najiang once again.
What kind of look was this?
Just one glance and he felt as if he’d been thrown into an ice cellar.