Doomsday Wonderland

"There's an extra box of cream pies today. You don't want them, do you?" the middle-aged man said, already putting the cream pies into a plastic bag. "I'll take them home then."

For ordinary people who had surrendered willingly, an NPC was nothing more than a special kind of job. To placate and make use of ordinary people, the Changelings were even willing to pay them a modest wage. Wu Yiliu, of course, didn't get this treatment. After twelve hours of work, he could only return to his cell in the fake pocket dimension.

Yes, there was a prison in the fake pocket dimension.

After saying goodbye to the replacement NPCs, Wu Yiliu left the candy house with the middle-aged man. At the end of the employee passageway, there was a small room connected to a guard booth. They needed to remove their receivers, cameras, NPC uniforms, and hand them in for safekeeping, to wear them again the next day. The two men couldn't take off their ankle trackers, but the middle-aged man could ask the staff to switch modes for him before leaving work.

While changing clothes, Wu Yiliu sighed heavily and whispered to the middle-aged man with a sagging belly, "Today, while I was out delivering things, I overheard the posthumans talking about something."

"What was it?" The man turned his head before he had even put his clothes on. After working together for nearly a month, although he still disliked talking to Wu Yiliu, he had inevitably become more familiar with him.

"It seems... it seems they already have a plan to turn this place into a real pocket dimension."

What he had heard was only fragments, insufficient information, hard to determine that this was the posthumans' plan. Those few words could have other explanations—but Wu Yiliu needed the middle-aged man to think so. He was very firm in his tone and added some embellishments to the few words he repeated.

"Turn into a real pocket dimension... what would that look like? Can they really..." The middle-aged man pondered for a moment as he put on his clothes. "But that has nothing to do with us, right?"

"How can it have nothing to do with us?" Wu Yiliu looked at the door and leaned closer to him to speak in lowered voice. "Have you forgotten? Real pocket dimensions come with real NPCs."

The middle-aged man paused, his face suddenly turning pale. "So, we—"

"We'll be useless," Wu Yiliu said. "Do I need to spell out what will happen to us then?"

Even though they had surrendered willingly, it seemed that these ordinary people still had a tiny bit of persistence, holding back their inclination towards the Changelings, preserving their current mindset—they were all unwilling to transform.

For example, this middle-aged man's dislike for Wu Yiliu was not because of Wu Yiliu himself but because he didn't like who he had become. More precisely, he didn't like that he had surrendered to the Changelings.

"What should we do then?" the middle-aged man said, seeming a bit lost. "Is there really no escape?"

"You should have contacts with other NPCs, right?" Wu Yiliu whispered. "Ask them, see if anyone knows what's really going on. I only heard those few words; it's best to gather more information."

He meant the other ordinary people who had surrendered, who had slightly more freedom and were more able to gather information, something the middle-aged man understood. "When I go back, I'll ask others too."

"Okay," the middle-aged man said, picking up the plastic bag and heading towards the door marked 'Exit.' "We'll talk tomorrow."

Wu Yiliu watched him push the door and leave, standing still. He always waited for the moment the middle-aged man pushed the door, a habit he had developed recently. When the door was pushed open, the outside world existed for a brief moment, like a gentle reminder, disappearing as the door closed again.

He knew now was not the time to walk up and push the door to leave, yet he didn't know when it would be. The exit door closed; he watched it for a while before turning and entering another corridor.

In the fake pocket dimension's prison, there were fifty single cells.

Among them, there were ten prison cells, located on one side of the prison building facing the inside of the pocket dimension. Looking from the small path, you could see through the iron bars on the windows and spot the "residents" in the single cells. They were prepared for posthumans, and only posthumans could enter, seen by the others passing by. "Those who break the rules will be thrown into prison, and the time varies; they cannot leave before the term is up"—Wu Yiliu had repeated this many times to the posthumans entering the pocket dimension.

The posthumans secretly cooperating with the Changelings probably couldn't be bothered to pretend to be imprisoned as a warning to others. So Wu Yiliu, having lived in the prison for so long, had not seen any prisoners in those ten cells. As for him and the other two or three dozen ordinary people, they all lived in the inner cells, unseen by the outside world.

From the end of their work until the time they must report back to their cells, the NPCs had barely enough thirty minutes. If they exceeded this limit, an anesthesia needle inside the locator would automatically pop out and stab into the back of their foot. Wu Yiliu had thought many times about how to use this little bit of time but was always trapped by the locator without any ideas; today, he finally figured it out.

Today, he ran towards the prison in large strides, saving a lot of time, but panting heavily by the time he reached the entrance. Instead of going in, he stood still at the door, looking back down the road, waiting for the next NPC to appear.

He didn't have to wait long; because of the time limit, the NPCs appeared one by one. Some things were more convenient to say outside the prison since the cells were filled with surveillance cameras; if they hadn't finished speaking when the time was up, they'd have to find a chance to pass messages inside the cells. Wu Yiliu was lucky; before he had to report to the prison, he passed the message about "the fake pocket dimension turning real" to five people, one of whom was a well-known gossip.

They all agreed that it wasn't good news for them, and they all agreed to try to find out more during work hours—but that wasn't enough. After all, they were ordinary people, at the lowest level in the fake pocket dimension, and their information sources were too limited.

It would be great to join forces with a posthuman. Wu Yiliu lay on his single bed, tossing and turning with thoughts. He didn't regret giving away the paper crane, but he couldn't help but think how nice it would be if he still had it; how could he tell Milan that the consular officer was no longer reliable? Not only unreliable but even seemed to be joining forces with the Changelings.

But perhaps Milan didn't care either. She would be leaving in just four short months; she certainly wouldn't want to get involved in this matter. Otherwise, why had she been silent all this time?

These posthumans would never consider their point of view: in this increasingly distorted, gradually unrecognizable world, there was still the last group of terrified humans, watching their fellow travelers fall from the air like flies, one by one, into darkness, never knowing when it would be their turn.

Wu Yiliu only dared to release his emotions in his single cell after turning off the lights, burying his face in the rough pillow fabric. When he looked up, a small wet patch was on the pillow—his gaze fell to the floor of the cell, frozen. A shadow of a person was cast on the ground.

He leapt up from the bed, still unable to speak for a moment. Outside the cell bars stood a person; the dim white light of the prison corridor was blocked behind them, and apart from the shadow cast inside, he couldn't see who it was.

The person looked left and right, and the light finally fell, illuminating their profile. Wu Yiliu sighed with relief: it was Pisces.

It seemed that Pisces indeed couldn't resist temptation and quickly thought of a way to contact Wu Yiliu. He was technically still a posthuman, and if he voluntarily wanted to exhibit himself in those display cells, not only would he not be stopped, but he could also come and go freely.

He never thought his luck would be so good, just wishing for a posthuman ally, and Pisces came knocking at the door.

It was late at night, and the people in the cells to the left and right should be asleep, but Wu Yiliu still didn't dare to take a risk, so he got off the bed. Through the bars, he whispered, "Brother Pisces, you scared me."

"What did you mean today?" Pisces asked directly.

"It's not a good place to talk..."

"The guards are asleep; no one is watching the monitors now."

Wu Yiliu sighed. "I want to get out," he said in a low voice, clutching the bars. "You see what kind of life I'm leading here? I have to stand for twelve hours a day, and at night I can't even straighten my legs."

Pisces' eyes wandered around the narrow and oppressive cell.

"In my candy house, one of the cameras had a malfunction. They said there's always a white spot on the screen. They came to fix it several times but couldn't, and the last time the worker lost his temper and left. No one cared after that, probably thinking it doesn't matter," Wu Yiliu said. He knew that he must possess unique value to get Pisces to help. "But it created a blind spot for me."

Pisces listened attentively.

"I mainly deal with talking to posthumans. I can guide them to give their donations to me there. It's not hard to divert my colleagues and cover the microphone," Wu Yiliu whispered. "The donations I collect, I'm willing to give them all to you... I might not be able to use them if I take them. I just want to leave this place. Whatever doesn't help this goal, I can give it to you."

Even in the dim light, Pisces' eyes brightened slightly, and he nodded. "Okay," he said with a soft smile, "even if they donate trifles, it's better to have something than nothing."

He wouldn't lose anyway. Whether or not he'd help Wu Yiliu escape after accepting the items was still up to him. Agreeing was expected.

As he was about to turn and leave, Wu Yiliu hurriedly stopped him, saying, "I have a piece of information and want to ask you about it." He repeated what he had heard in snippets to Pisces, who listened for a while and then seemed to become slightly displeased. "It's the first time I'm hearing this."

It seemed that he had declined so much that the other posthumans felt no need to inform him anymore. Considering this, it felt a bit pitiful.

"To create a pocket dimension, you must rely on a Special Item," Pisces muttered, falling into thought. "This kind of Special Item is rare and quite valuable. No wonder they brought in a consular officer today. Only consular officers have the broadest connections and encounter the most things."

Someone in the next cell turned over.

"I'll come to find you when I have more information," Pisces said, knowing this was no place to linger. He left a word before departing. "You'd better have something for me by then. If they don't donate, think of another way, won't you?"

Wu Yiliu silently bitter-smiled in his heart.

How could he force posthumans to donate anything? There was still someone watching him.

Though unsure where to find something to satisfy Pisces' appetite, at least he didn't have to worry for now. For the time being, he had cast all the nets he could, waiting to see what information he could gather. Wu Yiliu climbed onto the narrow bed and, perhaps because a heavy burden was lifted from his heart, quickly drifted into sleep.

Better sleep early, he still had to stand for twelve hours tomorrow.

Even in his dreams, Wu Yiliu never expected that one of the guests he would greet in the candy house the next day would be Professor Qiao.

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