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quazartranslates · 3 years ago

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Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH34

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 34: Star Death Reality Show (XVII)

In front of the laser corridor, the world in front of them was dark, and even the corridor’s emergency lights were not turned on. Standing here was like standing on a dark cliff, and taking one step forward would lead to falling into the abyss.

Qi Leren turned on the flashlight, its dazzling light reflecting off the metal wall.

He walked forward carefully, for fear that the power would suddenly come on, but he also knew that it was impossible, and that there was still ten minutes before the time he and He Yi had agreed upon. He could successfully reach the door and wait for the power to be restarted. The defense system in this corridor and the identification system on the door were started at the same time. In theory, there was enough time for him to brush open the door with his ID card and leave the underground research institute.

Even if there was an accident, such as an early recovery of the power supply, this time he had already made an escape plan, which wouldn't be as awkward as the last time—that is, if he had to use S/L again. Thinking of the Prophet's warning, Qi Leren felt somewhat guilty.

He solemnly apologized to the audience, saying that this adventure might scare everyone, and then turned off the camera. Without doing this, there was no way to not make the audience suspicious. If he really let them see the abnormal situation in the laser corridor, there was no way to explain it!

Once again, Qi Leren stood in front of the door. The electronic card reader for the ID card couldn’t work because there was no power, so Qi Leren could only wait silently.

Eight minutes to go.

Qi Leren was a bit absent-minded. He was eager to get out of here and return to the world on the surface. He would tell Dr. Lu and Du Yue what had happened inside, and then they would think about it together. Time was running out. They had to find the four contestants who had been infected as soon as possible, kill them, and isolate the suspects.

There was still much to be done.

If the situation got out of hand, Qi Leren intended to ignore He Yi's dissuasion and bring Dr. Lu and Du Yue into the underground research institute, which was probably the simplest clearance method for this copy, but by doing so, there will be very few rewards... A bit of a loss.

With a zi sound, the sensor lights lit up, first far away then nearing. Qi Leren were shocked and stared at the card reader, which showed words he couldn't understand and the patterns of fingerprints. Qi Leren was overjoyed and quickly raised the ID card.

At the moment when the ID card was about to touch the card reader, the card reader suddenly went white. After a few seconds, a pattern reappears on it—a circle that looked like a clock, and there were strange numbers blinking in the circle. The symbols changed as the dots appeared in the clockwise direction...

People who have restarted electronic devices must be familiar with this pattern, but the vicious timing of its appearance made Qi Leren stunned.

The alarm of didididididi— sounded in the channel behind him, stinging his eardrums, and the laser beams at the end of the channel appeared again!

He couldn't say if he was angry or relieved. Qi Leren felt at this moment that the boot had finally dropped. He even thought wryly that he was still suffering from bad luck. Fortunately, as long as he waited for another half minute, He Yi would cut off the power again… If he didn't make any mistakes there.

Qi Leren, who had confidence in this venture, suddenly became suspicious.

Would He Yi really turn off the power? Would he really do it? If he didn't turn on the power, and he waited stupidly at the door and missed the best time to escape...

No, he couldn't wait. Take a gamble! Believe He Yi or believe in himself?

Qi Leren took the initiative, swiftly jumped up, and rushed forward, making a leap and running again. He crossed two laser lines and the next three were skillfully crossed. However, when the laser net was formed, he still could not rush out of the corridor, because the first group of mesh laser networks was formed too early.

But if he saved once, it would be enough!

Qi Leren ran the whole way. At the moment when the first group of laser nets was about to touch him, he saved his position. The laser nets collided with his body and destroyed him in an instant. At the same time, the laser nets that had destroyed the intended target disappeared.

Qi Leren was resurrected in the same place, unable to hesitate, and rushed out of this death trap without looking back before the second laser net could form!

The agreed 40 seconds had already passed, and the power supply had not been cut off, but Qi Leren was relieved: Fortunately, he chose to believe in himself. Reality had taught him never to gamble on any luck.

He leaned against the wall and recalled the Novice Village from when he had just entered the game. He had met a murderer in the hospital. What were his choices at that time?

He chose to hide, wait, and pray. If it was him now... Qi Leren smiled silently. Now he would want to kill that chainsaw killer, so would he even need to use S/L? After all, it was just an ordinary weak human being.

It had only been two months, but he was totally different from before. This change was not only reflected in his combat effectiveness, but in his sense of fighting. He had somewhat gotten rid of an ordinary person’s mentality of wanting to hide and had begun to deal with the endless dangers in a more active way. It was thanks to Chen Baiqi—her demonic training methods had made Qi Leren realize that shrinking from fate was much worse than "just don’t act recklessly".

After recovering quickly, Qi Leren took his gun in hand and set off, walking towards the power room.

He Yi must have had an accident over there. Qi Leren didn't believe that He Yi deliberately sabotaged him. He Yi knew that he had survived going through the laser corridor once, so he wouldn't be sure that this method could kill him. If Qi Leren had a narrow escape, he would be in big trouble. If he really wanted to plot against him, He Yi could have shot him in the head when he wasn’t paying attention, there was no need to wait like this.

A pi sounded in silence, and Qi Leren suddenly stopped and looked back in confusion. This sound... It seemed that the door at the other end of the laser corridor had opened.

Did someone find an ID card and come in? Qi Leren ran back quickly with his gun. He saw that the door at the end had indeed opened, and there was a figure poking around.

"Qi Leren! You’re still alive!" From the end of the long corridor, Dr. Lu waved excitedly at him.

"Qianbei, qianbei, are you okay? We’re here to save you!" Du Yue emerged from behind Dr. Lu, and they were like two mice clinging to the door, eyeing the cheese in the mousetrap.

"Don't come in! There are lasers!" Qi Leren shouted frantically.

"Okay, Du Yue and I found another ID card and finally got the door open. What should we do now?" Dr. Lu asked.

"You just wait, don't close the door, I'll go to the power room and turn it off, then you can come in safely," Qi Leren said.

"Then hurry back," Dr. Lu said.

"We’re waiting for you!" Du Yue shouted.

Relieved, Qi Leren turned to leave, took two steps, and then stopped. After learning his lesson, he explained, "He Yi is here. We figured out that the glowing stone is a parasitic monster called amphioctopus. It will parasitize the human body and multiply rapidly to infect other people. At present, about four people have been infected. Mark and Xue Jiahui are almost certainly infected, and Annie is also very suspicious. I’m not sure about the other one. Don’t trust anyone and don’t wander around until I get back!"

"I understand." Dr. Lu waved him away.

This time Qi Leren really left and went to the power room.

It was quiet, quiet everywhere, a disturbing silence. Qi Leren moved very fast, but his steps were very light. How did he develop these cat-like steps? Qi Leren didn't really want to recall it. But thanks to Chen Baiqi's demonic training, he had learned how to do this in three days, which was more than enough to cope with the current situation.

Coming to the floor where the power room was located, Qi Leren held his gun and quietly moved closer to his destination. The power room door was open. There were bright lights inside and rows of tall machinery and equipment running with a buzzing sound, but no one there. He Yi was not there.

Qi Leren frowned. Where was He Yi? At this time, he couldn't run around by himself. His sudden disappearance seemed to tell him that there was a new danger here.

What could it be?

Qi Leren didn't know, and he couldn't search for it now.

Dr. Lu and Du Yue were still waiting for him at the door. Should he continue to delay here, or turn off the power and go out?

Qi Leren hesitated for a moment, then flipped the switch.

The old machines made a slow plaintive wail, and they stopped working altogether. After doing this for several more times, these machines that hadn’t been maintained would likely break down completely. Qi Leren felt that if they weren’t in a copy, but in the real world, it would be impossible to turn on the standby power that had been idle for hundreds of years.

The lights went out, and this underground research institute became a dark paradise.

Qi Leren's ability to see in the dark hadn’t improved after the shell was broken, so it was impossible to see his surroundings clearly without any light source. He had to turn on his flashlight and run along the emergency passage towards the top floor.

This time, Qi Leren ran very fast, as if some monster was chasing behind him, and he didn't have light footsteps. After all, for a man running in the dark with a flashlight, the weight of his footsteps was meaningless. He passed through the winding halls and returned to the front of the laser corridor smoothly with his excellent memory of the terrain—

It was as if he had a faint premonition in his heart.

The door was open, but Dr. Lu and Du Yue were gone.

In the boundless darkness, in the boundless silence, as if he was the only one left on this deserted planet, stationed in the long night, watching the awakening monsters open their jaws and come towards him.

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splat-dragon · 5 years ago

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@whumptober2019 @badthingshappenbingo

Whumptober 2019, Alternate Prompt #1: "Wake Up!" Bad Things Happen Bingo: "Fighting From The Inside"

Micah had practically delivered Morgan into their hands, had all-but delivered him to them on a silver platter, and they had still managed to mess up. Had managed to let him escape, get away, get back to camp.

But he was sick. Helpless. Weak.

And you know what they say. 'If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.'

Micah couldn’t believe it.

He’d practically delivered Morgan into those O’Driscoll’s hands, and still, they hadn’t managed to kill him!

It had taken some work, too. Getting Pearson to go into town when he knew those O’Driscoll boys would be there. But the man was a damn fool, and in the end it had all worked perfectly. Morgan had gone up on that cliff, where that carcass was, scaring away the vulture and signalling to the O’Driscolls that he was there.

And they’d gotten him, too. That’s what got Micah.

If they hadn’t been able to capture him, he’d have been angry, sure. But it was understandable. He was a strong man, Micah couldn’t deny it. And when cornered, as he would have been, he could fight as good as any wildcat.

But they had captured him, taking him back to one of their camps. Had even shot him, managed to keep him captive for days. When he’d come back, he’d been messed up to all hell, starved and beaten and septic, but they hadn’t been able to kill him, had even failed to keep him captive!

If you want something done right, he decided, you have to do it yourself.

When Arthur had failed to wake up after the first night, his fever spiking despite Hosea and Grimshaw and Reverend and Strauss’ best efforts, they’d taken up a vigil. No one wanted to leave him alone in case he took a turn for a worse, and would spend their turn on the rotation laying wet rags on his forehead and coaxing water down his throat to try and replace what he sweated out.

It was pathetic, if you asked Micah. Morgan was a burden, and should be cut loose. Left to suffer alone, or die. If you needed someone else to take care of you, then you were too weak to run with his gang.

But it wasn’t his gang yet, it was Van Der Linde’s, and so he had to obey, had to pretend to be concerned over Morgan (but not too concerned, of course, if he acted too concerned they’d be alarmed by his change in personality), as he bided his time.

And his time came.

He’d been sitting by the fire, keeping an eye on Morgan’s tent. It had been three days since he’d staggered in and, while he wasn’t doing much better, he hadn’t gotten worse. He’d woken up, once or twice, slurring nonsense, shaking and trembling and trying to get away from whoever was sitting by his tent, only settled when Reverend pumped another dose of morphine in his arm to sedate him.

It was MacGuire’s turn on the rotation, and while he and Morgan were pretty close, Micah knew that MacGuire was an awful guard. He couldn’t sit still to save his life, couldn’t read to pass the time, would be bored to near tears without someone to talk to.

So it was only a matter of time until he cracked, walked out to ‘piss’ and take a long, long breather.

And by the time MacGuire would come back, Micah would be back by the campfire as though he’d never left.

And he was right. MacGuire had only been on shift for an hour (and he’d seen him walk off to piss before going inside), excusing himself to take a piss. Micah had waited a few minutes, until MacGuire should have been back, and then some, before standing from the fire, looking around to make sure no one was watching him.

They weren’t—it was late at night, so only a handful were awake. Dutch, probably planning in his tent (and some part of Micah stung that he hadn’t been summoned for it, although it did work for his own plans), Smith off on guard, Macguire somewhere in the woods, or maybe snuck off to his tent.

So, stepping lightly, he approached Morgan’s tent. The flaps had been closed towards the campfire, left open towards the lake to let in the cool breeze that came off the water into his tent, hoping that it would help lower his fever. He slipped inside, eyes already adjusted to the dark, taking a look around and nodding when he saw that no one would be able to make out his shadow inside the tent, the only source of light a lamp that flickered, given so little fuel that it threatened to go out.

The air reeked of sickness, of rot and disease, and it would have made a weaker man’s stomach churn. Morgan’s wheezing breath filled the air, the sound incredibly satisfying, and the faint light from the lantern illuminated the pained lines on his face.

There was a pillow near the chair, left there for Matthews when he sat vigil, worrying over his ‘son’ (he curled his lip at the thought), and he picked it up, tossing it from hand to hand. Yes, this would work. And no one would be able to tell, would think he’d just stopped breathing.

He approached Morgan, unable to help but to grin at the sight of him. Oh, even in sleep he looked in pain. His brow was furrowed, hair matted with sweat and dirt and who-knew-what-else, Grimshaw and Matthews had tried to wash it as best they could but there was still blood in it, face flushed with his nasty fever and mouth hanging open slightly, panting for breath.

‘Well,’ Bell thought, ‘he won’t have to fight much longer.’

He brought the pillow up, bringing it up to Morgan’s face, only to pause.

Oh, he wanted to look him in his eyes as he died, watch the light fade from those horrid blue eyes. Morgan, out of all of them, deserved to die suffering. Not in his sleep, fading away as his heart stopped.

Bringing his hand up to hover it over his mouth in case he yelled, though he doubted he could with how weak he was, he set the pillow down beside Morgan and slammed the heel of his palm down on his bandaged shoulder as hard as he could. “Wake up, Morgan!”

The reaction was immediate.

Morgan’s eyes snapped open, glazed with pain or fever or morphine or some mix of the three, arching up—or, at least, trying to, only managing to barely twitch. He cried out in pain as best he could, but Micah didn’t even have to cover his mouth, the sound barely even a wheeze, a frog’s croak from low, low in his chest.

“Wakey wakey Morgan,” Micah grinned, taking in the alarm on Morgan’s face as he saw him looming over him, cloaked in shadows and haloed by the slight amount of light given off by the lantern. His face had crumpled with pain, no longer numbed by sleep, crashing over him in waves of agony, and he croaked as he tried to speak, to demand of Micah what he wanted.

Micah didn’t stop, didn’t wait for any pretty words, instead pressed slowly down on his shoulder, watching him gasp, squirming weakly like a fish on a hook, helpless to do anything but struggle, before pressing the pillow down on his lower face, making sure to cover his mouth and nose, leaving his eyes bare so he could see them.

They were clearing, still hazy with pain but his pupils were no longer blown wide, instead shrunken into tiny pin-pricks by pain. His arms twitched—no, arm, the one with the worst of the infection was limp, useless—as he desperately fought against his own body, weak from illness, starvation and dehydration, to grasp the pillow and shove it away, to turn his head to the side and catch a breath he so desperately needed, but Micah had him thoroughly pinned, and he was so weak, all he could do was twitch, adrenaline thrumming through his veins, heart thrumming in his ears.

Micah grinned, pressing harder, shoving down and hearing his nose break, the man grunting, right hand clenching in the sheets. Oh, seeing Morgan so weak, at his mercy beneath him… if only it were Van Der Linde.

There would be time for that later, though, so he hummed, watching Morgan twitch beneath him, wild-eyed as he desperately tried to breathe, the rough fabric of the pillow scratching his face, smearing blood that Micah realized he’d have to wipe up before walking out, and the sound of shattered cartilage moving around was loud in his ears. Morgan’s breathing was rasping against the pillow, and he pressed down harder, making sure he wasn’t getting any air, that his desperate attempts to breathe were just that: attempts.

The power he had over this strong, monster of a man, the Van Der Linde Gang’s infamous enforcer, the workhorse, the muscle, had excitement racing in his veins, his lips peeled back from his teeth in a nasty grin, and Arthur was sure he’d never be able to unsee it for as long as he lived, however long that may be.

Morgan’s struggles, as weak as they were, were weakening, the lack of oxygen going to his brain. The veins in his eyes were bursting, going bloodshot, and despite his best attempts to look Micah in the eye they were beginning to drift shut, black gathering at the corners of his vision, warping and fading, Bell’s face turning into something truly inhuman as his vision faded out, twisted in an expression of excitement and hatred.

Where… where was everyone? He hadn’t been too lucid in… how long had it been since he’d escaped? He didn’t know, but he knew it had been some time, from the few seconds he would wake up, be aware of his surroundings, of someone sitting nearby him, or coaxing him to drink water, laying a wet rag on his head.

Where… where were they?

He tried to call out, in the end, he did. But he didn’t have the air, or the energy, and the pillow was covering his mouth and muffling the grunts and wheezes he managed to make. Even if he had had all the air in the world, wasn’t being smothered under a pillow, he wouldn’t have been able to, was too weak to speak in anything more than a whisper. ‘Hosea… Dutch… Charles… Javier… Susan… please help me!’

Morgan went limp beneath him, but Micah knew not to let up, that the man was only unconscious, as his eyes went shut and stayed that way. He held the pillow over his face still, much easier now that Morgan wasn’t trying to turn his head, bracing himself on the one hand, reaching over with his other to press his fingers against his pulse point, feeling his heartbeat flutter like a butterfly trapped in his hand, leaning the majority of his weight down on the pillow, counting off one minute, two, as the pulse weakened and slowed until, finally, it stuttered to a stop.

He counted off, again, one minute, then two, before slowly pulling the pillow off. Micah pressed, feeling for Morgan’s pulse, before looking to his chest, making sure it wasn’t moving. He spat on his fingers before holding them under his nose, counting off another minute before pulling them away when he didn’t feel any air cool them.

Arthur Morgan, he grinned, was dead.

Now, though, he had to clean up the scene. Make sure it looked like he had finally perished from the infection, stopped breathing in his sleep.

So he cleaned the blood from his face as best he could with a dry handkerchief, knowing better than to wet it, knowing that it would speed up the decomposition. Pried his fingers from where they were twisted in the blanket, laid them out at his sides, stepping back to make sure it didn’t look like there’d been any sort of struggle.

Forgetting about the blood on the underside of the pillow, he set it back where he found it, before sticking his head out from the tent, looking around before slinking back to the campfire, grabbing a beer as he went and humming cheerfully.

Sean MacGuire returned to the tent just before his shift ended, flopping down on the chair just before Hosea stepped inside to sit by his son’s bedside. They had started the rotations so Hosea would get some rest, but by the black bags under his eyes and the paper-like color of his skin, it was clear they hadn’t been successful. He nodded his head at Sean, who vacated the seat so Hosea could take his turn, grabbing the pillow off the floor and tossing it onto the chair before slumping down onto it, dropping his head into his hands, sighing wearily.

How had this happened? How had things gone so wrong? How could they have let their boy get so hurt, have to rescue himself?

...why was it so quiet?

Hosea jolted upright, face blanching as he stared at the man lying still—too still—on the cot, eyes locked on his chest as though he could will it back into motion.

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