"Bang!"
With a tremendous bang, a colossal magnesium lamp abruptly illuminated, its glaring white light dispersing the darkness in an instant, revealing everything in full view.
Instinctively, Grace recoiled and shielded his eyes from the sudden onslaught of intense light.
"Next broadcast will commence in five minutes."
A voice devoid of emotion echoed, its jarring sound reverberating within the narrow space.
Grace blinked, coming to his senses.
Though a faint buzzing continued in his ears, the chaotic glare at the edge of his vision gradually dissipated.
...What...is going on?
After a few seconds, his eyes finally adjusted to the excessively bright light.
He found himself in a room no larger than five square meters. Standing at its center, there was nothing beside him. The walls surrounding him were entirely transparent, with a bright red countdown revolving slowly around him on the glass.
[04:25]
Four minutes and twenty-five seconds.
The numbers steadily decreased, instilling an imminent sense of unease.
"..." Grace gazed thoughtfully at the cameras in the room for a couple of seconds. Then, he withdrew his gaze and took a step forward, peering through the shifting gaps of the numbers.
Outside, a boundless expanse of pure white space floated, housing hundreds of identical small rooms, each containing a person with a bright red countdown displayed on the wall.
Surrounding the small rooms were numerous cameras of various sizes, some towering like skyscrapers, while others were no larger than a palm. Countless cold metal rings gleamed with an eerie luster under the lights, silently focused on each imprisoned individual, creating an unsettling sensation of being under alien surveillance.
It was downright chilling.
The inmates in the small compartments displayed varying expressions.
Grace noticed that the nearest group of detainees all had pallid faces, exhibiting a bewildered and frightened demeanor. They curled up in a corner, some even succumbing to panic, hysterically shrieking and frantically pounding the transparent walls under the peculiar gaze of the cameras.
The glass barrier muffled their screams.
It felt like watching an absurd silent play.
Meanwhile, those in the distance remained largely expressionless, calmly awaiting the conclusion of the countdown, whether out of familiarity or a numbed resignation was unclear.
At this moment, a lively voice interrupted Grace's contemplation.
"New broadcaster, hello, I am your personal assistant and will be at your service from today."
Grace was taken aback, turning to the direction of the voice.
A palm-sized screen emerged, displaying his own resume.
Photo, name, and even...
His life story.
Comprehensive and thorough, it almost entirely encompassed his entire life, including experiences not attributed to the name "Grace," known only to himself.
Subconsciously, Grace tightened his lips, scanning through the resume, his gaze pausing for several seconds at the last line.
—"Signed a soul contract with Nightmare Live Studio, becoming an active new broadcaster."
The voice sounded again:
"An E-level broadcast room is being set up for you..."
"Exclusive room 789326qwk has been activated!"
The empty back-end of the live broadcast appeared on the screen, with the bottom right corner showing the number of online viewers: 0.
"Um... may I ask a question?"
Grace had a remarkable voice.
Clear, magnetic, soft, with just a slight modulation, it could become deep and suggestive, skillfully controlling a comfortable cadence of speech that could almost effortlessly garner favor and trust from anyone.
"Of course."
The young man raised his eyes.
His eyes were gentle amber, with a hint of clear glimmer, appearing pale under the strong light, exuding a deceivingly innocuous feeling. His brows slightly furrowed, a controlled hint of distress flashed in his eyes:
"Can the broadcast room be renamed?"
He seemed somewhat embarrassed, adding shyly:
"The current name is really unpleasant."
"..."
A question that absolutely should not arise in this kind of situation.
After a brief pause of a few seconds, the AI assistant answered:
"Sorry, not possible at the moment."
"However, once you accumulate a certain amount of points in your account, the system's point mall will open for you. You can then use your points to purchase a name change card."
The other party continued cheerfully as if they had no ill intentions, "I hope to serve you then."
"Thank you."
Grace raised her eyes and looked at the camera above, and gave a brief and pleasant smile.
Her thin, rosy lips formed a slight curve, revealing a heartfelt smile—her pitch-black pupils slightly contracted under the strong light, appearing sincere and genuine.
"I hope to see you again soon."
The crimson countdown on the glass wall finally reached zero.
That voice echoed once more within the empty white world, as if it were surrounding from all directions, deafening and chilling:
"Welcome to the Nightmare Live Room. The next live broadcast is about to begin."
The initially blinding fluorescent lights suddenly grew even brighter, operating at an overwhelming capacity. It was as if the brilliance of countless suns had been captured within the narrow indoor space, and the metal rings of the cameras were almost melting in the intense light. The lenses expanded and contracted, almost resembling living creatures.
Grace had to close her eyes. Even through the thinly veiled reddish eyelids, the piercing light still caused a sharp, needle-like pain in her eyes.
The initially mechanical female voice became emotionally charged, "Our goal is—entertainment until death!"
The live broadcast began.
Numerous corridors connected to a vast live square, each leading to different live halls. Within each hall, countless small screens crowded the space, with rankings hanging in the air. Scenes of various colors spun rapidly, awaiting the avid selection of viewers.
"There are so many new broadcasters this time! How exciting!"
"Is this the largest influx of new broadcasters into the square? I've never seen so many D-level or lower live halls appear all at once before."
"With this many new faces, I doubt there will be many A-level or above squares open this time, huh?"
"So disappointing, what's so interesting about newbies? Screaming and running away, it's the same old routine. I'd rather wait for the veteran broadcasters to go live."
"Of course, veteran broadcasters are more entertaining, but after all, they are familiar faces. I'm getting tired of seeing them."
"And those looks of despair and collapse when the newcomers realize their situation… I just can't get enough of them."
"Hahaha, so true! Screaming and blood have their own charm, don't they?"
In the midst of this, a live hall named "Talent Middle School" opened up.
A blood-red emblem blinked beneath the name.
Hall Difficulty Level: D
Historical completion progress: 72%
Viewing value: e
At the bottom, a small sign read:
For the viewing experience of both you and others, all viewers must adhere to the rules of the live room and refrain from spoilers.
After a brief dizziness, Grace opened her eyes.
The ceiling fan above creaked as it spun, emitting a buzzing noise that could make one dizzy after prolonged staring.
A young man, broad-shouldered and long-legged, lay on a narrow bed, feeling somewhat constrained by the cramped space.
He raised himself up and looked around silently.
This was an old-fashioned student dormitory.
The walls were crooked and filthy, covered with wallpaper whose original color was indiscernible. Wrinkled and stained dark brown and dirty yellow blots leaked from the bottom. The narrow room housed four bunk beds, with rusty patches peeling off the metal handrails. A half-missing mirror was affixed to the cupboard of the bed opposite.
The surface of the mirror was dirty, with greasy fingerprints, and the dim light could only produce a vague silhouette.
A clutter of books lay on the adjacent table, covered in dust.
And Grace was lying on the bottom bunk of one of the beds.
A strange, indescribable odor pervaded the air, making it difficult to breathe.
In the lower right corner of his field of vision was a semi-transparent screen.
[Live Room 789326qwk]
[Status: Live]
[Viewers: 3]
The number of online viewers fluctuated between 0 and 3.
No one was sending comments, as if they were just there for idle curiosity.
Apart from him, there was no one else in the room.
Grace lowered his eyes, and his long, straight eyelashes cast a shadow on his fair face. There was no excess emotion on his face, making him seem almost unnaturally composed.
He got off the bed.
And then—
He leaned on the nearby table and started retching.
As he retched, the muscles in his broad back trembled, and the veins on his clearly defined forearms bulged with the effort.
After a long while, he finally stopped.
The composed facade that he initially wore shattered like melting snow, and his eyes reddened slightly, infusing his previously calm features with a vivid liveliness, making him seem particularly fragile and helpless in the grimy mirror.
Yes.
All that composure, all that calm...
It was all an act!
Grace's actual feelings and the adjectives used previously were completely misaligned. Any normal person witnessing that scene would have been terrified!
The red countdown, the ominous broadcast, and the eerie cameras of all sizes...
It seemed like a scene from a horror novel!
Let alone how terrifying it was!
Not to mention, he was the type who cherished his life the most!
However, in his many years of professional career, Grace had developed a habit of maintaining absolute composure regardless of how fearful he felt or how great the external pressure was. In fact, the closer he was to the brink, the more composed he appeared.
Otherwise, he probably would have been buried at sea in a cement barrel a long time ago.
Grace, professional con artist.
The night after completing the biggest gig of his life, successfully swindling twenty billion from a multinational smuggling syndicate and escaping without warning, he inexplicably became a new broadcaster in a terror live room.
"..."
Who in the world could be unluckier than him?
Grace furrowed his features and suppressed the sense of defeat rising in his heart.
He wiped his mouth and stood up.
Just then, the emotionless voice resounded once more:
"To improve your live experience, the live room will customize a unique starter gift for you based on the quality of your soul!"
In this eerie environment, this mechanical sound seemed even more bizarre.
However, the keywords "quality of the soul" and "personalized" immediately made Grace realize that there was something extraordinary about it.
He subconsciously lightened his breathing.
Based on his years of professional experience, this so-called "starter gift" might play a crucial role in determining his fate.
"Ding! The starter gift has been delivered. Will the broadcaster accept?"
Grace steadied himself and said, "Accept."
At his command, the screen in front of him flashed, and a colorful gift box popped open on its own. With a lively sound effect, the splendid silk unraveled itself, and the animated display vanished, revealing—
A flower pot.
A dull, earthy-colored flower pot with dark brown soil, utterly ordinary and unremarkable.
There was nothing else inside.
Grace: "..."
What? Could it be that this grandiose starter gift, purportedly customized based on the quality of the soul, was just an ungerminated apple seedling?
What kind of rubbish is this?
And they call this a new broadcaster's gift?
Is this a joke?
Grace shut off the screen expressionlessly.
He raised his head and, almost involuntarily, used his peripheral vision to glance over the spot where he had been lying moments ago. His gaze paused slightly.
A card lay quietly on the pillow.
The card was thin, no bigger than a palm, with straight edges. It didn't feel like paper; it was more like metal.
Grace hesitated for a moment, then approached and carefully picked up the card.
[Identity Card]
Name: Tyler
Age: 16
Occupation: Grade 10 student at Talent Middle School
Relevant Plot: Not unlocked
Grace turned the card over.
On the back were a few words: Allocation of initial survival time in progress...
Grace: ?
He turned the card over a few times but found no additional information.
Is that it?
Grace furrowed his brow and looked up, puzzled.
In that instant, his heart skipped a beat.
The cupboard on the opposite bed seemed to have silently slid open a bit, and the mirror hanging on it happened to be directly facing him.
Grace could see a clear reflection of his face – and also, the bed where he had just lain bore a smiling, ghastly pale face.
The pure black pupils stared directly at him, and the lips, which had curved upwards like a mask, gradually widened—
In that moment, Grace felt a cold sweat break out on his back.
His heart pounded as if it wanted to leap out of his throat.
—AHHHHHH!
But in the next moment, that indistinct face vanished into the darkness as if it were just his imagination, disappearing without a trace.
The screen, which had been silent all this while, finally showed some activity.
A few sparsely scattered messages floated past.
"Didn't even scream, the broadcaster has good psychological resilience."
"I got a startle from that."
Grace: ...
No, it's just a calm exterior. In reality, my legs have already started trembling.
He took a slow, deep breath, and once again, lowered his head to look at the card in his hand.
At some point, the wording on the back of the card had changed.
"[Allocation of survival time completed]"
Beneath it was a blood-red countdown of 20 minutes.
The number of viewers tuned in had unknowingly reached double digits.
"No way, am I seeing this right? The new broadcaster's survival time is twenty minutes?"
"Haha, this luck though, it's too funny."
"Is this a one-of-a-kind among this batch of newbies? Not even an hour, that's too brutal."
"Hahaha, I can't stop laughing, is this the true hellish start?"
"I've never seen a broadcaster wake up and get haunted within seconds. Astonishing."
"..."
Grace stared at the words "twenty minutes," his heart sinking into a brief moment of silence.
I really am the unluckiest guy around.