Chapter 49 The Fog 3 So you're Jack, kid?

On the ground where the monster was destroyed, something was shimmering.

After staring at it for a while, you took a few steps forward, squatted down, wrapped your hand in a tissue, picked it up, and walked to the streetlight to examine it carefully.

Aside from the decorations that already belong to you, there's only a train ticket.

The texture is slightly rough, similar to old-fashioned bus tickets. It is a thin but tough material with the words "London Transportation" printed in bright red on the ticket, next to a blurry image of a double-decker bus.

The red ink had smudged in the dampness, like marks left by fog. Below it was a line of small black text: "For designated routes only," the font slightly crooked, as if hastily printed.

The back of the ticket has a set of numerical codes engraved on it, but there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it. The most conspicuous part is right in the center, where there is a notice marked in black letters: "Valid until midnight."

Gently flipping through the ticket, you can smell a faint kerosene odor. This smell seems not to belong to the paper itself, but rather to something older and deeper.

"Double-decker bus," you murmured, opening your phone. The screen saver displayed the 12 general rules, and you hovered your finger over the one about the red double-decker bus.

"...It's a red, double-decker bus." This rule is even more abstract than "A foggy day is good for a stroll." The latter, though also ambiguous, seems to imply that it's okay not to go out, but at least it indicates what is the best thing to do. Even if you do something wrong, you can probably rely on its other meaning to protect yourself.

As for the bus rule, before you find the ticket, just treat it as a warning signal, like the "beer flowing from the tap" rule in the previous game, where danger might strike when a non-red, non-double-decker bus appears.

But now that monsters are dropping train tickets, it has become even more meaningful.

It's more than just a signal; combined with the rule of fog, finding and boarding the right bus feels like a reward.

Of course, you can also think about it the other way around: those who get the tickets will have to board the bus, and what they will face after that is completely unknown.

Just as you were staring at the train ticket, you caught a glimpse of a shadow behind you, holding a sharp weapon.

Almost at the same moment the blade was about to strike your head, you rolled away and barely dodged it.

Because of the perspective, you saw his shadow first.

Then you look up and a huge figure stands right in front of you.

He was much taller than normal, wearing a worn-out top hat and a long black overcoat that billowed in the wind. In his right hand he held a huge butcher's knife, its blade bent and rusty.

No, those aren't rust stains, they're bloodstains.

That wasn't even the blade; it was its deformed finger bone!

The newly appeared monster stared down at you, its scarlet eyes shining brightly in the mist, like two burning flames, determined to tear you apart.

He stood there motionless, as if wondering about your reaction.

If the enemy doesn't move, you don't move either. Adhering to the understanding of the rules you learned from the previous monster, you support yourself with your hands on the ground, slowly get up, and move slowly at the same time.

Useful? You're starting to doubt when dungeons have become so kind as to let you rely on a single trick to succeed.

Sure enough, the next second, he suddenly sprang up, his bone blade sweeping across.

Thanks to the veteran's intuition, you sprang up like a spring, sprinting at your fastest speed ever. The monster was hot on your heels!

There's no need to carve the map onto your knees; you've spent almost all your waking hours these past few days memorizing the map of London, especially places close to where you live.

Quickly analyze the surrounding terrain; you know the Cheshire District is famous for its winding alleys. Your opponent is tall and long-legged, and monsters generally have unlimited stamina, so you definitely can't outrun them. Your only option is to use the alleys.

That's it!

With a quick sidestep, you disappear into a narrow street.

The alleyway was lined with closely packed Victorian buildings, their red brick walls and wrought iron railings appearing and disappearing in the mist. You carefully walked around a trash can, but still couldn't avoid kicking an old box piled up in the corner, making a loud "bang".

"Damn it!" you cursed under your breath, struggling to regain your balance, secretly regretting not wearing shoes more suitable for running.

Although you specifically chose boots that were easy to move in, waterproof and comfortable in London's foggy weather, and also paired well with your trench coat, the platform and slightly bulky design of the boots still made your steps a little sluggish, especially when running on the slippery cobblestone streets of Chelsea. You really wanted to curse: Why weren't these expensive shoes designed to be slip-resistant?!

The footsteps behind me disappeared. Did I shake them off?

You slowed your pace slightly and glanced back. You wished you could avoid seeing it!

That thing was climbing up and down the buildings on both sides like a giant spider, crawling rapidly towards you on all fours.

Keep running!

Back on the main road, they faced the predicament of being chased in a straight line, while the alleyways had too many elements that made it easy for the other party to climb.

In comparison, you still hope that in the intricate alleyways you can at least use your intelligence to create some distance, giving you time to think calmly.

But every turn, jump, and dodge puts your trench coat and boots to the test.

You hear the sound of fabric tearing, and when you look down, you see that the cuffs of your beautiful but fragile trench coat have been torn by the rough brickwork in the corner, revealing a clear rip, and the elbows and other areas have been rubbed into strips of cloth.

Your heart skips a beat. Given the craftsmanship of this coat, it cannot be easily repaired. Losing it is not just a physical loss, but it may also cause you to lose some kind of invisible protection under the "rules" in this fog.

If a passerby suddenly appears around the corner and leaves you unable to move, you're in big trouble.

but.

The footsteps behind seemed to slow down a bit.

You observe it; it still follows you, but its movements are no longer as urgent as before. From its still masculine face, you glean an emotion... it seems to be hesitant.

"Could it be..." A thought flashed through your mind, but before you could think it through, you tripped over the wet pavement again.

Your body immediately curls up, and you fall to one side in a standard protective posture to dissipate the force and protect your knees and elbows. However, the fabric of your clothes on your arms is completely torn as you slide a short distance on the ground.

As you get up, you glance at the monster that is still approaching from the fog, and sure enough, its movements have slowed down again.

"As expected..." You gritted your teeth and stood up—even though you weren't injured, it still hurt. You brushed the dust off your trench coat and quickly looked around for any terrain you could use.

Ahead was a small bridge, and the canal beneath it was almost dry, with the man-made riverbed full of obstacles.

You won't find any normal locals here. If you do see homeless people, their previous experience in the park suggests they don't seem to be staring at you aggressively.

Let's do it here then. Let's create more damage in this area and see what happens—you're already in such a sorry state, a little more damage won't make a difference. Plus, you can observe the monster's reaction.

He ran quickly down to the edge of the bridge, deliberately letting his trench coat brush against the rough wall, and even intentionally getting close to a rusty iron railing, forcefully catching his sleeve on the tip of the railing. With a "rip," the fabric was torn open again, revealing a white tracksuit underneath at the shoulder.

Although she was dressed in a "modern urban woman" suit on the outside, she was actually wearing a sportswear set underneath.

Looking back again, the monster stood at the bridgehead, its red eyes betraying its hesitation. Its raised blade remained motionless, as if weighing your worth.

"I see..." Now it's certain that it's not chasing "you" as a person, but rather some external symbol of "you"—those expensive clothes, those carefully matched gorgeous outfits, are the key to its targeting.

Since that's the case, you quickly make a decision, take out the knife you carry with you, and cut open the chest and back of your trench coat to make it look more worn and cheap. The torn fabric flutters in the wind, and your appearance has completely deviated from its original "luxury".

The monster stopped at the bridgehead. Its right hand drooped slightly, and its scarlet eyes gradually lost focus, as if searching for something in a daze.

Taking a deep breath, you decided to test your guess further. You forcefully took off your trench coat completely and casually hung it on the railing by the bridge.

"Come on, are you still going to chase me?" you shouted, your voice echoing under the bridge.

The monster's movements completely stopped. It stood there motionless, having utterly lost its target.

But it did not disappear; it still lingers by the bridge.

The clattering sound swirled around your head, but the monster completely ignored you, occasionally glancing up as if searching for prey again.

This monster is completely different from the previous Char Siu Girl. Its behavior mechanism is more complex. It is not driven by simple attack instincts, but rather by a ritual that is bound by deep rules.

If getting rid of the tracking is all it takes, that's too boring.

You want to see if you can get a new ticket—or some other item—for every monster you defeat.

You found a rock, put your tattered trench coat under you, sat down to rest, and pondered the monster's "design".

These chases and pauses suggest that the monster's actions seem to be related to the "integrity of the target."

First of all, it's certain that its initial pursuit of you was entirely driven by the allure of the luxurious trench coat. As the trench coat became damaged, its chase gradually slowed down. Once you completely removed the trench coat, revealing your simple and practical sportswear, you were no longer its target.

What's the difference between a trench coat, or rather, a stylish ready-to-wear garment, and sportswear?

A symbol of status and wealth? But your tracksuit is also from a luxury brand.

And you only took off your coat; your boots, hat, scarf, and other accessories were still on.

After thinking it over and over, you suddenly realize that only your jacket is a "women's style" with a cinched waist; the rest of your outfit is unisex.

You stinking monster, are you trying to discriminate against me?

Suddenly it dawned on you: connecting the monster's appearance to the image, could this guy be "Jack the Ripper"? The progenitor of Incel who only dared to prey on women at night.

You've thought of possible ways to cook him.

You lift up your tracksuit and quickly transform it into a sexy, midriff-baring style using hat pins, brooches, and other accessories.

The monster actually started moving, still slowly, but following you at a leisurely pace.

Remembering the route you took and the places you passed through when you escaped, you quickly passed through a small alley and came to an abandoned coffee shop.

The signboard was crooked and covered in dust; the windows were broken; and the tables and chairs inside were haphazardly piled in a corner. A dim gas streetlamp flickered at the entrance, casting a swaying circle of light.

Pushing open the creaking door, I took in the room's furnishings, my gaze settling on a worn-out red tablecloth in the corner.

You run over, tear it off, shake off the dust, and cut a few slits in the tablecloth with a knife to make it look like a worn-out coat.

You glanced back and saw the towering monster had already reached the café entrance. Its silhouette blocked the dim light, like a moving black wall.

"Good, just wait for me there." You muttered to yourself, putting your tracksuit back to its original state, and then continued to decorate the tablecloth with ornaments—in addition to the ever-present brooches and hat pins, there were several eye-catching metal chains, and even your perfume from a hidden compartment in your bag, which you sprayed a few times on the tablecloth to let it emit a faint fragrance.

Once it's finished, you look at the completed product and laugh, never imagining you had a talent for tailoring.

You step outside, and the monster ignores you completely.

The decorated tablecloth was hung on the gas lamp outside the door, and when the wind blew, the torn fabric began to flutter. The tablecloth stood out even more under the lamplight, casting a beautiful silhouette.

Then, you hide in the nearby shadows, hold your breath, and wait for the monster's reaction.

The monster really lived up to your expectations; even a street lamp dressed in a pretty dress could attract it.

It strolled toward the gas lamp, its eyes focusing on the "clothing" with decorations hanging on it. At first, it tried to identify it, but then, as if drawn by some invisible force, it couldn't resist its instincts.

It raised the bone blade, aimed it at the tablecloth, and swung it forcefully. The cloth and decorations flew everywhere, and an excited gurgling sound accompanied by its drool dripping down.

Now it's your turn.

You made more than one "skirt".

Approach the monster from behind, moving as lightly as a cat, trying to avoid making any noise.

The monster was completely captivated by the "clothing" on the gas lamp, focusing its attention on tearing up the tablecloth and decorations.

You take a deep breath, and as it lowers its head, you quickly pull the dress over your head, immediately step back a few paces, gripping your knife and baseball bat tightly, ready to deal with any unexpected events.

"Come on, let the rules turn against you..." you murmured, anticipating the monster's next move.

The monster froze.

Its movement froze in mid-air, the blade still pointing at the gas lamp—the poor historical artifact had suffered damage that even World War II hadn't been able to inflict, but it could no longer be swung down.

Its body began to tremble violently, and its limbs bent uncontrollably.

"The rules have taken effect!" You were overjoyed, bracing yourself for the possibility of the rules attacking themselves.

The unexpected still happened.

The monster's bones made a cracking sound, and its enormous body began to slowly shrink.

Its muscular limbs became thin, its muscles atrophied, and its body shrank dramatically. Its wide trench coat slipped to the ground, leaving only its gorgeous dress clinging to its body.

Its male characteristics—no, now it's "she"—have completely disappeared, and it has become a petite woman.

This woman is smaller and more vulnerable than any normal woman you've ever seen.

Her skin was pale, her face thin, and her features delicate yet with a sickly fragility.

She knelt on the ground, her hands helplessly hugging her shoulders, trembling.

"Huh?" You, holding the weapon, froze, completely bewildered.

The woman looked up, her eyes filled with fear and pleading. Her large eyes, brimming with tears, looked up at you, her expression pitiful, and her voice trembled weakly: "Please...don't kill me..."

You didn't say anything, but you knew your expression must have looked bad.

"Really, I'm just a weak girl. Girls help girls, me too, have you forgotten these declarations?" she said, biting her lip and sobbing.

Ah…this…

Regardless of what the opponent is, your goal is to eliminate it, and that's correct.

You recall the last line of the barbecued pork girl monster uttered in Cantonese. Although you couldn't understand it, you knew she couldn't possibly speak such authentic Cantonese.

Assuming her story is true, then the victim seems to have been assimilated by the shop owner under some kind of rule, becoming a tool for hunting down others.

This inevitably brings to mind the story of Jack the Ripper—he and his copycats would remove the uterus from their victims.

Could it be that the existence of this girl is also a result of some kind of assimilation? As a victim, she was assimilated into a monster by "Jack the Ripper," and at her core, perhaps, are those stolen wombs—the parts that are given meaning by rules?

Looking at her curled-up body, it's not hard to imagine that if you want to eliminate her, you might only be able to attack her abdomen.

"Please, please let me go..." she was still begging you.

You didn't speak, you just gripped your weapon tighter. The girl's eyes were filled with fear; she seemed to understand your intentions, but she didn't run away.

You approached step by step, your gaze locking onto her abdomen.

Her body trembled slightly, but she did not resist. She surrendered to you like the most perfectly submissive victim, awaiting her fate.

You extend your knife, and she merely trembles her beautiful, delicate body slightly.

—You cut off his genitals.

"Aaaaaaahh ...

He let out a heart-wrenching scream, his whole body convulsed as if electrocuted, his frail female form began to collapse, his bones cracked again, his slender limbs rapidly swelled up once more, and his skin cracked open to reveal dark red muscles.

The delicate and lovely face became twisted and hideous, the woman's image completely disappeared, and the monster reappeared.

No, not only that—as you continued to stab that spot with a look of disgust, his body rapidly shrank, eventually turning into a man wearing a tattered trench coat.

"Aaaaah!" the man screamed in agony, his crimson eyes losing their light, his body beginning to disintegrate rapidly. He struggled, trying to raise the butcher's knife again, but it had already fallen to the ground.

"Why..." he hissed, his voice filled with terror, but he couldn't finish the sentence. His body finally turned into a wisp of black mist, dissipating with the wind, leaving only a faint, foul smell of rust in the air.

You let out a long breath, your hand holding the knife trembling slightly.

It's mainly a bit disgusting.

Fortunately, the blood will dissipate on its own.

Hmph, what are you pretending to be a woman for?

The image of "her" is too "perfect" in conforming to the victim image in this social narrative; every trace of fear and pleading is just right. What victim would "meet their death tragically," especially one so typically thin, helpless, and powerless to resist?

The deaths of these impoverished women on the margins of society who were hunted down may be downplayed as romantic legends of the "Jacks," but for the victims, they will only be the most terrifying and infuriating moments.

The victims who invite you to harm them are nothing more than an illusion created by the hunter.

If you actually attack the uterus, you might not only fail to eliminate the monster, but you could also trigger a backlash—the rules might treat you as another "Jack," inheriting his position and becoming the new hunter.

Another ticket falls to the ground. You pick it up and examine it closely.

This ticket is different from the one you received before.

The paper surface has a faint silver sheen; it is thicker than the other one and feels like it's made of a blend of silk and paper, smooth yet durable. The ticket is printed with delicate black patterns, forming an intricate and ancient design.

In the very center is a three-dimensional relief of a red double-decker bus, so detailed that even the window frames show a faint reflection of light, as if there were lights actually on inside the bus. Above the ticket, in gold lettering, are the words "Lundu Shadow Bus," and at the bottom, in obscure small print: "To the Endless Fog, for the Chosen One Only."

The back also features a complex set of numerical codes, with each number seemingly connected by a special pattern, subtly revealing the significance of time. When flipped, the ticket changes color under the light.

This is going to be interesting.

Which ticket is genuine? Or are they all genuine, just corresponding to different trains? Are there any other tickets?

So you're not going to go on a few more laps to find new monsters to test the waters, are you?!

The distance you've walked so far isn't too far, but it's not too close either. If you walk any further and don't make it home before the fog clears, that would be terrible.

We need to hurry.

Fortunately, you maintained your usual "good luck" and encountered a new monster around the next corner. This monster wasn't really a monster; he didn't have any special story. He was just an arrogant teenager with short, light-colored hair with shaved edges and wearing a tracksuit.

His attack method is to stare at you with his eyes wide open and follow you wherever you go. Since you're not a teenager, you can't just punch him directly, so you have to beat him up during a football league match. After that, he covers his face and slunk away into the fog, leaving only a train ticket behind.

This ticket is the same as the first one.

The sample size is still too small; you still cannot determine the type of ticket.

Beep beep—!

Now you don't have to worry about these things.

A blurry red shadow slowly appeared, followed by a second, a third…

You stare in disbelief as a string of buses emerges from the fog.

Each car seemed to have traveled from a different era. Some were rusty, as if they had weathered countless storms; others were brand new and shiny, with dim yellow light shining from the windows, through which one could vaguely see blurry figures.

Their license plates were all different, marked with incomprehensible routes using various characters and symbols. You noticed that some of the car windows were blurred as if smeared with blood, and some doors were cracked, opening and closing like mouths as the vehicles moved.

Now, you have new questions to think about.

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Author's note: Hehe, having jianbing guozi today!