01:23:54.
The sky is on fire, it's starting from the north.
It was as if an organ in the dome had ruptured and was bleeding profusely, starting from the nearest area and spreading rapidly like a contagious disease. In less than a minute, the entire land was dyed red.
Someone outside shouted, and panic, like a smoldering ember, finally spread.
The crimson hue quickly permeated the entire sky, soon becoming darker and redder, layer upon layer, like congealed fat particles suspended in the air.
As Merlink walked out of the fire escape, he overheard a group of security personnel asking, "What's going on?" He turned around and saw a commotion among the headless flies outside the passage. Some pressed their earpieces and shouted, "What the hell is going on?" Others jumped down into the crack, wondering where they were going. But most of them just stared blankly at the crimson sky, as if it were some extraordinary and beautiful sight.
The moment he saw it, Merlink knew what it was—someone was dismantling the defensive force field that 832 had set up outside the Dolphin Hotel, something like a space jump. He sensed it as soon as he came in, but unfortunately he didn't draw it; that thing was too elusive.
After a while, the surroundings suddenly became even darker, with only the light of the fire, making one think of the deep sea... no, it was even darker than that. The lights went out after only a few seconds, and now it was pitch black, a completely enclosed space.
Suddenly, a steel bar as thick as an arm flew by from nowhere, piercing through the wall and embedding itself in his abdomen—a fatal wound. Instantly, the entire fire escape corridor was filled with splattered blood.
For an ordinary person, this sudden, unexpected blow would have been fatal, but at this moment, Merlink simply and calmly pulled out the steel bar, as if the wound did not exist, and he persevered only with the coldness in his eyes and the inspiration that burned within him.
The "raider" walked towards him.
He had been waiting on the other side of the wall, and apart from glancing at the sky outside at the beginning, he had been staring intently at Merlink, his eyes filled with a gloomy and twisted excitement, as if the destruction of this place could not stop him.
He licked his lips; his tongue was bright red, with gray and light gold fleshy spots growing on it, as if some strange, deformed creature was hiding inside his body.
In the depths of darkness, the monster, trapped among countless rotting corpses, spoke in a frenzied and extreme tone: "Hello, operative."
After he finished speaking, he suddenly laughed again, ignoring the chaos around him, and continued to the other person: "I'm sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to ask if you have ever seen... Red and Black?"
He took another step closer.
For some reason, Merlink felt a chill creep up from the soles of his feet. He swallowed back the answer he was about to give, then expressionlessly pulled out a few sheets of drawing paper and quickly considered each step of the plan in his mind.
The other person stopped and looked at the stylized screaming faces, depicted in extreme pain, as if the models had lost their will, their empty eye sockets staring at any guest who came to view the work, filled with pure despair.
“I also have a question for you,” Merlink asked expressionlessly.
What do you think of my drawing?
...
...
Carlos was certain he wouldn't live much longer; he'd always thought so, especially after using that one-time forbidden substance—except for Merlink, who sometimes spoke incredibly childishly, like a child who hadn't yet outgrown his fantasies about heroes.
But the fool was also very worried about his mental state, feeling that one day he would chase after his unyielding fantasy and never return, and in the end, he would not even have a complete corpse, but would all end up in someone else's stomach and never be found again.
He certainly thought that would be the case, but he still assured the other party that he would do everything in his power to survive, though obviously no one believed that nonsense.
Too many people have been dead for a long time.
Carlos kept his promise to them and did his best, but their distrust was also justified. He constantly caused trouble, was arrogant, and used elegant words all the time. His enemy was everyone's enemy, even the whole world.
So, he killed that group of people.
In a daze, he felt countless people surrounding him, some shouting that he had to live, that he was about to break his promise, and that if he was going to die, he should have died two years ago, why was he still alive?
Someone injected him with something—a potent medical drug that only Eoubs executives would use. He remembered it was the vomit of some forbidden substance, disgusting to the core, but incredibly effective—the kind that could snatch a person back from the jaws of death and deliver a few slaps.
Damn it... Don't fucking save me. That idiot hasn't been unbound yet. If he really dies, he can drag someone down with him. At least it's a C01. He'll make a killing.
But he couldn't say it; he was too weak.
After several splits and transitions, his hazy consciousness crumbled and was reshaped, eventually settling down. For a moment, Carlos could feel the hallucinatory sounds receding, and then other people emerged from the depths of the flames, surrounding him and staring at him.
He still couldn't open his eyes or move an inch, but he heard someone sigh, a sigh of helplessness and heartache.
"That's quite a hassle," the man said.
"Then what should we do? Let's eradicate it completely."
"We've lived inside the pages of this book for so long, and this little bastard won't even use it once, acting like we're still alive. It's hilarious."
Half asleep, Carlos felt someone touch him. Someone said sorry, and then their fingers dug deep into his hair roots, as if biting and sucking at them like sharp teeth.
A part of him felt fear, a sense of not belonging to him; that turbid substance frantically tried to hide, but could do nothing.
Then someone gathered his hair up. It was a woman's voice. She stared at the exposed nape of his neck and said in a tone of unbearable disgust, "It's disgusting. The side effects of that stuff are so bad. Look at the mess he looks in."
He finally couldn't hold on any longer and drifted off to sleep, feeling as if he were falling into a bottomless abyss.
At some point, Carlos suddenly felt a sharp pain, as if something was probing into his neck. In an instant, the darkness transformed into countless vibrant colors, with a dazzling brilliance capable of devouring the human body. Illusion and reality merged into a broth that would confuse the mind, with flesh and blood as its secondary ingredients, boiling endlessly.
He heard his own subconscious cry, which sounded unfamiliar, as if he were trying to hold onto something.
He tried to swallow his voice; it was so damn pathetic, like an unwanted orphan.
But the man simply stroked his hair and said soothingly, "Take care of yourself, little brat."
When Carlos woke up, he found himself no longer in the corridor.
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