Chapter 150 Subway Surfers 1: The Wrong Choice
Without any external interference, your room was quickly repaired.
After this incident, Susan and the others no longer showed you excessive attention or subtle controlling tendencies. At least for you personally, your relationship with them finally returned to the level of being above landlord and below family.
Two days later, Susan invited you to go on a vacation to relax, but you declined. They didn't insist, and just like that, you had the right to have all the space to yourself.
Cool!
It's summer vacation, no classes, no socializing, so you bought an electric scooter online. Even going to the supermarket a few kilometers away to buy groceries is much more convenient.
You're prepared to just lie there until you leave this instance.
You're dreaming.
Another week has passed in the blink of an eye, this morning.
The curtains weren't fully drawn, and the Los Angeles sunlight streamed in through the cracks, falling softly on your bare arms.
After a few peaceful days, your current sleep schedule is incredibly healthy. As soon as the temperature rises in the morning, you wake up with a bang, full of energy.
Your phone keeps vibrating; you've received several new emails.
From Los Angeles City Hall.
You widened your eyes, rolled over in bed, and read it carefully once, then again.
Sender: Los Angeles - Archives Management Office
Subject: Urgent Notice - Need to Resolve Identity Freeze Issue
According to information from the federal investigation's end-of-period update, we have discovered that your state-level identity file remains frozen. To restore your access to normal public services, please bring your passport and proof of current valid address to the Los Angeles City Hall, B1 File Window, no later than 12:00 noon today to complete the verification process. Failure to do so by this deadline will result in the file remaining frozen indefinitely.
…
What does Fobol do?
After what happened in the jungle, you were tried, sent to a mental hospital, and even took an international flight back here for a whole week. How come there are still these kinds of troubles waiting for you?
Anbo and the others are secretly watching you from some hidden corner. You really wish you could stand in the yard and shout her name a few times to get her to come out and then let them coordinate the administrative handling of these matters.
Sigh, whatever. I knew it was just another instance of the instance trying to make things difficult for you. Otherwise, why would it be so "urgent" that you had to arrive today immediately?
Since it's an invitation from a dungeon, you can only go to the arena.
However, you still had a hunch: what if it's a scam?
You log into the municipal services system with a glimmer of hope, entering your passport information and other details... Okay. You can't see your medical records, and after refreshing the page several times, the system just keeps telling you: "Identity verification error, please go to the municipal office."
You rolled over, covered your eyes with your hands, and said in a strong but calm voice, "Fuck."
After all, you're not really resentful; the dungeons have already tormented you enough. The good thing is, your mental resilience far exceeds that of the average office worker.
It's 7 a.m. now, still a while before the agreed time. I'll pack my things first, then call a car to the city center. Luckily, I'll make it in time.
You think to yourself, "It's just going to the government to complete some procedures, what kind of scenario could it possibly trigger?"
No matter how distorted it becomes, the story still conforms to the logic of reality to a certain extent—not only in its overall structure, but also in terms of interpersonal relationships, as you believe after Susan's family dinner party. Therefore, all the "traps" should be set up around the incident of the professor's classmates being wiped out, and then they should try to make things difficult to erase your student status.
Maybe smile more at the clerk? Talk more small talk to get closer? Play the victim? Yes, since entering the US, I've had quite a few unfortunate things happen. No matter what you say, you're definitely a victim and a "weakling." Even if government officials pretend, they can't bully you anymore.
Hmm, I think I'll post another social media update, praising the United States and the Los Angeles government system.
You've been planning this with great enthusiasm, and you've already checked all the necessary documents five times. Once you're sure nothing's been forgotten, it's time to set off.
You open Uber. As soon as the interface opens, a lot of discount coupon ads pop up. "Wow, this is great!" you think, and happily start buying memberships and sharing them, having a great time.
result.
You've determined your starting point, entered your destination, and are now watching the waiting page start refreshing.
Five minutes have passed—
10 minutes, 20 minutes.
You quit and reopen the app, feeling a bit frustrated.
When I tried to hail a ride again, a message finally popped up on the screen: "No driver is currently accepting your order. Please try again later."
How could that be? You thought it was better to arrive early than late, so you packed your bag, ate your breakfast, and started trying to hail a taxi. It's only around eight o'clock now, neither the morning rush hour nor the afternoon rush hour, and it's not a time when no taxis are running. How could you not be able to get a taxi?
You've already selected all types of vehicles.
How about we try raising the price?
But after searching through every corner of Uber, you still can't find where to increase the price, so you have no choice but to open the little green book as usual and search: "What to do if I can't get an Uber ride?"
You're looking for travel guides, but you end up with a bunch of posts complaining about Uber's rating system.
Not only can passengers rate drivers, but drivers can also rate passengers.
You paused for a moment, then went to your Uber profile to check your rating. Your pupils contracted slightly.
Your passenger rating is 2.2, which is far below the normal level.
"What the hell?" Now you're truly speechless.
But if you click into the order history... you'll find that with such a rating, it really is worth it.
You gave almost every driver the lowest score. If the driver was an immigrant, you would say that their English was poor and they were completely uncommunicative; if the driver was a native-born citizen, the evaluation would become "you were being racially discriminated against."
You...you don't know what to say.
From Susan's words, you become aware of this identity—here, you learn more and more about her, and you realize with absolute clarity that she is another person, and someone you would never like, so you feel a bit uncomfortable continuing to call her "you"—she has a strong desire to perform in daily life.
Having lived alone and dependent on others since her teenage years, she clearly had a more privileged family background than most children in Korea, yet she knew exactly how to please her host parents to gain their affection.
Because of the existence of that "girlfriend" you couldn't stand, you initially saw her as a pitiful little thing lacking self-awareness and agency. Now, looking back, her image in your mind gradually overlaps with some classic Miluoko "bullies."
Such a person would probably be an arrogant little tyrant in the country, but at a young age, he suddenly lost all his advantages in a foreign land.
In fragile family relationships lacking blood ties, they have to play the role of the ideal child to obtain more love. In intimate relationships, they also have to play the role of the weaker party to obtain pleasure and prove a certain traditional self-worth. However, the repressed desire for control and the need for "dominance" are naturally vented on the person with lower power.
Ugh. Annoying. Why do I always get this kind of status?
You can't help but think back to the previous instance, where your identity as a shady reseller brought you a series of troubles.
…The strong don't bully the weak; bullies are inherently weaklings. But thankfully, "thankfully"! You even went to see Fopouler, so there shouldn't be any more difficult problems behind this identity…
Um…
The phone screen reflected your lifeless eyes and the unconscious crooked corner of your mouth. You were completely dazed.
You laughed. That's unbelievable. What kind of mess is this?
It was already 8:27. You had to get to City Hall before noon, and even though Californians are known for dawdling, the government system wouldn't give you a single extra minute.
You stare at your phone screen, making one last attempt to place an order. It fails.
“Okay,” you muttered to yourself, “then let’s take the subway.”
What else can we do?
You should also be grateful that this isn't a truly luxurious residential area far from the city center, but rather an affluent suburb. Here, at least you can ride an electric scooter to the subway station.
subway…
You really don't want to take the subway.
First, it's a familiar story: it's easy to get caught up in strange situations in crowded public places. Second, even if it's not a movie, the US subway is terrifying.
Susan, please come back soon, or let me take you on vacation… You are in tears.
Despite your complaints, you've already sped off to the nearest subway station.
Fold up your scooter, attach it to your backpack, and go inside.
The platform was unusually quiet.
It's different from what you expected—maybe it's because it's too close to an affluent area and doesn't have many passengers? You don't know.
In short, looking around, apart from a girl wearing sunglasses, holding a dog, and dressed in sportswear who looked quite refreshing sitting by the ticket machine playing on her phone, the entire passage was empty.
It seems alright.
I bought a ticket, swiped my card to enter the station, and the card slot creaked. The turnstile was an old machine from who-knows-when, and it took a long time to barely open a crack.
You took a step forward and looked back—the gate display screen went black for a second, then returned to normal and lit up green.
You squinted, feeling that the equipment here was a bit... too much, with a sense that it was about to break down.
There was no one around the tracks either.
Thinking about those horrific news reports of crazy people shoving each other in subway stations, you cautiously found a safe spot to stand against the wall.
The train arrived quickly, even faster than you expected. You'd barely gotten your footing when it pulled into the station.
A wave of heat wafted out when the door opened, mixed with the smell of air conditioning exhaust and the rusty smell unique to the old subway.
You went inside and chose a seat near the door, so you could observe and escape at any time.
Just like on the platform, you are the only passenger in the entire carriage.
You didn't put down your backpack, even though it was digging into your back and making you uncomfortable. Your eyes swept around the room.
There was no dirt or any strange marks. As for the environment... it was just too old, nothing else.
The smell was just a bit unpleasant—like a mixture of detergent, dampness from the air conditioning ducts, and food that had been simmering under a lid, plus a slight smell of burnt plastic.
You cough lightly a few times, trying to get used to the smells.
Just because there are no passengers now doesn't mean there won't be any later. You don't want to look like a conceited fool.
Lean back in your seat and relax, listening to the soft clattering sounds in the carriage.
Da da da.
You suddenly shivered.
It seems... it seems like someone is tapping on the tracks section by section, like tapping on the spine.
Not good.
But you are always on guard.
The first few stops were normal. The scenery outside the window showed that the train was passing through some semi-abandoned areas. Sometimes weeds could be seen growing out of the edge of the tracks, or a lone scrapped vehicle stuck by the fence.
You check your phone every now and then—8:43 AM, just a few stops from City Hall, you'll make it.
After entering the city center, the number of passengers gradually increased.
You notice that many people go straight to the corner of the carriage to sit down as soon as they get on the train. Some are dragging large bags of luggage, while others are leaning against the pillars because they can't even stand up straight.
You are not the only Asian here; in fact, the diverse ethnicities in the carriage are enough to make anyone a “minority.”
You're probably not even the only outsider. You don't know about the other ethnicities, but two students with East Asian features in school uniforms got on the bus, headphones hanging around their necks, staring blankly out the window—they might even be newbies.
One of them shielded the other behind her, and although the other seemed very uncomfortable, you could see that she was also tightly clutching some kind of sharp weapon in her hand.
You are somewhat moved and are hesitating whether to wave to them—they might just mistake you for something terrifying.
Let's wait and see. Lower your eyelashes.
Three more stops and you'll arrive; there's still plenty of time.
But... you don't doubt your intuition, you do always feel like something's not quite right.
All the seats in the carriages were occupied, one carriage after another, the sausage-like structure filled with passengers who looked like meat chunks.
It's so quiet.
I suppose the subway in the US isn't like the subway in Japan where making noise is prohibited. But you really only feel the vibrations of the train clattering along the tracks.
…odor.
It wasn't a single stench, but a mixture of many layers of putrid smells on top of the original odor of the carriage: the smell of sweat, dirty shoe soles, damp bedding, and grime from an uncleaned chamber pot, plus a very subtle, almost lingering, bloody smell like the smell of an animal carcass left after years of decay.
You subconsciously moved closer to the door.
Just as you look up, you see a man in the row of seats opposite you staring at you without moving.
He was wearing a faded work jacket, his face was ashen, and his hair was completely colorless, dry and frizzy, stuck on his head.
He had no expression, his eyes rolled slightly upwards, and his pupils shone with a gray light, as if under a flash.
You quickly look away, pretending you didn't see anything.
Out of the corner of your eye, you realize—he seems to still be staring at you.
Is he trying to do something to you that he's staring at you so intently, or is he just a local lunatic?
You had Anbo help you get the most powerful stun gun within the bounds of the law, so you won't be afraid of it unless it's something that's going to mutate.
Grip the stun gun in your pocket tightly, and place your other hand lightly on your knee, your muscles tense.
It wasn't just this one person. From the moment we entered the city center, most of the people who got on the bus seemed to be in a bad state.
You don't want to be a double standard person, and you never judge others by their clothes or appearance, but there are really some people whose hair, clothes, walking posture, and sinister eyes... just look at them, and they'll give you a malicious gesture that you can't understand.
After you nonchalantly turned your face away, they didn't attack you.
There was another woman with heavy makeup on, half-finished, and carrying a huge shopping bag.
She was much stronger than the skinny thugs in front of her, and she stood there in the middle of the carriage, refusing to sit down, staring at the other carriage.
Nearby passengers all consciously gave way.
And that old lady, that little boy… you didn’t even bother to look up and examine them properly, you just glanced at them and identified all these strange people.
Who are they? What do they want? What are they capable of doing?
Are you overly stressed?
Since you have weapons, you're not afraid of anyone.
You choose to avoid looking at others as much as possible. You vaguely understand that on this vehicle, you are not the hunter, and you don't need to be the hunter who takes the initiative.
Just two more stops, the station announcement will sound, and then you'll follow the flow of people out; turn left, then right, spray some air freshener on yourself, wipe the fine sweat from your face with a wet wipe, and you can walk into the city hall looking refreshed and presentable.
So you look away, down at your phone, the screen reflecting your tense face.
"A few more stops," you silently repeat to yourself, "whoever comes over, I'll give them a good whack."
You've seen a lot of reports about the US subway online.
You remember those scenes—homeless people casually taking off their shoes and clipping their nails on train seats, gentlemen urinating in the corners of the subway without a care in the world, mentally ill people screaming and arguing with people who weren't even there, and a male criminal setting a complete stranger on fire without warning—just like that, in full view of everyone, without warning, completely burning her coat and skin until she collapsed to her knees.
You remember in the video, no one helped her; even the firefighters were just helpless, separated by glass.
No one dared to move.
Back then, you sat behind your phone screen, able to criticize and be angry. But now you're in this carriage, sitting among these people, smelling this nauseating stench, feeling the breath, gazes, restraint, repression, and unspoken violence of those around you—
You're too tense, and you can't seem to relax.
The instance maliciously chose this particular time, forcing you to obediently use only this one mode of transportation; something is bound to happen here.
Even a moment's lapse in vigilance could turn you into the "victim" in the news.
Who is it? Who would dare to be so blind as to provoke you?
—Bang!
A loud bang.
What is it? Your body jolted, and you almost jumped out of your seat.
Bang!
Two more deafening sounds followed, like something being crushed on the tracks—or like a metal car being violently smashed.
Swish... hiss...
What's leaking air?
—The entire subway car lost power.
One by one, the lights on the ceiling went out, emitting a faint, high-frequency discharge sound, as if the light was being slowly drawn away. You felt a moment of stillness, and then: the subway stopped.
Have you ever played bowling? A skilled bowler can knock down all the pins in one go, while a less skilled bowler can still knock down some pins by the vibrations caused by the ball rolling over the track.
All the people standing in the carriage were like wooden bottles that had been knocked down with a single blow by a skilled person; among the seated people, some were unlucky enough to be overturned to the ground as well.
You were sitting steadily, but the head that hit the back of the chair in front of you still made you dizzy for a while.
My head suddenly went blank.
What was it? An explosion? An earthquake? An attack? Terrorists?
Someone started crying. Not quiet sobs, but a scream that came from being torn apart by overwhelming terror: "Aaaaaaah!!!"
It was the voice of the woman whose makeup had been partially removed; she was screaming with all her might, as if she had seen something you hadn't yet.
Your heart skips a beat, you clutch your head with one hand, and half your body is already about to leave your seat: It's just a system malfunction, right? Just a power outage! As long as someone calls the police, everything will be fine, right?
You can call the police!
Bang!
Just as you were dazed and fumbled for your phone, the man directly opposite you—who had been staring at you the whole time—suddenly lunged toward the car window!
Your side window!
He didn't stumble in; instead, like a mad dog, he charged forward on all fours, pounding on the windowpane with both hands, his nose pressed against the glass, roaring maniacally, "It's all a conspiracy!!!"
His voice boomed in the darkness, hoarse and filled with spittle and phlegm, stinking and acrid. He pounded on the window, punch after punch, his fingers quickly breaking and blood splattering onto the glass.
You jumped up and dashed out, dodging to the other side like lightning.
At this critical juncture, you're actually afraid he has some kind of infectious disease!
He was still shouting: "They're going to kill us all here!! They're all going to die!!"
Who are "them"?
Before you can even react, more people are starting to echo his sentiments.
"Yes! Open the door!!"
"Do you think we don't know? You've all been marked!"
"Human rights! Human rights!"
These wooden bottles rushed towards the doors and windows, and together they began to smash the internal structure of the subway.
Some people kicked the glass with their shoes, some tore down advertising light boxes and smashed handrails with iron pipes, and others frantically pressed the light switches on the ceiling, screaming: "Where are you hiding? You want to burn us alive! We have no money, and you're going to drive us all away!"
That's insane.
You desperately moved towards the back of the carriage, trying to escape the chaos of the crowd.
You spotted the two little girls immediately. They were terrified. You shouted at them, "Don't just stand there! Something's wrong here. Stand up, protect yourselves, be quick, and adapt to the situation!"
They looked at you in surprise and panic, and just as they were about to say something, you finally regained your footing, but a chill ran down your spine.
Because you felt a strong airflow.
It wasn't the wind—it was the cold, upward-pulling air pressure difference.
boom!
A loud bang shook the entire carriage! You saw the door of the opposite carriage suddenly bulge, as if some huge structure had been torn apart.
The next second, the floor shook violently!
The entire subway car beneath your feet suddenly lurched!
A sharp pain shot through your eardrums; you felt a brief moment of weightlessness, then were pulled up by the weight of the seat.
You're going up?!
No—you subconsciously look out the window and notice that the darkness by the window has suddenly moved upwards!
You realize—it's not you who's rising, it's the entire subway train that's falling!
The sounds of breaking rails, tearing supports, and crackling high-voltage currents in the distance blended together like a symphony of the apocalypse.
The air blasted past your ears, your hair was whipped around, and your eardrums were filled with the sound of wind pressure drilling into your bones. You clung desperately to the handrail, barely managing to avoid being thrown off!
The whole world seems to be upside down, and gravity is pulling you down like crazy!
You see someone get flung around and hit the ceiling, then land with their head tilted to the side and they're motionless.
We have to grab onto something; we can't, we can't get hit and killed!
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Author's Note: By the way, don't ride electric scooters or any of these small modes of transportation too fast. My scooter once flew 3 meters, and I lost my memory from the fall. (((
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