Chapter 1601: Fighting with a Story
‘Wait, wait, I’m a little confused—’
Lin Sanjiu jerked awake, feeling as if she’d been suddenly slapped out of a long dream. She was montarily alard but realized she was still hovering over Wu Yiliu.
What was going on?
What did “Abby” an?
Could it be that she, like the person who had taken over Abby’s body, had also taken over Wu Yiliu’s body?
No, that was not right… The person across from her clearly had absolute control over Abby’s body, and Abby’s own will had disappeared from her body.
But Lin Sanjiu knew that she had no control over Wu Yiliu. She was like a wisp of ghost, clinging to his shoulder, experiencing the present with him. He could say and do anything, and she could only watch. How could this be called “possession”?
Her confusion didn’t last long. When Wu Yiliu began to speak, her thoughts once again beca entranced, as if she had beco Wu Yiliu himself.
“I understand,” he said, nodding. “So, the four of us were tricked into being guinea pigs. What exactly is the pocket dinsion you entered?”
“Abby” seed quite patient with him, replying, “This pocket dinsion is called ‘Driver.’ We four players read a detailed introduction before starting. There’s no harm in telling you… After we entered the pocket dinsion, we lay down on lounge chairs, and our ‘souls’ stood up from our bodies.
“The playing field provided by the pocket dinsion this ti is this cabin. Perhaps next ti the location will be closer; this one is too remote. If we didn’t seek people out, I’m afraid no one would co all year. And the people who appear in the cabin are our targets to fight over.
“We were given the ability to ‘brainwash’ by the pocket dinsion. If a player brainwashes the target successfully, that target becos their ‘vehicle.’ For example, Abby no longer exists after my brainwas.h.i. ng, but I can drive her body around. When I’m not driving her, she’s like a car that hasn’t started, a vegetable.”
While Wu Yiliu was silent, “Abby” continued, “The pocket dinsion gave us a list of items, and we each chose sothing. When the target touches our designated item for a certain duration, the brainwas.h.i. ng is successful. To make the target touch the item, we have to whisper in their ears, guiding them to pick up the object—this is part of the brainwas.h.i. ng process.”
Wu Yiliu felt colder and colder, not knowing if it was because of the pouring rain or her words.
Was soone always crouching next to him when he rested on the sofa? Were Pence and Abby unaware of an extra face on their shoulders when they sat down to adjust the television? Did the four of them eat, drink, and sleep in the house, with another four watching and wanting to enter their bodies, without noticing?
No, not entirely without noticing.
“The human head shadow I saw, and the hand that Pence found…” he mumbled. “Could they be parts of you?”
“It is a pocket dinsion, after all,” the person controlling Abby said with a laugh. “There has to be so balance. Although you are just our targets, guinea pigs, the pocket dinsion still set a few hints for you. For example, you generally can’t see us as ‘souls.’ Only occasionally, at certain monts, can you see a small part of our figures.”
Wu Yiliu slowly nodded.
The situation was clear: the location where this pocket dinsion appeared was right inside the base of so organization – specifically which organization, the four of them were never explicitly told. The four people trapped in this pocket dinsion were likely all mbers of the sa organization; after understanding the content of the pocket dinsion, they realized that they had no need to compete with each other at all.
They just needed to trick four people into becoming targets.
“What will happen to the people you… drive after the pocket dinsion ends?” Wu Yiliu asked, looking at Abby. He didn’t know when exactly Abby had been successfully brainwashed, but he figured it hadn’t been long – he still rembered Abby herself, her sense of safety that seed greater than the average posthuman’s, her ease in trusting people, and a smile that seed to always linger behind her lips, ready to erge at any mont.
“They beco completely mine, of course,” the person controlling Abby answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Do you even need to ask?”
Right.
In the Twelve Worlds Centrum, those disguised objects, like masks or human suits, were things that needed to be worn on oneself, always running the risk of being detected.
Possession, on the other hand, was different. One consciousness could have multiple bodies, and each body would be the absolute “self” – without any concern of detection. And that was just the most superficial benefit; having an extra body could indeed be greatly advantageous.
No wonder they were tempted.
“We didn’t know if the targets entering the activity area would realize the truth or not, so we specially found four pocket dinsion reconnoiters. If even you fell for it, then ordinary posthumans would have no hope at all,” Abby said, shaking her head. “Fortunately, they didn’t notice anything was wrong; only you were sowhat special.”
“The fact that you’re willing to tell all the details,” Wu Yiliu said, trying to steady his voice, “Do you believe I no longer have a chance to reveal this information to the outside world?”
“Abby” looked at him, her smile freezing on her face, as if silently confirming.
Her confidence stemd from another player having quietly followed them, right?
“You asked why, even though I knew sothing was wrong with Abby, I still told you such a long story,” Wu Yiliu said.
He felt a chill in his neck and back but resisted the urge to look behind him. “First, because when I’m fully imrsed in the past, I can temporarily block out most external distractions, even if soone is whispering in my ear all the while. I wouldn’t hear it. It’s like the fake pocket dinsion in my first world; if you don’t look at the content on the screen, you can be temporarily unaffected.”
“Abby” said nothing.
“Second, you have it wrong.”
From the mont he began recounting his past experiences, Wu Yiliu never took his eyes off Abby. He watched her every blink, every turn of her head, every smile, and the way she looked when she spoke, morizing it all with a surgeon’s cool precision.
“My story wasn’t ant for you. I was telling it to Abby. It’s my way of helping her fight your infection—no, your brainwas.h.i. ng.”
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