Doomsday Wonderland Chapter 1537: Lin Sanjiu’s Perspective

Chapter 1537: Lin Sanjiu’s Perspective

Even after hearing that Marcie’s fighting abilities had increased, even knowing that Advaita’s situation was bleak when she was leaving, Lin Sanjiu still had to take a deep breath to suppress her initial urge to rush out and protect her friend. The current Marcie seemed like she no longer needed her protection. Besides, even if she met Advaita, it would probably be a matter of a long time ago.

The real issue now was that whether Marcie had found Advaita or not, her journey to find Lin Sanjiu had been interrupted here. If she hadn’t found Advaita, there was no need to say; if she had found her, even if she could force Advaita to wear that hood, Marcie still couldn’t find Lin Sanjiu—because everyone Lin Sanjiu interacted with had turned into text, pulled into the new game’s release.

“It seems that I can only get my message out,” she said with a sigh, half speaking to herself. Lily and Horst did not respond, occasionally glancing at the camera before quickly s.h.i. fting their gaze, as if they were burned.

Projecting their images might not be hard, as she suddenly remembered the mirror from Wan Qingge that could reflect memories, still in her possession—but how to turn this projected image into text, write it on paper, and then prop it up between heaven and earth, that was a long string of operational uncertainties?

If only she had kept one of the game makers. Anyone would do, like Short Bangs, who spent more than half a year developing a game. He must be very familiar with all operations.

Hmm?

Lin Sanjiu was immersed in thought, when suddenly her thinking paused, and she straightened up.

She slapped her forehead, murmuring, “I’m so stupid. How could I be so stupid?”

Lily and Horst looked at the camera again, and the girl asked first, “What’s wrong?”

She thought for a long time, about setting rewards, about making projections, all of which were complicated and unnecessary. Why not use Short Bangs’ method? He created so many radios on the farm and got his voice out—she could do that too!

Of course, she needed to use loudspeakers with as large a volume as possible and spread them as wide as possible. If every city and mountain echoed with her voice, Marcie and Silvan would surely hear it.

Deciding to do it, Lin Sanjiu immediately opened a new doc.u.ment, preparing to write out the loudspeakers projecting on the ground. The operating principle sounded simple, but when she tried to put the idea into words, she inevitably encountered many small obstacles and unexpected difficulties; she explored the technique of creating the game, writing “loudspeakers” and the words she wanted to broadcast, busy for a while, without noticing Lily’s movement at the other end.

“Horst has pa.s.sed out,” Lily said softly after who knows how long. “He can’t hold on any longer.”

“How are his vital signs?” Lin Sanjiu asked, pausing. She couldn’t free her hands to deal with Horst’s problem now. If he had fainted from weakness and exhaustion, he could wait a little longer—after all, every second she delayed might affect Marcie.

“I can’t reach over the railing,” Lily said, her voice sounding numb. “But… I can hardly see his chest rising and falling. I think his injuries must be getting too much for him.”

d.a.m.n it. Lin Sanjiu suppressed her anxiety for a moment, pushed the doc.u.ment with the loudspeakers to the side of the screen, and returned to the operating interface Nüwa had made for her. “I’ll figure something out for him now,” she said hurriedly.

Lily nodded, was silent for a while, then said, “If he dies, please delete my text too.” She wiped her face. “Thank you for trying to save me. Sorry for wasting your effort.”

She and Horst had known each other for only about ten minutes, so naturally, they couldn’t talk about deep feelings. Lin Sanjiu was taken aback, looked at her for a while, and gradually seemed to understand. Horst, trapped here without legs, still had a glimmer of hope, but if that hope was gone, he had his end—but Lily had neither hope nor relief.

“I’ll find a way for you,” Lin Sanjiu said quietly. She knew that her words were weak and pale; the process of being turned into text was irreversible, and since Lily was destined not to be able to turn back into a human, she only had two paths: eternal imprisonment or deletion of text. Perhaps what she could do was find Lily a picturesque place where she could see posthumans coming and going in the distance.

Lily didn’t speak, just sat down along the railing, staring straight at the camera.

“I might not know you well,” Lily said, unblinking as Lin Sanjiu searched through the historical game list. “But… the you now and the you back in the Mall Warfare game seem a little different.”

“What’s wrong?” Lin Sanjiu answered casually—she was now looking at the history before the second room was deleted.

“Specifically… I can’t really say,” Lily said softly, her head down. “For example, don’t you feel that the way you look at us now… is a bit strange?”

Lin Sanjiu thought for a moment and switched the camera angle. She wrote a new camera behind Horst, just able to see over the iron gate, from their perspective, where the initial camera was.

Under a grey, bleak sky filled with low clouds, a film crew of more than a dozen people stood motionless in front; a collection of silent, dark lenses held in human hands, all aimed at Lily and Horst, mute and soundless.

On the grey and broken ground, not even a bird could be seen for a long time; only the dry, raspy wind occasionally brushed the surface, stirring the crew’s hair and clothing corners but not a sound from them.

Everyone was staring at the two, their faces frozen as if a group of puppets was waiting to see the performance of living beings. The cameras were at different angles, some hanging on booms, some being held. Since Lin Sanjiu directly used a whole film crew, there were even unlit lights and disconnected microphones.

“I… I did it for convenience,” Lin Sanjiu said, her voice trembling for a reason she didn’t quite understand. “I didn’t think that much.”

Lily still hung her head, not responding.

“I’ll remove them now,” she said hoa.r.s.ely, wiping her face. Her brief meeting with Nüwa had a profound effect, spreading like a wave within her, making her feel somewhat unfamiliar with herself.

Removing the film crew and adding a few cameras was not too troublesome, though the clarity and completeness of the view naturally could not compare to before. Without a game, she could only see through cameras and hear through intercoms, and it couldn’t be helped.

As the director was deleted after his colleagues, a low building and the overgrown path between buildings were revealed. From the distant path, a figure gradually appeared, walking unsteadily, the wind whipping up dust and swaying the wild gra.s.s and dirty, broken curtains, making the person’s red hair flutter wildly.

That’s right, the next person who had contact with her was standing right here, wasn’t she?

Lin Sanjiu stared at the red hair, lost in thought.