Chapter 1: Wake Up, Time for Work
“Welcome to the login zone of the live-action horror game IN OFF.” “World map locked.” “Awaiting new players—”
It was December 31st, the very last day of the year.
A cold, robotic voice echoed across the globe, reaching every single corner of the Earth. For those hearing it a second time, pure terror painted their faces. But scattered among the terrified crowds were a few excited grins.
IN OFF, or simply “IF.” People online jokingly translated it as “Once You’re In, It’s Over.” But its official title was much darker: Die Another Hundred Million Times.
IF was the most talked-about live-action horror game in the world. Yet, almost no one had actually played it. The reason was simple: every single person chosen for the closed beta had suffered a total mental freeze, falling into a deep coma. To this day, not a single beta player had woken up.
Well, one player did wake up—briefly. He revealed that IF was harder than any horror game ever made. The beta players weren’t normal people; they were hardened criminals and violent maniacs with terrifying psychological endurance. Even with over ten thousand of them giving it their all, no one had made it past the beginner zone.
The awakened player shared a story of what he had witnessed inside.
There was once an author who built his career by stealing other people’s work. He used to brag, “You should feel honored I copied you. Without me, no one would even read your trash.” Inside the game, this thief met a version of himself that could turn back time. The time-traveler published all the thief’s work right before he could. The plagiarist had to watch helplessly as every masterpiece he claimed as his own was branded as a fake. It drove him completely insane. He locked himself in a dark room and shoved all his unpublished pages down his throat until he choked to death.
When the door was opened, four words were written on the wall in blood:
PLAGIARISTS MUST DIE!!!
The internet went wild over the news.
[Serves him right. Karma!]
[That’s exactly what should happen. Evil people should pay!]
[I have a theory. Is IF just using evil to punish evil?]
[If it’s a game of karma, as long as we don’t do anything bad, we won’t get dragged in, right?]
Speculation ran wild. Unfortunately, the awakened player slipped back into a coma after just three hours, leaving the world with no more answers.
While world governments tried to figure out what IF was, the game suddenly forced its website onto every screen on Earth. For such a sensational game, the website was incredibly plain. Below a giant title sat a single document: “Public Beta Registration Form for IN OFF.”
Three lines hovered at the top: “Dear players, are you tired of the same boring horror games and scripted AI?” “IN OFF features insane, unpredictable, real NPCs.” “Experience a brand-new world and a totally unique game.”
Of course it was unique! You died if you played!
People thought only an idiot with a death wish would sign up. But then they noticed something terrifying: the form didn’t ask for your name. It was for signing up someone else.
The system was practically begging people to take revenge. Who didn’t have someone they hated? But sending someone into a death game just because they annoyed you felt a little too evil.
At midnight, the new year began. The website flashed a new line of text: [Registration forms accepted: 0001857.]
Panic exploded. While people were hesitating, others were already submitting names. What if someone who hated you had already typed your name? The game only had a limited number of spots. If you waited too long, your enemy might strike first!
Within minutes, the world plunged into chaos.
“Go die, you jerk! Hahaha!” “Please, we’ve been friends for years, don’t put my name down! I don’t want to die!” “I hate so many people. Who should I send in first?”
People stared at the climbing numbers, praying the nightmare would end.
At 12:05 a.m., the counter froze at exactly 5,000,000. Five million people sentenced to a death game in just five minutes. Even then, millions of voices cried out in regret, cursing themselves for being too slow to add their enemies.
The robotic voice returned, dripping with sarcasm. “Registration forms accepted. Thank you for your enthusiastic cooperation. Processing forms. Please wait.”
The world seemed to pause. Less than a minute later, glowing points of light rained down from the sky. They flew across oceans and mountains, landing flawlessly in front of the selected targets. The lights faded, revealing glowing, transparent bracelets.
“Congratulations on joining the second group of IN OFF players. Please put on the bracelet within ten seconds and enter the game.”
“No—!” “Get away from me!” “Who the hell put my name down?!”
The selected players screamed and fought back. Most refused to wear the bracelet, hoping they could just wait out the clock and escape.
The system didn’t care. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…”
A few cracked under the pressure and put it on. Others ran, hid, or begged for mercy, but the bracelet floated right beside them like a shadow.
The system’s voice started echoing directly inside their minds.
“Five. Your name is…” “Four. Your family members are…” “Three. The person you care about most is…” “Two. Your darkest secret is…” “One. What you fear more than death is—”
The voice abruptly stopped. When it spoke again, it sounded incredibly smug. “All listed players have voluntarily logged in.”
Voluntarily, yeah right! the players thought. The moment the bracelets touched their skin, they fused to their wrists.
The system’s voice split into a male and female tone, whispering into both ears at once. “Game start. Dream start.”
A massive force yanked them into a blank, foggy wasteland. Millions of players stood on an endless plain. Since no one knew what was going on, they all stayed quiet, too scared to move.
Then, a voice echoed: “The sky falls.”
Crushing pressure slammed down from above. The players looked up in terror as the sky itself plummeted toward them, stopping just inches above their heads. If it dropped any lower, they would be completely crushed.
Three figures stepped out of the clouds.
On the left was a mangled zombie, stitched together with rough thread and controlled by a thick string on its neck. In the center sat a little girl on a massive, luxurious throne, holding a purple apple. On the right was a swirling mass of black fog.
“Hi, new players!” The girl smiled brightly, resting her chin on her hand. “We’re NPCs. You can use your bracelets to check our stats.”
The players scanned the zombie: [NPC (Red)] Puppet. Level: 50. They scanned the girl: [NPC (Red)] Apple. Level: ??? They scanned the black fog, but got an entire screen of question marks.
“Next, tell me your names,” Apple said cheerfully. “Be careful, you can only pick your ID once!”
People panicked. “What? I used my real name!” “Am I seriously going to have to beat the game with the ID ‘I Want to Die’?”
When Apple heard them talking about beating the game, she burst into laughter. The zombie puppet’s jaw clicked as it rasped, “Foolish humans. Who gave you the illusion that you’ve already entered the game?”
Apple wiped a tear from her eye. “Broken toys aren’t allowed in IF. Look down.”
The players looked down at their chests and froze. Right where their hearts should be was a perfect, bracelet-sized hole. Black, sludgy monsters were wriggling inside the holes, happily chewing on their bodies and smiling up at them.
Apple giggled at their pale faces. “Only players who are whole can enter the ‘Circle’. Right now, you’re outside it in the beginner zone. You have to clear instances to earn fragments of your heart back. The three of us are NPCs from inside the Circle. The beginner zone will collapse in seven days. I hope you make it inside quickly!”
A brave player swallowed hard. “Wh-what happens when it collapses?”
“Haven’t you seen the beta players?” Apple smiled.
Despair washed over the crowd. If the hardened criminals couldn’t beat the beginner zone, how could they?
Apple jumped onto her throne, her dress twirling. “Listen closely! The NPCs in IF aren’t made of data. We’re real. The rules of your instance depend entirely on whatever lunatic NPC is running it. High-ranking bosses can even control the world itself.”
Players started shouting. “That’s not fair! We can’t win! We protest!”
The zombie puppet raised a hand. Suddenly, the protesters’ heads were chopped off, their vision spinning as they hit the ground. Creepy figures in gray robes dragged their bodies away.
Thirty seconds later, the headless players respawned. But they were sobbing, clutching themselves in agony.
“Don’t say such mean things,” Apple pouted, faking sympathy. “The system is fair! It disabled all magic and weapons in the beginner zone. Plus, you have unlimited lives here!”
Unlimited lives didn’t sound great when you felt every ounce of the pain of dying. The survival rate of the beginner zone was obvious: Zero.
Creak—
Su Qiong pushed open his coffin lid and sat up. He tilted his round, marshmallow-like head toward the sky.
If the NPCs were so powerful, when would they realize a fake NPC had snuck into the game?
Su Qiong was just three lines of rushed code. He had no skills and no level. He should have been deleted the second the game started. But when he heard Apple say NPCs ran the game, he realized no one here knew how to read backend code.
He looked down at his body. He was basically a puffy, white marshmallow wrapped in cloth. He weighed exactly twenty-one grams and had zero stuffing inside. He glared at Apple’s shiny purple apple, which had more detail than his entire body. At least the black fog NPC was just as ugly as he was.
Sighing, Su Qiong lay back down and decided to close his coffin. I’m too ugly for this world.
Before the lid could shut, a tiny bat with hooked wings wedged itself inside. It was a system avatar.
“Wake up. Time for work,” the bat ordered in a robotic voice. “You are a beginner zone NPC. You need to finish tasks and earn KPI.”
KPI? Su Qiong knew what that was. It was a human boss’s way of tricking employees into working hard. But he was just three lines of code. Why would he care?
“High-ranking NPCs can do whatever they want!” the bat promised.
Su Qiong spoke directly to the bat’s mind using brain waves. “Can I hire a programmer to fix my code?”
“…” The bat was silent.
Su Qiong patted his soft belly. “Can you at least type ‘abs’ into my code?”
“…” The bat was silent again.
Disappointed, Su Qiong slowly tried to close the coffin again.
“Wait!” the bat panicked. It quickly dropped a mimicry cloak on him. It was a cheap item, but the stingy system hated giving things away.
Su Qiong put it on, thinking it was ugly compared to Apple’s diamond dress. He was so jealous he could cry. But at least he got something out of it, so he finally crawled out of the coffin.
He was in a triangular room with three massive trees at the corners. The trees were covered in squirming white fruit that sprouted tiny tentacles.
A screen popped up in the air: [NPC Su Qiong, please select your initial alignment: Red or White.]
“What does that mean?” he asked.
The bat puffed out its chest. “I refuse to answer a lazy NPC.”
“Oh.” Su Qiong stepped back into his coffin.
“Stop! I’ll tell you!” the bat shrieked. “White-name NPCs help players. Red-name NPCs kill players and protect the game. Red is way better! High-ranking bosses are all red-names!”
Before the bat even finished, Su Qiong tapped “White.”
“Are you deaf?!” the bat screamed. “Red gets more points!”
“I don’t have ears, so technically yes,” Su Qiong replied calmly. “I know Red gets more points. But I don’t need them.”
He lifted his cloak. “The world of code is very simple. Three lines of code cannot do the work of twenty lines. I will only do exactly as much work as you give me.”
The bat was speechless. This NPC was rejecting workplace exploitation.
“Fine,” the bat grumbled, jabbing the screen. “Go to the first instance and help the players. The theme is the most incurable terminal illness in the human world. Its name is the same as yours—Poverty.”
On the screen, the players looked completely insulted and horrified by the theme.
Meanwhile, Su Qiong—a literal string of code who had absolutely no concept of money—was just as confused.
Poverty? he thought. Isn’t this supposed to be a horror game? What’s so scary about that?
