Depressed Chapter 2

The lobby was brightly lit, the lights a ghastly white, perfectly matching the atmosphere of a hospital horror film.

Shen Lian stopped crying and began to cautiously observe the people in the lobby.

Including himself, there were twelve people in total.

The burly man holding a fire axe radiated aggression; no one dared approach him.

A woman in business attire sat on a chair—Shen Lian noticed she was barefoot, likely having taken off her high heels.

Near the elevator stood a young man with a flashy haircut, the type popular with the “Mourning Love” crowd. His gaze inadvertently swept over the businesswoman. Clearly, his nerves were strong—he still had the presence of mind for desire, even now.

Two female students stood in another corner, wiping away tears. Shen Lian recognized their uniforms; they attended a nearby high school.

As for the young man in a white coat and gold-rimmed glasses, he toyed with a scalpel, looking inexplicably like a refined scoundrel.

Shen Lian wanted to keep observing, but just then, a man burst in.

He looked wretched—his expensive suit was soaked in blood, his hair disheveled, his face pale as if he’d just survived a fright.

Shen Lian glanced down at his watch. 9:59 p.m.

This was the last survivor.

The second hand completed its circuit. Ten o’clock sharp.

Suddenly, a voice echoed through the lobby: “Dear players, welcome to the horror game.”

The tone rose and fell, its gender indiscernible, like someone reciting a prose poem—annoyingly pretentious.

“Congratulations on overcoming a few minor obstacles and arriving at the beautiful Beginner’s Village.”

The word “beautiful” instantly ignited Shen Lian’s urge to mock.

“Now, the novice mission begins.”

“Expected players: 40. Actual players: 12.”

With the newcomer, there were now thirteen people in the lobby.

Shen Lian realized something.

“There is a ghost among you. Please ensure you are not killed by it before five a.m.”

The man with the fire axe cursed.

The two high school girls, who had been holding hands, instinctively let go, then guiltily clasped hands again.

Shen Lian lowered his head, the corner of his mouth curling up.

Ah, friendship.

The group began to eye each other warily, suspicion mounting.

“Wish you all an enjoyable game.”

When Shen Lian opened his eyes again, he found himself in a consultation room.

He knew this place all too well.

Outpatient Department, second floor, Psychiatry Section Three.

So, everyone had been separated?

Perhaps he should think this through.

There was a ghost among them.

Judas was the thirteenth; he thought of the thirteenth person who had rushed in at the last moment—the man in the suit.

Could it be him?

Would it really be as obvious as the thirteenth in sequence?

Shen Lian couldn’t be sure.

A “ghost” wouldn’t just stand there waiting to be killed.

But Shen Lian was certain that person would incite and kill.

If Shen Lian had overwhelming combat ability, he would have concluded: “So what if there’s a ghost? I’ll just kill the other twelve and be done with it.”

Unfortunately, he was utterly useless in a fight.

He couldn’t stay in this consultation room for long; he had to move elsewhere.

He thought of the monitoring room on the fifth floor and the morgue on basement level two.

The monitoring room was a strategic location—others might think of it too, and he wasn’t strong, especially with an injured arm and leg.

As for the morgue, who in their right mind would think of going there in this kind of atmosphere and environment?

And as for whether something abnormal might happen in the morgue, Shen Lian judged the odds at less than ten percent.

After all, this was “Beginner’s Village.” The mission was a test of human nature, an internal struggle.

“So what if there’s something abnormal? Am I still afraid of death?”

What joy is there in life, what fear in death? For someone like him, what was there to fear?

He opened the desk drawer, skillfully retrieving a length of wire.

His attending physician was an old rascal, famed for being able to unlock every door in the hospital with a single wire. Shen Lian had picked up a few tricks from him.

Then he suddenly remembered: next to the morgue was the legendary saw room.

Maybe he could get his hands on a chainsaw.

The kind used to cut up corpses.

His head hurt now, but his mind was growing feverishly excited.

He opened the door a crack—luck was on his side; no one was outside.

The internal staircase was at the end of the corridor.

He tiptoed over and picked the lock with the wire.

Shen Lian thanked himself for treating the hospital like his own home.

He continued quietly down the stairs.

First floor.

Basement one.

Basement two.

Shen Lian seemed to catch a whiff of formaldehyde.

With all his strength, he hurled the hammer at the surveillance camera.

Missed.

Once more.

The moment the hammer left his hand, Shen Lian felt drained.

Luckily, he hit it this time.

The two impacts made a loud noise, shattering the silence. He bowed toward the morgue and whispered, “Rest in peace.”

By the sickly green glow of the “Emergency Exit” sign, he opened the door to the saw room.

“One for every one who comes,” he thought.

Shen Lian picked up a chainsaw.

But as soon as he had the chainsaw in hand, he found himself unable to stop thinking about a philosophical question.

“Should I use this chainsaw to kill myself first?”

Cutting through the carotid artery and trachea would be quick.