The submarine Koschei lay like a beached leviathan on the ink-black seabed, its titanium hull groaning under pressure that could crush mountains. We three survivors sprawled across rust-scabbed floor plates, lungs burning with each ragged breath that fogged in the subzero air. Xiao Yu's quantum rose hung limp as pickled cabbage, its petals shedding chroniton particles that hovered like dying fireflies. My right eye pulsed with a searing agony that fractured the world into kaleidoscopic duplicates—a side effect of the temporal grenade that had saved us six hours ago. Or was it six years? Time bled here.
"Place makes my grandma's root cellar look like a penthouse suite," Dr. Lin muttered, kicking aside a desiccated octopus corpse frozen mid-crawl. Her flashlight beam scraped across bulkhead graffiti—DEC 31, 1999 bleeding through newer layers of grime, scrawled beside the same Ouroboros symbol inked on our own wrists. The serpent's eyes seemed to track us in the swaying light.
咔嚓咔嚓.厨房的声音让我们的血液凝固了.不仅仅是罐头——某种沉重的,圆柱形的,带着掠夺性意图滚动的东西.我们像十字架一样紧握着扳手,慢慢走向步入式冰柜,我们的靴子在闪闪发光的鱼鳞上嘎吱作响.在里面,堆积如山的未开封的龙息方便面耸立在闪烁的荧光灯下,冰冷的钟乳石从天花板管道中垂下.当我抓起一包时,我的手指颤抖着.生产日期用血红色的墨水尖叫着:12/01/2025.明天.
"饼干上的基督,"萧煜嘶哑地撕开了一个袋子.一页脆弱的日记像一只垂死的飞蛾一样飘出,散发着霉味和绝望的味道:
『1999 年 12 月 31 日永远不要相信那些戴着防毒面具的人.他们不是玩家,他们是游戏的——WATCH THE SAND—』
其余的都消失在罗夏酱油的污点下.林医生突然捂住了她的胸口,湿漉漉的喘息从她的嘴唇中逸出.透过她机械心脏的透明聚合物,我们看到深红色的时空沙子反转着它的流动-向上,无视重力,颗粒像小骨头一样咔哒作响地撞击着玻璃."我的生物钟..."她哽咽着,皮肤下的血管发出蓝色的光芒."它正在向后解体——"
崩溃!货架上堆满了冷冻豌豆和破碎的罐子.从废墟中爬出一个腐烂的木乃伊,穿着褪色的 90 年代阿迪达斯运动裤.一台泛黄的宝丽来相机像一个怪诞的钟摆一样从他的脖子上摆动.泪水沿着他皮革般的脸颊划下肮脏的痕迹,他嘶哑地说道:"二十年...20 次 Godforsaken 重置...终于有新鲜血液了!
尸叔王叔叔成了我们不情愿的维吉尔.他带我们穿过散发着盐水和臭氧气味的腐蚀走廊,经过控制面板,那里的蘑菇从死屏中长出来.机舱是一座熵的大教堂.墙壁上是用骨头碎片固定的腐烂照片的马赛克:喇叭裤的年轻人在被雨水冲刷的罗马斗兽场里挥舞着砖头大小的手机;那个深红色长袍的女孩——她的头发然后用磨损的红丝带扎成浓密的双辫子——在滴着新鲜血腥的暴龙骨架旁边微笑;年轻的王本人,咧嘴一笑,嘴唇完好无损,用一个标有 XXX Elixir of Chronos 的瓶子向镜头敬酒.
"这个 Rustbucket 每七天重置一次,"Wang 说,从一包闻起来淡淡有甲醛味的 Eternity Bubble 中弹出口香糖."把它想象成...宇宙 Ctrl+Alt+Delete.除了每次重启都会让你的寿命缩短十天.他指向自己颤抖的手-指尖是半透明的,露出下面的幽灵般的骨头."你的器官会记得失去的时间,即使你的大脑不会."
潜艇像一头垂死的野兽一样抽搐着.货物滚滚而来——桃子罐头在地板上凹陷,罐装腌制的东西,太多的眼睛睁开了.我抓到一瓶翻滚的 Rejoice 洗发水.标签上微笑的模特眨了眨眼,她像素化的嘴唇在无声的音节中移动,然后她的声音直接在我的听觉皮层中噼啪作响:"第三圣所硬币在冰霜中低语.冷冻通道 7.当心反射.
我们踹开了冰川拱顶的门,铰链发出尖叫声.北极的气息偷走了我们的温暖,瞬间结霜了睫毛.一排排直立的冷冻棺材上挂着噩梦般的立体模型:
清朝我:羽毛笔放在羊皮纸上,算盘珠子在咔哒声中冻结,眼睛空洞的眼眶里装满了旋转的星云尘埃.
宇航员我:用外星人皮修补的压力服,抱着一朵发着生物发光的兰花,它的根部钻进了他的手腕静脉.
束缚我:他被绑在轮床上,嘴里叮咬着碎牙,用自己的手指啃着血淋淋的树桩,乳白色的眼睛以可怕的意识盯着我们.
"不要与他们的目光对视!"王吼道,遮住了他的眼睛."时空水蛭!它们通过视网膜接触留下印记!
Too late. White-hot branding irons seared my right pupil. Beyond the ice, phosphorescent rail lines materialized—a madman's subway map crisscrossing the void. A suited doppelgänger sprinted across those tracks, briefcase handcuffed to his wrist, pursued by a phantom locomotive wreathed in emerald fire. Its smokestack belched screaming faces.
Dr. Lin jammed rainbow candies into my mouth. "S*ck hard! Temporal stabilizers!"
Sweetness detonated like nitro on my tongue—flavors of liquid copper and ionized ozone. Every frozen "me" snapped their heads toward us with bone-cracking speed. Nails like icicles screeched across the ice, etching words in the weeping condensation:[HE SEES USRUNBEFORE THE TRAIN ARRIVES]
The floor vanished. We plunged into supermarket fluorescence brighter than a supernova.
The Chrono-Market defied physics. Aisles stretched into Escher-esque infinity, stocked with impossible wares:
Coca-Cola cans stamped with Qin-dynasty seal script that rearranged itself into stock tickers.
Kimchi jars preserving Mayan crystal skulls that chattered prophecies when tapped.
Robotic mops purring like contented cats, their wheels leaving trails of glowing slime.
Aisle 13: "Temporal Delicacies" where mammoth steaks thawed into pterodactyl wings under heat lamps.
"Welcome, valued chrononauts!" The intercom hummed with the crimson girl's saccharine voice. "Your ninety-second bargain blitz begins... now! Wishlist: 1) Schrödinger's Sardines (Aisle 5) 2) Tesla's Forgotten Fuse (Electronics) 3) The Third Coin (Check your pockets~)"
Air raid sirens shredded the air. Gas-masked figures surged from frozen food aisles, now piloting reinforced shopping carts stacked with pulsating watermelons veined with glowing fissures. Their visors reflected our terrified faces—distorted, aged, sometimes skeletal.
"Scatter!" Wang toppled a tower of Big Bang Chips. Flying bags exploded into clouds of paprika and temporal static that made the air ripple. I grabbed a Golden Scratch-Back Wonder—its telescopic rod ignited into a humming lightsaber, casting strobing shadows as I cleaved an oncoming cart in two. Melons detonated in geysers of crimson seeds that sprouted into carnivorous vines mid-air.
Xiao Yu's quantum rose unfolded into a chrome-plated shopping trolley. We careened through Produce, dodging flying Alaskan king crabs and salmon that burst from ice beds with glassy, tracking eyes. Dr. Lin fired Skittles from a makeshift wrist-launcher; each candy impact on pursuing eels released garlic-scented detonations that warped local gravity.
"Catch!" Wang hurled a Mirage Rice Cooker. I slammed the COOK button. Steam jets erupted, spraying Dragon's Breath seasoning packets that blinded pursuers in clouds of chili and temporal dissonance—one mask-wearer aged into dust before our eyes.
We barreled through the EMERGENCY EXIT. Beyond the doors, vertigo seized us—not ocean depths, but the grimy Crimson Line Subway Station from my daily commute! The departure board flashed its grim countdown: 365 DAYS REMAINING. But now, the platform teemed with countless fractured selves:
Ancient Me: Silk robes stained with ink, carving resignation notices into oracle bones with a trembling blade.
Astronaut Me: Welding quantum coils onto a chrome time-hopper, his faceplate reflecting a dying star.
Asylum Me: Strapped in a jacket studded with blinking cameras, shrieking through bloody gauze: "WHO BUILT THE GAME? SHOW ME THE ARCHITECT!" as he shook the glowing Sanctuary Coin at the void.
Every iteration of me swiveled in unison. Our right eyes ignited with synchronized crimson chronometers, casting hellish light on the tiled walls. Behind the multitude, the crimson girl's flesh peeled away like cheap vinyl, revealing a latticework of pulsating optical fibers and quantum processors shaped like a spider's web. Her voice modulator dripped with mechanical sweetness:"Transaction declined, sweetie~ Your account lacks sufficient... lifespan."
The exit doors slammed shut, trapping us in a cage of our own fragmented existences. Somewhere deep in the Chrono-Market, a cash register cha-chinged.
(End of Chapter Five)