This is not a drill.
Pei Ran stepped away from the window, pulling the curtains shut as she did so. She instinctively glanced at the time on her wristband.
1:40 PM.
She returned to the door.
The peephole still showed a red tint. The hallway was empty, and the dog was nowhere to be seen. No second “flower” had bloomed either.
After observing for a moment, Pei Ran turned the doorknob.
The moment the door opened, a heavy stench of blood rushed in, so thick it made her want to retch.
Blood and fragments of unidentifiable flesh were scattered everywhere, as if she had accidentally walked into a bombed-out slaughterhouse.
The middle-aged man’s clothes were torn to shreds, even his shoes were destroyed. Only the wristband remained largely intact, having been flung off and landed in a corner by the door.
Surprisingly, the virtual screen on the wristband was still functional. Upon impact, the screen had activated and now hung in mid-air, silently glowing.
It was the lock screen interface, displaying an image received forty minutes ago—white background, black text. The same one Pei Ran had received.
Pei Ran glanced at the screen, then crouched down to carefully examine the explosion site.
Upon closer inspection, she overturned her earlier judgment—
The way the body had burst open looked familiar. The fragments were evenly distributed, and the splatter distance was relatively short, very restrained. It didn’t resemble the aftermath of a single-point explosion from within. Instead, it was more like a weapon from her original world—the Extreme Blast Gun.
The Extreme Blast Gun was a special weapon capable of long-range, pinpoint attacks. It ignored any obstructions, and within the designated coverage area, objects would be torn to shreds by the powerful impact.
On the ground, there were scorched arc-like marks. Pei Ran’s fingers traced along the arc, brushing aside the concealing fragments of flesh.
The arc extended all the way to the apartment door.
It was a perfect circle, with an estimated radius of one meter—identical to the marks left by an Extreme Blast Gun.
Within the circular area, the door remained intact, and the wristband was still there. But the man was gone. The dog’s tail and hind legs had fallen within this range and were also shredded. If it was indeed an Extreme Blast Gun, it meant the weapon had been precisely calibrated to an energy level targeting living organisms.
In other words, it constructed a death circle with a radius of about one meter, centered on the victim.
It was reasonable to assume that any living organism, including humans, entering this death circle would also be torn to pieces.
After finishing her inspection, Pei Ran ignored the scattered debris everywhere. She dragged a small cardboard box from the doorway inside, then closed and locked the door again.
The surface of the box was splattered with blood and bits of flesh. Pei Ran went to the kitchen, found a rag, and wiped it all off.
After washing the blood off her hands, Pei Ran grabbed a fruit knife and sliced open the box.
It was the groceries she had ordered online yesterday, likely delivered this morning while she was still asleep.
The small cardboard box was opened, revealing an assortment of canned goods and compressed biscuits, neatly stacked inside.
With resources in hand, Pei Ran felt much more settled.
She organized her thoughts.
This was not a drill, nor was it a game. It was a real attack. The blood and flesh of the dead could not be faked—Pei Ran had smelled it and touched it herself.
From what she could gather so far, the trigger seemed to be speaking.
Making a sound would lead to death.
Even an onomatopoeic word like “ah” was enough.
Humans were not exempt, but animals were. Earlier, the dog had let out a howl of “awoo,” yet nothing had happened to it.
Pei Ran had observed three attacks in a row and timed one of them. From the moment someone spoke to the moment they exploded, it took about three seconds. It was as if something needed those three seconds to confirm that the person was speaking.
If the warning image was correct, it wasn’t just speaking—sending text messages would also lead to death.
The warning message wasn’t sent to her alone. The neighbor who died at the door had also received it. It was unclear whether he hadn’t seen it or simply dismissed it as a scam.
Judging by their lack of preparedness and panic before death, this didn’t seem to be a normal occurrence in this world.
After receiving the warning message at noon today, she had still heard people talking on the street outside, and there had been no explosions at that time. The message seemed more like a small advance warning.
Not long after, the explosions began.
What remained unknown was whether the explosions were limited to this building or if other parts of the city, or even other parts of the federation, were still safe.
Only by knowing the scope of the incident could she decide where to flee.
However, the first sentence of the warning message was, “Attention all citizens of the federation,” which felt extremely ominous.
Unfortunately, there was no internet now, so she had no idea what was happening outside.
Pei Ran returned to the window, parting the curtains slightly to look outside.
On the road, within her line of sight, a few more “blood flowers” had bloomed. There were no people or hover cars in sight now.
There were no enemies with guns running around massacring people, nor were there panicked crowds fleeing.
What was more terrifying than chaos and noise was silence.
A dead silence, like stagnant water.
Pei Ran closed the curtains.
She must not make a sound. Absolutely must not make a sound. Pei Ran repeated this to herself like a mantra. Even talking to herself was out of the question.
To survive, she had to maintain absolute silence.
She looked down at her wristband.
The wristband had a signal, and it was full.
Earlier, the security guard who had exploded on the street had tried calling the public safety bureau and the municipal hotline, but the calls didn’t go through. There was no source of information, and the only message channel was that senderless text message.
It had said that sending text was forbidden, and that image-based communication was safe.
Pei Ran pondered. She wasn’t sure what the communication methods and protocols of this world were like, but when sending images or text, the data transmitted should both be byte streams. There was no difference. So why were images allowed, but not text?
She couldn’t figure it out.
She scrolled through her contact list, her eyes landing on Ai Xia’s name.
Ai Xia had mentioned that her home was in the westernmost part of the city. Perhaps she could ask her about the situation there—whether there were also explosions.
She needed to send her an image.
The original owner of this body had stored quite a few memes. Pei Ran flipped through them and picked out one of a confused cat.
The little cat’s head was topped with a row of question marks, its expression utterly bewildered.
Pei Ran hesitated, staring at the cat meme.
The warning message itself had been an image, and Pei Ran had safely sent a picture of beef noodles earlier. However, at that time, the silence hadn’t yet begun, and the pedestrians downstairs were still talking normally. It didn’t necessarily mean that sending images now was truly safe.
As she was thinking, her wristband vibrated, and a new image came in.
It was from Ai Xia.
She was still alive.
The image had a white background with red text, clearly a screenshot of typed words.
[Are you still alive?]
Immediately after, one image after another, filled with text, came through.
[I’m at a supermarket near my house. A lot of people have died here.]
[I’m hiding in the employee break room with a group of people. We’re not sure what’s going on, so we’re too scared to go out. No one’s talking, so we’re fine for now.]
[How’s it going on your end?]
From the moment she sent the first image, far more than three seconds had passed. She hadn’t died and was still sending images.
But this didn’t necessarily mean that sending such images was completely safe. Perhaps the information in the warning image was incorrect. Perhaps the death time after sending such images wasn’t three seconds.
However, Pei Ran desperately wanted to know what was happening outside.
Her finger hovered over the screen.
Living was already a gamble.
Over the past two days, she had eaten delicious pizza, potato chips, and cake, drunk ice-cold cola, lived in a house with windows, and slept a peaceful night. She had already lived quite well.
Her finger dropped, and she opened the notepad, typing on it before taking a screenshot.
[Still alive. It’s the same here. Do you know how wide the affected area is?]
She took a deep breath in silence and clicked “send.”
After waiting a minute, she was still alive—for now.
A new image came in on her wristband. Ai Xia seemed eager to exchange information and replied quickly.
[That’s great!]
[I had a feeling you’d still be alive.]
[I asked a classmate of mine in Xitai City, and it’s the same there.]
[I also sent a message to a friend who works in Ellen Harbor up north, but he hasn’t replied yet. It’s really unusual—I think something’s wrong there too.]
[I’m starting to suspect the entire federation isn’t safe anymore. What the hell is this?]
Pei Ran didn’t know either.
In the world of the bunker, exchange was the most basic principle. Information, like supplies, was a precious resource. People bartered goods and traded information for information.
Having received useful information, she felt obligated to provide some in return. After thinking for a moment, Pei Ran typed on the image.
[I don’t know. But I have a suggestion—try to stay as far away from other people as possible.]
Ai Xia replied: [Why?]
Pei Ran: [I’ve observed a few explosions and noticed that the blast doesn’t just affect the person who speaks. It actually shreds all living things within a one-meter radius.]
Pei Ran: [Be careful of someone standing next to you suddenly losing their mind and making a sound.]
If you’re crammed in a break room with a large group of people, and someone makes a sound, there might not even be enough space to dodge.
Ai Xia seemed to be scared by this. After a short pause, she sent: [Pei Ran, thank you.]
Followed by a heart gesture meme.
Ai Xia had a big heart, still in the mood to send memes even in such a situation. But memes were quick and easy to use, much simpler than editing images—fast and safe.
Pei Ran flipped through the original owner’s meme collection and sent back a heart in return.
She opened her contact list.
There weren’t many people in it—some seemed to be classmates or coworkers, while others looked like insurance salespeople. Pei Ran didn’t care who they were; she sent the warning image with the “Do Not Speak” message to all of them.
One-on-one messages were still going through. If she could contact more people, she might be able to gather more information.
Unfortunately, despite sending out so many messages, she didn’t receive any replies.
Perhaps many people had already died before they could figure out what was happening.
Meanwhile, Ai Xia sent another image: [Wait, something just exploded here too.]
Pei Ran was puzzled: Isn’t that normal at a time like this?
Ai Xia: [It’s the public safety bureau! It’s right next to us! The entire bureau just exploded!]
Ai Xia: [The whole building turned into dust! A huge pile of fine dust! The ground here was shaking just now! I’ll show you.]
This time, she sent a photo.
The shot was taken from the entrance of the supermarket. Shelves were toppled, goods were scattered everywhere, the glass doors of the supermarket were shattered, and outside, smoke and dust billowed into the air.
Faintly visible through the haze was the absence of a building that had once stood across the street. The main structure of the building was completely pulverized.
Pei Ran thought to herself that the uniformity of the destruction still resembled the effects of an Extreme Blast Gun attack. However, this time, the energy level had been adjusted even higher, enough to destroy an entire building.
It went without saying that at an energy level capable of reducing steel and concrete to dust, anyone inside would have been obliterated.
Outside the window, a thunderous rumbling sound echoed. Pei Ran looked up.
Through the gap in the curtains, she could see plumes of dust rising into the air from several directions. It didn’t look like the dark gray smoke of a fire, but rather the spray of countless building materials blasted into the sky during an explosion.
Buildings here were also exploding.
Staying in the building might not be safe.
Just as Pei Ran was considering evacuating, the explosions outside stopped, and everything fell back into silence.
One of the explosion points had been within her line of sight, leaving a conspicuous gap between the buildings.
Pei Ran knew what that place was. She had passed by it yesterday—it was in the nearby commercial district, a tall and beautiful building with the words “Federal Library” on its facade.
Ai Xia sent another message:
[The Federal University is gone! The buildings of the high school next door are also gone! My roommate was studying for her master’s at the Federal University, but she happened to not be in the building. At first, she didn’t know how to add text to an image, so she just sent me a meme that said, “The school exploded.”]
Well, concise and to the point.