Tick-tock, tick-tock.
Harper lifted his drooping eyelids, looking at the two clocks hanging on the pristine white wall.
The one on the left displayed the current time: two fifty-seven in the afternoon.
The one on the right, however, was frozen at three o'clock exactly.
The young man silently stared at the clocks. The three-minute transition seemed unbearably slow, the twitching of the second hand almost in sync with his heartbeat.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
As the hand of the left clock finally reached three o'clock, a box popped up before Harper's eyes.
New Character, Load Game, Achievements...
It was no different from a real game login screen.
At this moment, both the Load Game and Achievements icons were greyed out, with only New Character flashing with selectable light.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
The crisp ticking of the clock signified the relentless passage of time.
The man who called himself Smith had told him that the standby screen would only last for one minute. If no choice was made within that minute, he would be randomly thrown into the game.
Harper's pupils shifted, and no matter how much he pondered, it seemed there was only one path before him.
[New Character]
[1 Character Creation Chance Deducted. Please select your background.]
Three background options floated before his eyes: Wealthy, Middle-class, and Poor.
It seemed like an easy choice, so naturally, Harper felt there must be a trap.
Being Wealthy... seemed to suggest wide attention.
From Hannibal's posts, being widely noticed in Smith's world didn't seem to be good news.
Being Poor, on the other hand, reduced
Harper felt dazed, as if countless vibrant lights were sweeping past his eyelids.
Memories and settings flooded his brain, giving him a vague understanding of his current situation amidst the haziness.
"Bang!"
The solid impact echoed through the narrow street.
Following the gasps of pedestrians and the screeching of brakes, Jerome— or rather, Harper— stumbled and fell.
Crimson blood filled his vision, and intense pain and numbness engulfed his body. But a strange sensation was approaching.
It was like a patient being rescued after surgery, as the antagonist drug entered the bloodstream through the syringe, he began to gradually control this body.
Occupation.
He murmured in his heart.
He was occupying this body.
"Oh my God!"
There were women screaming around him.
"It's the kid from the repair shop!"
"Why are they driving so fast on the street!"
"Idiot! Corporate lackey! Don't they consider civilians as people?"
"Quick! Check on the kid!"
"Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Scatter—everyone get out of the way!"
Then came the bustling pushing and shoving: "We need to call the police!"
"Bastard! Can't you see he's bleeding?! We need to call the medics first!"
"Wait! Iggy! Let him go first! This guy is right, we need to confirm first......"
"......you mean?"
"Avoid trouble—you saw how heavy the hit was."
"But... aren't those strange things only happening in the big cities?"
"Who knows, it's always good to be careful."
As the conversation came to this point, a deep male voice leaned in, his palm lightly patting Harper's face: "Kid? Kid!"
Harper struggled to flutter his eyelids.
"Are you okay?" the man asked.
Harper tried hard to open his eyes, pushing apart his blood-soaked eyelids.
He was lying on the ground, not far from a weirdly shaped but high-tech hovercar. At this moment, the hovercar was hovering low, surrounded by people.
The front of the car was splattered with some blood, and given the current situation, these bloodstains should have been left from hitting him.
A middle-aged man was squatting in front of him, with black hair and a strange blue light flickering in front of one eye.
The man lightly patted Harper's cheek, prompting him to wake up quickly.
Harper did indeed wake up.
But he had to pretend a bit.
From those bits and pieces, he could quickly judge the current situation: the so-called strange things happening in the big cities made people doubtful of those who had suffered severe hits but had not died immediately.
He might have encountered a survival crisis from the start.
The man's patting had no effect, he looked suspiciously over Harper's body, then turned his head.
"Iggy, help me out, contact the medics."
"Alright, alright."
"This is the kid from the street, no matter what——"
His words were interrupted by an authoritative—or rather, bossy voice from not far away.
"I've already notified the police! They'll be here soon—from the South Horse District, only ten minutes!"
"You!"
"He didn't say a word!"
"Damn! The kid just had an accident! How do you expect him to speak?!"
"You guys are not planning to run away! There's obviously a problem, why not investigate it! Are you federal spies?!"
"......!"
No one spoke.
The term "federal spy" seemed to be a silencing spell, quieting the entire area.
Harper felt somewhat anxious inside.
In a short while, someone muttered, "You're obviously trying to avoid compensation."
But this voice was drowned in the approaching police siren, barely audible.
Amidst the clatter of equipment, several police officers got out of the car, hastily holding Harper's hands and feet.
"Be gentle! He's still a kid!"
"He's just had an accident!"
Harper didn't attempt to resist, an icy needle pricked his waist skin.
As the real sedative was injected into his body, the vague voices echoed in his ears.
"According to the newly added 'New Empire Security Law' Volume 12, Chapter 3, Article 6, five months ago, the police have the right to temporarily monitor 'Arrival' suspects."
"Second-class citizen Jerome, you will be interrogated by the Special Security Bureau of the Imperial Army......"
Harper felt drowsy again.
The "interrogation" in the side mission was about to begin.
Just that......
"Special Security Bureau of the Imperial Army"—it didn't sound like an easy entity to fool.
He slowly inhaled the air, and before falling asleep, he heard a voice.
"Call the kid's father over, that mechanic, he probably doesn't know what's happened."
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