Chapter 7
1852words
The sound was faint at first, like a lost mosquito buzzing by my ear, but it quickly became clear and resonant, carrying an undeniable penetrating power. It was the sound of a siren. It was the only glimmer of light I could see at the end of the dark tunnel, an answer to my prayers, a declaration of the order of the civilized world.
But the light was too far away from me. The tunnel remained long and dark.
"Did you hear that?" Jason's maniacal smile froze for a moment due to the sudden sound, then quickly transformed into an even more morbid excitement. "The time limit for our game is up. Now, everything becomes more thrilling, doesn't it?"
He didn't rush at me, but instead paced at the kitchen doorway like a patient predator, his bloodshot eyes fixed firmly on me. There was no knife in his hand, but his muscular body itself was the deadliest weapon. As for me, I gripped the heavy kitchen knife tightly, the cold metal sensation bringing no security—instead, my arms ached from its weight. I knew that in a direct confrontation with him, I didn't have even a one in ten thousand chance of winning.
Meanwhile, on my phone screen, the same siren sound echoed in Sarah's world. Evidently, police in both worlds had received emergency calls and were on their way. But similarly, they both needed time to arrive.
Mark on the screen was clearly more impatient than Jason. He let out a beast-like roar, stopped wasting words, and charged directly at Sarah who was cornered in the kitchen.
The battle erupted simultaneously in two parallel timelines.
Sarah's reaction was astonishingly quick. The moment Mark burst into the kitchen, she didn't choose to confront him directly with the kitchen knife in her hand, but instead violently hurled a jar of olive oil at Mark's face! The glass jar shattered on Mark's forehead, coating his face with sticky oil and glass shards.
"Ah!" Mark let out a painful howl, instinctively closing his eyes to rub them.
Now was the time! Sarah took advantage of these precious few seconds, lowered her body, and slipped out from under Mark's arm like a loach, rushing toward the living room of the dormitory.
"You bitch!" Mark wiped his face, growing even more furious, wildly waving the knife in his hand as he pursued relentlessly.
"Clever, isn't it?" Jason's voice sounded in my ear, somehow he still had the leisure to comment on the movie plot, "Using whatever tools are at hand. Unfortunately, before absolute power, such little tricks are like sandcastles, collapsing with a single push."
As soon as he finished speaking, he lunged at me violently. His movements were as fast as lightning; I only saw a blur before a powerful gust of wind hit my face. Instinctively, I raised the kitchen knife in front of my chest, attempting to block.
"Clang!"
A sharp metal clashing sound rang out. Jason didn't use a weapon; he used his own forearm, smashing it against my blade like an iron rod! The tremendous force made my hand go numb at the tiger mouth point, and I nearly lost grip of the kitchen knife. I staggered back two steps before barely regaining my balance, while on Jason's arm, only a shallow white mark remained.
Is this guy some kind of monster?
"Your eyes tell me what you're thinking," Jason shook his arm, his smile full of mockery, "That's right, Emily, I am a monster. But what about you? You're just a pathetic creature hiding behind a screen, thinking you can control everything. Now the master of the game has entered the field himself. Are you afraid?"
"Why should I fear a clown who doesn't dare to show his true identity?" My voice trembled a bit from nervousness, but I forced myself to look straight into his eyes. I knew that fear was his favorite seasoning, and I absolutely couldn't let him taste it.
I had to attack his heart, attack that self-righteous sense of superiority of his.
"Do you think you're God just because you designed this 'game'?" I continued to provoke him with my words. "No, you're not. You're just a loser immersed in your own fantasies. Your so-called 'artwork' is nothing but a poor imitation show. You can't even be original; you can only hide in the shadow of a third-rate horror movie, enjoying a secondhand life."
"Shut up!" Jason's face instantly turned livid; my words had clearly hit his sore spot. What he was most proud of was this self-directed "creation," and I was devaluing it to worthlessness.
"Look at yourself," I didn't stop, but instead pressed on relentlessly, even though my body kept retreating, searching for any gap I could exploit, "You don't even dare to use your own face in this game, and have to borrow the name of that idiot from the movie. Jason? How ridiculous. You don't even have the courage to be yourself. You're the real fly trapped in the bottle."
"I said shut up!" Jason was completely enraged, charging at me like a wild beast once again.
This time I learned my lesson. Instead of trying to block him, I turned and ran. I rushed out of the kitchen and began circling around the sofa in the center of the living room. I knew I couldn't outrun him; my only goal was to buy time and... create an opportunity.
On the screen, Sarah's situation was more dangerous than mine. The dormitory space was too small, leaving hardly any room to dodge. Mark charged like a mad bull, his knife cutting deadly flashes of cold light through the air. The table was overturned, the lamp smashed, the feather pillow slashed open, with white feathers dancing in the air like a desperate snowfall.
Sarah dodged and weaved in the cramped space, appearing disheveled and frantic. But her eyes were intensely focused; she was searching, calculating. When she once again evaded Mark's slash and maneuvered behind the desk, her hand quickly grabbed something.
It was the lamp's power cord.
She swiftly dipped one end of the cord into a puddle on the floor—left by a previously broken water glass. Then, like a trip wire, she quietly stretched the cord across Mark's inevitable path as he charged toward her.
"Come on! You madman!" Sarah shouted with all her might, her voice full of provocation.
Mark indeed fell for it, he roared with anger and charged forward recklessly.
And in my world, Jason had lost his patience. He no longer chased me, but suddenly stopped, grabbed the armchair beside him, and with an unbelievable strength, lifted it above his head and smashed it toward me!
I screamed in terror, diving to the side. The heavy chair crashed onto the floor with a loud bang, barely missing my back.
Before I could get up, Jason was already in front of me, his foot pinning down my wrist that held the knife.
"Game over, little critic," he bent down, a victorious sneer on his face. "Now, no one can save you anymore."
Intense pain shot through my wrist, I felt like he was about to crush my bones. The kitchen knife fell to the floor with a "clang."
It's over. This time, it's truly over.
Just as I sank into the abyss of despair, an unexpected sound rescued me.
"Beep——"
That sound came from my phone that I had dropped on the ground. Its screen remained lit, streaming Sarah's battle.
No, that wasn't a system sound from the phone.
It was a clear, urgent siren from a police car! Not a distant, muffled echo, but a roar right at hand!
How could this be possible? Outside my apartment was nothing but dead silence, so where was this siren coming from?
Jason clearly heard it too. The smile on his face froze, and he instinctively turned his head toward the source of the sound—my phone.
His pupils contracted sharply.
Because he saw that outside the window of Sarah's dormitory on my phone screen, red and blue police lights were already casting the entire room in alternating light and shadow. The police, the police from Sarah's world, had arrived downstairs! And that clear siren was coming directly from the movie!
This moment of cognitive dissonance, this event completely beyond his script and understanding, caused his brain to blank out for a fraction of a second. His attention was completely drawn to it; he couldn't comprehend why a sound from a "movie" would appear so realistically in his "reality."
It was at this moment!
With all my strength, I used my other hand—the one that wasn't pinned down—to grab the kitchen knife that had fallen to the floor. I didn't try to slash him, knowing I didn't have that much power.
With every ounce of my strength, I thrust the sharp blade tip upward with brutal force!
"Squelch!"
A muffled sound, like a knife plunging into damp soil.
Jason's body suddenly stiffened. He looked down at his thigh in disbelief. The tip of the kitchen knife had already sunk deep into his femoral artery.
"AHHH—!"
A heart-wrenching scream erupted from his throat. The strength in his legs instantly vanished, and he staggered backward clutching his thigh. Blood gushed out from the wound like an unleashed fountain, immediately staining his pants and the floor red.
Meanwhile, on the screen, Mark who was charging toward Sarah also stepped on the water-soaked electric wire.
"Zzzap!"
With the sound of an electric spark, Mark's body convulsed violently as if struck by lightning. He screamed in agony as the knife flew from his hand, and he fell backward stiffly, crashing heavily to the ground, foaming at the mouth and shaking uncontrollably.
The battle, at that very moment, ended in two drastically different ways.
I climbed up from the ground, gasping for breath heavily, with a burning pain in my chest. Jason lay on the floor, clutching his leg and howling in agony, blood gushing out, forming a constantly expanding, horrifying pool on the wooden floor. The look in his eyes when he stared at me no longer held mockery and teasing, only pure terror and hatred.
I had won. Or rather, we had won.
I didn't look at him, nor did I attend to my own wounds. The first thing I did was lunge for my phone. On the screen, Sarah was also slumped on the ground, completely soaked and in a wretched state, but she was still alive. She looked at Mark who was lying on the ground convulsing, then at the police lights drawing closer outside the window, and her face showed an expression of having survived a catastrophe, mixed with tears and relief.
She slowly raised her head, her gaze seemingly penetrating the screen, meeting my eyes.
Two worlds, two surviving girls, separated by a small phone screen, seeing each other's silhouettes amidst their respective blood and fire. We are both still alive, and that is the only thing that matters right now.
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