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On a train that is moving forward.

The carriage was filled with a strong, nauseating smell of rust. Large patches of dried, dark brown blood were on the walls and seats. Twisted pieces of flesh were swept into a corner, twitching occasionally as if still alive.

Chen Zhuzhu huddled in a relatively clean corner, her fingernails unconsciously scratching at a piece of peeling, blood-stained leather on the seat. Her mind was a jumbled mess, filled only with regret.

She was originally just an ordinary freshman broadcasting student, bickering with her roommates and living a normal daily life.

Before summer vacation, she heard that an internship certificate was required for graduation. To save herself the trouble, she asked her family to "get a stamp" for her and get by. Out of a last bit of professional dignity, she awkwardly mentioned to her mother, "It would be best... something related to broadcasting, but don't actually make me do the work."

Chen Zhuzhu didn't expect her mother to have such a wide network of connections. Just two days later, someone contacted her, saying that a variety show similar to "Boys and Girls Rush Forward" was going to be produced locally, and invited her to participate in the recording.

The other party sent long messages in one go, but Chen Zhuzhu didn't read them carefully at all. She just replied perfunctorily with "uh-huh" and filled out the form that was sent casually.

Since it's not like we're signing a contract, we can just say that if something goes wrong, we won't be held responsible, right?

Filling out forms is fine, since they don't require you to fill out your ID card.

As for information leaks caused by writing down email addresses or phone numbers? It's as if not writing them down means your information won't be sold.

Just today, as she and her roommate boarded the high-speed train, preparing to travel to other cities and counties for their holiday, the contact person sent her another message.

[Instance generated; teleportation to begin.]

Before she could even utter a question mark, everything suddenly went black.

When I woke up again, I was on this blood-soaked train. My roommates had been replaced by several terrified strangers. Only one man named Mosang seemed calm; he was clearly an experienced criminal.

Mosang told them that everyone had been pulled into a "program instance" called "Scream Time," and only by surviving the event could they get the "reward" and temporarily go home.

Once you enter "Scream Time," the only way to exit is by dying. As long as you don't die, you will definitely be pulled into a new instance later.

This reminded Chen Zhuzhu of the bizarre dungeon-style novels she had read before.

But she wasn't the female lead; she was a background victim who might not even be mentioned in the narration, a negative number used to suppress the survival rate.

The rules for this instance seem simple: [The train will pass through thirteen stations, stopping for two minutes at each station, with a total stop time of ten minutes. The objective is to survive until the final station.]

Chen Zhuzhu noticed that when Uncle Mo Sang saw the mission details, his expression did not relax; instead, it became even more serious.

"The survival games are all very difficult," Mosang said.

As he said, four people died after only three stops.

It was only then that Mozambique stepped forward to take the lead. After experiencing the usual doubts, chaos, and hysteria, the outcome was either death or acceptance of reality, and a brief alliance was thus formed.

Chen Zhuzhu survived until now only because she awakened a perception-type skill called "Observer"—which allows her to peek into information about objects and "existence," much like bringing the ability to view item attributes and descriptions from a game into reality.

Because of this, she was somewhat useful in exploring the carriages and identifying the monsters' weaknesses, and was barely protected by the makeshift team.

Now that all the explorable areas have been explored, she can only lie here, waiting for the countdown to her next death.

The dungeon was more malicious than they had imagined. After only halfway through the journey, everyone's physical and mental strength was already nearing its limit.

If you can't play a significant role in the next stage, the protection from others will disappear.

This train was no different from the one I remembered. There was a closed-circuit television above each carriage. If this were in the original world, the television would always be randomly playing some outdated skits, propaganda videos, or even just gibberish.

Nobody is interested in television content; people's mobile phones offer a better experience.

Here, the television screen is mostly black.

Chen Zhuzhu, bored out of her mind, threw a skill at the TV.

Shila-

She tensed up like a startled rabbit, staring incredulously at the television.

What's going on? It hasn't even been ten minutes yet! Why is the station announcement happening again?!

The lights suddenly flickered wildly, the carriage was constantly changing light, and the regular clattering sounds outside the window had disappeared without a trace, leaving only deathly silence.

The TV screen suddenly lit up.

Instead of the usual eerie and sinister announcer, a calm-looking young man with long black hair tied up appeared.

If that man's hair were a little longer, he could easily become an extra in a period drama. With his hair tied into a high ponytail, he would look exactly like an ancient person, from his demeanor to his appearance.

As a broadcasting major, Chen Zhuzhu could tell at a glance that the other person was someone who had been put on the show at the last minute. He hadn't even memorized the script, and his improvisation skills were even worse. He could only read the script verbatim.

As soon as he opened his mouth, it was indeed so.

"...It is clearly stipulated that any individual or organization that lures or coerces a minor into transmigrating, whether under the pretext of 'saving the world,' 'becoming the chosen one,' or 'giving you an invincible cheat,' without obtaining the written consent of the minor's legal guardian, is committing a serious illegal act."

"Assuming you are a minor who has transmigrated, and your parents are alive and well, you have the right to refuse the so-called 'fate arrangement.' You have the right to demand that the summoner, the goddess, the system, or any transmigration service provider immediately and free of charge provide you with a safe and reliable way home."

"If you need help or advice, you can call 995-995-995."

Chen Zhuzhu stared wide-eyed at the popular science program about time travel, which was completely different from the style of the original story. She felt that either she or the TV was broken.

Just then, a companion walked up to her, looking puzzled by her exaggerated expression: "Why are you staring at the black TV screen? Did you see some special information?"

"Can't you see it?"

His companion looked for a while, then shook his head: "There's nothing there. What could be up there?"

"...a string of numbers appeared suddenly." For some reason, Chen Zhuzhu felt that it was best not to reveal the content of the program.

"Why don't you ask Brother Mo?"

After spending more than an hour together, the survivors trusted Mosang completely.

Chen Zhuzhu's eyes lit up. She thought to herself that she hadn't thought of this. After feeling disgusted with herself, she got up and ran to the front of the carriage. She saw a tall man sitting cross-legged on a blood-stained seat, resting with his eyes closed.

As a veteran, Mozanne was the only one with practical experience who didn't mind being at the forefront. His clothes were already tattered and worn, and the original plain color had been stained dark red. His amazing recovery ability allowed the wounds from the previous battle to scab over and leave marks on his chest.