I, the screenwriter, have experienced a resurgence of inspiration.

The resentment of overtime workers is comparable to that of vengeful ghosts; even an evil sword immortal would have to call them "senior."

The female corpse, controlled by the threads of text, was moving faster and faster.

Countless ghosts that had just been reaping lives now lay quietly on the ground, like reeds bent by the wind.

The third section, the fifth section...

We walked along the way, picking as we went.

Apart from the initial NPCs in the dungeon and the newly generated vengeful spirits of dead players, all the extra ghosts were treated as "materials" and were completely harvested.

Three hundred and seventy-two ghosts, no more, no less, were all crammed into the resource library.

The capacity of the replicas has finally fallen below the safe threshold.

The text notification slowly disappeared.

This also means that the out-of-control copy has stabilized again.

Song Mo rested his chin on his hand, staring at the instance status in deep thought:

It almost backfired.

Like the dagger Jing Ke concealed within the map, the true crisis lurking beneath the surface is gradually surfacing.

Song Mo originally thought that the only things the [Screenwriter] system would do to urge her on were to constantly reduce her lifespan and light up all the acupoints on her body.

But now it seems that this is just the tip of the iceberg.

Unedited, limited-edition copies will appear in reality.

A parade of demons in neon-lit Tokyo, a weeping Larona in Texas, and a Jersey demon openly hunting and cannibalizing people.

Then, this London instance attracted countless non-instance NPCs, causing the entire player group that entered the instance to be wiped out, and the instance almost appeared in reality.

Imagine a death train, teeming with ghosts and vengeful spirits, appearing in the heart of a bustling city center—

An invisible pressure descended.

Song Mo rubbed his temples, feeling a bit of a headache.

"We need to have a backup plan... We can't keep wasting a lot of scriptwriting points to rewrite the ending every time something goes wrong."

She is a farmer, and wild goats have appeared in her sheepfold, attacking and killing the sheep. What should she do to affect the harvest?

Then let's put a few sheepdogs in.

Sheepdogs are loyal to farmers and will never betray them. They can drive away hungry wolves and also catch wild goats that sneak in to attack the sheep.

Thinking of this, Song Mo glanced at the few remaining script points and raised his hand to generate a long string of text:

……

……

The female corpse with Nina's head on it returned to the place where it first appeared.

In the first carriage, the bodies of Zhao Weilai and others were still lying on the ground.

The corpse's empty eyes stared straight ahead, "looking" at the corpses of the other players.

The entire instance's timeline suddenly stopped.

The blood droplets that were dripping down just a second ago are now suspended in mid-air.

The head lay on the ground, its face still bearing the expression of terror.

Flipped pages, scattered bread crumbs, distorted ghostly afterimages outside the car window...

Everything stood still at that moment.

Even the "clanging" sound track that had been playing in the background had disappeared.

The lights flashed and stopped at their brightest moment.

The female corpse stood still, like a puppet manipulated by words, frozen in a moment along with the still oil painting before her.

Suddenly, a large number of ink-colored characters surged out of the void.

It is the sea of ​​words.

Like a rising tide, countless dense waves of words fell from the void, seeping into the carriage ceiling and the cracks in the floor—

The powerful, unquestionable words swept over the corpse, over the chair, over the deathly silent space.

The words flowed by.

Rewind time.

The blood droplets suspended in mid-air, following their original trajectory, flew back little by little, flying back into Zhao Weilai's severed neck.

The bloodstains splattered on the walls and seats fell back in a parabolic arc.

The head that fell to the ground flew back up onto its own shoulder.

The wound on my neck healed from the outside in, with muscles, blood vessels, and skin healing layer by layer.

The torn silk gauze, the broken pieces of flesh and bone, moved back from all directions, and were restored to their original state like building blocks.

The look of terror on her face gradually disappeared.

He stepped back, retreating until he was right next to the seat.

The scattered pages of the Bible flew back one by one, were rebound into a complete book, and landed back in Margaret's arms.

The crucifix that had fallen to the ground jumped up on its own and landed in the priest's hands.

People's actions begin to play in reverse.

The Indian man stepped back from the connecting area between the carriages, sat back in his seat, and spat out something that flew back into his mouth.

Everyone was backing away.

The movements went from fast to slow, and then from slow to fast, like a videotape being played in reverse.

Every change follows the most perfect program and does not interfere with each other.

It's so perfect that even the most discerning person in the world would be captivated by it.

[...Come here, Sister Zhao...]

[What? How come we're still here? What happened? What are we waiting for...?]

[...we can reach them.]

The sounds of countless conversations came in reverse, muffled and indistinct, like the static of a tape being played in reverse.

From the delirium before death, it regresses to conversation, and finally returns to silence.

The ink-wash characters increased so much that they almost filled the entire carriage.

If you look from inside the tunnel, you'll see that the black ink characters envelop the entire train, and the tide flows slowly, carrying everything back, back to the past.

Let's go back to before the anomaly occurred.

Let's go back to the time before the ghost carnival even began.

Zhao Weilai leaned his head back against the car window, his eyes closed, still fast asleep.

She frowned, as if she had a bad dream, and her fingers twitched slightly.

Mu Xiao hugged her handbag and huddled in the seat.

Margaret prayed softly.

The priest looked down at the corpses and performed a prayer for the dead.

A South Korean couple held hands, while an Indian man muttered to himself nervously.

The clanging of the tracks resumed.

They returned to the second before Zhao Weilai was about to wake up.

The ink-wash text slowly faded away, receding like the tide and disappearing into the void without leaving a trace.

The fluorescent light overhead suddenly flickered.

Time begins to flow again.

……

……

……

Zhao Weilai was awakened by the pain in his neck.

She leaned against the cold car window, not really sleeping soundly; her light sleep was filled with fragmented nightmares.

Zhao Weilai sat up straight, holding the knife in his arms, and looked out the car window.

06: 17.

My phone showed 02:17 before I took a break.

She rested for four whole hours, but there was still no light outside the window.

People will always have a moment when they feel like they've experienced this scene before, or that they've been to this place in a dream.

Although scientists have explained the concept of "déjà vu" in a very scientific way.

However, when the person actually experiences the sense of déjà vu, they will still have a momentary doubt about the reality of the world around them.

A familiar question welled up in my mind.

Zhao Weilai felt as if he had experienced this scene before.

Fortunately, the déjà vu was only momentary and quickly disappeared.

"Zhao, Zhao..."

A stuttering Indian voice came through: "You slept for four hours..."

That sense of incongruity grew stronger and stronger.

But Zhao Weilai couldn't remember anything. She could only force herself to ignore the discomfort and turn to look at the priest who was praying for the corpse.

Several corpses were piled up together.

A chestnut-haired woman wearing a trench coat sat next to Margaret.

"God will arrange everything. He will surely send revelation and angels to save us."

Zhao Weilai was stunned for a moment.

The chestnut-haired woman sitting next to Margaret should be called "Nina".

Is she alive?

No, why am I having such a question?

Nina and the others went through an unusual first night together. Although she has a heart condition, she thankfully made it through yesterday.

Zhao Weilai attributes all these subtle "déjà vu" experiences to "hallucinations after nerve tension."

……

Nina, sitting next to Margaret, wore an awkward smile and nervously moved her fingers.

She lowered her head.

Chestnut hair covered the tattoo-like stitches on her neck.