Eldritch Horror Theatre

[Identity verification complete. Today's work begins.]

[Warning. Containment breach.]

Moments after activating the Decree of Return, Fu Qian took off his mask and entered the Warehouse.

Familiar prompts immediately flooded his vision.

Clearly, the Warehouse had no intention of giving him his last day off.

[Name: Horse Leg. Designation: 2-155.]

[Today's work updated: Enter the Containment Scenario for 2-155 and complete re-containment.]

[Current SAN Value: 106. Current inspiration: 99.]

'A Level 2 item?' he thought. 'And here I figured I'd get a mission to terminate myself.'

Scoured by the Decree of Return, the mask now looked spotless, completely devoid of any bloodstains.

The next time he put it on, he wouldn't have to worry about being shipped back to Shangjing and forced to buy another boat ticket.

His suspicion that he might be ordered to contain himself was simple: given how desperately the Warehouse wanted to cover up the Kisaragi Kana incident, his recent actions had run completely counter to its goals.

For now, though, his probing remained unanswered. It seemed the Warehouse didn't intend to turn him into inventory just yet.

[Due to scenario restrictions, you cannot carry any equipment or weapons.]

[Select your skills.]

'They can do that?'

Intrigued by the new prompt, Fu Qian selected all his skills and confirmed.

Since he had never reached a carrying limit, Fu Qian currently just selected every item and skill with his eyes closed.

Still, this was the first time he'd encountered an absolute restriction on items. He wondered what kind of novel scenario awaited him.

As he pondered, the scenery before him rapidly shifted.

[Entering Containment Scenario 2-155...]

[...1%...5%...15%...45%...75%...95%...100%. Containment Scenario loaded.]

[This was an unremarkable corner, a quiet nook within a bustling metropolis.

Beneath that tranquil surface, however, hid a very special research institute.

Here, ambitious figures brimmed with confidence, vainly attempting to analyze and decipher everything.

In the eyes of these fanatical pursuers, absolutely everything could be exploited. Everything had a price, even Transcendent power.

Unfortunately, they didn't realize that their so-called analysis was utterly laughable in the face of true power.

Their self-righteous, clumsy imitations would only bring tragedy.]

"How do you feel?"

'Huh?'

Fu Qian's five senses had just returned when he heard the voice in front of him. The tone sounded exactly like a doctor consulting a patient.

'Is he actually a doctor?'

A moment later, Fu Qian focused on the figure before him: a bespectacled man in a white coat.

He looked to be in his forties and sat behind a metal desk, eyes narrowed as he studied Fu Qian.

Though his question sounded like genuine concern for a patient's well-being, his posture was exceedingly aloof.

"Not bad."

Uncertain of his current situation, Fu Qian quickly played along.

He wasn't lying. Compared to his last mission—where he'd opened his eyes to find himself trapped inside a torture instrument bristling with needles—this was definitely not bad.

As he answered, Fu Qian took the opportunity to glance down at himself.

Suddenly, he understood why the Warehouse had barred him from bringing items.

He was currently dressed in a bright orange uniform.

It was eye-catching, baggy, and entirely formless—a look that practically screamed cannon fodder at first glance.

A piece of cannon fodder decked out in Rings or wearing an Iron Cage on his head would indeed be a bit too ostentatious.

To compensate, however, the Warehouse had done him a small favor.

Even without using any props, Fu Qian could sense that his aura had been concealed through some special means.

"Not bad?"

The Cold-Faced Demonic Doctor's eyes gleamed sharply behind his lenses. He stared at Fu Qian for a few seconds before snatching a piece of paper from the side and slapping it onto the desk.

"What time is it?"

"Eighteen fifteen."

Fu Qian glanced behind the man and stated the time.

A palm-sized digital clock sat there, completely unadorned.

Just like the room itself.

"Good. Now draw it on the paper, in the form of a clock face."

'Huh?'

The moment he processed that instruction, Fu Qian had the sudden urge to find a mirror.

Drawing a clock face—was this a test of his mental state?

He naturally thought of his alternate persona, Dancy.

'I guess playing a cannibalistic creep too often really does invite karmic retribution,' he mused.

Snark aside, Fu Qian didn't hesitate. He took the pen and paper and smoothly drew a clock so perfectly round it looked as if it had been traced with a compass.

...

This display obviously shocked the Demonic Doctor sitting across the desk. The man unconsciously sat up straight, his eyes glued to Fu Qian's movements.

Under that intense scrutiny, Fu Qian didn't hold back. In no time, a clock face that looked like it had been laser-printed materialized on the paper.

...

The moment Fu Qian set the pen down, the Demonic Doctor snatched the drawing away, practically vibrating with impatience.

After staring at it in silence, a complicated expression crossed the doctor's face. He finally picked up a pen and swiftly scribbled a marking on the paper.

[9527]

The instant those four digits entered his vision, Fu Qian felt a long-forgotten pang of exasperation.

'Is that my test subject number? I guess many injustices bring self-destruction after all!'

He had just subjected Kisaragi Kana to a similar evaluation not long ago, and now someone was turning his tactics back upon him.

He was right. From the start, he had realized he wasn't some ordinary patient receiving psychological counseling, nor was this some prison's humanitarian care program.

His senses told him that outside this relatively small room, there was a long line of people dressed exactly like him, waiting their turn.

Combined with the mission briefing, the situation was perfectly clear.

Inside this mysterious research institute, he and the crowd outside were all being used as probes for these ambitious figures.

Having made contact with some sort of entity or object, they were now having their mental states evaluated.

'So was the thing we contacted the Horse Leg?'

Fu Qian certainly had a deep impression of that name.

"Take him out."

The Demonic Doctor pressed a button on his intercom, and someone quickly pushed the door open.

Two towering, muscular men in black uniforms strode up to Fu Qian and motioned for him to get up from the chair.

Readily accepting good advice, Fu Qian cooperatively did as he was told, following the guards out.

Their departure route seemed deliberately designed; they didn't encounter a single other person along the way. Eventually, Fu Qian was led to a door.

One guard opened it while the other silently signaled for him to enter.

Click!

As the door shut behind him, Fu Qian casually surveyed his surroundings.

The room was about the same size as the previous one, and similarly constructed of metal. The difference was that it was far more barren—never mind a clock, it didn't even have a desk or a chair.

Staring at the silver-white walls, Fu Qian silently recalled the Demonic Doctor's actions right as he left.

Watching him go, the man had deliberated over the two piles of reports on his desk before finally placing Fu Qian's paper into the thinner stack.

'So I was classified as abnormal after all, huh?'

'Just as I wanted.'

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