Doomsday Wonderland

The moment the television's announcement ended, Lin Sanjiu could almost feel that everyone around her, just like herself, was seized by the same confusion, choking them into silence.

3

What did "select a scene" mean? What was it for? How would it be done?

"Participants, please proceed to your designated personal positions," the broadcast continued. "Once you reach your personal positions, all rule explanations and scene selections will be carried out individually to ensure absolute confidentiality."

Lin Sanjiu looked up. Ahead of her, the concrete ground stretched out endlessly, vast and empty like an abandoned wasteland. The barren openness made every sound ripple outward like water waves, leaving one to wonder how anything could possibly be kept absolutely confidential.

"Look, there's something on the right!" someone suddenly shouted.

She turned her head to see a row of projections rising in the distance on the right-hand side of the concrete expanse. Several participants' faces had been magnified six or seven times, each projection hovering about three meters apart, glowing faintly in the air.

"There's some on the left too," the coarse, deep voice of the man who had previously ordered others to step aside rang out.

Lin Sanjiu traced the voice to its owner and saw, to her surprise, a man of average height with small eyes and thin lips, features that didn't match his powerful voice at all. His delicate, restrained expression revealed little emotion as he stared intently at the projection of his own calm face. The projection, as tall as the man himself, even displayed the faint scar on his temple in sharp detail.

"Looks like these are our personal positions," a muscular man with thick arms muttered. He hesitated for a few steps before striding confidently toward his own face's projection. Once there, he stood stock-still, seemingly captivated by something unheard by the others. His profile grew tense and focused.

"Some participants are already in position. Those who are not, please proceed promptly," the television urged. "Only upon reaching your personal position will the game's preparation steps be further explained."

"If everyone has one..." A tall, broad woman with a booming voice looked around before continuing, her tone clear and confident. "Mine's probably up ahead. I'll go take a look."

Unlike recently transformed posthumans who had just experienced doomsday, these Twelve Worlds Centrum civilians appeared surprisingly composed, accepting the bizarre situation with the same matter-of-factness one might exhibit when grabbing an umbrella for rain.

Several others who hadn't found their projections yet followed the woman forward. Lin Sanjiu remained in place, scanning her surroundings carefully, but her face was nowhere to be seen—until Ya Rong passed by and pointed at something in the distance.

"Your spot's right there," she said.

Following Ya Rong's gesture, Lin Sanjiu spotted it about ten meters away and nearly jumped in surprise. No wonder she hadn't noticed it earlier. To be fair, even the grand prize might have struggled to recognize her. What she initially dismissed as someone with particularly low hairline was, in fact, her projection. It was so densely covered in hair it could no longer be called normal.

Her eyebrows had transformed into thick, continuous bands resembling baguettes that took up half her forehead. What were once eyelashes now seemed like eyes embedded in a mass of fur. Honestly, considering her appearance, Ya Rong had been polite in mistaking her for a man rather than something wilder.

1

Standing before her projection, Lin Sanjiu couldn't help but feel a little uneasy.

"Welcome, Participant 12," the broadcast voice announced as her projected face disappeared. "The rules and game details will now continue."

Lin Sanjiu turned back to glance at the others. She could still see their backs and the projections before them, but no sound reached her from their positions. It was clear that her view and audio were isolated; others couldn't see or hear what she was experiencing either.

"In this game, the scene you select will become your home territory," the voice explained.

A new projection appeared before her: a stack of images, like a deck of cards, with only the edges of the scenes peeking out. Following the instructions, Lin Sanjiu swiped her hand, revealing one image after another—hotels, jungles, apartments, and more.

"There are twelve participants in this game, corresponding to twelve unique scenes," the broadcast continued. "During the selection process, the game ensures that no scene is chosen more than once. Once the game begins, these twelve distinct scenes will sequentially manifest as reality, overlaying this current empty field to accommodate all participants. Rest assured, participants will be placed in appropriate positions within the scene. For instance, if someone chooses a lake, you might find yourselves on an island or a boat, but you won't be submerged and drowned."

The explanation came at a rapid pace, each sentence slipping by like water. Lin Sanjiu strained to focus, resisting the distraction of the vivid scene projections.

"Each scene will last for 30 minutes before switching to the next, with the order determined randomly by the game. The sequence is unrelated to when participants entered their positions or chose their scenes. Once the game starts, you will only know your own scene but not whose scene is currently active."

As the voice paused, Lin Sanjiu noticed her projection shifting again. She looked up to see an image of a grand cathedral interior appear before her. Its towering dome disappeared into shadow, rows of pews stretched toward the altar, and the flickering light of candles lined the walls. At the front stood a small pulpit beneath a massive crucifix.

"Please tap to select this scene for a tutorial demonstration," instructed the broadcast voice.

It was a bit odd. Despite the elaborate measures to ensure privacy, the broadcast hadn't explicitly required participants to keep their chosen scenes a secret. Lin Sanjiu wondered if she had stumbled upon a potential loophole. She tapped on the pew in the cathedral image, her finger meeting only the sensation of air.

But the image responded, changing as her action triggered it. A new subtitle appeared over the cathedral scene.

"Tutorial Demonstration: You have now selected St. Mary's Cathedral as your home territory," read the broadcast voice, mirroring the text displayed on the screen. "St. Mary's Cathedral, like every other scene, contains two elements critical to the game."

The image panned over the cathedral, passing by pews and aisles to settle on a three-tiered altar. Sparse candles flickered on the tiers, their light casting a serene glow on a faintly illuminated crucifix. Next to the altar stood a donation box and several unlit candles, marked with a sign that read, "$1 per candle."

"These two elements are the most important setups in the game, indispensable for victory, so please listen carefully," continued the broadcast. "The first is the media."

Lin Sanjiu thought back to what she knew—media likely referred to a medium or tool.

"The media in this scene are these small candles." The image zoomed in on the altar, the candle flames vividly reflecting on Lin Sanjiu's face. "The small candles are unique to the St. Mary's Cathedral scene. Your goal is to get enough people (more than four) to willingly take one."

Candles seemed like a decent choice for media. They had utility, and convincing someone to take one didn't seem too difficult. But what exactly were the media used for?

"The second is the message.

"To explain this concept, let's use an analogy. During a presidential campaign, candidates often condense their strategies and political visions into brief, impactful statements like, 'Everyone in the nation deserves free healthcare.' This statement would be the candidate's message."

It was evident that this pocket dimension had been pulled from somewhere external; it didn't care if the Twelve Worlds Centrum participants understood the language or cultural references. The broadcast continued, unfazed, "For instance, the message unique to St. Mary's Cathedral is, 'To live in this world, one must have faith—no matter what that faith may be.' Your task is to spread this message and convince enough people (more than four) to genuinely believe it. While conveying the message, only the core meaning needs to be accurate; verbatim repetition is not required."

Lin Sanjiu froze. Getting someone to take a candle seemed simple enough; anyone could see who had taken one and who hadn't. But how would she determine who truly believed her message? Moreover, if someone already held a belief that aligned with the message, wouldn't they count as a believer the moment she spoke? That seemed unfair to participants whose messages might be less immediately relatable.

Unfortunately, the broadcast didn't leave her any room for leisurely contemplation.

"The media and message work in tandem," it continued. "Those who take a candle (media) are more likely to believe your message. Similarly, those who believe your message will find it easier to take a candle. Both are goals you must achieve, and they mutually reinforce one another. You can choose to prioritize spreading your message or distributing the media based on the situation. To fully convert someone into a believer, they must possess both your media and belief in your message. Neither alone is sufficient."

On the surface, it sounded simple. Ideally, participants could exchange information about their goals, take each other's media, and try to believe each other's messages. Wouldn't that ensure everyone passed the game smoothly?

Lin Sanjiu desperately needed time to think, but the broadcast pressed on relentlessly.

"To better track game progress, starting now, your upper right field of vision will display game data, just like a video game interface. This includes your initial credibility, the number of people who have taken your media, the number who believe your message, and the number who have reached full conversion."

As the broadcast mentioned this, Lin Sanjiu noticed something shift slightly in her peripheral vision. She glanced to the right and saw the display: all counters naturally read 0. However...

The broadcast seemed uncannily attuned to the participants' current feelings.

"In your home territory, your credibility will be doubled. Completing promises or otherwise demonstrating your integrity will increase your credibility. Each time you convert a new believer, your credibility will double again. Once a participant becomes someone else's believer, they can no longer promote their own message. Their credibility will instead support the other participant's message, helping them achieve their goal. In other words, once you become someone else's believer, your chance of losing the game rises to 95%. Therefore, even with a low initial credibility, you still have a chance to win."

Lin Sanjiu heard every word but felt no relief.

In the upper-right corner of her vision, beneath her credibility score, a small line of text explained:

"Under normal, safe social circumstances, the trustworthiness of a stranger is approximately 1. For reference only."

Her credibility was just 0.3.

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