Right on Target (TARGET)
The moment Inspector finished speaking, Su Heting slammed the door shut.
This was downright terrifying—the surveillance system was welcoming him.
The door was blocked by Inspector, whose elegantly boned wrist reached out like a summoner from the underworld.
"My mistake," Su Heting said as he stepped back at the same time. He kicked the door handle, trying to shut Inspector back inside. "Wrong door."
But the door seemed welded in place, unmoving.
The standoff lasted only a second before Inspector’s fist smashed through the door, shattering it instantly. Splinters flew everywhere, nearly hitting Su Heting in the face.
Holy shit!
Not waiting for Inspector’s next move, Su Heting spun and delivered a flying kick, sending the broken door panel straight toward Inspector’s neck—no mercy.
Inspector blocked with one arm, effortlessly absorbing the impact, then twisted his grip to seize Su Heting’s ankle, attempting to flip him over.
Su Heting couldn’t turn mid-air, so he feinted with a left hook—a black panther’s deceptive trick—before following up with a brutal right cross, usually enough to daze an opponent.
Inspector seemed to have anticipated it as he merely tilted his head slightly to evade. His cross-shaped earring swayed wildly as raindrops splattered against it.
Seizing the moment, Su Heting yanked his leg back and grabbed the remaining door frame before hurling it at Inspector before bolting.
The air in the Punishment Zone was thick and humid, the rapid drumbeat of rain drowning out all other sounds.
In the blink of an eye, Su Heting darted into the garden.
A loud crash echoed behind him—the door was completely destroyed.
Inspector was catching up!
Just a step away from the iron gate, a gust of wind suddenly swept toward the back of his neck.
Su Heting reacted instantly, raising his arm to block, but Inspector’s kick was too powerful, sending him flying straight through the iron gate!
Fuck—!
Why wasn’t the log-off timer up yet?!
His back scraped against the ground, but he barely had time to gasp before springing back up. Inspector was already in front of him, their eyes meeting again—his gaze bone-chillingly cold.
Right at this critical moment, a shrill beeping erupted like shredded paper stuffing Su Heting’s ears.
"First experience in the Punishment Zone concluded."
An unfamiliar electronic female voice suddenly spoke, flat and mechanical in his mind.
"Please maintain breathing and prepare to return to reality."
But Inspector was already reaching for his back—a clear motion to draw a gun.
"Three, two..."
—Why was there a countdown?!
Su Heting abruptly mirrored the gesture with his calm expression and showing no trace of panic despite being at a disadvantage. His gun-drawing stance was textbook-perfect, as if he, too, held all the cards.
Inspector paused, seemingly surprised he could be armed.
That split second was all it took.
"Bang." Su Heting mimed a finger gun, even adding sound effects. His cat ears perked back up from their flattened state. "Just a little, little joke."
"...One!"
The countdown ended. The scene before him blurred instantly, as if everything had dissolved into a rain-soaked movie poster.
Su Heting vanished right on schedule, as though he’d never been there at all.
The iron gate creaked in the downpour and the light above flickering once—leaving only Inspector standing alone in the rain.
After a long moment, he withdrew his hand from the gun and crouched down by the door.
The rain had soaked through, causing the muscles of his shoulders and arms to subtly press against his shirt. These were muscles trained specifically for combat—neither exaggerated nor ostentatious, but brimming with explosive power.
He stared at the spot where Su Heting had vanished.
A few drops of blood remained there that were quickly washed away by the rain.
Su Heting abruptly opened his eyes, returning to reality.
A wave of intense dizziness assaulted him and his consciousness threatened to spiral away from his body—it felt like the aftermath of heavy drinking. Seconds later, his empty stomach began to convulse.
"Dizziness is a normal reaction; it’ll pass in a bit," came the voice of the Chief, now distant, now near. "Monk, get him a cup of hot water."
In no time, the monk placed a cup of hot water on the table. His shaved head gleamed under the light, glaring into Su Heting’s eyes.
Su Heting narrowed his modified eye, unaccustomed to the brightness. He looked ahead—the storm and Inspector were gone. The room was filled with some kind of incense, its scent stifling.
The Punishment Zone was too realistic, as if it were another actual world. Su Heting had to quickly adapt to the transition between these real and illusory worlds, or it would inflict severe psychological trauma.
He lowered his gaze to his hands.
His palms were clean, without a single wound.
The injuries he’d sustained on the bus had also disappeared.
"Injuries from the Punishment Zone don’t carry over to reality," said the Chief, holding her own cup as she observed Su Heting by the window. "But if you’re killed there, you die for real. Heh, you little bastard, didn’t lose any limbs in there, did you?"
"A weasel giving New Year’s greetings to a chicken," Su Heting clenched his fists, his gaze sharp. "You’d love nothing more than to see me dead."
"Quite the grudge," the Chief offered a half-hearted consolation. "It’s thrilling in there, like playing a game. Broadens your horizons, too."
Games don’t kill you for real.
Ignoring her reply, Su Heting steadied himself and asked, "What’s the deal with Inspector?"
"Oh, him…" the Chief rubbed her chin. "You could call him the Punishment Zone’s firewall? Anyway, he works year-round without rest, killing every undercover agent we’ve sent in."
Su Heting frowned. "Every single one?"
"Yep, every single one." the Chief took a sip of hot water. "That guy’s a tough nut to crack."
Of course he was. Su Heting recalled the earlier scene. "He can resurrect."
"Not just that—he also has precognition." the Chief paused briefly, her brow furrowing slightly as if weighing her next words. "The spawn points for undercover agents are random, but he always knows in advance."
Monk stood nearby, holding up a paper schedule to show Su Heting the time. "You entered the Punishment Zone at 20:58. He was already on the bus that would pass you by 20:55."
Su Heting didn’t believe in precognition. "Then why didn’t he act on the bus?"
"Nightwalker disrupted his plans," Monk said. "He had to protect the other passengers first."
Su Heting couldn’t wrap his head around it. "Isn’t he just an inspection system?"
"He still has to save people." Monk clasped his hands together before murmuring "Amitabha," before adding, "We know those people are NPCs, but he might not."
What a bizarre setup.
If saving lives was the goal, the Main God System could’ve just programmed a string of data to play cops in the Punishment Zone, instead of having a lone inspection system act as a superhero.
Su Heting's eyes flickered slightly as he withheld his doubts but chose not to engage further with the monk. Instead, he continued asking, "How do you distinguish between real people and NPCs inside?"
The monk didn’t turn his head, merely pointing a thumb toward the next room. "We have specialized real-person detection. If you encounter one, you’ll get a text message."
How fucking primitive.
Text messages were utterly useless in critical moments. Su Heting wasn’t about to pull out his phone mid-fight to read one, and the notification sound would only interfere with his hearing like some damn pager.
"Give me all the intel on the Punishment Zone," Su Heting demanded bluntly. "Otherwise, you can handle this mission yourselves."
The monk hadn’t yet disarmed, having only removed his gas mask. He glanced at the Chief before warning Su Heting, "I suggest you—"
"Save it," Su Heting cut him off coldly. "If you’re not handing it over, just shoot me here and now. Then hurry up and find the next unlucky bastard."
The room instantly fell so silent you could hear a pin drop.
"Fine," the Chief reached into her pocket, where a pack of cigarettes lay, but she didn’t light one. Instead, she pinched it between her fingers, opting to compromise. "What else do you want?"
Su Heting ordered a plate of braised chicken with potatoes.
By the time Su Heting returned to the tenement building, it was already late at night. He spent fifty bucks on a shower and stood in front of the sink, blow-drying his ears with a handheld dryer.
Titan had been right—Su Heting’s ears and tail were a pain to maintain.
He pushed back his damp hair, letting the hot air ruffle it between his fingers. His ears didn’t like the heat, twitching several times in protest.
After finishing his ears, he moved on to his tail, ensuring every strand was fluffy. Otherwise, infections were all too easy to catch.
Su Heting pinched the tip of his tail, checking for any shedding. Then he switched his neural port to inspect for water leakage.
Being a Hybrid wasn’t exactly a joyride.
The brain-machine interface required skull surgery for implantation, leaving neurons vulnerable to damage and the ports prone to aging. Worst of all, while the implants could enhance the body, they also increased the risk of brain death.
Su Heting couldn’t remember whether he’d volunteered for the procedure.
The Great Explosion had nearly taken half his life. Without these troublesome implants, he might’ve been permanently bedridden, unable to even stand.
The small dryer overheated after half an hour, its airflow becoming sporadic.
Su Heting turned it off just as his phone buzzed with a notification.
This was currently his most valuable possession—a relic similar to the antique phone he used in the Punishment Zone. It only accepted primitive ID cards, capable of sending texts and receiving calls.
Every Hybrid he knew used one.
Because of its outdated nature, it usually flew under Xingtian’s surveillance, making it widely circulated among Hybrids. Beyond that, it also held value.
The Main God System was too cutting-edge, so the anti-system survival zones embraced retro aesthetics. High-priced luxuries were deliberately aged, and genuine old-world artifacts like this were even more expensive—prized collectibles for survivors nostalgic for the past.
Su Heting opened the message. The sender was Hermit.
Hermit: Heard you got nabbed and then released. Fuck me sideways—the Profanity League just got raided by that monk. Are you a mole or what?
The Main God System forbade humans from swearing. Words like "your dad" or "you motherfucker" were banned, so the anti-system zones birthed protest groups dedicated to teaching profanity—covering multiple languages, even dialects.
Su Heting had just learned the phrase "you motherfucker" when he logged out—there were way too many lunatics inside.
He replied: You’re an idiot.
Hermit: ? Identity confirmed, it’s really you.
Hermit: I haven’t finished piecing my head back together yet, so I can’t compete lately. Tried bribing the referee to hire a substitute.
Su Heting immediately sent over his substitute advertisement from the trading market.
[Pick me, professional substitute. Super cheap, guaranteed rank-up.]
Hermit: Why didn’t you say so earlier???
Hermit: I just paid the substitute fee!
Su Heting: Who’d you hire?
Hermit: Some guy named Xie Zhenshu.
Hermit: Ever heard of him?
Author’s Note:
① [Nightwalker] Height: 2 meters, naked with disheveled hair. Arms like vines and face resembling a human’s. Typically has 4–8 sharp steel-bladed legs and moves extremely fast. Though possessing a mouth, it feeds through its chest cavity. Unaffected by bullets and fears fire. Only appears in the Punishment Zone on rainy nights, and is easily lured by human cries. Becomes frenzied when attacked but never harms any offspring. — "Punctual Sniper Chronicles"
①-1. Setting inspiration drawn from Miscellaneous Morsels from Youyang. Miscellaneous Morsels from Youyang: The Nightwalker, also called the Celestial Maiden or the Hook Star, flies by night and hides by day, like a ghost or spirit. Her feathers become wings, and when shed, she takes the form of a woman. Childless, she delights in stealing others’ children. Her chest bears milk.
② Brain-computer interface references sourced from: Has the Brain-Machine Era Arrived?
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