Chapter 109: Essay

“Five minutes until the show begins its first segment, where the eight contestants will introduce themselves. Let’s take a commercial break first.”

The emotionally charged narration in the broadcast ended, and the TV screen switched to an advertisement—a three-headed mutated dog sprinting with a soda can coated in condensation in its mouth, while behind it, a fleet of grotesque, brutal post-apocalyptic pickup trucks chased relentlessly; the ad’s title read: 【Nuke Cola, Awaken Your Taste Buds, Ignite Your Vitality】

WTF

All eight players wore expressions of unbearable discomfort.

To be honest, if this were just a straightforward death match where everyone kills on sight, it’d be simple—survival would depend purely on who’s strongest. But this 【Post-Apocalyptic Dating Reality Show】? That’s just cruel!

Snap!

The blond blue-eyed white man clapped his hands, activating some kind of skill. An invisible ripple spread through the room, and the TV’s audio instantly became muffled.

“According to the narrator, this is commercial time. I’ve cast a Silence Barrier—no one outside can hear us. To prevent the production crew’s cameras from reading lips, I’m putting on my mask.”

As he spoke, the white man pulled on his mask.

He was extraordinarily handsome, almost beautiful, “First, let’s confirm one thing: as a biological male, my assigned mission is 【Damn! I’m Surrounded by Beauties!】. I wonder what yours are?”

The white woman slightly raised an eyebrow and said, “Mine is 【Damn! I’m Surrounded by Handsomes!】”

“Same here,” said the Black woman. The other two women nodded in agreement.

Indeed, everyone present was either a handsome man or a beautiful woman—no lie.

Leonardo nodded, “Understood. It seems the system assigns different mission names based on biological sex. In standard death matches, there are usually rewards like game currency, experience points, or looting skill equipment upon killing opponents—but none of that here.”

Also, the system’s objective isn’t to kill everyone else, but merely to survive until the game ends. That means we might first cooperate to understand the real rules before taking other actions.”

“To show good faith, I’ll reveal my information first.”

With that, he displayed his ID.

【Bloody Diamond · Leonardo】【Lv8】

“Also, I’m a member of the European Heavy Industry Guild. Here’s my identification.” Leonardo pulled out his credentials and showed them to the others.

Inspired by him, the other players also revealed their IDs.

The Black handsome guy was 【Everyone’s Rival · Will】【Lv7】, claiming to be from Gen-Sys Biotech.

The Indian handsome guy was 【Kama Sutra · Irfaan】【Lv8】, claiming to be from Prometheus Lab.

Li Cheng himself was 【Death Gambler · Pifú】【Lv6】, a lone wolf player.

The fair-skinned, beautiful white woman was 【Catwoman · Annie】【Lv6】, claiming to be from the Witch Alliance.

The sexy, alluring Black woman was 【Stormborn · Harley】【Lv8】, claiming to be from the Federal Investigation Bureau’s Special Incident Division.

The sweet-looking East Asian girl was 【Center of Attention · Huiying】【Lv7】, claiming to be from the Global Supernatural Alliance.

Finally, Little Red Riding Hood: 【Cover Your Head and Crouch · Little Red Riding Hood】【Lv6】, from Ridao’s Abnormal Affairs Bureau.

Of the eight players present, the average level was Lv7. Considering most came from major guilds with organizational backing, their overall strength was certainly above average.

“Wait, Huiying?” Irfaan, the Indian handsome guy, raised his hand and asked the East Asian girl, “Are you by any chance ICEY, Miss Jin Huiying?”

“Yes,” Jin Huiying smiled wryly and nodded. Her current makeup differed from her real-world photos, but it was clearly the same person.

“My nephew is a huge fan of yours. After we leave here, could you sign an autograph photo for him?” Irfaan said politely. As the highest-level Lv8 player present, he appeared confident and calm, even having the leisure to chat casually.

Jin Huiying nodded, “Of course. If we can safely escape from here, not just one, even a hundred autograph photos are fine.”

Leonardo cut in, “Autographs can wait. The first step of honest trust has been achieved. Let me analyze this mission.”

“First, the mission objective and briefing are absolutely truthful and fully reliable. The narration that follows, however, may not be.”

It sounds like we’re eight lab rats trapped in a room, forced to participate in a death game where one person must be eliminated each round, while maintaining show ratings—or else we’ll all be executed.”

But what if we consider another approach: force our way out? The rules only state that eliminated contestants are exiled to the wasteland—not immediately killed. With our strength, we might survive seventy-two hours in the wasteland, complete the mission, and claim the Emergency Escape Card as our reward.”

The Emergency Escape Card is a special reward issued by the Killing Grounds, allowing players to forcibly exit any non-punishment script, routine, or mandatory mission and return to the real world.

The Emergency Escape Card is bound to the individual, non-transferable, and only drops upon death—making it extremely precious, truly a last-resort survival item.

“That’s a valid idea, but is it really that simple?”

Annie of the Witch Alliance said, “If a single player follows the rules and gets eliminated, fine. But if all eight contestants collectively ‘escape,’ won’t the show’s producers intervene?”

According to the briefing, this is a newly rebuilt civilization in the radioactive wasteland, with moral values and technological levels vastly different from the real world.”

If we collectively break the rules and escape, what waits outside might not be mutated creatures—but the producers’ long-range rifles and armored divisions.”

As she spoke, Annie walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, pulled out a powerful flashlight, and pressed it against the glass, shining outward.

The flashlight’s beam, capable of illuminating a kilometer, faded beyond fifty meters and was swallowed by darkness—nothing beyond could be seen.

The unknown is always the most terrifying. Who knows what awaits outside? Staying in the villa and obediently playing the dating show gives us at least a 25% survival chance—according to the narrator, the finale should leave one or more couples.”

“Then let’s each do our own thing.”

Will, the Black handsome guy, shrugged. He looked exactly like a young Hollywood actor named Will Smith.

“Commercial break over! Let’s begin today’s main episode!”

The speaker in the corner crackled again. Mechanical arms extended from ceiling tracks, holding cameras and boom mics, all pointing at the eight contestants.

On the TV screen, surveillance footage of the villa appeared alongside a data panel displaying each contestant’s current vote count, the show’s current popularity, and audience big data (including but not limited to age, gender, income status, etc.).

【Family, who understands?! I can finally watch my favorite wasteland dating show again~】

【Wow, so this is what old humans looked like? So hot and beautiful! No more talking, girls, start voting; guys, start guiding】

【Front row selling peanuts, sunflower seeds, folding stools, and Nuke Cola】

【Left-side comments are too thick, blocking my view of the handsome guys and beautiful girls!】

A flood of translucent comments streamed across the screen. The show was clearly wildly popular—already at one million popularity upon launch, halfway to the required two million for this segment.

“Hello everyone, let’s start with self-introductions.”

Leonardo removed his mask, took a deep breath, sat on the sofa, and flashed a perfectly polished smile toward the camera, “I’m Leonardo, twenty-five, a chef. As for romantic experience—well, I’m embarrassed. I just ended a long-term relationship; she dumped me for money.”

Leonardo lowered his gaze, his clear eyes revealing melancholy—he could clearly see the camera’s position via the reflection on the marble coffee table, and knew exactly which angle to present himself.

Sure enough, more comments flooded the screen, sympathizing and supporting him. The data panel showed he immediately gained over thirty thousand votes, still climbing, while others had only a few thousand each.

Success!

A flicker of triumph passed through Leonardo’s eyes. He noticed that 55% of the audience were women, mostly young girls. The dumped-love story boosted sympathy points—he’d basically won like Qin Shi Huang touching a live wire.

“Oh, you’re a chef too?”

Harley, the sexy Black woman, leaned forward, showcasing her graceful back curve, and said softly, “I’m a bartender by trade, but I’m also interested in cooking. Could we exchange tips?”

So the performance begins.

Li Cheng, who had been quietly observing, raised an eyebrow slightly. Harley’s strategy was smart: since Leonardo was such a good actor, she might as well flirt early in the dating show to piggyback on his votes.

As expected, Leonardo enthusiastically chatted with Harley, sharing cooking insights; their vote counts rose in tandem, and the comments flooded with “so sweet, so adorable.”

Will, the Black handsome guy, flickered a cold look in his eyes. This wouldn’t do. Vote totals were limited. If viewers all flocked to Leonardo and Harley, others would get fewer votes.

“May I ask where Mr. Leonardo currently works? I’d love to experience your restaurant.”

He smiled and extended his hand, “By the way, I’m Will, a financial professional.”

Financial institutions still existed in the wasteland—the bank ads on TV proved that. Will’s subtle display of a luxurious wristwatch silently confirmed his wealthy, young status.

The seemingly normal conversation carried an unmistakable undercurrent of tension. The mechanical arms immediately lowered, adjusting camera angles to capture every micro-expression on Leonardo and Will’s faces.

“Pifú, sir,”

Outside the camera’s view, Little Red Riding Hood whispered to Li Cheng beside her, “What are they doing…?”

“Male competition,” Li Cheng murmured. “Just like two men in a bar trying to impress the same woman—they showcase their advantages in wealth, power, social status, education, height, appearance, and sexual appeal, without using violence.”

It’s almost a biological instinct, like the courtship dances of blue-footed boobies, great argus pheasants, Australian peacock spiders, lesser bird-of-paradise, and prairie chickens.”

By the way, I once had a friend who imitated a prairie chicken and danced for his crush—then got arrested by the cops for disturbing public order and obscenity.”

“Huh?”

Little Red Riding Hood looked utterly confused. Jin Huiying nearly broke composure—she knew what a prairie chicken was: a bird native to North American coniferous forests, with two yellow throat sacs that males inflate and repeatedly snap to make a “pop” sound to attract mates.”

If a human tried to imitate that, it’d be roughly equivalent to stripping naked and repeatedly flexing their pecs or testicles.”

“I used to work at a restaurant in Diamond City—I won’t say the name. Later, I saved up some money and wanted to open my own place. Still in the planning stage.”

Leonardo shook Will’s hand, answering flawlessly—Diamond City was the production site of Nuke Cola, already shown in the TV ad. Mentioning it added credibility.

Seeing the others engaged in conversation, Li Cheng glanced at the fruit basket on the coffee table and whispered to Little Red Riding Hood, “Cooperate with me soon.”

“Huh?” Before Little Red Riding Hood could react, Li Cheng lightly scratched her hand with his fingernail, drawing a shallow, long cut.

“Ssshh—”

Little Red Riding Hood cried out involuntarily. The mechanical arm immediately sensed the sound and rotated its camera toward her.

“Did you hurt yourself cutting fruit?”

Li Cheng pretended to meet her for the first time, pulled a first-aid kit from his pocket (actually his backpack inventory), took out a disinfectant swab, and gently dabbed it on her hand before applying a non-stitching bandage.

“It hurts,” Little Red Riding Hood said tearfully—she wasn’t faking; it genuinely hurt.

“It’s fine, it’ll heal quickly.”

Li Cheng spoke in a deep, magnetic voice, “I’m Pifú, a wasteland explorer. I’ve seen injuries like this too many times.”

“Wasteland… explorer?” Little Red Riding Hood played along, puzzled.

“Yes. Exploring and adventuring in the wasteland—hunting ferocious mutated beasts, or delving into ruins of pre-war research labs to recover lost technology.”

“I’ve seen beauty no ordinary person could imagine: beneath the ruins, nuclear reactors still running after centuries, emitting a faint blue Cherenkov glow in the pitch-black depths of water, while all the past vanishes into time, like tears lost in rain.”

Li Cheng adopted a somber expression and sighed, “But wasteland exploration is far too dangerous. One of my detective partners got mixed up with a criminal gang, poisoned with some drug, and ended up looking like a high school student with the intelligence of a child.”

“Seeing his fate, I decided to hang up my boots.”

Hey, are you seriously plagiarizing and adapting lines from the old movie Blade Runner?

And what’s this “high school student with the intelligence of a child” detective nonsense? Isn’t that just calling him an idiot? Are you sure you didn’t reverse it?!

A few savvy players, like Leonardo, twitched their eyebrows but said nothing.

The TV screen’s comments paused for a moment, then rapidly refreshed. Thanks to Li Cheng’s crafted face’s high charm and his persuasive tone, his vote count steadily rose—

After all, a wasteland explorer is far more sensational than a chef or bartender.

A few people chatted normally, constantly stealing glances at the real-time data on the screen. All votes were close, with Leonardo slightly ahead, but the show’s overall popularity remained stubbornly stuck at 1.5 million.

With only five minutes left in this round’s game segment, if they failed to raise the popularity, everyone would face elimination.

Li Cheng subtly narrowed his eyes—he would never let the production team manipulate him; he had already prepared a backup plan.

“Snap!”

Just as Li Cheng was about to make an extreme move, Anne, the white woman from the Witch Alliance, suddenly stood up, her face pale, hands clamped over her cheeks, tears welling in her eyes—as if she had remembered something horrifying.

“Anne, what’s wrong?” Jin Huiying, seated beside her, asked anxiously.

“I—I remember.”

Anne pointed at the Indian handsome man, Irfan, her voice trembling: “Two years ago, at a bar in Boston City, I was drinking with friends when he approached me. I was young and naive—I drank the drink he ordered, then lost consciousness. He took me to a hotel, dazed and helpless.”

“Just as he was about to succeed, I regained my senses, fought desperately to push him away, climbed out the window, and fell onto the ground outside from the second floor. These scars here are from that night.”

She rolled up her sleeve, revealing a grotesque scar on her left arm.

Holy shit! A social death confession!

Everyone’s expressions instantly turned wildly varied. The eight players had been randomly matched; Anne and Irfan had clearly never met before. This accusation was clearly a lie.

The number of live comments on the screen surged several-fold: 【Poor girl】

【Who would’ve thought this could still happen in the 22nd century!】

【Hell is empty, and all the devils are among us】

【What is the production team doing?! Didn’t even do background checks?! How did they let a sex offender in?!】

In response, the show’s popularity and Anne’s vote count skyrocketed, while Irfan’s votes remained stagnant.

“You—”

Irfan snapped back to his senses, stood up, clenched his fists, his face taut with barely contained rage: “Miss, you’ve got it wrong. I never went to Boston City two years ago.”

“Then it was three or four years ago. I can’t remember exactly, but this definitely happened.”

Anne stepped backward, her voice filled with sorrow: “I’m an unmarried girl—why would I ruin my own reputation to frame you?”

Her face twisted in anguish, but inside, she was utterly calm. Reality TV wasn’t about truth—it was about stirring the audience’s emotions.

(ID section doesn’t count toward VIP word count)

(End of Chapter)