Chapter 89: Essay

"Five minutes from now, the first segment of the show will begin, with the eight contestants introducing themselves. Before that, let's take a commercial break."

The emotionally charged narration in the broadcast ended, and the TV screen began playing an advertisement—a three-headed mutated dog sprinting with a soda can covered in dewdrops in its mouth, while behind it, a fleet of grotesque, ferocious 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 enough—who survives is up to skill. But this 【Post-Apocalyptic Dating Reality Show】? Isn't this just too much of a trap?!

Snap!

The blond blue-eyed white man clapped his hands, activating some 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 our conversation. To prevent the production crew's cameras from reading lips, I'm putting on my mask."

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

He was extremely handsome, even beautiful, "First, let's confirm one thing: as a biological male, my assigned mission name is 【Damn! I'm Surrounded by Beauties!】. I wonder what yours are?"

The blonde woman raised an eyebrow slightly 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 normal death matches, there are usually rewards like game currency, experience points, or looting skill equipment upon killing opponents—but none of that here."

Meanwhile, the system's objective is merely to survive until the game ends, not to eliminate everyone else. That means we might first cooperate, figure out the actual rules, then decide our next move."

"To show sincerity, 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 · Master Pi Fu】【Lv6】, a lone wolf player.

The pale-skinned beautiful white woman was 【Catgirl · Annie】【Lv6】, claiming to be from the Monutong Alliance.

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

The sweet-looking East Asian woman was 【Center of Attention · Jin 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 the Japanese Island Abnormal Affairs Bureau.

The eight players had an average level of Lv7. Considering most came from major guilds with organizational backing, their overall strength was certainly above average.

"Wait, Jin Huiying?" Irfaan, the Indian handsome guy, raised his hand and asked the East Asian woman, "Are you that ICEY, Young Lady Jin Huiying?"

"Yes," Jin Huiying replied with a wry smile, nodding. 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 a photo for him?" Irfaan said politely. As the highest-level Lv8 in the room, he appeared confident and calm, even having the leisure to chat casually.

Jin Huiying nodded, "Of course. If we can leave here safely, not just one photo—a hundred signed photos are fine."

Leonardo cut off their small talk and said quickly, "We'll deal with autographs later. The first step of honest trust has been achieved. Let me analyze this mission."

"First, the mission objective and briefing are absolutely real—fully trustworthy. The narration that follows, however, may not be."

It sounds like we're eight lab mice trapped in a room, forced to participate in a death game where someone must be eliminated each round, while also maintaining show ratings—or else we'll all be executed."

"But what if we think differently? What if we try to break out? The rules only say 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, regular, 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 this simple?"

Annie of the Monutong 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 radiation 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 weapons 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, normally capable of illuminating a kilometer, faded after fifty meters and was swallowed by darkness—nothing beyond could be seen.

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

"Then let's each fend for ourselves."

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

"Commercial break over! Let's begin today's main show!"

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

On the TV screen, surveillance footage of the villa appeared, alongside a data panel showing each contestant's current votes, 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 look like? So hot and beautiful! No more talking—girls, start clicking; guys, start guiding】

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

【The left-side barrage is too thick—it's blocking my view of the handsome guys and beauties!】

A flood of semi-transparent barrage scrolled 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 conveying melancholy—through the reflection on the marble coffee table, he could clearly see the camera's position and knew exactly which angle to present himself.

Sure enough, more barrage immediately flooded the screen, sympathizing and supporting him. The data panel showed he instantly gained over thirty thousand votes, still rising, while everyone else had only a few thousand.

Got it!

Leonardo's eyes flickered with delight; he noticed that at the start of this show, 55% of the audience were women, mostly young Misses. A rejection experience would earn him sympathy points—it was like Qin Shi Huang touching a live wire—winning big.

"Oh, are you also a chef?"

Harley, a sexy Black woman, leaned forward curiously, revealing the graceful curve of her back, and said softly, "I'm a bartender by profession, but I'm also interested in cooking—could we exchange ideas?"

So it's starting already, huh.

Li Cheng, who had been quietly observing from the side, raised an eyebrow slightly. Harley's strategy was quite wise: since Leonardo was such a good actor, they might as well play up the ambiguity early in the dating show and siphon off some of his votes.

As expected, Leonardo enthusiastically chatted with Harley, sharing cooking insights; their vote counts rose in tandem, and the live comments flooded with "So sweet! So eye-catching!"

Will, a handsome Black man, flickered a cold glint in his eyes. This couldn't continue—the total vote pool was limited; if viewers all voted for Leonardo and Harley, votes for others would shrink.

"May I ask where Mr. Leonardo is currently employed? 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; bank ads had appeared on TV before. Will's expensive wristwatch, casually revealed, silently confirmed his youthful wealth.

The seemingly normal conversation carried an inexplicable tension. The rail-mounted robotic arm immediately lowered, adjusting the camera angle to capture the subtle expressions on Leonardo's and Will's faces.

"Master Pi Fu,"

Outside the camera's view, Little Red Riding Hood lowered her voice and asked Li Cheng beside her, "What are they doing?"

"Male competition," Li Cheng murmured. "Just like two men in a bar trying to flirt with the same woman—they display their advantages in money, power, social status, education, height, appearance, and sexual allure, without using violence."

This is nearly a biological instinct, like the courtship dances of blue-footed boobies, great argus pheasants, Australian peacock spiders, lesser bird-of-paradise, and prairie chickens in nature.

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

"Huh?"

Little Red Riding Hood looked bewildered; Jin Huiying beside her nearly broke composure—she knew what a prairie chicken was: a bird native to North American coniferous forests, with two yellow sacs on its neck that males inflate and repeatedly thrust out during mating season, making a "bo" sound to attract females.

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 its name. Later, I saved up some money and wanted to open my own restaurant; I'm still in the planning stage."

Leonardo shook Will's hand, answering flawlessly—Diamond City was the production site of Nuka-Cola and had appeared in TV ads. Mentioning it boosted his credibility.

Seeing the group chatting, Li Cheng glanced at the fruit basket on the coffee table and whispered to Little Red Riding Hood, "Cooperate with me later."

"Huh?" Before Little Red Riding Hood could react, Li Cheng lightly scratched her hand with his fingernail, carving a shallow, long wound.

"Ssshh—"

Little Red Riding Hood cried out in pain; the mechanical arm immediately sensed the sound and rotated the camera toward her.

"Did you get hurt while peeling fruit?"

Li Cheng pretended to meet Little Red Riding Hood for the first time, pulling a first-aid kit from his pocket (actually his backpack inventory), taking out a disinfectant swab, and gently dabbing it on her hand before applying a non-suture wound patch.

"It hurts," Little Red Riding Hood said, eyes welling with tears—she wasn't faking; it truly hurt.

"It's fine, it'll heal quickly."

Li Cheng spoke in a rich, resonant voice: "I'm Master Pi Fu, a wasteland explorer. I've seen injuries like this far too often."

"Wasteland… explorer?" Little Red Riding Hood followed along, puzzled.

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

"I've seen beauty beyond ordinary imagination: beneath the ruins, nuclear reactors still running after centuries, their Cherenkov radiation glowing faint blue in the pitch-black deep water, while all the past vanishes into time, like tears lost in rain."

Li Cheng put on a solemn expression at the right moment, sighed, and said: "However, wasteland exploration is truly too dangerous. One of my detective companions got involved with a criminal gang, and they forced some kind of poison down his throat. In the end, he ended up looking like a high schooler on the outside but with the intellect of an elementary school kid."

"It was precisely after seeing his fate that I decided to give up this line of work for good."

Hey, aren't you blatantly plagiarizing and adapting lines from the old movie Blade Runner?

And what's this "looks like a high school student, intelligence of a primary schooler" detective? Isn't that just an idiot? Are you sure you didn't reverse it?!

Several savvy players, like Leonardo, twitched their corners of the eyes but said nothing.

The live comments on the TV screen paused for a moment, then rapidly refreshed. Thanks to Li Cheng's crafted face's immense charm and his persuasive tone, his vote count was steadily rising—

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

The group chatted normally, constantly stealing glances at the real-time data on screen. Everyone's vote counts were close; Leonardo led slightly, but the most critical metric—the show's overall popularity—remained stuck at 1.5 million.

With only five minutes left until the end of this game segment, if they didn't raise the popularity, everyone faced execution.

Li Cheng subtly narrowed his eyes—he wouldn't let the production team control him; he'd already prepared a backup plan.

"Snap!"

Just as Li Cheng was about to make a bold move, Anne, the white woman from the Monutong Alliance, suddenly stood up, as if struck by some horrifying memory, her face pale, hands clutching her cheeks, tears welling in her eyes.

"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 approached by him. Back then, I was naive—I drank the drink he ordered, then lost consciousness and was dragged by him to a hotel."

"Just as he was about to succeed, I regained awareness, fought desperately to push him off, climbed out the window, and fell onto the ground outside from the second floor. This scar here is from that day."

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

Holy shit! A social death confession!

Everyone's expressions instantly turned bizarre. The eight players were randomly matched; Anne and Irfan clearly didn't know each other before—this accusation was clearly false.

The number of live comments on TV immediately surged several-fold: 【Poor girl】

【Still this happens in the 22nd century?!】

【Hell is empty, and devils walk among men】

【What is the production team doing?! Didn't even do background checks?! How did this sex criminal get in?!】

Correspondingly, the show's popularity and Anne's vote count surged rapidly, while Irfan's vote count stagnated.

"You—"

Irfan snapped back to reality, stood up, clenched his fists, his face taut with barely concealed rage: "Miss, you're mistaken—I never went to Boston City two years ago."

"Then maybe three or four years ago. I can't remember clearly, but this definitely happened."

Annie kept retreating, her voice anguished: "I'm a girl who hasn't even married yet—would I really frame you with my own chastity?"

Her face showed a pained, struggling expression, but deep inside she was unusually calm. The so-called reality show wasn't really about being real—the key was stirring up the audience's emotions.

(The ID segment doesn't count toward VIP word count)

(End of chapter)