Infinite Nightmares

SCRAPE... SCRAPE... Collapsed building materials and earth were being haphazardly clawed away by strange claws, filling the already cramped space with dust.

Zhang Wenda's flashlight lit up the crude tunnel they were carving ever forward, and the ones doing the digging.

Well, they weren't exactly people. The only ones who could dig an escape route for him in a place like this were his own.

The Little Black Cat from his Inner World, the clowns from the Dream Circus, and his own Red, Blue, and Yellow. Red, especially. With immense strength, he was at the fore, digging relentlessly like a tunnel boring machine.

It was only with their help that Zhang Wenda wasn't doomed to die, trapped beneath the earth.

The earth they excavated was continuously packed behind them, turning their moving pocket of space into something like a submarine slowly advancing through the soil.

By now, they were a good distance from Tan Yougen's office.

"We've been digging for 6 hours, 24 minutes, and 14 seconds. We've advanced a total of 821 meters," the Hippocampus said, floating in mid-air as it compared memory fragments. "Something is very wrong. Even if an entire building collapsed on us, we should have dug our way out by now."

His brow tightly furrowed, Zhang Wenda glanced at it but said nothing. He knew perfectly well something was wrong. 821 meters—an average mountain wasn't even that tall.

Besides, they were digging upward at a 45-degree angle. If you considered just the radius, not the diameter, they should have already broken through, even if they were inside a mountain.

'Don't tell me that because the rules of Thought Wave Two went out of control, the entire city of Shanghai fell on my head,' Zhang Wenda speculated.

'If that's really what happened, how many people died?' For a moment, Zhang Wenda's heart grew heavy.

Just then, a thin ray of white light pierced the dim, oppressive tunnel, instantly lifting everyone's spirits.

Zhang Wenda swiftly swapped places with the red monster. His fingers elongated and sharpened, and he personally began to dig furiously toward the light.

Before long, with a final cascade of wood and stone, the entire section before them collapsed. Blinding sunlight flooded in, forcing Zhang Wenda to squint.

When he adjusted and opened them again, the scene before him was completely unexpected. A row of old residential buildings, with their blue-tinted glass and stainless steel security bars, stood before him.

The deep blue sky, the drone of cicadas, the summer heat, and the peculiar smell of burning brush—the combination of it all made Zhang Wenda feel as if he had stumbled into a place both familiar and unknown.

'How is this possible? This place is...' Zhang Wenda stared at the scene in disbelief. 'The entire Third Line headquarters collapsed, but there are intact buildings here?'

Besides, before he was buried, the golden light of "1999" had been twisting and warping everything in all the Thought Waves. Human bodies, machines, buildings, and plants were all being distorted, even merging together.

'I was prepared to face a world filled with all sorts of twisted creatures, but instead, there's a completely normal old residential complex here?'

Zhang Wenda walked over and touched the rectangular white tiles on the wall. They were cool to the touch, making one want to press their body against them in the heat.

Looking up, he saw a rag mop resting on the security bars of a ground-floor window. Water dripping from it had left old, yellow stains on the tiles below.

The sensation was so real that an exhilarating thought inexplicably surfaced in Zhang Wenda's mind.

'Could it be... Could Old Tan's plan have succeeded? Did they stop 1999? Has the world returned to normal?'

Though he didn't know what Old Tan and his team had ultimately done, the Third Line's final, desperate struggle—one that had cost so many lives—couldn't have been for nothing.

The odds were slim, but not impossible.

'But that raises a question. If they really did succeed, if they destroyed 1999... then where is everyone? Where did all the people go?'

Everything here was deathly quiet. There wasn't a single sound.

He felt as if he had entered another "time slice."

After a moment's thought, Zhang Wenda decided to explore a bit before drawing any conclusions.

He glanced up at the three-headed, four-armed monster floating to his left. "Hippocampus, start a new log. I need you to record this."

"Understood." The Hippocampus nodded. The tip of the pen in its hand tapped the air, and words began to appear.

"8:12 PM sharp. We've arrived in Area 1. It's an old residential complex with six-story walk-ups, Qianxi-style. The 'feels-like' temperature is 88 degrees. Midsummer. Deserted. Safe for now. Threat level: low..."

To the scratching sound of the Hippocampus's writing, Zhang Wenda continued walking between the two rows of buildings. After a short walk, he saw some outdoor exercise equipment of the kind typically used by the elderly, painted in blue and yellow.

Next to the equipment were several stone chess tables and a few swings.

This looked like the complex's recreational area, but there was something strange about it: the items weren't arranged neatly but were positioned in a circle.

A faint breeze made the swings sway gently, their unpleasant CREAKING mingling with the drone of the cicadas.

"No residential complex is ever designed like this. It's illogical," said the blue rabbit at his side, pointing to the circle of exercise equipment.

Zhang Wenda's brow tightened, and he pressed his lips together, saying nothing. Every bizarre detail diminished the odds that Old Tan and his team had managed to stop 1999. 'Where the hell am I? A new Thought Wave?'

Past experience told him that he couldn't afford to ignore a potential threat. After a quick look around, Zhang Wenda walked up to a ground-floor window and, with a single, sharp movement, sliced through the white security bars.

If this complex was a fabrication, the evidence would lie in the traces of daily life—or lack thereof.

He shattered the glass and vaulted inside. He landed in a small living room.

Above the wooden sofa hung a painting of eight galloping horses. Opposite the sofa was a bulky CRT television, draped in a floral lace cloth with delicate tassels hanging from the edges.

Other large appliances enjoyed the same decorative treatment, including a small, pale green refrigerator and a Butterfly brand sewing machine.

The living room before him, bathed in the sunlight streaming through the window, seemed frozen in the quiet stillness of a bygone era.

A mixture of smells hung in the air: the faint dampness of an old building and the lingering scent of old varnish from the wooden furniture.

There was even a faint, residual trace of air freshener—perhaps lemon or jasmine from long ago. Now, only a cloying, sweet base note remained, settling heavily in the corners.