Superhunt - Chapter 1: Dispossessor 331

Chapter 1: Dispossessor 331

Jonathan was awakened by a notification on his phone. Groggy, he fumbled for his phone under his pillow, squinting, he struggled to read the message illuminated on the screen.

“First beta player list for ‘Red Soil’ released!”

“Really?”

“Posted three minutes ago on the official site [Image].”

“Damn! Who is so lucky?”

“Just 10,000 for the first round of beta testing? From a global pool, isn’t that ridiculously exclusive?”

When the sleepiness had passed, he recalled he’d registered for this beta test, egged on by his classmates. He had filled out a questionnaire on the official website, which was already ten months ago.

At that time, the trailer for “Red Soil” had just been released. The promotional gimmick was “a revolutionary holographic game, a real second world”.

The trailer immediately attracted the attention of gamers worldwide. The selling points of the game were the open world for free exploration and the multiple career path choices. Moreover, this was a game that combined cyberpunk and super ability elements.

Players could either follow the technology route and become a cyborg with mechanical limbs, or follow the superpower route and awaken a variety of strange abilities.

It was based on reality but above reality, carried an unparalleled sense of reality as if it were connected to the real world. What really attracted Jonathan was the last two sentences of the game’s introduction.

“Light always births darkness. Beneath the veneer of a prosperous city lurks a decadent underbelly.”

“Compared to money and power, survival and death are the eternal propositions of that world.”

Since the introduction said so… perhaps “Red Soil”, in addition to the selling points of cyberpunk style and supernatural abilities, also added a bit of a dark core?

Jonathan opened the screenshot in the chat group and took a look. The game’s official would send an invitation email for beta testing to the player’s mailbox.

The first batch of beta testers really only had 10,000 people. Testing commenced tomorrow.

When “Red Soil” first announced its pre-registration, it amassed ten million eager players in a single day. Months later, that number had surged past the hundred million mark. To pick out 10,000 lucky ones from this teeming ocean of gamers to join the beta test, the probability of being chosen was incredibly small. Despite not having much hope, Jonathan still opened his mailbox to check.

“You have one unread email.”

His heart rate accelerated, and he suddenly sprang up from the bed.

“Congratulations on your qualification for the beta test of the game ‘Red Soil’.”

The email title was in prominent red.

Jonathan looked bewildered, repeatedly checking the sender, and comparing it back and forth with the email account announced by the official, unbelievably confirming it again and again. When he finally confirmed that this email was indeed from the official, the first thought that came to his mind was – I’m going to be rich! I’m going to be rich!! Selling this beta testing qualification would definitely fetch a good sum of money!

He was ecstatic!

His life hadn’t been kind. With a father who gambled away their savings and ran off and a mother who remarried and sent him a meager monthly allowance of two hundred dollars, Jonathan had learned to scrape by.

The second-hand smartphone he had was bought with money he earned working at a convenience store. He lived alone in an old house left by his grandparents, rising early and studying late into the night, like a stubborn weed, struggling to survive.

Jonathan was going to college after this summer break. His grades were good, and he got into a good university, but the tuition and living expenses were a concern. If he could sell the beta testing qualification of “Red Soil” that could ensure he could live comfortably for a while.

However, the subsequent line in the email dashed his hopes.

“‘Red Soil’s’ beta testing privileges are non-transferable and non-giftable. Your beta invitation code is bound to your registration information and cannot be altered. This beta test is free, and all game data will not be deleted.”

Jonathan’s face fell. His money-making plan was brutally cut short. He didn’t really care about the game, his equipment was so poor that he didn’t even have a holographic helmet, so he couldn’t play at all. He’d merely applied for the beta test on a whim, mostly thinking “What if the beta testing qualification could be sold, that would be a big win”.

He thought about it and felt sad that he was still a poor and unfortunate guy, even though he was one of the limited 10,000 lucky ones globally. Having won the beta testing qualification but not being able to experience the game was akin to sitting atop a treasure mountain without the means to spend a dime, a bitterly ironic predicament.

He sighed and scrolled down to continue reading. The content of the email was concise and uninformative. As Jonathan scrolled to the end, he was pleasantly surprised to find a line, “If the player agrees to join the game, the game company will provide the player with specially made game equipment.”

Awesome!

His worries were resolved, and he could play the game! His mood was like a roller coaster ride.

At the end of the email was a link to a player questionnaire survey. He clicks on the link out of curiosity.

Question one: If you were given a chance to greet a new life, would you accept it?

Jonathan chose “yes” without hesitation.

A new life meant a fresh start, and his current life was already bad enough. How much worse could it get?

Question two: Do you believe in deities in the world?

Jonathan chose “no”. He was a firm atheist.

Question three: Do you want to have superpowers?

“Yes”! Wanting superpowers did not conflict with his being an atheist!

“You have completed the questionnaire.”

“Game-related documents and precautions have been sent to your mailbox, please check.”

“An anonymous forum for beta testers has been opened for you. Please bookmark the URL and register promptly.”

Jonathan carefully read the new message and saved the URL of the anonymous forum for beta testers as instructed. Beta test details were typically considered trade secrets, with any leaks strictly forbidden. Beta testers were primarily employed to help detect bugs and game exploits. It appeared “Red Soil’s” creators set up a forum to facilitate tester discussions.

With only 10,000 beta testers selected, so the content in the forum should be very limited. He was amongst the first wave of pioneers. Rather than diving right into the beta forum, Jonathan chose to open his new emails and scrutinize the newly received game files. Typically, these files required a player’s signature, much like a legal contract, and any violations could lead to legal consequences.

He opened the new email and was taken aback by its initial lines.

“Six pieces of advice for ‘Red Soil’ players. Follow them or ignore them is up on you, but remember, the consequences of your choices are yours alone.”

“First, treat the game world as a real world.”

“Second, do not reveal your player identity to anyone.”

“Third, do not reveal the game content to anyone.”

“Fourth, life only has one chance, there are no respawns”

“Fifth, if you choose to start the game, you only have two paths: ‘completing the game’ or ‘character death’.”

“Sixth, everything has a price.”

That’s it… just these few lines? Is it a bit too hasty to only send these few lines in the game statement?

Jonathan was bewildered. Such an air of mystery for a game seemed rather exaggerated. No doubt, the “real world” reference was merely a marketing strategy, and everyone knows that the world is fake.

He opened the game document, which required his digital signature. He read it carefully from beginning to end, and even after reading it twice, he didn’t find any confidentiality clauses.

But the previous “Six pieces of advice for players” clearly stated not to reveal game content. It’s too strange, isn’t this contradictory?

If they don’t want players to reveal, why not write the confidentiality agreement into the legally binding file? Those few pieces of advice have no binding force at all.

At the end of the file was an electronic signature field. Jonathan wrote his name in the signature field.

No sooner had he completed his signature, than a small pop-up appeared with bold red letters – “Are you sure you want to join the game? You have only one chance to withdraw.”.”

Only one chance to quit?

Jonathan didn’t care much about it and confirmed without hesitation.

The page changed, and a new prompt appeared.

“Contract completed.”

“Welcome to your rebirth, Jonathan.”

…What’s with this game being so weird? Jonathan stared at the computer screen in bewilderment.

After pondering for a while, he opened the beta anonymous forum, clicked register, and the registration process was surprisingly simple, all it took was the beta invitation code.

In the nickname column, he casually typed the number “331”. All of his game nicknames were “331”, he didn’t have much talent for coming up with names, and the ones he came up with were easily duplicated. So, Jonathan stuck with “331” for everything.

“Nicknames cannot be changed once confirmed.”

Jonathan didn’t mind and clicked “confirm” as usual.

A new message popped up.

“You have become the 331st player to register in the forum.”

Jonathan: “Huh?”

What a coincidence, was 331 his lucky number?

After a brief loading, Jonathan saw the forum page.

The background color of the forum had a cold metallic sheen, the page was exceptionally simple, and the functions were also very monotonous, offering just the barebones – posting, replying, and private messaging. In the forum’s upper right corner, a stark, blood-red “10000” caught his eye.

Next to the “10000” was a line of small words – “Number of survivors”.

For some reason, Jonathan’s heart twitched and he felt palpitations when he saw the words “Number of survivors”.

The forum teemed with posts, all freshly stamped “new”. With the forum newly established and players just registering, every single post was brand-new. Jonathan refreshed the page and saw another batch of posts. Titles splashed across the screen in English, Japanese, Russian, and Chinese. The 10,000 players from all over the world were gathered in this small forum.

Jonathan could barely translate the meaning of the French title, but as for other languages, he was completely unable to understand them. He quickly glanced at the existing English posts and found that the titles were all things like “Let’s get started”, “Any players from Brooklyn? Let’s meet up”, and “My name will be in the top hundred posts”… all the nonsense posts.

He contemplated for a moment, then clicked to create a new post, and in the title typed, “Does anyone else find the ‘Six pieces of advice for players’ a bit strange?”

After typing the title, Jonathan’s cursor hovered over the post button. Remembering the advice, “Please treat the game world as a real world,” and the following “Life only has one chance, death cannot be revived,” then looking at the bloody number “10000” at the top of the forum, he felt like something struck deep in his mind.

He suddenly felt a sense of horror but didn’t know where this feeling of dread was coming from.

The feeling came suddenly and was almost absurd.

Jonathan rubbed his forehead.

How could the plot of “entering a Holographic game is traveling to a real world” from fantasy novels happen in reality? Even though he tried to reassure himself, Jonathan still deleted his post and keep lurking and observing.

He kept refreshing the forum, reading each English post. A few minutes later, a new post caught his attention.

“The game company hasn’t mentioned anything about how to deliver the game equipment, has anyone received the game helmet or some package?”

The moment he saw this post, there was a knock at Jonathan’s door. He instinctively stood up, walked to the door, and looked through the peephole, but didn’t see anyone.

After a few minutes of cautious waiting, he tentatively opened the door to discover a small, black box resting on the ground. There was on the box – “Red Soil”.

Jonathan opened the box and found a silver metal card inside. The pattern on the card was complex but delicate, the intertwined lines forming a mechanical hand.

“Is this… a game commemorative card?” Jonathan examined the card and then shivered. He remembered that he had never filled in his address information on the official game website, so how was this card delivered?

Jonathan’s heart tightened, and he dashed downstairs in his slippers. He lived in an old neighborhood. The facilities were old, but there were surveillance cameras nearby. A few homeless were sitting at the entrance of the building, all familiar faces. Jonathan asked, “Did the delivery guy come by just now?”

“Nope, doesn’t the delivery guy usually come around three in the afternoon?” One of them responded, shaking his head.

“Did anyone come up just now?” Jonathan continued to ask.

“No one.” the man was busy eating the sandwich he just got from the garbage can and shook his head again.

Hearing this, even though it was a hot day, Jonathan felt a chill down his back. If no one had come by, then who had knocked on his door? He had never filled out any address information, so why was the game card from “Red Soil” accurately delivered to his doorstep?

It had been merely five minutes since he signed the game agreement and then this card arrived…

Jonathan glanced at the silver card in his hand, flipping it to reveal etched words on the back.

“Dispossessor Jonathan. Number 331.”

331 was the game nickname he had just filled out, and it was also his forum registration number. He felt a chill run down his spine.

The situation was developing in a strange and eerie direction.