Restricted Doomsday Syndrome

289 incomplete combustion (2)

As the new day continues to come, my diagnosis and treatment have become more and more frequent, and the number of participants has begun to increase. It is no longer just Dr. Ruan Li and Dr. Ande. Since January 1999, every time a physical examination, the doctor will not tell me the specific diagnosis results. I tried to fight for my reason, but it has no effect. Every time I talk to the doctor, I can detect something new. I have imagined my condition very bad, but the facts tell me that the situation I am facing is worse than I thought. They injected me with a lot of medicines and told me what medicines I usually take. Sometimes I even feel that I take more medicine than I eat.

These medicines cannot contain the feeling of physical deterioration, but the doctors around me keep telling me that if these medicines are not used, the rate of deterioration will be even worse.

I ca n’t refuse, it ’s not a matter of believing or disbelieving them. You must know that this is a hospital, and doctors always have a way to make disobedient patients do what they say.

The condition of energy exhaustion is gradually becoming obvious, and I haven't had a night tour for several days. A few days ago, I was also very proud of the action force that could not be prevented even if the legs were disabled, and now this action force has begun to weaken. My daily schedule is fixed between the doctor and the dormitory. I never go to the library, search for materials, or modify tools and weapons. I really want to remodel my wheelchair, and then explore the woods to find the weird events in the mysterious night. I still remember the oath I made to find the girls who might be alive, to save the two poor girls who lived next to me, or to defeat the evil that permeated in this hospital and return to my birth and existence The world that is about to end, even if it is just an illusion.

I know, I know, I still have a lot of things to do, but sometimes I cannot help thinking when I wake up, can I still do it?

I think I haven't visited the two girls' rooms for a long time, even if they have been next door.

I think that Dallas, who calls himself a reporter, hasn't appeared in a long time. Maybe he didn't know that I moved here, maybe he thought I was killed in the fire in the old dorm.

I feel that everything has been revealed, and the habitual summary of the day's life makes me unable to believe that I am what I am today. However, a force majeure is pushing my daily deviation from the track I want, sliding farther and farther.

I feel very tired.

These **** medicines.

I feel that I have tried my best. At least, I can still study Dr. Ander's "Human Completion Plan", although this is the only thing he has done for me in today's "treatment".

On this day, I just came back from Dr. Ander ’s office, and I was particularly tired before I had lunch. This kind of tiredness has a sense of swollen mind, like pouring too much water into it, shaking it vigorously. I don't want to use this head to think about anything anymore, but what I heard about Dr. Ander's "Human Completion Plan" is growing like a weed.

Dr. Ander is nominally my psychologist, but more often appears in front of me as a researcher's face rather than as a healer's face. For him, rather than being a patient, it is better to say that he is a white mouse, an important partner of a part-time research project.

His research plan requires the patient's voluntary and active cooperation. He will not tell me the cause and result of medication, nor will he ask me about my mental or physical state. He was very convinced that I would actively cooperate with him. According to him, it was "as in the past."

I can't get too much information from Dr. Ander, but there are some things he must tell me in detail, that is what I am doing-story setting.

To put it simply, Dr. Ander described my upcoming experimental treatment in this way-we have to make up a story first. This story takes me as the main character. It can be warm, violent, sensational, and bloody. , Cold, malicious or full of heroism. He then instilled this story into a supercomputer as a basis, creating a realistic illusion and allowing my brain to swim in it.

Of course, the real situation is not so simple. This kind of virtual reality experience in the novel is actually more inclined to some kind of hypnosis, some kind of interaction between the human brain and the super computer, which can produce the illusion that can be fed back to the human body.

In other words, humans will have organizational and personality changes due to this illusionary feedback.

Therefore, more often, even if these stories are fierce, they will not be downright evil.

This is a very dangerous human experiment, and is also the best "treatment" method for the mysterious disease of "doom syndrome" in the eyes of Dr. Ander.

In other words, it is a "utilization" method that uses this illusion to allow patients with Doomsday Syndrome to produce "positive evolution"-this is the so-called "human completion plan".

In this process, personality and knowledge and experience will be gradually completed in accordance with the "story" process until it is perfect.

Each "story" is a course of treatment.

I do n’t know how many such treatments I have experienced, because according to Dr. Ander, every treatment will be "reshaped", and every time it will make me more perfect, if I can stick to the end , I will become "a truly perfect human".

However, I couldn't find any hope in Dr. Ander's eyes to be able to stick to the end. He himself seemed to think that this was simply impossible.

I will die in a certain treatment, Dr. Ander told me this. However, I told myself in my heart that with every treatment, "I" has died once.

I don't want to die, I don't want to be a stranger that I am not familiar with. Therefore, I redoubled my efforts to understand the plan and study the setting method of "story".

The reason why the "story" requires me to work side by side with the doctor, because it must be recognized by the patient. You can hardly imagine how a story that is not recognized by the patient can allow him to substitute himself into the role. In addition, the more important point is that this "story" can not be close to reality. It was created as a carrier of self-salvation psychotherapy. It does not need reality for "normal people", but It must be a justified world for the patient.

Its existence and development are understandable to the patient and what he expects. In the words of Dr. Ande, no matter how weird it is in the eyes of normal people, it is unreasonable, but in the eyes of patients, "the world is like this."

According to him, all the battles and feelings I experienced in the end-time world I experienced were exactly what I hoped for. I hope to be the hero with a great mission-the world will usher in the end, a child will become a hero, to save the world, to save my friends and loved ones.

This kind of statement makes me feel uneasy, and even feels frightened and frightened. He makes me feel that I am not a hero at all, but a psychopathic executioner. My cravings and hopes will bring a world into the end, let people in it be displaced, lose their lives, and cry in darkness and despair. That world could have been full of light and warmth, and those who endured pain and unwillingness, and lost in regret, changed their destiny because of me.

In that world, the students who died because of the actions of secret institutions, the soldiers who fought for different doomsday ideas, the people who became monsters in the Tianmen Project ... Shirai, Moriye, Sakuya, Bajing, Zhen Jiang, Dorothy, Marceau, Seise, Sissen, Jung, Pan, Dada, Locke, Fire escape, files ... People in the Internet, people in the doomsday truth, people in the Black Nest ... their lives This shouldn't be the case, is it?

If I do n’t set that story ...

I ca n’t help but want to overthrow the previous story setting, but this is not allowed-it has been polished as a cornerstone many times, no matter how much I hate such a story now, in the eyes of Dr. Ande, it is for me Is becoming "perfect". In his eyes, this story is the real me.

No, I do n’t know. I do n’t want to admit it. I do n’t think his judgment is correct. I confess to those who died and died in that story. I want to tell everyone, how can a world that makes me feel painful, is it the story he expected?

Dr. Ande did not comfort me. He wrote a process with a pen and paper. It looks like this:

Gaochuan in the past was a somewhat gloomy child.

He created a doomsday story.

The slightly gloomy Gaochuan entered the world of this doomsday story, as he expected, he became the protagonist, but, as an ideal "hero", he had to make some changes, maybe he lost some memory, maybe he Being stuffed with something that was once not his own, no one can tell clearly what happened in the mysterious brain. However, whether he wanted it or not, he was forced to adapt to the world he recognized. In this process, the story continues to develop, he also constantly learn and fight, so now Gaochuan was born.

The story ends, and now Gaochuan wakes up. Although he lost the memory of Gaochuan in the past, he is no longer somber. In other words, the current Gao Chuan is stronger and more perfect in personality, emotion, knowledge, and experience than the past Gao Chuan.

However, now Gaochuan is not the most perfect, so he has to continue to create his own story.

Although Gaochuan now has some changes compared to the past and may become justified, in the final analysis, it is still a kind of benign development of Gaochuan in the past. Therefore, the "end of the story" bearing some characteristics of him cannot be completely denied.

For Gaochuan now, what he can do is to set and complete and continue the plot on the basis of this "doom story".

This is the philosophy adhered to by Dr. Ande.

For me, the reason for giving up completely changing the whole story and cooperating with Dr. Ander is this sentence in a book: People are different because they have different pasts.

If it is no longer the end-time world, the people I once knew in the end-time world, are they still the ones I know?

If only those who experienced those sufferings in that end-time world are the real ones, are they destined to endure those sufferings?

I do n’t know how to save them.

Maybe, I ca n’t save them at all, and I do n’t need to save them. Because I am more than a product of a story, I was born in a real past. And what about them? Do they have a real past? All they have encountered may be the truth that they exist in that world. They are illusory and unreal. Everything I did just changed myself as Dr. Ander said.

So, do the girls I want to save exist as I insisted in the past?

My little wish is merely the wish to become their hero, is it just a vain?

I tossed and turned at night, waking up in nightmares for many nights. I think I saw them, Zhenjiang, Dorothy, Tie Se, Bajing, Misaki, and Marceau. But the girls in my dream are vague. They are trapped in bubbles, floating, bursting, disappearing ... Reaching out and picking up these bubbles, they burst in the palm and disappear ... I can only stay aside silently, watching them continue to appear, burst and disappear ...

I seem to hear them talking, like yelling, like calling, like whispering, like laughing, like crying. But no matter what they tried, they couldn't hear what they were talking about.

My body floats in the water of my dreams. The endless water surface is so wide and clear blue, just like a shallow shore, but the water is tasteless and cold. These cold waters could not extinguish the scorching heat from the body like lava. I was awakened by the burning, my mouth was dry and my head was dizzy, like a high fever. At this time, the body temperature is often measured at thirty-nine degrees, but this high temperature will soon recede.

This day after day makes me feel weak and feel that my life is about to die.

I do n’t know what else I can do and whether those are correct. However, those oaths still echoed in his chest. Every time I wake up, it becomes clearer, and I know what I am doing again.

I am waiting, waiting for an opportunity to come, it will let me save.

Save them, save myself.

Another day. I do n’t look at the calendar anymore. I do n’t care what day is today, what day of the week, because from a long time ago, what I have to do is always the same. I had that bubble nightmare again. However, this time it was a bit different, and what happened after waking up also surprised me, which made me remember deeply.

I think that it is precisely because of this incident that my life of unpredictability has become wonderful again.

Most of the time, when people wake up, their memories of dreams will become blurred. For me, however, that dream was very clear. It is unusual, like a dream in a dream, but when I first entered, I clearly realized that this is a dream.

I seem to have returned to the orphanage — in this world, the orphanage where the six girls of Gaochuan and Zhenjiang, Dorothy, Seisei, Bajing, Miyake, and Maso used to stay — I mentioned before, In the dreams and hallucinations of the previous days, there was a scene where the eccentric and sullen Gaochuan lost his parents at the age of five, they were killed in the fire, and then the boy entered the orphanage, and was sent here a year later. The closed hospital was used for psychological diagnosis and treatment, but soon returned to the orphanage to live and study like a normal orphan. In that memory, this closed hospital does not seem to be much different from the present. Of course, this does not mean that this hospital was really like this.

In any case, regardless of whether the memory is intertwined with hallucinations, the impression of that orphanage is so profound for the past Gaochuan, where he spent his childhood and ended with a tragedy.

The orphanages that appeared in dreams and hallucinations were sometimes scattered with stardust-like light, surrounded by warmth, with laughter and joy; sometimes bleak winds were blowing, and empty footsteps rang from time to time in the unmanned corridors, filled with scream And pleading; but more often, it is always more normal, some places are gloomy, but there are also warm places, when you walk around the corner, you can see the back of the running run flashing, and when you pass a room, you can Hear the evil sound.

In this particular dream, the orphanage, like most of its time, is entangled with strangeness and familiarity, indistinguishable from **** and heaven.

When I realized that I was in an orphanage, I was sitting by the bed. The room was not very familiar. It was about 9 square meters in size. There was nothing but a bed. There is a narrow window on the wall directly opposite, with an iron fence inserted in the window, like a prison.

There was heavy downpour outside the window, and the cloudy clouds could see the lightning like skylight from time to time.

The room was bizarrely divided into two environments along the middle line. My left hand was wet and cold, and water continued to drip from the ceiling. There were green moss in the cracks of the floor tiles. An unknown white wildflower. Even when the wind blows in from the window, it is obviously cut into two parts, cold and warm, by the midline.

I don't know why, since I realized where I was, my mood has been very calm. I got up and pushed open the door of the room. There was a shadow flashing in front of me, and then the corridor calmed down again, but every time I stepped forward, there was another dissonant footstep or sounds, like a naughty ghost trailing Handan walks behind him. It was not raining outside the window of the hallway, but it was not warm either. The brown walls, red and yellow deciduous wood, and the swing that was unmanned and swaying were full of autumn bleakness, as bright as oil paintings.

When I walked the corner of the boardwalk, it was another scene. The floor in front is obviously decaying, and it seems to collapse at any time. Looking through the gap between the planks, you can only see a deep, like a bottomless cliff, people dare not move forward. The walls and rooms on both sides are also in disrepair. The mottled wallpaper peeled off in a piece, the paint on the door was scraped off, and the doorplate was missing. I counted. There are three doors on the left and two doors on the right. There is also a door directly in front.

This corridor seems to be over here, unexpectedly short.

I heard vocals coming from behind the door in front of me, and it sounded very familiar, giving me a strong will to act.

As I walked forward, the board made an unbearable babble, click, and a small piece of wood peeled off and fell toward the depths. Just when I was taken aback, the whole corridor made a more severe breaking sound, prompting me to move quickly.

I pulled my feet and ran forward. I could clearly feel that the face of the foot was sinking along the corridor, as if there was a quagmire at the bottom of the foot, which was only at the end of seven or eight steps, but I couldn't run. The roar was loud, and I couldn't help looking back. The places were collapsing, not only the corridors, but also the walls and ceilings were constantly shaking, breaking, and falling. The former road is becoming a deep and wide cliff.

Even though I knew that I was in a dream, there was still a fear that sprang up. I tried to speed up my steps, but my feet seemed to be shackled by something. No matter how hard I tried, I could only move at the same frequency.

In the end, in the sudden strong and real weightlessness, I watched the door directly in front of me, and my body fell towards the abyss. I almost thought all this was true, and I was saved.

However, the fall lasted only about a second, my soles touched the ground, and the pressure of the fall just jumped from a height of three meters.

I stood firm, raised my head, and found myself in a room again.

This room is very familiar.

It does not come from the memory of Gaochuan in the past, but really belongs to me.

That's right, I remember very clearly that I was so excited at the time, I never thought about it, and I can still see it again, even in a dream. It makes me feel relieved, feels full, feels an unprecedented sense of realism. It's like a sand castle turned into cement, standing gorgeously and arrogantly on top of a cliff.

That was the "Chapter of Evil Night Monsters" in the Doomsday Story, the house built by the mountains.

The room is exactly the same as the memory. It was clean and tidy, and there were not many furnishings. There was only one cabinet and two beds. The bed was covered with mosquito nets and neatly stacked with thin quilts. At the open window behind the house, moss and weeds could be seen five meters away. Beige brown stone wall.

The time is close to early autumn, and the night in the mountains can no longer feel the heat. The mountain wind at the height is more energetic than the flat ground. It is no longer cool, and it feels cold when touching the skin.

I don't understand why it fell into the room when falling from the corridor of the orphanage. But I can't wait to find the woman who was in this room together.

Zhenjiang, Fujiang, no matter who it is. I felt so eager to see her.

However, there was no one in the room except me.

The room is so quiet, like dead.

The chill in the mountains became more intense, making it impossible to tell whether it was a dream or reality. I closed the doors and windows, and I looked at the bed. At that time, I remember that Fu Jiang was lying on the bed without any movement, and his posture did not change, just like a dead body. At that time, I was watching her face by the bed for a while, and then began to record my experience.

There is no table, but there are kerosene lamps, workbooks and ballpoint pens in the cabinet. I walked over to open the cabinet as I remembered, and the contents were exactly the same as at that time. The original owner used a ballpoint pen to graffiti on the workbook. Every piece of paper used one side. I could only write my own things on the other side.

As I did then, I lit the kerosene lamp and placed it in the corner of the bed. Then sitting on the bedside, resting the workbook on the thigh, picking up the ballpoint pen, sniffing the smell of kerosene from the lights, and feeling like wandering in the long river of time, which coincided with the back of a time in the past.

I know this is an illusion, but the remaining fragments in the memory are embedded in today's dream.

I thought about the same thoughts and feelings I had at the time: Maybe some time ago these stationery were used by a child. On this night, under the light of kerosene lights, draw his childish fantasy on the workbook.

Thinking about this, a calm and peaceful emotion appeared in my heart, as if the darkness and evil that had always been around me were dispelled by this light.

I opened the notebook, and it just listed the summary of those adventures.

When I woke up in that public toilet, I listed what happened to me. Because I am not a person who pays special attention to time, the date at that time is a little vague, but looking at the contents of the notes. What happened and my thoughts at that time were vivid, as if a stream of clear time was flowing in front of me.

The first line records the action record, the second line uses parentheses to indicate the thought at that time, the third line uses brackets to indicate your current thoughts, and the fourth line uses braces to indicate your gains in this adventure.

Misaki, Zuojiang, Fujiang, Morino, Chongzhong, Bajing, Shirai, Whisperer, Goat Union, Security Bureau ... An emotion rumbles in my mind.

Guilt, heaviness, happiness, pain, everything is recorded, listening to the voice of the most authentic self between the lines. This sound seems to have caused a wonderful chemical reaction in my body and soul. There is a black fire in purgatory that is scorching everything that constitutes me, making mine more clear.

When I recovered, my adventure was over. I felt my cheeks wet, so I cried unconsciously.

"What are you writing?" Suddenly a voice came from behind.

This voice made me feel a deep sense of disbelief and surprise. I turned around with a speed that almost sprained my neck.

If I had hoped, I saw the face that had never appeared in my dream for a long time.

Is it Fujiang or Zhenjiang? It ’s Fu Jiang, no matter which one is good, she stands there as she remembers.

God, I really hope this is not just a dream.

"Are you crying? Why?" Fu Jiang asked, clearly an interrogative sentence, but she seemed to know the answer, using the tone of a positive sentence.

I quickly wiped it with my sleeve and stared at Fu Jiang's face, my heart calmed down.

"I don't know." I said, "Maybe I feel sad."

Fu Jiang didn't ask why he was sad and for whom. She gathered up and looked at the diary in my hand through the light of the kerosene lamp. I handed it to her generously. These words recorded the truest self, and I hope she can see it.

That's right, I did just that at the time, and I still repeat the same movements as if I wanted to repeat it to today.

Fu Jiang didn't speak, gently raised his hair, turned the paper quietly, his face pale and focused. She feels very different from before, not Fu Jiang, but another person.

"... Fujiang?" As before, I called her name.

She raised her head and stared at me with that plain and focused look. For a moment, my soul seemed to be sucked into the eyes that suddenly became deep, and I saw something familiar but also terrifying hidden in the depths.

Indifferently cold, like an unsheathed dagger, but extremely hard and cold.

Not like a person, but other things that have a human form.

"I am Zhenjiang, Achuan." She said the same as she remembered.

Zhen Jiang turned his head sideways and looked at me in a weird posture. There was no expression on her face. Her face was indifferent, dead, and a pale mask. Her black hair is so supple, her eyes are so dark, her body is so hot, but everything that represents the vitality of life seems to be fake. But there is a strange charm.

Her eyes seemed to pass through time and space and penetrate my soul. Her left hand pressed against my throat. After that, her right hand was also placed on my throat.

She was like strangling me, her hands around my throat. The only thing that calmed me down a little bit was that the hands didn't have any energy, but just emptied and stroked there.

"I love you too, Achuan." Zhen Jiang lowered his head and said in my ear. I couldn't see her expression when she was talking, only heard her say: "You don't know how much I love you, Achuan."

"I know." I said.

"No, you don't know." She said in a disturbing tone as she moved, "But I can tell you how much I love you, my dear brother."

Yes ~ www.readwn.com ~ I remember, she regarded me as her brother ...

Zhenjiang in an orphanage? The true river of doomsday world? Who am i?

"Achuan, Achuan ..." The voice was entangled with infatuation.

Intense emotions, interlaced memories, reality and illusion become more chaotic in the vortex. I feel like my soul has changed color in the blender. I couldn't speak, and I couldn't even breathe. I felt like I was almost engulfed. Even so, my body was imprisoned by a huge force and I couldn't struggle.

There is a breath of death.

"Not dead, Achuan, I will protect you." Zhen Jiang let go of his hands.

An unforgettable memory bursts out of my body before emotions, what happens next ...

Her hair slipped in front of her face, and by the light of kerosene, through the silky hair strands, those wildly burning black eyes completely snatched my eyes, making me unable to pay attention to others.

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