Special Search Team Headquarters, Level -3, a unique observation room.
The spacious room had no large lights turned on, appearing especially dark and deep.
Cold air rushed in through ventilation ducts at the corners, spreading with the low-frequency hum of the machine room.
A peculiar ozone sll wafted in the air, mixed with a faint aroma of cold-brewed coffee.
The two scents intertwined to form a strange and chilly atmosphere.
The only light source in the hall ca from the gigantic circular surrounding screen walls.
The screen walls were evenly divided into nine separate large screens.
Currently, a few of those screens were completely off, imrsed in pure black dead silence.
This indicates that the candidates in that area have triggered the protection chanism and were forcibly ejected from the "Illusion Realm."
The remaining screens, from a top-view God’s perspective, are broadcasting various bizarre images in real-ti.
On the left’s screen number three, the picture violently shakes inside a gloomy mortuary.
A balding security guard, large like a bear, scrambles backward on the water-stained tiled floor, using both hands and feet.
He’s hugging a dry powder extinguisher tightly like a shield to block in front of his face.
A male corpse with a white eye drags stiff steps, chasing from behind.
The bear-sized man lost a shoe, unleashing a pig-slaughtering-like shrill wail:
"Help! Captain Wang, help! Oh my God—it’s a ghost!"
He crawls frantically while screaming, eyes shut, swinging the extinguisher wildly in his hand.
The heavy iron canister smashes chaotically in mid-air, almost hitting himself several tis.
His tearful, utterly embarrassed codic appearance contrasts sharply with his bear-like rugged macho figure, like two different people.
The scenes displayed on the screen seem like a live "Truman Show" performance.
No one outside would ever imagine.
This observation room located beneath the Special Search Team Headquarters was an ancient underground ritual site unearthed thirty years ago.
Back then, hundreds of workers who participated in the excavation went mad upon rely staring at a certain evil entity deep in the ruins, resulting in mutual biting and death.
Today, that terrifying source is buried a hundred ters deep beneath the observation room.
The periphery is layered with special lead-zinc concrete at nuclear reactor levels, isolating it entirely from the surface.
Regarding the images displayed on the surrounding screen walls.
These are the technological breakthroughs achieved after decades of effort by scientists from the Special Search Team Equipnt Departnt, analyzing bizarre texts etched on the evil entity’s surface.
Every candidate who dons a helt and enters the "Black Rain World" is effectively being guided by the Soul Suppressing Bell "Sub-clock" audio wave bands.
This force helps their consciousness traverse spatial dinsions, smoothly smuggling into the Otherworld connected by the residual power of the evil entity.
And their every quiver of fear, every gritted Swing Punch in that world, is captured by the Soul Suppressing Bell "Mother Clock" subjugated underground.
Scientists then utilize modern quantum analysis technology to translate the ntal waves received by the Mother Clock, ultimately projecting them into these clear and intuitive screen images.
Though constrained by current technological limitations and ti flow differences between the two worlds, the system cannot yet capture all the detail continuity like a film’s long take perfectly.
At least, when candidates’ emotions undergo violent fluctuation or intense survival instincts burst forth.
The Mother Clock can still accurately restore those high-intensity consciousness fragnts on the screen.
At this mont, a man sits alone on the genuine leather sofa at the center.
He’s dressed in a straight-cut, deep black High-level Uniform, his broad shoulders stretch the garnt into cold, hard lines.
The golden wheat emblem on his epaulettes reflects a cold tallic sheen under the screen’s faint glow.
The man’s body leans forward slightly, arms resting on his knees.
His gaze ignores the tear-streaked bear-like man in the mortuary and also avoids visuals from other candidates.
Instead, it’s firmly locked on the screen number six in the center.
The background of that screen is extrely dark, appearing very blurry.
It looks like inside so abandoned factory, where rusting pipelines crisscross each other.
A slender, frail student is surrounded by a group of distorted, howling shadows.
The student does not retreat; instead, chooses to attack proactively.
He sidesteps past a shadow’s lunge, his waist and back suddenly exert force, twisting, and punching.
A fierce Swing Punch hits precisely the monster’s head, instantly smashing the shadow into distortion and dispersion.
Then, his footwork slides, like a cheetah shuttling within the encirclent, knee up, sidekick, continually repelling the shadows’ onslaught.
The picture swiftly zooms out, ti flows instantly.
Combat ends, the student with several bruised classmates, assist each other to walk out of the water plant gate.
They collapse on weed-overgrown steps, gasping, faces filled with joy, celebrating survival.
Seeing that student’s puzzled expression, looking up at the sky.
A ripple flashes in the middle-aged man’s deep eyes, his mouth slightly curls upwards.
He doesn’t turn his head; simply raises his right hand and waves casually in the air.
From the deep darkness behind, a soft sound of leather shoes stepping surfaces.
A young man under thirty, possessing an extrely competent air, strides forward quickly.
He stops half a ter away from the sofa, bows respectfully.
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