Restricted Doomsday Syndrome Chapter 289: Incomplete combustion (2)

289 incomplete combustion (two)

As a new day continues to come, the diagnosis and treatment of me has become more and more frequent, and the number of participants has also begun to increase. It is no longer just the two of Dr. Ruan Li and Dr. Ande. Since January 1999, the doctor will not tell me the specific diagnosis result for every physical examination. I have tried to argue with reason, but it has no effect. Every time I talk to the doctor, I can detect something new. I have imagined my illness very badly, but the facts tell me that the situation I have to face is worse than I imagined. They injected me with a lot of medicines and asked me what medicines I would normally take. Sometimes I even felt that I took more medicines than meals.

These drugs can't stop the feeling of deterioration of the body, but the doctors who have been around me keep telling me that if I don't use these drugs, the rate of deterioration will be worse.

I can’t refuse, it’s not about believing or not believing their rhetoric. You have to know that this is a hospital, and doctors always have a way to make disobedient patients do what they say.

The exhaustion of energy is gradually becoming apparent, and I haven't had a night tour for several days. A few days ago, I was proud of the ability to move that couldn't be stopped even if my legs were disabled. Now this ability to move is beginning 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 transform my wheelchair again, and explore the woods again to find out the weird events in the mysterious night. I still remember the vow I made, to find the girls who may still be alive, to save the two poor girls who live next to me, or to defeat the evil that pervades 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 many things to do, but sometimes when I wake up, I can’t help but think, can I still do it?

I don't think it's been a long time since I visited the two girls' room, even though they were always next door.

I think it’s been a long time since the self-proclaimed Dallas is a reporter. Maybe he didn’t know that I moved here, maybe he thought I was killed in the fire in the old dormitory.

I feel that everything has been ruined, and habitually summarizing my life every day makes me unable to believe that I am what I am now. However, a force majeure is pushing my daily life away from the track I hope, slipping further and further.

I feel very tired.

These **** medicines.

I feel that I have tried my best. At least, I can study Dr. Ender's "Human Completion Plan", although this is the only thing he asks me to do in his current "treatment".

On this day, I just came back from Dr. Ender’s office and felt very tired before I had time to eat lunch. This tiredness carries a sense of swelling of the mind, like pouring too much water into it, swaying vigorously. I don't want to think about anything with this head anymore, but the things that I heard about the "Human Completion Plan" from Dr. Ender are like weeds that continue to grow from crop to crop.

Doctor Ender is my psychiatrist in name, but more often he appears in front of me with the face of a researcher rather than the face of a healer. For him, I am not so much a patient as a white mouse, an important partner in a part-time research project.

His research plan requires the voluntary and active cooperation of patients. He would not tell me the reasons and results of the medication, nor would he ask about my mental and physical state. He is very sure that I will actively cooperate with him, according to him, it is "like in the past."

I can’t get much information from Dr. Ender, but there are some things he must tell me in detail, and that’s what I’m doing-story setting.

To put it simply, Dr. Ender described my upcoming experimental treatment like this-we must first make up a story. This story is based on me. It can be warm, fierce and sensational. Yes, bloody, cold, malicious, or full of heroism. Then he will instill this story as a basis into a supercomputer, creating a realistic illusion in which my brain can swim.

Of course, the real situation is not that simple. This kind of experience similar to the virtual reality in the novel is actually more inclined to a certain kind of hypnosis, a certain kind of interaction between the human brain and a supercomputer, which can be fed back to the human body. Hallucinations.

In other words, because of the feedback of this illusion, humans will have changes in their organization and personality.

So, more often, these stories, even if they are intense, will not be downright evil.

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

In other words, it is a kind of "utilization" method, using this illusion to make patients with doomsday syndrome "positive evolution"-this is the so-called "human replenishment plan."

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

Each "story" is a course of treatment.

I don’t know how many times I have experienced this kind of treatment, because according to Dr. Ander, I will be "reshaped" every time I have a treatment, and every time I will be more perfect. If I can persist In the end, I will become "a truly perfect human."

However, I couldn't find any hope in Dr. Ender's eyes to be able to hold on to the end, and he himself seemed to think it was impossible.

I will die in a certain treatment, Dr. Ender told me. However, I told myself in my heart that with every treatment, "I" had already died once.

I don't want to die, I don't want to become a stranger I don't know. Therefore, I redoubled my efforts to understand this plan and to study the setting method of the "story".

The reason why "Story" requires the joint efforts of me and the doctor is because it must be recognized by the patient. It is hard to imagine how a story that is not recognized by the patient can allow him to put himself in the role. In addition, the more important point is that this “story” does not need to be close to reality. It was created. As a carrier of self-saving psychotherapy, it does not need the reality for “normal people”, but It must be a world that justifies the patient.

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

According to his statement, the apocalyptic world I have experienced, all the battles and feelings I have experienced, are exactly what I hope 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 his friends and lovers.

This statement made me feel uneasy, even horrified and apprehensive. He made me feel that I was not a hero at all, but a mentally perverted executioner. My desire and hope will bring a world to the end, and let the people in it be displaced, lose their lives, and cry in the darkness and despair. That world could have been full of light and warmth. Those who suffered pain and unwillingness, and lost in regret, changed their destiny because of me.

In that world, those students who died because of the actions of secret agencies, those warriors who fought for different doomsday ideas, and those who became monsters in Project Tianmen... Shirai, Moriya, Sakiya, Eight sceneries, Zhenjiang, Dorothy, Marceau, Shise, Xisen, Jung, Pan, Dada, Locke, fire, file... the people of the Internet, the people of the Doomsday Shinrikyo, the people of the black nest... Their lives shouldn't be like this, is it?

If I don’t set a story like that...

I can’t help but want to overturn 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. Ender, it is For me it is becoming "perfect". In his eyes, what this story embodies is the real me.

No, I don't know, I don't want to admit it, and I don't feel that his judgment is correct from the bottom of my heart. I confess to the man who suffered and died in that story. I want to tell everyone, how can a world that makes me feel painful is the story he expects?

Doctor Ender did not comfort me. He wrote down a process with pen and paper. It looks like this:

In the past, Gao Chuan was a gloomy child.

He created a doomsday story.

The slightly gloomy Gao Chuan 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 memories , Maybe he was stuffed into something that once did not belong to him, no one can tell what happened in the mysterious brain. However, whether he wants or not, he is forced to adapt to the world he recognizes. In this process, the story continued to evolve, he also continued to learn and fight, so now Gaochuan was born.

The story is over. Gao Chuan now wakes up. Although he has lost the memory of Gao Chuan in the past, he is no longer gloomy. In other words, the personality, emotion, knowledge and experience of Gao Chuan today are stronger and more perfect than those of Gao Chuan in the past.

However, Gao Chuan is not the perfect one yet, so he will continue to create his own story.

Although the current Gao Chuan has changed a bit compared to the past, and may be justified, in the final analysis it is still some kind of benign development of the past Gao Chuan. Therefore, the "doomsday story" that carries his certain characteristics cannot be completely denied. .

For the current Gao Chuan, what he can do is to set up and complete and continue the plot on the basis of this "doomsday story."

This is the philosophy that Dr. Ender insists on.

For me, I finally gave up to completely change the whole story, and in line with Dr. Ender’s reasons, there is a sentence in a book: The reason why people are different is because they have different pasts.

If it is no longer the doomsday world, are the people I knew in the doomsday world still the ones I know?

If only those who have experienced those hardships in that doomsday world are the real them, are they destined to endure those sufferings?

I don’t know how to save them.

Maybe, I can't save them at all, and I don't need to save them. Because I am not just a product of a story, mine was born in a real past. And what about them? Do they have a real past? Everything they encounter may be the truth they exist in that world. They are illusory and unreal. Everything I did just changed myself as Dr. Ender said.

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

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

I tossed and turned at night, waking up from nightmares many nights. I think I have seen them, Mae, Dorothy, Shise, Hakjing, Sakuya, and Marceau, but the girls in the dream are blurred. They are trapped in bubbles, floating up, bursting, and disappearing... I Reaching out and picking up these bubbles, they burst and disappear in the palm of your hand... I can only stay aside quietly, watching them appear, burst and disappear...

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

My body sinks and floats in the water in my dream. The endless water surface is so wide and clear blue, like a shallow coast, but the water is tasteless and cold. These cold water can't extinguish the scorching heat erupting from my body, like lava, which often wakes me up from the burning, my mouth is dry, my mind is dizzy, like a high fever. At this time, the body temperature is often measured at thirty-nine degrees, but this high temperature will recede soon.

Day after day like this, I feel weak and feel that my life will not be long.

I don’t know what else I can do, and whether what I’ve done is correct. However, those vows that I have made still echo in my chest. Every time I wake up from a dream, it becomes clearer, and I know what I am doing again.

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

Save them, save myself.

It's another day. I don't look at the calendar anymore. I don't care about what day it is today or what day of the week, because since a long time ago, everything I have to do is always the same. I had that bubble nightmare again. However, this time was a little different, and what happened after waking up surprised me, which impressed me deeply.

I think that it was precisely because of this that my calm life began to become more exciting again.

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

I seem to have returned to the orphanage—in this world, the old orphanage where the six girls of Takakawa and Mae, Dorothy, Seishi, Bajing, Sakiya and Marceau once stayed—I mentioned earlier I have been there, in the dreams and hallucinations of the previous days, there have been such scenes: in the past, the gloomy Gao Chuan lost his parents when he was five years old. Sent to this closed hospital for psychological diagnosis and treatment, but soon returned to the orphanage to live and study like normal orphans. In that memory, this closed hospital does not seem to be much different from now. Of course, this does not mean that this hospital was really like this back then.

In any case, regardless of whether the memory is intertwined with the illusion, the impression of the orphanage is so deep for Gao Chuan in the past, where he spent his childhood and ended with a tragedy.

The orphanages that appear in dreams and hallucinations are sometimes scattered with stardust-like light, surrounded by warmth, and laughter; sometimes a miserable wind blows, and empty footsteps in the unmanned corridors sound from time to time, full Screams 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 Huanrun flash by, when passing by a certain room , You can also hear evil sounds.

In this particular dream, the orphanage is like it most of the time, entangled with strangeness and familiarity, and it is impossible to distinguish between **** and heaven.

When I realized that I was in the orphanage, I was sitting next to 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 iron bars inserted in the window, like a prison.

There was heavy rain outside the window, and the overcast clouds could see lightning like sky light from time to time.

The room is bizarrely divided into two environments along the center line. My left hand is wet and cold, with water dripping from the ceiling, green moss crawling in the cracks of the floor tiles, and my right hand is warm as spring, the foot of the bed A white unknown wild flower swayed by the side. Even when the wind blew in from the window, it was obviously cut into cold and warm parts by the center line.

I don't know why, since I realized where I am, I have been very calm. I got up and pushed open the door of the room. Someone flashed in front of me, and then the corridor calmed down again, but whenever I step forward, there will always be another discordant footstep or several discordant footsteps, like a naughty ghost following. Toddler in Handan behind him. There was no rain outside the corridor windows, but it was not warm either. The brown walls, red and yellow deciduous trees, and the swings that were unmanned and swaying, were full of autumn depression, and the colors were as bright as an oil painting.

When I walked past the corner of the wooden boardwalk, it was another scene. The floor in front is obviously decayed, and it seems to collapse at any time. From the cracks of the wooden planks, only a depth can be seen, like a bottomless cliff, which makes people afraid to move forward. The walls and rooms on both sides were also in disrepair over the years, the mottled wallpaper was peeled off in one piece, the paint on the door panel was scraped off, and the house number was missing. I counted. There were three doors on the left, two doors on the right, and one right in front.

This corridor seems to end here, unexpectedly short.

I heard human voices coming from behind the door directly in front, which sounded very familiar, which gave me a strong will to act.

I walked forward, and the wooden board made an unbearable babble and click. A small piece of wood peeled off and fell into the deep. Just when I was taken aback, the whole corridor made a more violent cracking sound, prompting me to act quickly.

I ran forward with my feet pulled out, and I could clearly feel that my feet were sinking along the corridor, as if there was a bog under my feet. There were only seven or eight steps at the end, but I couldn't run. The roar rose loudly, and I couldn't help but look back. It was collapsing everywhere, not just the corridor, but even the walls and ceiling were shaking, breaking, and falling. The old road is turning into a deep and wide cliff.

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

Finally, in the sudden strong and real sense of weightlessness, I watched the door directly in front of a step away, and my body fell toward the abyss. I almost thought all of this was true, and I was hopeless.

However, the fall only lasted about a second, and the soles of my feet touched the ground, and the pressure of the fall was just like jumping off a three-meter-high place.

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

This room is extremely familiar.

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

Yes, I remember clearly that I was so excited at the time, I never thought I could see it again, even in a dream. It makes me feel gratified, feel a sense of ample, feel an unprecedented sense of reality. It was like a castle made of sand turned into concrete, standing gorgeously and proudly on the top of a certain cliff.

That's the "Hell's Chapter" in the doomsday story, the house built by the mountain.

The room is exactly the same as in memory. It’s very clean and there are not many furnishings. There is only one cabinet and two beds. The bed is draped with mosquito nets, and thin quilts are neatly stacked. At the open window at the back of the house, you can see moss and weeds growing five meters away. Beige brown stone walls.

The time is approaching early autumn, and the night in the mountains never feels hot anymore. The mountain breeze at high places is more vigorous than that on the flat ground. It is not cool anymore, and it produces a slight chill when you stroke your skin.

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

Mae, Fue, whoever it is is good. I feel that I want to see her so desperately.

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

The room is so quiet, it's like dead.

The chill in the mountains is getting stronger, making it hard to tell whether it is a dream or reality. I closed the doors and windows and looked at the bed. I remember that at that time, Fu Jiang was lying on the bed without any movement or changing his posture, just like a dead body. At that time, I watched her face on the bedside for a while, and then began to record my own experience.

There is no table, but there are kerosene lamps, workbooks and ballpoint pens in the cabinet. As I remembered, I walked over and opened the cabinet, and the contents were exactly the same as it was then. The original owner scribbled on the workbook with a ballpoint pen. One side of each piece of paper was used up, and I could only write my own things on the other side.

I lighted the kerosene lamp just like then, and placed it on the corner of the bed. Then I sat on the bed, put the workbook on my lap, picked up the ballpoint pen, and sniffed the kerosene scent from the lights, feeling like I was wandering in the long river of time, overlapping with my back at a certain time in the past.

I know this is an illusion, but the fragments left in the memory are integrated with today's dreams.

I think about the same thoughts as I did at the time, and have the same mood: Maybe not long ago, these stationery were still used by a certain child. On this night, with a faint kerosene light, I drew my childish fantasies on the workbook.

Thinking about it this way, a peaceful and peaceful mood appeared in my heart, as if the darkness and evil that had been surrounding me all the time had been driven away by this light.

I opened the notebook, and it was just a table of contents to write down the summary of those adventures.

Since I woke up in that public toilet, I listed my experience. Because I am not a person who pays special attention to time, the date at that time is a bit blurred, but I look at the contents of the notes. What happened and my thoughts at the time are vividly vivid, like a clear stream of time flowing in front of me.

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

Sakuya, Zuojiang, Tomie, Morino, Ranju, Bajing, Shirai, Whisperer, Goat Union, Security Bureau... An emotion is rippling in my heart.

Guilty, heaviness, happiness, pain, everything is recorded, listening to the truest self's voice between the lines. This sound seemed to have caused a wonderful chemical reaction in my body and soul, and a black fire of purgatory was scorching everything that made me up, making me more clear.

When I came back to my senses, my adventure was over. I felt moist on my cheeks, so I cried unknowingly.

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

This voice made me feel a deep unbelievable and pleasant surprise, and I turned my head back at the speed of almost spraining my neck.

If I had hoped, I saw the face that I hadn't seen for a long time in my dreams.

Is it Fujiang or Zhenjiang? It's Fu Jiang, no matter which one is good, she just stood there, as she remembered.

Oh my God, I hope this is more than a dream.

"Are you crying? Why?" Fujiang asked, clearly interrogative, but she seemed to know the answer, using an affirmative tone.

I wiped my sleeves quickly, staring at Fu Jiang’s face, and my heart calmed down.

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

Fu Jiang didn't ask why he was sad or for whom. She leaned forward and looked at the diary in my hand by the light of the kerosene lamp. I generously handed her the book, these words recorded the truest self, I hope she can see it.

Yes, I did that at the time, and I am still repeating the same action, as if I wanted to reproduce it to today.

Fu Jiang didn't speak, he gently lifted his hair, and quietly flipped through the paper, his expression flat and focused. She gave a completely different feeling from before, not Fu Jiang, but another person.

"...Fujiang?" As it was then, I called her name.

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

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

It's not like a person, but something else that has a human form.

"I'm Zhenjiang, Achuan." As she remembered, she said so.

Mae turned his head sideways and looked at me obliquely in a weird posture. No expression can be seen on her face, her face is indifferent, stiff, and a pale mask. Her black hair is so soft, her eyes are so dark, and her body is so hot, but everything that represents the vitality of life seems to be fake. But there is a kind of weird charm.

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

She put her hands around my throat like she was about to strangle me. The only thing that made me calm down a little bit was that the hands didn't have any strength, they just emptied them and stroked them.

"I love you too, Achuan." Mae lowered his head and said in my ear. I can't see her expression when she speaks, only hear her say: "You don't know how much I love you, Achuan."

"I know." I said.

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

Yes~IndoMTL.com~ I remember, she thought of me as her younger brother...

Mae from the orphanage? The real river of the doomsday world? Who am I?

"Achuan, Achuan..." The voice was entangled and obsessed.

Strong emotions, intertwined memories, reality and illusion become more chaotic in the vortex. I felt my soul changed color in a blender. I can't speak, or even breathe. I feel like I'm going to be swallowed. Even so, my body is imprisoned by a huge force and I can't struggle.

There is a breath of death.

"I won't die, Achuan, I will protect you." Mae let go of his hands.

An unforgettable memory bursts out of my body before emotion, what will happen next...

Her hair slid down before her face, and through the kerosene light, through the silky strands, those frantically burning black eyes completely robbed me of my gaze, making me unable to pay attention to the rest.

!@#