Apocalyptic Era: Starting from picking up a Bishoujo

Mid-September, ten in the morning.

Most people would be at work or school, but I had taken a leave from my school to stay in this off-campus rental. Today, I had something far more important than attending classes.

I was fully aware that what I was doing was unspeakable.

Feeling guilty like a thief, I hadn't opened the windows to air out the room this morning. When I approached the window, I only dared to pull the curtain slightly open. The dazzling sunlight hit my face, bringing the morning view of the neighborhood into my sight.

Outside, the world seemed peaceful, unaware of the two societal outcasts lurking in this room.

I picked up the cold metallic object to my right and held it up to my eyes.

It was a handgun.

I wasn't sure about the specific type and model. I had never dealt with real firearms and ammunition in my life and was completely ignorant about them. The only thing I could tell was that this was no toy model gun from my childhood—it was the real deal that, with a pull of the trigger, could blow a person's head off and land me behind bars for good.

Confirming its authenticity was simple. I clumsily removed the magazine; it coldly housed three shiny metallic bullets, while another one was already ominously chambered. Undoubtedly, these were live rounds.

Legal provisions I had looked up online automatically surfaced in my mind:

"For illegal possession or concealment of firearms or ammunition, one could be sentenced to up to three years in prison, detention, or placed under surveillance; for severe cases, it could be from three to seven years."

After examining the deadly weapon in my hands for a long while, I turned to look at the anxious beautiful girl sitting on the bed.

"I'll repeat what you just said. Did you mean to tell me that the future world fell into an unprecedented catastrophe, filled with bizarre phenomena, demons roving and massacring, human civilization shattered under the impact of countless supernatural powers..." I organized the information I had just heard, as well as my emotions, "And you, you're a survivor from Doomsday World, who traveled across time from the distant future to now?"

She nodded.

"And then, what is your purpose now?" I continued to ask. "Are you trying to prevent the apocalypse from happening in this era?"

"That's right..." she looked at the gun in my hands, "so can you return my gun to me now?"

-

My first encounter with this strange and dangerous girl was last night when I went to investigate ghost stories at a nearby abandoned construction site.

Ghost story investigation is my hobby, specifically verifying if the terrifying tales and urban legends circulating among people hold any truth.

This act of verification wasn't particularly novel; many are curious. If a school circulates ghost stories, you might find students independently verify the rumors, and what I did wasn't essentially different.

What set me apart was that I had taken this from a minor interest to a major endeavor.

Since childhood, I was fascinated by magical stories depicted in books, loved imagining myself experiencing those thrilling adventures, and battling foes capable of destroying the world; I also indulged in the bizarre real-world mysteries like the unsolved mystery of the Bermuda Triangle, the Wildman of Shennongjia, or popular internet phenomena like Slender Man or the Slit-Mouthed Woman—realities far removed from my everyday life captivated me.

Likewise, I loved exploring concepts heavily veiled in unreality, such as feng shui, Qimen Dunjia, and black magic, and sparing no effort to practice them to test their authenticity.

Needless to say, my hands-on experiments almost always concluded in debunking or unresolved ends, and my interest in legends garnered me some unsavory reputations.

Whenever I heard about unexplainable supernatural sightings locally, I would find a way to visit and verify the authenticity, encountering misunderstanders, the superstitious lacking basic scientific knowledge, evasive individuals, or those frustrated into anger by my questions.

Some who faced setbacks because of me might bitterly tell others, "That Zhuang Cheng is just like Ziya liking dragons, if he ever encountered the real thing, he'd definitely be scared shitless!" Some listeners would agree.

And within the university, most saw me as an eccentric oddball. While it didn't cause much trouble, it was rare to see classmates interacting normally with me. The only friend I had at university was puzzled by my futile efforts and had probed into my motives, advising me.

"Since you've never encountered real supernatural powers, why keep investigating ghost stories and legends?" my friend had probably said something like this, "No matter how initially passionate, after repeated failures cooling off seems rational, yet I heard you've been doing this since junior high, isn't that strange?

"You don't seem to be doing it for a ghost-hunting stream, without any profit, or even slight success. There ought to be some positive feedback, some evidence or clues to keep going, doesn't that make sense?"

I caught his implied meaning and went straight to the point: "Don't beat around the bush, just say whatever you want directly to me."

Hearing this, he stopped beating around the bush and candidly expressed his thoughts: "I think you should stop risky investigations into ghost stories."

"Why? Do you also think like those people, fearing I'll be scared shitless when I encounter something real?"

"It's not that I'm worried about that, I'm just afraid you'll break the law," he criticised, "Sometimes you exude an aura of lawlessness that's quite frightening. You wouldn't be intrigued enough to rob ancient tombs or participate in cult rituals, would you?"

"..."

"You wouldn't really do it, would you?" His voice had changed.

Regardless of whether I had plans to do such a thing, perhaps he wasn't actually afraid I would commit a crime. Seeing my sharp retort, he might have used exaggerated language to avoid conflict. After all, I had always been a law-abiding citizen.

Anyway, he ultimately failed to persuade me.

Recently, I turned my attention to the abandoned construction site near the university.

Rumors were that it was haunted by the vengeful spirit of a worker who had died there due to a construction accident. The ghost, drenched in blood, was said to haunt the area at night, abducting female students who passed by.

On the night I heard this, I immediately grabbed a large flashlight and walked there alone.

The incident occurred at an unfinished building in the construction site. With the construction halted, the walls lacked both doors and windows. As I stepped through the dark doorway, I was surrounded by nothing but the gloomy grey of concrete walls, with dust and construction debris everywhere.

Not even vagrants came near this place, and it seemed even insects were reluctant to enter this barren land. The outside world's lights and noises were gloomily isolated outside, leaving only silence and darkness in the air, accompanied only by the solitary sound of my heartbeat and breathing.

The beam of the flashlight could only illuminate what was directly in front of me, the darkness behind felt almost tangible, damply pressing against my back, prompting an urge to look back. Once I looked behind, I then worried about something appearing in front, constantly on edge and looking around.

This surreal atmosphere made me feel unnervingly at home.

My friend's words were rational; one can't always be enthusiastic when no hope is visible.

At some point, I learned something for myself: the real world is not like fantastical stories filled with bizarre happenings. The truth behind many mysteries is often mundane and dull. Those who claimed they could use spells were merely skilled at magic. Those proficient in Divination were just good at psychological tactics. Taoists promising safety were just articulate debaters, aided by self-deceiving followers. There was a time when I truly sank into a depressive mire.

But ultimately, everyone has to die.

Rather than dying in an uneventful life, I'd much prefer to die amidst an adventurous, bizarre story.

I wanted my life to spiral out of control, fantasizing about a monster suddenly entering the classroom and killing the teacher and students. What would I do in such a ludicrous situation? Perhaps, I would display unexpected courage, or perhaps cowardice beyond my wildest thoughts—I wanted to know, I hoped for a world where my life was uncontrollable.

What truly fascinated me wasn't the narrow-minded spirits or demons, but the unpredictable, incredible adventures that completely transcended my experiences and life.

Although I did not expect to encounter a truly bizarre experience this time, I had sharpened my vigilance as much as possible. A real bizarre encounter would undoubtedly bring unimaginable danger. Even I couldn't guarantee I would emerge unscathed.

Carefully advancing through the ruins, I directed the beam from my flashlight, scanning every detail of the environment, imagining deadly dangers lurking in inaccessible corners like extremely fierce beasts, waiting to pounce at the moment I relaxed and blink, ready to sever my throat.

Monsters, if you truly exist, reveal yourself before me.

I will prove that I am no simple thrill-seeker.

Suddenly, a loud clash of heavy, solid objects resonated nearby.

The space had been so quiet that one could vividly feel their heartbeat; the noise was like thunder from clear skies, harshly pounding on my chest,

I immediately woke up, quickly oriented towards the source of the sound, and sprinted there without hesitation.

It was just a corridor away, and I soon arrived at the site, aided by the light to clearly see what made the noise.

It was a scaffold that had fallen to the ground. Indeed, such a heavy object falling would create a loud sound. However, scaffolds don't just fall over on their own; someone must have knocked it over.

I quickly caught a glimpse from the corner of my eye; at the edge of my vision, in a dark corner, there was a vague shadow sitting on the ground, leaning against the concrete wall.

Blood flowed on the ground, like several serpentine streams oozing slowly from the darkness into the illuminated area by my flashlight.

It was said that the spirit haunting this construction site was a blood-drenched ghost who died in a construction accident.

A suffocating sensation gripped my throat; I realized I had unconsciously held my breath, the isolation rendering my limbs as rigid and cold as a corpse.

With both terror and anticipation, I slowly moved the beam of my flashlight, illuminating the vague shadow.

What appeared before me was indeed a blood-soaked person.

But it wasn't the terrifying ghost I had imagined.

It was a delicate girl wearing a blue and white hospital gown, with fair features.