System Error: The NPC's Reign of Terror

Chapter 13: Observation Log #3

"Now," Spider whispered, his voice trembling slightly with suppressed excitement, "let's see what secrets the 'Eden Project' is actually hiding."

His words were like a stone dropped into the deep pool of my mind, sending endless ripples across the surface. The Eden Project. This term—a fragment that had haunted me like a ghost from the moment I awakened. It was part of the "glitch system" in my head, the label on the chip in Brute's safe, and the source of all my mysteries.

Now, the answer was right before my eyes.

Spider took a step back, leaving the terminal screen entirely to me. His gaze never left me—a complex look mixed with curiosity, anticipation, and a hint of wariness, as if he were observing Schrödinger's cat about to leap out of its box.

I shuffled forward a step, my body swaying as if I had exhausted all my strength. On that old terminal screen, the dizzying cascade of code from moments ago was gone, replaced by a simple player interface. In the center of the interface was a video file labeled `[Eden Project_Observation Log #3]`.

My heart hammered wildly in my chest, each beat pounding painfully against my eardrums. I reached out a trembling hand, my index finger hovering over the virtual play button, yet I couldn't bring myself to press it. I was afraid. I was afraid to open this Pandora's box, afraid that the truth inside might utterly crush my fragile grasp on reality.

"Don't be afraid," Spider's voice came from behind me, sounding a bit more human than before. "No matter what's in there, you're not watching it alone anymore."

His words gave me a sliver of courage. I took a deep breath, the smell of rust and ozone choking me, and then, with all the strength I had left, I pressed the button.

The screen flickered, and the video began.The image wasn't clear, full of the static and slight color distortion typical of old recording equipment. The camera appeared to be fixed, aimed at a room illuminated by a harsh, deathly white light. It wasn't the "pure white room" from my fragmented memories; this looked more like an... observation room. One wall of the room was a one-way mirror, while the other was lined with various menacing training equipment and weapons.

A researcher wearing a sterile white lab coat, a surgical mask, and goggles stepped into the frame. His face was completely obscured; the only visible detail was an ID badge hanging around his neck. It had a string of blurry letters that seemed to start with "Al...", but the footage was too blurry to make out.

He walked up to the camera, adjusted the angle, and began to speak in a flat, monotonous tone, as if he were reading a weather forecast. His voice had been processed, making it sound muffled and mechanical.

"Project Eden, Observation Log #3. Subject: 'Bonebreaker' Brute. Deployment cycle: 365 days. Status: Stable."

My breath hitched.

Brute! He really was connected to this project! But wasn't he one of Olympus's lapdogs? Why was he being called a "subject"?

In the video, the researcher tapped a few commands into the console in front of him. A wall on the far side of the observation room slid open, and a massive figure stepped inside. It was Brute. He was shirtless, his cybernetic enhancements gleaming with a cold, metallic glint under the white lights. His face bore a look of irritation and confusion, as if he had been forced awake. He looked around, seemingly confused about why he was there.

"Today," the researcher’s voice continued, "we will test the threshold of the 'Emotional Suppressor' under extreme violent stimulation. The objective is to determine the subject's residual 'humanity' once high-level emotional feedback has been eliminated."

An emotional suppressor?

I stared hard at the screen. The researcher pressed a button, and several armored combat droids slid out from hidden compartments in the walls, surrounding Brute.

"Initiate Level One stimulation protocol."The robots' eyes flashed red as they attacked Brute all at once. Stun batons, high-pressure water cannons, sonic weapons... they weren't using lethal weapons, but tools designed purely to inflict pain and provoke rage. Brute let out a primal, beast-like roar. His cybernetically modified body erupted with staggering power; like an enraged bull, he tore the robots to shreds with his bare hands.

The scene was a spectacle of primal violence and gore, metal fragments and coolant spraying everywhere. Brute grew more frenzied as he fought, his eyes turning blood-red, completely dominated by the urge to kill.

My stomach churned as I watched. This was the monster I had killed.

But the researcher's tone remained terrifyingly flat: "Level one stimulus response meets expectations. Violent tendencies significantly increased; logical reasoning capacity decreased by thirty percent. Emotional suppressor functioning normally; no complex emotional fluctuations such as fear or pity detected."

He paused, seemingly recording something, then continued, "Now, initiating level two stimulus protocol."

A mechanical arm descended from the ceiling, clutching a bound, shivering man at the end. I recognized him—a small-time boss of the Iron Fist Gang who I'd seen a few times at "The Lost" Bar.

"Test parameters: Observe the subject's aggression toward his own kind in an environment without direct threats."

Brute stopped. He looked at his associate suspended in mid-air, a flicker of confusion crossing his blood-red eyes. He seemed to recognize the man.

"Save me! Boss! Brute!" the man wailed.

The muscles on Brute's face twitched; he seemed to be struggling. Within his brain, scorched by drugs and violence, there appeared to be a lingering shred of recognition for "one of his own."

The researcher's cold voice cut in: "Increasing emotional suppressor power to seventy percent."On the screen, Brute’s body jerked violently. The flicker of struggle in his eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a hollow, pure killing intent. He roared and charged like a cannonball; amidst the man’s terrified screams, he smashed his head in with a single punch.

My head buzzed, and my mind went completely blank.

So that was it. Brute’s brutality, his madness, everything about him was nothing more than a pre-set program. He wasn't a simple thug; he was a test subject trapped in a cage, a beast whose emotional brakes had been stripped away. The Olympus Group had used his violence to maintain the "underground order" of Mid-City while secretly using him as a tool to test the breaking point of "humanity."

A bone-chilling cold surged from the soles of my feet straight to the top of my head. This was more terrifying than simple evil. It was an absolute arrogance and coldness that completely objectified life, manipulating it like a toy in the palm of their hands.

"Level 2 stimulus response exceeded expectations," the researcher recorded. "Residual 'humanity' threshold is below five percent. Subject Brute has been completely weaponized and possesses extremely high utility value. Observation Log #3 ends."

The video should have ended there. My heart eased slightly, but then, the researcher did not turn off the recording equipment. He looked up, as if staring directly at me through the lens and across an endless stream of data.

"Supplementary record," he said in that flat, emotionless voice, speaking words that froze my blood.

"Regarding the deployment plan for the next observation subject... it is progressing smoothly."

"Prototype #734 has been successfully deployed to the 'Lost' bar in Mid-City as a background NPC. Current performance is stable; no data anomalies detected."

My heart felt as if it were being squeezed by an icy hand, making it impossible to breathe.

#734.

That was my number.

The NPC serial number that had been etched into my consciousness since the moment I awakened.

"According to preliminary assessment," the researcher’s voice continued like a verdict from hell, each word drilling into my bones, "Prototype #734 possesses extremely high 'awakening' potential. We will continue to observe and wait for the optimal moment to initiate the next phase of the experiment..."

The video cut off abruptly.

The screen went black, leaving nothing but a deathly silence.I stood rooted to the spot, motionless, as if I had turned to stone. My brain refused to process the information I had just heard. I wasn't a glitch. I wasn't an NPC who had awakened by accident.

I was a "prototype."

My birth, my existence, my deployment at the "Lost" bar—even my goddamn "awakening"—every bit of it had been engineered.

I was just another test subject.

A more advanced version of Brute, just waiting to be "activated."

A massive, suffocating wave of terror and absurdity swallowed me whole. I had always believed I was resisting fate, struggling against a vast, heartless system. But the truth was that my so-called "resistance," my so-called "awakening," was likely just another stage of the experiment. I thought I was a puppet who had cut its strings, only to find I had merely been moved from a small stage to a larger one, with even more—and more hidden strings attached to me.

"Nova?" Spider’s voice pulled me back from the icy abyss. He steadied me, his voice thick with shock and concern. "Are you alright?"

I looked up at him, my vision blurring with fear and rage. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I saw the concern in his eyes, but at that moment, it felt like a mockery.

I wasn't an accident.

I was an experiment.

The sole purpose of my existence was to be observed, recorded, and exploited.

That familiar "data corruption" from deep within the system flared up violently, triggered by the intense emotional shock. My vision began to warp as countless red [ERROR] warnings scrolled wildly across my vision, and a piercing ring echoed in my ears. The memory fragments of the pure white room resurfaced, but this time, they were crystal clear.

I saw the blurred face of the man in the white lab coat, looking down at me as I lay on the operating table. His voice was gentle—like a devil's.

"Don't be afraid, Nova..."

"Awaken."

"Show us... your potential."

"No—!"I let out a piercing scream, shoved Spider away, and staggered backward until my back slammed against the cold wall. I clutched my head, feeling my consciousness being torn apart.

I'm not Nova! I'm not your experiment!

My struggles, my suffering, every time I fought to survive—were they all just entries waiting to be logged in the "Observation Logs" of this goddamn "Project Eden"?