Five invitations split the mediocre daily life - the silver and blue feathers reflect the mask of the traffic idol, the dark patterns on the handle of the gun are entangled with the boss's obsession, and the writer's yearning for the abyss is hidden in the whisper.
They stepped into the "boundary gate" of the siege, thinking it was the end of desire, but they fell into the furnace of trials: the poisonous miasma of the rainforest stripped away dignity, the ruins on the seabed revealed greed, and in the dust of the slums, geniuses were no different from ants.
It turns out that the boundary gate was never a wishing well, but a mirror.
Fifty souls are playing games in the fog, some are broken by their obsessions, and some see themselves clearly in the cracks.
After all, all requests from the outside world are ultimately inquiries from the heart.
Group portrait without CP｜Extreme trial｜Abyss of humanity
There are no winners here, only those who finally dare to face themselves.
