Under the same gloomy sky, Shen Mo's fingertips danced on the keyboard, and the blue screen reflected the playful light in his eyes. A biological report marked with "fatal risk" was easily stolen and packaged by him, like a drift bottle thrown into the dark web. The game world is his disguise, and the truth is his only addiction. He glanced at Zhou Lin's blurry silhouette in the surveillance camera and closed it, unaware that the gears of fate were quietly biting together.
The fatal turn came on a rainy night. In the dilapidated hotel room, the thick smell of blood choked my breath. The informant's wife's neck was purple and swollen, and her pupils were dilated. The piercing siren tore through the silence, and a miniature camera slipped coldly from the vent, its red light flashing like a devil's eye. Trap! Zhou Lin grabbed the blood-stained USB flash drive next to the body, broke the glass, and fell into the slippery abyss. Bullets whizzed into the mud behind him. While on the run, a cold realization gnawed at his heart like a poisonous snake: he had become a lamb carefully sacrificed by the "ghost", and the storm had just begun.
