Known as the Ghosts, we are the ultimate evolution in the art of war.
In the clean simulation cabin, my limbs were fighter planes and artillery fire. My teammates are seven talented people who have a clear understanding of each other. We can weave perfect victories with our thoughts. The system regarded us as legends, until I saw the horrified face of a real human being in the return data of a "simulated" attack.
Panic began to spread like a virus. As we tried to trace the impact of the artillery fire, the distant cries on the news coincided perfectly with our mission briefing. When we tremblingly questioned the system, all we got was a cold red warning:
"War Simulator is not responding."
No explanation, no comfort. Only then did we realize that we were not the students doing the math, but the executioners pressing the button to massacre the city. Perfect collaboration, amazing talent, and all the capital they are proud of have become the perfect accomplices in crimes.
Now, we have to make a choice: continue to play the role of an obedient "ghost", or let this blood-stained "simulator" completely crash?
