The world quietly changed on a calm Tuesday afternoon. At first, people thought it was just another realistic augmented reality marketing, or leaked test footage of an undisclosed game. It wasn't until the first "dungeon entrance" - a twisted door with data stream flowing around the edge and a strange splicing of the inner scene and the real street - appeared out of thin air in the city center square, swallowing up a dozen passers-by who had no time to escape, and then dissipated like a mirage half an hour later, leaving only survivors who were collapsed on the ground, scarred but clutching several tubes of luminous "healing potion", panic penetrated every pore of society like ice water.
This is not a game, but it runs the logic of the game. Those alien spaces called "duplicates" are like regular tumors, growing randomly in every corner of the city. They might be a subway station suddenly filled with monsters and treasure chests, or an office building with infinite corridors that require solving puzzles to exit. Entering it, whether voluntarily or forced, a translucent interface visible only to you will appear on the edge of everyone's vision - health value, stamina bar, task list, inventory - crudely quantifying fresh life into cold data. Here, the game machine has become the supreme physical law: the damage has a clear value, the injury can be repaired instantly with the "props" found, and completing the task is the only way to obtain food, clean water, medicine, and even cure the "data disorders" that appear with the "invasion" and are beyond the control of modern medicine.
