On a rainy night, I received an express delivery order at a sky-high price and delivered it to an abandoned subway station. The shipment was in a black box, and the recipient did not write his name. The box cracked when it was delivered, green light gushing out. The system pops up a line of text: Number 7403 has been activated, and the countdown to death has begun. Later I found out that my dad is 7403 and my grandfather is 7403. Three generations, the same number. The scapegoat reached me, and the alarm clock went to the third minute. Fifty-seven steps left.
