My name is Silence, a criminal psychoanalyst.
Three days ago, there was a notice in the elevator of the community that did not belong to the property owner.
"Instructions for Elevator Riding (Supplementary Terms)"
1. When taking the elevator after 22:00, please do not look directly at the surveillance camera.
2. When the elevator stops at a floor not chosen by you, please stay still and do not step out.
3. When there are more than four people riding in the elevator at the same time, please squat down immediately and face the elevator wall. Do not talk to the fifth or above passengers.
4. When the elevator shows "13th floor", please step out immediately. You have 30 seconds.
One and only one of the above rules contains error information. Please use your own judgment.
The real estate agent said they never posted this. There was no date, no official seal, no wrinkles on the paper - it looked like it had grown out of thin air.
That night, the tenant on the third floor died in the elevator. Surveillance showed that he was staring at the camera before his death.
I started investigating. Then it was discovered that similar rules appeared everywhere in the city's elevators, subways, hospitals, and schools. The rules are contradictory to each other. If you follow them, you may not live, if you don't follow them, you will die.
Behind every set of rules lies a forgotten human tragedy. Some people have waited here, some have died here, and some people's pain is so strong that it seeps into the walls and air, becoming the rules of life.
Only by restoring the truth will the rules disappear. This is the only way to survive.
But the price is my own memory. Every time I cracked a set of rules, I lost a piece of my past. I started recording myself in memos—because I wasn't sure if I would wake up tomorrow and remember who I was.
Memo No. 1: The price begins
