I squatted on the roadside and smoked a cigarette, and was tricked into an Internet cafe by a beautiful proprietress. A monthly salary of 30,000 yuan, six insurances and one fund, including food and accommodation - and then he died.
Alive again.
There is an extra system in my mind, calling itself "the underworld", with three styles of voice packs to choose from: funeral parlor, crematorium, and forensic autopsy room. Its biggest hobby is to complain about the death of its host that is not exciting enough, and inadvertently leak out some clues to survive.
[Each time you die, the cooldown time for loading is doubled. If you die seven times, you are really dead.
[By the way, Sister Fang has a face-shaped birthmark on the collar of her fur coat. That was the previous host.
You have to work hard.
What's even more troublesome are the customers of this store.
Programmers with mouse jigs growing out of their knuckles make a clicking sound when clicking. A woman who had all ten of her fingers cut off asked him if he could help her print her fingerprints. A young man without ear holes can hear sounds that do not exist. The little girl with transparent ankles pestered him to play a game called "Princess Adventure".
And that beautiful boss lady, Sister Fang, has no skin at all in the mirror.
Is this internet cafe serious or not?
