Fang Jie was best at finding a needle in a mountain of data. But when that beam of white light dragged him into a damp, foul-smelling alien ship, he finally understood: what the gods wanted was a needle sharp enough to pierce hell.
On his first mission, he and seven strangers awoke in cryo-pods. All around them were slimy walls and snarls lurking in the ventilation ducts. His teammates were dragged away one by one, their screams echoing through the metal corridors. An intelligence analyst's instincts made him memorize the location of every vent, the aliens' patterns of movement, even the planet's rotation cycle. When the last bullet pierced the egg sac in the queen's nest, he crawled back to the beam of light, covered in blood. He had survived, but had forever lost his right to be an "ordinary person."
Each summon afterward was deadlier: the maze from The Shining, the fog of Silent Hill, the attic from Ju-On... The gods kept feeding him ever more extreme horrors, and Fang Jie's response was increasingly precise predictions and increasingly ruthless decisions. He deliberately severed his own arm to survive the trap in Saw, and stared fear itself in the face in the sewers of It. Teammates came and went, trust crumbled, and only he remained, like a killing machine that kept upgrading. The more data he was fed, the sharper his murderous intent became.
Until he heard the gods whisper in the void: "At last, you're just like us." Fang Jie smiled and wiped the blood from his face. He didn't need to become a god. He would tear down their throne and drag those lofty screenwriters into a script of his own.
An endless killing spree, beginning with the aliens and ending with the slaying of gods.
