She woke up in a cold and white city, her name was lost, and only a heating bracelet was left. The copies here are like work orders one after another. They pop up on time. If you are late, your life will be deducted. Memory core is the fuel and medicine for everyone. The rich put their light in the pendant, and the poor put their life in their bracelets. She was picked up by the guild and started as a grayscale collector, looking for glimmers of light in the ruins, and distinguishing real and fake players from fake NPCs in the crowd.
The system is not a panel, but a personal whisper that can learn and develop desires. Plunder is a forbidden technique, and its side effects can be concealed. She worked as a worker for a small time and just wanted to survive, but every time she made a settlement, she saw her blanks being filled in. Who cut off her past, and who is using the lives of players to feed the order of this world? The guild ranking is like a ladder, and the black market is like a river. It's clean upstream, but it smells like blood downstream. She learned to judge danger from the smallest details: the heat of her bracelet, the pause in her voice, the light in the corner that refused to go out. It was only when an NPC wearing a "player bracelet" greeted her in a certain dungeon that she realized that the truth was not far away, but in the cracks of every "regular mission". The next time the bracelet vibrates, she'll be on time and bring the problem in too.
It's over, the author is still alive 🙂