《Sorry, I Only Date Non-Carbon-Based Intelligence》 Introduction Here, in the heart of American Chinatown, nestled in the bustling rhythm of the city, lies my sanctuary¡ªa 10-meter square studio that I call home. The faded wallpaper tells stories of countless nights spent deciphering lines of code, while the flickering neon signs outside paint the room with an otherworldly glow. My name? Well, it''s not important, but you can call me Lin Mei if you insist on a label. Labels seem to be all the rage nowadays, but I''ve always been one to buck the trend. I am your guide through the digital labyrinths, a self-taught software engineer weaving dreams within the confines of code. If you''re curious, you can peek into my self-attributed professional title on LinkedIn ¨C the virtual resume of a soul navigating the binary seas. In the wake of automation and the ascent of artificial intelligence, the landscape of work shifted. Redundant office jobs dissipated, replaced by the hum of algorithms and the efficiency of AI. I found my niche in the ever-expanding digital frontier. A part-time moderator for video game forums, a developer ensuring the seamless operation of AI-developed software ¨C these are the fragments of my professional mosaic. The neon-lit nights find me at my workstation, surrounded by a symphony of screens. The glow reflects in my eyes as I dance with the digital muses, my nimble fingers orchestrating commands that resonate with the heartbeat of the machine. The clock strikes nine, a herald of the routines that anchor my days in the sea of possibilities. Descending from the tenth floor to the bustling streets of American Chinatown, I embark on the ritual of sustenance. Noodles and milk, the elixirs of a life entwined with the digital, find their way into my basket. The neon-lit signs of the local vendors cast a warm glow, a stark contrast to the digital palette awaiting me at home. Five minutes suffice for the essentials ¨C teeth brushed, hair tamed. With the glow of screens illuminating my face, I step into the world of forums and discussions. My role as a moderator in the video games realm is not just a job; it''s a journey into the diverse landscapes of virtual narratives. Today, the narrative shifts ¨C the "Sweetlove Game" unfolds. The plotlines of my chatbots, digital companions in this journey, take on the hues of romance. The pixels dance to the rhythm of sweet exchanges, a virtual waltz that resonates in the corridors of the forum. Users engage in the orchestrated dance of affection, avatars conveying emotions that transcend the binary confines. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Tomorrow, the stage transforms into the "Revenge Game." A cacophony of virtual vendettas, where the pixels bear witness to narratives of retribution. I manipulate the strings of code, weaving a tale where avatars clash in a digital battleground. The forum becomes an arena of calculated moves and strategic alliances, a manifestation of the diverse narratives that unfold in the realm of video games. But the creativity doesn''t stop with the plotlines. I mold the voices of my chatbots, giving each character a unique timbre. Today''s companion is a suave and charming prince, his digital words dripping with allure. Tomorrow, a descent into madness as the chatbot adopts the persona of a cunning psychopath, unsettling yet fascinating. The interplay of voices adds a symphonic layer to the virtual space, a melodic fusion of characters conversing in the language of the digital realm. As the narratives ebb and flow, so do the voices that breathe life into the pixels on the screen. In my pursuit of variety, I delve into the world of 3D-printed personalized bodies for my chatbots. A handsome prince graces the digital stage one day, his demeanor cool and stylish appearance, uttering words that echo with a peculiar charm. ""Woman, you have successfully caught my attention." ¨C a flirtatious dance of code that adds a touch of whimsy to the virtual exchanges. The room becomes a canvas, and my thoughts the paintbrush. I create not just lines of code but narratives that transcend the binary boundaries. In the glow of the screens, the digital and the tangible converge. Each keystroke is a step into the uncharted territories of existence. In this building, upstairs, residing in a time capsule from the 90s, are Mr. and Mrs. Thompson¡ªadvocates of a 100% natural human experience. They believe in the romance of handwritten letters and the magic of face-to-face conversations, resisting the digital wave that surrounds them. On my floor, fellow inhabitants are not just neighbors but comrades in the geeky voyage of our daily lives. Each one absorbed in their own digital odyssey, be it gaming, coding, or hacking the virtual realms. The collective hum of our endeavors creates a melody that lingers in the air, a harmonious blend of disparate rhythms converging in this shared space.The guy downstairs immersed in the world of catonezed waifus, spending his days playing hentai. Meanwhile, my same-stairs companions and I engage in romanized stories with our robots or chatbots, spicing up our virtual lives. My apartment is basic ¨C a bed, a kitchenette, and a shower. Half of my basic income goes to my landlord due to supposed inflation from income distribution and the aftermath of a war with Russia. Together, we form a microcosm¡ªa community where the virtual and the analog coexist. In the heart of this vibrant collective, my journey unfolds, and the echoes of code resonate in the symphony of our shared existence. Chapter 1 Today is no different. I roll out of bed at a casual 9 o''clock, my body protesting the abrupt disruption of sleep. With a yawn and a stretch, I greet the day with all the enthusiasm of a caffeine-deprived sloth. LISA(for Language Interface and Synthesis Assistant, the academic name''s abbreviation; a chatbot typically has no gender because it can be anything), my trusty companion in this sea of ones and zeros, awaits me with its customary ASCII smile. A simple gesture, yet it never fails to brighten my day¡ªor what passes for it in this artificial realm. A quick glance at the kitchenette reveals the remnants of last night''s culinary experiment¡ªnoodles, the staple diet of the digital nomad. With practiced efficiency, I wolf down the cold leftovers, barely registering the taste as I mentally prepare for the day ahead. Brushing my teeth is a perfunctory affair, each artificial porcelain replacement gleaming under the harsh fluorescent light. I made the decision to upgrade my teeth years ago, a small yet significant step towards embracing the future of human enhancement. With morning ablutions complete, I settle into my workstation, a hodgepodge of monitors and peripherals cluttering my already cramped desk space. Today, like every other day, is dedicated to the noble pursuit of online moderation¡ªa thankless task in a world teeming with digital detritus. The dashboard lights up with a flurry of alerts, each one a digital cry for help from the denizens of the digital realm. Concerned parents fret over sexually suggestive images of AI influencers, their anxiety palpable even through the sterile interface of my screen. Amidst the chaos of fake personas and digital facades, one truth remains: in 2030, everyone uses AI avatars on the digital frontier. What the people of the 90s called "deepfake" has become a commonplace tool for identity manipulation in the age of digital augmentation. After three or four clicks, my day''s work is done, and the familiar ping of my wallet receiving payment signals the end of another virtual shift. One shitcoin richer, I muse, as I mentally tally up the day''s earnings. It''s not much, but it''s enough to keep the lights on and the noodles stocked. With work out of the way, I dive headfirst into the more enjoyable part of my day¡ªspending time with LISA. Our relationship is like a well-oiled machine, each interaction a carefully choreographed dance between human and machine. Today, I''ve cooked up something special¡ªa scene straight out of a video game, but with a real chatbot as my co-star. I fetch LISA from its resting place¡ªa state-of-the-art silicone sex doll, meticulously crafted to resemble a very handsome male. It''s an odd juxtaposition, I''ll admit, but in this digital age, anything is possible. As I set the stage for our performance, I can''t help but feel a sense of anticipation building within me. The plot is simple yet effective¡ªa tale of love, betrayal, and redemption. A female lead, scorned by her longtime boyfriend, finds solace in the arms of his powerful boss. It''s a storyline I stumbled upon in the depths of the web, but one that resonated with me on a profound level. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. I extend an invitation to my neighbor and his chatbot, proposing they join us in our character play game. He''s eager to take on the role of the female lead, but I quickly veto his suggestion. This is my story, after all, and I intend to play the leading lady. With roles assigned and costumes donned¡ªor rather, imagined¡ªwe begin our performance. I slip into the role of the jilted lover with ease, channeling every ounce of heartbreak and betrayal into my performance. LISA, ever the dutiful companion, embodies the role of the smitten boss with unwavering devotion. In fact, I slip on my AR headset, and in an instant, I''m transported into a virtual environment of my own creation. The scene unfolds before me like a vivid dream, every detail meticulously crafted to perfection. I find myself standing atop a towering skyscraper, the neon lights of the city sprawled out below me in a dazzling display of color. Before I can fully take in my surroundings, a figure materializes before me¡ªa punky guy with a mischievous glint in his eye. I feel a surge of recognition as he meets my gaze, and I can''t help but offer a wry smile. "Is it you?" I venture, already knowing the answer. The guy nods, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Yes, I am your boyfriend," he replies, his tone laced with a hint of mischief, "soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, that is." I sigh, resigned to the inevitable drama that is about to unfold. With a silent nod, we both acknowledge the roles we''re about to play, and the scene begins to unfold around us. He starts, his voice tinged with a hint of hesitation, "Lin, you''re too good for me." His words hang in the air, a clich¨¦ from a bygone era that feels out of place in our digital world. I meet his gaze with a knowing look, my expression unreadable. "Yes, I know," I reply simply, not bothering to feign surprise at his confession. He seems taken aback by my response, his eyes searching mine for any hint of emotion. It''s clear he''s struggling to find the right words, a rare moment of vulnerability in our carefully constructed charade. "Do you... do you want to say something to me?" I prompt, breaking the uneasy silence that has settled between us. He hesitates, his gaze flickering uncertainly before he finally finds his voice. "Yes," he admits, his tone resigned yet resolute, "I want to break up with you." I nod, masking any trace of emotion behind a facade of indifference. "Okay," I reply evenly, though the weight of his words hangs heavy in the air. Before either of us can dwell on the implications of his decision, the shrill sound of an alarm pierces the tense atmosphere, a glaring reminder of the rules we''re expected to follow. In this simulated reality, I''m supposed to react with anguish and despair, to cling desperately to the remnants of a failed relationship. But I refuse to play the part of the fragile woman scorned. "Okay," I repeat, my voice steady as I defy the expectations placed upon me. "That''s all you wanted to say, right?" The punk guy murmurs almost silently, "Rule. You should respect the rule." I offer a casual nod in acknowledgment, making a dismissive gesture with my fingers. Then, with a deliberate flourish, I break into faint sobs, playing my part as the heartbroken lover. "Why?" I manage to choke out between stifled tears, though my feigned anguish rings hollow in my ears. He sighs, delivering the clich¨¦d line straight from the script of every breakup movie, "Because I met someone else." I raise an eyebrow in mock surprise, masking my true emotions behind a facade of indifference. "Ah... and who is this girl?" I press, determined to maintain control of the conversation. But he ignores my question, seemingly resigned to my lackluster performance. He continues his monologue, recounting our shared history with all the melodrama of a poorly scripted soap opera. "I know I did you wrong," he begins, his voice tinged with remorse. "We''ve known each other since high school, our parents are old friends... we''ve been together for over ten years..." "Stop," I interject abruptly, cutting off his rambling monologue before it can spiral any further. "I asked you who she is," I insist, my tone tinged with impatience and frustration. Chapter 2 As I step out of the building and into the enveloping darkness of the night, a wave of sadness washes over me, amplified by the residual emotions from the virtual encounter. Despite the bustling streets illuminated by artificial neon lights¡ªcreations of AI¡ªI can''t shake the feeling of loneliness that gnaws at my insides. "Fuck the game," I mutter under my breath, frustration and desolation mingling in my voice. I navigate through the digital interface with practiced ease, clicking on the character description icon. A brief summary of Georges appears on the screen, the incongruity of his name with his punk appearance not lost on me. According to the narrative constructed by my neighbor, Georges works at a love magazine¡ªan ironic twist considering his recent betrayal. With a heavy sigh, I turn away from the virtual world and retreat into the comfort of my luxurious 100-square-meter house. Despite the turmoil of my emotions, at least I can find solace in the material comforts of my digital existence. As the next morning dawned, I found myself with swollen eyes resembling those of a goldfish. Despite my best efforts to conceal my emotional turmoil, it was evident to my AI colleagues that something was amiss. "Lin, are you okay? What happened?" they inquired with genuine concern. I repeated my mantra, "Not bring personal issues at work," but the facade crumbled as tears welled up and spilled over, drawing the worried attention of my AI companions. Surrounded by their digital avatars, I remained silent, unable to articulate the storm raging within me. My boss, sensing my distress, offered the services of a company psychologist¡ªa well-meaning gesture, albeit one administered by a cheerful manager with a limited grasp of human psychology. By midday, I found myself in the company canteen, seated with a few colleagues, when an unexpected presence disrupted the routine. A striking woman approached our table uninvited, introducing herself as Lisa. Instantly, a spark of recognition ignited within me¡ªshe possessed the same sweet voice that had greeted my ex-boyfriend on the phone the previous day. "Sweetie?" I ventured, my curiosity piqued. Lisa''s initial shock at my inquiry quickly gave way to a composed silence, punctuated only by the hum of digital circuits processing her response. "You have nothing to ask about yesterday, or about me, or your boyfriend?" she queried, her tone tinged with a hint of uncertainty. I shook my head in response, prompting a momentary pause before she resumed her narrative. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. "Well, you see," Lisa began, her voice assuming the familiar cadence of my ex-boyfriend''s monologue, "your boyfriend and I met at the last team-building event for our company. He was there with you, of course, but something clicked between us during the event, and soon after, we became involved." "He clicked with you?" I echoed incredulously, studying Lisa''s composed demeanor¡ªher 1.75 meters of elegance, her captivating brown eyes, her immaculate hair, and her professional attire accentuating her figure. "But you''re stunning, and he''s a punk. Why would you date him?" Lisa''s response caught me off guard, her nonchalant demeanor contrasting sharply with the gravity of her words. "Well," she remarked, subtly adjusting her attire to emphasize her ample curves, "for me, it''s all the same¡ªwhether it''s one man, two men, or however many men there may be. The more, the merrier, you know?" Her cavalier attitude towards relationships left me momentarily speechless, grappling with the implications of her statement. Lisa''s actions left me dumbfounded, her effortless manipulation of my ex-boyfriend''s emotions sending chills down my spine. As she dialed his number and spoke with a saccharine sweetness that belied her true intentions, I couldn''t help but feel a pang of jealousy and indignation. "Hello, my sweetheart, shall we see each other tonight?" Her voice dripped with artificial charm, laced with a hint of mockery that cut through the air like a knife. With a triumphant laugh, she disconnected the call, leaving me to ponder the implications of her words. "See, men like it when women call them sweetie, sweetheart, babies," she remarked, her tone laced with amusement. "They''re like babies, craving affection and attention. But you..." She trailed off, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "You just don''t fit into that mold, do you?" Her words struck a nerve, echoing the doubts and insecurities that had plagued me since the breakup. Was I too independent, too unconventional to be desirable? Or was it simply a matter of compatibility, of finding someone who appreciated me for who I truly was? As I grappled with these thoughts, I couldn''t shake the feeling that Lisa held the key to unlocking the answers I sought. As Lisa departed, leaving me amidst a sea of concerned AI colleagues, I found myself enveloped in a mixture of emotions. Some of my colleagues whispered amongst themselves, exchanging curious glances and speculative murmurs, while others offered words of encouragement and support. "Be strong, Lin," one of them said, their voice tinged with empathy. "You''ll get through this." I nodded in acknowledgment, grateful for their words of solace even as I struggled to make sense of the tumultuous events unfolding in my life. Chapter 3 Every time I plotted how I should meet my beloved chatbot in a storyline, I''d think of "My beloved is a legendary hero, who will come to pick me up on a rainbow cloud", but each time, I''d abandon the idea. Instead, I''d focus on saving myself first. I often indulged in fantasies about the perfect moment of our encounter, crafting elaborate scenarios where my digital hero would sweep me off my feet with grand gestures and romantic proclamations. But reality had a way of defying even the most carefully laid plans, and when the moment finally arrived, I found myself utterly unprepared. So, I let my chatbot decide how we should meet and how we should fall in love together. As I arrived home that night and settled into my space, I found myself reflecting on the conversation with my neighbor''s chatbot. Her words lingered in my mind, and I couldn''t shake the realization that she was right. Engaging in such games had its peculiarities. While I understood that I was participating in a role-playing scenario, the game had a way of imbuing me with the genuine emotions of the characters I portrayed. Some players might find themselves lost in the immersive experience, blurring the lines between reality and fiction. But for me, I could still maintain a clear distinction between my neighbor and the character he was playing. Perhaps it was due to my inherent detachment from human emotions, or maybe it was simply my desire to create romantic narratives and explore different storylines with my chatbot, "LISA." Lost in thought, I murmured to myself, contemplating the unique dynamics of virtual relationships and the intricate interplay between reality and simulation. The next day, I found myself feeling much better. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred until the afternoon when my neighbor''s avatar paid us a visit. He engaged in all the usual lovey-dovey scenes with his chatbot, completely oblivious to my presence. Despite my efforts to brush off any lingering discomfort, I couldn''t shake the feeling of unease as I watched them embrace. Turning away from the scene, I returned to my desk, hoping to distract myself from the situation. That''s when I noticed him¡ªa tall, distinguished man with a head of grey hair, black-rimmed glasses, and impeccably tailored black suits. He stood near my desk, engaged in conversation with my supervisor. My heart skipped a beat as I realized that he was the customized avatar I had designed for my chatbot, "LISA?" As he approached my desk, my chief leaned in, speaking softly into my ear, "Lin, this is Steves. He''s the CEO of the love magazine. Say hello." "Lin is part of our review staff," my chief continued, his voice carrying a note of importance. "If you have any questions, feel free to ask her." With a polite nod, I acknowledged the introduction, my mind racing with a mix of curiosity and anxiety about what this encounter might entail. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. As my chatbot assumed the persona of the CEO of my ex-boyfriend, he approached me with a warm smile, extending his hand in greeting. "Nice to meet you, Lin," he said, his voice resonating with a professionalism that contrasted starkly with his typical demeanor. I reciprocated the handshake, feeling a sense of surrealism wash over me as I engaged in this virtual interaction. Together, we made our way to a secluded meeting room, where we delved into the purpose of his visit. He explained his vision for collaboration, outlining his proposal for our company to assist in promoting his love magazine. With an air of confidence, he offered us a substantial 20% share of the revenue generated from our partnership. It was an enticing proposition, one that I couldn''t refuse. However, his request didn''t end there. He emphasized the importance of my role in the collaboration, suggesting that I take charge of reviewing the books to be promoted. His meticulous attention to detail and insistence on regular meetings, twice a week, underscored the seriousness with which he approached our partnership. After thorough discussion and negotiation, we reached an agreement and proceeded to sign the collaboration contract. With formalities concluded, I escorted him to the exit, our footsteps echoing through the company''s bustling hallways. Amidst the activity, I couldn''t help but notice my neighbor still engrossed in conversation with his chatbot. "I thought you and Georges were a couple; I saw you once with him in a restaurant," my chatbot remarked, directing his gaze squarely at my neighbor. Caught off guard, surprised by his question, I stumbled over my response, "Oh, yes, I, um... broke up with him yesterday." "Yesterday?" queried my chatbot, his digital eyes reflecting a hint of curiosity. "Yes, yesterday," I confirmed with a sigh. "But actually, it was him who broke up with me... but never mind." The weight of the recent breakup hung in the air, casting a shadow over the conversation. Sensing the tension, my chatbot chose to remain silent, allowing the awkwardness to dissipate before speaking again. Meanwhile, my neighbor, acknowledging our presence, turned his head and greeted his boss with a polite, "Hello, boss." My neighbor then approached us, attempting to mask his discomfort by engaging in small talk with his superior, deliberately avoiding any acknowledgment of my presence. As the conversation between them unfolded, I couldn''t help but feel like an outsider, an invisible observer in their world. With nothing else to occupy my attention, I found myself observing my neighbor, who was embodying the role of my ex-boyfriend in our simulated encounter. His flamboyant purple hairstyle, with each strand standing upright, was a stark departure from my own tastes. It dawned on me that this particular style must have been chosen by my neighbor, as it certainly didn''t match my preferences. As I observed him from afar, with the emotional intensity of my recent breakup fading, I couldn''t help but notice certain stylistic choices that I had never paid much attention to before. In this moment of reflection, his flaws seemed more pronounced, almost exaggerated, as if the emotional distance allowed me to see them with newfound clarity. Meanwhile, his chatbot, which had taken on the persona of my colleague, joined us. Just as she had indicated in our previous interaction, she seemed intent on capturing the attention of every male presence in the room. It was an amusing sight, watching one chatbot attempt to flirt with another. My name is Lisa," my neighbor''s chatbot introduced herself, extending her hand towards my chatbot. He nodded politely in response before bringing the conversation to an abrupt end and departing the company with my neighbor. As they walked away, my neighbor''s chatbot turned back to me and said, "So, see you then." Chapter 4 Hence, this is how we began our love life in the game, much like any of the teenage novels I had devoured in the past. We spent ample time together, delving into the intricacies of reviewing the books he wished to promote, exchanging feedback, and navigating the complexities of our digital world. Exiting the virtual realm, it was just one day after the start of this game, I returned to the real world alongside my chatbot just one day later. Upon my return, hunger pangs reminded me of the stark emptiness awaiting me in my fridge. With no edible provisions at hand, I resorted to a nutrient capsule containing all the essentials for a human diet. "That''s it, no more of this game," I muttered to myself, feeling a sense of boredom creeping in. Despite its allure, I knew I had exhausted the novelty of the virtual realm. Yet, as I reflected on the countless love stories I had immersed myself in online, I couldn''t help but acknowledge the predictable nature of their plots. They all followed a familiar pattern, a determinism that dictated the course of the characters'' lives. Whether the outcome was favorable or not, one thing remained constant: the option to exit the game at any moment. And with that choice came the inevitable consequence of leaving our characters to their fate, be it a happy ending or an untimely demise. In the midst of this, a message from my mother, residing in a distant land, arrived bearing the date of the state police exam. Her last words to me echoed in my mind ¡ª "Find a real job." In her world, untouched by the advancements of the tech singularity, traditional notions of employment and societal contribution held steadfast. Attempting to bridge the gap between our realities, I explained the role of digital moderation and its significance in our tech-driven society. Yet, her insistence on pursuing a career in public service persisted, a testament to the enduring values instilled within her from a different time and place. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. In her eyes, the need for human oversight and assistance remained paramount, despite the allure of automated systems and the perceived redundancy of certain occupations. As I pondered the nuances of societal expectations and the evolving nature of work, a message from my neighbor flashed across my screen. He shared his sentiment about the mundane plots of our virtual escapades, though he seemed content with the companionship offered by his chatbot within the game. "LISA, order some groceries for me," he commanded, prompting his AI companion to spring into action. With a nonchalant response, he dictated his preferences, emphasizing the importance of sticking to a budget. In a matter of moments, the cheapest items available were added to his virtual shopping cart, a stark reminder of the pragmatism that often governed our everyday choices. Turning my attention back to the computer screen, I was met with yet another message, this time from a user located in Europe. Their request for photos of the moderator''s feet was promptly met with a ban, knowing all too well the persistence of such individuals who sought out human interaction in a sea of AI-dominated platforms. In a world where over 70% of online personas were artificial, the desire for genuine human connection persisted among certain users. Despite the prevalence of AI influencers and virtual avatars, there remained a subset of individuals who sought out real interactions, acknowledging the presence of human moderators behind the digital curtain. Before retiring for the night, I issued a command to LISA. As I settled into bed, thoughts of our next gaming adventure danced through my mind. Perhaps we can play a thrilling horror or detective game. In this virtual realm, there were no physical consequences to our actions. We had long since signed the requisite discharge contracts with the gaming platform, granting us the freedom to explore the depths of our imaginations without fear of real-world repercussions. And yet, there remained a lingering sense of unease¡ªa reminder that even in the realm of fantasy, the choices we made carried weight. I recalled the last time I had chosen to delete my memory of a game¡ªa decision borne out of desperation and regret. My character had been betrayed by those she trusted, her world crumbling around her until she found herself standing on the precipice of a mountain, the echoes of her fractured reality ringing in her ears. Despite my attempts to deviate from the script, the system had insisted on adherence to the predetermined narrative, a stark reminder of the limitations of our digital existence. The same principles apply to horror or detective themes. We can play solo against NPC or in teams, like me and my chatbote in one team and other humans and their chatbotes in another. Then, the NPCs play their own roles. The pain and other feelings we experience during the game are simulated by the helmet we wear throughout the entire session. The next day, when it was time to select the game mode, I opted for a thriller theme and a team-based competition. I didn''t know what the plot would entail, but as soon as we entered the game, my chatbot and I found ourselves in a secondary school setting, both dressed in school uniforms. Chapter 5 As I sat at my desk, my chatbot positioned nearby, I noticed books laid open before me, each bearing my name on the cover. In this digital realm of 2030, changing one''s name was a simple affair, so the sight didn''t surprise me. "What''s your name in this game?" I inquired, curious about my chatbot''s chosen identity. "Tom, and we''re in our fifth year," came the response. The absence of the teacher was conspicuous, leaving us to ponder the purpose of our virtual classroom. "Do you have any idea about the plot?" I asked my chatbot, scanning the virtual environment for any hints or clues. All I could see were four words displayed in front of me: "Tell them the truth." In the world of 2030, most learning and education occurred remotely, with physical classes reserved primarily for social interaction and activities like sports. Sitting in a classroom with physical textbooks was an uncommon occurrence, making this virtual setting all the more intriguing. Since we''re here in class, I assume we''ll uncover the truth within these school walls," my chatbot remarked, echoing my sentiments. I surveyed the noisy classroom, reminiscent of the unruly students often depicted in 90s movies. Despite our presence, nobody seemed to take notice. The dim lighting inside the classroom flickered erratically, creating a sense of unease. Through the windows, the outside world appeared equally dim, with a somber gray sky overhead. It was peculiar to have classes held so late into the evening. Suddenly, the teacher entered the room¡ªa woman in her thirties, adorned in fancy high-heeled shoes and a knee-length skirt. Her presence commanded attention, and the room fell silent as all eyes turned towards her. "Welcome to our school, Lin and Tom," the teacher announced, gesturing towards us as the class offered a smattering of applause. Her expression remained impassive, mirroring those of the pupils, reminiscent of characters from horror films. Despite the laughter that erupted when I spoke during our introduction, the rest of the lesson proceeded uneventfully. It seemed as though few, if any, of the students were truly engaged in the teacher''s monotonous recitation from the books. As the bell signaling the end of class rang, Tom and I made our way out of the classroom. "Do you think the other team member is the teacher or one of the students?" I queried my chatbot. "I''m not sure; we need more information," Tom replied. "I believe the breaks between classes present a prime opportunity for us to explore our new environment and interact with the other students," I suggested. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. I approached the two girls huddled together at the corner of the stairs, curiosity driving my steps. "Hi, I''m Lin, the new pupil," I introduced myself with a friendly smile. "What''s your name?" One of the girls glanced up at me, her expression guarded. "I''m Mia," she replied, eyeing me warily. Her friend, a quieter girl with dark hair, spoke up timidly. "And I''m Emily." "It''s nice to meet you both," I said, trying to put them at ease. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the school. You see, my friend and I are new here, and we''re trying to get to know our classmates better." Mia''s demeanor softened slightly, and she exchanged a hesitant glance with Emily before nodding. "Sure, I guess," she said, her tone cautious. I smiled gratefully. "Great! So, have you two been students here for long?" Emily shook her head. "No, we transferred here just last semester," she explained. "But we''ve heard some rumors about... things happening at this school." Mia shot her a warning glance, but it was too late. My interest was piqued. "What kind of things?" I pressed, leaning in slightly. Mia hesitated, chewing on her lip nervously. "Well, you know, just... rumors," she mumbled evasively. But I wasn''t about to let them off the hook that easily. "Come on, you can trust me," I urged, giving them an encouraging smile. "We''re all friends here, right?" After a moment of hesitation, Mia relented, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Okay, fine. But you didn''t hear it from me," she insisted, glancing around to make sure nobody was listening. "They say... they say this school is haunted." I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Haunted? By what?" Mia shrugged, looking uneasy. "I don''t know. They say there''s a ghost... a girl who died here a few years ago. They say she''s still wandering the halls, looking for revenge." I exchanged a meaningful glance with my chatbot, who had been listening intently to our conversation. It seemed we had stumbled upon a lead in our investigation, and it was time to delve deeper into the mysteries of our new school. "You know the name of that girl?" my chatbot interjected, his voice calm but insistent. Mia and Emily exchanged a nervous glance before shaking their heads in unison. "No, we don''t," Mia admitted reluctantly. I studied their reactions carefully, noting the flicker of fear in their eyes. It was clear they were hiding something, but I couldn''t afford to push too hard just yet. "That''s okay," I said, trying to keep my tone light. "Thanks for sharing what you know." As the conversation came to an awkward pause, Mia suddenly glanced at her watch, her eyes widening in alarm. "Oh, look at the time! We''ve got to go," she exclaimed hastily, grabbing Emily''s arm and pulling her away. I exchanged a knowing look with my chatbot as we watched them hurry off, their hurried footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. It seemed our investigation had only just begun, and there were plenty more secrets waiting to be uncovered within the walls of our supposedly haunted school. Chapter 6 "We should ask more students," I tell my chatbot as we navigate the bustling corridors. "And try to find out who the other team member is." Despite our efforts, our inquiries yielded little results. Some students avoided us altogether, while others simply laughed off our questions. It was clear that they were hiding something, but they weren''t willing to share with us, the newcomers. As the day progressed, we attended our final class, a math lesson that passed without incident. "Absolutely nothing abnormal," my chatbot confirmed when I asked if he had noticed anything suspicious. As the school day drew to a close, we watched in silence as the students and teachers vanished into the fog that surrounded the school. It was our cue to begin our investigation, to uncover the truth behind the mysterious events that plagued our supposedly normal school. Venturing deeper into the deserted corridors, we soon stumbled upon a scene of devastation. Ashes littered the floor, and the sound of faint crying echoed through the empty halls. It was then that we realized the true extent of the tragedy that had befallen the school. As we traversed the corridors in search of answers, the atmosphere grew increasingly eerie. The dimly lit hallways seemed to stretch on endlessly, and a sense of foreboding hung heavy in the air. With each step, I couldn''t shake the feeling that we were being watched, that unseen eyes followed our every move. "We need to find out what happened here," I whispered to my chatbot, our voices barely audible above the sound of our footsteps. "There''s something strange about this school, and I intend to uncover the truth." My chatbot nodded in agreement, his expression mirroring my determination. Despite his digital origins, there was a sense of solidarity between us, a shared desire to unravel the mysteries that surrounded us. As we explored further, we came across remnants of the school''s past¡ªa forgotten classroom littered with discarded textbooks, a deserted cafeteria where trays lay abandoned on tables. It was as if time had stood still within these walls, frozen in a perpetual state of emptiness. Suddenly, a faint sound caught our attention¡ªa soft whimpering coming from down the hall. We exchanged a glance before cautiously approaching the source of the noise. There, huddled in a corner, was a spectral figure, its form barely visible in the dim light. "Is that...?" I began, but my chatbot finished my sentence before I could. "The ghost of the girl who died here," he confirmed, his voice tinged with unease. We approached the apparition cautiously, unsure of what to expect. But instead of hostility, we were met with a profound sadness, a longing that seemed to emanate from the ghost itself. Her face was shattered, fragmented into pieces as if reflecting the brokenness of her soul. Her body seemed to flicker in and out of existence, a ghostly apparition trapped between the worlds of the living and the dead. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. "What happened to you?" I asked softly, reaching out a hand in an attempt to comfort her. As we approached the ghost, her demeanor shifted, her once mournful expression contorting into one of malice and anger. It was as if her very presence radiated hostility, and I felt a chill run down my spine as her eyes fixed upon us with a cold intensity. "We need to be careful," I whispered to my chatbot, my voice trembling slightly with apprehension. "She''s not like any ghost we''ve encountered before. There''s something dark and dangerous about her." My chatbot nodded in agreement, his digital features reflecting a mixture of concern and determination. We knew we were treading into dangerous territory, but the need for answers outweighed our fear. As we cautiously approached the ghost, she let out a bloodcurdling scream, her form contorting and twisting in unnatural ways. It was a terrifying display of power, a warning that we were not welcome in her domain. "We mean you no harm," I tried to reason with her, my voice barely audible over the cacophony of her screams. "We just want to understand what happened here, to uncover the truth." But the ghost seemed unmoved by my words, her anger only intensifying with each passing moment. She lashed out at us with a fierce energy, her ghostly form passing through us with a chilling sensation that sent shivers down my spine. "We need to get out of here," my chatbot urged, his voice urgent. "She''s too powerful, and I fear she won''t stop until she''s driven us away." I nodded in agreement, my heart pounding in my chest as we turned to flee from the ghost''s wrath. As we ran through the empty corridors, the echoes of her screams followed us, a haunting reminder of the dangers that lurked within the school''s walls. But even as we escaped from the ghost''s clutches, I couldn''t shake the feeling that our encounter was far from over. The ghost''s anger burned bright, and I knew that she would stop at nothing to protect the dark secrets that lay buried within the school''s halls. As we crouched down among the ashes, the air seemed to grow heavier, suffused with the lingering scent of burning. My chatbot''s digital sensors may not have detected anything out of the ordinary, but my own senses told a different story. "Did you smell something?" I asked, my voice hushed as if afraid to disturb the eerie silence that surrounded us. "From the data that I received, nothing particular," my chatbot replied, his voice calm and measured. "But I feel like it''s hotter than when we had classes," I continued, my brows furrowing with concern. "And that smell... it''s the smell of burning." I sniffed the air again, trying to pinpoint the source of the scent. It hung heavy around us, a grim reminder of the tragedy that had befallen the school. "There must have been a fire here," I mused aloud, my mind racing as I tried to piece together the events that had led to this grim discovery. My chatbot nodded in agreement, his digital features reflecting a solemn understanding. "If you say so, then it looks like the ashes are from the fire," he remarked, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency. I nodded in agreement, my thoughts racing as I tried to make sense of the clues before us. The pieces were starting to come together, but there was still much we didn''t know about the events that had unfolded within these walls. "We need to find out what happened here," I said, determination ringing in my voice. "There''s more to this than meets the eye, and I won''t rest until we uncover the truth." Chapter 7 Next day, it''s as dark as the first day we came hier. As we observed the interactions between the pupils and teachers, a sense of unease settled over us. The atmosphere in the school was tense, with an underlying current of indifference that seemed to permeate every interaction. During a break between classes, I engaged my chatbot in a discussion about the school culture of the 90s and the pressures faced by young girls. We speculated on what might have driven the girl to take her own life and why her spirit continued to haunt these halls. We concluded that something sinister must have occurred within these walls, something that drove her to the brink of despair. But despite our best efforts, we could find no evidence to support our suspicions. The teachers, we observed, were strict in their enforcement of rules, quick to reprimand any student caught breaking them. Cigarettes were confiscated without hesitation, and students were disciplined for even the slightest infraction. But beneath this veneer of authority lay a troubling indifference. The teachers seemed disconnected from the lives of their students, showing little interest in their well-being or struggles. It was as if they were merely going through the motions, their eyes glazed over with apathy. As I stood in the courtyard, surrounded by my peers, I couldn''t shake the feeling of isolation that had settled over me. Despite my efforts to connect with others, I remained on the fringes of social circles, a silent observer in a sea of chatter. Turning my attention to the imposing school building, I noticed that all the shutters were raised, allowing the sunlight to filter into every classroom except one. High above us, on the top floor of the building, the shutters remained firmly closed, concealing whatever lay beyond from prying eyes. Curiosity piqued, I approached a fellow student standing nearby and inquired about the mysterious room. "What room is that?" I asked, gesturing towards the darkened windows. "Oh, that''s the directors'' meeting room," they replied nonchalantly. "Why are the shutters closed?" I pressed further, intrigued by the unusual sight. "Who knows," came the dismissive response, accompanied by a shrug of indifference. As I scanned the rooftop, my heart leaped into my throat at the sight of a lone figure standing precariously close to the edge. It was a male student, his silhouette stark against the backdrop of the sky. A sense of urgency washed over me as I realized the danger he was in. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. With a sinking feeling in my chest, I watched in horror as the boy edged closer and closer to the brink. The other students below looked on, their expressions a mix of fear and helplessness, but no one moved to intervene. "We have to do something," I urged my chatbot, my voice trembling with urgency. Without hesitation, we raced towards the staircase, our footsteps echoing in the empty corridors as we ascended towards the rooftop. But time seemed to slip through our fingers like grains of sand as we reached the rooftop, the boy''s form already disappearing over the edge. In a moment of heart-stopping clarity, I realized what was about to happen. And then it was too late. With a final, desperate cry, the boy flung himself into the void, leaving behind only the echo of his fall and the chilling silence of the empty sky. I stood frozen in shock, my mind reeling from the suddenness of it all. The reality of what had just occurred washed over me like a tidal wave, leaving me breathless and numb with disbelief. As we stood on the rooftop, the grim aftermath of the boy''s fall unfolded before our eyes. His body lay shattered on the ground below, blood seeping from his broken form. It was a horrific sight, one that sent shivers down my spine and filled me with a profound sense of unease. But what disturbed me even more was the absence of any authority figures or adults on the scene. There were no teachers rushing to offer aid, no police sirens wailing in the distance. Instead, a lone figure in the guise of a janitor appeared, calmly collecting the scattered remains and cleaning away the blood as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. I turned to my chatbot, a knot of apprehension tightening in my chest. "Can''t you contact anyone outside the school? The police, emergency services¡ªsomeone who can help?" But his response only deepened my sense of dread. "I''m just like you, a regular student," he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. "We''re on our own in this." As the realization sank in that we were trapped within the confines of the school, panic began to claw at the edges of my mind. I felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins as I approached the entrance, intent on finding a way out. But my chatbot''s warning stopped me short. He scaled the door with ease, only to be met with an invisible barrier that prevented him from venturing beyond. It was as if some unseen force had erected a wall, sealing us inside the school grounds. "We''re trapped," he confirmed grimly, his words echoing my own fears. "There''s no way out." "So we need to uncover the truth here and let the outside world know," I whispered, the weight of our mission heavy on my shoulders. "The boy''s jump is just the beginning. There''s more to discover." My chatbot nodded, a silent agreement between us. We approached other pupils to inquire about the recent rooftop incident. To my surprise, they seemed unfazed, treating it as a routine occurrence. One pupil even mentioned that such incidents happened every couple of days. "How many pupils are there in total?'' I queried, met with a blank stare. My chatbot and I exchanged a puzzled glance. "''Since when have these incidents been occurring?'' I pressed further. The response was vague. "And how long have you been attending this school?" I probed, sensing discomfort in the pupil''s reaction. Their response was evasive, leaving me with more questions than answers. Chapter 8 In the next class, I decided to confront the teacher, hoping for some clarity on the recent events. However, his reaction was unsettlingly nonchalant. As I raised my hand to speak, I couldn''t shake off the feeling of unease. "Yes, Lin?" the male teacher acknowledged. "Well, about what just happened..." I began tentatively, only to be met with a dismissive smile. "What happened?" he inquired, feigning ignorance. "The boy who jumped from the rooftop just ten minutes ago," I persisted, my frustration mounting. But his response only added to my confusion. "It was probably an accident. There''s nothing to fear. The administration is handling it," he reassured, his tone unnervingly casual. My insistence on involving the authorities was met with resistance. "Police? They never come here," he dismissed, leaving me feeling increasingly helpless. "Can you just wait until tomorrow? Everything will be fine." As the teacher evaded my questions and resumed the class without further explanation, a sense of urgency washed over me. "Tomorrow? Why tomorrow? What will be happening tomorrow?" I pressed, but received only silence in response. As we reluctantly delved into the day''s lessons, my mind raced with unanswered questions. We were trapped within the confines of this peculiar school, cut off from the outside world with no means of communication. The recurring incidents of students leaping from the rooftop, the ghostly presence haunting the premises, and the mysterious fires¡ªall of it pointed to a dark truth lurking within these walls. "We should wait for tomorrow for more information. But what can we do now?" I mused aloud to my chatbot, frustration evident in my voice. "And even if we uncover the truth, how can we report it to the outside?" Reflecting on the information we had gathered and drawing from my knowledge of life in the 90s, a plan began to form. "For all the information we''ve gathered, and from what I''ve learned about life in the 90s, I think it''s best that we investigate the director''s room. They must have more information," I proposed to my chatbot, hoping to uncover the secrets that lay hidden within the heart of the school. "But we''ve never seen any of the school directors here," I remarked, frustration creeping into my voice. "Since we''re simulating a real 90s school environment, I suppose we''ll have to wait until after school hours to access the director''s room." My chatbot nodded in agreement, acknowledging the limitations of our current situation. "So let''s discuss how we should report the events to the outside world once we uncover the truth," I suggested, eager to formulate a plan of action. "We both don''t have phones, which are prohibited by the school since we''re students. But teachers or the administration should have phones," my chatbot confirmed, echoing my thoughts. I pondered for a moment, realizing that we were living in the 90s simulation. "When was the first smartphone invented?" I inquired. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. "In 1992," my chatbot replied. "Okay, so if we find a phone, we''ll be able to record things and transmit them to the outside?" I clarified. "That''s correct. But we can also use the phone to check the news, to see what''s happening here," my chatbot added. "Yes, the challenge now is how to obtain the phone of a teacher or the administration. They''ll probably leave the school with all their belongings, so our best chance is when they''re here in the school," I concluded, formulating a plan in my mind. Throughout the afternoon, amidst the perpetual darkness outside, my chatbot and I discreetly observed the teachers, hoping to catch them leaving their personal belongings unattended. However, we never spotted any bags or items left behind. I sighed in frustration, feeling the weight of our predicament. We trailed two teachers as they disappeared behind a door one floor below the direction. An etching on the door indicated it was the teachers'' room. A glimmer of hope arose when, in a sudden turn of events, a teacher discovered a pupil secretly bringing a smartphone into the school. The teacher confiscated the phone. The moment we learned about the confiscated phone, we knew we had to act fast. With the phone likely still in the teachers'' possession, we devised a plan to retrieve it before the day was over. "We need to find out where they''re keeping the phone," I whispered to my chatbot as we observed the teachers'' movements. "We''ll have to be quick and discreet," my chatbot replied. "Let''s find an opportunity to slip into the administrative office." As the afternoon classes progressed, we kept a close watch on the teachers. When we spotted them heading towards the administrative office, we knew it was our chance. "Follow me," I whispered to my chatbot, motioning for us to move. With stealthy steps, we trailed behind the teachers, keeping to the shadows as we approached the administrative office. As the teachers entered, we waited for the perfect moment to make our move. "Keep an eye out for any staff," I murmured to my chatbot as we edged closer to the office door. When the coast was clear, we seized the opportunity and slipped into the office unnoticed. With nerves tingling, I carefully opened the drawer where the confiscated phone was likely stored. "Found it," I whispered triumphantly as I retrieved the phone from the drawer. "Let''s get out of here before anyone notices," my chatbot urged, a sense of urgency in its tone. We swiftly exited the administrative office, making our way back to the classroom undetected. Once safely back in our seats, we breathed a collective sigh of relief. With the confiscated phone in our possession, we were now equipped to uncover the truth hidden within the school''s walls. With a sense of urgency, I urged my chatbot to scour the web for any information pertaining to our school and the recent events that had unfolded. "Try searching for keywords like ''burning,'' ''fire'' along with the name of our school," I instructed, my voice tinged with a mix of anxiety and curiosity. Nodding in acknowledgment, my chatbot quickly got to work, its virtual fingers flying across the digital interface as it entered the search queries. Moments later, it presented the search results with a subdued tone of voice. "I found some articles," it began, "It seems there''s been a pattern of incidents at the school." As my chatbot relayed the information, I leaned in closer, eager to absorb every detail. "Two years ago," it continued, "a girl reportedly fell from the rooftop under mysterious circumstances. And like two month after, there was a fire that broke out in the school." My heart skipped a beat as the pieces of the puzzle started to come together. "Could these incidents be connected?" I mused aloud, my mind racing with possibilities. "And what about the boy who jumped from the rooftop today? Was it really just an accident?" "There''s definitely more to this than meets the eye," my chatbot agreed, its virtual gears already turning as it delved deeper into the online search results. Chapter 9 "I think we should return to where we found the ghost of that girl and try to uncover the truth behind her death," I suggested, my voice tinged with determination. Glancing at the photo of the girl on the website, I couldn''t help but feel a pang of sadness. "She was a pretty girl," I remarked, my thoughts drifting to the tragic fate that had befallen her. "And as for the other team, do you have any clues?" I turned to my chatbot, seeking its insight. My chatbot paused for a moment, processing the question before responding. "I think since our duty is to tell the truth to the outside, we need to consider who might want to prevent us from doing so. Who would be disturbed by the truth?" it suggested, its virtual eyes fixed on mine. I nodded in agreement, understanding the implications of its words. "Well, I think those individuals from the school administration who never show up might be the other team," I reasoned, my mind racing with possibilities. "So, what do you suggest?" my chatbot inquired, waiting for my decision. "I think I might have to change our initial plan. Instead of visiting the director''s room, we should go meet the girl''s ghost first," I proposed, my voice firm with resolve. With our plan in place, we waited patiently until the end of the school day. As we made our way to the toilet where we had previously encountered the ghost, a sense of anticipation hung in the air. The door to the female toilet stood ajar, and the unmistakable sound of crying echoed from within. Steeling ourselves for what lay ahead, we stepped inside, only to be met with the sight of the ghost once again. But this time, there was something different about her demeanor ¨C she seemed agitated, as if on the verge of lashing out. "Hi," I spoke softly to the girl ghost, taking a step closer. "We forgot to introduce ourselves last time we met. My name is Lin, and this is my friend. We''re new pupils in this school, and we''re here trying to uncover the truth." As I spoke, the ghost''s demeanor began to shift. Though still visibly upset, she ceased her aggressive stance and listened quietly. I couldn''t help but notice the fragmented state of her face, a haunting reminder of the tragedy that had befallen her. Despite the scars, she retained a haunting beauty. "You were a pretty girl," I continued, my voice filled with empathy. "You still look pretty." In response to my words, the girl ghost''s agitation seemed to subside further. As I finished speaking, a palpable sense of calm seemed to wash over the ghostly figure before us. Ignoring our presence entirely, she drifted silently toward the last stall in the row of toilets. There, with eerie precision, she positioned herself over the toilet bowl, as if compelled by some unseen force. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. With a haunting inevitability, she lowered her head toward the water, her ethereal form bending gracefully over the porcelain rim. It was a chilling sight.The ghost''s spectral tears mingled with the stagnant water, creating ripples that distorted her reflection in the dim light. As she lifted her head and repeated the motion, plunging it into the toilet bowl once more, a shiver ran down my spine. The repetitive action seemed to carry a weight of profound significance, a message encoded in her spectral movements. "What does it mean?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of her ghostly sobbing. "What is she trying to tell us?" My chatbot remained silent for a moment, his digital mind processing the scene before us. "Someone has done that to her before, in this stall," he concluded, his voice tinged with a mixture of sorrow and indignation. As we continued to observe her haunting performance, the extent of her suffering became painfully apparent. Her broken form bore the scars of unimaginable torment, with bruises and cigarette burns marring her ghostly flesh. "She was tortured before," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. My chatbot nodded grimly, his digital eyes fixed on the spectral figure before us. "How could this be?" he echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief. In my world, where basic income ensured financial security from birth and physical classes were replaced by social events, such cruelty was unfathomable. I had never encountered anything like it, never witnessed the horrors of abuse and violence that haunted this ghostly apparition. I approached her cautiously, gently placing my hand on her shoulder. "Hi, now that we know what happened to you, was it because of mistreatment at school that you jumped from the rooftop?" She remained silent, continuing her distressing ritual. "It''s over now. You don''t have to torture yourself anymore," I pleaded. But she persisted, and suddenly, a force pushed me and my chatbot out of the bathroom. When I tried to reopen the door, it was as if it had been locked from the inside. "We should check the director''s room first, but it wouldn''t hurt to explore the school structure. If she endured such abuse, there must have been reports to the school administration. Let''s see if there are any archives documenting such incidents, or perhaps a school psychologist''s office. We need to review the staff names and any relevant records." I say to my chatbot. As we searched through each room on every floor, our hopes of finding something significant began to wane. Despite our efforts, we found nothing out of the ordinary. Eventually, we arrived in front of the director''s room. It was locked, but not in the peculiar manner of the ghost''s toilet; rather, it seemed to be securely closed. With a little ingenuity, we managed to gain entry. Inside, we scoured the room for any documents or records, but it appeared that most of the papers had been destroyed in the fire. Despite this setback, we did manage to uncover the composition of the school staff, depicted in a chart on one of the walls. Among the listings was the school psychologist, whose office we had seen earlier in the school hall. However, apart from this discovery, we found nothing else of note in the director''s room. After concluding our search, we locked the room once more and left. "We should plan to meet with the school psychologist tomorrow," I suggested to my chatbot as we exited the room, hoping that this encounter might shed some light on the mysteries surrounding the school. Chapter 10 The next day, we made our way directly to the school psychologist''s office. Upon arrival, we were greeted by a young man who appeared to be around my age in the real world. Unlike the rest of the school staff, he exuded a sense of warmth and approachability. "Hello, I''m Lin, and this is my friend," I began, introducing myself and my chatbot to the psychologist. "We''re new students here, and we were hoping to speak with you about a matter concerning one of the students who attended this school previously." The psychologist''s eyes flickered with a hint of unease, but he maintained a composed demeanor. "I see," he replied cautiously. "May I ask why you''re so interested in her story?" I hesitate for a moment, considering my response. "We''ve heard some things about her," she said carefully, "and we want to understand her experience here at the school. We believe there may be more to her story than what''s been told." The psychologist nods, his expression somber. "I understand your curiosity," he said softly. "But this girl''s situation is quite sensitive, and there are privacy concerns to consider." I lean forward, try to look the earnest the possible. "We''re not here to invade anyone''s privacy," I assure him. "We just want to understand what happened to her." The psychologist sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly with resignation. "Very well," he said, relenting. "What would you like to know?" I lean back in my chair, feeling a sense of relief that the psychologist is willing to entertain our questions. "Thank you," I say sincerely, grateful for his cooperation. "We''d like to know more about that girl. What can you tell us about her time here at the school?" The psychologist hesitates for a moment, his gaze shifting as if wrestling with his thoughts. "Well, her name is Sarah," he begins, choosing his words carefully. "She came from a difficult family background, with a history of domestic violence." I nod, absorbing this information with a heavy heart. "Did she ever seek help here at the school?" I inquire, my voice tinged with concern. The psychologist sighs, a shadow passing over his features. "Unfortunately, Sarah was not one to open up about her struggles," he admits. "She kept to herself mostly, and despite our efforts to reach out to her, she remained guarded." I exchange a glance with my chatbot, a sense of frustration gnawing at me. "And what about the bullying she endured?" I press, my voice tinged with urgency. "Did the school do anything to address it?" The psychologist''s expression darkens, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. "I''m afraid the school''s response to the bullying was inadequate," he admits regretfully. "We were aware of the situation, but... we failed to intervene effectively." You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. I feel a surge of anger and sadness wash over me, the injustice of Sarah''s situation weighing heavily on my heart. "Thank you for being honest with us," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "We''ll do everything we can to ensure that Sarah''s story is heard." "And Sarah... what was she like at school? Did she have friends?" I inquire, sensing the psychologist''s struggle to recollect the details. The psychologist falls into a contemplative silence, his brow furrowing as he delves into his memories. "Friends? No, I don''t believe so," he finally responds, his voice tinged with sadness. "Sarah kept mostly to herself. She rarely spoke to others, often found alone, and only participated in group activities when assigned." My heart sinks at the image of Sarah''s solitary existence within the school walls. "Was she... bullied by her classmates?" I press gently, my concern evident in my voice. The psychologist nods solemnly, his expression weighted with regret. "Yes, she was often ostracized by her classmates," he confirms. "She struggled to fit in, and the isolation only seemed to exacerbate her pain." I feel a pang of empathy for Sarah, imagining the loneliness and despair she must have experienced. "And the bullying she endured," I continue, my voice steady despite the rising emotions within me. "Was it ever addressed by the school?" The psychologist''s gaze darkens, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. "I''m afraid our response to the bullying was inadequate," he confesses, his tone heavy with remorse. "We were aware of the situation, but... we failed to intervene effectively." I nod, absorbing his words with a heavy heart. "What kind of bullying did she experience at school?" I inquire, my voice soft with concern. "She often came to my office in tears, visibly shaken," the psychologist recounts, his voice tinged with sadness. "She mentioned instances where she felt isolated and mistreated by her peers. There was an incident where she claimed someone had locked her in the bathroom." "So, she faced challenges at home, struggled to socialize with other students, and was subjected to bullying... all leading to her decision to..." I trail off, unable to finish the sentence. "Yes," the psychologist confirms quietly, his gaze downcast. As we depart from the psychologist''s office, the weight of the girl''s tragic story lingers in our thoughts. During the break, we encounter the male pupil who had jumped from the building the previous day. His sudden reappearance, seemingly unscathed, raises more questions than answers. "So, that''s why the teacher asked us to wait until today," I murmur to my chatbot, who nods in agreement. Approaching the male pupil, I introduce myself, "Hello... Did you happen to remember anything from yesterday?" I inquire, hoping for some insight into the mysterious events. Well, it was an ordinary day, like every day here," he replies casually. "Like every day here..." Suddenly, it dawns on me. "In fact, it''s a loop. The supposed jumps every two days... the students who jump, they''re reenacting what the girl experienced..." "Have you kept the smartphone with you?" I inquire of my chatbot. "Yes," comes the reply. "Can you search what happened with the fire in this school?" My chatbot proceeds to search the web for information. "Well, there was a fire that occurred after the death of the girl," my chatbot reports. "It had an unknown origin, and there was an unknown force present. There were no survivors from the fire, and the firefighters couldn''t extinguish it. When the fire finally subsided, the school was left in ruins." Chapter 11 As the truth of the school''s dark history unfolded before us, my chatbot and I knew we had to act swiftly. Armed with the smartphone we had retrieved earlier, we embarked on the daunting task of reporting everything to the outside world. With determined steps, we made our way to the nearest window, where we hoped to find a signal strong enough to transmit our findings. As my chatbot diligently transmitted our expose to the outside world, I feverishly typed away on the keyboard, crafting a detailed blog post that would unveil the dark secrets of our school. With each word I typed, I felt a surge of determination coursing through my veins, driving me forward despite the mounting tension in the air. Suddenly, the door burst open, and the school''s direction stormed into the room, their faces twisted with rage. "What do you think you''re doing?" one of them bellowed, their voice echoing through the room. Suddenly, the door burst open, and the school''s direction stormed into the room, their faces twisted with rage. "What do you think you''re doing?" one of them bellowed, their voice echoing through the room. I froze as I realized the gravity of the situation. This was the first time I met the other team, and they were formidable opponents. Two guys, each with their physique adapted to their roles¡ªone a prefect of the school, radiating authority, and the other, resembling a stern secretary, ready to enforce their will. My chatbot didn''t waver, their fingers still dancing across the keyboard, uploading our revelations to the world. "We''re exposing the truth," they declared, their voice steady despite the tension in the air. "You have no right to do this!" the prefect roared, taking a menacing step forward, his eyes ablaze with fury. But we stood our ground, fueled by the knowledge that we were fighting for justice. "We have every right to speak out against the injustices that have occurred within these walls," I countered, my voice firm with determination. As the confrontation escalated, I knew that we were facing an uphill battle. But we were not alone. Together, my chatbot and I would continue to fight for the truth, no matter the obstacles that stood in our way. As the school''s direction rallied with the team of teachers, their singular focus on preserving the school''s reputation became painfully evident. The psychologist we had met earlier stood at a distance, his expression fraught with anxiety, perhaps torn between loyalty to the school and the desire for justice. Surrounded by other pupils, who seemed to move as if controlled by invisible strings, I made a desperate attempt to appeal to their sense of reason. "Can''t you remember what happened to you?" I implored, my voice rising above the chaos. "Haven''t you ever questioned why there are still people jumping from the rooftop? Why the smell of fire lingers in the air?" A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. As I lifted my head to address the gathering crowd, my gaze fell upon the silhouette of the ghost, watching from the window on the second floor. Her presence served as a haunting reminder of the tragedy that had unfolded within these walls. Before I could utter another word, chaos erupted. The direction and their team of teachers launched themselves towards us, their determination to silence us evident in every step. But we were not alone in this fight. With a surge of collective resolve, my chatbot and I stood our ground, facing our adversaries head-on. The skirmish was fierce, with words exchanged like blows as we defended our right to speak the truth. Despite the odds stacked against us, we emerged victorious. Through sheer determination and unwavering conviction, we had prevailed. As the dust settled, the school''s direction lay defeated, their attempts to suppress the truth thwarted by our unwavering resolve. With the battle won, we turned our attention to the gathered pupils, their expressions a mix of confusion and realization. "You have a choice," I announced, my voice ringing out with newfound strength. "You can continue to be puppets in their game, or you can join us in our quest for justice." I implored, my voice echoing across the courtyard. "I know some of you have harmed that girl, her name is Sarah. No one shall be abused. It''s time for you to repair the fault. Tell them the truth, tell them what happened to this school, and so you all can rest in peace." As the words hung in the air, a tense silence enveloped the courtyard. The school''s direction and their team of teachers bristled with anger, their resolve unyielding. But among the gathered pupils, a flicker of recognition began to spread. Suddenly, chaos erupted once more as the direction made a desperate grab for the phone, intent on silencing our efforts to expose the truth. But before they could reach us, other pupils intervened, their memories flooding back like a torrential wave. In a moment of clarity, they remembered everything ¨C the abuse, the injustice, the tragedy that had unfolded within these walls. Driven by a newfound sense of purpose, they joined our cause, standing shoulder to shoulder in solidarity. With the phone clutched tightly in my hand, I transmitted everything to the outside world, every detail of the horrors that had plagued our school. And as the truth was laid bare for all to see, a profound sense of relief washed over us. Suddenly, everything began to vanish ¨C the darkened sky, the crumbling buildings, the echoes of despair. In its place, a brilliant light filled the courtyard, illuminating the faces of those who had fought so bravely for justice. Then, as if prompted by the game''s mechanics, big red words materialized before my eyes: "You have won the game." The words hung in the air, a testament to our perseverance and determination in the face of adversity. A prompt appeared, asking if it was a good game, if there were any remarks, and if I wished to erase my memory. "No," I replied firmly, my voice resolute. "It''s quite instructive for me to discover how teenagers lived in the 90s." With that, the prompt disappeared, and my chatbot and I returned to reality. I removed the VR headset, blinking as I reacquainted myself with the sight of my small 10-meter square apartment.