Chapter Text
The world of Forsken has never known peace.
Here, time is measured in successive rounds. Survivors flee, Killers hunt. When the announcement of the end rings, everyone returns to their starting point, memories intact, wounds vanished as if they never existed.
Everything repeats endlessly.
"...Round ends."
The system's emotionless voice echoed across the map.
007n7 stood in the middle of the ruined square. On the cracked tiles beneath his feet were still faint red streaks left by the data whip. The whip was made of countless interwoven c00lgui lines, soft as silk when it fell, but a single swing was enough to tear through space and end a life.
Not because he liked it.
It's just... it was effective.
He raised his hand, and the whip instantly dissolved into thousands of red characters, wrapping around his wrist like a thin bracelet.
He didn't look at the other Killers.
He didn't wait for anyone to speak.
A data portal opened right in front of him.
007n7 stepped in.
Disappeared.
"..."
Two Time crossed his arms, a slight smirk on his lips.
"Back early again."
Chance tossed a coin and caught it.
"Whatever."
To him, what his teammates did after completing their mission was irrelevant.
Guest 1337 stood in the distance. The soldier silently adjusted his gloves, his gaze fixed on the portal that had just closed.
Not curious.
Not speculating.
Just memorizing.
That was a soldier's habit.
Telemon was different.
The data streams reflected in his glasses.
"...A piece of code just disappeared."
He quietly typed a few lines of code into the control panel and saved the time.
No more words.
In the far corner of the room, Elliot closed his notebook.
"He's tampered with the system again."
His voice was icy cold.
No one answered.
Because among the Killers, only Elliot was still keeping an eye on 007n7.
Not out of curiosity.
But because he didn't believe a hacker would truly give up manipulating data.
...
On the other side.
A continuous white light flashed in the Survivor's house.
One by one, they were resurrected.
Jason cursed as soon as he opened his eyes.
"Don't let me see Chance again next time."
John Doe sat down on a nearby wooden chair, rubbing his wrist as if the pain still lingered.
"At least he finished quickly."
Jason sneered.
"Quick? You haven't met Telemon? He just stared at me for almost a minute."
Another Survivor clutched his head.
"I met Two Time..."
"He just smiled the whole time."
The room fell silent.
Someone spoke softly.
"...I met 007n7."
All eyes turned to the speaker.
John Doe nodded slightly.
"One blow."
"End."
"No talking."
"No smiling."
"No prolonging."
"I didn't even realize the round was over."
Jason rested his chin on his hand.
"Honestly..."
"If I had to face a Killer..."
"...I'd still hope it was 007n7."
No one objected.
Not because they liked him.
But in a world where many Killers see fear as a form of entertainment, 007n7 sees hunting Survivors as a mission to be completed.
Fast.
Efficient.
That's why so many Survivors both feared him and secretly appreciated him.
In a place like Forsken, a quick death was sometimes a rare act of mercy.
...
Sitting in the corner of the sofa, c00lkidd quietly listened to the conversation.
He bowed his head, gently tightening his backpack strap.
If they knew that Killer was his father...
No.
No one was allowed to know.
He yawned.
"I'm a little tired..."
John Doe turned to him.
"Stayed up late again?"
"Probably."
C00lkidd forced a smile.
"I'm going to my room to rest for a bit."
"Go ahead and rest."
John Doe patted the boy's head.
"Don't stay up too late."
"Okay."
C00lkidd grabbed his backpack and ran upstairs.
The sound of his footsteps faded and disappeared behind the wooden door.
Click.
The lock was carefully turned.
The curtains closed.
He opened the drawer beside his bed.
Inside was only a small black device.
The c00lgui that his father had made specifically for him.
Not in Forsken's data.
Cannot be scanned.
Cannot be traced.
The screen lit up.
«HOME.exe»
C00lkidd smiled.
"Take me home."
Lines of pale red code immediately filled the room.
The space warped like water.
In just a blink of an eye.
The room became empty.
...
In the furthest reaches of the world.
A place not even marked on Forsken's map.
A small wooden house nestled amidst a bamboo forest.
White smoke drifted lazily from the chimney.
Yellow light shone through the window, dispelling the endless cold of the outside world.
In the kitchen.
007n7 had taken off his black coat.
A gray apron was neatly tied behind his back.
He gently stirred the simmering broth with a wooden ladle. The aroma of cinnamon, star anise, ginger, and beef bones simmered for hours blended together, filling the room.
Beside him was a steamer of freshly cooked dumplings.
A plate of stir-fried bok choy with garlic.
Two white porcelain bowls were neatly placed on the table.
The sound of data transfer echoed.
"Dad!"
007n7 turned his head.
His usually cold face softened slightly.
"...I'm home."
"Welcome home, son."
He walked over, adjusting c00lkidd's slightly askew collar.
"Were you badly injured today?"
The boy smiled brightly.
"Just a little."
007n7 nodded slightly.
"Go wash your hands."
"I know!"
C00lkidd ran straight into the bathroom.
He watched the small figure for a few seconds before returning to the kitchen.
The hands that once wielded the data whip to finish off dozens of Survivors in the previous round now carefully picked up each dumpling and placed it on a plate, wiping the edges of the bowl clean before adding the broth.
Outside.
He was a Killer.
Cold.
A man of few words.
No one knew what he was thinking.
But inside this house...
He was just a single father.
A father always tries to finish each round as quickly as possible.
Not to set a record.
Not to prove himself.
But simply because...
He doesn't want his son to wait too long for dinner.
"Dad!"
"I'm hungry!"
007n7 placed the bowl of Lanzhou beef noodles on the table, steam rising from it.
"Let's eat."
"Yes!"
c00lkidd's laughter echoed through the small wooden house.
Outside the door, Forsken remained a cold and emotionless world.
But inside, under the yellow light, there was always a father waiting for his son to return after each round.