Famine 134: HACK

Ye Xianqing couldn’t help but take two steps back.

Yan Cheng unobtrusively blocked Ye Xianqing with his body. He didn’t put on an expression of dire alarm, nor did he draw his weapon. Instead, he just looked at the monster before them with a deeply complicated gaze.

“Havana, do you still remember me?” Yan Cheng asked.

“What are… you saying? When I first got here, it was Captain Yan Cheng who saved… me. I won’t forget you, either.”

The monster kept smiling. “Come? B… come with… me.”

“HACK… misses you both, too.”

What was that?

HACK?
Hacker? Ax? No, it must be a nickname of some sort… but what kind of connection does it have here? Si Zhiyan frowned slightly.

But before him, Yan Cheng’s expression relaxed a fraction. Ye Xianqing also asked,
“HACK is still alive?”

“Of… course! Of course, how could… he not be?” The monster smiled, “We’re doing very… well. HACK is well, too.”

Si Zhiyan wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but when the monster mentioned [HACK], its muddled and indistinct voice seemed just a bit clearer.

After a moment, Yan Cheng gave a soft sigh.
“Lead the way, Havana,” he said. “You’ve been with me since the very beginning of the Hunger Game. I trust you; don’t let me down.”

“Of course,” Havana replied, the twisted grin never leaving his face.

He led the two slowly toward the deeper part of the plank.

There, at the heart of the wooden expanse, stood many small wooden huts. Each was a single room, the roofs so low one had to stoop to move about inside. Once, these cabins must have been well-made—there were traces of paint left on a few of the wooden, sloped roofs—but now, after so long without repair, they had fallen into ruin. The huts were all interconnected, forming the semblance of a neighborhood.

Spread out across this endless “community” lived a sizable group of players.

They still engaged in normal social interactions—walking about, eating nutrient paste, living inside the shacks. Someone even ran a little store; they talked, traded, even haggled—for all appearances, there was nothing amiss.

Except for one thing.

Every player was twisted, their eyes bulging, their bodies distorted into “creatures” not unlike Havana.

Some were more, some were less deformed—disjointed limbs bending the wrong way, some crawling on all fours, others with tendrils sprouting from their orifices. Some still had tents and sleeping bags nearby, but none seemed interested in using them, all curled up instead in their broken wooden shelters.

They were horribly injured, and clearly had not slept in ages, yet seemed perfectly oblivious, going about their lives as usual.

Twisted bones pierced through muscle, and bloodshot eyes bulged violently outward. The whole settlement was thick with a bloody stench that would not dissipate.

From the conversation between Yan Cheng and the others, it was clear that Havana had been Yan Cheng’s teammate; then, the rest of these monsters must have once been players, too—though, at first, Si Zhiyan could hardly bring himself to accept it.

“Crrack… mission… main god… inhuman… hard as hell, we’re like cattle…”
“My lord… entered my dream again last night…”

“Sick… of nutrient paste… NL…”
“…seven… years… what’s the point… dreaming, still want to eat what?”

“The wounds… hurt… it really hurts… can’t sleep…”
“Go buy some anti-inflamms…”
“Hava… back so early? Eaten yet?”

“Eh, brought guests?”

“Eaten, eaten.”
“Our… team, leader.”
Havana was clearly an outgoing soul, known far and wide. All along the way, he greeted people left and right, just like someone strolling through a neighborhood crowded with friends and neighbors, returning home.

Some of them regarded these new arrivals with curiosity, some were more wary, but none showed overt hostility.
Yet all those bulging, unnatural eyes stared fixedly at the newcomers, not looking away until their figures melted into the maze of shacks.

These monsters—were former players. They were still alive.

But… were they really alive?

That uncanny not-quite-human sensation made cold sweat break out on Si Zhiyan’s back.
Judging by Yan Cheng and Ye Xianqing’s faces, they were deeply unsettled, too.

Until they reached a small shed with a red roof, deep in the complex.

Havana pulled open the door and called out, “HACK!”

Out of the pitch-black room, a joyful voice rang—

“Woof!!”

A massive, pure-black dog bounded out from within.

Ah.
[HACK] was a huge black dog.

It clicked for Si Zhiyan at once. No wonder Yan Cheng, hearing HACK was still alive, had been willing to come to this place at the old teammate’s urging—
Keeping their beloved dog meant that, at least in some part, Havana had preserved his humanity.

HACK had clearly been strengthened—he was huge, easily shoulder-high to a grown man. Ears up, glossy black fur, bright eyes, sturdy and lively. He looked mostly like a black German Shepherd—though who knows what other breeds—but healthy, clean, and even wore a collar.

Clearly, whatever his lineage, his owner loved him.

Even though the people were covered in blood and stank of nightmare, even Yan Cheng and Ye Xianqing, here to try to save him, instinctively kept their distance—but HACK didn’t seem to care at all. He gave his fur a shake, rubbed up against them with warmth and enthusiasm, his hot tongue licking affectionately at a hand protruding with bony spines. Havana laughed, rubbing his neck: “Good dog, good dog! Look who’s here!”

HACK was beside himself with excitement, skipping in circles around the three, rearing up his hind legs to jump on Yan Cheng. After a moment even Yan Cheng couldn’t help but reach out and pet his head. “Good boy.”

The atmosphere suddenly relaxed a bit.

Havana was obviously pleased, and asked them to take a seat, patting HACK’s back. “Help me entertain our guests. Captain, I’ll go gather everyone.”

HACK barked cheerfully, nudging Yan Cheng with his head. Yan Cheng scratched the dog, saying, “Bring all the survivors in our unit here—I have important news.”

Havana left. It was just the two and the dog.

The shed was really cramped and dark; Ye Xianqing, sitting inside, found he could touch the low ceiling without stretching. There wasn’t even a floor—just hard wood, uncomfortable beneath them. He and Yan Cheng exchanged a weary, helpless glance.

“I never thought they’d come to this.”

Yan Cheng sighed, “I never should have let them stay here.”

“It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have taken them all,” Ye Xianqing replied.

“After all, this is [Its] Nest.”

They talked quietly for a bit. Si Zhiyan listened, slowly piecing together the truth from fragments.

In the abyss, all players were born on this very plank.

Back then, with no experience to rely on, just about every player succumbed to the first encroaching darkness—the parasitism of [It].

[It] called this place [the Nest] in dreams, telling the players it was safe, that they could treat it as home and stay forever.

At first, the players panicked. But gradually, they figured out ways to coexist with It.

[It] could enter dreams, taking the shapes of loved ones, building enticingly beautiful dreamworlds to lure the players into the darkness;
[It] would even, at the last moment, urge players to wake up;
[It] granted players the power of flight—though the transformation was hideous, it was essential for survival and completing tasks in the abyss;
[It] loved the [Nest], declaring it the warmest, safest place. It was indeed so: anyone parasitized by [It] felt instinctively attached, and no other supernatural force could breach the [Nest]. It was, in truth, a rare safe zone.

Some people tried to pierce through the illusions, to speak with [It] directly, hoping to see Its true face. Others, in their desperation, begged [It] in their dreams: they were too weak, unable to complete tasks, starving—they pleaded for help…

…until someone succeeded.

[It] appeared in a dream, its long, indistinct form shrouded in black mist, hesitating, stretching out small, stunted limbs to the player.

That player woke, overjoyed to find themselves stronger.

The deeper [It]’s invasion, the stronger the player became.
Some, eventually, no longer needed sleep at all.

Their eyes bulged monstrously; their limbs and tendrils mutated, allowing them to slaughter their way through the abyss. They remained wide-eyed, tireless and unsleeping, hardly eating—needing only bits of food to survive.
The hellish main god missions, days without rest, exhaustion and hunger—these seemed like things of the past.

Some were enraptured and became new warriors.

But others were chilled to the core by these changes.

Like Yan Cheng.

Destined as a Chosen, Yan Cheng’s team was among the abyss’s strongest. Their mission area was far from the [Nest], so they rarely returned and were less affected.

But the Hunger Game was brutal. They were always on edge, battered by exhaustion and starvation, often one mistake from death.

Gradually, someone wavered.

The first was old teammate Havana. In one mission, caught in a desperate, nearly fatal situation, his black dog HACK leapt to his defense, intercepting an enemy and ending up snared in a noose. As HACK choked, eyes rolling back, Havana let forth a heartbroken cry, crossing the final boundary and borrowing [It]’s power for the first time.
Tendrils erupted from his body, instantly killing the monster and rescuing HACK.

[Ding! Mission complete.]
The cold, mechanical chime of the main god, as Havana clung to HACK, mind reeling—certain this had to be one of [It]’s temptations. He crouched, trembling for ages…

But nothing happened.

Apart from some pain and changes in appearance, the power seemed to carry no side effects.

There was a first, then a second, then a third…
The deeper [It]’s invasion, the more attached the infected became to the [Nest]—so reluctant to leave, so unwilling to follow their squad beyond its borders.

Some people were beginning to blindly believe [It]’s every word.

Before long, a deeply sinister cult rose within the [Nest]—

Some players believed [It] was a guardian god of humanity—a prophet, a savior, come to free mankind from hunger, exhaustion, and the torment of mortal desires.
They believed humans should embrace [It], abandon all that brought suffering.

The Hunger Game was hell, pure torment—what was there to be nostalgic for? Why not settle in the comfort and safety of the [Nest]?

This strange new faith swept through the player settlement in no time.

The stronger it grew, the more wary Yan Cheng became; he sensed the [Nest] was exerting a terrifying mental influence, and resolved to take his squad and live outside, believing it the only hope for survival.
Thus erupted a fierce dispute within the team.

Ye Xianqing had argued bitterly: “Your bodies are changing far too much—if you go on like this, it’ll be the end!”

“Isn’t everyone using flight now? We just want to survive! If not for friends, HACK would’ve died,” said Havana. “Is it wrong to want to live, to grow stronger, to be warm, clothed, fed? Ye Xianqing, you haven’t slept in ages, haven’t you noticed how many times you missed the vein with my shot?”

“Dr. Ye, you don’t fight, you don’t haul or carry, you don’t know how hard things are for us. Up against monsters, a split-second’s distraction gets you killed. Can you really believe, in these conditions, that we’ll all survive?”

Behind Havana, their squadmates bit their lips, bloodshot eyes brimming.

Havana said, “It never harmed us. It’s always helped! Everything It’s said has been true—has It ever lied to you? …Why not accept It? Make It your master, accept its way of life! No more sleeplessness, no more agony—wouldn’t that feel good? HACK’s safe too.”

Ye Xianqing had no answer.

Even as Yan Cheng, red-eyed with rage, grabbed Havana by the collar, he could think of nothing better to say.
After all, Yan Cheng himself wasn’t certain everyone would survive if they followed him.

In the end, the team split, going their separate ways.

Before parting, Yan Cheng shook hands with Havana.

“If you change your minds, you can find me anytime,” Yan Cheng said. “We can’t walk the same path, but the road we shared makes us brothers.”

“Always,” Havana replied, gripping Yan Cheng’s hand in turn. “If you ever want to come back, the [Nest] will always be your home. We are all [Its] friends.”

Yan Cheng said nothing, just squeezed his hand tightly and turned to Ye Xianqing.
Thanks to past deeds, Yan Cheng commanded loyalty; most followed him out of the [Nest].

Afterward, they very nearly died when their ammo and supplies ran out.

Later, the unassuming Dr. Ye, in the direst moment of defeat, left the team alone, diving deeper into the abyss—where he discovered a castle burning with starlike fire.

…………
……

Ye Xianqing whispered, “Are you sure about this? They all seem in terrible shape. I overheard someone calling [friend] their [lord], and someone else erecting a shadow idol at home, worshipping it… it’s frightening—will they even listen to us anymore?”

Yan Cheng sighed, stroking HACK’s head.

“I’m not sure. But we have to try.”
“After all, so long as HACK is here, we can still talk to them.”

As they spoke, a commotion erupted outside.

Havana had returned with a whole group of twisted players.

When Yan Cheng looked up, his expression immediately shifted.
He clearly remembered there had been only twenty-three mutated teammates left behind—all names and faces seared into his memory.

But now, behind Havana, there surged not dozens but hundreds—thousands—of monsters…

Thud, thud…
They marched in unison.

An endless tide of blood was pouring their way.

At the head, Havana lifted his twisted, radiant smile and reached out to Yan Cheng—

“Captain, Captain…”

“What do you want to say?”