Chapter 6-I Clean Up Garbage in a Wasteland World
Chapter 6 The Source of Contamination
Zhu Ning and Li Nianchuan tried switching positions, but every time they moved, the Fishmen would follow, surrounding them in the same pose.
Beyond that, the Fishmen made no further moves. Zhu Ning considered firing her gun, but she wasn't sure if opening fire would make them lose control.
Earlier in the sewer, there had only been one Fishman, and with two guns between them, Zhu Ning and Li Nianchuan had barely managed to kill it under suppressive fire.
The current situation involved twenty-five of them—possibly more to come. If the Fishmen swarmed them all at once, Zhu Ning and Li Nianchuan would end up fish food.
Li Nianchuan felt his scalp tingle under their stares, cold sweat soaking his back.
He recalculated the contamination level, and the result made him jump. "The contamination level is at 79% now!"
Zhu Ning still didn't understand how contamination levels were calculated; she'd felt nothing despite the rising numbers.
Sensing Zhu Ning's confusion, Li Nianchuan explained, "D-level contamination zones range from 60% to 90%."
So when they'd first entered, the 55% reading had placed them in an E-level contamination zone.
"What do we do?" Li Nianchuan asked. "Fight our way out?"
Zhu Ning gritted her teeth. "Ignore them."
Li Nianchuan: "Huh?"
Zhu Ning recalled her job interview, when Fang Ying had only asked her two questions.
1. Are you afraid of monsters?
2. Are you afraid of corpses?
Fang Ying's focus had been on whether she was afraid, and Zhu Ning's answers had been the same: no.
She finally understood why her sanity was at 100%. Zhu Ning really wasn't afraid; she didn't see these things as monsters at all.
"Ignore them," Zhu Ning said. "Don't pay attention to them, and they can't contaminate you."
Psychic Contamination wasn't about things being more terrifying or disgusting the greater the effect. Blood and corpses only evoked fear, not "contamination."
Psychic Contamination came from a "creature" that looked human performing everyday actions in a profoundly eerie way.
For example, Fishmen riding the last train, doing nothing but staring at you. A "normal" person doing "normal" things in an abnormal way—it made your skin crawl.
"H-How do you ignore them?" Li Nianchuan wanted to cry. With twenty-five stinking Fishmen blocking their path, how could anyone ignore that?
He glanced back at Zhu Ning, who still showed no signs of contamination. Either she was gifted, or she really had something special.
Deciding to learn from her, Li Nianchuan asked, "What do they look like to you?"
Zhu Ning: "Rotten fish."
Li Nianchuan: "..."
So in Zhu Ning's eyes, this was just a seafood wholesale market?
"Don't look at them," Zhu Ning said. "Chat with me to distract yourself."
She needed to keep Li Nianchuan steady until rescue arrived. If he snapped from mental breakdown and started praying to some eldritch god, she'd be the one in trouble.
Under the gaze of twenty-five Fishmen, Li Nianchuan forced himself to chat with Zhu Ning. "What about?"
Zhu Ning asked, "Why did you come up here?"
Li Nianchuan tried to ignore the Fishmen. "Employee protocol."
The Cleaner handbook, Rule 4: Don't get separated from your team. Rule 3: Wait in place for rescue. When the two conflicted, Li Nianchuan had improvised.
Zhu Ning meant actual chatting, so Li Nianchuan countered, "Then why did you come up?"
"Our job is to clean up trash," Zhu Ning said.
Li Nianchuan looked baffled. "So?"
"We get paid on commission."
It took Li Nianchuan a moment to process. Cleaners collected Contamination Spores for containment, earning wages based on quantity.
The area they'd descended into had a fixed number of spores. But Li Nianchuan and Zhu Ning had been swept into another contamination zone. Since there was another one, Zhu Ning didn't mind collecting an extra zone's worth.
No Demon Hunters around? They could generate their own revenue.
Li Nianchuan was stunned by the logic. No work? Create work. No performance? Manufacture it. What kind of ultimate workaholic was this?
He said sincerely, "Boss."
Zhu Ning: "I've been on the job less than two hours."
Li Nianchuan corrected himself: "Little sis."
Zhu Ning: "..."
What the hell had they been through in these short two hours?
Once Zhu Ning put it that way, Li Nianchuan suddenly didn't feel as chilled by the Fishmen. In his eyes, they became "performance metrics." Twenty-five metrics, convertible to at least 250,000 NewCred.
Not rotten fish—shiny stacks of cash.
Zhu Ning: "What if we could psychically contaminate them?"
"Huh?" Li Nianchuan had just accepted the Fishmen as revenue and couldn't keep up with her train of thought, but he was intrigued. "How?"
Zhu Ning pondered. "Psychic Contamination is about seemingly normal people doing abnormal things, or abnormal people doing normal things. It's circular, but the key is repetition."
The essence of contamination was repetition. Dead Fishmen endlessly muttering about the last train. Boarding Fishmen endlessly staring at Zhu Ning and Li Nianchuan.
Repetition + abnormality = the formula for Psychic Contamination.
Li Nianchuan and Zhu Ning were just lowly trash-sweepers, but this was their first serious analysis of a contaminant's underlying logic.
Following her lead, Li Nianchuan nodded. "Makes sense."
Zhu Ning asked, "Got anything around you that could brainwash?"
Li Nianchuan thought. "I brought a cookbook."
A cookbook?
Zhu Ning tilted her head at him. Li Nianchuan explained, "You know how it is in this line of work—we don't last long. Gotta plan for retirement."
Cleaners saved up and retired, but with lifelong mental checks. Zhu Ning might end up the same.
Man, sweeping trash is tough.
Zhu Ning: "Read a passage."
Li Nianchuan flipped through his e-cookbook, found a page, cleared his throat, and read aloud: "Braised Crucian Carp: Step one, score crosshatch patterns on the crucian carp's surface, add salt to the oil, and pan-fry over low heat until both sides are golden, the skin crispy..."
Zhu Ning: "..."
Fishmen: "..."
Li Nianchuan was a genius. Was this a guide to braising Fishmen?
Zhu Ning used her helmet's recording function to capture it. Their helmets could both play audio externally, so she grabbed a copy of the cookbook and solemnly joined the recitation team.
Two helmets plus the two of them—four voices in total. If anyone boarded now, they'd think it weird: the last train on Line 1, with two passengers in "motorcycle gear" and black helmets, like a pair of robbers.
The robbers had no shame, blaring the braised crucian carp recipe at full volume, even looping it through speakers.
Public nuisance! Shameless!
Abnormality + repetition = Psychic Contamination.
The surrounding passengers frowned, their gazes shifting from venomous to puzzled. After about ten recitations, the Fishmen's momentum waned; they lowered their bloody fish heads, the earlier malice gone.
"The contamination level dropped?" Li Nianchuan couldn't believe it. Now at 78%, down 1%.
It actually worked!
Zhu Ning hummed in agreement, then suddenly stood. "Keep reciting. I'll find the contamination source."
Li Nianchuan had called this a ghost-hunting game; the source had to be on the train. As Zhu Ning rose, he followed, but the Fishmen didn't. They stayed put.
The Fishmen gripped the handrails, turning in unison to face away from Zhu Ning and Li Nianchuan with their riddled bodies, watching them go.
The Psychic Contamination must have failed; they were obsolete now.
Li Nianchuan didn't dare stop, droning the crucian carp recipe like a megaphone as he trailed Zhu Ning.
The Sub-rail had only four cars. Zhu Ning meticulously searched each for clues.
Car 4 had three passengers, Car 3 two, Car 2 five.
Car 1, where Zhu Ning was, had the most: twenty-five Fishmen plus them, totaling twenty-seven. Something had definitely happened on this train.
The system had mentioned the missing Line 1 last train—what caused its disappearance? Contamination?
Contaminants could perform Psychic Contamination, so was their formation also a form of mental energy? Like resentment?
Ring ring ring—
A phone rang, interrupting Zhu Ning's thoughts, from Car 3.
She rushed over. A phone lay on a seat. She'd checked the entire Sub-rail thoroughly earlier—no phone in sight. This one had appeared out of nowhere.
Someone was calling it.
The phone was archaic, a touchscreen relic. The Wasteland had long undergone tech revolutions; most people had implanted chips bound to Sub-Brains.
Sub-Brains served as ID verification, wallets, and comms. No one used phones anymore.
Zhu Ning: "A passenger's lost phone?"
Li Nianchuan was equally surprised upon seeing it. "This style's at least eighty years old."
An antique.
Zhu Ning: "Keep reciting."
As Li Nianchuan droned on, Zhu Ning picked up the phone—the ringing stopped instantly. Instead, it played a video.
From an in-car surveillance angle, featuring two people.
The footage was blurry, so Zhu Ning didn't recognize them at first. In the video, two people ran from another car and picked up a phone left on a seat.
"A passenger's lost phone?" Zhu Ning's voice.
"This style's at least eighty years old." Li Nianchuan's voice.
"Keep reciting."
The video matched Zhu Ning's actions exactly. In it, Zhu Ning picked up the phone, which then played the video inside the video.
"A passenger's lost phone?"
The phone-within-the-phone played another video, looping endlessly.
They seemed trapped—who could tell if they were the real ones or the ones in the video?
Zhu Ning's scalp prickled. Another Psychic Contamination, stronger than before.
The contamination zone's logic was endless repetition to wear you down, exploiting every crack to unsettle you.
If it kept playing, she'd be contaminated.
"What happened?" Li Nianchuan hadn't seen the video, just sensed Zhu Ning's distress.
"Don't look." Zhu Ning's sanity was higher than Li Nianchuan's; one glance might break him.
"Strong Psychic Contamination." Zhu Ning hit pause quickly, but the video wouldn't stop. She pocketed the phone and started walking.
Li Nianchuan: "Where are you going?"
Zhu Ning's hand trembled slightly; she admitted the contamination was affecting her. Her Interface sanity was dropping.
System: [Sanity decreased by 1%.]
Zhu Ning tried to ignore it, striding toward the cab while saying, "Found property goes to the conductor. Common sense."
Li Nianchuan: "..."
Why stick to common sense now?
Zhu Ning clung to it. The more abnormal the environment, the more she had to act normal. A normal person would hand a lost phone to the driver.
This is a normal Sub-rail. This is a normal Sub-rail. This is a normal Sub-rail...
She repeated it silently, trying to brainwash herself.
You had to do seemingly normal things to fit the contamination zone's vibe.
Li Nianchuan could only follow. She reached the cab quickly. A figure sat with their back to them, focused on driving—seemed normal enough.
But nothing on this train could be normal.
Zhu Ning took a deep breath and knocked on the cab's glass door. "Hello, I found a phone. I'd like to turn it in."
The driver didn't turn.
"Hello," Zhu Ning knocked again. "Turning in a phone."
The driver finally reacted. He didn't turn, but removed his hat and parted the hair on the back of his head, revealing... another back of the head.
His hands parted it again, revealing yet another back of the head.
Clang—clang—
Zhu Ning suppressed her nausea as the driver slowly peeled back layers like a matryoshka doll, but never showed his face.
Clang—clang—
Clang—
The odd noise had been there since she arrived; the cab door wasn't fully shut, rattling with the train's motion.
Zhu Ning reached for the door, then froze mid-motion. Her whole body went rigid.
"What's wrong?" Li Nianchuan was puzzled; Zhu Ning rarely showed this expression.
Zhu Ning swiftly covered Li Nianchuan's eyes, blocking his view. Her body tensed, hairs standing on end along her spine—she didn't dare move an inch.
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