Chapter Forty-Five: The Purge Plan

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The screen showed scenes of riots and protests—people of every skin color crowded in front of a tall building, holding up signs, shouting wildly. The footage flickered, intermittently spliced with images of rioters wreaking havoc.

A voiceover intoned: “The global unemployment rate is nearing the critical threshold of fifty percent. The stock market has swung more than two thousand points, hitting its lowest level in thirty years.

The subprime mortgage crisis has returned, far surpassing the highest figures recorded in history.

A new, emotion-like pandemic is sweeping across the globe, causing a dramatic rise in casualties.

Protests in various countries are growing more severe, and governments are searching for urgent reforms.”

The images shifted to scenes of riots and terrorist attacks.

“In these chaotic times, people’s emotions are harder and harder to control. The global economy teeters on the brink of collapse, beginning to devour the small-capital economic class from the ground up.

Since last year, over three thousand new political parties have emerged, all demanding to replace world governments and advance reforms to save the planet.

However, according to police investigations, more than ninety percent of these parties could be labeled as cults. The world is plunging into a deep abyss of chaos.”

The screen fractured—splitting into two, then four, and soon a mosaic of tiny frames, each displaying its own tableau of disorder and violence.

“According to reports, the Global Assembly has already approved an initial proposal, establishing a reform-driven organization and providing it with vast funding.”

The scene cut to a news conference. A white man in a suit, solemn and dignified, declared, “As head of the Reform Committee, I pledge to you all: we will advance reform and rejuvenate the Earth.

Even if the old world order has died, we will build a new Earth. God bless us all!”

Next, a world map appeared on screen, marked with a hundred red dots.

The voiceover continued: “Two months ago, the Reform Committee launched a new experiment, selecting one hundred independent regions worldwide for policy trials.

The experiment is set for the night of November 11th. From midnight until eight the next morning, these zones will descend into anarchy—no crimes committed during this period will be recorded, and no one will be held accountable.

The public has dubbed these eight hours the ‘Carnival of Sin’…”

Boom!

A massive explosion sounded outside, growing ever closer. Clearly, the chaos outside was intensifying.

As the video neared its end, the deafening blasts rendered all sound inaudible.

Gao Ning, thoroughly unimpressed, tossed his phone aside.

No need to think further—this was humanity’s purge plan.

Why did every mission world seem so alike? This was supposed to be the Paradise Space, yet the purge plan had wormed its way in.

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Did they think Earth wasn’t chaotic enough already?

Unfortunately, the paratrooper summons still had a three-hour cooldown. Even with a special template, it would only shorten the time by fifteen minutes.

Gao Ning glanced at his time credits; judging by the situation, it would be hard to keep hold of the remainder for long.

At that moment, the door was kicked violently—the flimsy frame splintered, lock torn apart, crashing against the wardrobe and sending dust flying.

A cheer erupted from outside.

“There’s a rabbit in the hole, boys! Time to reap the harvest!”

What followed was a chorus of feral howls.

The girl shuddered in terror, shrinking behind the bed, hands trembling as she raised her pistol. Tears welled in her eyes as she watched the wardrobe being steadily pried aside by brute force. A mob of rioters, faces smeared with garish paints like some deranged cultists, fought to break in—yet she still dared not fire.

The burly black man leading them roared, “Listen up in there—come out and die quickly, don’t waste our time! Otherwise, we’ll save you for last and torture you till dawn.”

He fired a shot as he spoke—the bullet punched a fist-sized hole through the door.

The wardrobe, already battered and about to fall apart, collapsed into a heap of scrap under the new onslaught.

Gao Ning muttered, “Shooting through the door and still hitting the wardrobe? What rotten luck.”

The rioters kicked in the door and swarmed inside, wielding rifles and pistols, their faces twisted into hellish masks.

Without a word, they raised their weapons.

The girl was paralyzed with fear.

Seeing these lunatics—who were clearly here for the sole purpose of killing—Gao Ning didn’t bother negotiating. He raised his pistol, and time froze.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Five shots rang out in rapid succession; the bullets hung frozen in the air, fanned out before him.

Time flowed again.

A thunderous volley of gunfire erupted—the five bullets simultaneously struck the rioters’ foreheads, blood spraying as they toppled in unison.

At the rear, the black leader was still striking a pose, his lips just beginning to curl into a sneer—when a bullet blasted into his mouth, spraying his head with gore and leaving him stunned on the spot.

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Gao Ning glanced at him. “Sorry, almost forgot about you.”

Bang!

The corpse crashed to the floor. Gao Ning spun his pistol, blowing the smoke away in a flourish—his movements smooth and swift.

Perhaps it was a lingering sensitivity from his last stint in a tailcoat, but Gao Ning now found himself strangely familiar with firearms.

Though the room was small, the range less than four meters, each shot had struck dead center—a result that surprised even him.

Was he a born marksman, simply held back all his life by lack of access to guns?

He was still lost in thought when the girl let out a piercing scream.

Startled, Gao Ning realized he no longer reacted to the corpses scattered around him.

He recalled how, without hesitation, he’d killed a few thugs before—snatching their weapons and essential supplies as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

At last, he understood: since his last mission world, he’d changed in ways he hadn’t even noticed.

His feelings were complicated. He knew these changes improved his chances of survival, but he couldn’t say if it was right or wrong.

The girl recovered quickly; after her outburst, she clamped a hand over her mouth, breathing hard in the corner. Regaining her composure, she stood and grabbed Gao Ning’s arm, urging him to leave.

“Where are we going?”

“We can’t stay here. The gunshots and the heavy stench of blood will draw more wolves soon. Kill one person and you get two thousand dollars—it’s a windfall for the rioters. They don’t care how many die—they just want the money.”

She answered quickly, fighting her nausea as she gathered the scattered firearms and fished a few magazines from the dead men’s belts, stuffing them into her bag before pulling Gao Ning after her.

Gao Ning followed impassively. There were two more bodies in the corridor, and in some open guest rooms, corpses lay strewn about.

Clearly, this was the handiwork of the earlier group. They’d slaughtered their way in through the main entrance, cleaning out every room up to Gao Ning’s—only to meet their end in turn.

Their score was wiped out; they were out of the game!