Clues to the Expert’s Identity

Running had become second nature to Eric.

She sprinted with remarkable speed, leaving the other players far behind. Behind her echoed continuous screams of agony—one alien alone was enough to annihilate any survivor unarmed and defenseless. This was a massacre marked by a vast imbalance of power; Eric's only option was to keep running.

Charging forward like this, Eric broke free from the confines of the dining hall. She cautiously concealed herself behind a flowerbed, keenly alert to every sound around her. Not far off, cries for help rose simultaneously from multiple directions, sending chills down her spine. Pressing close to the walls as she advanced, Eric remained hyperaware of all fronts and even above, fearful that an alien's jointed limbs might suddenly emerge and impale her.

Initially, she had hoped to find a path less frequented by aliens, but once outside the dining hall, Eric discovered creatures everywhere. Sometimes, before even seeing the alien itself, she would glimpse the writhing of its segmented limbs.

At the sight of those limbs, Eric instinctively veered away. She barely took a few steps before spotting an alien leisurely crawling along the opposite wall, her heart leaping into her throat!

"Ah!" someone shouted.

The sluggish alien suddenly darted toward the source of the cry with lightning speed. Soon, Eric heard a piercing scream rise and abruptly fall silent—without doubt, that person had perished.

Seizing this moment, Eric swiftly dashed out.

Dodging and weaving in this manner, Eric arrived at a storage room. Outside the entrance, blood stained the floor; pushing open the door, she found a dozen corpses strewn haphazardly, none spared—each skull had been hollowed out. Swallowing her revulsion, Eric searched the storeroom for a place to hide.

Countless crates and sacks were piled up, emitting the scent of laboratory supplies. She glanced at the labels but recognized none.

Unfortunately, the storeroom offered no ideal hiding place, and the door was broken. Unless she concealed herself inside a crate, which would trap her in the event of danger.

Reluctantly, Eric chose a corner, rearranged some boxes to create a small recess, and crouched inside.

She remained still for a long while; to her surprise, the storeroom stayed secure—no aliens came.

Perhaps staying in one spot too long bred unease—a primal instinct for survival. Resolving to relocate, she had barely moved from the crates when she heard hurried footsteps. The frantic pace betrayed panic; sure enough, two men burst through the door. Upon seeing the bodies, one cried out in alarm.

"What's with the yelling? We've all seen corpses before!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—I'm just so scared…"

"You're such bad luck! Can you stop following me? You almost got me killed!"

"This is only my second run; I didn't want it to be like this…"

The two men entering the room were players—one younger, one older. The youth covered his mouth, sobbing like a frightened fawn. The elder scowled, nervously pressing against the door to peer outside until assured the aliens had not followed.

Seeing this, Eric proceeded to leave, startling the older man.

"You—you—"

"I'm hiding here," Eric said simply, stepping out the door.

"Hey, you're not staying here?"

"I'm moving to another spot," she replied, then took off running.

The elder player inspected the storeroom dubiously—it was indeed quite safe inside. So why did that woman—presumably a player like himself, judging by her personal clothes rather than an NPC's uniform—flee?

The younger player whimpered, "Do we really have to hide here? Mr. Lin, I'm so scared…"

The elder was exasperated; indeed, who wanted to be stuck with a whimpering novice who dragged them down? If not for their real-world connection—his business dealings with the youth's father—he might have lost patience long ago.

"Quit whining! Are you trying to attract the aliens here?"

The younger shook his head through tears: "I'm just scared…"

The elder sighed, shaking his head in resignation. "This won't do. Keep calm. Why are you such a crybaby?"

He searched around and settled on the spot Eric had just vacated as the ideal place—a position well suited for offense or defense. A window lay diagonally behind them; aliens passing outside wouldn't see inside, and if they entered the door, the players could escape through the window, and vice versa.

But that haven swiftly turned grim. No sooner had they hidden than they heard rustling at the door. The younger player began to speak, but the elder clapped a hand over his mouth, shooting a stern glare. Uneasily, he peered through the gaps between boxes at the entrance—

Clack! Clack, clack!

The unmistakable sound of alien footsteps. Though the creature remained unseen, the elder imagined its gait—the landing of several sharp, jointed limbs like daggers, each step leaving subtle indentations.

His expression changed, and he signaled the younger player to follow him out the window.

They crept to the window; the elder helped the younger out first.

The younger struggled but managed to climb up, only to be pushed out by the elder, catching himself with a grunt as his arm scraped. Hastily getting up, he looked up in horror to see a person impaled midair by an alien, brain matter being sucked out as red blood dripped down.

"Ah!" The frightened cry escaped him uncontrollably.

On the other side of the window, the elder's face drained of color.

Damn it!

Fueled by fury, he resolved to abandon this treacherous burden once and for all. Forget his client's son—if he couldn't survive himself, he would no longer care.

Making up his mind, the elder jumped from the window and sprinted away without looking back.

"Boss?" The younger player stared incredulously after him. The boss had left without a word! Terrified and anxious, he hurried to follow the elder's fleeing figure.

Alas, his stamina was limited, and his lack of experience proved fatal. The cry he had uttered moments before had already drawn the alien's attention; scarcely had he fled a few meters before a sharp, jointed limb pierced his neck, extinguishing his voice and life in an instant.

Unaware of the turmoil unfolding near the storeroom, Eric had found a new refuge: the restroom in the dining hall.

Indeed, by a twist of fate, she had retreated to where she had begun. The restroom was deserted, free of aliens; she concealed herself in the farthest stall, peering out through the window.

Though her sight was limited, the sounds around her were constant.

This was an ominous sign. Once the aliens had hunted down every living soul within the factory, her own survival would be impossible.

Yet how could she venture out?

Could she truly endure until rescue arrived?

She had never entrusted her fate to others.

Lying in wait, contemplating, Eric resolved to reverse her course and head toward the laboratory. She gambled that since the aliens had escaped from there, the lab itself must remain secure.

Victory meant salvation; defeat, a swift demise. Without hesitation, Eric chose to take the risk.

Reaching the laboratory was no simple matter; though bearing the "expert" identity assigned by the scenario, she was ignorant even of the laboratory's location.

But the laboratory—

Eric could not help but ponder. Why had the scenario set her as a bio-factory specialist? Surely there was a clue she had overlooked.

Players might assume roles as workers, administrators, or logistics staff—why specifically an expert?

A sudden epiphany enlivened Eric's resolve.

There must be something only an "expert" could accomplish.

The laboratory!

By right, the expert would possess unrestricted access—a pass permitting entry to the lab!

Clearly, going there was inevitable.

Upon entering the scenario, Eric instinctively inspected her clothing; all were her own, with no extra items in sight.

Where was the access pass?

Players experienced no outfit changes upon entering the scenario; where then could the expert's granted pass be hidden?

She scrutinized herself once more, even removing her shoes and turning them upside down. Yet her search remained fruitless. Fortunately, a science fiction film she once watched sparked an idea: she turned to examine her skin, running her fingers along her arms.

At last, she discovered a small, nail-sized anomaly on her right forearm. Gently pressing, she could detect something subtly firm beneath the surface.

Drawing on her sci-fi knowledge, Eric guessed it was an implanted chip.

Without deliberately examining her skin, she might never have noticed this hidden device—a revelation that sent a shiver down her spine at how close she had come to missing a vital clue.

Producing a blade, which she carefully heated with a lighter, Eric skillfully incised her skin and withdrew the chip.

Holding the small device, she surmised it must be the "key" to unlock access to the laboratory.

With this critical clue in hand, her path forward was clearer; she needed to return to the laboratory before the aliens completed their ruthless slaughter of the factory's living.

But the question remained: where exactly was the laboratory?

Unwavering, Eric resolved to seek out an NPC to guide her.

She did not venture out rashly but remained hidden in the restroom, biding her time.

She doubted the refuge would withstand much longer; once breached, the NPC would flee—and then she could coax one to reveal the way.

Not long after, twenty minutes or so, uproar erupted near the back door of the safe room—a cacophony of hurried footsteps, the distinct sound of many running desperately to escape.

The moment had come.

Evading the alien stationed at the dining hall's entrance, Eric deftly slipped through the restroom window. Ensuring her own safety, she found a corner where she lay in wait as a patient hunter.

Soon enough, an NPC burst into view fleeing for their life; Eric grasped the person firmly and pressed a hand over their mouth to stifle any cry.

"Waaah! What do you want? Help!"

"Where is the laboratory?"