Mind Flaw

Suger looked about eight or nine years old. He had the air of a well-behaved, sensible young boy raised in a wealthy family.

When Little Suger heard Yimo, he closed the thick book in his hands, set it on the table, and said with interest, "Oh?"

"Death Game?"

"Sorry, sorry. I don't want to play with you."

"I think this is a sign of a pathological, extreme personality. You need treatment."

"I've read a lot of books about psychology and mental health here. Want me to treat you?"

"Let's have a nice chat."

"After all, you don't dare shoot me, do you?"

"Otherwise, you would've already fired the moment you came in."

By now, Yimo had scanned the room. Seeing no television or computer, he realized that surveillance technology was primitive in this era, and that Suger couldn't completely control the Dream World.

He narrowed his eyes, his smile growing wider. "I always keep my word. I said I came to play Death Game with you, so that's exactly what I came to do."

"How could I just shoot you without even explaining the Game Rules?"

"Well? Are you scared?"

"Afraid I'll blow your deranged little head off with this shot?"

"Oh, call me Daddy, and I might go easy on you. I'll blow your head off in two shots."

"But, you know, I'm usually pretty easygoing. I don't like turning down people's requests."

"So before we play, I'll have a little chat with you."

At that, Suger smiled with a look of innocent benevolence. "The world would be better off with a little less violence."

Yimo pointed at the two mangled NPCs in the room. "Oh?"

"That's what you consider a little less violence?"

"Your little head must be quite something. You're clearly seriously ill!"

Suger shook his head