In a dark, damp alley, the paving stones were the same color as the faded brown buildings lining the street. The middle-aged researcher staggered past garbage bins reeking of rotten food. He was gradually losing the strength to run.
A painful burning sensation came from his lungs. Wearing nothing but underwear, he exhaled large clouds of white mist through his nose and mouth into the frigid night air. The soles of his bare feet had been scraped bloody by gravel, and the pain and exhaustion he had ignored in his extreme terror came rushing in like a tide.
His oxygen-starved brain began to grow muddled. He no longer had the mind to consider whether this world was real. Only one thought remained in his mind: I'm going to die.
Suddenly, his increasingly blurred vision caught a flash of light ahead. Then he seemed to hear several faint whistling sounds beside his ears, followed by the sound of something heavy falling behind him.
The exhausted researcher's muddled mind was jolted awake by the sudden change. Using the last of his strength, he ran forward a few more steps before collapsing weakly to the ground.
Propping himself up, the researcher leaned against the damp, icy alley wall and looked back. The rotten corpse that had been following him like a shadow now had several large holes blown through it. It lay limp on the ground, completely still.
The clip-clop of footsteps, the faint echoes in the silent alley, and the splashing sounds whenever the other party stepped into a puddle created an Anomaly atmosphere beneath the Red Moon.
The researcher could not help holding his breath. Only his heart, unable to calm after the intense exertion, continued pounding violently in his chest.
The other party carried an oil lamp, casting a long shadow behind itself. The middle-aged researcher, with his head lowered, first saw a pair of old boots. However, the boots seemed rather small, about the size a three-year-old child would wear.
He gathered his courage and raised his head. Staring at the tiny creature before him, unable to hide his shock, he blurted out, "A cat... wearing boots?"
It wore boots, held an oil lamp in one paw and a metal rod in the other, with a lit cigarette clenched between its teeth.
The little fellow, only a few dozen centimeters tall, swished its tail and looked at the half-naked middle-aged man sitting against the wall with an expression of disgust.
Recovering from his shock, the man carefully studied the upright-walking cat before him and asked uncertainly, "Are you... Little Fatty Orange?"
Looking at the cat's round belly, the man thought of the fat Orange Cat he kept in his office.
As he grew older, his relationship with his family had become increasingly distant. He spent most of his time socializing and entertaining others, while his relationships with his lovers were more like transactions.
In the end, it was this Orange Cat in his office that had become closest to him. He often told the cat about the troubles and pressures in his life.
However, he had never imagined that one day, that cat would come before him wearing boots and carrying an oil lamp—and save his life.
The middle-aged man's brain, previously muddled from oxygen deprivation, began working again. The changes he had encountered were simply too Anomaly. As a researcher, his rationality told him that all of this seemed fake.
But there was the piercing pain in his soles, the clear stench of rotting food at the tip of his nose, and the goosebumps rising over his skin from the cold air.
Every sensation in his body told him that this was real. There could not possibly be a device in reality capable of perfectly simulating all five human senses; brain-computer interfaces were still only theoretical.
The Orange Cat before him suddenly spoke—and it was Mandarin. Its voice was soft, like that of a Little Boy, though its tone sounded rather impatient:
"Old man, get up already. Don't you know how dangerous it is outside at night? Good thing I heard you and came over, or you'd have been dead for sure. Those Monsters transformed from humans roam around beneath the Red Moon at night and attack every living creature. Even smashing their bodies to pieces is useless—they'll revive soon enough."
Hearing this, the man stopped thinking about reality and illusion. He did not dare guarantee that being caught by a monster would mean waking from an illusion rather than truly dying. The sensations in his body were far too real.
He endured the pain in his feet and used the wall to pull himself upright.
Looking back, he saw that the shattered rotten corpse was indeed glowing faintly red beneath the moonlight. Its broken body had begun twisting and repairing itself. Perhaps it would not be long before it stood up and resumed hunting him.
The Orange Cat raised the metal rod in its right paw and aimed it at the monster. White Light appeared at the tip of the tiny metal rod, then shot out like a bullet. The writhing monster was blasted to pieces again.
He had already suffered too many shocks tonight, and the man was beginning to grow numb to these fantastical scenes. Enduring the pain, he followed the Orange Cat through the maze-like dark alleys and emerged onto a main road. Ahead stood an old town emitting a faint White Light.
Mottled brick walls, foul drainage ditches left unattended, rusted electric vehicles by the roadside, and high-rise buildings that looked like ghosts in the night—through these scenes, the man could still vaguely see the prosperous city from his memories.
He followed the Orange Cat into the town and arrived at a secluded apartment. The man had just sat down on an old sofa and was about to ask a question when the smartwatch—the only thing he wore besides his underwear—suddenly began beeping. At the same time, it projected a blue glow that formed several lines of text:
1. Survive the monster's pursuit 2. Follow Little Fatty Orange to safety 3. Learn about this place 4. ???? 5. ????
Looking at the words on his watch, the man's mind began racing again. Fear, danger, bodily pain, this Anomaly reality—everything gave fresh vitality to his gradually numbed mind.
He asked Little Fatty Orange, who sat across from him smoking, "How did you get here? How did you fire those light bullets?"
Ignoring all the confusing details, he went straight to the heart of the matter.
He still lacked the ability to determine what exactly was happening, nor could he be sure whether this was an illusory world or whether the world had truly undergone some unknown upheaval overnight.
He cast aside his wild thoughts. First, he needed to survive in this Anomaly world.
Hearing him, the Orange Cat rolled over on the old sofa, tossed the metal rod in its paw onto the floor, and said, "To be honest, I'm not entirely sure about the details either. I've only been like this for a few months."
Little Fatty Orange began recounting his experiences.
Several months ago, after the man joined an academician's project and left the laboratory, Little Fatty Orange had been cared for by one of the man's students. Three days after the man left, the Orange Cat suddenly arrived in this city glowing with White Light. At the same time, he became able to understand human speech.
"I don't know how I got here either. I was sleeping in my bed, then I closed my eyes and opened them, and I was here."
"All the animals in this city can talk now. Crows, cats, rats, sparrows, and those annoying dogs. But insects are still as dumb as before."
"They said they all came to this city after waking up from a sleep. The earliest ones have been here for more than ten years."
"All the humans in the city turned into those rotten Monsters. At first, they used gunpowder to blow them up, guns to shoot them, and knives to chop them up, but none of it worked."
"Later, a sparrow that especially loved eating oranges was caught by a monster. It shouted, 'I still want to eat an Orange one more time!' Then that kind of White Light appeared around it and knocked the monster's hand away."
"After that, the city's residents began chanting 'Orange' morning and night. This White Light would steadily accumulate, and every resident could see an Orange with a number on it floating before their eyes."
"Chanting 'Orange' a thousand times lets you fire one light bullet. It can't kill Monsters, but it can stop them from moving for a while."
"Later, the city organized all its residents to chant 'Orange' day and night, which created the white glow around the city. Those Monsters vanish without a trace during the day, but once the Red Moon rises at night, they charge at the city and attack living things. Only this White Light can block them."
The Orange Cat's experiences were not complicated, and the middle-aged man also learned the basic situation of the city.
Humans had become Monsters, animals had gained intelligence, and oranges had become a lifeline. It was an absurd and Anomaly world.
The man's rational thinking continued to clash with everything he had seen and heard. After struggling internally for a moment, he said, "Orange."
As soon as he spoke, a plump orange Orange appeared in the upper left corner of his vision. It bore an Arabic Numerals 1, slanted and bold in black.
"Orange, Orange, Orange..."
The man began chanting frantically. The number on the Orange before his eyes jumped rapidly with his words. Several minutes later, the number reached one thousand. Then the black number twisted and changed into a white 1.
Seeing the man stop, the Little Orange Cat said, "When the number is black, it can only form light to protect yourself. When it turns white, you can fire it to attack Monsters, or create a large protective barrier like the one covering the city."
The man asked in confusion, "How do I fire it?"
"You just think about it." The Little Orange Cat answered, twitching his ears. Wasn't that simple? Just like swishing a tail.
Seeing the man frowning as he thought, the Little Orange Cat said disdainfully, "Old people really are slow. I'll lend you my wand. Imagine yourself as Harry Potter, then whoosh—you fire it out."
After learning how to think, the Little Orange Cat had scavenged many electronic products from the city's garbage dumps. Some solar-powered devices could still be used. He loved the Harry Potter movies most and usually carried a metal rod around as a wand.
The researcher helplessly picked up the metal rod from the floor, waved it before him, pointed it forward, and desperately imagined magic. Several seconds later, White Light gathered around the rod. Then a light bullet shot out, sank into the wall, and vanished.
Seeing that he could also fire light bullets, the researcher's tense mood relaxed. At last, he had some means of protecting his life.
At the same time, exhaustion from fleeing all night swept over him. He fell sleepily onto the sofa and drifted into slumber.
The Orange Cat sitting across from him looked at the snoring man and his protruding belly. Pulling a sour cat face, he muttered in a childish voice, "The old man calls me Little Fatty, but he's a big fatty himself."
Using his paws to grab a tattered blanket from the corner, he tossed it over the man. Little Fatty Orange then swayed back to his cat bed. He needed to sleep too—tomorrow, he still had to get up early and chant "Orange."