Gilan felt himself being dragged back into the cold cell.
Perhaps because of the blood loss, he felt freezing and couldn't help curling into a ball.
The iron door slammed shut.
Outside, he could still hear the scar-faced officer's vicious curses and piercing laughter.
Gilan lay weakly on the floor. The gunshot wound in his left leg was bleeding profusely—the result of his attempt to attack an officer and escape.
Was this hard-won new life really going to end? I can't accept it!
His slender fingers tensed, digging into the floor, his gaze cold beneath his disheveled blond hair.
I can't accept this...
He vaguely remembered that he'd been streaming at home as a Game Streamer. He'd made a mistake while pouring water, and because his legs were disabled, he'd accidentally fallen and spilled the water, electrocuting himself to death.
When he woke again, he'd inexplicably found himself in a cramped, dimly lit interrogation room, wearing shackles and strapped to a wooden chair, his body bearing wounds left by a violent interrogation.
Two brown-haired officers had sentenced him to death on the spot for "selling bootleg liquor."
He was even due to be executed by firing squad first thing tomorrow morning.
Gilan's mind had gone blank at the time. He'd guessed that what had happened to him was probably what people called "transmigration," but he hadn't expected to be shot the moment he arrived.
From the original Gilan Iros's fragmented memories, he knew only that he seemed to be a member of the local Oak Gang, tasked with selling the gang's homemade liquor. But this unfamiliar country had extremely strict laws, especially the so-called Prohibition, which was severe beyond belief.
Just two bottles' worth of whiskey had been enough to have Gilan skip a trial and go straight to the firing squad!
Gilan curled up in the cell and struggled to raise a hand, placing it on his painfully injured left leg.
His gaze dropped, slowly turning toward it.
His trousers were made of cheap linen, their brown dye washed out, and several patches were visible.
But beneath those trousers were the legs he'd dreamed of having in his previous life!
Disabled since childhood, he'd spent countless days and nights wishing he could be whole, but it had always been an unrealistic dream.
Now, Heaven had given him a chance at a new life, allowing him to experience the joy of having legs... But what came with it was the thunderbolt of a death sentence by firing squad.
Like a beautiful dream, it was time to wake up.
I don't want it to end like this! Even if it's a dream, I don't want to wake up!
A fierce longing for life burst from Gilan's eyes.
I want to live, to really live, and experience a wonderful life with a whole, healthy body... I really... want that...
With that resolve, his consciousness began to fade.
In the final moment before falling asleep, he seemed to see a dazzling, multicolored light descending from the darkness above. The light gathered into a cluster, seemingly twisting into several crooked words—
"Apocalypse Dream"
Gilan had a strange dream.
In the dream, he was sitting on a moving train. The scenery outside the window was lush, but the sky was gloomy.
Strangely, apart from eleven other passengers in the same carriage, whose faces he couldn't make out and who wore all kinds of clothes, there was no one else.
The train slowly entered a forest, but soon stopped halfway, as if something had gone wrong.
Gilan had no choice but to get off the train and walk into the mist-shrouded forest.
He stepped through the soft earth, taking in the fantastical scenery around him.
Is this a dream?
Gilan was full of doubts, but some mysterious instinct urged him deeper into the forest.
He'd barely taken a hundred steps when he suddenly felt something hard underfoot.
Snap!
Two curved iron jaws lined with sharp teeth clamped around his left foot!
A bear trap!
He looked down, his heart pounding with fear.
But the pain he'd expected never came. Only then did Gilan remember that everything before him was just a dream.
You dream about what's on your mind. Perhaps this reflects the gunshot wound in my left leg in reality?
He shook his head with a self-mocking smile.
Looking up, Gilan saw black, gleaming shapes scattered through the knee-high weeds across the 120-degree span before him... They were all bear traps, already set!
There were dozens, perhaps even hundreds.
"Hello—"
A strange call, impossible to tell whether it came from a man or a woman, rang out from every direction.
Even though Gilan knew he was in a dream, he couldn't suppress his unease.
He didn't answer the call. Instead, following his instincts, he forced his left leg out of the bear trap and limped forward.
Blood sprayed from his injured left leg as he went, and the rustling sounds grew closer and closer.
"Is anyone there—"
The strange call seemed to be right beside him.
Gilan turned around reflexively, and what he saw made his blood run cold—
One gray beast after another was in hot pursuit behind him. Their fur shook as they ran and leaped, drawing his attention, but there was nothing above their necks. They were headless monsters!
A gaping, fleshy slit ran from the severed end of each monster's neck down through its chest and abdomen, revealing a mass of hideous, densely packed fangs!
From within their pitch-black cavities came human voices:
"Hello—Is anyone there—"
Dozens of monsters spoke at almost the same time. The scene was eerie and horrifying.
Gilan shuddered from head to toe.
These monsters seemed to be luring people closer so they could hunt them!
Gilan instinctively turned and fled, dragging his badly injured left leg as he ran deeper into the forest.
He didn't know if he'd managed to shake off the headless monsters, but after several minutes of running, he glimpsed a wooden palisade in the distance, with a gate in the middle.
The gate stood wide open, and an old-fashioned Double-Barreled Shotgun rested beside the frame.
Gilan ran toward the gate with all his strength, but just as he was about to cross the threshold, he suddenly felt a powerful hand clamp around his arm!
He turned to look.
A ghastly, pale smiling face, its features twisted and covered in livor mortis!
A naked, bloated, bearded man stood behind him, wearing a look of maniacal delight.
"Hel—lo—"
A strange sound came from the man's throat. He raised the bloodstained hatchet in his hand and brought it down at Gilan—
"Gah!"
Gilan jolted awake.
When he opened his eyes, a moldy corner of the wall came into view. The surroundings were utterly silent.
Only then did he remember he was locked in a cell. Everything that had just happened had been a dream.
But Gilan's body soon went rigid.
He realized with horror that someone else's hand was gripping his arm tightly.
Just like in the dream.
"Get away!!"
In his terror, Gilan tried to wrench himself free.
But the next instant, a baton slammed hard into his back.
Thud!
Gilan cried out in pain and looked up. The vicious-looking, scar-faced officer was gripping his arm with one hand and holding a baton in the other.
"It's time for your execution, you damn rabid mutt!"
The scar-faced officer sneered and roughly hauled Gilan up from the floor.
Before Gilan could say a word, another officer pulled a burlap hood over his head.
His vision was swallowed by darkness.
A foul, sour stench rose from the hood and seeped into his nostrils, making him feel like he was suffocating.
Then Gilan felt himself being dragged along a long Corridor, held up between the two officers. In the silent surroundings, there was nothing but the echo of footsteps and his own labored breathing.
Gilan didn't know where the officers were taking him, but one thing was certain...
He was about to die!
He wanted to fight back, but the sharp pain of the gunshot wound in his left leg and the weakness caused by blood loss left him in despair.
Before long, he realized they'd brought him into a room and forcibly tied him to a chair.
Are they going to shoot me in the back of the head?
The thought came to Gilan's mind, and fear surged through him like a black Tide.
Whoosh—
Someone yanked off the foul-smelling burlap hood.
Gilan could see again, but a blur of dim yellow light made it hard to open his eyes.
After a while,
he realized he'd been brought into a sealed chamber.
The source of the dim yellow light was a Gas Lamp on the wall directly in front of him. The walls and ceiling were blackened with soot.
Besides him, there were eleven chairs around the room. Prisoners wearing burlap hoods sat in them, dressed in the striped shirts and smocks commonly worn by the lower classes. They were all bound to wooden chairs, struggling, pleading, and shouting without pause.
"We've got everyone. Begin." Several officers and a few strange figures in oversized protective suits stood in front of the prisoners. The speaker was a middle-aged police superintendent at their head.
"Yes, sir."
The officers and health inspectors answered and began dividing up the work.
The officers removed the prisoners' hoods one by one. Those who wouldn't sit still took a few blows and screamed.
Gilan noticed then that two health inspectors had carried over an old-fashioned projector and set it on the wooden platform directly in front of them.
What are they planning to do?
His heart raced. The unknown and the threat of death had his nerves taut.
The lead superintendent adjusted his domed police cap and raised a hand to signal.
At once, one of the health inspectors inserted a Silver Cube into a hidden compartment beneath the projector, then carefully accepted a disc from his companion.
The disc was wrapped in layer upon layer of leather. When they slowly opened it, a partial black film reel was revealed.
Gilan's pupils contracted.
He remembered what had happened when he'd tried to fight back earlier. One of the health inspectors had taken a strange strip of film and pressed it against his forehead to conduct some kind of test, giving him the chance to launch a surprise attack.
The scar-faced officer guarding him had fired in reflex, hitting him in the left leg. He'd then tried to shoot Gilan outright, but the health inspector had said, "This one passes." The scar-faced officer reluctantly lowered his gun, and Gilan had narrowly escaped death.
Gilan didn't know what the test was really for, or what "pass" meant.
But he couldn't help feeling that it was connected to everything he was seeing now.
Could the film they pressed against my forehead have been cut from this reel?
He couldn't help wondering.
The health inspectors soon loaded the strange reel onto the old-fashioned projector, then flipped a switch on the side.
Click.
The projector made a crisp sound, followed by a burst of crackling noise.
The shutter began to turn.
A beam of light shone from the projector's lamp onto the screen on the wall.
"Execute them."
Backlit, the superintendent's face was impossible to make out. His cold voice rang through the sealed chamber.
The officers suddenly grabbed the heads of all twelve prisoners, including Gilan, and forced them to face the screen.
Some prisoners refused to obey and tried to close their eyes, but they quickly learned their lesson the hard way.
The officers used small metal hooks to pull up their eyelids. If they resisted, they were immediately beaten with batons.
This isn't a firing squad? What are they going to do?!
The unknown filled Gilan with terror, but he didn't struggle pointlessly. The officer behind him held his head and forced him to look toward the screen.
Soon, he froze.
After a moment of flickering, grainy darkness, the image projected by the old-fashioned projector slowly came into focus.
The picture was blurry and the colors muted, but Gilan felt a strange sense of familiarity.
It was an old-fashioned train slowly entering a forest...