6:17 p.m.
A stretch of wilderness lay on the outskirts of the mountains along the Afghanistan border. Loose stones covered the uneven ground, and low mountain ranges surrounded it in the distance. The air was dry, the wind carrying the scent of dust. A trace of orange-red still lingered on the horizon, but the mountains already cast long shadows.
Ye Mo woke up beside a rock.
He was twenty-three, originally an ordinary college student on Earth who studied sociology, had never failed a course, and had never been in a relationship. His last memory was of leafing through a book about the X-Men in the library. Then everything went black, and when he opened his eyes again, he was here.
He sat up, his head slightly dizzy. He was still wearing his black hoodie, cargo pants, and sneakers. A pair of silver half-rim glasses lay by his feet. His phone was in his pocket, its screen cracked, with only one bar of signal and three percent battery remaining.
There was no one around, nor any buildings, only the rustle of wind sweeping over loose stones.
He stood, brushed the dust off his pants, and looked around. A steep slope lay to his left, a jumble of rocks to his right. About two kilometers ahead was a low valley where he could vaguely make out metal fencing and barbed wire. It looked like a military facility. Farther away, scattered lights marked what was probably a camp.
He tried calling out. No one answered.
He did not speak the language. He opened the map on his phone, but it could only place him in Afghanistan, not pinpoint his exact location. Judging by the terrain, this was neither a city nor a tourist area. Intermittent gunfire and artillery sounded in the distance, reminding him that this place was not safe.
He took off his glasses, wiped the lenses with his sleeve, and put them back on. Using the reflection to observe the sky, he roughly determined the direction of the setting sun. He had to make a choice now.
He could not stay where he was.
The wilderness was too dangerous at night. He had no water, no food, and no shelter. Armed conflict had plagued this area for years. Patrols, land mines, and snipers could turn up at any moment. He had to find people, even if he could not understand their language.
As he was thinking, a voice suddenly sounded in his mind:
"The X-Gene Resonance System has been bound."
Ye Mo froze.
The voice had not reached him through his ears. It had appeared directly in his consciousness, devoid of emotion, like an automatically generated notification.
He held his breath and waited several seconds.
"The host can obtain ability fragments through contact with mutants or sites where their abilities have been used."
He waited a few more seconds, trying to determine whether it was a hallucination.
But the voice did not return.
He closed his eyes and retraced the last moment before his transmigration-the library, three in the afternoon, sunlight spilling over the pages. He had been reading the chapter titled "Do mutants really exist?" The next instant, the world had gone dark.
When he opened his eyes again, he was lying in this wilderness.
If this was a dream, it was far too real. The wind felt cool against his face, the stones hurt underfoot, and his throat was dry and scratchy.
He looked down at his hands. His skin color was normal, his nails intact, and there were no wounds. His body was in decent condition, though he felt a little tired, like he was rushing to an early class after staying up all night.
A system?
He sneered inwardly. Who would believe something like that?
But right now, he had nothing-no map, no weapon, and no identification. Even if there was only a ten percent chance that the voice was real, it was better than waiting helplessly to die.
He decided to treat it as real for now, but not rely on it.
Staying alive came first.
A muffled boom suddenly sounded from the distant valley.
Boom-
The ground trembled slightly. A second explosion followed less than ten seconds later. Fire flashed, then a plume of black smoke rose, stark against the evening sky.
An explosion.
It was about two kilometers away, near the valley entrance. There was a road there, along with a perimeter wall. It might have been a checkpoint or guard post. An explosion at a place like that usually meant an attack or an exchange of fire.
Ye Mo immediately crouched behind a boulder.
He did not know what had happened over there, but one thing was clear: people were active there.
Gunfire followed, sporadic and mixed with the clang of metal. It did not sound like regular troops fighting, but more like a chaotic counterattack after an ambush.
He stared at the column of smoke, his mind racing.
Go? The risk is enormous. I could run into armed men or step on a land mine. Stay? I would have to spend the night in this wilderness and look for a way out tomorrow. My physical and mental condition would both deteriorate.
Moreover, there were very likely wounded people at the explosion site, and someone might even escape. As long as there were people, there was a chance to communicate, a chance to find out where he was and how to survive.
He gritted his teeth.
Staying here meant waiting to die. Moving forward was dangerous, but it still offered a sliver of hope.
He began moving along the edge of the ridge.
He took a flanking route, avoiding open ground. Every hundred meters, he stopped to observe, continuing only after confirming it was safe. Loose stones covered the ground, making it easy to slip. He slowed his steps and kept close to the rock face.
The wind grew stronger, blowing his hood back. He reached up to hold it in place, then pulled his zipper up to his neck.
The sky darkened, and his visibility steadily shrank. Objects fifty meters away were already becoming indistinct. He did not dare turn on his phone's flashlight for fear of exposing his position.
After another fifteen minutes of walking, the gunfire stopped.
Silence returned to the valley, broken only by sheet metal rattling in the wind.
But he could make out more details now.
The target of the explosion was an armored vehicle lying across the road, its body twisted and still smoking. Several human figures lay scattered around it, motionless. Farther away, a few dark figures moved about, carrying long guns and wearing camouflage, though he could not tell which side they belonged to.
Ye Mo lay low behind a rock, holding his breath and focusing.
These people were definitely not civilians. Their movements were professional, their security tight. One crouched beside the vehicle, searching through things, while another stood watch from high ground.
He did not dare approach.
But retreating now would serve no purpose either. He was already less than four hundred meters from the blast site. Turning to withdraw would only make it easier to expose his back.
All he could do was keep waiting.
His fingers unconsciously picked up a stone and held it in his palm. Its cold, rough texture kept him alert.
He spoke softly, barely more than a breath. "System, those abilities you mentioned... can I use them now?"
There was no response.
He had not expected one anyway.
But he understood that, from the moment he woke up, everything had slipped beyond his control.
Something was wrong with this world.
And he had no way back.
He watched the camp entrance below, watching those people move back and forth, with only one thought left in his mind:
Survive first. Find out the truth afterward.
Once night had fully fallen, he planned to advance a little farther, at least close enough to hear their conversations clearly.
Suddenly, footsteps came from the slope to his left.
Faint, but someone was definitely approaching.
Ye Mo immediately drew back into the shadows, lowering his body and slowing even his breathing.
The newcomer's steps were steady and evenly paced. He was probably alone. Judging by the direction, he had circled around from the other side of the blast site. Perhaps he, too, was avoiding those armed men.
The man paused halfway down the slope, seemingly surveying the terrain.
In the last sliver of daylight, Ye Mo made out his face.
He was in his thirties, with an unkempt beard, wearing a tactical jacket and carrying a backpack. His gaze was sharp. Blood stained his left shoulder, and he walked with a slight limp, yet he continued forward resolutely.
He was not a local.
His accent, clothing, and bearing were all wrong for one.
And he held a pistol, its muzzle pointed down, ready to be raised at any moment.
Ye Mo did not move.
The man did not notice him either.
Five seconds later, the man continued downhill with a clear destination, heading straight into the depths of the valley.
Ye Mo watched his back disappear around a bend.
He did not know this man.
But judging by his condition, the man was trained and had a goal and a direction. He did not look like a deserter or a routed soldier.
More importantly-he was wounded and alone, yet still moving forward.
That meant there had to be something important deep in the valley.
Or someone.
Ye Mo tightened his grip on the stone and slowly stood.
He no longer hesitated.
The truth lay ahead.
He drew a deep breath and, keeping close to the rock face, made his way step by step toward the entrance of the valley where the explosion had occurred.