Simultaneous Transmigration: We Share a Role-Playing System

"Let us go! Open this damn door!"

"I don't want to die! I don't want to die! I haven't finished my hundred-man kill, I still have dreams to fulfill! No!!!"

"Stan! Edgar! You bastard! It must be you! I'll haunt you even in hell!"

"Aaaaaah! John Godotkin! Why wasn't it you who died! Why?!"

In Stan Edgar's private office on the 82nd floor of the Water Tower, the light was dimly lit.

The head of the Wotter Group stood silently before the huge floor-to-ceiling window, his gaze fixed on the monitor screen in front of him.

He witnessed Locke twice crawl out of the brink of death, each time more dangerous than the last, yet he was becoming stronger and stronger.

His thoughts kept drifting back to the day Locke came to his door. The fear of death made his knuckles clench unconsciously, and the worry surging in his eyes could no longer be hidden, pressing heavily under his brow bone.

Indeed, as the head of a behemoth like Vought International, how could Stan really give up his life like that?

Although his initial desire to die was genuine, his current desire to live is also genuine.

Being able to adapt to changing circumstances is an essential quality for a competent businessman.

"You see?" Stan's voice rang out in the dimly lit office, deep and resonant like sandpaper scraping against steel. "His abilities seem quite different from the information you provided."

He raised his hand to answer the phone, and before he could finish speaking, a response came from the other end.

"His superpowers have evolved." The voice seemed to have been re-coded, hoarse and cold, completely different from the voice in his memory, but the indifference and aloofness etched into his bones had not diminished in the slightest. "He has solidified a form that can be maintained for a long time, and even... as long as certain conditions are met, he can become stronger indefinitely."

"I'm not here to listen to your analysis," Stan abruptly interrupted, his knuckles white from gripping the phone, his voice brimming with impatience. "I'm asking you, are your previous studies still effective?"

From a scientific perspective, no solution is 100% foolproof...

"Will it work?"

A low growl pierced the receiver, carrying an undeniable sense of oppression.

There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone, as if someone was weighing something. A few seconds later, Cipher's voice came through again, as soft as a sigh, yet carrying a heavy sense of resolve.

"There's only one last option left."

"You can only use that compound number six."

Six is ​​a taboo number. Cypher's naming of this superpower compound with the number six was not just a casual remark.

Upon hearing the name "Compound Six," Stan abruptly turned his head and looked at the briefcase in the corner of his desk.

He walked over and opened the box. Inside the jar was a refrigerated black compound, as thick as congealed blood, tightly sealed inside the container.

Stan stared at the jar and could clearly see tiny solid fragments slowly wriggling inside, like living things.

This sight immediately reminded him of the creature in the old movie "The Thing," which sent chills down his spine.

"This is one of the research results from six months ago." Cypher spoke on the other end of the phone, his voice still cold and flat. "At that time, after we induced the injection of the experimental subject 0165, its physical signs underwent malignant mutations, forming a super-regenerative structure with five brains and seven hearts, becoming a vampire-like mutant that almost broke through the death threshold, and could even escape through somatic cell division."

"Unfortunately, the lab happened to have an embedded light source matrix installed at that time. The ultraviolet light emitted by the matrix had a strong killing effect on the mutant, which not only completely blocked its escape route, but also almost killed it from ultraviolet burns."

"This can be considered an accidental breakthrough in the scientific research process. After it reverted to its original form, we successfully collected tissue samples that had detached from its pre-form and retained some biological activity."

"Perhaps due to the change in form, the consciousness carrier within the sample, although active, is in a dormant state, exhibiting inertness."

We extracted genomic fragments carrying aggressive expression characteristics from the sample and, combined with the iterative formulation of compound five, completed the construction of compound six.

"In other words..."

Stan's knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone, his Adam's apple bobbed, and his tone carried an inexplicable self-deprecation, as if he were asking Cypher, or perhaps muttering to himself.

"In other words, this compound six will drag you into the deepest hell." Cypher's voice on the other end of the phone was as cold as ice, every word carrying an undeniable cruelty, "making you completely abandon your human form and become an ugly monster that you can't even recognize yourself."

But the good thing is, it allows us to fulfill our pitiful, humble wish to survive.

Hearing this, Stan suddenly chuckled softly, a laugh laced with self-mockery and sorrow that echoed jarringly in the dimly lit office. He picked up the cold compound six vial, his fingertips tracing its surface, his gaze falling on the writhing black mass inside. The thing was sticky and eerie, like a living darkness.

He stared at the lump for a long time, the corners of his mouth stretching wider and wider, but the smile didn't reach his eyes, leaving only a stagnant silence.

"We..." he began slowly, his voice hoarse and tinged with a weariness bordering on resignation, "we were destined for hell from the very first day we stepped through that door of Walter's."

The moment he finished speaking, he ripped off the cap of the needle and, without hesitation, plunged the needle into his carotid artery, pushing all the black, viscous substance inside the tube into his blood vessel.

The next second, a shrill scream, so agonizing it was inhuman, suddenly erupted, piercing through every corner of the 82nd floor of the Water Tower.

The sound, which started as a painful roar, gradually became distorted and deformed, slowly losing its human vocal quality, and finally transformed into a low, hoarse beastly roar that echoed for a long time in the empty office.

--------------------------------

Meanwhile, downstairs at the Water International Building, several media reporters stood there, camera straps dangling from their chests, chatting idly while smoking cigarettes, staring at the Water security personnel across the street, not daring to approach.

"Hey, what's Walter up to? Such a big party, they won't even let ordinary people near," a reporter said, exhaling a smoke ring, his tone full of curiosity.

"Who knows? None of those superhuman lunatics are any good. Why worry about them?" Another waved his hand dismissively. "Looks like we won't be digging up any explosive news today."

"Oh, right, did you guys hear? The order to drive away all the ordinary people was given by Homelander," someone suddenly interjected.

"Huh? Stan Edgar hasn't even stepped down yet, and he dares to cause trouble like this?" Someone exclaimed in surprise, then sneered, "Looks like Walter is doomed."

"Do you guys remember what happened with Xuanse running away?" someone chimed in, lowering their voice. "Walter's PR department went crazy, throwing money around to buy off news. I heard they even gave the two policemen who ran into them a huge sum of hush money."

"Who cares? We're just trying to make a living." The first reporter to speak stubbed out his cigarette. "If no one comes out any later, we'll head out. How about we grab a couple of drinks?"

"Okay, that's exactly what I was thinking."

"no problem."

"I know an old tavern where the waiters are incredibly good-looking," someone joked.

"Bang—!!!"

A deafening roar suddenly erupted, as if the entire Water Tower trembled violently.

Before the smoke rings had even drifted far, the cigarettes in the reporters' hands all fell to the ground with a "thud".

They looked up abruptly, their pupils contracting sharply.

In an instant, the entire curtain wall glass on the top floor of the building cracked inch by inch, and then exploded as if struck by an invisible giant hammer! Countless sharp glass shards, accompanied by howling winds, rained down like a torrential downpour or a barrage of arrows, covering the sky and the earth.

The reporters, who had been chatting casually in a relaxed group just moments before, instantly erupted into chaos. Screams, curses, and the clatter of glass shattering on the floor created a deafening cacophony.

Amidst the chaos, a dark figure, enveloped in shattered glass, plummeted straight down from the top floor!

The reporters were stunned for a moment, then looked up at the rooftop that was still crumbling, before suddenly looking down at the figure that had crashed to the ground—it was a superhero!

Their professional instincts instantly overcame their fear. Ignoring the flying glass shards at their feet, they scrambled forward, grabbed their cameras, and frantically pressed the shutter, the flashes illuminating the scene amidst the shattered glass.

Before they could finish filming, the superhero who had fallen from dozens of stories high suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood and curled up in spasms.

He struggled to reach out and gripped the wrist of the nearest reporter tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force. His voice was hoarse and broken, a desperate scream tinged with tears:

"Monster!! Help me, help me, help me... help me!"