Simultaneous Transmigration: We Share a Role-Playing System

"Mr. Cypher, Cindy has broken down the door. The Vikings and the security team have subdued the intruder. 0165... 0165 seems to be dead?"

"Wait! Why are everything around us moving? Cindy! Stop! You're... not Cindy?"

"No, no, no! What's going on! Why are we going up?! What happened?!"

"God, 0165 isn't dead! He's escaped!"

"I'm so sorry! Please forgive me! Let me go... No, no, no, don't let us go here! Ah—boom—splat!"

At this moment, the air in the CEO's private office on the 87th floor of the Water International Building seemed frozen.

After listening to the last long busy tone on the phone, Stan Edgar, CEO of Water International, and Cypher across from him, the entire office fell into a deathly silence.

After the call ended completely, Stan, with his composed demeanor and the air of a fried chicken shop owner about him, slowly took off his glasses and meticulously wiped the lenses.

That set of elegant and impeccable movements, however, sent a chill down Cypher's spine and intensified his irritation.

"Do you remember what you told me before?"

Stan's voice was deep, but undeniable.

Cypher pursed his lips and didn't reply. His originally upright posture with his back straight suddenly relaxed, and he slumped back in his chair, deliberately putting on an indifferent look.

Seeing that he avoided answering, Stan didn't press for an answer. Instead, he folded the lens cloth neatly before continuing:

"You promised me that we could completely eliminate Compound No. 5. You said you would develop stronger, more stable, and more precise superpower agents, and even crack the underlying logic of superpower formulas to achieve autonomous combination of superpowers."

You told us that you wanted to create a real god, not some ridiculous and dangerous brat like the Fatherlander.

At this point, Stan, who had been suppressing his dissatisfaction all day, finally let it all fall on Cypher.

He picked up his glasses again, his fingertips still lightly tracing the edge of the frame, but his tone was as cold as ice:

"In one year, we poured a huge amount of funding into your project, brought in a lot of top researchers, and even opened up the most valuable superhuman samples in our core database to you—with these resources, we could have recreated another human being. And what was the result? Your research made almost no progress."

After a half-second pause, Stan's gaze suddenly sharpened, and he emphasized each word: "Even... the experimental subject breached containment twice."

Stan put his spotless glasses back on his nose, leaned forward slightly, and fixed his cold, hard gaze on Cypher. His tone was half warning and half blatant threat: "Now, you'd better give me an explanation that satisfies me."

Cypher glanced at Stan without a care in the world, and the two stared at each other for a long time before he finally spoke.

"After cracking 0165's superpower mechanism six months ago, I stopped most of my experiments, but he also knows how to trigger his superpower, and even how to trigger it by committing suicide."

"He was under tight control and couldn't even move. How could he commit suicide?" Stan frowned, his tone full of doubt.

These words ignited Cypher's pent-up resentment. He slammed his fist on the table, stood up abruptly, and roared, "A month ago, he dared to bite off his own tongue, block his trachea, and force himself to suffocate! Just to trigger that damned ability!"

The roar subsided, and the air in the office seemed to freeze, as if even breathing was impossible. But Cypher's emotions weren't finished. He pointed at the desk, his voice trembling yet carrying immense force: "Yesterday's incident was the third time he'd done something like this this month—the third time!!!"

Now, Stan could no longer blame Cypher. He couldn't even imagine dying by biting off his tongue and suffocating himself—a death so excruciating it cuts to the bone—let alone someone daring to do it three times in a row. Someone capable of such cruelty towards themselves would be even more ruthless towards their enemies.

In an instant, Stan and Cypher finally reached a consensus: what they had created was not an experimental subject, but a monster that was ruthless to itself and showed no mercy to its enemies.

But now this enemy is trying to escape.

Thinking of this, Stan could no longer sit still. He abruptly stood up, strode to the huge floor-to-ceiling window in his office, took out his personal cell phone, and quickly dialed a number.

The moment the call connected, he went straight to the point, his tone leaving no room for argument: "Have the Homelanders arrived yet?"

A response came from the receiver, and Stan simply replied, "Okay, I understand."

He hung up the phone, put it back in his pocket, and stared intently out the window at the still-sound-barrier cloud in the distance—the trace left by Homelander when he passed by.

He stood quietly by the window, his eyes unfathomable, and no one could guess what he was thinking at that moment.

Is it worry? Or... fear?

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————— ————————

At this moment, the man from the Homeland, who was rushing to the Elmera Adult Rehabilitation Center at full speed, was furious.

He had been hoping to regain his approval ratings through this show, but he was suddenly called away from the program to clean up Walter's mess, as Stan had instructed. He was furious.

But deep down he was afraid of Stan, so no matter how angry he was, he didn't dare to vent his anger on Stan. Instead, he took it all out on the escaped bastard.

Why not just stay locked up in the lab? Why insist on escaping and dying?

Okay! I'll grant your request!

When he arrived at the Elmira Adult Rehabilitation Center, all he saw was a large pit and a mess of dark red "tomato sauce" stuck to the gravel, which was quite irritating to look at.

As soon as he landed on the ground, wondering where Elmira had gone, he felt a chill run down his spine and then discovered a huge shadow looming over him.

He instinctively turned his head and saw Rock Rock, transformed into Magneto, holding a gigantic iron ball in one hand, resembling a metallic meteorite.

Now he knew where Elmira had gone. The bastard in front of him had actually managed to knead the entire Elmira metal into a lump, with steel bars and iron plates embedded in it, like grotesque bone spurs.

"Surprise, damn it!"

The man felt a sudden darkness before his eyes, and the enormous impact slammed him hard into the pit.

Locke, as if carrying a piece of trash, repeatedly slammed Elmira down on him, each blow causing excruciating pain as if his bones were shattering. He had never felt so humiliated, like a worm being trampled on and smashed deep into the mud.

The tremor spread from his body outwards. He could feel the ground shaking violently, with gravel falling down in a rustling sound. The tremor lasted for a long time, so long that his consciousness became blurred.

He later learned that the people around him thought it was an earthquake without warning, an earthquake that lasted for a full minute.

It wasn't until the feeling of suffocation gripped his throat that the man suddenly woke up.

In the darkness, he almost instinctively activated his thermal vision, the red light cleaving through the iron ball and mud pressing down on him, and he soared into the sky covered in mud and blood.

Super Vision swept across the wilderness, buildings, and distant highway, but Locke had long since vanished without a trace, leaving not even a hint of his presence.

He stared intently at the ruins of Elmira beneath his feet. The twisted metal gleamed coldly in the sunlight. Only upon closer inspection did he realize that it had been deliberately arranged into a line of words, like a resounding slap across his face:

"We'll see each other again soon."

Fear crept in first, followed by a nagging sense of humiliation. The two emotions twisted together, gripping his already intolerant heart.

He stood high in the air, his muscles trembling all over, unable to maintain any composure, like a child who had suffered a great injustice.

His thermal vision swept aimlessly, scattering everything around him into chaos. Then he opened his throat and roared with all his might, his shout filled with anger, but also concealing a hint of panic that he himself was unwilling to admit:

"Fuck!!!"

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

When Stan, far away in Water, received the news, his previously anxious heart finally died.

He gripped the phone, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the cold body, his Adam's apple bobbing, before he abruptly turned around and threw the phone violently at Cypher.

Cypher didn't dodge, or even flinch—the phone hit his shoulder, but he seemed oblivious to the pain, like a cold machine, slowly turning his head to look at the furious Stan.

Stan felt a tightness in his chest, a tangled mix of humiliation and despair that nearly drove him to the brink of madness. He gritted his teeth, his voice a suppressed roar:

"From today onwards, none of us will get a good night's sleep... Not a single one!"