So now the biggest question is, can he still travel back like he did before, every seventy-two hours? Go back into that vegetative body?

Even if his original body is a vegetable, it's still better than being torn apart and devoured by monsters in this world of death!

(I've been here for a total of five days since I crossed over. The first seventy-two hours, I immediately sensed I could travel back, and I tried it. After returning to my original body, I didn't have to wait another seventy-two hours—I could cross back at any time. But after traveling to this world five years later, I have to wait another seventy-two hours before I can go back. The first seventy-two hours is three days, and because I was afraid of what was outside, I stayed in the room for more than two days... How many hours has it been now!?)

William Clark racked his brains trying to recall.

He had OCD, a trait that showed up when he was very young, and it only got worse as he grew older. However, William Clark had seen psychologists and undergone treatment and guidance, so his OCD was limited to minor things, like drinking water and eating.

If he wasn't exerting himself or sweating a lot, William Clark would drink water every eight hours. This habit had lasted for more than ten years, to the point it was almost like a biological clock.

In William Clark's memory, after he crossed over to the addict's body for the second time, he drank water eight more times—that's sixty-four hours, just eight hours short of being able to travel back again. In those last eight hours, he hesitated, then tried to comfort and hypnotize himself, then thought about all the things he might encounter, and finally, after mustering his courage several times, he pushed open the door and left the room. After that came death, the fall, arriving in the afterlife, being discovered by the monsters, and starting to run for his life—this whole series of actions took at least five or six hours.

(...To be conservative, I still have more than three hours before I can travel back, if I still can.)

William Clark wasn't even sure if he could still travel back to his original body, because he was already dead—after crossing into the addict's body, he died. So he really didn't know if he could still go back.

But at least it's something to hope for, right?

Once William Clark figured this out, he started looking around, trying to find a place to hide. As long as he could survive for at most three more hours, he could try to see if he could travel back to his original body.

As William Clark was running and thinking, suddenly the black homeless man in front of him bent down at the door of a certain room, making him stop. The white police officer ran past him, and just as William Clark was about to run past as well, the black homeless man suddenly swung a metal bar and struck William Clark's left knee. With a crisp crack, William Clark's left leg bent backward, and he tumbled to the ground.

The black homeless man's eyes flashed with malice. He raised the metal bar, about to hit William Clark again, but the white police officer in front immediately shouted, "Drop the weapon! Put your hands where I can see them, or I'll shoot!!"

The black man spat at William Clark, who was lying on the ground clutching his leg and groaning, but still obediently threw down the metal bar. He raised his hands to the white police officer and said, "Hey, man, relax. I'm saving both of us. Those monsters are coming. We might not outrun the monsters, but we can outrun—?"

The white police officer's face was uncertain, but he slowly lowered his gun, still staring hard at the black homeless man. "Get in front of me. Keep your hands where I can see them, or I won't mind making you the one who can't run either."

The black homeless man shrugged and quickly ran ahead of the white police officer. As he passed William Clark, he kicked him in the stomach, making William Clark retch and curl up in the corner, clutching his belly.

"Damn yellow-skinned pig, if you people didn't come here to steal jobs and dollars, how would I have ended up homeless..."

As he spoke, the black homeless man and the white police officer had already run off, continuing down the building's corridor.

It was at least ten seconds later before William Clark managed to suppress the intense pain in his stomach. He stared in disbelief at the spot where the black homeless man and the white police officer had disappeared, unable to process what had just happened for a long time.

He'd been abandoned!?

No, it was more than just abandonment!

This was a backstab!

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! No wonder so many people say black people aren't against racism—they're just against racism against blacks!!"

William Clark cursed loudly a few times, then forced himself to stop and calm down.

He tried to move his broken left leg. Just lifting it a little made him howl in pain. This was a kind of agony William Clark had never experienced before. He clutched his broken leg and screamed for a few seconds, then gritted his teeth and endured it.

Those monsters were still chasing him. If he wasted time howling here, his fate would be to be torn apart and devoured by monsters!

He had to find a way to survive—at least until he could try to travel back again!