Ever since he picked up this thing after a high fever at the age of nine, he knew it wasn’t something ordinary. He kept it safe, and as he grew older, he dreamed every night of hearing a mysterious voice whisper in his ear, “Super XX System loaded,” so that he could rise above everyone, become a Buddha or a founder, turn his life into a power fantasy, count so much money that he’d burn out hundreds of bill counters, become so famous that even after death he’d turn into a pretty girl and enter a gacha pool...

But up to now, he still hadn’t figured out what the hell this thing was actually for.

It just looked like a shabby notebook—couldn’t be torn, couldn’t be ripped, couldn’t be burned, couldn’t be soaked. The only seemingly impressive function was that it automatically wrote a diary every day, updating in real time everything he did at every moment... as if to say, “I’m going to record all your cringey moments from your middle school years and show them to you in the future.”

Lifting the thick cover, the silhouette of a crow on the title page was still striking.

Henry Parker flipped straight to the end, reviewing his own bizarre day. When he saw the entry describing him leaving the police station, he froze.

“In the swaying shadows, it seemed as if a crow took flight?”

After reading it, Henry Parker couldn’t help but sigh, “Didn’t expect this crappy thing to be able to do atmospheric descriptions... Maybe I can copy a few lines in the future to write some fantasy novel and scam a bit of money.”

Of course, even this embarrassing line was mercilessly recorded.

“……”

Henry Parker sighed, casually flipped further, and unexpectedly, where there should have been blank pages at the back, there was now a thick divider, and behind it, several strange files...

It was like some kind of résumé, complete with two-inch ID photos.

Most of them were big-headed, broad-shouldered, burly men who could easily beat up several Henry Parkers at once. Among them were a few unfamiliar, sharp-featured young women, and one bald, prematurely aged middle-aged face that he seemed to have seen on the local news...

Brian Brooks, Quentin Walker, Jane Murray, Blake Lewis...

Those strange files were increasing rapidly, until finally, when it stopped, there were more than seventy of them.

“What the hell...”

Henry Parker stared in astonishment at the notebook in his hand, rubbing his chin in thought: Could it have been activated by a lightning strike?

He opened the window, put the notebook on the balcony, and shouted at the sky, “How about a few more strikes?”

The heavens ignored him, not even bothering to throw a dog at him.

In the awkward silence, only the updated record in the pages noted the stupid thing he’d just done...

“Ahem, everyone just pretend nothing happened.”

Henry Parker sighed, took the notebook back, and tossed it onto the table.

If he couldn’t figure it out, so be it. He still had to look for a job tomorrow. Better get some sleep—anything can happen in dreams...

He threw himself onto the bed and closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw, under the dim light of the streetlamp, a hunched figure standing there, half-squatting like an ape. When it looked up at him, it revealed a ferocious mask.

In the next instant, he died.

Chapter Four: You’re All in Cahoots!

Henry Parker woke up screaming from his bed, seeing his bedroom in complete disarray.

A nightmare.

But the gruesome death in the dream was so vivid, so real that his neck still tingled with phantom pain from being torn apart.

Still shaken, he touched his neck and felt a handful of cold sweat. But he was so tired that after a sip of water, he lay back down and closed his eyes.

In a daze, he seemed to become a night-shift security guard, sneaking out for a smoke at the door, when he heard footsteps in the hallway.

Someone was approaching in the darkness.

When he stubbed out his cigarette and turned to ask who it was, he saw a bloodstained, ferocious mask—the Savage Ape. The Savage Ape grinned, smiling.

In the next instant, he died again.

Henry Parker shot up from bed screaming once more, saw his messy bedroom, and the dust shaken loose from the ceiling by his own screams.

He panted heavily, touching his stomach.

Another nightmare.

This time, his belly was cut open from below, then his neck was pulled out...

“Damn it... what the hell is this.”

He panted for a long time, lying in bed, intending to just tough it out till morning, but unexpectedly, as soon as he closed his eyes, he fell asleep again.

This time, he became a fat guy who had just finished partying and was about to go home, washing his hands, singing, getting ready to change and leave, when he saw blood seeping in under the door.

Footsteps in the pool of blood drew closer and closer.

Someone pushed open the door.

And then he died again.

“Damn it, what the hell!”

Henry Parker opened his eyes in anger, wrapped himself in the blanket, and turned over: “I don’t believe this!”

He closed his eyes, and... spent the whole night having nightmares.

It wasn’t until dawn that things finally returned to normal, and he fell into a deep sleep. Just before he lost consciousness, he seemed to see, in the deepest shadows of the layers of dreams, a blood-red eye quietly staring at him.

.

.