Zeya Noir curled up in bed, staring at the glowing phone screen.
It was past midnight, but she wasn't the least bit sleepy.
What had happened during the day was too strange, and she couldn't shake the unease in her heart.
All day, Zeya Noir had been refreshing the forum, reading posts from other beta players.
She couldn't read most foreign languages, so she tried screenshotting and using translation apps—only to find that screenshots were disabled on the site.
She had to manually type in the content to translate it.
The forum's registered user count kept rising.
So did the number of posts.
Many players shared her confusion.
Some were already questioning the "Six Guidelines for Players" and the blood-red "10,000 Players Alive" number at the top of the forum.
Some testers had also received the silver card, just like her.
They hadn't provided any address information on the official site either, yet the cards had arrived at their homes without fail.
Zeya Noir clicked on the Chinese thread with the most replies.
**Original Poster:**
> "Even in this age of big data where privacy barely exists, isn't this a bit much for a game company?
> If the developers don't address how they got our addresses, I'm not against pursuing legal action."
The thread was full of supportive responses.
Then someone replied:
> "Something about this feels off. It's like a haunting. I live in a rural village where deliveries come every few days. Guess how my game card got to me? My cat went out for a stroll and came back carrying something in its mouth.
> I took it and saw it was my game card—with my real name and forum number. That's freaky as hell!"
**24th Reply:**
> "Same, I'm in the countryside. Found mine while collecting eggs in the chicken coop. Scared the hell out of me…"
**36th Reply:**
> "I bought a home appliance online. When I opened the box, there was an extra small box inside.
> Thought it was a freebie from the seller. Turned out it was the game card!"
It wasn't just bizarre—it was straight-up supernatural.
The card numbers matched the forum registration sequence.
But card manufacturing takes time—how could they have been made and delivered *immediately* after registration?
Plus, the ways people received them were all bizarre.
A strange, eerie atmosphere hung over all of it.
Zeya Noir backed out of the thread and opened one titled "Card Reveal."
The OP had censored their real name and number, but showed their card.
It looked slightly different from hers.
On the front of their silver card was not a mechanical hand—but a sharp-looking pair of scissors.
Zeya Noir's card had the title "Depriver" before her name.
This user's card read "Executor."
Why?
What's the difference between a "Depriver" and an "Executor"?
Zeya Noir frowned, deep in thought.
After browsing a bit more, she noticed something.
All the other card reveal threads showed the "Executor" title.
Not a single one shared her title—"Depriver."
She reached for her card.
It glowed softly in silver.
Her real name and number were engraved on it.
It felt like an identity document—both name and ID number were there.
But the meaning behind "Depriver" remained a mystery.
Today's events had left her in a haze of confusion.
She glanced at the time—**11:59 PM**.
Less than a minute to midnight.
The official beta launch was about to begin.
Zeya Noir sighed, rubbing her temples in exhaustion.
She needed sleep—she had to work her summer part-time job tomorrow to earn some money.
Life as a broke girl was plain, dull, and never-ending.
Just as she was about to put her phone down, it buzzed again.
A notification from the forum.
> "All 10,000 beta players have completed registration. Identity cards have been distributed."
> "This closed beta is free and persistent. There are no shortcuts. Please remember the Six Guidelines and explore your own ending."
>
> "We wish all players an enjoyable experience. The game begins now."
**The game begins?!**
Zeya Noir read the sentence in shock.
Before she could react—
Everything changed.
The phone vanished from her hand.
She was no longer lying in bed.
She was standing in an endless black void.
No ceiling above.
No sound around her.
The crumbling walls of her old apartment were gone.
The streetlamp's glow outside her window was gone.
Even the whir of the fan had vanished.
Everything fell silent.
Darkness surged like a tide, engulfing her inch by inch.
She tried to scream, but like someone drowning—no sound came out.
Eventually, she lost consciousness.
…
> "You have entered a new world."
> "Please review your assigned identity in this world."
>
> **Name:** Zeya Noir
> **Faction:** Federation · Resistance
> **Identity:** Core operative of the Mech Dawn Organization;
> Probationary patrol officer of the Federation's Investigation Division, Field Team Seven;
> Federation's Most Wanted (Level One);
> Undercover agent for the Resistance.
>
> **Mission:** Steal classified intel from the Investigation Division.
> Gain their trust.
> Provide intel support for Mech Dawn's covert operations.
A faint robotic voice spoke in her ears.
She saw flashes of text in front of her.
Zeya Noir gasped in pain.
Her head throbbed as if split by an axe.
"Stitch her up," a man nearby said.
"Give her another shot of high-grade painkillers. She won't hold out much longer."
Was she… on an operating table?
Zeya Noir couldn't open her eyes, but her mind stayed strangely alert.
She felt a sharp needle pierce her arm.
Medication entered her bloodstream.
The painkillers worked fast.
Her headache subsided.
She wasn't dreaming.
No dream had ever felt this real.
She realized—this situation was **not** normal.
Something truly illogical had happened to her.
Maybe—just maybe—she had crossed into another world, just like in fantasy novels.
She had left her tiny, broken-down home… and appeared in an unfamiliar place.
With the pain dulled, Zeya Noir could think clearly.
Though anxious and afraid, she knew panic wouldn't help.
She had to calm down.
The *NeuroShade* forum had announced the start of the game.
Then she'd been transported.
This must be the world of *NeuroShade*.
She had another identity here.
Focusing her mind, a light screen opened in the darkness.
It displayed the same identity settings she'd heard earlier.
> Core operative of the Mech Dawn Organization.
> Probationary patrol officer of Federation Investigation Division, Field Team Seven.
> Federation's Level One Most Wanted.
> Undercover agent for the Resistance.
Zeya Noir: *Um… this identity seems… very complicated.*
She read it again and again, overwhelmed.
She didn't know what the "Mech Dawn" was, but "core operative" clearly meant she was important.
The Investigation Division—sounded like an official organization.
And being a **Level One Most Wanted**? What the hell?!
And the *undercover Resistance agent* part? That was *suicidal*.
Double agent = no future.
Zeya Noir had watched countless spy thrillers.
Undercover characters rarely made it out alive.
Clinks and clatters of surgical tools continued.
She could vaguely feel the suture needle tugging her skin.
Her heartbeat slowed to a steady rhythm.
Her thoughts cleared.
She began to regain control.
Eventually, she felt her eyelids responding again.
The anesthesia was wearing off.
The man working on her said, "The meds are fading. She should wake up now."
Zeya Noir gave up on pretending to be unconscious.
She slowly cracked open her eyes.
Blinding white light greeted her.
A silver glint flickered before her eyes.
She blinked slowly, adjusting to the brightness.
It wasn't a light source—it was the reflection off the surgeon's glasses.
She moved her head slightly, eyes darting around.
A ring of doctors and nurses stood around her operating table.
"You're awake?" the bespectacled doctor nodded.
"The operation was a success."
Zeya Noir decided to play dumb.
Summoning every ounce of acting skill, she asked, "W-What happened to me?"
The doctor gave her a sympathetic look.
"You poor child.
First time on a field mission during your internship, and you ran into an armed criminal…
*Sigh*, we didn't catch him, and you got your head bashed in—cranial fracture."
"Cranial… fracture?"
Zeya Noir kept her face confused, but inside she was cheering.
A **cranial fracture**?
Perfect excuse for memory loss!
She hadn't inherited the body's memories—any slip-up could expose her.
"Yes, a pretty nasty one.
Big hole in your skull, blood gushing out," the doctor said kindly.
"But it's okay—out with the old, in with the new!"
"…Excuse me?" Zeya Noir blinked.
"I… don't remember much."
"A bit of confusion is normal. It'll fade once the anesthetic wears off."
The doctor grinned.
"Your cranial damage was severe, hard to repair.
So we replaced that part of your skull."
"Federation's latest tech—ultralight alloy skull.
Now you never have to worry about getting your head smashed in during a mission again!"
Zeya Noir: "???"
**Holy crap. Did I just get a literal iron skull?! Hell yeah!**
If she ever got into a fight, one headbutt and the enemy's skull would be ringing like a bell.