"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player"
"That struts and frets his hour upon the stage"
"And then is heard no more. It is a tale"
"Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,"
"Signifying nothing."
Inside a plain university dorm room, a scruffy young man traced the words in a book with his fingertip. He was reciting lines from Shakespeare's Macbeth.
His expression was focused, seemingly pondering the meaning behind each word. Yet, when he tried to grasp Shakespeare's mindset while writing, he fell into a prolonged state of confusion.
Hearing his recitation, a roommate who had just returned from playing ball sighed helplessly and said, slightly annoyed, "Seriously? Reading your poems again, our great philosopher?"
Before the young man could reply, another roommate chimed in, "Hey, don't say that. He's the only one in our dorm planning to get a PhD, our resident genius. Just wonder if a philosophy doctorate will make finding a job any easier than it is for us, eh?"
The two went back and forth, their words dripping with sarcasm.
The young man reading the book felt his fingertips tremble slightly. The beautiful words on the page lost their charm. But decades of experience had accustomed him to this. He gently turned a page, appearing completely unfazed by his roommates' passive-aggressive exclusion.
"The great philosopher is giving us the silent treatment again."
"Speaking of which, PhD students usually get single rooms, right? Maybe he wants to do a PhD just to get away from us."
"It's not our fault! We're engineering majors; who knew they'd stick a philosophy guy in here?"
"Haha, maybe the philosophy department didn't want him either..."
The two bantered back and forth, soon changing the subject, moving from girlfriends to internships, then from internships to games.
They always had something to talk about. The only one who didn't fit in was the young man reading. In the spacious dorm room, there was no corner left for him.
"Life's but a shadow..." Repeating the line from the book, the young man slowly closed his eyes. Soon, memories began to replay before him.
'You're too smart; we don't want to play with you.' During childhood, his prematurely mature mind and personality didn't help him make friends; instead, they led to exclusion.
After starting school, he consistently topped the charts. But he knew he wasn't actually studying that hard; he just looked at the books, listened to the teachers, and naturally understood everything.
Teachers called him a genius; classmates called him a study god.
In middle school, high school knowledge was like drinking water to him. During his three years of high school, he had already mastered all the general university subjects.
Yet, even so, he felt no sense of satisfaction. To him, it all seemed... effortless, expected.
He had never, ever felt the meaning of his own existence.
So, after the college entrance exams, he resolutely chose philosophy, even though his scores were high enough for any top university.
But he didn't choose one. He picked an ordinary school and began studying philosophy.
His parents argued with him, relatives mocked him, roommates were sarcastic towards him. He didn't care. He just retreated into his own world day after day, constantly pondering the truths of this world.
Now, four years had passed. His roommates were all thinking about employment, while the young man remained lost in confusion, unchanged.
'You're wasting your time, you know? Your talent is far greater than this.' His advisor's advice.
'What's the point of philosophy anyway?' His parents' lack of understanding.
'Can't even find a job, and you want to do a PhD?' His roommates' mockery.
Countless voices from the past surged like a tide, echoing endlessly in his mind. Though his eyes were tightly shut, images of people still flickered in his thoughts.
They pointed fingers, they gossiped, they moved in the darkness like persistent shadows.
"They don't understand you, but we will accept you."
All the darkness suddenly vanished. In the dim light, the young man saw a scene unlike any he had witnessed before – a grand, magnificent stage.
"Welcome... to the Theater of Domination!"
...
Bang!
In the quiet police chief's office, the sound of a fist hitting a desk shattered the silence. Several files scattered across the surface.
"Missing? Missing again! How many missing persons cases is this this month?!" Staring at the report records on his desk, the NY Police Department Chief's face was extremely grim.
It wasn't his fault, really. For the past half-month, reports of missing persons hadn't stopped pouring in. More importantly, despite mobilizing the entire police force, the investigation into these numerous cases had yielded no progress.
With so many cases piling up, the precinct faced daily pressure from both the public and higher-ups. As the chief, he bore the brunt of it.
But his anger had no effect. His usually meek subordinate just lowered his head, replying wearily, "Including this one, it's the 37th case."
Clearly, the chief wasn't the only one under pressure. Continuous overtime had pushed these officers to the brink of collapse.
Hearing the number, the chief paused. "That many?"
"And that's just the ones with official reports. Most of them are tenants who disappeared, only discovered when the landlord came to collect rent. Besides, the guys speculate the actual number of missing people is much higher, maybe even..."
"Even what?"
"Maybe even ten times higher, or more."
"Hiss." Hearing his subordinate's speculation, the chief couldn't help but draw a sharp breath. It wasn't that he believed the victim count was truly tenfold, but the officer's guess brought some unpleasant possibilities to mind.
If those things were involved, it was likely beyond the capabilities of his small precinct to handle.
Of course, he wouldn't tell his ordinary officers what he knew. He just waved his hand dismissively.
"Stop speculating. We're police officers; investigating cases is our job. Don't repeat baseless claims like that."
After sternly reprimanding his subordinate, he waited until the officer left before shakily pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it.
As he inhaled deeply, nicotine filled his lungs, gradually clearing his thoughts. He stubbed out the newly lit cigarette, gathered the files on his desk again, carefully reread the reports, and then pulled out the accumulated case files.
Comparing each document meticulously, he finally found some similarities among the cases.
"Philosophy university student, solitary painter, struggling novelist... According to the investigations, these individuals were all, more or less, social outcasts. They had almost no social life, no contact with family or friends... no wonder no one noticed they were missing for so many days."
"But it's impossible for so many people to vanish into thin air in such a short time. Even the most heinous serial killer couldn't claim this many victims simultaneously. Unless..."
Unless that thing is behind it.
He put down the files, the two words in his mind growing clearer – Honkai.
Glancing at the security camera in the corner of his office, the chief took out his personal phone and gently touched the screen. The state-of-the-art camera froze, displaying only the footage from a few minutes prior.
He stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the pedestrians bustling below, and dialed a special number.
"This is external personnel assigned to the NY Police Department. I have something to report to Anti-Entropy..."
Ten minutes later, the call ended. The chief rubbed his temples and let out a long breath.
Outside the window, the prosperous city flowed ceaselessly, pedestrians coming and going. Yet, his mind couldn't help but recall the photos of the missing persons from the files.
Everyone's busy with their own lives... who would even notice that some people have simply vanished from their city?