"I..." The man in the white coat appeared far calmer than anyone else in the room, utterly unfazed even by the lifeless body sprawled across the table. "My name is Zhao Haibo. I am a doctor, though I assume my attire has already made that clear."
He tugged at his soiled lab coat before continuing, "Before arriving here, I was performing surgery on a woman afflicted with an intraventricular tumor. The growth had been accelerating over the past six months, causing mild hydrocephalus. Without an urgent craniotomy, her life would have been in grave danger."
"I opted for a frontal lobe approach, piercing directly into the ventricle under CT guidance. Such procedures always carry immense risk, yet the woman chose to undergo it—willing to brave the danger for the sake of her young son."
"In an operating room, even the slightest breeze is unwelcome, let alone something far more catastrophic."
"When the earthquake struck, I had just removed her skull and was in the process of incising the dura mater. A single misstep at this stage could lead to severe cerebral contusions, resulting in devastating, irreversible consequences."
"Without hesitation, I made the decision to halt the surgery and reposition her skull temporarily. In a room filled with airborne debris, leaving her brain exposed would have been tantamount to a death sentence."
"But I underestimated the difficulty of the task. How could I precisely place a fragment of bone back in position when I could barely stand?"
"The nurse beside me stumbled into me, sending me reeling. No one could maintain their footing. In the chaos, I did the only thing I could—I draped a sterile surgical sheet over the patient's head, then turned to organize an evacuation. Yet before I could act, a medical cart slammed into my leg, and I was sent crashing to the floor."
"I had no time to rise before the ceiling of the operating room cracked open. Then—darkness."
As the doctor's account came to an end, an uneasy silence settled over the room.
His narrative had been laced with medical jargon—so much so that if even a single term had been fabricated, no one would have been able to discern it.
"Dr. Zhao, where are you from?" The burly man's voice was casual, yet his eyes were keen.
"I fail to see any obligation to answer that question." Zhao's tone was measured. "I've told my story. That should suffice."
The burly man opened his mouth as if to argue but chose instead to remain silent.
"Is... is it my turn now?" A bespectacled young man hesitated before speaking. "My name is Han Yimo, and I am—"
"Wait."
The voice cut through the air abruptly.
Han Yimo flinched and turned in confusion.
"W-what is it?"
"It's halftime," the goat-headed figure declared with an unsettling grin.
A ripple of bewilderment passed through the group.
Halftime? Now?
Qi Xia glanced at the ornate clock on the table. Half an hour had passed since they had awakened. It was now precisely 12:30.
"So, this 'break' is mandatory," Qi Xia mused. "At exactly 12:30, no matter who is speaking, the game enforces a twenty-minute pause..."
Yet the game had only been in session for thirty minutes, and now they were to spend twenty on a break?
Qi Xia frowned but quickly dismissed the thought.
The orchestrator of this game was a madman—attempting to make sense of it with rationality was a futile endeavor.
Instead, he focused on repeating a single line over and over in his mind.
"My name is Li Ming. I'm from Shandong."
If he could internalize that simple phrase enough times, he could deliver it seamlessly when his turn arrived.
The group sat in uneasy silence.
A break had been declared, yet the tension in the room only deepened.
"Are we... allowed to speak?" The burly man finally turned to the goat-headed figure.
"Oh, of course. You're free to converse. I won't interfere."
The burly man nodded before shifting his gaze back to Dr. Zhao. "Dr. Zhao, where exactly are you from?"
Zhao's expression darkened. "I've noticed something—you seem to have taken a particular interest in me since the beginning. Tell me, why am I obligated to answer you?"
"Don't misunderstand me," the burly man said evenly. "I have no ill intentions. It's just that the more you share, the more credible you seem. Since everyone else has disclosed their hometown, why not you?"
"The more one speaks, the stronger their credibility?" Zhao scoffed. "All I know is that the more one speaks, the more likely they are to err. If the rules are absolute, then my account should already be flawless. Besides, I see no reason to trust any of you."
"That's a narrow way of thinking," the burly man countered. "There are nine of us here, and only one among us is the enemy. If we work together, we can root out the liar. The more you conceal, the more suspicious you become. This is the second time I've asked—are you still unwilling to answer?"
The burly man was a skilled interrogator. In just a few lines, he had maneuvered Zhao into a logical dead end.
His implication was clear.
Only a liar would distrust everyone else—for only the liar knew their own identity.
If Zhao continued to evade the question, he would become the obvious target of suspicion.
Yet a man capable of becoming a neurosurgeon was no ordinary individual. He let out a cold chuckle before countering, "Then let me ask you first—who are you? And what do you do?"
"Me?" The burly man hadn't expected the tables to turn so swiftly. His expression stiffened for a brief moment.
"That's right. Since you were so persistent in questioning me after my account, surely I have the right to question you before yours?" Zhao smirked. "That's only fair, isn't it?"
The burly man considered this for a moment before nodding. "Fair enough. I have nothing to hide. My name is Li Shangwu, and I'm a criminal investigator."
A collective hush fell over the group.
In this moment, the weight of the words "criminal investigator" carried a gravity beyond imagination.
"You're... a cop?" For the first time, Zhao appeared genuinely surprised.
No wonder the man had been probing for information from the outset. He had also been the first to suggest that they should try to ensure everyone's survival. Perhaps—just perhaps—he truly intended to help them escape.
Zhao's demeanor shifted subtly. "If that's the case, then I apologize for my earlier hostility. I'm from Jiangsu."
At this, a man adorned with intricate tattoos—Qiao Jiajin—sneered. "Well, well. So you trust this Officer Li, do you?"
"Hm?" Zhao turned to him, puzzled. "What are you implying?"
Qiao Jiajin tapped his fingers lightly against the table, his tone laced with amusement. "It's not 'story time' right now. Which means..."
His smirk deepened.
"Anyone can lie."