Chapter 3: Signs and Triggers

It was still only the first day. As Marcus and I walked through campus, it felt no different than usual.

The quad was full of students lounging on benches, some tossing a frisbee, others scrolling on their phones. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was a regular fall afternoon—crisp air, golden leaves, laughter drifting from the rec center.

Most students still seemed normal.

It was only a little after 6:15 p.m.

We couldn’t go back to the dorm yet.

Strangely, even though it wasn’t finals season, the library was packed.

But this wouldn’t last.

Once the abnormal became the majority, the library would empty out.

The library’s hidden function: measuring the ratio of the dead to the living.

Library packed: Congrats, your surroundings are still normal. As long as you follow the rules, you’ll survive.

Library with empty seats: Those who only follow the rules have already been eliminated.

When half the seats are empty: For every two people you meet, one is a problem.

When more than half the seats are empty: You’re already surrounded…

If survival is cruel enough, those who make it must have something special.

Can I survive?

I asked myself.

I felt that just following the rules wasn’t enough. Following rules is what machines do best. In the end, we need to be flexible and adapt. As we walked, Marcus suddenly said, "We can’t just follow the rules. We have to make our own way, as long as we don’t break the rules."

"But how?"

"Not sure yet, but survival’s never easy. We have to fight for our lives. I have a feeling: we need to create new rules for ourselves—without breaking the main ones."

I summed up his words:

[On the premise of not breaking the rules, establish new rules that help you survive.]

I must have done something good in a past life to meet a friend like Marcus.

Being with smart people makes me feel smarter too.

"Marcus, I’ve decided," I looked at him seriously, "even if I die, I want to be buried with you. A few thousand years from now, they’ll dig us up and put us in the same glass display case."

"Don’t. I’m strict about that. Only women get to be buried with me."

"Bros before—wait, you’re really putting romance over friendship?"

"I didn’t mind you, but you mind me."

Before I knew it, we’d wandered to the cafeteria.

After eating, we should be able to go back to the dorm.

The cafeteria was as bright as day, but unlike usual, every food stall was selling sloppy joes.

[Do not eat the cafeteria’s sloppy joes.]

The text told us not to eat them, but here they were, out in the open.

Who exactly needs the sloppy joes?

Who’s buying them?

"Watch the people buying sloppy joes," Marcus said, thinking the same thing as me.

He motioned with his chin to the lunch line, where a few students moved like zombies—eyes dull, not looking at the servers, just reaching for the sandwiches like it was all they’d ever eaten.

"Marcus! Bro!"

Derek and Tyler sat down across from us, trays in hand.

"Tyler and I saw something crazy in class today. Scared my beautiful big eyes," Derek blurted as he sat.

Just then, Ryan and Ben showed up. Ryan slapped his soda on the table, folded his hands, and said to Derek, "Go on, tell us."

Now our whole dorm was together.

A rare moment of unity. The kind that only comes from shared trauma or a group project that’s gone terribly wrong.

"We saw the student government in class," Tyler said, taking a bite of mac and cheese. "Let Derek tell it, he’s dying to."

"On that rainy afternoon, Tyler and I entered the classroom, nerves on edge. The teacher stood at the podium, as still as a statue, smiling at the students—a smile even more mysterious than the Mona Lisa’s. I felt like Louis XVI on the way to the guillotine—"

"Enough with the drama. Tyler, you tell it," Ryan cut in.

"No, I’ll do it," Derek insisted. "During class, a student’s phone rang, he answered it, the teacher said he’d punish him, and the student killed the teacher."

Derek’s summary was so abrupt I barely processed it.

"That’s it?"

"Yeah."

"Can you give more details? You’re not in a rush to get reincarnated, are you?" Ryan complained.

"If I go into detail, you say I’m long-winded. Make up your mind!"

Derek finally added:

Apparently, the student was extremely arrogant, with a ‘nothing can touch me’ attitude.

Though, most of that was probably Derek exaggerating.

Truly arrogant people don’t scare you to your core, so Tyler’s version was more reliable:

According to Tyler, the student’s eyes were vacant, his face stiff, and he stood up like a rusty machine. He floated through the desks and students like a wisp of smoke, drifted to the teacher, and took out a square box.

The box wasn’t big—about the size of two phones on each side.

The student actually picked up the teacher and stuffed him into the box. The teacher’s body was twisted and squeezed in.

A pool of red liquid spread across the floor.

The student finished, expressionless, then walked out of the classroom, moving both hands and feet at the same time.

Derek and Tyler were so terrified they huddled together, shivering.

Because class wasn’t over, everyone else had to sit there and endure it.

"How did you know that person was from the student government?" I asked Tyler.

"The box had ‘Student Government’ written on every side."

Marcus continued, "But the student government members seem different from both normal people and the dead, right? Can you tell them apart on campus?"

"Yeah," Tyler nodded.

Marcus concluded:

[The student government may not be good at blending in, but they’re extremely dangerous.]

I remembered the text message:

[There is no one in the student government.]

That line echoed like a riddle, the kind you try to parse out during a midnight pizza run, looking for hidden meanings. What does it mean to be a student government nobody? How do you lead when you don’t exist?