The rain on the asphalt had not yet dried; under the afternoon sun it shimmered with an oily sheen. Ethan drove the silver-gray sedan smoothly across the river bridge. He had just finished a three-hour business negotiation; his temples throbbed faintly, but his mind remained as sharp as ever. At the negotiating table the other side had tried to bury a trap in the data-security clause—he had seen it and turned it against them, winning highly favorable terms for his company. All he wanted now was to get back to the office, pour a single-malt whisky, and deal with the backlog of documents.
Soft music played on the car radio as Ethan's fingers tapped the steering wheel unconsciously. He glanced in the rearview mirror and noticed a black SUV tailing him closely, unnervingly near. The windows were heavily tinted; he couldn't see who was inside.
Ethan frowned and pressed the accelerator, trying to put distance between them. At that moment his phone rang—his assistant calling. As he glanced down at the screen, a truck up ahead suddenly—and without warning—veered out of control; its massive trailer slammed across the lanes!
Time seemed to stretch. Ethan whipped the wheel; the tires screamed on the wet road. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the black SUV not slow but roar forward, engine roaring! A single clear thought flashed through his head: this was no accident!
"Bang—!!!"
A tremendous impact came from the rear side; the ripping of metal was deafening. The airbags deployed and slammed into his face. shards of glass flew like rain, slashing his skin. The vehicle rolled, the world spinning wildly between sky and earth. Agony flared up his spine; warm blood ran from his temple and blurred his vision.
In his final awareness, through the shattered window he saw the black SUV also heavily damaged, stopped not far away. A man wearing sunglasses stumbled out, seemingly injured too, but he did not check on Ethan. Instead he straightened his collar and looked at Ethan's ruined car with calm detachment, a faint, almost indifferent smile at the corner of his mouth—as if a task had been completed.
This was not an accident.
This was murder.
Darkness swallowed everything.
...
Some unspecified time later, Ethan regained consciousness in a field of pure white.
He opened his eyes and found himself floating in an endless white void. There was no up or down, no sound, no temperature—he could not even sense his body's weight. Only absolute white nothingness.
Ethan tried to move his arm and was surprised to find his body obeyed. He looked down: he was wearing the dark-blue suit that had been torn in the crash, yet it bore no blood or stains. He touched his face and body—no wounds, no pain— as if the violent crash had never happened.
"Where is this?" he asked aloud; the sound dissolved oddly into the space with no echo.
No one answered.
Ethan observed calmly. As the chief strategy officer of a tech company, he had weathered endless emergencies and meticulously designed corporate traps; he was used to keeping his mind clear under enormous pressure. Even though the situation was bizarre beyond imagination, his thinking was unusually lucid and incisive.
He replayed every detail before the crash: the truck's perfectly timed loss of control, the black SUV that accelerated into him, the sunglasses-wearing man's cold gaze... This was not a traffic accident but a carefully planned, targeted assassination.
Why would someone want him dead? Was it the recent negotiation that had threatened a corporate giant's core interests? The secret new-energy project he was quietly advancing that could upend the industry? Or... was it connected to the unsolved mystery of his father's death two decades ago that had been hastily ruled a"lab accident"? He had just reopened that investigation—had he touched someone's secret?
A voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts.
"Welcome to the Interstice Space, Mr. Ethan."
The voice was calm and neutral—no discernible gender or age—sounding as if it came directly from inside his head.
Ethan turned quickly, but there was nothing behind him.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice steadier than one would expect from someone who had just experienced"death."
"I am System 07, responsible for guiding newly arrived Contractors," the voice replied."You have died in your original world and are currently in a transitional state between life and death."
Ethan was silent for a moment. The word"death" did not rouse much emotion; he cared more about the situation and its logic.
"Prove it to me," he said, the tone of someone requesting a project report.
"Review access is now open."
Suddenly the white void was replaced by a holographic replay. The image was stark—even brutal: his silver-gray sedan, mangled and twisted like scrap metal; rescue crews using hydraulic cutters to pry open the doors; medics standing aside, shaking their heads—no signs of life. The final frame froze on his lifeless, torn body being lifted from the wreck and covered with a white sheet.
Ethan watched the entire sequence expressionless and then asked,"So what is this now? A digital simulation? Consciousness upload? Some kind of metaphysical construct?"
"None of those," the System answered."This is a special dimension independent of all worlds, a space that grants certain souls a second chance. You have been selected as a Contractor. By completing System-issued tasks and accumulating points, you may earn the opportunity to return to the living world."
Ethan squinted, capturing the key detail:"Opportunity? Not a guarantee?"
"Accumulate 1,000 points and you will be granted the chance to return to your original world," the System repeated, stressing the word"chance."
"What kinds of tasks?" Ethan asked, going straight to the core.
"A variety: survival, exploration, puzzles, escort missions, even altering certain storylines. Task worlds may be parallel universes based on the original world or entirely fictional realities."
"What are the scoring criteria?" he pressed on, as if negotiating the terms of a crucial deal.
"Task completion, efficiency, creativity, resource utilization, and positive impact on the worldline," the System replied."Special rewards or abilities may be obtained during tasks to assist in subsequent missions."
Ethan nodded slightly; his brain raced, analyzing pros and cons and potential risks. If this were not a hallucination, he faced an opportunity that far exceeded normal comprehension—rebirth. He was equally wary of hidden costs and traps.
"What if I refuse the contract?"
"Your consciousness will dissipate completely—permanent death," the System answered calmly."You have ten minutes to decide."
Ethan responded almost instantly:"No need for ten minutes. I accept."
The System sounded somewhat surprised by his decisiveness—if an AI could be surprised."Are you sure? Once you sign the contract you must complete all tasks; there is no quitting midway."
"My life principle is to never let any opportunity pass, especially the only one," Ethan said coolly, his gaze sharp."Besides, I have unfinished business to return for."
The car crash, that sunglasses-wearing man, the mystery of his father—he had to go back and find out the truth. Whatever this System's nature, it was the only path.
"Wise choice," the System said."Contract initialized."
A soft golden light coalesced before Ethan, forming an ancient-looking scroll that unfurled slowly. The characters on it were unfamiliar, yet he understood them instantly. The content matched what the System had said but included several important details:
First, injuries or deaths incurred in task worlds would truly affect the soul.
Second, points could be exchanged for temporary or permanent abilities, or for material support during tasks.
Third, between tasks one could rest in the Interstice Space; the time flow there differed from the original world.
Fourth, Contractors might cooperate or compete with each other.
Finally, a nearly transparent line of small print: the System reserves final interpretive authority and the right to adjust tasks.
Ethan paid particular attention to that last clause. It meant the rules could change at any time; he would need to remain highly alert and adaptive.
"How do I sign?" he asked.
"Place your hand on the lower-right corner of the scroll," the System instructed.
Ethan did so without hesitation. A slight electric sensation spread through his body, like a branding process. The scroll dissolved into countless points of light that merged into him.
"Contract established. Welcome as Contractor No. 743, Mr. Ethan," the System announced."You have 72 standard hours to prepare for the first task. You may ask questions during this period; the System will answer as appropriate."
Ethan noted the phrase"as appropriate" and sensed information would not be freely or fully disclosed.
"How many Contractors have successfully accumulated 1,000 points and returned to the world?" he asked first.
"Access denied."
"How many active Contractors currently exist?"
"Access denied."
"Are the dangers in task worlds real? Can I truly die?"
"Damage and death in task worlds will be honestly reflected in your soul state. If you die during a task, the contract terminates and the soul dissipates."
Ethan nodded and continued:"May I know details about the first task?"
"Basic information is available 24 hours before a task begins," the System replied."You have 71 hours, 58 minutes remaining before the first task."
Ethan pondered. He needed to maximize the preparation time. He changed tack.
"What can I do during the preparation period?"
"You may access basic training modules to familiarize yourself with skills likely needed; rest to recover; or customize your personal space environment—though you currently see a white void, it can be altered according to your imagination."
"Any environment?"
"Yes, based on your memories and imagination."
Ethan closed his eyes and visualized the scene he knew best—his penthouse office overlooking the city at night, where his thinking was clearest and he felt most in control. When he opened his eyes, the white void had already begun to transform.
Walls formed, dark walnut flooring spread, and the skyline of the city coalesced beyond floor-to-ceiling windows: neon and traffic, the scene he knew intimately. A modern, wide desk materialized with his slim laptop and a tasteful lamp. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with the business, history, and tech books and project files he always kept. Even the faint cedar scent he liked permeated the air.
The only incongruity was a translucent blue orb floating in the center of the room—the System 07's embodiment.
"Very realistic," Ethan observed, sitting behind the leather chair. The textures, scents, temperature, and light matched his memory.
"The System reads your memories to reconstruct your most familiar environment," the orb explained."This helps Contractors maintain psychological stability and cognitive anchors."
Ethan folded his hands on the desk like he was about to chair an important meeting."Tell me the detailed rules and scoring for the point system."
"After each task, the System scores across multiple dimensions, awarding 0–100 points. A perfect 100 is extremely rare, usually requiring exceptional performance or hidden achievements. Above 80 is excellent, above 60 is passing; below 60 typically yields minimal points even if the task is completed."
"Passing is 60?" Ethan confirmed.
"Yes. Three consecutive tasks scoring below 60 will terminate the contract and your soul will dissipate."
Ethan tapped the desktop and calculated quickly."So I need to complete at least ten tasks successfully, with high scores, to get back quickly."
"In theory. Task difficulty varies; harder tasks have higher point multipliers. Special achievements or hidden objectives can provide bonus points," the System added.
Ethan noticed the System volunteered that last detail—indicating some flexibility in interaction.
"How are task difficulties determined and by whom?"
"Four levels: Simple, Normal, Hard, Nightmare. The System determines difficulty based on the world background, objectives, and potential threats. Higher difficulty yields higher base points but greater failure risk. Contractors may choose within limits, but new Contractors are advised to start with Simple or Normal."
Ethan was noncommittal. He didn't accept"advice" at face value but wouldn't take reckless risks either. He would evaluate and choose optimally.
"Show the ability exchange system."
A light-screen appeared showing a list of abilities for exchange: language fluency, advanced hand-to-hand combat, weapon mastery (melee/basic firearms), heightened danger perception, mental resistance, basic medical skills, stealth... Each ability cost different points, from 10 to several hundreds.
"Are these abilities permanent?"
"A one-time exchange is permanent. Advanced abilities require prerequisites; some top-tier abilities require unlocking specific task achievements."
Ethan noticed greyed-out items labeled"Insufficient permissions," implying more powerful or special abilities existed beyond view.
"Can points be used for anything else?"
"Points serve three primary purposes: exchange for permanent or temporary abilities, emergency supplies during tasks, and extending rest periods between tasks."
Ethan seized on a key detail:"Extend rest time? So downtime between tasks is fixed and limited?"
"Standard rest time is 72 hours. Each 10 points purchased extends rest by 24 hours. While theoretically unlimited, excessive extension is not recommended as it can erode skill retention, lead to outdated intelligence, and reduce System evaluations."
Ethan leaned back and looked at the simulated skyline. Everything felt real enough to almost make him forget he was actually dead. His efficient mind sorted the torrent of information.
He thought of those waiting for his return: his assistant coping with the company upheaval his"accident" would cause; his mother grieving; and the conspirators celebrating what they thought was the removal of an obstacle...
And his father's suspicious death twenty years ago—Ethan had long suspected it was no accident. He had recently obtained some deleted fragments of lab data before this"crash." This was no coincidence.
"System," Ethan asked, returning his gaze to the blue orb,"how does the time flow here compare to the original world?"
"Time in the transitional space is adjustable, but the baseline ratio is 10:1 compared to the original world—ten here equals one there."
Ethan did the math mentally. Even if he needed fifteen tasks and each averaged a week of original-world time including rest, the original world would only pass about 105 days. Just over three months—long, but preferable to permanent death. He had a chance.
"One last question," Ethan said after careful thought."Beyond a strong will to survive, does the System select Contractors based on some'trait' or an unresolved obsession from their original life?"
The System was silent for a moment; its light flickered as if making a deeper assessment.
"Yes. Selection criteria are complex, but at the core the System selects individuals with strong survival will, unfinished desires, or souls whose waveforms resonate with the System's frequency. The System prefers those with exceptional intelligence, willpower, adaptability, or latent traits that increase the probability of task completion and yield valuable data. The special energy signature from your father's legacy project is also a factor."
Ethan was jolted— the System had mentioned his father. That confirmed part of his suspicion. His father's research was no ordinary accident. On the surface he showed no reaction beyond a slight nod.
"Preparation time remaining: 71 hours and 12 minutes. Recommend basic skills training or rest," the System reminded.
"Load the training modules," Ethan commanded, setting aside questions about his father for the moment.
The screen switched to training options: advanced close-quarters combat, various weapon proficiencies, stealth and counter-surveillance, basic language packs, introductory cryptography, first aid and survival skills... The list covered virtually every skill he might need.
Ethan selected"Basic Combat Enhancement" and"Crisis Intuition Activation." Though a corporate elite, he had a background in physical training—a black belt in karate and a shooting hobby. Now he needed to convert those foundations into reflexive power.
In the following hours, Ethan immersed himself in the System's super-efficient training. He found that in this consciousness-driven space, learning efficiency and muscle-memory formation were multiplied many times over. This was clearly one of the System's key advantages for Contractors.
Between training sessions he stood by the window, watching the perpetually lit simulated city. Traffic flowed, neon shimmered—so real, yet utterly unreal. He was dead, but in this form he was"alive." He had a chance to return, to uncover the truth, to make those who thought they had removed him pay.
A flicker of cold, razor-sharp resolve crossed Ethan's mouth. Whatever the task worlds held or whatever motives the System concealed, he would survive, accumulate the necessary points, and return.
Those who believed they had eliminated him would soon learn how gravely they had erred.
"As preparation time nears its end," Ethan said when the 72 hours were almost up, his state fully adjusted,"I am ready."
"Loading task world..." the System intoned."First task:'Radiation Wasteland.' Difficulty: Normal. Background: civilization collapsed after nuclear leakage. Role: Rescue team member. Primary objective: rescue a missing team of scientists. World features: high-radiation zones, mutated creatures, scarce resources. Task begins."
Ethan felt the surrounding space begin to warp; the city nightscape blurred and dissolved like an oil painting washed by water. The desk, bookshelves, and window decomposed into streams of raw data.
A strong sensation of falling seized him.
"Good luck, Contractor."