The attending physician's office, inside the Black Box.
The voltage is unstable, causing the light above him to flicker, but it doesn't stop the person's action beneath the lamp.
The precursor's stiff fingers exert such force that the pen tip bends into an arc, making one feel anxious just looking at it.
And rows of text comparable to gibberish are being spewed out continuously.
[Today is number 61, judgment will come in twenty minutes, 135 will revert to zero]
Until the date reaches number 61, on the thirteenth judgment day.
What the precursor writes seems to confirm this, even this sentence is the least like gibberish on this page.
Yet this doesn't seem to be a good thing; certain extreme threats are laid bare, leaving no room to avoid them.
135 will revert to zero?
Completely disregarding the discomfort caused by the chaotic text, Fu Qian practically imprints every punctuation mark into his mind.
And the most striking part of line 61 is the number at the end.
