[hp] stay out of it

"...On the basis of the pluralism of the universe, Chinese scholar Jiang Jin emphasized that consciousness and spirit have extremely impressive abilities, and put forward the theory of world nesting..." The neutral and friendly voice of a CCTV reporter.

"...unconventional, gaining fame...nonsense, incomprehensible..." The critic thinks he is sharp and wise.

"...the world should not be infinitely parallel and different from each other as people assume. Such an assumption is self-contradictory...everyone creates a story that has the ability to operate independently, it is a world... No, it is the same as Creators are no longer connected, just like the development of a child after birth cannot be manipulated by the mother, the new world is independent..." These are my confident and trembling words.

Contradictory, obviously full of confidence, but his voice is still trembling.

I am confident in my hypothesis.To put it simply, I don’t think that there are countless identical selves in countless universes, doing the same or different things. Such a hypothesis covers all the diversity of the world.Such an explanation is only based on the differences caused by the probability of occurrence of events on the timeline, and it cannot represent the higher-level proposition of the diversity of the world at all.

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But, what's the use of saying this now... I, Jiang Jin, am not in my apartment overlooking half of the city. To prove it, I hid in a narrow, slovenly closet full of clothes, and tried my best to make this tall figure that was not my own - a size smaller and my hair shorter. Huddled: Now it's a different story.

My own hypothesis is still echoing in my mind... No, it’s not just a hypothesis now, it seems that I have appeared in another world, and I am no longer Jiang Jin—at least not physically—I initially proved it with myself Own assumptions... although no one seems to care now.

Outside the closet, the woman's slippers were slapping on the ground, and her breath gave me a strong sense of crisis. This was the third time she passed by the closet where I was, and I felt my body trembling.

"Vincent? Vincent..." The woman looked for someone hoarsely, but no one answered. I evaluated that "I" was Vincent, and moved my uncomfortable body carefully, "Wen Sente, where are you? I have something to tell you." The nasal voice is very heavy, it seems that this is England.

The woman dragged herself away again, sounding like she was going downstairs.I don't know why she didn't open the closet to check, it's clearly a suitable place for hiding.

After she left, the sense of crisis gradually faded away, and another strong emotion flooded my heart: go and find out, go and find out where this is, am I in the unique England in which story, or am I just accompanied by Individual transformation, pure spatial translation... Is it the former or the latter? If it is the former, my theory can be a little closer—although it is very likely that no one will pay attention to it.

I will be killed by my stupid self.I know.But I enjoy my crazy process.

I pushed open the door of the closet and stepped out, trying to find books, furniture, and everything that could help me judge in this room.But it was obvious that this was an ordinary bedroom, an ordinary boy's bedroom.I glanced around in a hurry, there were posters of football stars and rock stars at the end of the 20th century on the wall, the quilt was scribbled aside, half dragged on the floor, there were a few textbooks on the desk, and a few pictures of the school—it seemed to be a junior high school— — the flyer, everything is so ordinary.

My heart sank suddenly. Could it be that I just crossed the space and the individual?

It doesn't matter, I comfort myself, even this can't negate my hypothesis...

However, reason silently reminded me: Should I be concerned about another issue?

When I turned my head, I saw the night, the lights in other families, and a short-haired boy reflected in the glass also gave me some frustrated eyes. I noticed that the boy in the mirror had curly, foreign-style hair ——Of course, my body is originally a foreigner, and the word "foreign" cannot be mentioned.

"Vincent!" A surprised voice sounded, interrupting my examination of myself, "Where did you go just now?"

I was startled, the hairs all over my body were about to stand up, I turned my head to look at the door of the bedroom, but there was no one there.At this time, a young boy's voice came from downstairs: "Ms. White, I..." The voice stopped abruptly, followed by a low muffled groan, the sound of a heavy object falling to the ground, and another sound, a series of malicious intentions The sound of it is enough to tell those who hear it: something bad has happened.Then, everything fell silent, not even the sound of the woman's slippers.

I looked at the pale boy in the mirror again, there was no sense of reality at all.Without a sense of reality, without a sense of substitution, it is difficult to have many other emotions (except for the fear just now, which is probably the original fear of this teenager), and I lost the emotions of worry and fear that I should have. , instead striding out of the door expressionlessly, looking for the place where the sound came from.

I stood by the handrail on the second floor and saw two people falling down in the hallway.The woman in the back fell on her back, her chest was red, and the blood was sprayed all over the hall. She stared blankly at the ceiling, and the corners of her mouth were hooked up. From my perspective, this smile was very strange.A boy outside was sitting on the ground against the front door. He seemed to be dead. The "Ms. White" just now was obviously from his mouth. Judging from the age of his clothes, he should be "my" partner. A bloody fruit knife, the woman's blood drenched his head, and was still gurgling down his face.

Strange murder.

The picture is completely different from what I imagined. Some neurotic women are lying there in a miserable state, and the boy I thought was killed is sitting there in a hideous state... Wait, what happened to him ?

If he killed Mrs. White, who killed him?

Thinking of this, I suddenly felt that it was not wise to continue to stay in this house.I glanced at the door blocked by the boy, turned my head decisively, and went back to Vincent—that is, my room. I poked my head out of the window to observe, and then flipped out.