The Queue Wars


    "Are you kidding me? We''ve been waiting for hours!" a lanky teenager griped, checking his smartwatch for the tenth time.


    "Try skipping breakfast for this!" My roommate Liang Wei—or "Ah Wei," as everyone called him—shot back, stomach growling audibly. "At least you grabbed a burger!"


    Ah Wei and I went way back. Same elementary class, same high school, now same college dorm. His family ran a real estate empire; mine... well, let’s just say "complicated" didn’t begin to cover it. Dad’s conglomerate, Dragon Edge, dabbled in everything from biotech weapons to orbital defense systems. Mom’s startup, Zhonghua Corp, handled the "civilian" side—like distributing the neural interface helmets for Zero, the hyper-immersive MMO we were currently freezing our asses off to access.


    A security drone buzzed overhead, projecting a crimson countdown: 00:07:32 REMAINING. The crowd outside Nanjing’s Zhonghua Tower thickened, thousands of gamers packed like synth-meat dumplings.


    "Look! They’re opening!" Ah Wei elbowed me as reinforced glass doors hissed apart.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Chaos erupted. The orderly queue dissolved into a rugby scrum. I got swept off my feet, carried forward by a human tsunami. Screens flashed emergency alerts: CAPACITY WARNING – VENUE AT 187% OCCUPANCY.


    "Help!" A muffled cry cut through the noise.


    Beneath trampling sneakers, a girl lay curled fetal—pristine white hoodie now scuffed with footprints. I wedged my shoulders between jostling bodies, hauling her up.


    Big mistake.


    Even smeared with grime, she looked like a K-pop idol crossed with a porcelain doll. Worse, her first words were: "Thanks, big sis!"


    Not this again. My voice came out unintentionally melodic: "Stick close if you want that account."


    We became a two-person battering ram. After what felt like years, we crashed into a sales counter. The clerk slapped two helmets into our hands without eye contact.


    "Name’s Lijia," the girl panted, scribbling her ID on my palm. "Find me in-game!" She vanished into the mob.


    Dorm 7B – 19:45


    Ah Wei slouched in, helmet-less. "Total clusterfuck. You scored one?"


    I tossed him the spare. "Founder’s Account perks apply to first login. Use mine tonight."


    His eyes lit up. "You’re a legend!"


    The helmet’s manual was disturbingly sparse:


    FOUNDER PRIVILEGES (v1.1)


    Neural imprint locks on first activation


    One-time RNG reward roll (Tier 0-4)


    Permanent anti-leech protocols (no alt accounts, no trades)


    As the clock hit 20:00, I lay back. The visor’s cold embrace triggered synaptic calibration—a sensation like ice water flooding my spine.


    System Whisper: "Welcome to the end of reality, Violet Sun."