小注释：这个本推荐以双普来走，1男1女最好，故事里会不断有人物登场但是他们不是伴随主角很久的人，所以台词不会太多，为了让大家走本体验更好一些，我把零碎人物归总到了一起，但这个故事确实是经常穿插有对话的，而且主角的脑内思考也一样需要演绎才可以，有故事情节，有故事线路推进的。 剧本类型不让选普本，只剩下剧情歌和戏曲本了，只好选剧情歌了。

Alex：单独走。全黑色部分。

Mom: 兼-旁白1，女儿及神秘生物。全紫色部分。（其中，旁白的口吻就是主角Alex内心独白以及上帝视角；神秘生物 只要表现得不人性化就很到位。）

旁白1：

You’ve chosen to follow the glowing footprints — a personal, mysterious path that may hold the answers about your daughter, your memories, and the twisted new world around you. Let’s see where this leads you.

CHAPTER 1, PART 4: FOOTSTEPS IN THE CODE

Alex：

The footprints gleamed like a trail of stardust against the cracked pavement, glowing faintly with a pale blue light. They were small, delicate, almost like the prints left behind by a child. Or more precisely, by someone who used to be a child — someone who had been small enough to be carried and held. My heart beat faster.

I had no proof, no solid evidence that these footprints belonged to my daughter, but something in me — something primal and buried — recognized their rhythm. A sort of pull. Like a signal being sent out, designed to reach a specific person.

And now, I had to follow it.

The trail led me past the skeletal remains of old skyscrapers, their foundations pulsing with dim lights. The air here tasted strange, like the world was wearing a filter, pixelated and out of focus. It was as if the sky itself was being held together by a weak connection — an ancient system that was barely hanging on. The city around me was a patchwork of rust, glass, and wires, overrun by plantlife that didn’t quite look real. Some of it hummed faintly, like the sound of a machine trying to breathe.

旁白1：

As I walked, the ground beneath my feet vibrated slightly, like a low-frequency hum buried deep under the asphalt.

I reached an alley, narrow and claustrophobic, lined with broken vending machines, rusty doors, and strange glowing graffiti that shimmered like code. The footprints seemed to disappear behind a crumbling wall, then reappear around a corner. I followed them, one careful step at a time.

There, hidden behind a stack of old crates, was a small door — its frame bent and distorted by the weight of time and decay. The footprints led directly to it.

I approached cautiously, pushing the door open with a soft creak. It was pitch dark inside.

“Hello?” I called, my voice sounding strangely muffled, as if the air itself was absorbing the sound.

No response.

I stepped inside. The room was small, made of concrete and dimly lit by weak, flickering bulbs. There were no windows, no ventilation. Just a table in the center, covered in debris, and — a child’s toy.

Alex：

It was a doll. Small, blue, and round-eyed. The kind of doll a little girl might leave behind in her playtime. Its expression was frozen, but the eyes — the eyes were different.

I reached for it.

When my fingers touched the doll’s cold, lifeless plastic, something shifted.

My memories erupted in flashes — jagged, incomplete. The doll’s eyes seemed to pulse in time with the flood of images:

A woman’s voice, soft but sharp with worry.

Mom：

“Alex, where are you? We have to go, now!”

Alex：

A child laughing, her hands reaching for the toy, her fingers brushing mine. Her voice — so familiar — calling me

Daughter：

“Daddy.”

Alex：

An explosion. A flash of light. The sound of something tearing apart.

I staggered back, the sudden burst of memory leaving me dizzy, disoriented.