On this deserted island called Erangel, gunshots are heard one after another, and the battle is endless. The dilapidated gas station is like a sleeping ghost. On the mottled wall hangs an out-of-place bright red sign – KFC, like a red light in the abyss, weird and eye-catching. No one expected that this weathered ruin would become a “life-saving straw” on the battlefield.

Players shuttled through the ruins like ghosts, with the muzzle spewing the breath of death, but were attracted by the red light, as if they saw a bonfire in the wilderness. In the gas station, a self-service ordering machine stood alone, and the cold screen reflected the name of everyone who approached. The moment the button was pressed, the life-and-death fight on the battlefield seemed to be paused, and a steaming fried chicken meal quietly arrived, like salvation handed over by a ghost.

This fried chicken meal is not simple. The golden chicken leg carries the soul of the first aid kit. When the character takes a bite, the action reveals a hint of human warmth; the French fries are like bandages, quietly wrapped around the player’s lifeline; the drinks are transformed into energy drinks and quietly injected into the body of the fighter. These details silently tell the rare tenderness in the cruel world, just like the power of the “ghost lamp” in the ancient legend to light up the darkness.

The rules are like a seal. Each player can only use it once until the fourth stage to restart this redemption. It is like a strange spell, leading people to wander on the edge of life and death. It is both a source of power and a shackle of fate. Whoever can master this balance holds the key to survival.

This mysterious linkage is not only in Erangel, Miramar, Sanhok, and Vikendi maps are also covered with this red, and even flying planes are hung with KFC banners, like ghost flags, fluttering in the wind. They are like strange signals, summoning those souls baptized by war and giving them temporary comfort.

Players run around in the hail of bullets, with a desire to survive and an expectation for warmth in their hearts. The aroma of fried chicken is fragrant, but it carries a hint of sadness, like a sigh under a lonely lamp in the middle of the night, gentle and heartbreaking. It is both redemption and curse; both warmth and despair.

Perhaps, the real battlefield is not only the killing with gunfire, but also the call for warmth from the depths of the soul. In this wasteland, every order is an obsession with life, and every bite of fried chicken is a watch on humanity. The red light reflects the backs of countless runners, and also illuminates the gentle corner hidden in the seemingly ruthless world.