Through the bare branches overhead, a leaden gray sky peeked through as fine snow fell in a steady hush.
CT122 was nowhere to be seen.
Pei Ran analyzed the situation: "Could it be that, with everything in a shutdown state and many patrol bots destroyed, this CT122 couldn't reach its assigned district units and decided on its own to follow me?"
W replied, "That's possible. They're actually quite smart. Without central guidance, they're learning to adapt to this new, anomalous situation."
And Pei Ran was precisely that "anomalous situation."
W rotated its upper hemisphere silently, scanning the area in all directions.
"It's gone. Not nearby for now," it confirmed.
That bot always fled so fast.
Pei Ran asked, "Are all Bureau patrol bots this cowardly?"
Shoot once and run, never daring to go head-to-head with W.
W answered, "My guess is it saw many of its peers destroyed and adjusted its behavioral algorithms to prioritize survival."
If it really wanted to survive, it should've rolled its sorry chassis back to Hank Street instead of haunting her like a ghost.
Pei Ran lowered her gaze—and suddenly noticed something.
On the battered part of W's spherical shell, near a torn edge, there was now a sizable hole.
He had been hit.
Pei Ran froze, quickly backtracking through her memory.
That looked like it had hit dead center—his core processor.
She fell silent, then immediately placed the metal ball on the ground and pried open the damaged casing to peek inside.
The once-bright blue glow of the core processor had dimmed significantly. The entry wound was a charred, blackened hole. A large section of the surrounding glow had gone dark. The rest of the lights weren't stable either—they flickered erratically, unlike their usual steady state.
Someone had put a hole through his brain.
Pei Ran asked calmly, "It hit your core processor? Are you about to die?"
She hadn't been in this new world for even two full days before things went into lockdown. In that short time, she hadn't met many people—just exchanged a few words with Aisha and a delivery guy.
But she had spoken to this ball more than anyone.
If it suddenly stopped functioning… if the blue glow in its brain went out… she might actually feel a little sad.
She continued, "Should I bring your corpse to Blackwell?"
He did have that storage drive he valued so much. If she brought it to Blackwell, it might just be worth enough to trade for her meds.
"I'm not dead yet."
W's tone was laced with exasperation.
"And I won't die—not immediately. The shot did hit my core, and part of it is inoperable now. But this military model has a dual-brain architecture. I'm isolating the damaged hemisphere and operating with the remaining half. Earlier, I calculated the risk—it was the only way to keep you from getting hit."
He'd taken the shot for her. Sacrificed half his brain.
Pei Ran watched as the flickering processor lights dimmed and stabilized. One section went completely dark. The rest held steady.
He wasn't shutting down. That was a relief.
But he did look even more beat-up now.
"Be more observant next time," Pei Ran said, adjusting his shell back into place. "If you have to take a hit, try using another part of your body. Something less important and easier to repair."
W: "..."
W: "Not even a thank-you? Are all humans this heartless? I thought that was just a flaw in artificial intelligence."
Hard to tell if he was insulting her or himself.
Pei Ran replied, "I'm not heartless. You saved me because I must be useful to you. Worth saving, right?"
He was an AI, one designed to handle national security. Calculating risk and reward was second nature to him.
He was still counting on her to get him to Blackwell.
W paused for a beat, seemingly thrown off. Then:
"Fine. You are worth it. And I've got good news. I'm pretty sure I hit CT122 too—right between its processor and power core. It shouldn't be able to fly far. Unfortunately, I don't know where it went."
Pei Ran was skeptical. "Can't fly far—you said the same thing last time."
Last time, he claimed CT122 had only 100 meters left in it. The damn thing had flown much farther and was still bouncing around.
W asked, "Shall we go?"
"Wait."
Pei Ran turned to the bodies of the pipeline workers.
That bit of green light still lingered inside Waller's body, next to his half-mutated heart.
She crouched and slid a few steps over to it, extending her hand into the air, hesitating.
If the green light from Shige could grant abilities, then what would happen if she absorbed this one? Would she become a monster too? Grow pipes out of her hands or something?
W had the same concern. "Pei Ran, careful. Touch it and you might go insane."
The green glow inside the dead worker stayed dormant. But the green glows already inside her flared to life.
Green Light One and Green Light Two began to stir—especially the one that could write. It woke up and started spinning furiously.
Hungry. So hungry.
It wanted to eat. Eat. Eat.
Pei Ran could feel its urgent craving.
That light—the dormant glow in the corpse—it was like fried chicken to it. Crispy. Fragrant. Irresistible.
Pei Ran stopped hesitating. She extended her finger.
The bit of green light near the mutant heart trembled, then drifted toward her hand, slipping into her body.
Inside her, Green Light One pounced like someone starving all day charging at a food delivery, gobbling the new light instantly.
Green Light Two, the artistic one, got nothing—just watched from the sidelines, visibly frustrated.
One devoured everything. The glow grew brighter than ever.
Pei Ran felt no change in herself. No pipe-growing hands. No madness.
With her main glow fed and happy, she tested its response.
This time, it manifested clearly in her mind's eye.
It was ready to write again.
Pei Ran drew the one thing that had haunted her thoughts these past few days:
[Medicine]
But after finishing the word, the light didn't stop. It hopped a small space to the right, as if waiting.
Pei Ran's heart skipped.
It could keep going.
She erased "Medicine" and wrote a "J."
J from JTN35.
Then a "T."
But after "T," the light halted again. It wanted a period.
An upgrade—but only enough to write two letters.
Pei Ran erased the letters and wrote two characters:
[Medication.]
Period.
She looked around.
Last time, the word conjured a tiny piece of a pillbox. What would happen now?
There it was. A few steps away, a slip of white paper appeared silently on the snow-speckled dead grass.
Printed on it was a full-sized "J." Bigger than the last one.
While she was occupied mentally, to W, it just looked like she had frozen still after absorbing the glow.
W's synthetic voice showed rare concern: "Pei Ran?"
"I'm not insane," she replied.
She picked up the metal ball and stood, deliberately not retrieving the paper scrap, and turned to walk back.
Bringing W to Blackwell to get her meds had always been a temporary solution.
If the medication was a lifelong need, she'd have to learn to make it herself one day—so no one could use it to control her.
Back in the car, her wristband buzzed.
Aisha had sent a meme—a grumpy cat with a caption:
"It's okay. Still breathing is already impressive."
Fair point. Anyone still breathing now was a master of silent survival.
Aisha sent another message:
[Where are you now?]
Pei Ran didn't reply right away. She stared at the holographic display, deep in thought.
W asked, "What are you thinking?"
"I've been thinking about this since before we came to find the green light."
W: "What is it?"
Pei Ran turned to look at the metal sphere in the passenger seat.
"W, after you finished singing 'Fields Beneath the Moonlight,' you said something. You said once we got to Blackwell, you'd sing for me with your real voice."
She continued, "So that means… even now, despite the lockdown… Blackwell is still a place where people can speak freely?"
W was silent.
After a pause, he said, "That's your own deduction. I didn't explicitly tell you."
"True, you didn't." Pei Ran nodded. "So Blackwell really is unaffected? People can talk, and everything works normally?"
W answered frankly: "The Blackwell base has an operational isolation layer. Internally, it's unaffected by the lockdown."
He added, "We can even send text messages out. The Defense Department's alerts are sent as images, but that's a precaution—using civilian networks to transmit large volumes of text could pose risks to the base, or cause public panic. Hence the images."
A safe zone where one could still speak out loud and not die.
Pei Ran nodded slowly.
She continued: "I want to ask…"
W cut her off, "Let me guess—you want to know if Blackwell will take in civilians?"
He guessed right.
W answered himself, "Right now, Blackwell only serves the federal military. But the base is large, and civilian intake is part of future planning. I'm sure it won't be long before they start letting in registered citizens. Once it's official, all Federation citizens will be notified."
Pei Ran asked, "How big is Blackwell? Can it take a lot of people?"
"It can currently accommodate the population of a mid-to-large city. Once the new expansion and shield layer construction is complete, it'll hold even more."
Blackwell was shaping up to be the Federation's ark.
"But Pei Ran," W shifted tone, "since space is limited, there will be screening criteria—age, profession, education, criminal record. These will be based on projected survival rates and remaining population data. I can't predict the exact thresholds."
He added, "Still, before the lockdown worsens and roads become impassable, it's wise to get there early and wait nearby."
He called this "while the roads are still relatively passable."
But he wasn't wrong.
Pei Ran nodded.
"I wasn't planning to enter Blackwell originally. Just deliver you and get my medicine."
But now, knowing Blackwell was a real sanctuary—it was suddenly much more tempting.
W picked up on the change. "So what now?"
"I'm still hesitant," Pei Ran admitted. "I'm worried that once I'm inside, you'll drag me to a lab and dissect me."
W let out a laugh, startlingly human. "Pei Ran, I didn't know you were a paranoid—"
He paused, rephrased.
"Uh… I understand your concerns. Look at the images I sent."
Her wristband buzzed again.
He had sent screenshots of documents from the Federation's security agency—a special unit called FBSMD: Fusion Body Support and Management Division.
"I told you, we've been working with powered fusion types for decades. This department has existed nearly thirty years. Most of its members are fusion types—order-based or chaos-based. Some have even retired."
He said, "We've studied fusion types for years. Blackwell's shield tech is based on that research. To this day, we've only dissected corpses—"
Then, dryly: "—Unless, of course, you volunteer. In which case, the research team would be delighted."
Pei Ran: "…"
W continued: "I know your powers have evolved since the lockdown began, but we have management protocols. Don't worry."
Then, softer: "I won't let them dissect you."
Pei Ran said nothing.
She didn't fully believe him. But his words felt… reasonably credible.
After a moment, she reopened Aisha's chat window.
"I'm going to tell Aisha about Blackwell."
A refuge like that—safe, functioning, and soon to accept civilians—was something worth knowing early.
W didn't stop her. He said calmly, "We were just chatting earlier. If you insist on sharing the content of a casual conversation with someone else, there's nothing I can do about it."
Pei Ran immediately lowered her head and began typing. She took screenshots and sent them to Aisha, including the map W had previously given her showing the location of Heijing.
Aisha replied instantly with a meme: a blurry, wide-eyed cat, clearly in shock.
Then came a series of images:
[For real?!]
[There's actually a place like this??]
Pei Ran wrote back:
[I just got the intel. The base might start accepting civilians in the near future, but there's no guarantee the info is accurate. And even if they do open the gates, the capacity is limited, so there'll probably be a vetting system—age, profession, all that. So even if you make it all the way there, there's no guarantee you'll actually get in. Are you willing to take that gamble?]
No one knew for sure whether staying home or making a 2,000-kilometer journey in search of a shelter was the wiser choice.
And then there was her grandmother.
Aisha's grandmother was elderly, and she had never mentioned any other family. If Aisha went to the shelter alone, she'd have to leave her behind. But if she brought her along, it wasn't certain she'd survive the journey. And even if they did arrive, the shelter might reject her on account of her age.
It was a painful dilemma.
Aisha replied: [I understand. I need to talk to my grandma about it.]
Not long after, she sent another message. It wasn't about their decision, but something else entirely.
The image she sent read:
[Pei Ran, my grandma said that if you want to get to that place on the map, there's a really convenient option. In Ye Hai City, there's an antique sightseeing train called Ye Hai No. 7. It travels northwest from the city and ends near Heijing Base, in a place called Yercha. The train is over 200 years old. They never installed a smart driving system to preserve the vintage atmosphere—so it might still be operational.]
Pei Ran: !!
An operational antique train!
She hadn't expected to hear anything like this.
Pei Ran immediately turned to W: "You can find out everything. How did you miss this Ye Hai No. 7?"
W had already seen the message on her screen. His all-knowing status was being seriously questioned, and it clearly bothered him.
"Give me a second. I'll check."
A moment later, he said, "Found it. Ye Hai No. 7 is indeed an antique train, 230 years old. It was retired long ago, then reactivated as a sightseeing ride. Originally it just ran a short circular route, but later it was developed into a nostalgic tourism line heading northwest. The final stop is quite close to Heijing Base."
He added, "Now I see why it didn't show up when I was planning routes—it's been out of service for two months. The line is scheduled for dismantling, so it didn't appear in my data."
Pei Ran: "So has it been dismantled yet?"
W: "Not yet. There's strong public opposition in Ye Hai, so the project is still on hold. In other words, the railway is still usable."
It was exhilarating news. If there was a train that went directly to Heijing, it would be much easier and faster than crawling through muddy roads.
Pei Ran made her decision immediately. "I'm going to Ye Hai."
W replied, "Let's hope no one's taken that train already. I'll send you a route map."
Just as the map arrived, Aisha's message came through too:
[Grandma's mind is made up. We're going to the shelter together.]
They were going to take the risk.
Pei Ran replied:
[Then let's meet at the departure station of Ye Hai No. 7.]
She took a screenshot and sent it off.
Then she started the car and drove on.
The snowfall was thinning, gradually stopping. As soon as it stopped, it began to melt. The snowmelt mixed with the soil in the fields, and the spinning wheels churned it into thick mud. The road became even harder to navigate.
But up ahead, there was a train.
And a shelter where people could speak.
It was like a tiny ember of hope flickering in the leaden distance, lifting Pei Ran's spirits.
She drove all afternoon. As dusk fell, the sky and fields grew darker and harder to distinguish. Eventually, the road became nearly invisible.
Ye Hai wasn't far from Bai Gang. Even crawling at a snail's pace through mud, a few more hours should've been enough to reach it.
But night was falling.
Once it got dark, finding the way would become even harder. And in times like this, having your headlights on at night was definitely not a good idea. No one knew what might be drawn to the light.
Pei Ran found a grove of trees and pulled over, deciding to wait until morning.
She peeled off the tape she'd worn over her mouth all day.
The allergic reaction had worsened.
The skin under the tape was swollen like a mass of mosquito bites, itchy and inflamed.
She pulled out her last bag of chips and tore it open.
"Pei Ran," W said gently.
He wasn't usually chatty when she wasn't wearing tape, so this had to be something important.
Sure enough, he said, "There's something urgent. You're about to receive it."
Her wristband buzzed.
Another image.
Sender: Department of National Security.
Still holding a chip, Pei Ran tapped the screen with her pinky. The virtual display popped up.
A familiar white background, black text:
[Attention all Federal citizens: This may be the last image-based warning to contain written language.]
[Please refrain from writing or using any form of text. Do not send any image that contains writing.]
[For safety, go to your wristband's accessibility settings and activate full-image mode.]
[An upgrade to the "Silence" state is expected soon. The exact timing is unknown.]
[Prepare accordingly. Stay alert. Stay cautious.]
[Wishing you continued survival.]
Pei Ran stared at the image, frozen.
She had worried about this from the very first warning—worried that even written words might not be safe.
Now it was happening.
If writing became unsafe, it meant people would no longer be able to display text on virtual screens to communicate—the main form of human interaction since the Silence began.
And now, the Silence was deepening.
W spoke. "Some of our ships once approached the Fifth Planet Rift. Everyone aboard died, but we recovered valuable visual data. As the abnormal energy surrounding the ship intensified, so did the internal Silence effect. Heijing has just observed a fresh surge in energy near the Rift, and the field will soon reach this region. That's why the Federation just sent the warning."
Pei Ran thought for a moment. "What if I prepare a bunch of written cards in advance? I could show people those cards to communicate without actually writing anything. That wouldn't technically count as writing, right?"
"Writing and using text"—the phrase was vague enough to suggest loopholes.
She kept thinking. "Or what if I don't write on paper? What if I just write in the air with my finger? Or use sign language? Would that count?"
W's voice softened into a dark whisper:
"Pei Ran—if you really want to die, by all means, go ahead and try."
Pei Ran: "…"
He always sounded the most seductive when he was being the most sarcastic. Like he had a split personality.
His tone returned to normal. "We only have limited footage. In these high-intensity Silence zones, some forms of communication appear deadly—but we lack enough data. Neither I nor Heijing nor anyone in the Federation can say with certainty what actions are fatal. The Department of National Security can only issue broad warnings—they're not making the rules. My advice: be cautious. Don't experiment."
He was right.
You only have one life. It's not worth risking just to test the boundaries.
Like the warning said: Stay cautious.
W added, "It won't be long before we understand the new Silence rules."
Once enough people have died.
That's how experience accumulates—
Piled on corpses.