42: Evelyn's struggle and the "Firefly" command

Inside Morpheus Li's study, the air was so cold it felt as if it were about to congeal. Even the pale blue smoke from his expensive cigar seemed frozen, drifting slowly and heavily like some toxic specter. Thick, deep purple velvet curtains tightly sealed out all external light and sound, creating an isolated, suffocating silence. Only the Tiffany antique stained-glass desk lamp cast a cold, greenish light, leaving half of Morpheus Li's face in deep shadow and exposing the other half. In the light, his features appeared exceptionally sharp, cold, and harsh, with every wrinkle seemingly harboring ruthless calculations.

Evelyn stood with her head bowed before the massive desk carved from a single piece of ebony, her posture as upright as a well-trained soldier, hands respectfully folded in front of her. She could clearly hear the heavy, slow thumping of her heart in her chest; each beat vibrated against her eardrums with a painful intensity, sounding jarringly loud in the extreme silence. She listened to her father's voice—a voice she knew to her very marrow, devoid of ripples and even carrying a hint of lethargy, as if discussing the weather—as he issued cold, precise, and horrifyingly detailed instructions that were enough to freeze one's blood.

"...Target location: Polytechnic University West District dormitory building, third floor, second window from the east. Priority: destroy the core workstation area, focusing on the custom multi-core heterogeneous processor, all solid-state storage devices, and anything resembling handwritten notes or ancient documents." Morpheus's voice was steady and flat, like he was reading a technical manual. "The ignition point must be precise. Utilize the 'Gradient Thermal Induction' protocol. Use initial low-temperature chemical igniters for paper, plastic, and PCB substrates, followed by high-temperature thermal pulses to ensure all chip-level structures are completely melted and data layers suffer irreversible physical destruction. The fire must be strictly localized to avoid triggering a large-scale response from the building's fire safety system, but you must ensure the target's 'research results' physically vanish completely and irreversibly. The trigger method..." He paused slightly, taking a drag from his cigar. The crimson light flickered as he slowly exhaled a ring of grayish-blue smoke, savoring the slight shiver brought by the nicotine. "...Use their favorite and most undeniable excuse—'electrical aging, local overheating caused by load overload.' Our 'Firefly' team is best at making such 'accidents' look seamless. Forensic analysis will only point to a regrettable lab accident caused by a student's unauthorized use of high-power equipment, won't it?" His tone was as casual as if he were commenting on the plot of an insignificant play, rather than deciding the survival of a young man's life's work and the annihilation of a direction that could change the future.

"Yes, Father." Evelyn's voice lacked any inflection. The vibration of her vocal cords produced a tone as steady as the most precise electronic synthesis, devoid of any emotion. This was her protective coloring, a near-instinctive armor for survival developed through years of training in an extremely oppressive environment.

"Remember, Evelyn," Morpheus Li looked up, his gaze like a precision-calibrated surgical laser, landing accurately and coldly on her face as if to penetrate her skull and directly scrutinize every neuronal activity in her brain, catching the slightest hint of hesitation or rebellion. "This is not sabotage; it is not destruction. It is... guidance. It is a necessary step to help him recognize reality, to break free from those narrow, restrictive, and inefficient ivory tower shackles, and move toward a broader, freer, and more powerful stage. A little loss and temporary pain are the price for an infinitely bright future. Do you understand the profound meaning behind this?" His words were wrapped in a gorgeous but hypocritical sugar coating, yet inside were poisoned, lethal steel needles, attempting to package cruel deprivation as a gift and enlightenment—a necessary sacrifice.

"I understand." Evelyn's reply remained mechanical, like a bionic human programmed with a fixed response. She even nodded slightly, adopting a posture of total understanding and obedience, her perfect mask showing no cracks.

"Very well. Go and execute it. I want to see the results I desire before the first light of dawn illuminates this city." Morpheus Li waved his hand, an elegant gesture that carried an unquestionable finality, as if shooing away an insignificant fly. He turned his gaze back toward the window—though blocked by the heavy curtains, it was as if he could see through everything to the sleeping cityscape he intended to control and the fates within it that he manipulated like chess pieces.

Evelyn bowed and, with impeccable etiquette reminiscent of a medieval court, slowly backed out of the study, gently closing the heavy, soundproof solid wood door. The moment the door shut, there was a nearly inaudible 'click,' like a cage locking, isolating her from that cold, suffocating space.

In the dim light of the hallway, her straight, well-trained back relaxed and slumped for a fleeting moment. It was as if an invisible weight had suddenly tightened around her shoulders, making it almost impossible to breathe. She walked quickly through the empty, silent corridor covered with expensive Persian rugs. Her high heels made no sound on the soft carpet, yet every step felt like it was treading on her own heartbeat. In the absolute silence, that heartbeat was amplified infinitely, thumping against her eardrums and soul, heavy enough to make her feel dizzy.

She returned to her own room, which was equally luxurious but cold and devoid of any human touch—less a bedroom and more like a high-tech showroom where everything was meticulously placed without a single personal trace. She locked the door behind her and leaned against the cold panel, slowly sliding down to the floor as if all her strength had finally been drained. Her tight, mask-like expression finally shattered, revealing a pale face and deep-seated struggle that were hard to hide. Cold tears welled up without warning, sliding down her smooth but bloodless cheeks and dripping onto the expensive carpet, leaving dark, heartbreaking marks.

She raised a slightly trembling hand, her fingertips as cold as if they had touched ice, and opened her private tablet, which was protected by countless layers of encryption. After complex biometric and dynamic password verification, the screen lit up. Her fingertips slid across the cold glass screen, pulling up an encrypted file labeled 'Useless Data - To Be Destroyed'. This was a collection of fragments about Excellence that she had secretly gathered using her highest private clearance, acting like a thief driven by an inexplicable impulse.

A photo she had accidentally snapped on campus: Excellence stood on a tree-lined path, his profile bathed in the dappled afternoon sunlight. His brow was slightly furrowed, and his fingers were unconsciously gesturing in the air. His eyes were clean and focused, completely immersed in his own world of thought, radiating a pure and dazzling light.

A close-up shot of his modest dormitory workstation taken through a telephoto lens: it was piled with various unnamed components, tangled wires, open heavy books, and scratch paper covered in scribbled formulas. It was full of wild, disorganized, yet vibrant and amazing creativity, like a tiny universe at the dawn of creation.

There was even a very short, noisy background audio clip recorded from a distance: it was him in a corner of the library, unconsciously muttering to himself over a complex circuit diagram. His voice was full of concentration and a... pure, almost childlike persistence and passion, talking about some seemingly impossible technical fantasy... And then... there was the technical report summary she had obtained through unofficial channels... That brilliant, exquisitely structured theoretical model that hardly seemed like something a mortal could conceive... Every mathematical symbol shone with an astounding light of wisdom... She closed her eyes. Her father's cold, heartless words, wrapped in sugar-coated poison, clashed, tore, and roared in her mind against these vivid, life-filled images and sounds. On one side was a deep-seated obedience almost etched into her genes, the fear of her father's absolute authority, and the cold vision of the 'ascension path' project she had been indoctrinated with since childhood. On the other side, however, was a quietly growing... reluctance, a stinging pain, and even a faint yearning and... protective urge for that pure light, a feeling that even she found frightening.

The 'Firefly' team... she knew those people all too well. They were the most cold-blooded and efficient Scavengers in the shadows of The Foundation. To them, human emotion was redundant code, and morality was an invalid program. They specialized in meticulously packaging 'accidents' with cutting-edge technology—cold, precise, and inhuman, like machines executing a delete command, leaving behind only perfect accident scenes and total destruction. To let these people... enter that vibrant, chaotic space sparkling with sparks of thought, to destroy those creations that condensed heart's blood, wisdom, sweat, and infinite possibilities... She could almost see the cold, non-metallic specialized tools quietly touching the precision circuits, sparking tiny but lethal ghostly blue flashes. She could smell the acrid, eerie scent of burning specialty plastics, precision metal alloys, and those precious manuscripts under specific high-temperature chemicals and thermal pulses. She could imagine Excellence waking up to face a mess where all his hard work had vanished, leaving only twisted wreckage and ashes. In those eyes that always sparkled with curiosity and focus, there would appear... total brokenness, despair, and dead silence... What kind of bone-chilling cold and despair would that be?

A sharp, intense pang, like an ice pick piercing her heart, suddenly gripped her. She curled up, her fingers clutching the fabric at her chest, almost unable to breathe.

She snapped her eyes open, her light gray pupils filled with a rare, violent wavering and pain, as tears once again flowed uncontrollably. She quickly and tremblingly operated the tablet, bringing up the real-time status monitoring interface for the 'Firefly' team. On the cold, dark tactical interface, three green dots representing the team members were like life-taking specters. They had already arrived at the periphery of the designated area like ghosts, precisely lurking in the optimal entry positions. Like three dormant venomous snakes, they were waiting quietly and with absolute obedience for her, the 'operator,' to press the final activation command.

Her fingertip hovered over the crimson, slightly flashing virtual button labeled 'Authorize Execution.' That red was as piercing as fresh blood, like the entrance to hell. Beneath her fingertip, it felt not like a cold screen, but the throat of a living being, the heart of a future full of infinite possibilities. It felt as heavy as a thousand pounds, making her wrist tremble slightly.

Her breathing became rapid and difficult. Every inhalation brought cold despair, and every exhalation seemed to carry a shiver of the soul.

Time passed cruelly in the silence, every second feeling as long as a century.