112: Crisis resolved again

Chen Wang locked the shielding box into a compartment in the Engineering Bay, pressing six digits on the keypad. Lin Wei stood at the console, dismantling the last robot motherboard. Her toolbox was open, and the soldering iron tip was still hot.

“The signal is cut,” she said. “This code is strange. It was compressed three times and hidden inside a normal program.”

Su Ling leaned against the door, muzzle pointed down, her eyes fixed on Amy Chen. Amy sat on a folding chair in the corner, clutching a silver chip tightly in her hand.

“Why is the object you brought engraved with my father’s death anniversary?” Chen Wang asked.

Amy looked up: “I didn’t know that was your father’s date. But I recognize this code—0427 is the termination code for an early Empire experimental project. All failed projects are marked with this and then archived.”

The room was silent for a few seconds.

Lin Wei suddenly spoke: “The kindling system found a residual protocol. The authorization level is Stasis Zone Level Three, marked by a triangle with a dot. This isn’t a normal intrusion; it’s specifically designed to activate something.”

Chen Wang walked to the main console and pulled up the data stream map for the storage block. A string of numbers scrolled across the screen, finally stopping at a time point: three years ago, December twenty-third, 17:48.

“This is ten hours before the Cryo-Moment,” he said. “They received the activation command at this time.”

Su Wan emerged from the medical pod, holding an old photograph. She walked slowly, as if afraid of disturbing someone.

“I found this in the lining of the last robot,” she said, placing the photo on the table.

The photo showed five people in research uniforms standing in front of an ice cave. The back read: “Seventh Stasis Zone Experiment.” Below that: 72 hours before The Finality.

Su Wan pointed to the back of one of the figures: “This person... is my mentor. He disappeared three years ago. The last time he spoke, he said he was going to participate in a top-secret project.”

Lin Wei took the photo and put it into the scanner. A holographic projection lit up, zooming in on the equipment section. She pulled up comparative data: “The model of this equipment is the same as the Low-Temperature Neural Maintenance Project I was involved in. But we only worked on the theory back then; no one dared to conduct human trials.”

Amy spoke: “They did it. More than once. I saw the dispatch log—there were nine rounds of bearing experiments for ‘Absolute Zero Particle.’ The first three rounds used animals, rounds four through six used prisoners, and rounds seven through nine... used voluntarily registered scientists.”

“Why?” Su Wan asked softly.

“Because they wanted to find people who could survive the black tide,” Amy said. “Not just withstand the cold, but adapt to that energy field. They believed that if someone could endure the particle impact, they could control the black tide.”

Chen Wang stared at the map module. The red dot from the kindling system was still flashing, slower, but heavier.

“So the black tide isn’t a natural disaster,” he said. “It was an experiment gone wrong.”

No one spoke.

Lin Wei suddenly slammed her hand on the table: “If this is true, then Dr. Tang knew. His expression changed when he spoke about the bx-7 project. He also showed us the Railgun Area, but that place isn’t an armory at all—it’s part of a Particle Accelerator.”

Su Ling left the doorway and walked to the table: “What do we do now? Do we trust her?”

She looked at Amy.

“You don’t have to trust me,” Amy said, placing the chip on the table. “But I can hand over all the keys, including the backdoors I left in other systems. You can use the kindling system to check every item.”

Chen Wang looked at her: “Why are you helping us?”

“I escaped too,” she said. “I was originally in charge of data analysis and found that three people didn’t die after the seventh experiment. But they didn’t appear on subsequent lists either. When I checked the archives, I was labeled an ‘Information Pollutant Source’ and put on a wanted list that same day. I brought these robot remnants because I wanted to find the reverse control program they left behind.”

Lin Wei said: “Wait. You said three people didn’t die? But after the Cryo-Moment, global communication was cut. How did they survive?”

“I don’t know,” Amy shook her head. “But I know where they are—Sector D, third basement level. There’s a Life Support Chamber with an independent power supply. The monitoring system skips every twelve hours, faking an equipment malfunction.”

Chen Wang turned and headed toward the driver’s seat. The mechanical arm automatically lifted, awaiting instruction.

“We need to investigate two things,” he said. “First, what exactly the experiment in the photo did; and second, whether there are truly people alive in that life support chamber.”

Su Ling asked: “What about her? Are we just going to let her stay on the vehicle?”

“No,” Chen Wang said. “She must hand over all authorization and submit to system monitoring. All operations must be recorded. Important decisions require the signature of three people or more before execution.”

Amy nodded: “I agree.”

“And,” Chen Wang looked at her, “you need to delete the hidden backup on your terminal. Now.”

Amy took out her tablet and entered a string of commands. The screen flashed a few times, displaying [Local Cache Cleared].

Lin Wei connected to the kindling system to verify: “Data is consistent. No trace of external transfer.”

Su Wan picked up the photo and placed it in a sealed bag: “I suggest we establish an archive. We should categorize everything related to the Stasis Zone: codes, dates, personnel, and equipment. Maybe we can find a clue.”

“I’ll write the header,” Lin Wei said. “We can just use the Engineering Log format.”

Su Ling offered no further objection. She stepped outside the vehicle to check the shield interface. When she returned, she casually hung her gun on the rack instead of holding it.

Amy pulled a silver-gray Data Spike from her pocket: “This is my last piece of information. It’s the rotation schedule for three abandoned Monitoring Stations on the Empire's border. If you’re looking for an entry point, this is the closest route.”

Chen Wang took the Data Spike and plugged it into the kindling interface.

The map unfolded, showing three red dots at 60 degrees North latitude. One of them was close to the aurora belt, where signal interference was strongest, but it was also the hardest to detect.

“We’ll start there,” he said.

Lin Wei began downloading terrain data. Su Wan organized the medical kit, preparing for immediate support. Su Ling stood by the window, looking in the direction of Sector D.

Amy sat in the co-pilot seat, hands resting on her knees, as if waiting for a command.

Chen Wang looked at the newly loaded map, his finger tracing the most remote red dot. The wind and snow hitting the vehicle grew louder, sounding like a push.

He didn’t move. The hope remained stationary, its engine unstarted.

The light from the kindling system shone on everyone's faces. Lin Wei’s screen showed the first line of parsing code, the edge of Su Wan’s sealed bag curled slightly, and Amy's breathing slowly steadied.

Su Ling turned around and said: “For the next operation, I want to know the entire plan.”

Chen Wang nodded.

The Data Spike remained plugged into the interface, its metallic surface reflecting a thin beam of light.