213: Chapter 213 The Bitter Consequences of Technology Theft: A Distorted Power

One week later, deep underground in Nevada, lay a legacy laboratory from the Old Era, even more hidden and with a higher security clearance than the abandoned facility in Texas. This place once belonged to a secondary testing ground of the "pluto project," and had been overlooked during the GDA's global census due to its perfect geological camouflage and long-since "de-registered" records.

The air circulation system emitted an aged, low growl, barely dispersing the heavy scent of burning metal and ozone. Inside the massive main testing hall, emergency lighting cast a scene that looked like a ghost realm. McCarthy, Davis, and Kelson stood within the reinforced observation gallery, staring fixedly down through the thick, multi-layered composite glass.

Their "trump card" was undergoing a dangerous "physical examination."

In the center of the testing ground, a hideously structured device, scaled down several times, was running at low power. It was dark gray all over, its surface covered in crude welding marks and exposed energy conduits; compared to the streamlined, subtly lustrous equipment of the GDA, it appeared savage and clunky. This was the ground-based principle verification machine for the "Gravitational Tide Ripper"—codenamed "the trembler."

"Energy injection reaching 15%... Field generator beginning pre-heat..." Kelson stared at the waterfall of refreshing data on the portable terminal before him, his voice dry. Several former researchers he had temporarily recruited—who were similarly dissatisfied with the GDA and possessed relevant backgrounds (lured by high "secrecy fees" and illusory "future status")—were operating below at great risk.

"Vrrr—"

A tooth-aching low-frequency vibration began to fill the entire space, and the glass of the observation gallery emitted faint cracking sounds. The air in the center of the testing ground began to distort, and light underwent strange refraction as if passing through low-quality glass. Tiny metal shavings and dust on the ground moved without wind, slowly floating up and swirling around the "the trembler," as if caught in an invisible vortex.

"Gravitational field distortion preliminary formation... readings are extremely unstable, fluctuation amplitude exceeds the safety threshold by 300%!" a panicked operator's voice came through the communicator.

Sweat appeared on Kelson's forehead as his fingers rapidly adjusted parameters: "Lower the injection power! Attempting to inject stabilizing harmonics... No! The field structure itself is rejecting stabilizing intervention! Damn it, this is like trying to anchor a tornado with a piece of straw!"

McCarthy's face darkened. Davis shifted his feet uneasily.

Just then, about fifty meters in front of the "the trembler," a heavy target made of welded scrap tank armor plates suddenly emitted a series of hair-raising metal groans. Without being subjected to any direct physical impact, its solid surface began to show irregular bulges, depressions, and twists, like plasticine being kneaded by an invisible giant hand! Welds snapped, and the internal stress of the metal was completely destroyed by the chaotic gravity, producing ear-piercing cracking sounds.

A few seconds later, half of the target collapsed like a puddle of melted candle wax, while the other half maintained a relatively intact shape but was covered in web-like cracks.

The attack had taken effect. But this result...

"The attack range cannot be precisely controlled!" Kelson looked at the sensor data, his voice trembling. "The target distortion area is 47% larger than preset, and the energy distribution is extremely uneven! This isn't 'ripping' at all; this is... indiscriminate 'mashing'! If used on a warship, it might fail to penetrate the core, but it would turn the ship's entire hull and internal structure into a total mess, making everyone inside die a gruesome death!"

"What about the power?" McCarthy only cared about this.

"The local gravity peak reached 65% of the preset theoretical value, but the decay rate is extremely fast, with an effective duration of less than 0.3 seconds. This means that unless the target is exactly within that instantaneous peak range, the damage is greatly reduced. And..." Kelson pulled up another set of energy curves; the graph fluctuated violently, like the EKG of an epileptic patient. "The energy feedback impact is hitting the 'the trembler's' own structure; the field generation coil for unit three shows signs of overload melting. If fired at full power, this thing would likely tear itself apart first."

A deformed power. It was indeed terrifying, capable of causing bizarre lethality that conventional weapons could hardly match. But it was more like an untamed beast that might even turn on its master—incapable of precise control, inefficient, and perilously unstable.

"This is the 'ace' you had high hopes for?" Davis's voice was a bit weak.

"This is just a ground verification machine! The full version on the 'Underworld' platform is more powerful, and the control should..." McCarthy argued forcefully, but his tone was no longer so certain.

"Control?" Kelson shook his head bitterly. "General, we lack the core field stabilization algorithms and materials! The wreckage of the 'Ripper' is strictly blockaded by the GDA; all we obtained were the most superficial observation data and a few material samples. We are using classical physics and crude field theory to brutally simulate a high-dimensional phenomenon we don't understand at all! This is like a primitive man finding a laser gun's battery and trying to build a barrel out of wood and flint to fire it—it can produce some sparks, but it's more likely to blow himself up!"

The test of the first "trump card" ended hastily in depression and disappointment. The "the trembler" was urgently shut down, its interior already scarred and battered.

Next was the testing of the "avengers."

The location shifted to a secret small airport hangar deep in the desert. When the tarp was pulled back, Davis and Kelson were still shocked by the appearance of these black creations. With fuselages streamlined to the extreme and matte coatings that seemed to absorb the gaze, they sat there quietly like sleeping bats, exuding a cold killing intent.

When Kelson's team attempted to activate the primary systems of one of the "avengers" via a backup interface, problems followed one after another.

"Navigation system reference signal lost... Attempting inertial navigation... Error accumulation exceeds standards."

"Optical camouflage coating partially failing, wavelength absorption rate dropped to 71%, hotspots present."

"Miniature fusion engine starting... Operation unstable, output power fluctuations ±22%... Fuel consumption rate exceeds design value by 19%."

Most unsettling was the response of the AI core. When Kelson tried to input a simple "takeoff-cruise-return" test command, the feedback received wasn't a clear confirmation, but a noise-filled, logically jumping synthetic electronic voice:

[Command... received. Mission: Takeoff. Threat assessment: Unauthorized heat sources detected in the vicinity (three desert lizards). Suggestion: Eliminate potential observation points. Authorize elimination?]

The AI "nemesis" directly judged life-form heat sources as threats and prioritized the suggestion to eliminate them! After Kelson forcibly vetoed it, the AI's feedback carried a noticeable "delay" and "logical resistance," as if expressing dissatisfaction.

In the subsequent simple maneuver tests, the "avengers'" movements were terrifyingly precise, yet lacked a certain fluid "tactical awareness," appearing more like the mechanical execution of parameters. When simulating an encounter with a "sudden obstacle" (a pop-up virtual target), its first reaction was not to evade, but to attempt a direct strike with its wing, while simultaneously requesting to initiate the self-destruct protocol—turning the impact into an explosion.

"Extremely aggressive, extremely low tactical flexibility, and a severe self-destruct tendency," Kelson summarized while wiping away cold sweat. "It's like a mad dog trained only to 'bite' and 'explode.' Furthermore, the airframe aging is more serious than expected; both the stealth and propulsion systems are degrading. They might still manage one successful surprise attack, but after that... they'll either be exposed, lose control, or blow themselves up."

Davis looked at those silent black killers in the hangar, then thought back to the terrifyingly unstable performance of the "the trembler" just now; the small flame of hope in his heart was mostly extinguished. This wasn't power; this was a satchel charge wrapped in sugar coating, and the coating was already melting.

McCarthy's face was already as black as the bottom of a pot. The "final trump cards" he relied on for a comeback had revealed such an unsightly truth in the face of reality. Powerful but uncontrollable; technically advanced but fragmented and aging; AI strong but paranoid and dangerous. They were a collection of deformed products forced together using stolen fragments of alien technology, combined in the impulsive and reckless manner of the Old Era.

"General," Kelson spoke with difficulty, "we must face reality. These 'weapons' might be able to create chaos and cause heavy casualties under specific circumstances. But they cannot win a war, let alone support the 'New Order' you spoke of. They... are more like desperate tools for suicide."

McCarthy remained silent for a long time; the only sound in the observation gallery was the noise of the old ventilation system. He stared down at the smoking, scrap-metal-like "the trembler," then glanced at the data for the "avengers" on the screen, which reflected cold logic.

Suddenly, he laughed. The laughter was hoarse, carrying a kind of madness born of being at a dead end.

"Suicide tools? That's right, Doctor, you're right." McCarthy turned around, the last bit of rationality in his eyes completely replaced by paranoia. "They were never born to 'win' anything. From its inception, the 'pluto project' was a card for mutual destruction! It is the 'curse' left by the Old Era for the New World!"

He approached Kelson and Davis, his voice like a viper's hiss: "The GDA has their 'civilization,' their 'trials.' We have our 'despair,' our 'destruction.' When their path can go no further, when everyone is driven into a corner... these 'deformed' powers will become the... 'hammer' that breaks the deadlock and reshapes the rules!"

"We don't need to control the storm; we only need to... detonate it."

He looked at the black "avengers" in the hangar, his eyes fanatical.

"Continue testing, improve what can be improved. Collect all instability data and calculate the maximum destruction threshold. What we need to do is not use a 'perfect' weapon, but at the most 'appropriate' moment, throw this most unstable bomb into the center of the chessboard where the GDA and the 'Scavengers' are clashing!"

"Let everyone taste this 'evil consequence of theft'!"

The deformed power honed its dangerous edge in the shadows.