259: Chapter 259 The "Slaying Immortals" Plan: A Tailor-Made Virus
"Zhu Xian."
This name, in the days that followed, became the most frequently occurring word in the entire Ark City Research Center.
Lin Mo locked himself in the laboratory.
Not that ordinary research room that could be entered or exited at any time, but the "restricted area" within the "restricted area" at the very depth—completely physically isolated from the outside world and only accessible with the highest authority.
Inside, there was only him, as well as the deep access terminals for "system" and "Nuwa."
Outside, Su Xiaowan stood guard at the door, never leaving his side.
Elder Chen came three times a day to inquire about the progress.
After his rehabilitation sessions ended, Long Zhantian would also have someone wheel him to the end of the corridor to take a distant look.
Everyone knew that behind that closed door, the last hope of human civilization was being nurtured.
Day one.
Lin Mo pulled up all the information regarding that "logical wound" from the core data of the Correction Protocol.
That wound was extremely tiny. So small that in routine analysis, it could be completely ignored.
But it existed.
It was like a hair-thin crack on a perfect, impregnable logical fortress.
And what Lin Mo had to do was create a virus—one that could precisely bore into that crack and dismantle the entire fortress from the inside.
"system, establish a 3D dynamic model of the wound."
[Model established.]
On the holographic projection, the wound was magnified a million times.
It wasn't a simple "gap," but an extremely complex, labyrinthine area interwoven with countless layers of logical structures.
Each layer had a different encryption method, a different defense mechanism, and a different self-healing speed.
The central consciousness of the Scavenger was constantly trying to repair this wound. It was only because it was too ancient and too complex that the repair speed was far behind its own slow deterioration.
But Lin Mo didn't have time to wait for it to deteriorate.
He had to take the initiative.
He began to analyze those logical structures layer by layer.
By the end of the first day, he had only completed three percent.
His new body was still in its adaptation period. Long periods of high-intensity mental labor left him with a splitting headache and bloodshot eyes.
When Su Xiaowan brought him food and saw his pale face, she was so heartbroken she couldn't speak.
"Take a break," she said softly.
Lin Mo shook his head, his eyes never leaving the holographic projection.
"There's no time."
Su Xiaowan didn't try to persuade him further.
She simply placed the food on the table and quietly withdrew.
He couldn't be persuaded.
Day seven.
Lin Mo finally completed the analysis of all the logical structures of the wound.
For seven full days and nights, he had barely closed his eyes.
His body—the backup body urgently cultivated through biotechnology—thinned at a visible rate over these seven days. His cheekbones protruded sharply, his eyes were deep-set, and his lips were cracked and bleeding.
But his eyes grew brighter and brighter.
Because he had found a pattern within that complex, labyrinthine logical structure.
An extremely weak, almost undetectable resonance frequency.
Although the wound was wrapped in countless layers of defense, its core was an extremely ancient "last testament" from the primordial civilization that had resisted the Correction Protocol.
That last testament wasn't code or an algorithm, but a piece of pure emotion—hatred.
A bone-deep hatred for the Correction Protocol that had spanned countless eons.
It was precisely that hatred that prevented the wound from being completely repaired.
Because the pure logic of the Correction Protocol could not understand emotion or dissolve hatred; it could only repeatedly cover and suppress it with new logical layers.
But those logical layers, in the process of covering, would produce an extremely weak resonance with that hatred.
The frequency of that resonance was the "key" Lin Mo was looking for.
"system, record the resonance frequency. Accurate to twelve decimal places."
[Recorded. Frequency: 0.0000000000017 Hz.]
Lin Mo stared at the number, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.
0.0000000000017 Hz.
This was one of the weakest fluctuations in the universe.
But using it as the "heartbeat" of the "Zhu Xian" virus was enough to allow the virus to slip into the deepest part of the wound without being detected by any defense mechanisms.
He began to design the architecture of the virus.
Day fifteen.
The first-generation model of the "Zhu Xian" virus was born.
It wasn't a computer virus in the traditional sense, but a living piece of self-evolving logical life.
Its core consisted of three parts:
Part one: the "Infiltrator." Designed based on that resonance frequency, it could move silently through the Correction Protocol's wound without being detected by any defense mechanisms.
Part two: the "Detonator." Once the infiltration was successful, it would detonate in the deepest part of the wound, releasing a massive amount of "error commands" specifically targeting the logical flaws of the Correction Protocol, causing large-scale chaos in the judgment of the central consciousness's avatar.
Part three: the "Amplifier." It would utilize the Scavenger fleet's own quantum entanglement network to propagate that chaos at the speed of light to every Scavenger unit, paralyzing the entire fleet simultaneously.
Lin Mo submitted the model to the system for simulation testing.
[Simulating... Simulation complete.]
[Success rate: 23.7%.]
Too low.
Lin Mo frowned, staring at the line of numbers.
23.7% meant that in actual combat, fewer than one in four attacks would succeed.
And they only had one chance.
Once the "Zhu Xian" virus was detected by the Correction Protocol, it would activate emergency defense mechanisms and permanently seal that wound.
At that point, humanity would have no chance of winning.
"No," Lin Mo shook his head. "Start over."
He closed the model and started again.
Day twenty-two.
Lin Mo scrapped the entire architecture of the first-generation model and redesigned it from scratch.
This time, he no longer tried to "infiltrate" the wound.
Because any "infiltration" carried the risk of being discovered.
He was going to use a brand new method—"integration."
He would make the "Zhu Xian" virus disguise itself as a natural part of the wound, making the Correction Protocol believe it was a natural extension of that ancient civilization's "last testament" rather than an external intrusion.
This required the virus to have the ability of "self-disguise."
It had to be able to adjust its own logical structure in real-time according to changes in the wound environment, allowing it to always "merge into one" with the wound.
Lin Mo spent five full days designing a brand new "Dynamic Camouflage Algorithm" based on fuzzy logic.
That algorithm could complete a scan and analysis of the surrounding environment, as well as its own morphological adjustment, within one microsecond.
It was at least an era more advanced than any known camouflage technology.
[Simulating... Simulation complete.]
[Success rate: 67.4%.]
Still not enough.
67.4% meant there was nearly a one-third chance of failure.
Lin Mo gritted his teeth.
"Start over."
Day twenty-nine.
A small portion of Lin Mo's hair had turned white.
It was the result of long-term high-intensity mental labor and psychological pressure.
Every time Su Xiaowan saw him, her heart bled.
But she couldn't stop him.
Because what he was doing was the only thing that could save this civilization.
In the dead of night on the twenty-ninth day, Lin Mo finally completed the final architecture of the "Zhu Xian" virus.
This time, on top of the "Dynamic Camouflage Algorithm," he added a "Self-Evolution Module."
The virus would no longer need to wait for central commands to adjust itself.
It would automatically learn, evolve, and optimize its own camouflage strategy after every contact with the Correction Protocol's defense mechanisms.
It would grow stronger with every battle.
It would grow smarter with every use.
It would complete its own iteration before the Correction Protocol even had time to react.
[Simulating...]
This time, the system's simulation lasted for three full hours.
Lin Mo sat in his wheelchair, staring motionless at the screen.
His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest of the wheelchair.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Every second felt like a century.
Finally—
[Simulation complete.]
[Success rate: 98.6%.]
Lin Mo's body jolted.
98.6%.
Enough.
It was enough.
He slowly leaned back against the wheelchair's backrest and closed his eyes.
A faint, relieved smile appeared on that pale, thin, and weary face.
"It's done," he whispered, his voice raspy. "'Zhu Xian' is done."
Outside the door, Su Xiaowan heard that whisper.
Her tears suddenly gushed out.
She covered her mouth to keep herself from crying out loud.
Twenty-eight days.
He had spent twenty-eight full days locked in that tiny laboratory, without eating, drinking, or sleeping.
He had finally succeeded.
She gently pushed open the door and walked in.
Lin Mo sat in the wheelchair, his head tilted slightly to one side, already asleep.
In his hand, he still tightly clutched the miniature data device containing the final model of the "Zhu Xian" virus.
Su Xiaowan knelt down and gently took his hand.
That hand was as cold as ice.
But she didn't let go.
She just held his hand, accompanying him, waiting quietly in that silent laboratory.