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墨書 Inktalez
The plastic wrapping of the lollipop shattered at my fingertips. Beyond the transparent barrier smelling of disinfectant, thirteen Missing Person Notices oozed with fluorescent green coordinates. I tightened my grip on the Brainwave Analyzer left by my father, and when the Metro Card chip sliced through my Palm, it finally decrypted the file.
"The subway simulator has been activated."
The Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier, which Li Ming always played on loop while programming, exploded in my skull. Suddenly, a pyramid-shaped code tower appeared on the computer screen, each layer collapsing in a golden ratio.
As I counted to the thirteenth code restructuring, a pop-up from Scarlet appeared: [Self-destruct sequence initiated]. The countdown 168:00:00 began to imprint itself on my Retina. The date of the seventh day flickered, marking the moment my mother died during childbirth.
The mainframe emitted a wailing sound like that of an infant, and the mist spewing from the case's ventilation holes condensed into the number of Father's Laboratory—0701.
"Convert to hexadecimal modulation."
Amidst the ringing in my ears, I suddenly heard Li Ming’s murmurs from one of his debugging sessions. My burning fingertips dragged the code into the brainwave editor, and a binary torrent washed over my optic nerve, bringing pain.
When the melody of Prelude No. 846 in G major pierced my eardrum, the display erupted into a blaze of memory phosphorescence. Thirteen-year-old me was crouched by the laboratory’s ventilation duct.
My father's lab coat was stained with blue cerebral fluid, and test tubes lined up with specimens soaked in human brains.
"The pain threshold for Experiment No. 071 has been met." He removed his mask, revealing a jawbone gleaming like metal. "Prepare for Neural Synapse extraction."
Inside the Cultivation Pod, a boy in a school uniform curled up. The Barcode on the back of his neck floated in the solution, and an open Mathematics Textbook bore the name "Li Ming" on its title page.
The glass chamber suddenly shattered, blue liquid rushing toward my hiding place in the Ventilation Duct. The rusty smell of the sewer from that stormy night filled my nostrils.
"Warning! Memory fragments overloaded!"
The beeping of the Brainwave Analyzer overlapped with the sound of my father's surgical saw from years ago.
Droplets of sweat fell onto the Keyboard, scorching the orange logo of the New York Subway. A translucent dialogue box swam in the depths of the self-destruct code, demanding the input of a thirteen-digit amplitude frequency of Brainwave. The temperature in the server room plummeted.
Black mycelium began to seep from the gaps in the Keyboard, and tiny teeth cracked open along the edges of the display. A breath, tinged with a metallic scent, sprayed against the back of my neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of myself in the surveillance footage—my Iris was crawling with binary code mycelium, unconsciously tapping out reverse Morse code.
"Seven days remaining."
The mechanical voice suddenly switched to Li Ming's tone. I grabbed the analyzer and pointed it at my Temples; as the instrument's adhesive patch tore at my hair roots, I caught a whiff of burnt nerves. The 168th frequency scan suddenly locked onto a set of mirrored waveforms—the residual band of a cherry-red hair tie that had been dissolved by Quantum Code three days ago.
As my finger pressed down on the Enter key, scratching sounds came from the Ventilation Duct. All twenty-six monitors erupted into static, as a worm virus gnawed through the Firewall along the network cables. I saw countless light blue consciousnesses swimming deep within the Code Graveyard, each wearing a tag from the Deep Eye Council around their necks.
"Change the Firewall to a Sierpiński triangle structure!"
Li Ming's voice pierced through with electrical static. My fingers tore into the Keyboard, leaving bloodstains as the reverse-compiled Quantum Key transformed into a lightsaber that cleaved through the data torrent. The worm virus emitted an infant's Crying, and debris pieced together deep coordinates for Beijing Xinqiao Suolongjing.
As I opened a tracking program window, the entire building's circuit breakers began to trip one after another. The IP address burned into an electronic map, clearly pinpointing the coordinates of the Incinerator at Father's Laboratory's old site. In the sparks erupting from the chassis, the last line of code suddenly restructured itself autonomously, forming a flashing warning: "You are the key carrier."
The hum of backup power activation sounded like a neurosurgical drill. The countdown abruptly accelerated to 71:59:59, and the display reflected a Barcode slowly emerging on my neck—identical to what I remembered from Li Ming.
The door to the server room was struck with a muffled thud by some viscous substance when suddenly, the analyzer read dual Brainwave frequencies.
"Li Ming's consciousness is still embedded in the code!"
As soon as this thought took shape, the main screen suddenly switched to real-time surveillance footage. The exhaust pipe at the top of the Incinerator was spewing blue smoke, forming the Serpent Totem of the Deep Eye Council. The outline of sunglasses emerging from the smoke froze my blood— the cracks in those golden-rimmed glasses matched perfectly with those of the pair that shattered at Father's Funeral.
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