Pei Ran ignored him. She deliberately kept silent, and W, perceptive enough to follow her lead, said nothing either—quiet as the cold metal ball in her hand.
She made her way through narrow alleys. Patrol orbs occasionally zipped past overhead, but none of them noticed her.
There were still pedestrians on the streets, all in a rush.
More and more people had found ways to cover their mouths. Some, like Pei Ran, had sealed their lips with duct tape. Others wore masks or used oversized binder clips to clamp their upper and lower lips shut. Whether it hurt or not didn't matter—as long as it stopped them from speaking.
Everyone looked on edge. No one made a sound. They scanned their surroundings constantly, keeping distance from each other. If someone got too close, people darted away immediately.
Isolation. Detachment. Silence.
After walking a while, a patch of light appeared ahead, stark against the dull, overcast sky.
It came from a half-human-height virtual screen, glowing with text.
Next to the screen stood a man, around fifty or sixty, dressed in a dark navy uniform—neat and pressed. The words "Federal Public Security Bureau" were printed in white across his chest.
He wasn't wearing a cap. His graying hair was thinning, and the lower half of his face was covered by a mask, revealing only a pair of watchful eyes.
A few passersby stood at a respectful distance, communicating with him via their wristband screens.
"That's a public security officer," W said quietly in her ear.
This was the first human officer Pei Ran had seen since arriving in this world.
As if reading her mind, W added, "The last group of human field officers in White Harbor retired three months ago. Daily patrol duties have since been entirely handed over to automated patrol bots."
No wonder the officer's uniform lacked any insignia.
A retired officer, stepping up again in a time of chaos—voluntarily putting on his old uniform to maintain order.
Pei Ran asked, "Why would the Federation replace people like him with those lunatic flying balls?"
W replied matter-of-factly, "During trial runs, the patrol bots performed exceptionally well. Nearly flawless. But this crisis is unprecedented—they don't yet know how to respond properly. They're doing their best to keep society functioning."
Whether they were maintaining order or making things worse, she couldn't tell.
"They're still learning," W continued, calmly. "Their self-learning capacity is advanced. Give them time, and they'll get smarter. But right now, they're like newborns thrown into a graduate-level math exam without guidance from Public Security. It's normal they're overwhelmed."
She snapped, "Newborns? What kind of newborn comes armed?"
W fell silent.
A rare human officer—maybe more reasonable than the bots.
Pei Ran hesitated, then cautiously stepped closer to read the text on the screen beside him.
The top portion was full of safety notices:
Do not speak.
Do not send messages.
If anyone makes a sound, stay away.
Avoid any device capable of emitting sound.
Then, at the end, one final line:
[All residents, please return home. Lock your doors and windows. Stay calm. Await further instruction from the Federal Government.]
A passerby typed rapidly on their wrist screen:
[Is it safer outside the city? How far has this spread?]
[Will the government evacuate us to a secure location?]
The officer replied:
[I'm sorry, we don't have that information yet. Please return home and await instructions. Don't be afraid. As long as you remain silent, you are safe—for now.]
His uniform gave weight to those words, and the crowd dispersed.
Pei Ran saw he didn't know much more than she did, and didn't move closer.
Then the officer looked up—and saw her.
A lone girl, standing at the mouth of the alley. The sky was darkening, and the street was bathed in dusk. Her mouth was sealed with duct tape. Her eyes—alert, distrustful.
The officer thought for a second, then quickly typed something on his wristband. He flipped the virtual screen around to face her and magnified the text:
[No matter how bad things are now, it will pass. Hang in there.]
Pei Ran silently read the message.
More people approached—an elderly man carrying a large bag in one hand and holding a toddler with the other.
Pei Ran nodded at the officer and turned to leave.
She'd walked only a little distance when she heard it—
A voice behind her: "Ah, be careful—"
She turned sharply.
The child must've tripped on the curb, and the old man had cried out reflexively. He froze the moment the words left his mouth, gripping the child's hand, both of them standing motionless. The child looked up at him in confusion.
The officer, closest to them, didn't hesitate. He rushed forward—
Bang.
Where people had been, there were now only three splashes of red.
The officer's wristband flew off, hitting something. The virtual screen blinked out.
The sidewalk fell into shadow beneath the towering building—like the end of an era.
Pei Ran turned and kept walking.
"How widespread is this, exactly?" she asked.
W, being her safety agent, might know.
"All of the Federation," W replied. "Land. Sea. Everywhere."
No escape.
Pei Ran was quiet for a while before asking, "So what caused this?"
W said, "We haven't figured that out yet. And it's classified. I'm sorry, Pei Ran. I can't tell you."
She had taken the right path. By the time darkness completely fell, she had safely returned to the Phantom Wing Tower.
The silent structure loomed like a dormant beast, though faint lights still flickered in some apartment windows.
People were still alive.
The lobby was dark. Pei Ran ducked into the stairwell. There were no windows inside, pitch black.
W had been quiet the whole way, but now made a small sound, "Hmm?"
"According to federal fire safety regulations," he said, "emergency stairwells must have adequate lighting. Even in power outages, backup systems should activate."
"It worked earlier today," Pei Ran replied. "Might be broken. Can you see?"
"Of course," said W. "I have night vision. I can see everything clearly, even in this darkness."
Pei Ran didn't turn on her wristband light. She climbed the stairs in silence, feeling her way.
Every step the same height. Every floor the same layout. Even in total dark, her pace quickened.
W couldn't help himself: "You're not turning the light on?"
"No need," Pei Ran said. "You can see, right? Are you afraid of the dark?"
W hesitated. "I'm an AI. I don't feel fear—but aren't humans naturally afraid of the dark?"
Pei Ran was quiet for a moment, climbing a few more steps. Then she answered.
"Not everyone. I read a book once…"
She'd been quiet for most of the trip, but now she was willing to talk. W listened.
"In the book's world, adults often had to leave to gather supplies. They'd drop kids—under five years old—at temporary shelters. One day, the cave shelter was discovered by the enemy…"
"…they cut the power. The cave went completely dark. The only lights came from the enemy's search beams. All thirty-five children inside died."
She added, "Except one. She hid in the darkest corner and never made a sound."
W asked gently, "What book was that?"
Pei Ran answered flatly, "Forgot."
Floor after floor, until she reached the 21st. She paused by the emergency door, took a breath, and eased it open.
The hallway was also dark. Pei Ran crept to her apartment door.
"You really can see in the dark?" she asked again.
Her sudden question caught W's attention. "Of course. Perfectly."
"Good. When I open the door, get ready to attack."
Before he could reply, she unwrapped the scarf from around him and began a countdown. "Three, two, one—"
She pressed her fingerprint on the lock, yanked the door open just a crack, and shoved W—still in ball form—through the gap.
She stayed outside.
W: "…"
The apartment burst into light—flashing, chaotic.
Less than a second later, two loud explosions rocked the room. Then silence.
"You can come in now," W said calmly.
Pei Ran peeked inside.
W's lights were on. The coat rack near the door was shattered. Shoes were scattered. The floor and desk by the window were covered in broken parts—metal fragments and navy-blue casing.
Clearly, remnants of patrol orbs.
Pei Ran had to admit—W was powerful, obedient, and shockingly useful.
"You knew they were inside?" W asked.
"Yeah," Pei Ran said. "When I was downstairs, I saw one of my windows had been opened. You didn't see that?"
"I didn't have the building plans," W replied, "so I didn't know which window was yours."
He added, "There were three bots. Two down. One escaped."
An odd number—unusual for pairs.
"Let me guess," Pei Ran said. "That one was your 'relative'?"
A pause. Then: "Yes. CT122."
Pei Ran gritted her teeth. "Didn't someone say that if you hit its energy core, it could only fly another hundred meters?"
W said helplessly, "I don't know how it managed it. It must've repaired itself. It was hiding by the window—soon as we opened the door, it fired and ran."
Sly bastard.
Pei Ran swept the apartment carefully with W. "They actually found where I live."
"They shouldn't have," W said. "Their internal database only covers the city center. You're not registered there. And with the network down, they can't access central Public Security records…"
He paused. "So the only explanation is that CT122 found a way to contact a patrol bot in this area, sent your facial data, and got your address."
Pei Ran stiffened. "They can communicate with each other? How? I thought noise caused them to explode. They're not using special signals, are they?"
"No. They use the same public signals as civilians. And right now, all those channels are limited."
"My guess?" W continued, "CT122 figured out the sound-explosion rule and started embedding data into images to talk with the others."
Pei Ran was shocked. "That smart?"
"They're artificial intelligence, not artificial stupidity," W said dryly.
She snorted. "If they understand speech causes detonation, they should realize I didn't kill their buddies—they blew themselves up flapping their mouths."
W replied patiently, "Think, Pei Ran. Sure, the others exploded from speaking. But CT122 saw us attack its partners. You better hope it hasn't broadcast your face to every patrol bot in the city."
Pei Ran shivered.
Very possible.
CT122 had come with backup, gotten attacked again, and probably now fully believed she was hostile.
If it shared her image with the city's patrol network…
She'd become a class L15 wanted criminal—enemy of every bot in White Harbor.
Pei Ran muttered, "Artificial dumbasses."
W: "…"