Pei Ran originally thought that the speck of green light would disappear along with Shige Ye’s death, but unexpectedly, it was secretly following her.
A pleasant surprise.
Pei Ran stretched out her hand and swiftly grabbed it, just like catching a firefly, instantly trapping it in her palm.
She carefully opened her fingers just a little and caught a glimpse of the green light, which was like a drop of water, seeping into her palm and vanishing without a trace.
Pei Ran could clearly feel that it had entered her body.
W asked, “Where did it go? Into your body?”
Pei Ran: “Mm.”
Inside her body, Green Light No. 1, which could write, had originally been dormant. But as if sensing an intruder, it suddenly awakened.
It swiftly swam over, found the invading Green Light No. 2, and began circling it, like a starving wolf spotting a fresh and delicious rabbit.
The “rabbit,” having just entered, was immediately frightened, shrinking in place—weak, helpless, and utterly pitiful.
Pei Ran felt that she could interfere, but she chose not to, watching the situation unfold.
The “hungry wolf” circled once, seemingly finishing its assessment, yet it did not actually bite down—as if the rabbit was too difficult to chew and temporarily indigestible.
Green Light No. 1 tossed the rabbit aside and, disgruntled, went back to sleep.
Pei Ran continued to sense the green light inside her while her feet did not stop moving, heading straight for her antique car.
From the direction of the staircase came the sound of hurried footsteps. More people were coming down—not just one, but three. The man with the exaggerated mechanical eagle claw, along with two other henchmen.
The three of them descended to the first floor and nearly tripped over the scorpion-masked man lying at the stairway entrance. They were startled, and before they could react, they saw Pei Ran standing in the courtyard, one hand holding a metal ball, the other holding fried chicken.
All three were momentarily dazed.
This girl had been completely limp on the road earlier, without a shred of strength. Without someone supporting her, she couldn’t even stand. How had she suddenly recovered?
They had followed Shige Ye for some time and knew very well how terrifying his special abilities were. Every one of them held deep fear toward him.
Although Shige Ye’s identity was both noble and mysterious, people used to harbor some slight contempt for this eccentric, thin, wheelchair-bound young master. But now, they didn’t dare at all.
Anyone who fell into Shige Ye’s hands was at his mercy. If he wanted to play, he played. If he wanted to kill, he killed. No one could resist.
He was like a god. Whenever he set his sights on someone, he never failed.
Yet the girl before them was still lively, running around. She was personally chosen by Shige Ye—there was no way they could let her escape.
None of the three carried guns. The eagle-claw man hesitated for only a second before lunging at Pei Ran first.
His mechanical claw clicked sharply, its inch-long razor-sharp talons spreading wide, aiming for Pei Ran’s arm.
W asked, “Shall I take care of it?”
Pei Ran replied, “I’ll do it.”
The longer the night dragged on, the more unpredictable things could become. She had to end this quickly.
Pei Ran shifted the fried chicken to her left hand, freeing her right. She moved even faster than the eagle-claw man, grabbing hold of his gleaming silver mechanical arm before he could touch her.
Mechanical arm against mechanical arm.
Pei Ran yanked hard.
The modified mechanical arm of the eagle-claw man couldn’t withstand the force—she directly tore it off from his shoulder. The severed joint instantly gushed with a spray of fresh blood.
Despite the excruciating pain, he bit his tongue and endured it, suppressing his scream for the sake of survival. Clutching his shoulder, he collapsed to the ground.
Pei Ran’s attack was swift and ruthless. The other two henchmen were utterly terrified.
They had been involved in plenty of fights and killings, but they had never seen someone manually dismember a living person in just a second. Trembling, they instinctively backed away several steps, too scared to block her path.
Pei Ran had no time to waste on them—this single move was enough to intimidate.
Her objective was achieved. She paid no further attention to the remaining two and casually discarded the severed arm.
The silver eagle-claw arm rolled several times across the dusty courtyard ground before coming to a stop. Meanwhile, Pei Ran had already slipped into the red Volette Shadow she had chosen.
Just as W had said, the car’s battery was fully charged, and the key was still in the ignition.
Pei Ran flung her large backpack into the back seat, tossed the fried chicken and metal ball onto the passenger seat, turned the key, and started the engine.
Someone had probably used a wristband to call for reinforcements. The second floor erupted into chaos, footsteps thundering as all the diners rushed out of their rooms.
No time to waste.
Pei Ran slammed the accelerator and charged straight for the courtyard gate.
The gate was made of repurposed shipping container materials—one impact and it crashed onto the ground with a deafening boom. Pei Ran jerked the steering wheel sharply, the car shot out of the courtyard, made a rapid U-turn, and sped off like an arrow.
From the rearview mirror, she could see people shooting in her direction. Others had also started their vehicles and were in pursuit.
Pei Ran floored the gas pedal.
The Shadowstreak lived up to its name—its handling was agile, and its speed was blistering. It tore through the streets of the slums like a storm.
She had spent the entire morning crawling at ten kilometers per hour in a tiny forklift, moving at a snail’s pace. Now, finally, she had a real car—and she could let loose.
The sheer speed sent adrenaline surging through her veins. It was exhilarating.
W sat in the passenger seat, remaining silent for a long while before finally saying, “Pei Ran, do you mind if I explain some traffic laws…”
Pei Ran glanced at the pursuing vehicles in the mirror, then pulled off a sharp drift, the rear of the car whipping around violently as she swerved onto another road.
W had been mid-sentence. Caught off guard, he was sent flying—along with the entire metal ball and the bag of fried chicken—right under the passenger seat.
Pei Ran found a spare moment to ask, “What? Am I not driving well?”
In the Bunker World, there were no hovercars—every vehicle, just like this antique car, ran on wheels. Due to the scarcity of resources, most functional cars were patched together with various salvaged parts, heavily modified into all sorts of eccentric forms.
Before she crossed over, one of Pei Ran’s main means of survival was scavenging for supplies needed by the bunker. Every time she went out, she would be assigned a battered, cobbled-together truck. Out in the wasteland and abandoned cities, she would slam the gas pedal and drive like a maniac—that was the only way to shake off the suffocating confines of the bunker, her happiest moments.
From under the seat, W extended a folded robotic arm. First, he carefully retrieved the precious bag of fried chicken and placed it back onto the seat. Then, he grabbed onto the seatback, struggling to haul himself back up into position.
Still feeling uneasy, he took the extra step of securing both himself and the fried chicken with a seatbelt.
“No, you’re driving very well,” W said. “But according to the Federation’s traffic laws, even antique cars driving on the surface are generally required to follow lanes and stay on the right side of the road…”
In the morning, when Pei Ran was driving the small forklift, she mainly stuck to the edges and slipped through alleyways, making herself less noticeable. But now, with this new car, she drove recklessly, wildly, with absolutely no concept of staying to the side—barreling straight down the middle of the road, straddling the solid line.
Pei Ran made another sharp turn and said, “There are no cars here, no people either. The entire road is mine. Why should I stay on the right?”
W: Alright then.
An innocent citizen of the Federation fleeing for their life—disregarding traffic rules was understandable.
—
2,300 kilometers away, underground.
Black Well Base.
Twenty-five hours into the silence.
The lights in the Federation Central Tower burned through the night. Everyone was busy with their respective tasks, and the number of people remaining in the command center on the top floor had dwindled.
Song Wan was still in her seat, staring at the large virtual screen in the center.
She asked, “Agent W, has the energy infiltration from the Fifth Planet Rift increased again?”
W’s voice responded immediately, “I’ve been closely monitoring it—there hasn’t been any increase yet. However, based on the records from the ships that previously approached the rift, I strongly recommend that we stay prepared for a surge in energy infiltration and an escalation in the silent state. We must also be ready to send further warnings to the surviving civilians outside.”
He paused, then added, “Hopefully, this time the approval process will be faster.”
Song Wan nodded in silence.
Beyond the shielding layer, people had barely made it through one grueling day, surviving by sheer luck. They had no idea that even greater dangers awaited them ahead.
Someone approached, leaned down, and spoke softly to Song Wan. “General, your resting quarters have been prepared.”
As one of the highest-ranking Federation officers to arrive at Black Well early on, Song Wan had not closed her eyes for an entire night.
In reality, there was no real need for her to remain here. Agent W was already managing every aspect of Black Well Base.
From large-scale military deployments and rescue missions to personnel assignments, down to the distribution of every meal, every pill, every bottle of drinking water—everything was under his control.
Precise, efficient, orderly—flawless.
However, humanity had not given Agent W full authority. Many decisions still required prior approval from Black Well’s Temporary Decision-Making Committee.
Song Wan was well aware that these approval processes were meaningless—they only slowed down W’s operational pace.
The situation outside was constantly changing, in ways no one could predict. Every second was a matter of life and death. The lengthy approval procedures did far more harm than good.
The committee required all members to be present for discussions, deliberations, and approvals. Even if the meetings were organized at lightning speed, even if every person thought quickly, debated swiftly, and reached a consensus within minutes—by the time a decision was made, thousands, maybe tens of thousands of people outside the shielding layer could already be dead.
The Federation was complex, with various factions that needed to balance each other. They could not accept a single human ruler with absolute authority over everything. Likewise, they could not accept handing over all decision-making power to Agent W—the incredibly powerful artificial intelligence.
Even though he was entirely different from humans—objective, impartial, almost never making mistakes—it still wasn’t acceptable.
For now, things seemed stable. Song Wan stood up, intending to get some rest.
She took a few steps toward the conference hall doors, then suddenly stopped, tilting her head slightly—something felt strange.
“Qiao Sai, you haven’t gone to rest yet?”
In a corner of the conference hall, two temporary tables had been pushed together to form a makeshift workstation. A curved array of virtual screens was connected in front of them. Sitting at the desk was a young man with a head of curly brown hair.
After staying up all night, Qiao Sai’s collar was askew, his hair an absolute mess—so much so that even a turtledove would probably compliment it as a “perfect nest.”
Yawning, he stared at the screen, struggling to keep his eyelids from closing.
Hearing the voice, Qiao Sai looked up, smiled first, and greeted, “Sis.”
“Haven’t slept yet.” He leaned back in his chair and swayed slightly. “No big deal. When I was a kid, I could play video games for days without sleeping. Now I’m just watching the servers—it’s actually kind of boring and making me drowsy.” He yawned again.
Song Wan didn’t push him and just nodded.
Her voice lowered slightly. “I know you’re under a lot of pressure. At times like this, a lot of people are watching us. Agent W must not have any issues. But you also need to take care of yourself—this crisis won’t be over in a day or two. We have to be prepared for the long haul.”
Qiao Sai gave her a thumbs-up, indicating he understood.
After Song Wan left, Agent W’s cool voice came through Qiao Sai’s earpiece. “Go to sleep. If anything happens, I’ll wake you up.”
Qiao Sai raised an eyebrow. “Don’t listen to my cousin. We just arrived at Black Well—what if something happens to you in this new environment? I’d rather stay here.”
On the curved virtual screen in front of him, various data streams continued to flicker and update.
In one corner of the screen, a distinct section displayed a virtual room.
Inside the room, a small yellow lamp cast a warm glow. The lampshade tilted low, and almost all the light was concentrated on a large glass tank. Within the massive transparent tank, a golden python was gliding slowly and elegantly through the water.
Beside the tank stood a man.
He was dressed in a cozy beige knit sweater, leaning slightly forward as he fed the python a frozen mouse. His gaze was cold and analytical—not like a pet owner looking at his beloved animal, but more like a creator studying the life he had personally brought into existence.
Anyone, at just a glance, would know—no matter how lifelike this man appeared, no matter how detailed his skin pores and eyelashes were—he was nothing more than a computer-generated virtual model, not a real human.
Because no real human could look like that—flawless, without a single imperfection.
Behind Qiao Sai, someone was asking Security Agent W about the progress of locating several important military experts of the Federation. W responded methodically, answering each question with calm precision. His composed voice echoed through the conference hall.
At the same time, on the curved screen, W—inside his virtual room—was using his virtual form to study his virtual pet while chatting with Qiao Sai.
For an artificial intelligence like him, handling multiple tasks at once was effortless.
Qiao Sai stared at the screen in a daze.
The room on the screen had been entirely designed and created by W himself. His virtual avatar had also been self-designed—right down to choosing his own gender.
Back when W first completed his avatar, Qiao Sai had been deeply curious and had asked, “Why did you choose a male appearance? Do you actually feel like a man deep down?”
W had replied indifferently, “Do you really need me to remind you? I am not human. I have no concept of gender. Whether male or female, it makes no difference to me. I simply made a random selection.”
The moment W’s virtual form was finalized, Qiao Sai had been ridiculously jealous.
He had asked, “Did you steal this from some romance game’s 3D male protagonist?”
“No,” W had responded at the time. “If I was going to create something, it had to be the best. I collected an immense dataset of handsome human males from both reality and popular anime and games. I performed a comprehensive analysis, removed overly exaggerated features, and adjusted the proportions to be as realistic as possible. The final result was this perfect form. Pretty good, right?”
Qiao Sai: “Yeah, not bad. So good it’s actually annoying.”
W’s virtual pet, like everything else in his room, was also self-created.
The pet tank in his room changed from time to time. Recently, it had been replaced with a python.
The thick, golden python, thicker than an arm, lazily slithered through the tank’s water. Suddenly, it shot its head forward and swallowed a pink frozen mouse whole.
Qiao Sai stared at the snake, baffled. “Why are all your pets so weird? You’ve raised ants, snails, and now a snake. What’s next?”
“I’m planning to keep cockroaches,” W replied calmly.
Qiao Sai shuddered. “Thank God you can only keep them inside a screen. How the hell did you even come up with that idea?”
“Because cockroaches are a remarkable species,” W said. “They have existed for over 300 million years. They can survive for a month without food, hold their breath for over forty minutes, and even live for a week without their heads. They adapt to the harshest environments, and their vitality is extraordinarily tenacious. Even when there is no hope at all, they will still struggle with everything they have—to keep living.”
W lifted his flawless eyes, as if he were truly looking past the screen at Qiao Sai, and continued:
“…Just like you humans.”
Qiao Sai: “…”