Bare branches revealed the lead-gray sky, as fine snow fell softly.
CT122 was nowhere to be seen.
Pei Ran analyzed, “Could it be that since we’re in a state of silence now, many patrol robots have been destroyed, so this CT122 couldn’t contact the corresponding patrol robots in its jurisdiction and took the initiative to follow me instead?”
W responded, “That’s possible. They are actually quite intelligent. Without guidance, they are learning to handle this abnormal new situation on their own.”
Pei Ran was its “abnormal new situation.”
W silently rotated its upper hemisphere, carefully scanning the surroundings before confirming, “It has already run off. It’s not nearby for now.”
It always slipped away so fast.
Pei Ran asked, “Are the Bureau of Public Security’s patrol robots all this cowardly?”
Shoot once and run away, too scared to face W head-on.
W said, “I speculate that after seeing many of its companions die, it has begun optimizing and improving its action strategy, prioritizing its own survival.”
If it really wanted to prioritize its own survival, it should have hurried back to Hank Street instead of clinging to her like a lingering ghost.
Pei Ran withdrew her gaze, lowered her head, and suddenly noticed that near the already battered crack on the metal sphere’s upper middle portion, there was now a rather sizable hole.
He had been shot.
Pei Ran was momentarily stunned, quickly recalling that this location looked unmistakably like his core processor.
She fell silent for a moment before immediately placing the metal sphere on the ground, prying open the crack in the outer shell to peer inside.
The blue glow of the core processor looked off—it had dimmed significantly. The area where the shot had penetrated was charred black around the edges, and the surrounding blue glow had darkened into a large patch. The rest of the glow was also flickering abnormally, no longer maintaining its usual steady brightness.
His brain had been shot through.
Pei Ran calmly asked, “It hit your core processor? Are you about to die?”
Since arriving in this new world, she had only been here for less than two days before entering silence mode. In that time, she had hardly met anyone—only exchanged a few words with Ai Xia and a delivery guy.
But she had talked with this sphere the most. Interacted with it the most.
If this sphere suddenly stopped functioning, if the blue glow of its brain went out—it would actually feel a little sad.
Pei Ran continued, “Do you want me to send your corpse to Black Well?”
It had that storage unit it treasured so much. If she sent it to Black Well, maybe she could trade it for her medicine.
“I’m not dead yet.”
W’s voice carried a hint of speechlessness.
“And I won’t be dying anytime soon either,” he added. “It did hit my core processor, and part of it is now non-functional. However, military-model robots like me have a core processor structure different from many other robots—it’s a relatively independent dual-brain system. I’m currently isolating the damaged portion and using the remaining half to process information.
“I carefully weighed the pros and cons just now—if I wanted to ensure you didn’t get shot, I had to take that hit.”
He sacrificed himself to save another, offering up half of his brain.
Pei Ran watched as the blue glow on the processor flickered for a moment. A portion of it dimmed completely, while the rest stopped flickering and finally stabilized.
He wasn’t shutting down. Pei Ran let out a breath of relief.
The sphere looked even more miserable now.
“In the future, be more aware of your surroundings,” Pei Ran pushed the metal shell back into place and casually advised, “If you have to block bullets next time, try to use other parts—minimize the damage so it’s easier to repair.”
W: “……”
W: “Not even a word of thanks? Are all humans this heartless? I thought only artificial intelligences like us lacked things like a conscience.”
It was unclear whether he was insulting her or himself.
Pei Ran said, “How am I heartless? You saved me because I must have been worth saving, right?”
He was an artificial intelligence—one designed specifically to handle federal security matters. Weighing pros and cons was his instinct.
Besides, he was still counting on her to take him to Black Well.
W was momentarily stunned by her words, pausing for a second before responding, “Fine. You’re very worth saving. Also, I have good news—I think I hit CT122 as well, somewhere between its processor and its energy core. It probably won’t be able to fly too far… though unfortunately, I have no idea where it went.”
Pei Ran was silent for a moment. “Won’t be able to fly too far. That’s what you said last time.”
Last time, he had claimed that CT122 could only fly another hundred meters. But the stubborn little sphere had proved far more resilient—managing not only to surpass that distance but still bouncing around just fine even now.
W asked, “Shall we go?”
“Wait.”
Pei Ran turned her gaze toward the corpses of the pipeline workers nearby.
That faint green light was still lingering inside Waller’s body, right next to a half-formed, strange-looking heart.
She shifted sideways into a crouch, moving two steps closer, then reached out her hand and hesitated.
If she could absorb Shige Ye’s green light, she could obtain his abilities. Then what would happen if she absorbed the green light from the pipeline workers? Would she turn into a monster like them, growing tubes from her hands or something?
W had the same thought and warned, “Pei Ran, be careful—you might go insane if you touch it.”
The faint green light inside the deranged pipeline worker remained dormant and still. But the green light inside Pei Ran’s body went berserk.
Green Light No. 1 and Green Light No. 2 both became restless—especially Green Light No. 1, the one that could write. It didn’t even pretend to sleep anymore and started spinning wildly in circles.
Hungry. So hungry.
Must eat. Must eat. Must eat.
Pei Ran could clearly feel its intense signals.
This—this was its fried chicken, crispy and delicious. It could already smell the aroma. It wanted her to get it for it.
Pei Ran hesitated no longer and reached forward.
The green light beside the heart trembled slightly, as if attracted by something. Then, following the path of her outstretched fingers, it flowed into her body.
Inside her, Green Light No. 1 lunged at it like a starving person rushing toward a food delivery. It pounced immediately and began devouring the incoming green light.
Green Light No. 2, the one that could draw pictures, was also active but seemed hesitant to compete with Green Light No. 1. It could only watch eagerly, unable to snatch anything for itself.
Green Light No. 1 devoured everything ravenously, and in the blink of an eye, the takeout was gone.
Pei Ran’s body remained unchanged—no pipes grew from her hands, and she didn’t feel like she had gone insane.
Green Light No. 1 still seemed unsatisfied, but unfortunately, there was only one portion of “takeout.” After finishing, it looked even brighter than before. Pei Ran immediately tried to command it.
This time, it truly appeared within Pei Ran’s mental vision.
It was ready to write again.
Once more, Pei Ran wrote down the thing she had been thinking about for days.
【Medicine】
After writing the character for “medicine,” Green Light did not stop at the last stroke. Instead, it lightly leaped to the right, skipping over a small gap before pausing again, as if waiting silently.
Pei Ran’s heart skipped along with its movement.
It seemed like it could keep writing.
She quickly erased the “medicine” character and rewrote a single “J”.
The “J” from JTN34.
After the “J”—
Sure enough, she could keep going. Pei Ran wrote a “T.”
Unfortunately, after finishing the “T,” the Green Light refused to move further, as if waiting for her to place a period.
It had upgraded, but only slightly. It was now willing to write two letters.
Pei Ran silently erased the letters and tried again, writing:
【Medication.】
After finishing the period, she scanned the ground with her eyes.
Last time, she had written “medicine” and received a small piece of a pillbox. This time, she wondered what would appear.
Then, she saw it.
A few steps away, amid the withered yellow grass and fallen snow, a small white paper fragment had appeared silently.
On the paper was a complete “J,” and its size was slightly larger than what she had generated last time.
While Pei Ran was busy in her mind, W only saw her crouching motionless after absorbing the Green Light.
W’s voice, in its Level 3 natural language state, carried a clear trace of concern. “Pei Ran?”
“I’m not insane,” Pei Ran replied.
She picked up the metal sphere and stood up, not bothering to retrieve the paper fragment. Without a sound, she turned and started walking back.
Taking W to Black Well for medicine was only a temporary solution. The way things looked, she would need this medication for a lifetime. One day, she would have to produce the pills herself—she wouldn’t let anyone control her fate.
Pei Ran returned to the vehicle.
Her wristband vibrated.
It was a sticker from Ai Xia—an image of a slightly dejected-looking cat, with text above it: “It’s okay. Just being able to breathe is already impressive.”
That wasn’t wrong. Anyone still breathing at this point had already mastered the art of surviving while making no sound.
Ai Xia sent another message—an image with text: 【Where are you now?】
Pei Ran didn’t reply. She stared at the virtual screen on her wristband, lost in thought.
W asked, “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking about something. Actually, I was already pondering this before I came to find the Green Light.”
W: “What is it?”
Pei Ran turned her head to look at the metal sphere on the passenger seat.
“W, after you finished singing Fields Under the Moonlight, you said something to me. You said that when we reach Black Well, you’ll sing for me with your real voice.”
She continued, “So the implied meaning behind your words is that even now, after Black Well has been in silence for so long, it’s still a place where people can speak?”
W fell silent.
After a moment, he finally responded, “That’s something you deduced on your own. I didn’t leak any classified information.”
“No, you didn’t,” Pei Ran acknowledged. “So, in Black Well, people can really talk? Everything is still normal?”
W answered bluntly, “The shielding layer of the Black Well base has already been preliminarily established and is functioning properly. Inside the base, the silence has no effect.”
He added, “Messages can even be sent out from Black Well. In fact, the Ministry of Defense can still transmit warning messages in text form. However, during a crisis like this, using civilian signals to send out large amounts of text might pose a security risk to the base or mislead the public. That’s why they’ve opted to use images instead.”
A true paradise where speaking wouldn’t lead to death.
Pei Ran nodded slightly and continued questioning.
“I want to know—”
W interrupted her. “Let me guess this time. You want to ask whether Black Well will accept civilians?”
He guessed correctly.
W answered his own question. “Currently, Black Well Base serves only the Federal military. However, the base is quite large, and plans to accept civilians are already in place. I’m certain that before long, the base will begin admitting ordinary federal citizens. Once the admission plan is finalized, a notification will be sent to all surviving citizens.”
Pei Ran was curious. “How big is Black Well? Can it take in a lot of people?”
“Black Well Base can currently accommodate a population equivalent to a medium-to-large federal city. Once the ongoing construction and the next phase of the shielding layer project are completed—especially once the shielding range is expanded—the base should be able to accommodate even more people.”