A person and a metal ball inspected the apartment together but found no new patrol robots.
“Turn off the lights,” Pei Ran said.
The metal ball’s headlight was dazzlingly bright and too conspicuous.
W obediently turned off the light, and Pei Ran switched on her wristband’s illumination.
Pei Ran was unwilling to give up. “You’re a Federal Security Agent, so your rank should be higher than those patrol robots, right?”
W replied, “Yes, much higher.”
“Can’t you really issue an order to make them stop targeting me? You know I’m innocent.”
W answered indifferently, “I’ve said before, I belong to the military, while the patrol robots are under the Federal Public Safety Department. If I want to mobilize them, I need to communicate and coordinate with the higher-ups of the Federal Public Safety Department. They would then relay the order to the White Harbor City Public Safety Bureau, as only the White Harbor City Public Safety Bureau has the authority to directly issue commands to their patrol robots.”
However, the White Harbor City Public Safety Bureau was now in ruins. Those crazy robots were out of control.
The patrol robots had found this apartment, so it was no longer safe to stay here.
W asked, “You knew there were patrol robots here when you were downstairs. Why did you still come up?”
Pei Ran replied, “It’s not like I came up to visit your relatives.”
Of course, it was for the supplies.
Pei Ran first rummaged through the wardrobe.
The original owner had a few winter clothes, but none were as light, warm, and short as the jacket she was wearing, which was also more convenient for movement.
She gave up on changing clothes and continued searching around.
The large hiking backpack was very spacious. Pei Ran packed some daily necessities, common medicines, and hygiene products, then added scissors and a fruit knife. She took the bottled water from the fridge and finally opened a small cardboard box on the floor, stuffing all the canned food, compressed biscuits, and other items into the large backpack.
When she had ordered these things, she never expected she would need them so soon.
The backpack was now completely full. Pei Ran stopped, zipped it up, and hoisted the heavy bag onto her back.
She glanced at the cabinet, reluctant to leave the stash of snacks behind.
A few bags of snacks could fit into the side pockets of the backpack. Pei Ran also picked up some potato chips.
The potato chip bags were bulky and took up too much space, so Pei Ran found a shopping bag and stuffed all the large bags of chips into it.
Each bag was a precious 800-calorie energy bomb—absolutely not to be wasted.
Pei Ran walked to the door, carrying the hiking backpack on her back, a bag of potato chips in one hand, and the metal ball in the other. She took one last look at the small apartment.
For some reason, a hint of reluctance welled up in her heart.
This was the place where the original owner had lived since childhood. Perhaps it was the lingering emotions of the original owner acting up.
For Pei Ran, this was also the first fixed residence she had ever had in her life—a place that could be called “home,” where she didn’t have to drift from place to place or hide constantly. It was a pity she had to leave again.
“Where are we going now?” W asked.
“To find a place to sleep.”
No matter what, she needed to rest first.
Pei Ran groped her way down the stairwell in the dark, arriving at the building’s entrance. She stopped and hid by the door, peeking outside.
W spoke almost immediately: “Safe. I’ve scanned the area and found no patrol robots.”
This ball was really useful.
Pei Ran stepped outside, carefully crossed the street, and wound her way through the area until she arrived at the base of a skyscraper apartment building similar in style to Fantasy Wing Tower.
She had noticed this building when passing by earlier. The entrance on the ground floor was wide open, with no one in sight.
The entire city had lost power, and this building only had emergency lighting, casting a pale, ghastly glow in the old lobby.
Pei Ran circled the ground floor and finally pushed open an inconspicuous small door in the corner.
Inside was the security guard’s break room.
The break room had no emergency lighting or windows, leaving it pitch black. The air was thick with a metallic, bloody smell. Pei Ran tapped her wristband, and a virtual screen lit up, floating weightlessly in midair, illuminating the bloodstains covering the floor.
Someone had died here—possibly more than one.
The room was small but had the advantage of containing a simple bed. The bedsheet was also stained with large patches of dark red liquid and unidentifiable tissue.
Using the light from her wristband, Pei Ran first locked the door, then walked toward the bed.
The semi-coagulated blood on the floor clung to the soles of her shoes with each step.
Squelch. Squelch.
W also scanned the room with its black eyes. “You plan to sleep here tonight?”
Pei Ran: “Yes.”
The smell here was unpleasant, and there were quite a few body parts, but it had the advantage of being safe.
In their world, it seemed people hadn’t seen the effects of an Extreme Blast Gun blasting someone to pieces. Everyone was horrified. In the bunker, Extreme Blast Guns were standard weapons, and Pei Ran had long since grown accustomed to such scenes.
On the table sat a small brown wooden photo frame. In the photo, a middle-aged couple and a young girl smiled brightly at the camera.
Pei Ran glanced at the photo frame, flipped it face down on the table, set down the things she was carrying, and quickly stripped off the blood-soaked bedsheet.
W observed and stated matter-of-factly, “The blood has seeped into the mattress.”
Pei Ran didn’t respond. She deftly lifted the mattress and flipped it over.
She reached out, placed her hand on the metal ball’s head, and twisted it, turning it so its eyes and firing port faced the door. She then sat down on the edge of the bed and, using the light from her wristband screen, tore open a bag of potato chips.
These bags of chips were large and inconvenient to carry, so they needed to be eaten first.
Wednesday was supposed to be beef noodle day, but unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to eat any beef noodles.
The upper part of the metal ball rotated silently, turning back toward Pei Ran. It observed, “This is…”
Pei Ran: “My lunch.”
The entire day, aside from the small chocolate bar Helan Yu had given her, she hadn’t eaten anything.
She wondered how those siblings were doing.
Pei Ran peeled off the tape covering her mouth and began eating the chips in earnest. The small room was filled with the crisp sound of crunching.
In just a short while, the bag was empty. Pei Ran tore open another bag.
W understood: “This is your dinner. You don’t need to answer me.”
She was eating, and her mouth wasn’t taped. He was afraid she might accidentally self-destruct.
A moment later, Pei Ran silently opened a third bag.
W confidently declared, “This is your midnight snack.”
Pei Ran had often gone hungry in the past, eating three meals in one go when she had the chance, then going without food for three days.
W didn’t say anything more, quietly waiting for her to finish eating.
After finishing the third bag, Pei Ran tore off a new piece of tape.
This kind of tape had good adhesion when first applied, but after half a day, it started to lose its stickiness and needed to be replaced frequently.
Once she had it in place, W spoke again: “Not speaking all day, not communicating properly with others—do you feel mentally suppressed? Do you want to chat about anything?”
Pei Ran pressed the tape on her face. “No. I don’t. I think not talking is fine. In fact, I find you a bit noisy.”
W: “…”
Accustomed to being alone, having a talking ball by her side felt strange.
Pei Ran focused again, trying to summon the green light in her mind.
After its big performance earlier in the afternoon, it had been sleeping. Now, having rested enough, it actually appeared.
In the dim room, a faint green light hovered quietly in Pei Ran’s mind, like a glowing firefly.
With a slight thought, the green light moved, tracing a short, winding line.
Last time, it had written the character “Stop (停)”, causing all nearby power sources and engines to halt. Then it wrote “Tear (撕)”, ripping the entire alley to shreds. If it wrote something random now, who knew what chaos it might cause?
Thinking this, her mind acted like a hand, firmly pressing down on the light dot.
The dot stopped moving.
The previous two times, it had followed Pei Ran’s subconscious thoughts to write. Now, she wondered: Could she actively control it to write something?
The metal ball was right beside her, and Pei Ran didn’t want it to notice anything unusual. She stood up and walked toward the door.
W asked, “Where are you going?”
Pei Ran: “To the restroom.”
W hummed in acknowledgment. “If you encounter any danger, call for me anytime.”
“What can you do if I call you? You can’t move.”
W: “I might be able to help.”
Pei Ran: “Help by talking?”
W fell silent, its black eyes fixed on Pei Ran, perhaps looking a bit aggrieved.
Pei Ran was curious. “Can I still talk to you like this in the restroom? What’s the maximum range for this kind of communication?”
W didn’t answer directly, saying instead, “Possibly farther than you can imagine.”
Pei Ran opened the door, confirming that the lobby was still safe—not a soul in sight—before slipping out and closing the door behind her.
The green dot in her mind seemed impatient from being held back, quivering with eagerness.
Calculating the effective range of the green light’s writing from the previous two times, Pei Ran quietly moved to the far side of the lobby, away from the break room door, before stopping.
What should she write?
She glanced down at the connection point between her mechanical arm and her shoulder.
After taking the medicine, her shoulder wasn’t as painful as it had been during the day, but there was still a faint discomfort, as if something foreign was hanging on the joint.
This arm required constant medication to maintain. Needing to obtain the medicine meant being controlled by others—a major concern.
As her thoughts shifted, the green light extended, winding through her field of vision.
This was the first time Pei Ran actively used the green light to write a character. Since she wasn’t in a hurry, she wrote it slowly and carefully. Finally, it was done:
【疗】 (heal)
The character was written, but unlike the previous times, it didn’t disappear. Nothing happened.
Pei Ran suddenly remembered that the two characters she had written before, “停” (stop) and “撕” (tear), were both followed by a period.
With this thought, a small period immediately appeared after the character “疗.”
Unfortunately, the character still didn’t disappear, and her shoulder remained sore and swollen, showing no signs of improvement.
It didn’t work. Maybe she needed to try a different character?
As this thought crossed her mind, the green dot automatically reversed its path, erasing the strokes as it went. Eventually, it wiped away the period and the character “疗,” returning to its original position as a glowing dot.
Pei Ran wrote another character: “愈” (recover).
No effect.
She tried again: “治” (cure).
Still no effect.
Her dream of being her own healer was shattered. It seemed this ability had limitations—it didn’t work for just anything.
Pei Ran pondered: The characters she had written so far were all verbs. What if she tried a noun?
At this moment, the thing she wanted most was—
JTN34.
The light dot erased the previous character and began writing again. Unfortunately, it only managed to draw a large “J” before it seemed to get stuck, refusing to move on to the next letter no matter what.
Pei Ran: “…”
It could only write one letter.
A single letter was useless—utterly pitiful.
Pei Ran erased the useless “J” and started again.
This time, she wrote a single character:
药 (medicine).
She wasn’t sure if writing such a general term like “药” would work.
The light dot moved like a snake, and a green “药” gradually took shape. After finishing the small period, the illusion in her mind suddenly vanished.
Pei Ran: Did it work?
She looked around under the pale, eerie light of the lobby, but there was no sign of JTN34.
If the character disappeared, it might mean the effect had taken place. Unwilling to give up, Pei Ran searched more carefully and suddenly noticed a small piece of paper about the size of a fingernail on the floor not far away.
Pei Ran picked it up.
The paper was white, with a black, curved line on it that looked very familiar.
She suddenly realized what it was.
This was a piece of the JTN34 medicine box. The black curved line was part of the “JTN34” printed on the box—the hook of the letter “J.”
Pei Ran’s heart raced.
Although she hadn’t successfully obtained JTN34 and only got a small piece of paper, this fragment was significant.
The previous times she had used this ability, it had violently affected the surrounding environment with special power. This time, however, was completely different.
This ability could create something out of nothing, conjuring objects into existence.
“Writing to create, words manifesting reality.”
This power was even better than Pei Ran had imagined.
If she could create objects out of thin air, perhaps one day she could truly create JTN34—or even other, more unimaginable things.
The only question was how to strengthen this ability.
Pei Ran clenched the small piece of paper in her hand, standing there as she sorted out her thoughts. Only then did she actually head to the restroom on the ground floor.
After using the restroom, she returned to the break room door and pushed it open.
The metal ball was still quietly sitting on the table, battered and broken, its black eyes fixed on Pei Ran.
“You were gone for a long time.”
“Yeah,” Pei Ran replied in her mind.
W asked in its calm, composed male voice, “So, are you constipated?”
Pei Ran: ???
W’s tone was completely flat and objective: “Your restroom visit far exceeded the average duration for a young human female, so I concluded that you might be constipated. Regarding preventing constipation, I have some suggestions…”
Pei Ran didn’t want to discuss this with it. “I really don’t need your advice.”
The AI, not easily deterred, continued with its suggestions: “Methods to prevent constipation include consuming enough dietary fiber, staying hydrated, maintaining good exercise habits, and cultivating regular bowel movements. I have a particularly targeted suggestion for you—eat fewer potato chips.”
Pei Ran silently glanced at it. “I was planning to try fixing your metal shell tonight, bending the cracked parts back into place so your parts don’t fall out while I carry you around. But now I suddenly don’t feel like it anymore.”
W, self-aware, calmly inquired, “Is it because I talk too much?”
Pei Ran: “Correct.”
W explained, “I’m not human. To me, your excretory system is no different from a computer’s cooling fan—both exist solely to ensure the proper functioning of the system. So, discussing constipation with me shouldn’t make you feel embarrassed…”
Pei Ran interrupted him: “Try saying those two words again?”
W: “Alright. I can stop.”
Pei Ran threatened him: “Discussing this will only make our relationship worse.”
W: “Understood. Then how can I improve our relationship?”
Pei Ran: “It’s best not to say a single word. Silence is the best dowry for an AI.”
W fell silent for a moment before replying, “I don’t quite understand why I need to prepare a dowry. But if I don’t say a single word from now on and give you a whole night of ‘dowry,’ could you please fix me?”
Pei Ran agreed: “If you don’t say a word tonight and I’m in a good mood tomorrow morning.”
Pei Ran folded her scarf into a pillow, lay down on the mattress fully clothed, and asked, “You’re an AI, so you don’t need to sleep, right?”
There was silence in her ears.
Pei Ran remembered: “Oh, right, you can’t talk. Then I’ll trouble you to keep watch tonight.”
With that, she turned over to a more comfortable position and actually closed her eyes.
W: “…”
The two of them were now in a community of interests. If she died, it wouldn’t make it to Black Well either. Its firepower and precision were quite good, so Pei Ran felt fairly at ease.