Chapter 20: Beneath the System
The infirmary lights hadn't gone out yet that morning.
A faint hum filled the room, somewhere between electricity and breath.
Nie Shi sat quietly on the edge of the cold examination table, pale-blue sync bands around his wrists pulsing softly. Their glow matched the slow rhythm of his breathing, but his hands… they trembled. Just slightly.
The screen above flickered to life.
[Scan Protocol: Emotional Anchor Feedback & Sync Residue Calibration]
[Estimated Duration: 4 minutes]
[Bound Armament: Void]
[Warning: Weapon Status – Overactive / Unregistered]
[Initiating "Mirror Retrieval Mode" to verify memory-path stability]
Mirror retrieval?
He narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.
Behind him, a circular compartment hissed open with a hiss of pressure. A floating orb emerged from its cradle—silver, luminescent, like an inverted drop of water suspended in midair. It rotated slowly, then began projecting concentric rings of data around itself. Emotional resonance scans. Neural pulse readouts. The air shimmered with pale holograms.
At the center of the chamber, Void appeared.
It wasn't summoned.
It just… materialized.
Hovering.
Its black surface undulated faintly, like something alive just beneath metal skin. Fractal-like circuits rippled over its body, dark and restless, as if it were thinking. Dreaming.
Not asleep. Not neutral.
Nie Shi's breath caught in his throat.
Then, without warning—
A sharp pressure stabbed behind his eyes.
The world tilted sideways.
His body remained in the room, but his awareness slipped—like his consciousness had been caught by a current and pulled underwater. This wasn't a system-induced dream.
This was Void.
Pulling him inward.
A burst of data-noise, jagged and bright, cracked into his mind like a whip.
You… are not him.
But you… don't fear pain like he did.
So… I did not reject you.
The voice wasn't human.
It wasn't the system.
It wasn't the girl.
It was Void.
The weapon itself.
A voice formed of memory shards and instinct—of something ancient and wounded, watching him from deep inside its fractured shell. For one awful second, Nie Shi felt his own identity blur at the edges. The line between self and armament… thinned.
Then—
A jolt slammed through his nervous system.
The connection snapped.
[Mirror Retrieval Interrupted]
[Memory Disruption Level Too High – Armament Defensive Protocol Activated]
[Subject Classification Suggested: Level-3 Resonant Type – Anomalous Sync]
The lights dimmed.
The equipment shut down.
Silence flooded the room like cold water.
Nie Shi sat still for a long moment, then slowly removed the sync bands. His palms were soaked in sweat. Every breath felt heavier than it should.
But he said nothing.
Not to the nurses.
Not to the system.
Not even to himself.
Because he already knew the answer.
Void had responded. Later that day, Zhong Lan stood alone in her office, reading the system report on a locked, local terminal.
Subject: Nie Shi – Class E3
Result: Mirror Retrieval Failed
Cause: Armament Consciousness Exceeds System Access Level
Recommendation: Observe – Do Not Attempt Extraction
She didn't blink.
Didn't move.
Just stared at the lines of glowing text as if they were a mirror she couldn't quite step through.
Then, quietly, she typed a note beneath the log:
[Supervised by me. No backups.]
She rerouted the entire report through an encrypted sub-channel, one that bypassed central memory servers.
Then she locked the file.
Dusk had fallen.
The wind rustled faintly against the tall grass behind the school. The back path was quiet, hidden from the main walkways, lit only by the soft glow of insect-like sensors embedded in the trees.
Nie Shi walked alone, his hands in his coat pockets.
He looked calm.
Composed.
As usual.
But in his mind, those three sentences played on loop.
You're not him.
But you don't fear pain.
So I did not reject you.
He had assumed, at first, that Void lashed out because it was broken.
Now he understood.
It had chosen him.
And it was waiting.
He glanced at his palm. Void wasn't visible now. But he could feel it—curled somewhere in the folds of his consciousness. Quiet. Watching.
Asking.
How far will you go?
A rustle.
Footsteps.
He turned.
Luo Jia stood beneath a tree, arms folded, expression unreadable. The low light caught the faint shimmer of her eye implant.
"You're not the type to sneak up on people," he said.
"You're not the type to get rattled," she replied.
For a moment, they stood there, shadows against the last rays of sun.
Then she said, more softly, "What did you see this time?"
Nie Shi hesitated.
"You're not the type to ask questions."
"Orders can require judgment." Her tone was flat, but not cold. "And I want to know… whether yours is still intact."
"…What's that supposed to mean?"
She stepped closer.
But her eyes weren't sharp like usual.
Weren't calculating.
Not mechanical.
Something else lingered in them.
Recognition.
"We ran the sync traces," she said. "Your emotional anchors don't match any standard module. Your pathway… doesn't follow the system's logic."
Nie Shi stayed silent.
"You and I…"
She paused.
Then let the words drop, quiet but firm.
"…We don't belong in the standard system."
Nie Shi narrowed his eyes.
"So what do you want?"
Luo Jia met his gaze.
And for the first time, her voice dropped to something that wasn't protocol.
Wasn't rehearsed.
Just her.
"I want to know," she said slowly, "if you'd like to help me figure out where this system started to break."