Chapter 997 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 997: The Return This would be a journey across two centuries of time and space, with adversaries who, like them, had already met death. They, frozen in time at this particular moment, were destined never to witness the outcome of this expedition. Perhaps no one would remember the choices they made in those fleeting final seconds of existence. Yet even so, this journey was not devoid of meaning. As Dr. Wu had said, they couldn't change what had already happened. However, they could still decide what those who would pry open the coffin lid would see and discover inside this cold, dark box. Therein lay the fate of their own future. This was the essence of purpose. In the face of certain death, they made a choice distinctly different from the crew of the Gemini— They chose to leave behind hope. As for the future that would ensue. Someone would witness it for them. ... Zhao Tianhe was a professional officer, neither gifted in oratory nor in persuasion. He initially believed it would take time to convince his comrades to accept the reality and face death, but the truth showed he had underestimated them. Upon learning that they were either dead or close to death, their reaction was unexpectedly calm, even less agitated than when they first heard of the Gemini being sunk by their own side. "So this is how it is after all." "Ha ha... I didn't expect to already be dead." "Though I didn't expect that before we fired, the Gemini had already opened fire on us." "What can I say, maybe it's just karma. Ha ha." "There’s no karma without cause... Yet I feel no guilt now, just glad we took them with us." The lower deck bar was packed with many coming for their last drink. According to Dr. Wu, no matter how much they drank, even if they drank themselves to death, when time reset everything would revert to what it was, leaving only their last memories. "I still can't accept this..." Xiao Yong stood with folded arms at the bar entrance, watching those toasting each other, shaking his head in disbelief. Beside him, a colleague slung an arm over his shoulder and patted his arm with a smile. "Chin up, mate. You don’t want to take regrets to the grave, do you?" Xiao Yong looked at him in puzzlement, further baffled by the carefree expression on his face. "I'm not regretful about my death... but why aren't we uploading our consciousness?" His colleague shrugged. "It's too late. Didn’t you hear from the Fifth Division? Those who didn't hear the explosion are dead already, like you and me." Xiao Yong still bore an expression of disbelief, attempting to argue. "Aren't there still 227 people left? That should be enough, right?" Just then, Wu Xinghuan, thoroughly drunk, staggered over from the bar. Clutching a bottle of whiskey, he rocked back and forth in the same manner as before. But unlike last time, he no longer appeared dejected and despondent. He had discovered new physics. And he had witnessed its reality firsthand. In that regard, he might even be luckier than the esteemed "Professor" himself. He had no regrets left. "Maybe so, we might not even need to do this ourselves. Didn't that kid say it? Two hundred years from now, 'celestial beings' have already made replicas of us using some technology... Even your close friend 'Luo Yi' is on this starship, hunting that kid of ours, including you, and all of you... even insignificant me." As he said this, Wu Xinghuan grinned and took a swig of the bittersweet liquor. "The question now is... do we really wish to become another group of celestial beings?" "Or rather, with what they've done already, do you have the confidence to do better? As a relic from 200 years ago." Looking at his cheeky grin, Xiao Yong paused, lowered his head in thought, and suddenly burst into laughter. "Ha ha ha ha! Fascinating!" Though the thought of future kids flying ships all over the universe, sticking all sorts of bizarre cybernetics onto themselves was hard to accept, viewing it differently wasn't a bad thing. These future children were braver, more adventurous, more confident, and proactive than they were, with the ability to stand their ground. A challenge that required three thousand people and ten departments to handle, future kids could face with just two people. Seeing it this way, it seemed they truly had no reason to linger. As before, Xiao Yong snatched the bottle from Wu Xinghuan's hand, ignoring his protests, and took a swig. This time was different; he wiped his mouth cheerfully and shoved the empty bottle back into Dr. Wu’s chest. "Come on! Let’s drink our fill!" He grinned as he slung his arm around the scholarly man’s shoulders, giving him a hearty pat. "We’re not stopping until we’re drunk!" The bar’s stockpile was plentiful. If they wished, they could drink there for a year, leaving only when they were satisfied and sober. But they didn't. That kid from the future... their child, lay on the treatment bed. While they were drinking their fill, that child might be enduring the torment of darkness and helplessness. In the infirmary. Standing beside the intensive care unit, Lin Youyou gazed unwaveringly at the young girl from 200 years into the future lying on the bed. Although she longed for conversation, it seemed the girl would not awaken. “Will we... be like her?” a young nurse whispered softly. The thought of imminent death cast a shadow of uncertainty and regret on her pretty face. Lin Youyou said nothing as the medical director next to her nodded, his expression complex. “Likely so... But fortunately, it will happen in an instant. Without hearing the blast, we might not feel any pain before it ends.” “Then I’m relieved...” The beauty-conscious young woman suddenly smiled, joking, “At least I won't see my face get ruined.” “Death, huh...” The on-call doctor sighed, pressing his forefinger to his brow, “Speaking of which, all ten divisions are busy with tasks... isn't there anything we can do?” The group exchanged glances among each other, and suddenly Lin Youyou broke the silence. “There might be something...” As everyone turned to her, Lin Youyou closed her eyes in contemplation before speaking once more. “Is there any way to extend the shelf life of hemostatic gels for 200 years?” The doctors exchanged looks until one elderly doctor tentatively raised his hand. “I’ve heard freezing is effective... but thawing requires great caution to prevent crystal sedimentation.” It was quite an obscure piece of knowledge. After all, most inventories were replaced with new stock before even half the shelf life expired. It was only because his doctoral research coincidentally involved this area that he was aware of it. Lin Youyou’s eyes lit up with a smile. “Freezing preservation, is it? Do you have more detailed thawing procedures?” The older doctor cautiously responded. “I can teach you the procedure; it shouldn’t be too hard for you, but the significance might be lost, don’t you think?” “What do you mean? As long as there’s a way, it matters. I’ll document the procedure... before I breathe my last.” As she spoke, Lin Youyou glanced at the unconscious girl lying on the treatment bed. She tenderly reached out, gently stroking the remaining strands of hair on her forehead. It must have been a beautiful face. Though that smooth skin had decayed, she could still perceive the pure soul buried under the radiative dust. “... You will live on.” “Your companion is a brave child... and his courage rivals any of ours.” “I believe he will heal you, using the method I’ll leave behind.” ... The final feast lasted three days, followed by rehearsals that continued for nearly half a month. In this non-existent time, everyone clarified their roles. Whether deceased or alive. Finally, at the moment of parting, all crew members instinctively returned to their positions. Those positions they held as they entered the hyperspace channel, as the neutron bomb detonated. Except for the Third Division’s space combat group. Before returning to their positions, they had one last task to complete. This task was to return to the scene of the accident, place the nonexistent cryochamber back into the boarding vessel, and re-seal the overturned “box.” Two soldiers, dressed in powered armor, carried a coffin-like cryochamber through the quarantine barrier. Looking at the spaceship lying in the gym, Xiao Yong grinned and said. "It’s quite strange, really..." Luo Yi asked, "Strange how?" Xiao Yong chuckled in response. "Here we are, the dead, yet we’re still executing missions with the 'living.'" "Are you referring to me as the living, or that kid from 200 years in the future?" "Both, I guess." Watching his teammate ahead, Luo Yi pondered for a moment and then gave an ambiguous answer. "This is indeed an extraordinary experience, but I believe that since it happened, there must be a reason for it." He wasn't a physicist and couldn’t provide a scientific explanation. If he had to say why, perhaps it was because they all believed. In facing despair, they each unintentionally sowed the seed called hope. This wasn’t particularly difficult to explain. The two men carried the cryochamber into the room and placed it back into the deformed boarding vessel. Then, they closed the hatch, left the room, and removed the quarantine barrier outside... as if they had never been there. After returning their equipment in the duty room, Xiao Yong took a deep breath, exchanged a military salute with Sergeant Luo Yi, and then strode out the door. The moment he returned to his room and shut the door, everything would revert to its original state. Time, which had halted, would move forward once more. Their bodies would decay amid the radioactive dust, while their souls journeyed to a battlefield 200 years in the future. It would be a battle of ghosts, at the hands of the living. Regardless of victory or defeat, they would not allow their child to face the ghosts of the old era alone. They would fight shoulder to shoulder. On the missile cruiser Orion’s bridge, Zhao Tianhe adjusted the officer's hat atop his head and then turned his gaze toward the vast starry expanse ahead. "I suddenly realize... the stars outside seem to have stopped long ago." While stars in space didn’t flicker as frequently as those seen through the atmosphere, they weren’t entirely still either, alternately showing red and blue hues. Especially when their relative positions changed. Equally focused on that brilliant starry river, Wu Mengke smiled gently. "I actually noticed earlier, and later realized, it wasn't the stars that stopped; it was us..." Zhao Tianhe chuckled, squinting as he spoke. "It seems this universe holds many mysteries we are yet to uncover..." In a vague sense, his eyes seemed to see that static star river flicker once more. And this time, it was different. It was a glorious light he had never seen before. "It seems the time has come." "Colonel." Hearing a voice from the side, he slightly turned his face, tearing his gaze from the glittering stars. He saw his long-time colleague, placing her raised right hand against the hat’s brim. Her expression was solemn and dignified like never before. "Thank you..." "Working alongside you has been my honor." Looking at the solemn expression on Wu Mengke's face and those standing with her, Zhao Tianhe wore a gratified smile, raising his hand to return the salute. "I should be the one saying it’s my honor. Serving with you has been the greatest privilege of my life." "Thank you for the many years of sincere cooperation." "We’ll meet in the cemetery." ... In the silent void of space, a brilliant yet unseen light abruptly bloomed. The moment the Orion missile cruiser left the hyperspace channel, a rampant neutron stream pierced through its once-impenetrable armor, whilst the shockwaves from the explosion swiftly spread through every cabin via the fractured steel. As Dr. Wu had said, it all transpired in an instant, too quick for any reaction. Out of 3,000 crew members, over 2,700 perished, leaving only 227 survivors. Even of those 227, none escaped severe injuries. High-energy neutron radiation obliterated the cell structures of their organs and tissues, as well as the macromolecular proteins drifting between cells. Fortunately, their bionic implants were only affected by the electromagnetic pulse, pulling them temporarily back from the brink of death. However, the crisis was far from over. The neutron blast not only decimated the crew aboard the Orion but also dealt a heavy blow to the ship itself. In the absence of rescue, they stood no chance of survival or self-rescue. Death was merely a question of time! Meanwhile, the intelligent program onboard the landing craft began its operation. Taking advantage of the chaos on the Orion, the craft’s onboard AI launched an electronic warfare offensive in accordance with its programmed directives, mercilessly vying for control of the Orion. Under normal circumstances, the Department of Ten's cybersecurity engineers and AI experts would never let it succeed. But now, the surviving engineers from the Department of Ten could be counted on one hand. Facing such a premeditated electronic assault provided virtually zero chance of success. The intelligent virus from the Gemini would undisputedly breach the Orion's firewalls, and by the time the survivors on the Orion realized this, it would already be too late. The AI program, embodying the collective will of the Gemini's crew, would seize the entire starship, using the vessel's onboard servers to "rise from the dead," continuing to execute the plan known as "The End War." The plan was perfectly seamless. Even five light years away, this bullet had already hit its mark! However, the flame of civilization was not extinguished; it flared with unprecedented brilliance. Within the power room on the lower deck, an engineer, collapsed on the ground, crawled forward with elbows scraping the floor. Blood continuously seeped from his mouth and nose, mingling with clots and flowing onto the alloy floor, leaving a shocking trail across his chest. His legs were no longer functional, only his pair of bionic arms could still move. Yet despite this, he endured the searing agony coursing through his being, crawling into the control room of the power unit. Separated by a mere wall was the fusion reactor of the starship, with the power supply right before him. Like a vengeful ghost from the abyss, covered in blood, he mustered every ounce of strength to prop himself halfway up, extending a trembling right hand to insert the blood-stained key into the lock, twisting it forcefully to open the safety latch's protective cover. The creator of the aerospace military starship operation safety manual probably never reckoned that the 27th rule, penned after much deliberation, would someday unexpectedly save everyone on Earth. According to the 27th rule, before entering a hyperspace corridor, at least two electrical engineers must be in the reactor to confirm core operation status and report to the first division at all times. And he was the one who survived, one among the 227. The trigger was in his hand. He would fire the first shot of this desperate counterattack! "My ship... you want it?" He grinned, coughing up blood, then summoning all his strength, he forcefully pressed the lever’s handle downward. With a gentle hum, the once-stable reactor extinguished, and the power room was soon bathed in overwhelming red alerts. Reactor shutdown. The starship’s power systems swiftly switched to backup circuits, entering power-saving mode. In power-saving mode, the onboard servers providing digital services were the first to shut down; soon the starship's only remaining functional communication devices would be wired radios. The crew from the Gemini would never have expected that their old friends still had a way to pull the plug. No matter how skilled the hacker, one can’t hack into a powered-off server. The engineer, having accomplished the task, breathed a sigh of relief. And with the release of that taut nerve, the consciousness he had barely managed to maintain began to blur. But it was no longer a concern. His job was done. The rest would depend on those 226 brothers left, along with their comrades from 200 years later— They had made a promise. As the antigravity system powered down, he felt his body lift from the floor, floating alongside the work tablet and office chair toward a corner of the room. Watching the key drift away from his fingertips, a defiant smile crept onto his blood-streaked face. "If you want it..." "Then... you'll have to take it from my... dead body!" Unable to finish due to a stomach ache, let's leave the rest for tomorrow. To be continued...