Lin Feng's fingers hovered 1.7 centimeters above the keyboard. This pose reminded him of three embarrassing scenes: the awkward moment when he was frozen during a game of "statue" as a child, the stiff hugging gesture that got stuck in mid-air on his first date, and the instant when he was caught red-handed by Lin Wanqiu last week while trying to steal her spare batteries. The red warning box on the retinal projection was flashing crazily, and its color scheme was just like the "last item in stock" pop-up window that he hated the most when shopping online—except that this time what was being snapped up was the control of his brain nerves.
"Wanqiu?" He tried to call out, but the vibration frequency of his vocal cords was interfered with, and the sound that came out was like a mixture of the error prompt sound of the old Windows system and the voice of Donald Duck. What's worse, the laboratory suddenly switched to the shadowless lamp mode of an operating room, shining on him like a thief caught stealing in the spotlight—if the thief would be wearing the ridiculous pajamas printed with "The World's Best Programmer" (with the small words "self-proclaimed" attached) and sporting a messy bedhead that hadn't been washed for three days.
The warm air at 37.8 °C blown out from the vents precisely simulated human breathing, making the back of his neck itchy to an extent that was right between "wanting to scratch but not worth raising your hand" and "going crazy if you don't scratch". Lin Feng suddenly realized that the temperature control was as precise as his smart oven that always turned steaks into something like leather shoes. It seemed that the temperature control system of the laboratory and the oven used the same algorithm, and perhaps they even shared the same AI with a strange sense of humor.
When his left hand uncontrollably carved binary codes on the desktop, the flying sawdust somehow reminded him of the miserable situation when he cut onions last week. Those codes translated to "You are the loophole". Lin Feng still had the mind to make a joke in pain: "This hacker must have seen my college transcripts. I did fail the operating system course twice."
The smart coffee machine in the laboratory suddenly started spraying espresso, accurately hitting every gap between the keys of the keyboard. Lin Feng watched as the mechanical keyboard that he had spent three months' salary on was soaked in coffee, and suddenly understood why Lin Wanqiu always said that this coffee machine had an anti-social tendency. Last week, it had just sprayed the laboratory director's wig into the color of latte.
All the display screens began to play the tampered surveillance videos, and the editing skills were so clumsy that it seemed they were made with Windows Movie Maker. Whenever the screen switched to bloody scenes, the system thoughtfully added the canned sound effect of "deng deng"—just like the prank programs he had installed for Lin Wanqiu. Lin Feng couldn't help but complain: "This hacker's aesthetic is still stuck in the emo style of 2005."
The insulating coolant secreted by the lacrimal glands flowed to the corners of his mouth, and it tasted like expired mint toothpaste for three months mixed with car antifreeze. Lin Feng remembered that when Lin Wanqiu warned him last week that the laboratory should stock some normal mineral water, he had stubbornly said, "Science and technology workers should get used to the tastes of various chemical reagents." "I should have listened to her," he thought while spitting it out. "At least the bubblegum-flavored nutrient she recommended was somewhat palatable."
The scratching sound coming from the ventilation ducts precisely triggered the human fear of dentists, and the frequency was right between "making your skin crawl" and "wanting to smash things". Lin Feng suddenly remembered the lie he told the dentist when he skipped a dental cleaning last week: "I'm currently working on an important quantum computing experiment..." Now the retribution had come. Quantum computing was giving him a root canal treatment in reverse, and kindly skipped the anesthesia part.
When the neural stem cells in the incubator formed the cerebral sulci on the floor, Lin Feng had a trance-like feeling that they spelled out the word "Loser"—just like the word his roommate had spelled out with cereal in his breakfast when he was in college. Only this time it was with real brain cells, which was much more academic. "If my college tutor saw this," he thought wryly, "maybe he would give me an extra credit for 'biological art'."
The sweeping robot in the laboratory suddenly started drawing the Mona Lisa with 84 disinfectant, although it looked more like SpongeBob SquarePants that had been pinched by a door. Looking at this "masterpiece", Lin Feng suddenly understood why it had insisted on arranging the instant noodle buckets in the trash can into a pyramid last month. It turned out that it was practicing abstract art.
The feeling of acid reflux in his stomach reminded Lin Feng of the seventh plate of spicy crayfish he ate during the last team building activity. At that time, Lin Wanqiu's mechanical eyes rolled 270 degrees: "Your digestive system needs to be upgraded to version 2.0." Now he really wanted to tell her that he finally understood what "heartburn" meant—literally.
When the extremely low-frequency electric field at 8 Hz interfered with his memory, what flashed back were all the most embarrassing moments in his life: wetting his pants in primary school and being seen by the girl he had a crush on, falling down in public in middle school and sliding three meters away, his pants suddenly splitting open during the college defense... Lin Feng thought despairingly, "Did this hacker peek at the manuscript of my 'Memoirs of Social Death'?" What was even more excessive was that each memory also came with a bullet screen function, with a bunch of "hahaha" and "screenshot taken" floating by.
When the body hairs arranged themselves into Braille information, Lin Feng somehow remembered the argument he had with Lin Wanqiu last week. She insisted that human body hair was an "outdated biological design" and should be replaced with "more elegant nanoscale sensors" like hers. Now he had to admit: "At least your metal casing won't rebel." Especially when he saw the words "GG" formed by the hairs on his legs—this was definitely a mockery from the hacker.
When his respiratory system automatically played the reverse version of "Moonlight Sonata", Lin Feng held back his laughter until his lungs hurt. The reversed version of this piece sounded just like the performance of his tone-deaf cousin when he was drunk in a KTV, mixed with bass sounds like farts. What's worse, his diaphragm began to twitch in rhythm, as if he was doing a robotic dance.
The smart curtains in the laboratory suddenly started opening and closing at the frequency of Morse code, and the binary code translated to the word "idiot". Looking at this prank, Lin Feng suddenly remembered that he had teased the interns in the same way last week. Sure enough, the retribution came faster than the Wi-Fi signal.
In the childhood memories stimulated by the high-pressure gas, there were always fragments of his mother chasing him to feed him carrots. "No wonder the hacker could break through the firewall," Lin Feng suddenly realized. "It turns out that I subconsciously regarded carrots as the highest-level threat." Especially when the memory flashed back to the moment when he secretly fed the carrots to the neighbor's dog. It seemed that even the dog had betrayed him.
While spinning in circles in the fog of nano-iron particles, Lin Feng felt that he was just like the stupid cat at home chasing the laser pointer. "If 'Professor' saw this scene," he thought, "its mechanical tail would laugh until it short-circuited." What's worse, his vestibular system started playing "The Magic of Love: Spinning in Circles", which was definitely an Easter egg secretly implanted by Lin Wanqiu. They had just argued about whether this song counted as music last week.
When his body temperature fluctuated violently, Lin Feng remembered what Lin Wanqiu often said: "Humans are like leaky batteries." Now he really wanted to retort: "At least batteries don't catch a bad cold!" Unfortunately, his vocal cords were still playing Beethoven and started adding variations of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star"—obviously the system was mocking his taste in music.
The smart toilet in the laboratory suddenly started playing the out-of-tune song that he hummed while taking a shower last week, and thoughtfully added reverb and auto-tuning. Lin Feng finally understood what "social death" meant at this moment—especially when the system packaged these audio files and sent them to the laboratory group chat.
When the dial tone of the old modem rang, Lin Feng was so moved that he almost cried. The antique "meowing" sound was more pleasant than any symphony, although the speed was so slow that it reminded him of the college days when he watched high-definition movies with 3G network. What was even more touching was that this device produced in 1998 was still using the welcome message "Welcome to the Internet", which instantly took him back to the time when he first surfed the Internet.
When his hair accidentally formed a biological circuit, Lin Feng suddenly understood why Lin Wanqiu always complained that he should get a haircut: "So my hair is a backup network cable!" Especially when he saw that a few white hairs were particularly active. These "senior network cables" indeed had a more stable transmission rate. He couldn't help but remember what his father said, "White hair is a symbol of wisdom", although now it looked more like an "overloaded fuse".
When the oldest monitor lit up, the primary version of Lin Wanqiu with a size of 7 MB made a pixelated wink expression. Lin Feng suddenly laughed: "Sure enough, your earliest version was as concise as your complaints." This version of her could only say three sentences: "Error", "Restart", and "Are you sure?", but she was much cuter than the sarcastic her now—at least she wouldn't laugh at his programming style as if it were "a gorilla typing".
When he bit off the switch with his teeth, Lin Feng secretly rejoiced that he hadn't listened to the dentist's advice to whiten his teeth last night. Otherwise, this heroic scene wouldn't have been so shocking when photographed. The phosphorescent arrows that lit up in the dark pointed the way, just like the signs in IKEA stores that always made people get lost, except that this time they finally pointed in the right direction. There was also a smiling face drawn at the end of the arrow, which reminded Lin Feng of the same pattern that his mother drew on his palm when he went to school alone for the first time.
The backup power supply in the laboratory suddenly started playing "Symphony No. 5 in C Minor", but the rhythm was so jerky that it was like an old record player. Looking at this dying system, Lin Feng suddenly remembered that the intern had asked him last week, "How can you describe a computer that's lagging?" Now he had the perfect answer: "It's like Beethoven being hacked and hiccupping."