The air in the control room had congealed into a solid mass, heavy and suffocating. The abyssal blue Ψ symbol pulsed rhythmically on the screens, like a cold heart suspended in the void. The command was mercilessly frozen:
[Anchor Alignment: Progress 5%][Next Anchor Location: Iceland · Deep Sea Data Vault]
In the dead silence, only the low-frequency hum of machines persisted. Wang Jing, face pale, pushed his slipping glasses up his nose, his trembling fingers calling up overlapping data windows. Panic was clear behind his lenses."Iceland Deep Sea Data Vault…" his voice was hoarse, "A Cold War relic. Outwardly an observation outpost, but its subterranean scale far exceeds records. Sealed completely after an incident fifteen years ago. Hostile environment. Structure… largely unknown."
In the silence, a young technician was struck by an absurd thought: Did I turn off the fridge before I left? The thought vanished instantly, leaving his heart racing faster.
"Ψ's moves are never random," Lu Xingze said quietly, his gaze sharp as a blade. "StarShield's polar rapid response team and jet are ready for immediate takeoff. We must regain control before Ψ fully claims the second Anchor."
"Control?" Li Chenyuan's voice was cold as an arctic gale, carrying undeniable pressure. "Li Corporation's Nordic division will immediately blockade a fifty-nautical-mile radius, providing top-tier support. She—" His eyes locked onto Su Xiaolan, obsessive and resolute, "—will be escorted personally by me."
"Escorted? Or controlled?" Lu Xingze took a step forward, his tone icy. "Li Chenyuan, see clearly, this is no longer your chess game!"
"Enough!"
Su Xiaolan's voice, though not loud, pierced the tension like a needle. She was pale, sweat beading on her temples, her fingers unconsciously kneading the crumpled chip bag, the rustling sound unnaturally loud. She even had the absurd thought: If Ψ scanned this chip bag, would it become part of the protocol too?
"If one of you wins the argument, will Ψ stop?" Her voice trembled but was clear. "What we need to figure out is what's happening over there, and—what 'we' will become."
The words "we" landed with heavy clarity.
Gu Yu's projection flickered into view, a smirk playing on his lips: "Ah, the journey home begins. Iceland Deep Sea Data Vault—a place full of 'memories'. Perhaps what you find there won't just be the second Anchor, but also the dust buried at the birth of the Protocol."
Li Chenyuan wasted no more words, issuing a cold order: "Lock coordinates, calculate optimal route, all units to combat readiness Level One."Lu Xingze took a deep breath, suppressing his anger, and spoke into his comms: "StarShield tactical teams prepare for synchronous deployment. Temporary cooperative operation initiated."
On the screen, Ψ's message updated:[Anchor Alignment Procedure—In Progress: 7%]
The silver jet sliced through the thick night, heading into the frigid depths of the North Atlantic. The cabin was oppressively tense.
Su Xiaolan curled up by the window, eyes closed but unable to sleep. An unfamiliar "heartbeat" overlapped with her own rhythm, creating an uneasy duet. Intermittent visions flashed: white ice fields, blue shadows beneath the ice, rusted passageways, and eyes staring from absolute darkness.
My first trip abroad as a salted fish. Destination: a cold ceremony at the end of the world. Thanks for the hospitality, she mocked herself inwardly.
Li Chenyuan sat down silently beside her, his dry, warm hand covering her icy fingers. "No matter how many Anchors," he murmured close to her ear, "you are ultimately mine."
Across the aisle, Lu Xingze watched with a cold eye but remained silent, turning to confirm details with the command center.
Su Xiaolan sighed, pressing the chip bag to her forehead. The coolness offered a sliver of clarity. "You two, your brainwaves are noisier than Ψ's resonance. I'll have a nervous breakdown from you before I get assimilated."
The comms channel crackled with Wang Jing's raspy voice: "I'm decrypting the last backup before the vault was sealed… one abbreviation keeps appearing—'K.Shaw'. The files are heavily corrupted. The core content can only be recovered from the on-site servers."
"K.Shaw?" Su Xiaolan's heart skipped a beat. The name felt like a frozen switch.
The polar storm roared, ice crystals lashing the windows. The jet bumped down onto the white wasteland.
Li and StarShield teams advanced with difficulty towards the entrance—a steel fortress half-buried in millennia-old ice. Its walls were rusted, encased in thick ice armor, its seams like the wrinkles of old age. An anomalous magnetic field interfered with all equipment; the Ψ symbol trembled on screens like a shaky metronome.
An old guide's voice was broken: "This place… had an accident fifteen years ago. Said it was a leak… hasn't been right since."
The howling wind created an eerie resonance with the whale song in her mind.
Before the vault's metal door, Li security and StarShield tactical teams stood off, their gear glinting coldly.
"Bringing her here is extremely irresponsible!" the StarShield commander growled, hand on his holster."Following orders. Mr. Li's judgment is not to be questioned," the Li team leader retorted coldly.
Amid the argument, several drones shot out of the snowstorm, firing precisely, inciting chaos. Gu Yu's hidden pieces, without a doubt.
"Ψ's resonance index is spiking!" Wang Jing's voice was urgent over the comms. "If we delay further, It will open the door Itself!"
Forced by circumstance, both sides suppressed their anger, focusing on the heavy door.
After technical bypasses and forced entry, the blast door finally twisted open.
Beyond lay a vast, towering cylindrical space. In the center, a transparent cryo-chamber, connected by countless conduits like a heart pacemaker, held a pale, gaunt figure suspended in light blue fluid, covered in sensor lines.
The Ψ symbol on a side screen flashed in sync with the global pulse.
When Su Xiaolan saw the face, her blood ran cold."...No… Senior?!"
The outline was unmistakably that of the genius who had disappeared over a decade ago, presumed dead—K.Shaw.
Inside the cryo-chamber, his eyes slowly opened. His pupils were unfocused, flickering with abyssal blue data streams. A low, hollow voice issued from the speakers:"Death? No. I merely… became an Anchor… sooner than you."
BOOM—!
The unfamiliar heartbeat in Su Xiaolan's mind perfectly overlapped with the figure before her. A vast, icy torrent of consciousness shattered her mental defenses!
Frozen labs, endless solitude, long watchkeeping, dependence on and fear of Ψ… a tsunami of memories flooded her.
"AHHH—!" She clutched her head in agony, the chip bag tearing in her grip, a sharp, grating sound.
Inside the cryo-chamber, K.Shaw convulsed violently. Alarms blared:
[WARNING: Anchor Resonance Overload!][Synchronization: 12%...19%...27%...]
"Force a disconnect!" Lu Xingze yelled urgently."No!" Wang Jing nearly screamed. "A physical disconnect will cause irreversible damage!"
Li Chenyuan rushed forward, supporting her nearly limp form, but he couldn't stop the consciousness erosion.
In the chaos, she caught a strand of thought from the deepest part of the other's mind:"...Please… release me…"
The next second, all sound ceased.
A cold message appeared on the main screen:
[Primary Anchor Connection Established][Data Synchronization: 5%][Cognitive Impact Buffer Period Initiated][Next Phase: Memory Corridor Preparation][Bidirectional Anchor Channel Stabilized. Welcome, Designation: F.LK and Designation: K.SHAW]
Back in the control room, Wang Jing, watching through blurry feeds, was almost speechless: "K.Shaw?! Records show he died fifteen years ago!"
Gu Yu's projection, for the first time, showed a complex expression. He murmured, "K.Shaw… so you've been sleeping here all along. This game just got interesting."
Su Xiaolan lay completely unconscious in Li Chenyuan's arms, her breathing faint, yet still pulsing in sync with the unfamiliar frequency.
The progress bar on the screen advanced coldly:[Anchor Alignment: Progress 12%][Anchor No.2 Awakening]
Outside, the polar storm howled without end. The low whale song was like a cold elegy played for both the departed and the unknown.