Outside the storm belt, the world was a void of silence. The private jet struggled through the dense cloud layers, its wings battered by violent gusts, groaning with every impact. After a bout of turbulence, the cabin finally settled into relative stability, leaving only the low drone of the engines—a sound that rumbled like an ancient whale song.
Inside, the yellow cabin lights flickered dimly, the atmosphere suffocatingly heavy. Medical kits and weapons lay scattered along the aisle. The acrid smell of disinfectant mixed with the metallic tang of scorched circuits. A few injured operatives leaned against the bulkhead, stifling groans. The entire space felt less like a plane and more like an iron coffin adrift in the storm.
Su Xiaolan sat quietly by the window, her body sunken into the seat as if all strength had been drained from her. In her hand, the crumpled bag of chips remained clenched tightly, its edges whitened from constant twisting. Her breath fogged the cold window, trembling in sync with her heartbeat. Deep within her chest, another rhythm—not her own—throbbed faintly, sometimes near, sometimes distant. It was the weak resonance of K. Shaw's lingering consciousness, a constant reminder that the connection had never truly been severed.
Li Chenyuan sat by her side, silent, his gaze cold and fathomless as the deep sea. His palm rested firmly on her shoulder—neither rough nor gentle, but with an undeniable weight, as if she were the only lifeline he had to anchor amid the raging storm. Across the aisle, Lu Xingze sat upright, methodically cleaning his weapon. His movements were precise, mechanical. Whenever he glanced up, his sharp eyes fell upon Su Xiaolan—not with warmth, but with the detached scrutiny of someone evaluating a tool's functionality, measuring risk against return.
At the front, Wang Jing hunched over a portable terminal. His bloodshot eyes flickered as his fingers hammered frantically across the keys, clawing at slivers of hope within despair."The chip's outer encryption layer… still won't open," he rasped, then looked up. "But a strange marker keeps repeating: it requires 'Witness Verification.'"
"Witness?" Li Chenyuan's low voice carried warning.
"…The Fifth Witness. P.D." Wang Jing forced the name out, his throat dry.
The air in the cabin froze. That code name—P.D.—had surfaced repeatedly within Ψ's system prompts, yet its identity remained unknown. It represented an unpredictable variable… and a colossal risk.
Wang Jing switched to the global monitoring feed. On the screen, a cascade of images unfurled: London's financial district numbers wiped clean, crowds rioting; Tokyo's subways paralyzed, countless screens flashing the abyssal-blue Ψ; Washington's Pentagon triggering a near-nuclear alert after satellites were disrupted by an eerie whale song.
"Anchor alignment progress: 20%," Wang Jing said, his voice edged with despair. "At this rate, not days—but hours—before the whole world is forced into synchronization."
"Which is why we must head for Greenland—Station Zero," Lu Xingze cut in, his tone like the edge of a blade. "That's where the original servers and decoders are. The chip can only be unlocked there. Time is not on our side."
"No." Li Chenyuan's voice rumbled like suppressed thunder. "That's Gu Yu's trap. Sending her there is no different than locking her in another cage."
"She is the chaotic Anchor," Lu Xingze shot back coldly. "Without her, the decoder is useless. You'd rather 'protect' her and doom humanity with you?"
Li Chenyuan's laugh was sharp, his gaze a knife's edge. "Or do you just want to deliver her to your labs—turn her into your next specimen?"
Gunpowder filled the air. The cabin's tension strung taut as wire, the silent standoff threatening to ignite.
"Enough!"
Su Xiaolan's voice trembled, but it sliced clean through the suffocating air. She raised her head, pale cheeks tinged with a feverish flush, and in her eyes, a suppressed fire flickered.
"You treat me like a bargaining chip, a weapon, a liability… but I'm more than just some 'Anchor.'" She crushed the chip bag in her fist, plastic groaning in protest. "I'm human. My fate isn't your poker stake. Where I go, what I do—those are for me to decide!"
For a moment, everyone stared, stunned. The cabin fell silent, save for the hum of the engines and her ragged breaths. Li Chenyuan's brows knitted, a flicker of conflict crossing his eyes. Lu Xingze's expression shifted as well, as though for the first time he truly regarded her not as an asset to protect or exploit, but as a woman with her own agency.
She was about to speak again when the world tilted. Her vision blurred—dragged downward by an unseen force into an icy abyss.
She saw it—beneath endless ice fields, a colossal geometric structure buried, its edges pulsing with ominous blue glyphs. A long table of ice stretched into shadow, thirteen chairs circling it. Only one nameplate was clear: [Witness-5]. A voice, not human, thrummed through the frozen strata, its grief crushing, its sorrow vast as an ocean.
"…Who?" she asked silently in the vision.
No answer. Only unending cold.
The next instant, she jolted awake, sweat dripping from her brow, her fingers trembling uncontrollably.
"Xiaolan?" Li Chenyuan caught her immediately, his voice tense.She shook her head weakly. "…It's nothing. Just… fragments again." She didn't describe the crushing despair.
Wang Jing spoke carefully, "The chip does require Witness Verification before its contents can be opened. From all available data… Greenland's Station Zero is likely where the decoder lies. It may also be the key to triggering verification."
Lu Xingze's eyes narrowed. "Then that's our only option."Li Chenyuan's reply was resolute. "It's a trap. We won't walk in blind."
Their gazes clashed again, sharp and lethal.
But this time, Su Xiaolan did not retreat. She drew in a steadying breath, gripping the chip bag—the relic of her past and her fragile hope—her voice thin with weakness yet unwavering:"Whether it's an answer or a trap, it's not for you to decide. First—we survive this storm, shake the pursuit. After that… then we'll decide if we go to Greenland. And how."
Her words carved a boundary of authority. Li Chenyuan studied her unwavering eyes, and at last lowered his gaze—a silent concession. Lu Xingze, too, leaned back after a moment's scrutiny, suppressing his urgency in reluctant compromise.
Wang Jing exhaled shakily, relief barely touching his lips—when the plane jolted violently! Sirens wailed, shattering the fragile calm.
"Lock-on alert! Not Ψ frequencies!" a StarShield operative shouted.Wang Jing scanned the spectrum, his face draining of color. "Military-grade human signals—precision targeting! We're locked!"
External monitors flickered, revealing a squadron of unmarked black drones slipping from the storm clouds. They glided like phantoms, formation tight and merciless. Their indicator lights flashed in a pattern, rhythmic and unnatural—like a countdown to the kill, weaving a silent net around the aircraft.
"It's them… the Treaty's 'Conspirators'…" Lu Xingze cursed under his breath, snapping into combat readiness.Li Chenyuan's gaze hardened to steel, pulling Su Xiaolan deeper into cover. "They've been waiting all along."
At that instant, Su Xiaolan's chest constricted—the second heartbeat flared violently. But now, its resonance carried something else: faint, crystalline, and mournfully compassionate.
Her throat released words that weren't her own:"…Don't fire… They're not attacking… They're testing. Waiting for a response."
All eyes whipped toward her.
Outside, the lead drone's lights shifted abruptly, flashing in a new rhythm: red, white, red.
Su Xiaolan's pupils contracted. It was identical to the "red-white-red" markings K. Shaw had once pointed out in the Iceland ventilation shafts, the sign that had guided her escape.
"…Red, white, red…" she whispered, realization slamming into her. "They're waiting for a passcode… a proof."
"What code? Whose?" Lu Xingze demanded, weapon raised toward the window.
The answer came not from her lips, but cold and unyielding on the main screen:
[Anchor Alignment: Progress 21%][Witness-5 (P.D.): Handshake Protocol—Initiating]
The cabin plunged into a silence deeper than the storm outside. The drones, the cryptic lights, the sudden activation of a handshake protocol—threads of a vast and unfathomable web.
And they—at its center.