A spot of green light, like a snowflake or a firefly, drifted down from the air. Suddenly, it swerved, darting closer until it almost filled the entire field of vision.
"Beep—"
A car horn blared.
The green light seemed to melt before her eyes, vanishing in a flash.
A rush of air hit from behind, aimed straight at the back of her head. Without a second thought, Pei Ran ducked down low.
It was an instinct honed from years of living amid war.
A hovercar whizzed past, barely skimming the top of her head.
And it wasn't alone. A second, then a third, followed in quick succession, their horns blaring as they shot over Pei Ran's head in a reckless race.
Each car had wheels mounted on its undercarriage, yet here they were, flying through the sky—darting erratically between buildings like headless beetles.
Pei Ran glanced down at her feet.
She was standing on a platform suspended midair.
It was no more than two or three square meters, ringed by a transparent glass barrier. Floating above it were several phantom-like translucent screens displaying train numbers and estimated arrival times. This must be a station, she realized. Beside her stood a young woman, seemingly waiting for a ride.
The platform jutted out from the midsection of a skyscraper. Looking down, streams of vehicles flowed through the sky, snaking between buildings like dragons, with an endless drop below.
This tower, like the others around it, resembled a slender bamboo shoot—clustered together in thick groves, stretching densely toward the sky.
It was clearly daytime, yet the sky was veiled in a gray mist, as if from severe air pollution.
The sun hid behind the gray haze, revealing only a dim, orange-yellow circular outline. Countless neon billboards, in a riot of colors, blazed even in broad daylight. Not far away, a towering, building-sized virtual screen silently cycled through advertisements.
Pei Ran scanned her surroundings without a trace of emotion.
Had she traveled through time?
Just moments ago, she'd been in a bunker amid flying artillery fire. In the blink of an eye, she'd arrived in this bizarre, otherworldly realm.
The roar of engines echoed as the speeding hovercars looped back.
Leading the pack was a small, bright yellow vehicle—half-worn, with black letters reading "Baigang Municipal Facilities Maintenance" painted on its side, beneath a logo of a U-shaped drainage pipe.
Its roof was open. At the wheel sat a woman in a yellow work uniform, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a mass of coppery red hair whipping wildly in the wind.
"Yee-haw!"
She shouted like a cowboy roping cattle.
Wherever she passed, countless square, glass-like sheets drifted into the air—transparent yet weightless, fluttering like snowflakes over buildings and streets.
On the sheets, fluorescent text blazed vividly.
Pei Ran recognized it instinctively: it was Manya, the common language of the Federation—a mix of logograms, a few letters, and symbols.
[AI agents get out!]
[Oppose artificial idiots ruling humans!]
[Municipal workers need to eat!]
[Jobs! Jobs! Jobs! We need work! We need to feed our families!]
Behind the yellow car, two navy-blue vehicles gave chase.
These had light strips mounted on their fronts and roofs, flashing with blinding white light. "Baigang City Security Bureau" was painted on their sides.
A cold, mechanical voice emanated from the vehicles—clear, unemotional:
"Driver ahead, you are violating Article 427, Clause 13 of the Federal Security Regulations. You are operating a vehicle in a restricted high-altitude lane without permission. Stop immediately! Repeat, stop immediately!"
"They're part of the strike," the long-haired girl waiting for the train beside her suddenly spoke up.
She wore an oversized brown flannel blazer, her brown hair cascading over her shoulders, and clutched a large cardboard box to her chest.
"Protesting AI taking everyone's jobs," she said. "It's been going on for days."
Fragments of the original owner's memories flooded her mind—vague, familiar yet alien.
Strikes had erupted across Baigang, lasting two weeks.
The city government had cut budgets this year, planning to deploy more AI-controlled automated maintenance vehicles to take over municipal work. This meant countless people would lose their livelihoods.
The workers had a Municipal Maintenance Association, which had erupted in fury, organizing a mass walkout.
In the bitter cold, half the city had lost heating. Many buildings were without water or electricity. Garbage piled up uncollected on streets, reeking.
The yellow car darted up and down, nimbly evading the security vehicles' pursuit. Undeterred, the navy-blue cars pressed on.
Through their windshields, Pei Ran noticed the driver's seats were empty.
They were self-driving.
Though unoccupied, they continued speaking—the voice from their speakers remained cold:
"Driver ahead, this is your final warning! Stop immediately! Stop immediately!!"
Stop?
Pei Ran wondered. How did they expect the little yellow car to stop? Could it hover midair?
Her head throbbed.
Memories flickered, hazy yet familiar.
The yellow car zigzagged through the air. Up ahead, one security vehicle accelerated, ramming toward it.
Its warning ignored, it intended to force a stop.
The yellow car jolted in alarm, reacting swiftly. At the last second, it shot upward.
The security vehicle missed, its roof scraping the yellow car's undercarriage. Sparks flew, accompanied by a high-pitched, ear-splitting metal shriek.
But Pei Ran's concern lay elsewhere.
The security vehicle, now off-course, was heading straight for the small platform—still accelerating, showing no sign of turning or slowing.
Pei Ran's mind raced: Could its brakes have failed?
Or had its self-driving system gone haywire?
At this speed and force, a collision would crush them to pulp.
The platform was narrow, suspended in midair—nowhere to hide. Behind them, a door led into the building, their only escape.
The long-haired girl 显然 thought the same, pressing her face to a floating virtual screen beside the door.
"Iris scan," it read.
Yet the door stayed shut, unresponsive.
The girl panicked: "We're ex-employees—scans won't work… we can't open it…"
Before she finished, Pei Ran stepped back and kicked hard.
A dull thud echoed, but the door— 看似半透明 glass—remained rigid.
The hovercar drew nearer. Pei Ran reached the transparent barrier, gripping its edge.
A cold wind whipped across the platform, her short coat fluttering like butterfly wings as she vaulted over the railing.
The long-haired girl cried out: "No! Don't jump!"
Pei Ran had no intention of jumping.
Her hands still clung to the railing, her feet finding purchase on the narrow ledge beyond. Leaning outward, she peered down.
Hovercars streamed below, a bottomless void. The surrounding skyscrapers were smooth, windowless—shattering her plan:
Even if she dangled from the platform, there'd be nowhere to land.
The security vehicle hurtled closer. The girl waved frantically, trying to alert it to their presence, but the empty driver's seat remained indifferent, no one to heed her plea.
A gust of wind blew.
A square, transparent flyer—covered in fluorescent text—drifted before Pei Ran. As it touched the railing, it "popped" like a soap bubble, vanishing.
Pei Ran looked up at the 失控的 vehicle.
Trapped, no escape—only one thought filled her mind: How to make it stop.
Suddenly, green light exploded in her head.
The vanished green speck had returned—not before her eyes, but as a vision in her mind.
The light coiled, its trail forming a word—twisted, each stroke writhing like a living thing. In Manya:
[Stop.]
It even added a period.