[165:52:25]
Michael glanced at the number displayed at the top of the war room's holographic projection screen. Two hours had passed on the countdown. Adding the thirty-three hours Kevin and Sakura had been unconscious, they had effectively wasted thirty-five hours.
Nearly one-fifth of their total time...
Michael ran a hand through his hair, beginning to feel agitated in this battle devoid of smoke and gunpowder.
"Prometheus, push Elvin again. Now that we know the transmission vector of the attack, why is progress still so slow?"
Due to the ongoing upgrade, many of Prometheus's modules were suspended. It couldn't even "speak" now, only executing Michael's tasks via pop-up messages.
"Forget it..." Michael smoothed his bangs again. Good thing I'm still young. If Ato were here, the console would probably be covered in hair by now... He tried telling himself a lame joke to calm down.
"Patch me through directly to Elvin."
Although they were both in the same war room, not even twenty steps apart, such a call still served a purpose—like further pressuring Elvin, forcing him to talk while working.
"Yaaawn! Alright, alright, I heard you, Captain Michael." Elvin yawned, but his voice was overly excited. Some people get drowsy after over twenty hours without sleep, while others become increasingly agitated, unable to sleep. Elvin was clearly the latter. This excitement and agitation had another, less auspicious but fitting term—a final burst of energy before collapse.
"So, where are your results?" Though feeling some reluctance, now wasn't the time for mercy. In a sense, they were racing against death itself.
"It's a bit complicated... Yaaawn! Not quite what we initially thought. There doesn't seem to be much commonality in what the sleeping sickness patients viewed before falling ill. Some were watching videos, some reading novels, some listening to broadcasts, even watching... adult films. Later, I thought, maybe it's because the onset times were different? I checked patients who fell ill around the same time, but unfortunately, still couldn't find any commonality."
Elvin slowly slumped in his seat, the fatigue from prolonged lack of sleep and rest spreading through his body.
Michael couldn't push him any further for the moment. He sighed softly. "If you really can't go on, go get some sleep. Working without rest only lowers efficiency."
"It's fine. I've divided the rest of the intel department personnel into two shifts. Fuxi leads one, Nuwa leads the other. I'm just doing some information collation and summarization."
*"Then you should rest even more."*—Michael wanted to say, but the words remained unspoken.
Repeating such sentiments when every second counted felt somewhat hypocritical. Michael had to admit, compared to letting people rest, he genuinely wished everyone could work 168 hours straight without breaks.
Of course, there was another reason—it was no longer necessary.
Faint snoring sounds were already reaching Michael through the communication channel.
"...Forget it. Get some proper sleep."
"Captain Michael? Captain Michael?" A familiar figure suddenly stood up in the intelligence bureau's office area. She called Michael's name in a hushed tone, then gestured for him to meet her in the corridor outside.
"Aunt Blanca, what is it?"
Since giving birth to Griseo, Blanca's already faint presence had become even... fainter. If she hadn't stood up just now, Michael would have forgotten that after leaving Mobius's lab, she had actually worked in the intelligence bureau for six whole years.
"I've found something, but I'm not entirely sure."
"Hm?" Michael paused, the earlier disappointment and frustration not yet faded, now suddenly pierced by surprise.
Although Blanca explicitly stated "I'm not entirely sure," and looked slightly hesitant, this only made Michael more excited.
Aunt Blanca was tactful. Her uncertainty, Michael believed, was merely consideration for others, like saving face for Elvin. And even if Michael was wrong, a discovery she wasn't certain about but felt compelled to discuss privately with him...
Even if it wasn't the transmission method Michael sought, it must be infinitely close to the truth.
Her next words undoubtedly confirmed Michael's thoughts:
"Personally, just my personal opinion—we know the sleeping sickness spreads via the internet. Considering the Herrscher's powers, it should be related to what the patient viewed. The reasoning up to this point is correct."
"Then where did it go wrong?" Michael asked directly.
Unexpectedly, Blanca shook her head:
"Our understanding wasn't wrong. What was wrong was... our... imagination wasn't bold enough."
"Hmm... What do you mean?"
"Michael, you, Elvin, Nuwa, Fuxi all imagined the target as a webpage, an article—a whole entity. That's why you couldn't find any commonality."
"!" Michael took a deep breath, first patting his flushed cheeks, then slapping his forehead in annoyance—
Blanca's words were a wake-up call!
The Eighth Herrscher's ability involved applying psychic interference to specific information, causing those who see it to fall into sweet dreams, then spreading it via the internet. That much was correct. But why did the information carrying her psychic interference have to be a complete "piece" of information?
It could just be a scattered fragment. This fit the requirements of propagation. If it were a complete piece of information, what were the chances of countless people globally encountering it simultaneously?
Unless it was related to Eden, but that would be far too obvious.
Therefore, for both broad applicability and secrecy, this fragmented information could only be— "Characters".
Because regardless of whether humans opened text, video, or audio online, they would inevitably see characters. The number of commonly used characters wasn't small, but not excessively large either. Their repetition rate was moderate, perfectly corresponding to the moderately sized waves of sleeping sickness patients.
"Immediately start manual checks... Right, still pay attention to time periods. The Herrscher isn't stupid; she likely changes the corresponding characters periodically. And you don't need to check the most recent patients... Don't want you falling asleep yourselves."
"Alright, alright! Give those orders to Fuxi and Nuwa. Honestly, child, who did you learn from? Nagging just like my Ato."
Michael didn't know whether to laugh or cry, unable to respond either way.
Fortunately, Ato hadn't returned yet, so he probably wouldn't hear this.
"But, why manual checks? Oh! If Prometheus had searched from the beginning, we should have the results by now, right? Uh... no, you were always a clever kid, not this dense."
This time, Michael just smiled helplessly.
"Prometheus's upgrade plan isn't finished yet. Currently, it can only handle communication coordination. Other work modules can only be reactivated after the upgrade."
"What unfortunate timing."
"Hmm... but it's alright. The estimated time until upgrade completion is less than nine hours."
Blanca pouted slightly:
"Michael, don't you know that progress bars always slow down the closer they get to the end?"
Michael couldn't help but laugh out loud.
"How about that? Feeling less anxious now?"
"Yes, thank you."
Blanca turned, but instead of heading back into the war room, she walked towards Lab 2.
"Aunt Blanca?"
"Did you forget? I'm also one of the candidates! Since I've already pointed you in the right direction, you don't need me for the rest of the work, right?" She chuckled softly, turned again, her steps slow but firm.
Michael didn't try to stop her. He first adjusted the orders to the intelligence department via communicator, then leaned alone against the cold armor plating, letting his mind go blank for a moment.
Blanca's voice echoed in his ears, lingering, no need to dismiss it. She hadn't said anything particularly special, yet just her presence was relaxing.
Perhaps she comforts Griseo the same way?
Right, Griseo. Aunt Blanca can face the Meta-Morph surgery so calmly, surely because she wants to protect Uncle Ato, protect Griseo... Of course, also protect him, protect Ely, protect humanity.
Michael smiled and shook his head. He suddenly remembered a question he had once struggled with but hadn't thought about in a long time—
"Michael, who do you want to protect, who do you want to save? Is it Elysia alone, or this entire world?"
Michael didn't know if he had grown, or if his perspective had changed, but looking back at that question now, it felt rather childish.
In his heart, a world without Elysia was incomplete, could no longer be called the world. And if he abandoned the world for Elysia, neither he nor she could accept such a choice.
Setting aside these philosophical contradictions, his body had always honestly pursued... call it greed, call it wanting the best of both worlds.
But this instinctual action, born from indecision, undoubtedly reflected his heart's deepest desire.
Just as he thought long ago, he walked through the mortal world like traversing a muddy path after rain. With every step, his soles became caked with mud, impossible to wash clean.
The analogy might not be elegant, but it was somewhat fitting.
He believed Elysia must be the same. In a sense, they both came from outside this world; their mindsets were alike.
Since they existed as humans, it was impossible not to form connections with others. Partly because individual strength was too small, partly due to humanity's inherent psychological need—we cannot see ourselves; we must approach others, using them as mirrors to perceive ourselves, to recognize the self.
Otherwise, the self gradually fades, eventually leading to indescribable loneliness.
And these connections are the so-called bonds.
Bonds that, once formed, cannot be severed.
It was because of these that Michael gradually forgot his outsider identity.
It was because of these that Elysia wanted to become human.
"So, Michael-chan, keep fighting hard. This is already the fifth to last one!"
The already adult man patted his own cheeks, straightened up, ready to return to his post.
Just then, the war room door opened again.
Fuxi walked out, looking displeased.
"What's wrong?"
"The United Government has requested communication."
"Tsk! Didn't expect an oligarchic organization like [SEELE] to still exist?" Michael clicked his tongue, looking around curiously at the eleven monoliths surrounding him.
"Oligarchs? If we're oligarchs, then what are you and Mei?" An angry male voice rang out. Michael smiled faintly. "Tsk tsk tsk, you are naturally the eleven tyrants of ancient Attica. Mei and I are clearly the joint consuls of the Seven Hills!"
"You—Twisting words!"
"Enough!" A sharp command came from the monolith labeled [.01]. Then, the monolith labeled [.06] suddenly dimmed, either kicked from the chatroom or muted.
Michael wore a faint, disdainful smile. Even facing meaningless monoliths instead of live projections, he could feel ten pairs of eyes with varying expressions focused on him.
"Honestly, making it feel like a trial... Mei really has patience..."
Almost as he muttered this, Keel spoke:
"Where is Mei?"
His words were concise, but the underlying meaning was interesting—Even if communication with Fire Moth is necessary, we don't want to talk to you.
Michael's lips curled. He was inexplicably reminded of... something from the past, not of this world.
It was third grade. He got into a fight with other boys in class. Back then, he was as introverted as when he first arrived here. One against many. He couldn't remember if he won or lost, but probably won, otherwise the teacher wouldn't have only talked to him.
The reason this incident was so memorable, still vivid now, was what happened after the talk—
Teacher: "Why did you fight them?"
Little Michael: "They bullied me. My dad said, if anyone bullies me, I hit them!"
Teacher (staring, disbelieving): "Give me your dad's phone number." Puts phone on speaker.
Teacher: "Hello, ah, hello, is this Little Michael's father?"
Old Michael: "Yes, I am. Who is this?"
Teacher: "I'm Little Michael's homeroom teacher. He fought with classmates at school today..."
Old Michael: "Did he win?"
Teacher: "No, Mr. Michael, he told me you taught him to fight?"
Old Michael: "What did he say?"
Teacher: "He said you told him, if anyone bullies him, he should hit them."
Old Michael: "Yeah, I said that. What's wrong?"
Teacher: "...Mr. Michael, could you give me Little Michael's mother's phone number?"
From then until elementary school graduation, whenever Michael got into trouble, the teacher always called his mother. Michael's mom tacitly handled all his parent-teacher conferences.
Honestly, that teacher treated him well otherwise. These SEELE guys didn't deserve to be compared to her. But the memory surfaced nonetheless. Perhaps SEELE's reluctance to talk to him was for the same reason his elementary school teacher avoided talking to his dad—
Impossible to reason with.
Since they believed reasoning was impossible, they simply avoided interaction.
Michael didn't know where SEELE got this misconception. He felt he was often much easier to talk to than Mei; the entire Fire Moth could attest to that.
Perhaps they simply didn't want to converse with a Herrscher. But Michael remembered SEELE's previous evaluation of him was "not bad," roughly equivalent to a zookeeper calling a tiger "very docile."
But it was hard to say. They must certainly feel a sense of disparity now, as things had increasingly spun out of their control since the Fifth Honkai Eruption.
But Michael felt there was another possibility— "They must have seen the records and footage of the Seventh Honkai Eruption. If so, the fact they haven't dry-heaved in my presence is already commendable restraint, hahaha."
SEELE didn't want to talk to Michael, and Michael certainly didn't want to talk to them. Normally, this mutual aversion... ah no, unhappy parting, could be considered a win-win.
But clearly, not at this juncture.
Mei was always pushing herself too hard with work. She probably just got coaxed into sleeping by Elysia. Without a full eight hours, how could she have the energy to save the world?
Besides, she had Kevin to worry about.
"Mei is occupied with important work. Whatever you have to say, just tell me. I assume it's about the Eighth Honkai Eruption?"
He spoke, but received no response for a considerable time.
The circle of monoliths stood silently around him, making no sound, no movement, seeming like actual "tombstones."
They're probably discussing how to handle this privately.
Michael propped his chin on his hand, waiting patiently. He even had the leisure to joke internally: "Hm, the light on the monolith isn't out. Looks like Taro was just kicked offline earlier."
After a while, Keel's voice sounded again: "Firstly, the Eighth Honkai Eruption is merely Fire Moth's unilateral claim. The United Government..."
"Secondly?" Michael waved his hand dismissively, rudely interrupting him.
"..." Keel paused briefly, then dropped the pretense and stated their purpose directly: "Currently, the number of humans worldwide who have fallen into comas, just those officially recorded, already exceeds ten thousand. Public sentiment is already volatile. We hope Fire Moth can step forward and give the public an explanation."
"An explanation? What explanation?" Michael was somewhat stunned, unsure for a moment if he was being foolish, or if SEELE was being utterly shameless.
"In the information released by the United Government, Fire Moth's official designation is the Department for Investigation of Unnatural Phenomena. Therefore, now that such an unnatural phenomenon has occurred, it is naturally your responsibility to explain it."
"..." Michael covered his forehead, suddenly feeling regretful—perhaps he really should have let Mei deal with these guys?
Though not significantly harmful, their logic was truly... sickening.
"In half an hour, which is 8 AM R'lyeh time, there will be an online press conference. We hope Fire Moth's spokesperson will not be absent."
After saying this, seemingly deliberately avoiding further interaction with Michael, the ten monoliths extinguished swiftly and simultaneously, giving Michael no chance to object.
"What the hell!" Michael cursed, opened a spatial rift, and returned to the war room.
Half an hour left. He could naturally ignore this. After all, Fire Moth's purpose was to eliminate Honkai; maintaining superficial peace was supposed to be the United Government's job.
But ignoring it was unrealistic, a childish tantrum—appeasing the public wasn't wrong in itself. Besides, closing his eyes, asking himself honestly, was the massive riot in Te Moana Kino entirely caused by the Eighth Herrscher's influence?
No. Whatever the ability, it must obey the law of conservation of energy... perhaps that wasn't the right phrasing. Anyway, even when Michael seemingly constructed something from nothing, in reality... the specific principles were complex, but even looking only at the result, the conclusion was he consumed Honkai energy.
Meaning, what he constructed wasn't truly "from nothing."
Similarly, psychic attacks couldn't "create something from nothing." Just as Aponia's Discipline essentially tapped into the body's corresponding potential, it couldn't help achieve what the body was inherently incapable of.
The Eighth Herrscher was the same.
Psychic attacks could only ever guide—guide people to follow their desires, indulging in beautiful yet illusory dreams.
Or, pour fuel onto the already smoldering embers in people's hearts, thus igniting riots.
But even without the Eighth Herrscher's mental guidance, would everything be fine? Could they rest easy? Of course not. The poured "fuel" merely brought forward the time when the fire consumed everything; it didn't ignite a fire in an already calm, clear lake.
Even without the Eighth Herrscher, this fire would eventually ignite, ultimately incinerating humanity.
However, this press conference... who should attend, and what should be said? Michael was clueless.
"Does it still have to be Mei in the end...?"
Michael mentally reviewed potential candidates.
Aunt Blanca was suitable, but she was likely already on the operating table.
Mobius? Forget it...
Michael sat in his chair, tapping his foot lightly, causing his body to rotate with the chair.
Unexpectedly, a somewhat unfamiliar figure suddenly entered his line of sight.
He sat alone in the back row of the war room. Due to his special status, no one supervised him, yet no one interacted with him either. Only Immer stood behind him, ostensibly as a guard.
He could only blankly watch everyone busy with their tasks, occasionally scratching his head, bored and somewhat agitated.
"Vaschak, what are you doing here?"
Noticed by Michael, a flicker of panic crossed his eyes, but he quickly composed himself.
"Regardless, I am nominally the head of Fire Moth, right? You only forbade me from leaving the underground city, not from moving around within Fire Moth, correct?" Vaschak spread his hands. "Or are you going to deprive an old man of his last shred of freedom? Might as well lock me in prison then. Come on, although I've made some mistakes, I am still one of Fire Moth's founders. When you left with Anti-Entropy back then, I facilitated things quite a bit. Later, when you wanted to merge, I didn't resist either. You can't treat me like this!"
His hoarse throat clearly and fluently spat out sentence after sentence of "heartfelt words," truly evoking pity and guilt in any listener.
So Vaschak saw Michael staring intently at him.
"It's decided! You're up! Go, Vaschak!"