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墨書 Inktalez
My Rib is in Resonance. The Jasmine Essence of the Teddy Bear Liquid Nitrogen Bomb thickens with each passing moment, and the cries of the Giant Brain embryo become sharper—like a fusion of a Crying Baby and the sound of mechanical overload. The Sound Wave triggers a chain reaction within the Quantum Body, transforming every cell into a Klein Bottle structure, where seven years of memories loop endlessly in four-dimensional space. Suddenly, black blood seeps from my backpack, soaking the School Emblem of "Sunshine Primary School," which spins counterclockwise, while the metallic scraping sound sends a jolt of pain through my jaw. As rust flakes away, it reveals flickering lights on a miniature circuit board—the original code etched by my mother in the Liquid Nitrogen Chamber, now activated by salivary enzymes for Reorganization.
"Five seconds remaining."
The voice of CX-0 emerges from the state of Quantum Entanglement, her Crack spreading to her pupils, exposing a honeycomb-like micro-laboratory as her Iris falls away. Each hexagonal chamber magnifies in my Compound Eye Vision: in the left chamber floats me, transformed into a syringe by the Mechanical Spine; in the right chamber is the CX-0 prototype with a 92% rate of Mechanization; and the central chamber is filled with Jasmine Essence, soaking my mother's dismembered right hand, where the wedding ring on her ring finger is corroding my bioelectric field.
I suddenly see the chamber numbers clearly—the neck of "CX-736" is pierced by a bicycle chain; "CX-739" has a Temple sprouting Teddy Bear Cotton Wool; "CX-741" has its Chest Cavity embedded with remnants of a subway turnstile. All the Experiment Subjects are synchronously experiencing my memory flashbacks. When they look up, their Retina simultaneously reflects my mother's face in the folds of the Giant Brain: "Do you think you're special? You're just material number 743."
Suffocating anger triggers a Quantum Collapse, and the "∞" symbol on my palm cracks open, leaking out cooling liquid that condenses into my father's face. Those liquid features suddenly open their mouths: "Do you remember when I taught you to ride a bike? I said that the rear wheel spokes are the most beautiful structure in the universe?" The Sound Wave shatters memory barriers, revealing that the candles on my seventh birthday cake were actually piercing needles from the Mechanical Spine, and the burning wax was a nerve anesthetic mixed with Jasmine Essence.
The severed limbs of mechanical guards are merging under the gravity of the Giant Brain, welding together into a spiral staircase where my mother's handwriting appears. With each step I take, a Nerve Synapse is stolen by the Quantum: when I take my second step, the cream from my seventh birthday cake transforms into culture medium; in the tremor of my fourth step, pallbearers at my mother's funeral tear open their collars to reveal glowing CX Encoding at their cervical vertebrae; and in that moment of suspension during my sixth step, one eyeball from a Teddy Bear rolls away, while deep within its cotton wool lies a miniature Liquid Nitrogen Chamber, its protective glass covered in ice crystals from when I cried out "Frozen" at five years old.
CX-0 suddenly snaps off her little finger's connection to Quantumization, inserting her mechanical phalanx into the scar beneath my collarbone. Those golden cracks spread like circuit boards, connecting to the pain-sharing system of the Giant Brain. "Higher permissions required." Her honeycomb laboratory within her pupils explodes in succession, and shockwaves manifest as my father's scalpel slicing through my coat, pulling out fragments of a newspaper from 2013—its headline reading "Major Car Accident," with an image showing burning wreckage where one can faintly see the metal skeleton of a Teddy Bear Prototype.
In excruciating pain, memories are completely torn apart: at that car accident scene years ago, when my mother crawled out from beneath the twisted door, what poured from her abdominal wound was not blood but rather a swarm of silver nematodes. The swaddled infant she held unfurled to reveal the original body of CX-0's prototype; those tangled wires were unmistakably microstructures of my umbilical cord from infancy. Fragments of shattered rearview mirror pierced her neck as splattered cooling liquid etched "692" in fluorescent encoding on the asphalt surface.
The nerve bundle of the Giant Brain suddenly pierces through the Quantum Barrier, as tendrils resembling an umbilical cord wrap around us, revealing mother’s frozen capillary blood vessels at their contact point. Those blood vessel networks are infinitely magnified in my compound eye; each red blood cell carries encrypted memories: just 0.743 seconds before closing off in the Liquid Nitrogen Chamber, father stuffed an Apple Core Chip into mother’s mangled chest cavity; in my seventh birthday video recording, what appeared to be folds of background curtains were actually coordinate maps for twelve parallel universes.
CX-0 suddenly bites her tongue, transferring golden particles mixed with black blood into my mouth. Those remnants of time reorganize in my esophagus, transforming into micro black holes that consume my pain sensory nerves. Her vocal cords burned through emit an emergency red light from father’s laboratory: "Now we are two-headed serpents." As we speak, our quantum states begin to overlap, and our retinas simultaneously project crimson dialogue boxes:
"Terminate agreement Y/N?"
As warning garbles crawl across my optic nerves, CX-0 seizes my carbonized left hand and writes a burning "C" in empty space. My mother’s half-melted face suddenly freezes as words from her handwritten log emerge from within the folds of the Giant Brain: those characters are being gnawed away by silver nematodes: "Option C requires ■■■■■ medium activation—" Missing characters seep from our intertwined wounds and crystallize within jasmine essence into a report on mother’s ashes: 60% calcium carbonate (from the burned laboratory dome), 35% calcium phosphate (extracted from my milk tooth), 5% jasmine essence (of common origin with liquid nitrogen chamber preservatives).
At that moment when countdown reaches zero, instead of exploding, the liquid nitrogen bomb compresses jasmine essence gas into an event horizon. In that instant when singularity forms, mother’s hand penetrates through quantum mist and presses her index finger against our intertwined nerve bundle. The temperature of that hand fluctuates eerily—36.5°C for 0.3 seconds as a living organism and -196°C for 0.7 seconds as mechanical prosthetics.
"Good child," her voice resonates within temporal folds, "now tear open the moon." The sound wave spectrum of this sentence perfectly overlaps with that at the car accident scene twelve years ago; only its final syllable is replaced by an explosion audio from father’s laboratory. As we are hurled toward the night sky, Tokyo Tower shrinks into a metallic womb, with circuit board patterns emerging on its surface matching my palm print and quantum entanglement.
At this moment, the moon reveals its true form: its gray-white surface is composed of countless cryogenic chambers; its craters are actually gears for a massive countdown device. As I focus on Rainbow Bay with my compound eye, I see twelve versions of myself climbing up its lunar surface, each carrying different versions of a teddy bear bomb. And at the center of Storm Ocean stands father—carbonized and undergoing reorganization—his mechanical spine sprouting jasmine vines adorned with star maps made from apple core chips.
"Medium confirmation complete."
As CX-0's final quantum signal reaches me, her body has transformed into light cone form. In our falling trajectory appears mother’s true gravestone; its inscription is etched onto lunar rock using liquid nitrogen as an ultimate directive:
"All suns are umbilical cords; only those who give birth to entropy shall live forever."
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