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墨書 Inktalez
The fluorescent track beneath my wrist suddenly constricted to a needle point, piercing the radial artery with a burning sensation that brought me to my knees beside the fire hydrant. The holographic skin shed by the man with the thermos writhed on the ground, revealing the N-77 model number of the nano robot developed by Li Ming. I bit through the third button of my collar, the bitter detoxifier mixed with the taste of mint aftershave rushing down my throat.
"The Cognitive Barrier has 27 seconds remaining."
A warning popup from the Brainwave Analyzer displayed my father's alert. Thirteen retinal projections blinked in sync on the advertisement screen, black viscous liquid oozing from the slit of their pupils. My hand, gripping the fire hydrant, suddenly sank into metal as nano robots began to emerge from my pores. The dashboard's neural pulse index surged past critical levels.
The mechanical sounds morphed into an infant's cry as it penetrated my inner ear, and I crushed the emerald earring that held Li Ming's last vial of serum. The alert for "Continuous Supplement of Liquid Quantum Memory" exploded into a ringing in my ears, while my reflection in the glass emergency door showed my right arm's veins being consumed by fluorescent patterns.
At the moment liquid metal injected into my biceps, the fluorescent tubes overhead collectively shattered. In the rotting rose-scented darkness, I heard thirteen distinct screams simultaneously. A girl in a school uniform was carving her ribs into a draftbook, while a woman in a qipao ground coins into eye drops that dripped into her decaying eye sockets.
"They're disintegrating at Xinjiekou station!"
The remnants of the man's holographic projection suddenly convulsed, cracks resembling neural synapses appearing on his skin's surface. I smashed the emergency hammer against the glass cabinet; shards splattered around me, wrapped in electronic pulses from the 1989 Shenzhen Stock Exchange opening, activating my father's four-dimensional anchoring program as they pierced my palm.
As fluorescent patterns crawled up my scapula, an image flashed on the subway advertisement screen showing Li Ming with his trachea severed. Electronic shackles coated in cerebrospinal fluid began to grow from my wrist, and my watch indicated that 68% of liquid quantum memory had been consumed.
Blue viscous liquid seeping from cracks in the bathroom tiles suddenly boiled, forming thirteen humanoid silhouettes that bowed to me. The sound of dress shoes crunching glass echoed down the corridor.
Seven figures clad in protective suits emerged from different dimensions; their gas masks rotated to reveal my ID photo through their eye filters. I tore apart the security machine's power cord wrapped around my ankle, and a nano robot crawled along the copper wire to corrode a hole resembling the 1997 Shenzhen Composite Index graph on the pursuer's mask.
"The left ventricle is beginning to crystallize."
A warning flashed from the Brainwave Analyzer, interrupting my thoughts. Deep within the tunnel, a viscous black mist rose, and as the engulfed billboards flickered back to life, they transformed into a countdown for consciousness upload by the Deep Eye Council.
I crashed into the mirrored restroom, clawing at the tiles; the pain of my bent nails jolted me awake, triggering the Escape Protocol that Li Ming had implanted. The rhythm of the emergency lights suddenly synchronized with the consumption of Liquid Quantum Memory.
As the 26th Fluorescent Tube extinguished, the patterns on my arm finally connected into a complete diagram of Line 13. In that instant, as the laser targeting dot of the Pursuer converged on my nape, the ventilation duct erupted with Li Ming's Cognitive Fog—a mix of Jasmine Fragrance and Rusty Smell that precisely covered the Retina pattern recognition area.
When the Headlight pierced through the fog, the Dashboard in the cockpit displayed that the Neural Pulse synchronization rate had reached 400%. I sprinted forward, stepping on my own projected shadow that danced along the tunnel walls, while behind me came the brittle sound of liquid metal freezing.
The Nano Robot began to turn against its host; the patterns on my arm crawled along the Lymphatic System toward my heart. Suddenly, thirteen Twisted Faces bulged out from the Glass Curtain Wall, their Electronic Vocal Cords vibrating in tune with my Brainwave frequency.
With only 3% of Liquid Quantum Memory left flashing a warning red light, a Mirror Self burst forth from the opposite tunnel, also fleeing. On our simultaneously raised Right Arms, a Fluorescent Track Map emerged from our Veins, forming a Living Cable that connected two worlds.
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