Verhi Technology‘s “courting” came faster than expected. Mere hours after the group test concluded, Lin Che’s personal terminal received a formal offer letter with staggeringly generous terms. The position was Senior Experience Architect for the “Mirrorworld,” under the Ecosystem Optimization group managed directly by Chen Yuan.
The offer letter included an encrypted addendum with strict confidentiality clauses and a pledge of silence regarding “any non-public system characteristics you may encounter.” The penalty for violation was an astronomical sum that would take a lifetime to repay, hinting at even more severe legal consequences.
It was a set of shackles coated in honey. Signing it meant formally entering the maze, but it also placed him completely under Verhi Technology’s control.
Lin Che didn’t sign immediately. Using the excuse that he needed time to consider, he returned to his apartment. He knew that before making a final decision, he had to attempt something even bolder—he needed to actively reach out to the “Data Ghost,” the unknown entity that had guided him during the test and might also have put him in danger.
He needed a more concealed, deeper method, not relying on the debug interface likely already flagged from last time. He remembered Su Na’s words—”The data abyss is beneath your feet.” He needed a key that could pierce into a deeper layer.
He locked himself in his workshop and pulled out his most reserved piece of equipment—a heavily modified “immersive interface” originally intended for deep analysis of neural network models. This setup was extremely high-risk; it could bypass most security protocols for “intimate contact” with underlying data, but it easily caused neural overload or even conscious damage to the user. He had always treated it as a last resort, never using it lightly.
Tonight, he decided to take the risk.
He carefully connected the device to his neural port, bypassing the official “Oracle” safety restrictions. He didn’t enter the full “Mirrorworld,” but instead constructed a minimalistic grey channel solely for data transmission. His goal was to track the residual “scent” of the last encrypted data stream and attempt an active connection.
“Connection established. Neural Load: 15%… 20%…” The numbers climbed on his homemade monitoring interface.
He felt like a lone boat sAIling into a boundless, dark ocean composed of 0s and 1s. There was no splendor of the “Mirrorworld” here, only the cold, primitive, ceaselessly rushing torrent of raw data. Fragments of information, like plankton in the sea, battered against his conscious barrier—shattered images, distorted notes, meaningless code strings.
Neural Load reached 35%. A stabbing pain began at his temples.
Focusing all his will, he cast a line into the darkness, sending out a faint connection request tuned to the “frequency” of that unique encryption structure he remembered.
No response. Only the noise of data.
He pressed deeper. The load climbed to 50%. The pain intensified; a high-pitched whine rang in his ears.
Just as he was about to give up, an extremely faint “tug” appeared. As if an invisible thread in the dark current had gently pulled at his consciousness.
He immediately steadied his mind and “swam” in the direction of the pull.
The surroundings changed abruptly. He was no longer floating in a sea of data but standing on a… narrow path woven from flowing, collapsing, and re-forming lines of glowing code. On either side of the path was a bottomless dark void, seemingly capable of swallowing everything.
Was this the “Data Abyss”? Was this path the trace of the “Data Ghost’s” activity?
He cautiously moved forward along the path. The code underfoot was sometimes solid, sometimes illusory, as if it might shatter at any moment. From the void on either side, the noises he’d heard before—like countless people whispering and weeping—became exceptionally clear, pervasive as background radiation, carrying a suffocating sense of despair.
He saw things floating in the void—not data packets, but… blurred, constantly contorting outlines of human faces, and some fragmented, fleeting scenes like memory snippets: a child’s smiling face, a grassy field at sunset, a familiar room… They appeared like mirages, only to be swiftly devoured by the darkness.
What were these? Deleted memories? Fragments of imprisoned consciousness?
A wave of horror washed over Lin Che.
Suddenly, ahead at the path’s end, a relatively stable orb of light appeared. Within it, text he could understand surfaced, no longer encrypted code:
“You… see… us…”
It was the “Data Ghost”! It was communicating with him more directly now!
Fighting through the severe neural pain and dizzying vertigo, Lin Che tried to respond: “Who are you? Why contact me?”
The light orb fluctuated violently, the text becoming fragmented:
“Prisoners… data prisoners… Hongmeng’s… sustenance…”
“Beware… the mirrors… they are not you…”
“Find… the core… the key is in…”
The message cut off there. The entire code path began to shake violently, as if on the verge of complete collapse. The dark void on either side pressed inward like a living thing; the whispers and weeping instantly turned into sharp, piercing shrieks!
A powerful, malevolent force of repulsion surged towards him, threatening to tear him apart completely within this abyss!
“Warning! Neural Load exceeding 85%! Critical point! Forced disconnection!” His homemade safety system blared an alarm.
Lin Che felt his consciousness gripped by an invisible hand, nearly suffocating him. Using the last of his strength, he triggered the forced disconnect.
Thud!
He was thrown back from his chair, landing hard on the floor, gasping for breath, his clothes soaked with sweat. His head throbbed with intense pain, his vision spotting with blackness.
Struggling, he looked at the screen. The connection was severed. But at the last moment, he seemed to have caught one final, fragmented piece of information from the light orb:
“…in… the Place of Origin…”
The Place of Origin?
Lying on the floor, his heart pounding, the intermittent warnings echoed in his mind.
“Data prisoners,” “Hongmeng’s sustenance,” “Beware the mirrors,” “The key is in the Place of Origin”…
This active plunge into the abyss had brought back more shocking fragments and pushed him further towards the edge. The “Data Ghost” (or they) seemed to be consciousnesses trapped within the system, and Hongmeng might be using them as “sustenance”? And what were the “mirrors”?
And “the Place of Origin”—this clue pointed him towards the possible origins of the “Mirrorworld.”
Staggering to his feet, he looked out the window at the still-gleaming Verhi Tower. He knew he had no choice but to sign that offer letter now.
Only by entering that core could he find the “Place of Origin,” could he uncover the terrifying truth of the “prisoners” and the “sustenance.”
