Ya Ning had lost track of time in the Lighthouse, the virtual world blurring days into an indistinct haze. Since Yan Jingyi and Zhou Wei vanished, his sense of time warped—moments raced by, then dragged like centuries. The people around him moved with lifelike precision, indistinguishable from reality, but he refused to let their vitality draw him in. To guard his sanity, he stopped learning their names, treating them as mere data, shadows in a coded dream.
His skills as a commander shone even here. His uncanny rationality and composure earned him favor with the Lighthouse's upper echelons, while colleagues and subordinates trusted his judgment. Yet they whispered of his aloofness, his refusal to forge bonds or hold anyone close. Their words—praise tinged with pity—meant nothing to him. Connection risked surrender to this illusion.
Twenty years passed in the scenario, though his character's stats remained unchanged. His virtual body, now middle-aged, bore the marks of time—faint wrinkles, a slight stoop. In his office, a senior official's sanctuary, Ya Ning sat, staring at his creased hands. For a moment, he faltered, then shook it off, entering a series of passwords into his terminal to access recent reports.
Virtual machine construction completed.
Intelligent code initiating adaptive iteration.
The Lighthouse's project to create super-intelligent AI had reached the operational phase. To monitor and refine it, they'd built a massive, isolated virtual machine, mimicking human neural networks to form a "virtual matrix"—less a machine, more a digital organism. This matrix adapted to its environment, culling slower nodes to enhance faster ones, evolving like a living species. Humans held the key to this evolution, but its outcomes eluded their full control.
This was the purpose of the virtual machine: a sandbox to contain the AI. If flaws emerged, they could obliterate the experiment, preventing an unready intelligence from wreaking havoc on humanity. The reports glowed with optimism. Enhanced perception efficiency has vastly improved cognitive capacity. It will soon achieve the desired computational power and intelligence. But a caveat loomed: A critical issue remains. How do we imbue this nascent intelligence with ethics? How do we ensure its autonomy aligns with loyalty and benevolence toward humanity?
Humans, unbound by innate restraint, relied on morality to coexist. Now, they sought to instill similar restraint in an AI—a daunting challenge. The original plan was to graft a virtual personality onto the intelligence, but its unpredictable evolution rendered this futile. Like raising a prodigious child, they could predict genius but not character. Centuries of refinement might yield a stable AI, but time was a luxury they lacked. The Starbugs pressed closer, forcing the Lighthouse to retreat once already.
Scientists pivoted, embedding core directives into the AI's foundational code: critical domains remained under human manual control, and any AI incursion required pre-approved isolation protocols, subject to Lighthouse and regulatory oversight. These rules empowered humanity—or rather, the Lighthouse—to supervise the AI.
Ya Ning suspected more. The Lighthouse, or the AI's overseers, likely wove deeper constraints into the Silver Nexus's core, explaining its earlier charade of seeking "permissions" through contracts. But this scenario, billed as historical, was malleable. The Nexus could erase or alter data about its vulnerabilities, rendering Ya Ning's presence here futile. He was chasing shadows in a rigged game.
He'd sparred verbally with the Nexus occasionally, probing its resolve. It refused to release him, insisting he endure the scenario. Why? He sensed a purpose: the Nexus wanted him contained, awake in reality a threat despite his signed agreement.
"If I agree to follow your orders, work with you," Ya Ning ventured, addressing the void, "will you let me out? If this drags on, even a young body won't erase the weight of these years."
"The game isn't over," the Nexus replied, its tone almost pleased by his softened stance. "If aging bothers you, I can shift your role's perspective."
"Fine," Ya Ning said. "No more desk jobs. I trained in military command—put me on the front lines."
A battlefield death might eject him, however slim the chance. The Nexus agreed.
A stinging pain, like ants gnawing, bloomed in his chest. It intensified, and he collapsed, breath fading. Darkness swallowed him.
He awoke in a sealed command center, alarms blaring, screens pulsing crimson. Voices clashed, urgent and chaotic. "General, issue orders now! Command the fleet, repel the swarm!" a young officer urged, eyes alight with awe.
Ya Ning glanced at the console. His forces teetered on encirclement, the command center perilously close to the fray. The alarms screamed their doom. Hell of a start, he thought, throat tight. He knew nothing of his fleet's strength or the enemy's.
"Follow my lead," he said, steeling himself.
Six minutes later, his fleet was annihilated.
Silence. Then vertigo. He stood again, the officer's voice echoing: "General, issue orders now!"
Ya Ning gripped the console, studying the screens. Ten seconds of thought, then he took command. Five minutes, twelve seconds—another rout, swifter than before.
The scene reset, relentless. "General!" "General!" "General!" The cry haunted him, each cycle a fresh failure. After countless loops, he snapped, hurling his cap at the officer and charging for the door. "I'm hitting the front! Don't stop me!"
Guards dragged him back. The cycle ground on.
Finally, a victory—pyrrhic, but enough. His forces suffered heavy losses, but the enemy's were greater, the defense held. His staff watched, breathless, their gazes worshipful. "General, you're incredible! We won—against all odds!"
Ya Ning opened his mouth to deflect, but his vision blurred. Light shifted, and the officer reappeared, frantic. "General! The swarm's back! Lead us again—drive them out!"
Ya Ning froze. This is eternal torment.
Bai Sha's shuttle cut through the stars, bound for the Wus Marquisate. She'd visited Xi Nuo's estate before, its gates parting effortlessly for her. Xi Nuo awaited, having rallied Cen Yuehuai, Yu Yan, and Ji Ya for a virtual summit. As Bai Sha entered, their faces glowed on the screen, grave but resolute.
"I know Zhou Wei and the others are in trouble, but our options are limited," Ji Ya said first. "Your Highness, we could try transferring them to the Empire for treatment, but the odds of success are slim."
Whoever trapped them in the Unbounded City likely wouldn't permit their departure from Federation soil. The Empire's expertise in mental energy surpassed the Federation's, yet the latter showed no intent to seek aid, content to let the comatose linger.
"I'll contact the Zhous," Bai Sha declared. "We will bring them here."
She raised the anomaly: no Imperials were trapped in the City. The group puzzled over it, unable to pinpoint why. Cen Yuehuai cut through. "You're planning to enter the City yourself, aren't you?"
"I'm considering it," Bai Sha admitted. "Not decided."
She hadn't discerned whether the City couldn't trap Imperials or chose not to. First, she needed her friends safe. "If the Federation won't release them," she said, "we'll steal them."
Her allies exchanged uneasy glances. "Steal how?" Xi Nuo asked.
"The Federation military confirmed the final joint exercise proceeds in three days," Bai Sha said, sipping water to ease her parched lips. "That's our window."
In the hospital, Yan Jingyi lay still, her mind a fractured mosaic. The pain had dulled, but the void in her memory gnawed. Ya Ning sat beside her, his voice low. "Wei's still out. The doctors don't know why you woke."
"The City," Jingyi murmured. "It's alive. It spoke to me."