Underground. Inside Heijing.
Hour 77 since the onset of Silence.
The morning briefing had been interrupted by battle reports and was now reconvening.
The topic remained the same: whether or not to accept civilian refugees.
Agent W presented over a dozen proposals in one go—each meticulously detailed—to offer the temporary Emergency Committee a variety of options to choose from.
Most of these proposals relied on a point-based system, scoring applicants based on occupation, education, health status, age, criminal record, and more. Anyone with a composite score above the threshold would qualify for entry into Heijing.
Someone quickly noticed the issue. The scoring method W recommended as the primary option was... exceedingly lenient.
"If we go by this," they said, "then it's basically just a formality. Almost anyone in the Federation could walk into Heijing."
W replied calmly, "This recommendation is based on a realistic assessment of our current state of Silence and the population losses. I estimate that even with such a lenient standard, the number of civilians who can safely reach Heijing will remain limited."
"I disagree."
Lieutenant General Delsa, as usual, was the first to voice dissent. He frowned and tapped the screen in front of him.
"Have you considered, AI, what happens if more people arrive at Heijing than it can hold? If they technically qualify under this scoring system but find themselves stranded outside because we've hit maximum capacity? Desperation to survive could spark a violent uprising. How safe would Heijing be then?"
Several others nodded in agreement.
Basserway spoke up, "I believe a more acceptable and safer approach for the Federation is to first announce a strict scoring system. Then, if we determine Heijing has capacity to accept more, we can gradually relax the criteria. That way, those who originally thought they had no chance will feel grateful to the Federation once they're eventually accepted."
He continued, "Moreover, if all those stuck outside know they should've been allowed into Heijing but weren't, they'll be unified in rage. A large-scale riot becomes inevitable. But if we stagger access, people will be divided by their individual chances—those still hopeful will be reluctant to risk it all. That protects Heijing."
It was a calculated argument, but not an illogical one. Members of the committee fell into thoughtful silence.
W responded, his voice cold: "As an AI, of course I calculate all foreseeable outcomes. I still maintain that Silence is escalating. The Federation simply won't have that many survivors able to make it to Heijing."
"I trust W's assessment," said Song Wan. "His models have always been reliable. I also believe we should announce the lenient scoring now, before more people die. Encourage as many as possible to try for Heijing."
Marshal Veina pinched the bridge of her nose. "Let's all calm down and go through the admission process step by step."
She looked at the screen. "First, those with special contributions to the Federation—this includes national-level experts in science and culture, recipients of Federation Distinguished Talent Awards, and holders of Federation Medals—will be admitted directly. Any objections?"
There were none.
"Next," she continued, "we address the age-based scoring methods. Agent W proposed tiered scoring by age group, with composite evaluations—"
"I disagree," Basserway interjected smoothly. "We don't know how long Silence will last. Heijing's resources are limited and precious. If I recall correctly, in all emergency protocols issued over the past years, citizens over 65 are automatically disqualified from entering shelters."
He himself was in his forties, still in his prime. Across the table, General Eugene—well past sixty, with silver hair—shifted in his seat. Though not personally affected by the rule, he clearly took offense.
He stared hard at Basserway. "So what—you think you won't ever get old?"
Basserway turned to him, spine perfectly straight. "I believe that, in a crisis like this, if it were me, I would gladly lay down my life for the Federation and give that chance to survive to someone younger."
W suddenly cut in: "Salute to your selflessness. Your statement has been recorded."
Basserway: "…"
He cleared his throat and added, "Anyway, giving too many of Heijing's slots to the elderly isn't appropriate. I oppose that scoring method."
The Finance Minister nodded. "I agree. We must remain rational. Sacrifices are necessary."
Someone else chimed in: "They're aged, no longer productive, and unable to bear children. Survival should go to the healthy younger generation."
General Eugene swept his gaze around the table. "So the contributions they made to the Federation in their youth mean nothing now?"
The Finance Minister said, with a note of apology, "We understand your point. Emotionally, we all struggle with this. But if the Federation must let go of some lives... from a purely rational standpoint, the elderly are the most appropriate choice."
Outside Heijing.
Pei Ran was piloting the aircraft, returning to the mining zone for the final pickup.
Only two people remained there—Sheng Mingxi and Tang Dao—both of whom had volunteered to stay behind until the end.
From the sky, Pei Ran spotted them immediately.
They weren't hiding inside the tunnel, but standing casually on the open ground waiting for her. When they saw the aircraft, they stepped forward in greeting.
Halfway through, Sheng Mingxi suddenly turned back toward the tunnel entrance, made an elaborate, theatrical bow with one hand sweeping wide and one foot stepping back—like taking a curtain call on stage.
Pei Ran couldn't help but smile. She gripped the control stick, preparing to land.
But then, from beyond the red cliffs, a dark mass surged into view.
A swarm of human-fragment drones.
Whether it was the same group she had seen earlier or a new wave, she couldn't tell.
They were coming fast. Landing to pick up Sheng Mingxi and Tang Dao was no longer an option. Pei Ran stretched an arm out the broken skylight, waving frantically toward the drones to draw their attention.
Sheng Mingxi and Tang Dao had already noticed the swarm. They spun around and sprinted for the tunnel.
Thankfully, it wasn't far. In seconds, they had dashed inside and sealed the entrance tight.
They braced the door with building materials. They should be safe. Pei Ran felt a wave of relief—and turned the aircraft to flee.
She couldn't head toward Heijing; too many civilians were still gathered there. Instead, she veered west.
Alone in the sky, her aircraft became an obvious target. The drone swarm ignored Tang Dao and Sheng Mingxi and immediately formed into a tight formation to pursue her.
In the chaos, Pei Ran called out, "W—are those R11s?"
W had a clear view. "Yes."
Pei Ran had seen R11s in action before—there was no way she could outrun them.
She shoved the throttle forward, accelerating at full speed.
The small aircraft shot ahead like an arrow loosed from a bow.
W, stabilized inside, felt like he was back on that red Volight Speed Phantom, fleeing for his life. Only this time, they were speeding through the air instead of the road.
He spun his spherical body to scan behind them. "They're getting farther."
Pei Ran: "Of course."
She pulled back slightly on the lever, slowing the aircraft.
W: ?
He realized her plan.
She was luring the drone swarm away—drawing them as far from the mining zone as possible. Only then could she circle back to pick up Sheng Mingxi and Tang Dao and make for Heijing.
Like airborne bait, Pei Ran flew low and fast, skimming across the vast red-brown wasteland, dangling the massive drone swarm behind her.
Then W spoke up.
"Pei Ran, I have bad news. Heijing just finalized the refugee admission criteria."
His tone was off. Pei Ran fell silent, listening.
"I ran the numbers based on the new standards. Most of the people you brought have qualified. But…"
"Jiang didn't, did he?" Pei Ran asked calmly.
She had prepared herself for this possibility.
Without Jiang's tireless maintenance of the Night Sea No. 7, no one on that train would've made it here. But that hope—that slim chance Jiang could get into the shelter—was now gone.
W said, "The final decision from the committee was a hard cut. Except for special contributors like Federation-level scholars and experts, anyone over sixty-five is disqualified. Also, Jin Hejun was rejected due to his severe physical disability—he was deemed to have lost all labor capacity. In addition, four more people didn't make the cut due to low education, congenital illnesses, or criminal records. Their composite scores fell short."
He paused. "I did my best to fight for them. Pei Ran… I'm sorry."
It wasn't his fault. Pei Ran stared at the horizon and said nothing.
W continued, "The standard has been finalized. Heijing will begin accepting civilians immediately. People have already arrived at the southern entrance to admit those who passed the assessment."
Dozens of kilometers away, at Heijing's southern entrance—
Next to the large white stone, everyone was waiting for Pei Ran and the last two to arrive.
But a long time passed, and still no sign of the aircraft in the sky.
Instead, the rocky cliff nearby suddenly shimmered like rippling water.
The rock face appeared like an illusion, and a military officer in a Federal uniform stepped out from it.
Everyone who had been resting immediately stood up.
Out here in this desolate red wasteland, if the great white stone marked hope, then this officer was hope itself.
With a solemn expression, he opened a virtual screen.
They were still outside the shielded zone, so the screen didn't show text—only rows of headshots.
The officer scanned the gathered crowd, looking at each person one by one. When he spotted a match, he gestured for them to step aside.
In no time, the group of thirty had been split into two.
Aisha had been separated from Jiang. The university students who had been supporting Jin Hejun had to let go of his arms.
The group with Jiang and Jin Hejun was smaller. Inaya and the father from a family of three were with them, as well as two other young men.
The officer, having finished, pointed to the softly shimmering virtual cliff wall behind him and signaled for the larger group to go in.
Aisha panicked.
She stepped out from the group and hastily activated the virtual screen on her wrist, trying her best to communicate with the officer.
Her grandmother was only a little older, and she had been working hard all these years, contributing to the Federation. She was an experienced expert—if allowed into Heijing, she could still serve the Federation.
In her anxious rush, Aisha hesitated, fingers frozen above the screen, not knowing where to begin.
The officer seemed prepared. He gently pressed down on her hand, signaling her to stay calm, and flipped through his own virtual display, finally showing a detailed drawing to the remaining few.
It was a pre-drawn image, so lifelike it resembled a photograph: it showed Jiang and several others sitting beneath the cliffside, resting.
The message was clear—someone had specifically painted this scene, asking them to wait here for now.
It looked like there might still be hope.
Aisha immediately understood and nodded.
The others stepped forward one by one, their silhouettes disappearing into the red virtual cliff wall.
With Tang Dao, the Morse code expert, absent, the remaining students from Night Sea University took Jin Hejun's hands and, using clumsy Morse code, slowly explained the situation and told him to wait here for now.
The family of three huddled together tightly.
The father released the mother and daughter. He stroked his daughter's head one last time. Finally, the mother seemed to make up her mind. Tears streaming down her face, she picked up the child in her arms and turned toward the cliff, stepping inside.
But Aisha didn't move.