There was dead silence. The world was submerged in the inky torrent, as if imprisoned in a throbbing embryonic core. He felt neither cold nor pain.
Suddenly, among the deep ripples, a full moon floated slowly, and the pale white flame of metallic luster burned blazingly. A velvety white light bursts out, as soft and bright as a light dance.
Consciousness is instinctively attracted to it, trying to grasp the last ray of light in this dark world. He was flying around like a star shadow, and he felt that he was flying towards it, or that the silver moon was moving closer to him.
Then the light continued to expand, and the world around him gradually reappeared in his mind...
He found himself sitting up in bed, the light and pain still burned into his consciousness like embers. There wasn't a drop of sweat on his body, and his limbs were cold and stiff, as if they were foreign to him.
This is where? It won't be the control room of the Underground Railroad.
The buckwheat-filled pillows were patterned with classical flower and plant patterns, the rag carpet was soft and warm, and the wood grain and moth marks on the desk next to him made him feel nostalgic inexplicably.
Is it really just a weird nightmare?
No……
He looked towards the window and saw nothing through the rusty glass window, like the vacuum of the universe.
An unreal feeling of fear came over me.
[Good evening, dear Mr. Edgar Waikolo. Nice to see you again. 】
Pale white flame text is written on the beige wall, and the scrawled handwriting reveals a unique elegance and beauty.
Ed's heart felt as if it had been hit by a heavy hammer, and it rose to his throat again. He pretended to be calm and said:
"This is where?"
[This is your thinking palace, a private space dominated by your own will. 】
"How did I get here? Why do my memories feel so messed up?"
[Of course it’s because a small piece of metal penetrated your soft gray matter, temporal cortex, and hippocampus. You thought what just happened was just a dream, right? Dreams never exist independently of reality, my dear good sir. 】
In other words, was I really shot in the head?
This was both terrifying and a bit unbelievable. Ed crossed his hands under his chin and stared at the writing on the wall. After a moment of silence, he said:
"So am I going to die?"
【I would. 】
"Can you save me?"
[Hmm, to be precise, only I can save you. 】
"What's the price? My soul?" There is no free lunch in the world, and Ed knows this truth very well.
[Do I look like a scrap collector? 】
Ed was speechless for a moment. He could only squeeze out an embarrassing hoarse sneer from his throat, lowered his head and rubbed his brow:
"Okay then, who are you?"
[The personality matrix of the "Secret Keeper Program" - if you can understand it. In short, I am your adventure. 】
Program? How does this statement sound like the terminology of a differential engine...
He recalled that sophisticated machine composed of gear arrays and pulley belts, which could complete all kinds of jaw-droppingly precise calculations and controls by simply reading program cards made of milky white fiber with pinholes.
That thing has endless potential to change the world—along with a failure rate and maintenance difficulty that kills maintenance technicians.
"If someone really opened a hole in my head, how would you save me?"
[It’s very simple—remember the silver-white card you picked up in your dream? 】
That "divination card"? Reaching into his coat pocket, Ed took out the metal card with his own name on it, named "Edgar Waikolo".
Unlike the subway, the entire card looked weak and translucent, covered with dense, capillary-like micro-cracks, as if it would shatter to the ground if you blew it.
[This card saves all the data of your body functions. As long as your character card is read and initialized, the program will repair the wound based on the data in the card and maintain your life. 】
"Maintain...?" Ed was keenly aware of this word.
[The original body's brain damage resulted in data loss when exporting the card. Imported in this form, you can survive in the real world for 72 hours under the most optimistic scenario. 】
Only three more days to live?
Ed's expression at this moment was like being fished out of an ice cave and dropped into a pan of oil, his face changed from bloodless to sickly red. He showed an ugly and helpless smile:
"Is there... no other way?"
【Of course. If you can get another complete character card within three days, it can be stabilized in a safe state for a long time after importing. Doesn't sound difficult? 】
Ha, it doesn't sound difficult... Ed pursed his lips. Now he felt that his consciousness was getting weaker and slower, and the world was gradually blurring and dimming in front of his eyes, like a light that was about to go out.
An unprecedented sense of calm came, but it made him extremely panicked. Death is getting closer and closer to me, but there is at least a glimmer of hope for now:
“Where do I go to get another character card?”
[Of course, we are adapting to circumstances. The situation in the real world is unknown to you and me. If I meet a suitable host body, I will remind you. 】
"I have one last question," he forced himself to ask: "Why do you want to help me?"
After a moment of silence, Flame Text replied:
[Service is the nature of machines, just like survival is to living things. Does this answer satisfy you? 】
"..."
After a moment of silence, Ed finally nodded in agreement:
"Okay, it's better to die than to live. Find a way to do something, 'Matrix', thank you."
In an instant, the silver handwritten flame text on the wall disappeared, and another type of printed text took its place, appearing in the center of the field of vision:
【》》》Starting the secret keeper program》》》]
An inexplicable feeling of powerlessness suddenly came over me, as if my soul had been ripped away from my body. He couldn't speak, couldn't open his mouth, couldn't even move his lips.
【》》》Loading character card》》》]
Then the world began to become dark and cold, and Ed couldn't help but begin to wonder. Maybe it was a wrong decision to believe in this so-called "Matrix"?
But I'm afraid I will never have a chance to regret it again.
Then the invisible light enveloped him softly, until the world was flooded by infinite, almost transparent white...
…
I'm alive?
——This was his first thought after regaining consciousness.
The smell of dust and ink mixed with a faint aroma of leather made his throat feel so thirsty that it felt like a soldering iron was burning. He opened his eyes and saw that he was lying on his side on a bed made of two chairs, wearing a bright brown coat that did not belong to him.
The room in front of them was only small enough for the two of them to talk without being embarrassed. There were densely packed photos and some scrawled labels nailed to the hanging cork boards. Ed was dazzled for a moment and couldn't distinguish them clearly.
He glanced at the green-painted walls, the red-brown wooden boards, the ink pens and files on the table, and landed on the young man sitting behind the desk.
The light penetrated through the blinds, leaving a contrasting pattern of light and dark on the other party's fashionable plaid vest and clean corrugated shirt. Caramel-colored eyes were looking at him with interest.
The boy in front of him was like a bright fire: bright reddish-brown curly hair, pointed ears, childish face, slightly shorter than his peers, and dressed in fashionable and avant-garde clothes.
The most noteworthy thing is that his bright eyes sparkle with a sense of confidence that is far beyond that of his peers.
Cork board used to organize clues, this is the police station. But why not a hospital?
He was not wearing a police cap or epaulettes. Police officers must wear uniforms when on duty, so the other party was most likely not a police officer. Can you carry a gun in the police station even though you are not a police officer?
His peripheral vision caught the red cowhide holster on the opponent's waist. It should have been covered by a bright brown coat, but now the coat was draped around Ed.
Judging from his clothes and demeanor, the other person's social status is obviously higher than his own, and he probably has some kind of official background.
Ed had a lot of questions in his stomach, but he wasn't going to ask them rashly right now.
"Water..." He squeezed out the word from his almost dry throat, "Can you give me a glass of water?"
This is a little test for Ed. If the other person is kind and friendly, he can ask more questions; if the other person is arrogant and rude, then he'd better be careful with his words and actions.
"Excuse me, please wait a moment. Can I have tea?"
Although his appearance seems perverse, the red-haired boy's words reveal extraordinary upbringing. The other party seemed to have been prepared. He picked up a white porcelain tea set from the shelf beside him, poured the tea and brought it to the round table in front of him.
Ed nodded in thanks, picked up the tea and drank it in one gulp. The light golden tea soup is not too rich and has gone cold, but it is just right to quench your thirst. After his throat became moist again, Ed put down the teacup, wiped his lips with the back of his hand and said:
"Thank you...how did I wake up here? Uh, what happened? I..."
He held his forehead and pretended to have a splitting headache.
"There was a monster attack on the pneumatic subway. At first, the police planned to load all the bodies into the carriage and send them to the morgue, but they found that the penetrating injury to your brain was gradually healing, and your heartbeat and breathing were even restored. Let's put it this way, this kind of Even among extraordinary beings, I have only seen one person with such level of self-healing ability.”
Extraordinary? Ed noticed a new term—new to him, at least.
"...So we took you to the hospital, and you know what the doctor said? He said: 'You came too late, I can't do anything anymore - he has recovered on his own.' So I thought again and again, I have no choice but to take you to the police station first."
"Me? Penetrating brain injury? Corpse? What the hell is going on?!"
Like a normal person's first reaction, Ed's eyes widened and he jumped up from the chair at a loss.
Of course he knew what his resurrection was about, but at this moment he had to pretend to know nothing about it, otherwise he would definitely get into even greater trouble.
"Wait, sir, please don't get excited-"
The red-haired boy stood up and held his shoulders to comfort Ed. He reacted quickly and stood up almost at the same time as Ed:
"Doctors have mentioned this situation: Although your brain trauma is completely healed, you may still face an unknown degree of memory impairment or cognitive impairment. This is a normal phenomenon and may recover slowly over time. Please do not overdo it. panic."
"...Oh, I hope this is the case." Ed took a deep breath, as if he was accepting the reality.
Seeing that Ed was gradually calming down, the red-haired boy took the square metal biscuit tin next to him, unscrewed it, took a few biscuits, put them on a dinner plate, brought them to Ed, and turned around to refill his teacup:
"You have been unconscious for more than ten hours, and you must be feeling empty in your belly. The conditions of the police station are limited, so we can only serve you tea-soaked biscuits."
The biscuits on the plate have different shapes. At first glance, there are diamond-shaped, heart-shaped, swirl-shaped, and coin-shaped rounds. The golden skin exudes a sweet and attractive aroma.
"Thank you so much... I haven't asked for your name yet." Ed lowered his head and took the plate, thanking him as if he was about to settle down.
"Arthur Custer, just call me Arthur."
While dipping the biscuits into the tea to soften them, he curiously played with the biscuit tin, which had painted cartoon patterns on it: surrounded by rare treasures, several explorers happily sat around the campfire, sharing Golden cookies in the box.
Imprinted on the top are bold golden characters: "Adventure Cookies", and in the upper left corner is a star-shaped trademark with a red and blue background: "West Coast Trading Company".
"The tea is almost cold. Let me make you another pot."
"Ah, I'd better not bother you any more."
"It doesn't matter."
Arthur pushed the door open and went out. Outside the corridor, the footsteps of the red-haired boy were getting farther and farther away.
Ed suddenly put down the cookies in his hand and stood up...
