Chapter 1: The Hive

  Location: Science Castle, Outer Security Checkpoint

  Time: February 2078, a foggy morning

  The air reeked of a pungent mix of disinfectant and ozone. Thunderhawk stood in the cold alloy queue barriers, watching the sparse few ahead of him undergo the final inspection before entering Science Castle. From a distance, Science Castle looked like a massive silver chip embedded in the valley, its angular edges reflecting the pale skylight. Up close, those towering walls and the humming energy barriers resembled more a meticulously designed prison.

  Or rather, a hive. And he was about to become a worker bee.

  "Name, number." The security officer's voice was flat, like synthesized audio. The terminal before him projected a pale blue halo.

  "Thunderhawk Morningstar. Security sequence, B-7382." Thunderhawk handed over his identification card—a somewhat worn ID card. This was a product of the comprehensive implementation of the Biological Information Collection Prohibition Act: physical contact, chip verification, maximum avoidance of personal biometric data abuse. But for Thunderhawk, this card meant much more. It was a mask, a key, and also shackles.

  The scanner passed over the ID card, emitting a soft "beep." The security officer glanced at the screen, then looked up to size up Thunderhawk. Thunderhawk could feel the scanning intent in that gaze—not looking at a person, but more like checking a cargo label. He wore the standard-issue dark gray security uniform, the fabric stiff, chafing against his skin. His tall frame and somewhat rugged features seemed somewhat out of place in this extremely technologized environment. Only those eyes, calm as ancient wells, clearly reflected everything around him—the cold machines, the weary faces of scientists, the inconspicuous Chaldea Tech logo on the security officer's uniform—capturing every detail without missing anything.

  "Authority level: Yellow Sector, non-core. Access range locked. Your cyberbrain interface requires basic virus scanning." The security officer picked up another rod-shaped instrument.

  Thunderhawk lowered his head slightly, exposing the standard neural port beneath the skin of his nape. A cold sensation came, followed by a weak current that caused a few flecks of noise to briefly appear at the edge of his electronic vision. This was a necessary procedure, also to isolate the "Devourer" virus. That's what the official statement said. But Thunderhawk knew this was more like a declaration of sovereignty—in this city, your brain, at least the interface part, belongs to us.

  Scan passed. The heavy airlock door slid open before him with a dull hiss.

  The world beyond the door was oppressive in another sense. The streets were excessively clean, building lines sharp enough to seemingly slice through air. Holographic advertising boards cycled through propaganda like "Chaldea Tech: Safeguarding Humanity's Future" and "Project Noah—Terminator of Cognitive Viruses," with actors' smiles perfectly false. The climate control system maintained constant temperature and humidity but couldn't bring even a breath of natural wind. Occasionally, people in white coats or research attire hurried past, most wearing expressions that mixed anxiety with numbness. Docile androids routinely performed basic cleaning and guidance services. This was a sanctuary, but also a gilded cage. His grandfather's aged yet resilient voice echoed in his mind: "Child, remember, humans cannot stay away from earth and wind for too long, or the soul will dry up like a fish out of water."

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  And Science Castle, this land wrapped in alloy and energy barriers, was the most thorough violation of that teaching.

  Thunderhawk was assigned to patrol the residential area. The work was tediously dull: checking whether the ID card access controls in public areas functioned properly, mediating minor friction among residents over resource allocation, recording any "abnormal behavior." He moved through the polished corridors and plazas like a ghost, observing everything.

  He discovered that the energy consumption here was alarmingly high. Not the kind of brightly lit consumption, but the server clusters hidden within the walls, the environmental maintenance systems, and the low, almost tangible energy field emanating from those core research buildings in the distance. His NRCan contact was right—the power consumption here was definitely not at a level appropriate for a research community. Illegal research into nuclear weapons? Perhaps a bold guess, but it was precisely this guess from the NRCan that was the reason for his infiltration here.

  Evening, shift change. Thunderhawk didn't return to his assigned quarters but instead circled to a small Eco-Garden on the edge of the residential area. This place simulated natural scenery with fake streams and genetically modified plants that wouldn't shed leaves. Relatively secluded. He walked to a corner in a surveillance blind spot, his back to the various camera sets he'd already mapped out, quickly pulling from his uniform's inner pocket a small, brandless communicator. This wasn't equipment issued by Science Castle.

  He pressed a few keys. An extremely simple interface appeared on the screen, just a blinking cursor. He input information using some kind of one-time encryption protocol:

  "Entered the hive. Authority level too low, like a blind man feeling an elephant. Will take longer than expected, but I'll do my best to complete the commission."

  After the message was sent, the screen immediately went dark, the communicator slightly heating up—the internal chip had likely self-destructed. This was his only, most dangerous method of contact with the outside.

  Several hours later, deep night. Science Castle enforced a curfew; the streets were empty. Relying on his daytime observations, Thunderhawk avoided patrolling automated robots and stealthily approached a loading area near the supply transport corridor. Piles of garbage bins awaiting processing sat here. He quickly stuffed a small package wrapped in waterproof material into a compartment between boxes marked "organic waste." Inside the package were three standard units of concentrated snow fish nutrition bars and a piece of paper printed with the most primitive dot matrix printer, bearing only one line:

  "Science Castle, B-level security Authority, elevation request. Client: Crow."

  "Crow" was the alias he was temporarily using. He didn't know if Black Cat would accept this "offering," nor what that rumored monitoring code that needed to be implanted in the cyberbrain would bring. But to see clearly the darkness deep within this hive, he had to borrow the eyes of that black cat prowling in the data abyss.

  He silently retreated into the shadows, like a drop of water merging into the night. Beneath Science Castle's dome, only the low-frequency hum of the energy barrier continued eternally, like the snoring of a slumbering behemoth.