Chapter 3: Nightingale

  Location: Science Castle, Residential Area Plaza & Common Room

  Time: The day after contact with Black Cat

  A strange sense of detachment accompanied Thunderhawk as he woke. The cyberbrain's self-diagnostic program showed everything normal, with no signs of external code activity. But he knew something was different. His vision and hearing seemed to be layered with an extremely faint filter; every piece of information received by his senses seemed to be synchronously recorded by a silent observer. Black Cat's "journal" program was running. He was no longer bearing the weight of this city alone, but this "sharing" brought an even deeper loneliness.

  The daytime patrol duty was as tedious as ever. He checked the ID card access-controlled doors in the corridors one by one; green indicator lights lit up, emitting the monotonous "beep" sound, like beating out the rhythm for this hive's order. When he patrolled near the edge of the central plaza, a burst of intense arguing shattered the artificial environment's tranquility.

  An elderly scientist with graying hair and disheveled appearance—Dr. Max Hawkins—was waving a datapad at a logistics supervisor, his face flushed red.

  "This is impossible! Absolutely wrong!" Hawkins's voice echoed across the empty plaza. "My particle imaging project's baseline energy consumption was precisely calculated! Now you're telling me the quota has been cut by 30%? This amount of energy can barely maintain the vacuum chamber! Where exactly have you diverted the energy? Haven't you prioritized those unseemly 'core projects' again?"

  The logistics supervisor remained expressionless, responding mechanically: "Dr. Hawkins, energy allocation is uniformly optimized by the central system to ensure Project Noah's overall efficiency. Your project's priority has been reassessed."

  "Reassessed? By whom? A cold computer? Or those bureaucrats at Chaldea hiding behind the scenes!" Hawkins was so angry his beard trembled. "I need to see Director Graham! I must get this clarified!"

  Thunderhawk stood not far away. According to regulations, he needed to maintain order, but he didn't immediately step forward. He observed the pure anger and confusion in Hawkins's eyes—this didn't seem feigned. This old physicist's questioning precisely hit the core of the NRCan's commission. Where exactly was Science Castle's energy flowing?

  Just then, a steady, cold voice intervened: "Dr. Hawkins."

  Security Director Viktor Graham appeared like a ghost. He wore an impeccable uniform, his steps soundless, his gaze sharp as a hawk's. Just by standing there, an invisible pressure made the logistics supervisor instinctively straighten his back, and even Dr. Hawkins's momentum faltered.

  "Public area, maintain silence." Graham's voice wasn't loud but carried unquestionable authority. "Energy allocation is top-level decision-making, concerning everyone's safety in Science Castle. Your objections can go through formal appeal channels, not create panic here." His gaze swept over Hawkins, finally resting briefly on Thunderhawk, as if assessing whether this new security guard could control the situation. Deep in those eyes were absolute control and a barely perceptible warning.

  Hawkins opened his mouth, but under Graham's cold gaze, he ultimately just snorted indignantly, grabbed his datapad, and strode away. Graham gave the logistics supervisor a few low instructions, then also departed. The entire process was efficient and cold, like a carefully choreographed crisis management performance.

  The conflict quickly subsided, and the plaza returned to "normal." But Thunderhawk felt the air still carried smoldering tension. Graham's timely appearance—was it coincidence, or did it mean he was aware of every ripple within the city?

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  In the evening, Thunderhawk was dispatched near the common room in the residential area. Before he even approached, he heard suppressed sobbing and gentle consoling voices.

  In a soft corner of the common room's sofa, a young researcher sat with his face buried in his hands, shoulders trembling continuously. "I can't take it anymore... this feeling of being locked up... I don't know what's happening outside... I've lost contact with my fiancée too..."

  Crouching before this despondent researcher was an Asian woman wearing a simple lab coat. She had an upright bearing, long black hair cascading to her shoulders, revealing the graceful lines of her neck. Her voice was gentle yet firm, like a clear spring flowing over parched earth. In that moment, Thunderhawk seemed to hear a clear bird's call. She was like a nightingale that had mistakenly entered a steel jungle, singing the only genuine song in this cold world constructed of data and lies.

  "David, look at me." She said softly. "Deep breaths. We all know why we came here. Project Noah is to save more people, including your fiancée. The information control is temporary, to avoid panic. You're strong, and we all must persevere a bit longer."

  Her fingers lightly touched the researcher's wrist—not his cyberbrain interface, but a more primitive, more human form of comfort. Moonlight streamed through the enormous viewing window (outside was simulated natural scenery, yet utterly false), casting a soft halo on her profile. In that moment, she seemed utterly out of place in this cold city, like a ray of genuine light penetrating through a crack.

  Thunderhawk recognized her. The photo in the files didn't capture nearly the vitality and beauty of the real person—Verdandi Lee, neuroscience genius, core researcher in this Project Noah.

  He should have just passed by, maintaining surface order. But as if possessed, he walked over and handed her a pack of standard-issue tissues—which in a place like this, was a scarce commodity.

  Verdandi looked up at Thunderhawk. Her eyes were a deep amber color, holding not the detachment common among scientists, but keen insight and a kind of... deeply buried exhaustion and sorrow. She accepted the tissues, nodding slightly in thanks: "Thank you. He's under too much pressure."

  "Understandable. The environment here is a test for everyone." Thunderhawk's voice maintained its usual calm, but he could feel that under Black Cat's "observation," every word he spoke seemed amplified.

  Verdandi gently patted David's shoulder, indicating he should rest, then stood up, maintaining a polite and appropriate distance from Thunderhawk. "You're a new security officer? I don't think I've seen you before."

  "Thunderhawk Morningstar. Just transferred here recently."

  "Verdandi Lee." She introduced herself, her gaze lingering briefly on Thunderhawk's face, seeming to read something in his rugged features bearing traces of Native American heritage and those calm eyes. "Your way of handling matters... is very quiet. Different from Director Graham's staff."

  This remark was like a fine needle, gently probing at Thunderhawk's disguise. Was it casual conversation, or some kind of intuition?

  Just then, Dr. Evelyn Shaw from the medical center walked over with a gentle smile. "Verdandi, leave David to me. He needs some professional psychological counseling." Dr. Shaw's voice was as spotless as her white coat. She skillfully helped David up, her movements gentle yet carrying an undeniable guidance. "You've worked hard too, always taking care of others like this."

  Dr. Shaw's gaze also swept over Thunderhawk, the look like a professional assessment, yet also like some deeper scan. "Security colleague, thank you for your assistance. The medical center will handle it from here."

  Verdandi watched Dr. Shaw lead David away, sighing softly, then turned back to Thunderhawk and said: "Look, this is Science Castle. Everyone at their post, trying to maintain some fragile balance." Her tone carried a hint of light sarcasm.

  "Balance is better than chaos." Thunderhawk responded cautiously.

  "Is it?" Verdandi looked toward the false moonlight outside the window, murmuring softly, more as if to herself: "Sometimes, I can't tell if we're building an ark, or if we ourselves have become the animals Noah collected, waiting for an unknown fate."

  This remark struck Thunderhawk like lightning. Her intuition might be far sharper than anyone imagined. Had she vaguely sensed the truth about this city?

  This brief encounter had no dramatic plot twists, yet it was like a pebble dropped into stagnant water, creating ripples. In Verdandi Lee, Thunderhawk saw a resonance with himself—a persistence in seeking truth and humanity. And in the successive appearances of Graham and Dr. Shaw, he felt that invisible net quietly tightening around her (and perhaps himself as well).

  He turned to continue his patrol, and the interface at his nape seemed to transmit a barely perceptible warmth. Black Cat's "journal" faithfully recorded all of this: arguments, breakdowns, tenderness, probing, and that glimmer quietly growing beneath meticulous control.