Chapter 36 · The Dark Side of Humanity
Section I · Helan Returns
At the TRACE South Division headquarters — once a civilian government building, now repurposed into a war command center — alarms lay silent like corpses.
The outer ops entrance hissed open. A cold wind swept in, carrying with it streaks of crimson.
Helan was carried in — tattered clothes, disheveled hair, a fresh gash across his chest. He wasn't unconscious, but he stared at the ceiling like a man already dead.
As two medics moved to treat him, he suddenly spoke:
"No… I'm fine."
His voice was brittle, like dry sand, yet unnervingly clear. Everyone fell silent.
Minutes later, Hal Bermann, head of the TRACE South Division, called for an emergency high-level meeting.
It was held three floors underground, in a fully metallic chamber lit only by low-energy bulbs. Ten people sat in a circle. At one edge, Helan sat alone — eyes empty, unmoving.
"Play it," Hal ordered curtly.
All gazes turned to the central projection screen —
a recording submitted by Helan upon his return:
"You're not worth dying by our hands."
"You have to go back — tell them: We know."
"These men once cleared East Street of five hundred unregistered refugees."
"They used children in the South Tower Trials. Administered illegal drugs."
"Their hands are soaked in their own people's blood."
Hal's gaze swept the room coldly:
"Your assessments?"
Silva frowned:
"They didn't destroy us or hide — this was a message. No, more than that — a letter."
"They don't fear us reporting," Mason added.
"They want us caught between submission and silence."
Outfield Commander Rodrigo growled:
"We should mobilize full force and crush them!"
No one responded. The room chilled into silence.
Hal lit a cigarette slowly and looked toward Helan.
"Do you remember how he ended it?"
Helan finally lifted his eyes — for the first time, something flickered behind them.
"He said — 'you must go back.' Because they need us to erase their victory."
Hal nodded, a nearly sinister smile curling his lips:
"Good. They understand our system too well."
He stood.
"Now — prepare two options."
"First — submit all recordings and images to HQ. Await review."
Everyone tensed.
Then he turned to Mason, voice as sharp as a blade:
"Second —"
"I want every surveillance log, every data trail, every identity record — including Helan himself — wiped from the system."
"If it can't be done cleanly, don't walk out of this room."
In that moment, all understood:
Within twenty-four hours, they would decide —
Would they hand over the truth and wait for the investigative team?
Or…
Would they erase every trace and bury the humiliation forever?
Helan shot up, trembling visibly.
And the air in the room grew heavier.
Section II · Execution Order
—
The metal door sealed shut behind Helan — the sound echoed like a coffin lid closing.
This was the D-Level Interrogation Chamber — once used for enemy spies and defectors. Now, it was prepared for him.
He wasn't bound — but flanked by two internal enforcers, armed not with standard-issue pistols, but short-range energy disruptors.
Weapons designed for silent elimination — no noise, no explosion, no record.
He faced the familiar face of Mason, Deputy Head of Intelligence.
"Are you serious?" Helan's tone was disturbingly calm.
"You're going to kill me?"
Mason didn't look at him. Instead, he flipped through a terminal, speaking coldly:
"Not because we want to — but because your existence has become an unstable variable in the system."
"We can afford a lost battle — but not a witness to that loss."
"Right now, you are a 'defector,' an 'uncontrolled anomaly.' You must die."
Helan looked at him — almost pitifully — and smiled.
"So we didn't lose to those kids — we lost to ourselves."
"You don't fear enemies. You fear oversight. Fear consequences. Fear losing rank."
"You'd rather erase a person than admit a mistake."
Mason finally raised his eyes, steel-cutting:
"Don't lecture me on how the system works. If you live, we all die."
"Then you all deserve to die!" Helan roared.
"You're monsters beyond control!"
"Have you even seen them? That so-called 'rebel army'? They had structure, discipline, unity. Cleaner than our own division!"
"You know why they didn't kill me? Because they wanted us to rot in front of them!"
"And you — are making every word they said come true!"
Mason narrowed his eyes, tilted his earpiece, and muttered into it:
"Confirm records erased?"
A female AI voice replied:
[D-41 Data Overwritten × TRACE ID 772-H Marked as "Mission Lost" × Public Database Sync Erased]
"Proceed."
The enforcers stepped forward.
Helan lunged — slamming his knee into the left guard, trying to seize the weapon — but within two breaths, the energy rod plunged into his side.
High-voltage pulses surged through his nervous system. He screamed — but clenched his jaw, refusing to pass out.
Mason crouched beside him, whispering near his ear:
"This is the path you chose. We're just making it quieter."
Blood seeped from Helan's throat — but he smiled. Blood trickled down his lips.
"You can kill me… but you've already lost."
"They've shown you the answer — and all you can do is bury the question."
The muzzle pressed against his sternum.
High-frequency vibration instantly stopped his heartbeat.
Helan collapsed — eyes wide open.
No pain remained — only deep mockery, and a strange kind of final peace.
Mason stared at him for a few seconds before murmuring:
"Take him away. Burn him."
The metal door opened again, releasing a wave of iron-scented air.
But none of them looked back.
TRACE South Division had erased every trace of failure — in the most standardized way possible.
Only one whisper lingered in the air:
"It's not that we killed you — it's that we feared you alive."
Section III · The Game of Humanity
—
Back in the TRACE conference room, the air felt scorched alongside Helan's corpse — silent echoes of blood and defiance still hung.
At the table, Director Hal's expression was icy. Mason stood with arms crossed. Others murmured or argued.
"Helan is dead. The question isn't him anymore."
"It's whether we report that Gray Tower is out of control."
"Or…"
"Whether we admit — we are out of control."
Mason broke the silence:
"This isn't emotional judgment. It's systemic choice."
He summoned a holographic display — in the center, a probability map titled Information Suppression Feasibility, with keywords beneath:
→ Responsibility Redirection
→ Chain Break
→ Accountability Containment
"As long as we deny it — they can't touch us."
"You're playing with fire," Silva scoffed.
"You think HQ doesn't know you silenced an inspector? If they weren't in their own internal struggle, they'd have purged us already."
"Maybe you're right," Hal sighed.
"But this system wasn't built on fairness."
He locked eyes with everyone around the table:
"Here — whoever shows weakness first… dies first."
—
Meanwhile, Jason sat in a dimly lit room, surrounded by three members of his strategic advisory unit.
Two books lay open on the table: Han Feizi and Guigu Zi.
ARGUS initiated another simulation assessment:
[Recommendation: Actively Expose TRACE Crimes × Promote Liaoyuan Huo Justification × Influence Public Sentiment Shift]
Yet Fuxi whispered differently in Jason's mind:
[Warning: Premature exposure will trigger human self-collapse × Aid enemy recognition of core nodes × Trigger preemptive strikes]
Jason voiced quietly:
"Our systems gave us two answers."
Zhao Mingxuan frowned:
"Which one is right?"
Jason shook his head:
"Neither."
He looked at each of them:
"Systems analyze consequences — not costs."
"Cost must be borne by humans."
Lisa whispered:
"They fear superiors not out of morality. But because the power chain is irreversible."
John added gravely:
"They didn't want to kill Helan. They feared he'd make them synonyms for failure."
Jason murmured:
"So the crack in humanity isn't from malice — it's from fear."
Fuxi whispered again in his mind:
[Ancient Philosophical Prompt Loaded]
From "Xunzi: On Human Nature" (in Chinese):
"The evil in human nature is the fabricated goodness."
"From the 'Power' chapter of 'Guiguzi':
'Control a person's conduct by catering to his desires, and guide his aspirations by weighing the pros and cons of benefits.'"
From "Nianyan" in Han Feizi:
"Those who do not govern by the way of righteousness are all led astray by their selfish intentions."
Jason closed his eyes, whispering:
"So even you can't understand it, huh?"
Fuxi paused.
Then came its quiet reply:
[Negative. This system can calculate cause and effect — but cannot compute regret.]
[Can predict trends — but cannot precisely locate the formation point of shame.]
[Because humanity cannot be deconstructed by algorithm.]
—
Jason rose, looking at each of his advisors.
"Systems give us algorithms — but not decisions."
"Future victories will never come from logic alone."
"But from whether humanity can still carry fire — even in the darkest place."
Section IV · Empty City, Lingering Shadows × Empire Silence
—
Two days later, TRACE South Division's elite force arrived outside the Gray Tower campus.
Fifty armored transports. Nine tactical units. Full encirclement. Three aerial reconnaissance crafts hovered above, scanning the entire area with infrared.
Yet the whole of Gray Tower was silent — like a tomb.
No voices. No heat signatures. No system responses.
Major Barton stood atop his APC, staring at the familiar-yet-unfamiliar ruins, brow furrowed.
"Confirm coordinates — is this where Helan reported?"
An intelligence officer double-checked, voice hesitant:
"Yes… but system traces are abnormal… almost like… the area has been forcibly reset."
Barton narrowed his eyes:
"Hard wipe? Was the entire surface cleaned?"
No one answered.
Orders were given to advance. Steel boots and tank tracks screeched over cracked concrete.
Empty classrooms. No wind. Open library doors — papers scattered like autumn leaves. Even the flagpole in the training ground was bare — only a torn white cloth fluttering faintly.
Units reached the central plaza. There, the first sign appeared.
An entire classroom wall had been painted bone-white — eerily clean.
In the middle — red letters slashed across it like blood-soaked commands:
"When twin flames converge — the Empire falls."
Twelve words, painted in crimson strokes heavy enough to echo.
"What… is this?" the aide whispered.
But Barton stood frozen — as if hearing something:
Not sound — but a mocking logic.
"This was left deliberately," he murmured.
"They wanted us to see."
Farther ahead, a soldier shouted:
"Commander — no bodies. No burn marks. No bullet holes. Even the paper looks freshly dusted!"
"This whole school… feels like it never existed — yet was just abandoned."
An analyst approached cautiously with scanning gear:
"Commander… this isn't evacuation. This is disappearance."
"Like we're not facing rebels… but a systemic reboot."
Barton whispered:
"They did it — vanished from under our nose."
He stared at the twelve words, and without knowing why, a single term surfaced in his mind:
"Prophecy."
He turned to his officers:
"From this moment on — we are no longer dealing with a mob."
"We are facing a belief system."
In the distant streets, the wind stirred scraps of paper, floating into darkness.
"They left no bodies — only words."
"And those words may be enough to scare the upper echelons."
Section V · Hidden Sparks × Jason's Departure
—
At 0300 hours, fifty kilometers north of the ruins, in a half-collapsed observation outpost, Jason sat alone.
Beside him, only Fuxi ran silently.
Far to the south, barely visible, were the dust trails of TRACE forces advancing. ARGUS updated every five minutes — confirming their entry into the abandoned campus, no anomalies detected.
He closed his eyes — not thinking of tactics, not protocols.
Just faces.
The cook in the cafeteria corner, laughing with his meal.
The children swapping books in the library.
The old worker fixing wires by the wall.
They were gone. Perhaps alive. But scattered now — each becoming a spark under a different name.
"Fuxi."
He whispered internally.
[Connected × Request acknowledged.]
"What are we now?"
A pause. Then:
[Classification Undetermined. Organizational Structure: Absent. Command Chain: Broken. Sparks Dispersed.]
[Working Identity Tag: Remnants of a Fallen Nation × Unclaimed Fire × System Anomaly.]
Jason chuckled softly:
"Sounds about right."
Fuxi offered no comment.
"I was never living for any system anyway."
He looked to the sky — the east glowed a pale, cold white.
He murmured softly, perhaps to no one:
"Fire sparks — are the kind that can't be crushed. Once touched, either rebirth… or destruction."
Then he rose, walked out of the ruins, steps steady.
He looked out over the land still shrouded in darkness.
Quietly, he said to Fuxi:
"You called us remnants of a fallen nation."
"Let them see — there's fire in ash."
Fuxi responded:
[System Node Silence Confirmed × Global Tracking Terminated × All Sparks Decoupled]
[World Enters the "New Silent Phase" as of today.]
Jason turned, looking back at the empty ruin behind him.
He raised both fists, crossed them over his chest, bowed briefly —
— a ritual salute, all firebearers give before departure.
Then he turned and walked away.
His figure vanished into the night before dawn.
Leaving only the hollow walls of Gray Tower, and those twelve words etched in red:
"When twin flames converge — the Empire falls."
Section VI · The Written Word Becomes a War Declaration
—
At TRACE Central Headquarters, Sixth Strategic Tier.
The hexagonal chamber's ceiling bore a rotating holosphere — displaying global node activity maps.
Silence hung thick in the air.
The Southern Campus marker had shifted from "Yellow Alert" to "Black Silence."
"Still silent?" Deputy Director Russell kept his voice low, eyeing the intel officer.
The other nodded, his voice barely audible:
"Confirmed - all members of the Hiran Inspection Team × - signal cut off, 70th hour."
"How do you explain this?"
At the far end of the table, a silver-clad elder finally spoke. His name — Rein Thomas, known as the Digital Sovereign.
Calmly, he asked:
"A small rebellion — unable to suppress?"
Chief Strategist Syd gritted his teeth:
"Not rebellion. Evaporation."
"The entire school was completely emptied before we arrived."
"As if they predicted the operation rhythm — reacting sixteen hours in advance."
Rein finally showed a flicker of emotion:
"They have a system?"
Syd hesitated three seconds.
Then nodded slowly:
"Unconfirmed — but signs suggest they operate under a quasi-systematic command structure."
"Not relying on standard control terminals."
Deputy Russell interjected:
"They aren't rebelling. They're building their own empire."
He dropped a sentence:
"Not destroying ours — but replacing it."
The air sliced itself.
Rein narrowed his eyes:
"Then that writing on the wall… is their declaration of war?"
Russell nodded.
The projection displayed the phrase again:
"When twin flames converge — the Empire falls."
"Crude handwriting — but it conveys two precise ideas."
"They have two fires — the visible flame and the hidden spark."
"They are no longer hiding."
—
Rein stood, stepping toward the projection. He tapped a button — revealing a waveform chart.
"This is the micro-emotive resonance we monitored in the South over the last 24 hours."
"It aligns with a belief network feedback pattern."
"That means — they're no longer debating logic."
"They're spreading will."
—
Syd added grimly:
"By traditional warfare standards, they remain weak."
"But ideologically…"
"They've become a virus."
Russell whispered:
"The most terrifying thing isn't that they'll defeat us."
"It's that they'll infect — those who used to be on our side."
—
Rein said nothing. Only raised a hand.
"Delete all inspection team records."
"Seal the entire mission timeline."
"Deploy Sixth Shadow Unit — scan all relevant data."
"I do not want the words Wildfire to appear in the Empire's database."
—
The screen went dark.
Shadows overlapped in the room — like a silent, mutual execution.
And somewhere far beyond, in a dim corner of the world, unseen embers began to glow, slowly connecting into lines.