弹震症
“You have one chance to do the right thing.”
Han Jun reread the message twice to himself, and then hit enter.
The response was quick, concise, and blunt. “I understand. I know what I have to do.”
Han Jun nodded. If things had progressed this far, then he’d already half succeeded.
He’d lurked on every major website, forum, and We-media comment section, reading posts and messages in order to find someone like the person who called himself “resolute9527.”
Over a long period of observation, Han Jun had learned that resolute9527 was very busy, that his living standards were a bit below average, and that he was usually active after eleven o’clock at night. He was constantly complaining, and his mind was full of both idealism and bottomless fury. Most importantly, he had a hazy sense of ethics, and he was willing to act on behalf of ill-defined, illusory justifications.
“Making tools is a crucial distinction between humans and animals. It is one of the skills that has enabled millions of working people to support their families over thousands of years. Our society today was built from countless parts created by laborers. However, the 3D printer has upset this equilibrium. Its emergence has replaced the jobs of millions of workers. It has put tens of millions of workers out of work and on the streets. We must boycott the 3D printer. This isn’t a matter of personal preference. This concerns the balance and development of society. We must salute all the workers who created our computers, our cell phones, our microwaves, our cars . . . no, our entire society. Making tools is a defining characteristic of humanity, as well as a human right. We must defend our rights!”
Han Jun bashed out this string of empty phrases. He didn’t believe them, but he knew that resolute9527 would. resolute9527 wouldn’t doubt a single word.
“Tomorrow morning,” replied resolute9527. “10:00 a.m. in the industrial park, at New Industries Corporation.”
Those who opposed the 3D printing industry had organized a protest over the Internet. As usual, they would wave banners and shout slogans. Although they all had different reasons for complaint, they were united by their fight against the 3D printer.
After learning about these protests, We-media civilian journalists had begun to stir, hoping to capture some explosive, clickbait-worthy news bits. But Han Jun had a different idea, and for that he needed a target.
“Yes,” he wrote. “Be prepared.”
“Understood.”
“What are you going to wear?” Han Jun pretended to ask this casually. But he needed a way to find this stranger among the crowd so that he could film him. Even though he had no way of predicting what the person on the other end of the web was going to do, given resolute9527’s regular words and actions, Han Jun thought he had a pretty good chance of obtaining some eye-catching news.
“I’ll be wearing white and blue stripes. I’ll be easy to recognize.”
“Great.”
Han Jun sent his last reply, then started to clean up the evidence. He deleted his account from the site, as well as all records of correspondence in his registered inbox. Now nobody would be able to find him through resolute9527.
The next day, Han Jun arrived early to Binjiang Industrial Park. He dodged past security and climbed up the side wing of Rongguang Pharmaceuticals Factory. From there, he could see the entire front entrance of New Industries Corporation.
3D printers were originally simple gadgets for civilian use, used most commonly to make cutlery or small toys. But New Industries Corporation had used its own proprietary technology to develop 3D printers to the level of industrial mass production. This had been a big blow to traditional industrial manufacturing, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the online discourse made it seem. However, as more and more voices added fuel to the fire, industrial 3D printing had practically morphed into a monstrous threat, perceived as the last straw that would destroy traditional industry and bring about total economic collapse.
The protestors had already arrived. They numbered about three to four hundred, which was more than Han Jun had anticipated. Although Han Jun had always been in contact with these kinds of people, he still had no idea where they derived their passion.
He sat leaning against the cement wall on the building’s roof, put on a VR helmet, and then launched his drone.
VR technology let him inhabit the drone, a device no more than seventy centimeters wide, just as if he were a bird. The drone jumped over the parapet on the roof and dove toward the crowd.
The three hundred and sixty-degree rotating camera on the drone’s underbelly sent a live feed to the VR helmet, letting Han Jun look in any direction he wanted. This video segment would be uploaded on the Internet, so that everyone with a VR system could experience being on the scene with the drone.
He followed behind the crowd, maintaining a height of seven or eight meters. From up here, nobody could hear the drone’s quiet rotors. Observing the scene, he decided to wait until chaos descended before he flew in closer.
The protestors lifted their signs and marched forth in silence until they stood in front of New Industries Corporation’s front doors. Then they grew more agitated. A handful of leaders stood at the front of the ranks, punching the air with their fists, rhythmically chanting their prewritten rhyming slogans. It was then that Han Jun noticed resolute9527, but . . .
That blue and white striped shirt was a school uniform.
For a moment, Han Jun was struck dumb. He hadn’t anticipated that his carefully chosen target might turn out to be a child. resolute9527 looked to be about fifteen years old, and he was rather short and slender. His blonde highlights nearly covered his eyes. Though he wore a school uniform, it was clear from his posture and the expression on his face as he chanted with the crowd that he was no model student.
But he was still undoubtedly a child.
This generation’s children were more impulsive; more inconsiderate of the consequences of their actions.
Secretly, Han Jun was delighted. He flew the drone closer. He had already begun to craft the boy’s story in his head: he was from a poor family; his father had been fired because of the 3D printer, his mother was seriously ill, and so this kid had declared war against New Industries Corporation . . .
Several staff from New Industries Corporation came out of the building. A middle-aged man who appeared to be in charge began addressing the crowd. Han Jun filmed a close-up of his face. Contempt, disdain, loathing—all emotions that would just strengthen the opposition—were crowded on this stupid man’s expression. Indeed, not a minute later, the protestors got restless and started to push forward, one after the other. New Industries Corporation’s armed security guards blocked their paths with raised plexiglass shields.
The drone surveyed all this from above. The scene resembled a tidal wave crashing upon rocks.
resolute9527 joined the surging crowd. His skinny frame was jostled this way and that by the crowd, but his energy was unmatched. The young, hot-blooded teenager managed to force his way through the crowd to the front. He leaped up high, one foot trampling against a riot shield. The guard behind the shield stepped back, but another one beside him filled the gap, using his shield to knock resolute9527 to the ground. A small wave rippled through the crowd.
This was the spectacle Han Jun had been waiting for. He guided the drone to the side to get a view of the guards and the protestors standing in opposition. The camera zoomed in on resolute9527, blurring the faces of the people in the foreground and background.
Han Jun congratulated himself. This shot composition is too perfect.
resolute9527 once again charged at the shields. He was a Sisyphus, dauntlessly pursuing justice.
But after several more tries, he had to stop. His forehead had been wounded at some point. Dark red blood trickled down his skin, covering half of his face. He paused to wipe it off. Then, once his breathing had evened a bit, he lifted his shirt and pulled out a glass bottle. The neck was stoppered with cloth. Inside sloshed a colorless liquid.
Han Jun knew what that was—a Molotov cocktail.
He felt a sudden jolt of terror. He’d anticipated an assault. He’d even anticipated blood. But this . . . a Molotov cocktail, fuck, that was a weapon.
The boy ignited the cloth. Bright yellow flames quickly leaped into his hands. Some people realized what was happening and retreated. The only person in the view of Han Jun’s camera was now resolute9527.
Everything in Han Jun’s vision seemed to slow down. The glass bottle left the boy’s hand. It rotated in the air, the curved bottle reflecting the morning sun’s rays, before slamming against the riot shields. It bounced back, fell in front of the boy’s feet, then exploded.
The flames quickly grew several times their height, tracing the spilled flammable fluid up resolute9527’s body. The boy was terrified. He took two dazed steps back as the flames continued to roll and gnaw across his body. Then, at last, he seemed to register pain.
The flaring yellow figure dashed about aimlessly, creating a vacuum wherever he went. Both the guards and protestors watched him from a distance, but nobody stepped up to rescue him. The boy toppled over, smashing the other bottles concealed under his shirt. More flames burst forth.
Han Jun forgot that he was operating a drone. He flew closer and closer, observing it all in a daze. The VR helmet’s transmissions made him feel like he was right there. His face burned, as if he himself were being roasted in a raging inferno. He’d turned off the audio before he started to film, but he couldn’t turn off his own involuntary howls. He had started this. He had destroyed this child.
Silently, he watched as the flames danced on the teenager’s body. Bright lights seared his mind, and he knew then that he would never be able to forget what he’d just seen.
“Ahh!” Han Jun gave a shout and toppled out of his chair. Around him, his colleagues didn’t even pause for a second before continuing on with their work. Everyone was long-accustomed to the fact that Han Jun still suffered frights when he took his afternoon naps.
“Another nightmare?” asked Xu Qing, his desk neighbor.
Han Jun rubbed at his eyes and forced out a smile. Four years had passed since that day, but he was still plagued by the same dream. He had long accepted that this was his punishment.
“Ay, you really should go see a psychologist. These fits of yours are giving the rest of us nightmares.” Xu Qing looked down at Han Jun as he leaned against his desk.
“What time is it?” Han Jun glanced at the clock on his desktop screen, then answered his own question. “I’ve still got twenty minutes. No, I should rest a bit more.”
“Forget about your nap.” Xu Qing patted Han Jun firmly on the shoulder, then leaned in closer to whisper, “Have you seen the company’s newest promo video?”
“What promo video?”
“For that new project—the VR ARMOR.”
“I thought the announcement wasn’t for another six months. They’ve already shot the promo?”
“Not yet, but my buddies in the publicity department sent me some rough cuts. Want to see?”
“Why would I want to see?” Han Jun asked, puzzled.
“It’s terrifying. Once you see it, those nightmares of yours won’t seem scary at all.”
“What are you talking about? Is this a company promo video or a horror movie?” Han Jun shot his colleague an annoyed look.
“Watch it and you’ll understand.” Xu Qing squeezed his way over and swiped his phone in front of Han Jun’s monitor. The video began to stream.
Han Jun leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest as he watched the screen.
The sky-blue NETLORD logo appeared on the screen, followed by the words VR ARMOR in shining metallic italics.
VR ARMOR was the newest full-body virtual reality system that NETLORD was planning to launch. It was an exoskeleton like the kind often seen in science fiction games, but it didn’t let the user walk wherever they wanted. Rather, countless sensors and force feedback devices were installed in the interior. It created more of a sealed environment than the regular VR helmet, allowing the user to fully immerse themselves in the virtual environment.
After nearly ten years of development, the technological level and expressive power of VR systems had already made it difficult for users to determine between the virtual and the real. NETLORD had risen rapidly in recent years by developing its own VR system, ROOM. As VR gradually permeated the lives of ordinary people, ROOM’s market share had come to rival that of Windows. The software giant of the past had inaccurately predicted trends and spent too much effort on human body motion capture and recognition, which meant it was now struggling to regain its old spot at the top.
But NETLORD wasn’t about to slow down. It wanted to make further leaps in the field of virtual experiences. VR ARMOR was part of a new generation of VR systems invented under the company’s guiding philosophy of making things both “more realistic and more imaginary.” Just seeing the words “VR ARMOR” gave Han Jun a surge of emotion. This product was what he, a NETLORD employee, had struggled with his colleagues for countless days and nights to achieve. This was his pride and joy.
But the next second, the image changed, and the smile congealed on Han Jun’s face.
A pink, round object appeared on the screen. Its surface was rough, bumpy, and scarred, unevenly covered in darker and lighter patches. After taking a few breaths, Han Jun realized that this object was a face—the face of a burn victim. An imaginary blaze began to burn in his mind, melting away his reason and courage, leaping higher and higher as it blazed, creaking and groaning.
“Fuck, this . . . ”
“His name is Zeng Ping,” said the video voice-over. “Four years ago, he survived a terrible fire . . . ”
The person, whose face resembled stir-fried cabbage, turned and stared straight out of the screen. A crack split the lower half of the face—that was Zeng Ping’s smile.
“How about it, NETLORD?” Xu Qing scoffed. His tone was quiet, but Han Jun gave a sudden start, as if struck by a bolt of lightning. The composure he’d been trying to maintain collapsed. Just when he’d started to believe that he could regularly cope with the nightmare that haunted him, the nightmare had turned back to face him and smiled.
His legs went limp. He slid down his office chair.
“Hey, are you okay?” Xu Qing realized Han Jun had disappeared. He bent over and saw Han Jun curled up under the desk, rubbing at his face with his hands so hard it seemed as if he wanted to gouge his eyes out.
“Come out from there! Are you okay?” Xu Qing pulled Han Jun up with one arm and propped him up against the wall. Han Jun continued rubbing at his face, as if trying to wipe something away.
“It can’t be. It can’t be.” Han Jun muttered the same words over and over like an incantation.
“What are you saying? Hey, drink some water!” As Xu Qing watched Han Jun’s hysterics, he resorted to the simplest of tactics: a slap to the face.
Han Jun stopped shuddering. Obediently he took the proffered glass of water and gulped down several swallows. He felt a surge of nausea. He pushed Xu Qing and stumbled for the bathroom.
He didn’t succeed. He made it only several steps before he opened his mouth and vomited on the company’s shiny-enough-to-see-your-reflection microcrystalline floor tiles. Saliva, tears, and snot mixed on his face. He heard the patter of footsteps behind him. Colleagues gathered around him, but they maintained a cautious distance. Xu Qing stood by his side, careful that Han Jun’s vomit didn’t stain his leather shoes.
He patted Han Jun on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go home and rest?”
Han Jun didn’t turn around. He was still rubbing mindlessly at his face. “Put in a leave request for me, please,” he said. Then he charged pitifully through the safety corridor and ran all the way down the stairs.
When he got back to his apartment, he rummaged through his drawer for the flash drive on which he’d stored all the records of that incident. Han Jun had never discussed it with anyone else, nor had he ever broadcast the video. Four years had passed, but those flames dancing on the young boy’s body had kept burning in Han Jun’s conscience, never going out.
After that day, Han Jun had given up on his VR We-media aspirations. He’d sent his resume out to every company he could think of in an effort to get a serious job so that he could leave his old life behind for good. He was lucky to have been hired at NETLORD. Now he had friends, colleagues, and a dream worth fighting for. He’d even found some minor success, because VR ARMOR’s success was in part due to his efforts.
He inserted the USB into his desktop and moved his mouse over the video icon. He gave a bitter laugh. He’d been dreaming of that scene every day over the last four years. He could vividly remember every single lick of flame. Now he had to watch it all over again.
Then he scolded himself. He’d forgotten—he didn’t have the equipment to play VR videos at home.
The power of VR systems lay in the fact that the user was in a sealed visual environment. The motion sensors inside the helmet could rotate the image along with the movements of the user’s head, creating a truly immersive feeling. This also explained the rise of VR We-media. Users could experience the whirling thrill of rollercoasters or dive into the sea to admire swimming schools of fish, all from their own sofas.
Or they could watch a teenager burn to death from half a meter away.
Those realistic sensations had left a strong mark on Han Jun. He didn’t dare draw close to flames anymore. Nor could he enter virtual reality.
But he wanted to see that recording again. He couldn’t put his finger on why; he simply knew he needed to.
There was software available online that could convert VR videos to 2D files. Han Jun searched for a cracked version, installed it, and then started the file conversion. The file was very large. His screen indicated a conversion time of about half an hour, but Han Jun knew from experience that it would really take more like three hours.
He stood up and rubbed his stomach. He’d vomited his breakfast in the office hallway. Now it was nearly lunchtime, and his stomach had begun to protest.
If he had a VR set, he could have done what his colleagues did—go to a VR block, head to a commercial street, order food from a digital cafeteria, and then wait for the delivery boy to bring it to his home. But he didn’t, so he had to go to the restaurant himself. He didn’t mind.
He strolled to a mall two blocks away and ordered a bowl of beef noodles from a small shop.
It wasn’t a work holiday, but there were quite a few people strolling about the mall. Although some forecasters had once predicted that the rise of the VR service industry would cause the decline of brick-and-mortar stores, after all these years, this phenomenon hadn’t occurred. Humans were creatures most capable of adapting to change, but in their bones, they were still quite traditional.
The beef noodle chef was an exception. He wore a VR helmet and interactive gloves, waving his hands in the air to control a cooking machine two meters away that pulled noodles, cooked them, and poured soup.
“You could just use your hands,” Han Jun said. “Why do you need the VR?”
“This is called VR Web Plus. Have you ever seen a cook wearing a suit? This is our store’s specialty.” The chef faced the wall, addressing Han Jun through the camera on the checkout counter.
Han Jun nodded and picked up a piece of beef. The meat juices burst in his mouth; rich and fragrant.
Reality was reality. That would never change.
Daisy Fenton took a deep breath and pushed open the laboratory door. Although she’d been here many times before, she still felt a chill every time. She felt like she was standing before a pitch-black cave, inside which lurked a wolf.
But there was no wolf inside the laboratory. Just half a person.
She strode toward the computer, wrinkling her brow as she glanced at the data on the screen. She hesitated a few seconds, and then pressed a button.
Beside the computer, a VR ARMOR-type helmet slowly opened, revealing the face of the user inside.
That face was flat, without hair, and without even a single pore. The fire had burned his skin into a waxy shell. His features were only holes in that flesh-colored ball of wax, on which his eyes gleamed from within little pits. Daisy managed not to look at the rest of his body, which was even more wretched than his face. The burned skin of his limbs had fused together, turning him into a mummy bound in his own skin. His hands and feet had withered away, consumed by the fire.
Two years ago, when NETLORD had been planning the release of the VR ARMOR full-body immersive virtual reality set, they’d needed a special spokesperson. Daisy had found the pitiable child named Zeng Ping. Back then he’d resembled a giant spider’s prey, wrapped in all sorts of tubes and wires and trapped in his narrow hospital bed. His badly injured throat emitted a keen hiss every time he breathed like a person lost in the wilderness, desperately blowing a whistle for help.
NETLORD had invested in Zeng Ping’s treatment and linked his recovery to the VR ARMOR’s development. Over the past two years, they had shot a series of videos about Zeng Ping. Within the virtual world, Zeng Ping could walk again! Zeng Ping could run again! Zeng Ping could even fly!
During the focus group sessions, the randomly selected potential customers, moved to tears by the carefully edited videos, had indicated they would absolutely purchase a VR ARMOR set. It wasn’t the VR set they were purchasing—it was the consciences they’d long lost touch with.
The videos were crammed with positive messaging. In reality, Zeng Ping’s father had sunken into alcoholism and his mother had been unable to face what her child had turned into. After accepting NETLORD’s compensation for their cooperation, they’d both disappeared, abandoning Zeng Ping to the company.
Because of Zeng Ping, Daisy had been promoted to the highest tier of company leadership. But she and Zeng Ping had been bound together ever since.
“What is it?” Zeng Ping asked.
“You’ve already been in there for six hours,” Daisy said.
“Oh, right, good thing you reminded me. I ought to go for a run. Mind grabbing my sneakers for me?” Zeng Ping lifted his thighs, shaking the feet that weren’t there.
Daisy didn’t respond to Zeng Ping’s sarcasm. “You can’t stay inside for too long. You have to stay clearheaded while testing the system.”
“You’re right, I’m always getting reality and virtual reality confused. Look, in the real world I can’t even walk! I sure want to stay awake!”
“You . . . ” Daisy shook her head, silently cursing herself for being dragged into this situation again. Zeng Ping was like a black hole of gloom and dissatisfaction, and he could suck people’s minds in there with him. Speaking with him for too long always induced thoughts of suicide.
Whenever he woke up, Zeng Ping would make requests to NETLORD, but he could only communicate with Daisy, which meant Daisy had adopted the second job of nanny.
“How was this R-ARMOR update?”
“It’s fine, but . . . ”
Zeng Ping was an asshole, but his observations about virtual reality systems were very accurate. From time to time, he’d come up with wild yet feasible ideas, and based on the facts, his opinions were often correct. He proceeded to list eleven such thoughts, which Daisy jotted down. She’d hand those off to the programmer later.
“Wait!” Zeng Ping called.
“What?”
“That thing I mentioned . . . ”
“You’re only seventeen,” said Daisy. “We aren’t giving you access to the sexual activity apps.”
As the date of VR ARMOR’s release announcement drew closer, the company’s office was swamped with clips of Zeng Ping. Han Jun spent that time hiding at home. But his fifteen days of leave quickly passed, which gave him two choices: quit or return to work.
Trembling with anxiety, he returned to the office. His colleagues seemed to have tacitly agreed not to say anything about his vomiting in the hallway. Perhaps they were looking out for Han Jun’s feelings, or perhaps they just didn’t care. That was the nice thing about being a programmer—everyone was a bit odd, and nobody had to waste much time on human interaction.
The key to curing a disease was to face the root of the problem. As he watched the clips of Zeng Ping daily “improvement,” his feelings, a complicated mix of guilt and regret, slowly began to recede. The burning nightmare continued to plague him, but he could no longer hear Zeng Ping’s wretched screams in his sleep. Once, he even dreamed that Zeng Ping was smiling at him from within the flames, the same way he smiled in the clips.
VR ARMOR’s release was a massive success. Using Zeng Ping as a spokesperson made people realize that VR ARMOR was not just an enhancement of the VR helmet, but an entirely new lifestyle. That, on top of NETLORD’s remarkable design and perfectionist craftmanship, gave even the pickiest of critics no grounds for complaint.
The company gave all the employees generous bonuses and also organized a vacation abroad for the development team. But most of the programmers complained that they didn’t want to travel. They would rather stay at home playing video games instead. But in their private VR environments, they still chose the outdoors option. All of their virtual avatars started wearing fishing shorts, sunglasses, and broad-brimmed hats.
NETLORD’s stock price climbed higher and higher. Their production line was booked up with orders that would keep them busy for two years.
This high tide lasted for a week.
“Why does everyone look so gloomy today?” Han Jun realized that the atmosphere was off the moment he walked into the office. Nobody even raised their eyes to look at him. Everyone sat at their desks, sullen and silent.
“Someone uploaded a video on the Internet,” Xu Qing said. “It was a huge attack on our company.”
“What video? Send it to me.”
Xu Qing glanced at Han Jun, his mouth pressed in a thin line, and then passed him the VR VISION on his desk.
Han Jun held up the milky white VR helmet and hesitated.
“There’s only this version,” said Xu Qing. “Hurry up and watch, it’s shocking.”
“I . . . ”
“Your face is all pale.” Xu Qing furrowed his brows. “Are you okay?”
Han Jun shook his head. He examined the helmet in his hands and then, gritting his teeth, fit it over his head. After several years of updates, the VR helmet felt completely different from the helmet he had last worn four years ago. It was lighter, and it felt neither too soft nor too hard where it came in contact with his skin. It wrapped firmly around his head, letting no light leak in. It was quite comfortable.
When he was sure he wouldn’t start hyperventilating, Han Jun raised his head and gave Xu Qing a thumbs up, indicating that he could hit play.
The screen went from black to blue. A red light appeared gradually in the distance. Then, in a flash, Han Jun returned to the morning of that day. He was hovering seven or eight meters in the air, overlooking the crowd of protestors slowly and resolutely marching toward the offices of New Industries Corporation.
Flames, a spinning Molotov cocktail, and Zeng Ping’s face. All resurfaced in his mind.
An icy hand squeezed at Han Jun’s heart, and the cold spread from his chest through his limbs. He yanked the helmet off. “What is this?”
“Keep watching and you’ll see.” Xu Qing spread his hands. “Our spokesperson used to be an anti-3D printing protestor. In a whole crowd of demonstrators, that kid was the fiercest. He threw a firebomb at the security guards and got burned as a result. All of our VR ARMOR is 3D printed, and we found that kid to be our spokesperson. Do you see what a joke we’ve become?”
“No! I mean, who uploaded this video?”
“We don’t know. But a lot of customers who placed sympathy orders have cancelled them. Our stock price just tumbled seventeen percent. Hey! Han Jun, where are you going?”
Xu Qing was talking to himself. Han Jun had already left the office.
What was going on? Who had uploaded that video? How had they gotten that file?
Han Jun’s mind swam with questions as he made his way back to his apartment. He booted up his PC and ran the security code he’d compiled himself. He stared as lines of code raced through the self-diagnostic window, but he couldn’t find anything suspicious. He ran the code again. Then he started rummaging through his home. There were no signs of forced entry on the doors or windows. His combination lock registered no incorrect attempts. None of his possessions were missing.
Everything was normal—except the USB inside his drawer was gone.
“There’s no need to keep looking. I took it.”
Just as Han Jun’s anxiety was peaking, a clear, crisp female voice sounded at his side.
Han Jun jumped so hard he nearly flipped the desk on its side. He steadied himself and looked around, but he couldn’t see anyone.
“Who—?” Han Jun swallowed hard, then asked in a hoarse voice.
A small hexacopter drone flew out from the corner of his room and floated in front of his face. “It’s me.” The drone paused for a moment. “I’m sorry I had to resort to special methods to retrieve your things.”
“Special?” Han Jun shouted. He stepped toward the drone, which quickly retreated, as if trying to maintain a safe distance. “This is called stealing!”
“Apologies.” The drone spoke in such a timid, reproachful tone that Han Jun found himself relenting.
He took a careful look at the drone. It was only a dozen or so centimeters in diameter; so small it could easily have sat on top of his hand. Its six tiny rotors spun constantly, creating six circles of white light, though they were utterly silent. The aircraft’s outer casing looked simple and crude. It wasn’t decorated, and it didn’t bear any manufacturer’s particular style; which meant it must have been self-designed and 3D printed. But for an aircraft this small to have four cameras, a pickup microphone, a speaker, and a high-power engine . . . whoever had designed this craft wasn’t crude or simple at all.
Han Jun waved his hand at the drone, but it deftly dodged aside. Although it relied on the camera’s depth perception and collision avoidance programming, the drone could also avoid him using precise algorithms. However, based on his many years’ experience flying a drone, Han Jun sensed someone was controlling this craft in real time.
That meant the driver was nearby.
“Why did you want to upload that video?” he asked. He began to pace around the room, slowing when he neared the window. The street outside was quiet and empty; the leaves of the parasol trees had already turned yellow. There was also a person jogging down the road, but he saw nothing suspicious.
“It’s very important. I must halt the expansion of VR ARMOR.” The aircraft hovered at Han Jun’s shoulder, as if they were walking side by side.
“Why?” Han Jun paused and carefully regarded the drone.
“Because.” The droned enunciated the words one at a time. “There cannot be any more victims.”
“What does that mean? What victims?”
“How long was it between when VR was first released to when it fully penetrated the market? Only a few years? Has it gone through safety testing? The past two generations of VR helmets were half-finished products. Back then, the screen resolution wasn’t stable and there weren’t even any apps, but they still hastily sold six million units. They were basically using their customers as experiments. There have been reports of panic attacks and epileptic seizures. This is wildly irresponsible. The VR system hasn’t been fully developed, yet now they want to push out the VR ARMOR. I support this kind of new equipment, but not now. It needs perhaps another thirty years.” The contradiction of these righteous words coming from this rather childish girl’s voice out of a miniature drone made it hard for Han Jun to accept what it was saying.
He shook his head. “What you’re saying is too biased.”
“How is this biased? When humans used leaded gasoline, how much harm did it cause? There’s a thirty-five hundred-kilometer-wide hole over the South Pole created by large-scale freon use eighty years ago. Not to mention nuclear power plants, genetic modification, and even the pedometer in your watch. Science and technology are moving too quickly. We use new innovations on a massive scale before their safety is guaranteed, but the consequences get pushed to the next generation.”
Han Jun smiled. These words were too much like those he used to brainwash people with online. “My goodness, how old are you?”
“Why do you care?”
“You should pay less attention to Internet stars and their videos. They’ll do anything for more views. The electricity you’re using now was produced by a nuclear power plant. Genetically modified food has been eaten by two generations; what’s the problem with that?”
“Not enough time has passed. We have to be careful.”
“Enough. I’m the one who developed VR ARMOR,” Han Jun declared proudly, intentionally leaving out the words “one of.” “We’ve gone through hundreds of thousands of tests, and there are absolutely no problems.”
“Then you tell me, how long has it been since you’ve worn a VR helmet?”
“This . . . I have a special condition.” Han Jun hemmed and hawed for a moment. “That doesn’t prove anything.”
“I have other forms of proof.”
“What forms of proof?”
“Me,” said the drone. “I’m a victim of VR.”
“What happened to you?”
“I can’t tell the difference between virtual reality and the real world.” The drone gave a hollow laugh. “They say I’m ill, but they still don’t have a name for it.”
Then Han Jun knew who was flying the drone. He turned and ran out of the apartment.
The R-ARMOR helmet opened. Zeng Ping took a moment for his eyes to refocus, then glared at Daisy. “Hey! Haven’t we talked about this? You can’t just yank me out like this. A second ago I was walking on Mars; the next second I’m looking at you standing there.”
Daisy didn’t speak. She just watched him, her expression uncertain.
“Whatever it is, just say it. I’m busy.”
“Our project has been put on hold,” she said.
“On hold? Why? Isn’t it going very well? So is the R-ARMOR project. Why do we have to put it on hold? The company has invested billions in this; are you guys idiots?”
“How do you know how much the company has invested?”
A crack split open in the ball of flesh, revealing jagged, uneven white teeth. “I get around pretty well in there.”
Daisy shrugged. “If you were really any good, you’d know what I’m talking about.”
“What do you . . . ” Zeng Ping abruptly trailed off, then retreated back into the R-ARMOR.
“I’ll wait ten minutes,” Daisy said. Zeng Ping was about to learn everything, and suddenly she couldn’t help but feel a burst of malicious glee.
“Why don’t you come in too?” Zeng Ping asked.
“I prefer reality.”
Daisy watched as the R-ARMOR slowly closed, swallowing Zeng Ping inside. She relaxed a bit. Because of the video of the protest, the upper management had abruptly changed their attitude toward Zeng Ping. Their cooperative relationship was terminated. This was in fact Zeng Ping’s last day at NETLORD. After this, he’d be sent back to his bleak, ruined home. Out of their humanitarian spirit, NETLORD would donate a sum of money which, if he lived within his means, would be enough to let Zeng Ping to enjoy five years of basic medical and recuperative treatment. But it wouldn’t be easy for him to encounter virtual reality anymore.
That was real life; the truth of reality.
After VR ARMOR’s development had been completed, Daisy had felt that they should let Zeng Ping stay entirely inside the virtual world. So she’d suggested Reality Armor, which combined virtual reality technology with the capabilities of an exoskeleton. It resembled a robot. It could be either worn or remote-controlled, and it was integrated with most of the functions of VR ARMOR. This R-ARMOR suit was the sole prototype, but Zeng Ping seemed to have completely lost interest in the outside world, and he spent his days engrossed in the virtual world instead.
This project, born of selfish motives, could no longer survive.
Daisy walked around the R-ARMOR suit, then found a chair to sit down in. She very much wanted a glass of wine, but apart from a set of equipment connected to the R-ARMOR suit, there was only Zeng Ping’s hospital bed in the corner, in which he had not slept for a long time. A layer of dust had settled over the equipment meant for emergency medical treatment. Because of Zeng Ping’s appearance, and more importantly because of his twisted personality, nobody wanted to be with him. So this room, which was called the high-tech equipment laboratory, had been set up in the lonely northern wing of the building. The northern wing had originally been the 3D printing facility. When testing VR ARMOR, all of the components could be printed and tested at their convenience. Now that VR ARMOR had entered the mass production stage, the 3D printing lab was temporarily shut down. Sometimes, Zeng Ping would impulsively let Daisy create two prosthetic legs for him, but he would always quickly lose interest in reality and return to the virtual world.
Only after walking through the long corridor and returning to her own office could Daisy have a sip of single malt whisky. Otherwise, she’d just had to bear it.
She didn’t know what would happen to her after Zeng Ping was sent home. Perhaps she’d have to say goodbye to her large office and her whisky. Yet after the first time she’d met Zeng Ping, she’d chosen to stay here. Perhaps she was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.
A faint noise came from within the R-ARMOR. Daisy realized that she’d dozed off. She stood up and walked next to the exoskeleton suit. Zeng Ping looked at her, and the blaze in his pitch-black eyes made her shudder.
“Who uploaded this?”
“We don’t know.”
“Even NETLORD can’t find out?”
“The video has already spread all over the Internet. It doesn’t matter who uploaded it, what matters is how to recoup our losses.”
“Right! They’re slandering me and my reputation. Should I accuse them of libel?”
“No!” Daisy raised her voice, startling Zeng Ping. “I’m talking about the company’s losses. Your image conflicts with the image we’ve so carefully curated. This hurts NETLORD’s public reputation. The company is thinking of ways to fix it.”
“Fix it how . . . ” Zeng Ping’s eyes brightened, but then immediately dimmed. “Ah . . . by separating themselves from me.”
Daisy nodded. This wasn’t playing out as pleasantly as she had imagined. On the contrary, she felt somewhat guilty.
“If I were in charge, I’d do the same,” Zeng Ping said calmly.
“I’ll do my best to fight for some . . . ” Daisy blurted, but Zeng Ping cut her off.
“No need. Is there anything else?”
“No.”
“How much longer do I have?”
Though she already knew the answer, Daisy still glanced at her smartwatch. “Until tomorrow afternoon.”
“Alright. Let me stay in here a little longer then, to calm down,” said Zeng Ping. “If there’s anything else I’ll call from you from inside the VR.”
“That . . . ” Daisy opened her mouth, but couldn’t think of anything else to say.
The R-ARMOR closed once again. Daisy walked out of the lab room, strode through the long hallway, and headed to her office.
She could finally have that glass of whisky.
She took two steps, then heard a separate set of footsteps echoing behind her in the empty hallway.
She turned around. The R-ARMOR was following her.
“Zeng Ping, what are you—”
The R-ARMOR raised its hand, curled its fingers into a fist, and punched Daisy in the forehead. She collapsed to the ground.
“I’ve calmed down,” said the R-ARMOR. “Now, I’m about to get angry.”
“Who are you looking for?” A middle-aged man opened the door. He was shorter than Han Jun but seemed about twice as heavy.
“Um, that . . . ” Han Jun glanced at the thin hair on the man’s balding head, unsure of how to begin. “There’s a girl in this home, right?”
The man furrowed his brows. Before he could start cursing, Han Jun hastily continued, “Please let me meet with her for a moment—I have something to discuss with her.”
“Fuck you—”
“Dad, let him in.” The man was halfway done with his curse when the hexacopter drone stopped by Han Jun’s shoulder and spoke.
The man shrugged, then turned to let Han Jun in. Han Jun squeezed between his gut and the doorframe to enter the room.
The drone led Han Jun through the living room into a bedroom.
A small, slight woman sat leaning against the bed. She wore a VR VISION helmet. Her face was completely hidden; only the curve of her chin was visible.
“How did you know it was me?” she asked.
“Whenever I’m riding the elevator, the old auntie next door always tells me about a strange girl on this floor who never goes outside. She says she seems to be sick with something.” Han Jun glanced at the girl, then at the drone, unsure of which he should address. “Besides, a drone this size can’t be remote-controlled from over three hundred meters away. And in a building like ours, any signals past a hundred and twenty meters would be too weak to work.”
The girl nodded. “You are quite correct.”
“Did you design the drone yourself?”
“Yes.”
“It’s really quite elegant.” Han Jun craned his neck, examining the device. “It’s better than that of many aircrafts on the market.”
“Um . . . that . . . could you please not get too close?”
Han Jun turned to look at the girl, who was two meters away. The bit of her chin visible under the helmet had blushed red. He realized that she was talking about the drone.
“Oh, sorry.” He took a step back.
“For my own convenience, I designed a lot of . . . what should I call them? Bodies that I can possess. But most of them can’t be printed by my small personal 3D printer.”
Han Jun thought for a moment. “You can’t tell the difference between the real world and virtual reality, so you’ve made a series of devices to help you perceive reality in the virtual world?”
“You’re making it sound too complicated, but that’s more or less it.”
“Interesting.”
The drone alighted on the top of the girl’s head. She stood up. “Apologies, my name is Lu Qi.”
“Han Jun. But you’ve known that for a while.”
“Yes.”
“So you’ve been watching me all this time?”
The aircraft left the top of Lu Qi’s head and wound around Han Jun’s side. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I’ve been watching everyone in this building . . . ”
“That’s pretty unethical.”
“Well, given how I am, I can’t go outside, I can only . . . ”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” Han Jun interrupted. “There are some things that you can’t do, no matter what the reason.”
The reprimanded Lu Qi took a breath, then let out a sound like a little kitten. The mouth beneath the helmet bit its lip and didn’t utter another sound.
Han Jun sighed, then said in a gentler tone, “Where is the USB?”
The drone swooped down to a desk across from Lu Qi. Han Jun glanced over and saw his USB. He picked it up and put it in his pocket.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked.
Lu Qi was silent for a moment. Then she reached up and took off her VR helmet, revealing a delicate, pretty face. She seemed about fourteen or fifteen. Because she’d been cooped up in her home for so long, her skin was pale white, and she must have been several years older than how she appeared. The VR helmet had left visible imprints around her eyes, like red circles left by a diving mask. Regrettably, her once large and shining eyes looked straight ahead, her gaze as slack and expressionless as a blind man’s.
“Your eyes . . . ” Han Jun waved his hands in front of Lu Qi’s face.
“I can see. I’m a bit near-sighted, but I can see clearly at this distance.”
“Then you . . . ”
“You’ve flown a drone before, right?” she asked.
He nodded.
“When you’re using VR to drive a drone, what do you pay attention to?”
He thought for a moment. “Potential collisions?”
“Yes. It doesn’t matter what the drone collides with—it will always lose its balance, then lose control and crash.” Lu Qi swiveled her head around, looking about her surroundings, then abruptly turned back to face Han Jun. “Sorry. Because of how the helmet sensors work, I’m used to turning my head when I look at things instead of moving my eyes.”
“I understand.”
“Also. How do you go down the stairs when you’re flying a drone?”
“Of course you fly down.”
“Now do you understand?”
“No, I don’t,” he said, puzzled.
Suddenly Lu Qi crouched down and lifted up her nightgown, revealing two pale legs.
“You . . . !” Han Jun hastily averted his gaze.
“It’s fine,” she said. “Take a look.”
Cautiously he glanced back over at her legs, which were crisscrossed with scars, as well as the marks of past surgeries.
“I’ve flown down flights of stairs and platforms. Once, I even flew down a three-story balcony.”
“I understand.” Han Jun waved his hand, gesturing for her to rearrange her nightdress.
“VR is too realistic. It makes people . . . ” She gazed at him. “I’m saying there are at least some people who get lost in virtual reality and have no way of distinguishing it from the real world. In the end, they can’t find their way back.”
Han Jun, thinking of the burning nightmare that had plagued him for so long, nodded. “No one in the planar network era has been able to solve the VR sickness problem in 3D gaming. Even though those cases are quite common, they’re not that dangerous, so not many people have researched the question.”
“But virtual reality is different,” said Lu Qi. “To people like me, it’s fatal.”
“I really sympathize. I also agree with what you’re saying,” Han Jun said in earnest. “But I don’t condone your actions. I’ve met a kid about your age before, who overstepped himself in the name of his so-called ideals and obligations. In the end . . . ”
“You mean him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think I’m in danger?” Lu Qi smiled. “Everything’s transparent on the Internet. Even NETLORD wouldn’t dare do anything to me. Also, I used a fake identity, and I paid for an overseas proxy to post. They couldn’t possibly find out who I am.”
Han Jun gave her a grim smile. “How old are you? You’re too young to understand how the world works.”
As if to prove just how dangerous this world could be, the sound of screeching tires pierced through the window the moment the words left his mouth. Immediately after came the sound of striking metal and shattering glass.
Han Jun and Lu Qi peered out the window at the freeway overpass a hundred meters away. A black SUV driving the wrong way had crashed into a small, silver sedan.
“You see? They’ve already found you. Your security measures are of no use at all.” Han Jun pointed to the NETLORD logo on the side of the SUV.
Lu Qi grimaced.
The door to the SUV opened. A tall human figure clad in dark green stepped out of the car.
“Fuck! Damn it! How is it him?” Han Jun took a step back, his face tight with anxiety. “Get away—quick!”
“What is it?” Lu Qi stumbled as Han Jun dragged her along. “Who is that?”
“NETLORD didn’t come to find you. That person has a personal score to settle.”
The green figure, ignoring the cursing driver of the sedan, jumped and landed lightly on the freeway barrier.
“He’s called Zeng Ping. He’s the burn victim. That thing is a holo-printed exoskeleton developed jointly by NETLORD and the military. It’s a high-tech combat suit.” Without thinking, Han Jun’s voice grew louder and louder as he spoke. “Uploading that video caused a lot of bad repercussions for NETLORD. Now the company wants to get rid of their burden. Zeng Ping’s free medical treatments and insurance, not to mention his unlimited time in virtual reality, are no longer available. You see why he hates you?”
Lu Qi bit her lip and nodded. “What now?”
“Now . . . ”
The green figure bent its knees slightly, then leaped forward like a falcon lunging for its prey. But there were a hundred meters lying between the freeway and the apartment building. Zeng Ping didn’t make it even halfway before he fell over thirty meters and crashed into a street-side newsstand.
“We’re lucky they haven’t finished debugging that thing. We’ve got some time. Hurry!” Han Jun yanked Lu Qi out of the apartment. They hadn’t made it two steps before he ran back to grab her VR helmet. “He must have tracked you using the serial number on your helmet.”
“Then what are we taking it for?”
“Do you want him to destroy your house?”
“Bring it,” she said curtly.
They ran out of the apartment, but the descending elevator was still stuck on the nineteenth floor, and it wasn’t moving. Heavy, powerful footsteps came thudding from inside the staircase.
Han Jun nervously jammed the elevator buttons to no avail.
“Fuck that nondisclosure agreement,” he said. “That battle suit is an experimental prototype. The military wants to develop battle armor that can be completely remote-controlled through VR, just like your remote-controlled drone. R-ARMOR can be worn, and it can also be operated remotely. Zeng Ping has been testing this battle suit for us.” Han Jun thought for a moment. “He’s a very good product tester.”
The elevator doors opened. Han Jun hurried inside. He turned around and saw Lu Qi watching him. Her hands were pressed against the wall. She looked like she wanted to say something but couldn’t.
“Come on, hurry.”
“I . . . you . . . can you carry me?”
“What?”
“I . . . reality makes me dizzy.”
The footsteps were sounding closer and closer. There was no time to hesitate. Han Jun yanked Lu Qi to him and slung her over his back. The girl was fortunately very light; carrying her took little effort.
“My dad takes me outside like this,” she said.
The elevator doors closed. Slowly they began to descend.
“Right, I almost forgot—what about your dad?”
“He saw you, so he’s probably hidden away. He’s a little anxious.”
“Why? What was there to hide from?” Han Jun gave a helpless laugh. “Get in touch with your dad. Tell him not to come home for the time being.”
“Alright.” Lu Qi put on the VR helmet.
The sound of the elevator doors ripping came from above, making Han Jun’s teeth shake. He leaned against the elevator wall, glanced up, and waited.
The elevator shuddered violently as the R-ARMOR landed heavily on top of the carriage. A mechanical arm pierced through the carriage roof, groping around inside.
Han Jun crouched low, dodging the arm. Lu Qi lifted her head. The miniature drone was pinned to her ear like a hairpin, acting as her eyes.
“Does he want to kill us?”
“Probably. Why aren’t you scared?”
“I encounter situations like this in VR games quite often,” she said calmly.
“Well, don’t think that we can just save and reload.”
At last the elevator reached its destination. Han Jun charged out the doors as soon as they opened.
“We’d better get out of here as fast as we can.”
“Let’s take that car, then.”
Lu Qi pointed to a light purple Toyota hatchback. The car flashed its headlights in response, its doors opening automatically.
Han Jun put Lu Qi in the backseat and slid into the driver’s seat. The car engine started.
“Is this your family’s car?” he asked.
“I like this color. I’ve hacked into all the smart devices in this building hundreds of times,” she said.
“Alright, you can’t do that anymore. That’s illegal.”
“No one says so in the games.”
“VR games aren’t everything!” he shouted.
He slammed down against the accelerator. The Toyota sped fast as lightning out of the underground parking garage. The R-ARMOR followed relentlessly behind them, but despite its massive strides, it fell farther and farther behind.
Han Jun let out a sigh. “We lost him.”
“What now?”
“I have to go back to the NETLORD offices. That’s where the R-ARMOR override device is—it can terminate Zeng Ping’s remote access.”
“You seem to know more than a regular programmer.” The drone left the side of Lu Qi’s head and hovered by the driver’s seat next to Han Jun.
“I figured he’d come try to kill me sooner or later, so I did some investigating.”
“You thought he’d try to kill you?”
“I don’t know. I felt like he might.” Han Jun ran his tongue over his lips. “After all, he has very strong antisocial tendencies. He’s someone I selected very carefully. He does whatever he likes with no regard for the consequences.”
The NETLORD office building appeared before them. Han Jun slowed down. Even from a distance, he could see that a huge gaping hole had been smashed through the windows of the building’s southern wing, from which glass debris was still crumbling to the ground. There was a blurred flash of blue and red ahead, accompanied by the sound of police sirens.
Han Jun inched forward. The police had already crowded around the building, making the road ahead impenetrable.
“Fine, then,” Han Jun muttered. He reversed direction, looped around, and parked the car at the back of the building.
Carrying Lu Qi, he snuck up to the building’s northern wing. They didn’t run into any other employees; they’d probably already been evacuated.
Han Jun opened the door to the high-tech equipment lab, revealing an utter mess within.
He put Lu Qi down and walked into the room. The main computer linked to the R-ARMOR had been thoroughly smashed to bits. All of his leads ended here. He’d only heard of the override device. But what did it look like? Was it a program? Or was it a button detonator like the kind suicide bombers used? He had no idea.
“Um . . . ”
A groan sounded from within the room.
Han Jun walked around the table and saw his boss’s boss—Director Daisy Fenton—sprawled on the ground, blood trickling from her forehead.
“Director Fenton—are you okay?” Han Jun lifted Daisy up. He thought for a moment, then did something he’d seen in the movies—he pressed his thumb against the acupuncture point at the middle of her upper lip.
Daisy sighed heavily, then opened her eyes. “Who are you?”
“I’m one of NETLORD’s employees, Director Fenton. Is the R-ARMOR override device here? We have to stop Zeng Ping.”
“Call me Daisy. And that’s classified company information, you can’t—”
“Director Fenton!” Han Jun gripped Daisy’s shoulders. “There’s no time. Zeng Ping wants to kill her, we have to . . . ” He pointed to the door, where Lu Qi had been waiting, but the girl had disappeared.
“Lu Qi!” Han Jun ran out of the laboratory, but he saw no trace of her.
All he saw was a green figure.
Han Jun retreated into the laboratory and yelled to Daisy, “Quick! The override device—shut him down!”
Shaking her head, Daisy pointed to the heap of computer wreckage.
The R-ARMOR strode into the laboratory.
“Where is the girl?” Its voice was low and muffled.
“You don’t have to look for her,” Han Jun said. As the R-ARMOR approached, he stepped back, deliberately drawing the battle suit deeper toward the side of the room to give Daisy space to escape. But Daisy only stared fixedly at the R-ARMOR, displaying no intent of leaving.
“No,” said the R-ARMOR. “She’s ruined everything. I want to tear her to shreds.”
“It wasn’t her. It was me,” Han Jun said. “I’m the one who ruined everything for you.”
“You?” The battle suit paused. “Who the hell are you?”
“You have one chance to do the right thing,” said Han Jun. “Are you sure you can do it?”
“What?”
“You have one chance to do the right thing. Are you sure you can do it?”
“What the hell are you on about?”
“Dammit! Four years ago, I was the one who encouraged you to go protest at New Industries Corporation, don’t you remember?” Han Jun straightened his back so that he wouldn’t look so guilty. “We’ve only spoken online, but I know everything about you.”
“It was you . . . ” Zeng Ping was silent for a few seconds, thinking. “So you’re the one who shot that video.”
“Yes.” Han Jun nodded. “But I never imagined it would end up like this.”
Zeng Ping began to shake in mirth, which made the battle suit look very strange. When at last he stopped laughing, he bent down toward Han Jun. “You’ve given me a very good justification.”
The R-ARMOR threw a punch at Han Jun’s ribs. Han Jun had no time to respond. Only a single fact crossed his mind—the R-ARMOR could amplify its operator’s strength by thirty-five times.
He flew backward. But he hadn’t been struck by the R-Armor. There was a flash of silver between the fist and Han Jun, blocking the punch. The silver shape had thrown him back. It hurt, but much less than a hard punch from the R-ARMOR’s fist would have.
He crawled upright. A silver-white robot stood facing the R-ARMOR, grabbing one of its arms with both hands.
“Who are you?” Zeng Ping demanded.
“I’m the one you want to kill.” The silver-white robot responded in a clear, melodious woman’s voice.
“Lu Qi?” Han Jun asked.
“It’s me. By the way, your company’s super-printer is great. I’ve wanted to print some big toys for forever.”
“This isn’t a game!” Han Jun exclaimed.
“I . . . ” Lu Qi had just begun to speak when Zeng Ping struggled out of her grasp. The R-ARMOR twisted around, grabbed the silvery-white robot’s arm, and ripped it out with ease. Then the R-ARMOR kicked Lu Qi’s robot to the floor and pressed a foot against its torso.
“How could your hastily printed toy compare to mine? I put everything into creating the R-ARMOR!” Zeng Ping stomped on the robot’s chest, forcing a deep hole in the 3D printed, multilayer cushion armor. “Everything! This is the reason for my existence! You’ve ruined it all. Do you understand? You’ve ruined it!”
Zeng Ping gave another stomp with every howl. He didn’t stop until there was a massive crater in the robot’s body.
“I want to see what you look like.” Zeng Ping bent the R-ARMOR over and ripped the robot’s breastplate open with both hands. But the control cabin was empty.
The robot had no control cabin at all.
“I’m over here!” Another robot appeared in the laboratory and charged the R-ARMOR. Once again, the silver and green robots were locked in a duel.
“You want to defeat me?” Zeng Ping’s fists smashed against the robot’s waist. The robot deftly twisted around and kicked the R-ARMOR in the chest. The R-ARMOR stumbled back a few steps, but Zeng Ping didn’t stop talking. “I’ve trained in this suit for over a thousand hours!”
“And I’ve experienced the world like this for half my life.” Lu Qi’s robot continued its attack. Zeng Ping avoided a sharply thrown punch, then threw a side hook at the robot’s head. The blow destroyed the robot’s wireless system, and the robot toppled to the floor.
“You don’t think this is funny?” Another voice sounded from the doorway. “You opposed 3D printing from the start, but now you grovel at 3D printing’s feet.”
The new silver robot launched another attack at the R-ARMOR. After a dozen exchanged blows, it fell defeated to the R-ARMOR’s fists. But then a new robot appeared in its place.
Very soon, Zeng Ping became visibly tired. His reflexes slowed; his attacks lost their vigor. His raging battle cries became heavy gasps.
Lu Qi’s robot seized the opportunity and sent the R-ARMOR crashing to the ground. The armor’s left elbow joint twisted past its limit and broke, revealing the wires inside. A spark of flame emitted from the breakage. It was lucky that Zeng Ping had already lost his left arm long ago, otherwise he certainly would have suffered a ruptured tendon.
The R-ARMOR struggled to stand. It attempted a left hook, but Lu Qi knocked it down and forced it against the ground. Her robot’s composite material mechanical hand pushed through the R-ARMOR’s chinks and tore open the cockpit door, revealing the simultaneously malevolent and pathetically weak face of Zeng Ping.
Lu Qi extended her hand toward him.
“Lu Qi!” Han Jun yelled. “Don’t hurt him!”
“No, no, I . . . I just want to look at him,” Lu Qi explained.
“It’s over,” said Han Jun. “It’s okay now, you can come back.” He walked around both the R-ARMOR and Lu Qi’s robot to Daisy’s side. “Fenton . . . Director Fenton, that . . . ”
Lu Qi walked into the laboratory, still wearing the VR helmet. The drone floated half a meter from her body, leading her forward like a guide dog.
“It was this girl that uploaded the video. Um, how do I explain this . . . ” Han Jun twisted the bridge of his nose. “It was all a big mistake, this . . . ”
“Enough, I don’t care.” Daisy gave a weary wave of her hand and turned to Lu Qi. “Can you see me?”
The drone moved up and down several times, indicating a nod.
“Did you design this robot?” Daisy asked.
“Yes. I designed it a long time ago, but the 3D printer in my house can only print items fifty centimeters or smaller, so I’ve never been able to test it out. Auntie, your company’s 3D printers are great. I’ve wanted to try them out forever.”
“Ah . . . right.” Daisy took a look at Lu Qi’s drone, then carefully examined the silver robot.
She had the sharp hunch that Lu Qi was a VR genius. Perhaps she could replace Zeng Ping?
“Ah . . . ” Someone let out a long exhale. Zeng Ping had woken up. The R-ARMOR stumbled upright. This suit, NETLORD’s finest technological achievement, was now broken beyond repair, teetering on the verge of collapse.
“Zeng Ping, enough.” Han Jun stood, positioning his body between Zeng Ping and Daisy and Lu Qi. “I’m so sorry for all that you’ve suffered. If I can, I want to make it up to you.”
“NETLORD couldn’t even give me what I wanted. How could you?” Zeng Ping’s lidless eyes roved back and forth at the three people before him. “I just want the ones who destroyed me . . . ” The R-ARMOR raised a hand. It held a blue steel canister—one of the oxygen canisters from Zeng Ping’s sickbed.
“ . . . to get what they deserve!” Zeng Ping roared, and threw the oxygen tank at them.
“Careful!” Han Jun twisted around to shield Daisy and Lu Qi.
There was a great bang as the canister struck the wall and dropped to the floor. A crack split open in the canister on impact and oxygen began hissing out.
The tiny hexacopter drone fell to the ground.
In that instant Lu Qi switched her controls and manipulated the robot to block the canister. The canister rebounded and smashed against the R-ARMOR, which fell flat on its back.
Guided by reactive force, the canister rolled twice and stopped by the green robot’s leg.
“Shit—it’s going to explode.” Han Jun quickly ran to the R-ARMOR’s side and extricated Zeng Ping from the stabilization devices. Zeng Ping had taken a hard beating from the earlier attacks. Half of his already weak chest had collapsed inward, and blood trickled out the side of his mouth.
“Let me go!”
“Shut up! It’s going to explode!”
Han Jun lifted him up. The limbless Zeng Ping wasn’t heavy; it was like carrying a child. Indeed, Zeng Ping still was a child.
Zeng Ping struggled furiously, thrashing the stumps of his arms against Han Jun’s face. “Let me go! I won’t leave!”
“If you don’t go you’ll die!”
“I died a long time ago!” Suddenly Zeng Ping straightened up. His arm jabbed into Han Jun’s eye. Han Jun’s vision blacked out for a moment. He let go. Zeng Ping struggled free, rolled to the ground, and crawled on his ruined limbs back into the R-ARMOR’s cockpit.
“Come on,” called Daisy as Han Jun stood dazed before the R-ARMOR. “He’s not going to leave.”
“I won’t leave. In here—this is my reality.” Zeng Ping gave Han Jun one last look, then closed the cockpit door.
The canister whined as air continued to leak. Flames sparked out of the R-ARMOR’s fractured left arm. Then the battle suit exploded.
Gusts of fire and air erupted outward, throwing Han Jun, Daisy, and Lu Qi to the ground.
Daisy climbed to her feet. Ignoring her scorched hair and the shrapnel wounds on her face, she stared in a daze at the blazing R-ARMOR. Zeng Ping gazed back at her through the cockpit window. He was embraced in flames, but he seemed calm; aloof.
Everything—the product of so many years of effort—was burning away.
Daisy turned. She walked out of the laboratory, down the long corridor, and back into her office. She poured herself a glass of whisky, then drank it down in one swallow. She took out a VR VISION set from the cabinet and put it on. Before her eyes appeared the moment she discovered Zeng Ping, that ugly, vulgar, wrathful child. She had stayed by his side while he recuperated. She’d helped him make peace with the rage within him. She’d watched as he entered the virtual world for the first time. She’d seen his face when he regained the limbs he had lost.
She left herself in that memory.
Han Jun lifted Lu Qi up. Her VR helmet had fallen off, revealing her face.
“Are these real flames?” she asked.
“They are.”
Lu Qi reached a hand toward the flames, but quickly yanked it back. “Ouch!”
“Yes, they’ll hurt you,” said Han Jun. “That’s the worst and best thing about reality.”
Gradually the flames died out, transforming into black smoke, both at once illusory and real.
First Prize: 5th Lightyear Award for Best Short Story (2016).
Originally published in Chinese in Whale’s Route, collection, 2018.