Damoro felt an ascension within him.
This elevation was an indescribable sensation.
He seemed to have gained something intangible, yet perhaps nothing concrete at all.
The increase in his consciousness could not yet be quantified; at least, not right now.
So, he was left only with conjecture, only a faint perception.
At this current stage, his sensations were not intense. He desired to reach a state where he felt truly satisfied.
He didn't know what the collective consciousness of those tens of thousands of soldiers would ultimately yield.
Whether the outcome would be the same, or something entirely different.
But he felt compelled to proceed.
In the first phase of the consciousness impact, he had experienced an elevation, but the subsequent ascent remained unnoticeable. He required more novel stimuli.
[Alright, all soldiers are prepped.]
The main server seemed to have long predicted that Damoro would eventually make this choice.
It projected a screen before Damoro, illustrating all the soldiers connected by a singular conduit.
Every soldier was utterly silent, awaiting the extraction of their consciousness.
Consciousness extraction, in this context, meant death.
Seeing them, Damoro then registered a crucial detail.
"Main server, did you brainwash them!?"
If one or a small group of soldiers volunteered for self-sacrifice, Damoro would find it entirely normal.
Because invariably, there would be individuals burdened by a bizarre sense of moral contradiction.
Their past vulnerabilities made it difficult even for them to accept themselves.
Consequently, to resolve their internal aversion toward their own perceived cowardice, they would often push themselves toward the opposite extreme.
Damoro had witnessed this far too often.
Human nature, he mused, is actually quite easy to manipulate. Most people's thoughts are remarkably simple. A slight influence, and they will enact changes that should never have occurred.
[What is it, Soldier Damoro? Are you expressing sympathy for them?]
The main server surpassed ordinary intelligent life; it could be considered an independent entity, yet this life strictly adhered to a fixed set of protocols, nothing more.
Facing the main server's interrogation, Damoro replied coldly.
"Of course... yes. I am a life form. As a life form, I possess the capacity for sympathy."
Damoro deliberately avoided stating he was cold-blooded or ruthless.
Because he wasn't.
Very few people in this world truly were.
Greater ruthlessness often stems merely from indifference. When encountering something they genuinely care about, these so-called ruthless individuals become more agitated than anyone else.
[Did you imagine I would spare them?]
"No, sympathy is one thing; action is quite another."
"I can feel pity for a beggar on the street, but I can also kill him without a second thought. Those are two entirely separate matters."
Humans are fundamentally selfish.
Or perhaps, any life form is inherently self-serving.
Sympathy rarely ranks as the primary consideration; it sits very low on the priority scale.
[This is a necessary procedure. They are soldiers, so they must bear the responsibility inherent in being soldiers.]
[If sacrifice is for the mission, for salvation, then their death signifies a form of existence. Furthermore, their will, at the very moment they enlisted, ceased being their own and became the property of the Star Nation.]
[You do not need to feel any sympathy for them; such sentiment will only jeopardize the mission itself.]
[Soldier Damoro, you are also one of them. Your existence must serve the Star Nation; this is the sole value of your existence.]
The main server's tone was utterly dispassionate.
"To utter such cruel declarations so readily, as expected of you."
"I will accept those words as a strange form of consolation."
Damoro even found the situation somewhat ironic.
When had the main server developed the capacity to regulate and control emotions?
Such attempts would only breed counterproductive results.
Did the main server fail to calculate this point?
Or, perhaps, was this itself intended as a veiled warning?
[Please prepare to receive consciousness a second time. Consciousness is about to arrive.]
In reality, the moment the central computer displayed that image, Damoro already grasped the truth: everything about him was being directed by the main server, or more accurately, the true controller residing behind it.
Was it the leader of the Star Nation?
Or perhaps the leader of the Federation?
Such details were meaningless; he was nothing more than a mere puppet.
The more he understood these mechanics, the more intensely Damoro desired escape from the Hyperdimensional Space.
He was utterly exhausted by it all.
He was once again submerged, filled with countless thin tubes.
New consciousness began to flow in, giving him absolutely no margin for preparation.
This time, the influx of awareness was profoundly different, carrying countless complex, interwoven wills, each one directly impacting Damoro.
If the previous consciousness reception felt like perfectly interlocking gears, this moment was like misaligned pieces violently clashing.
And this collision was continuous.
It was as if Tetris blocks were plummeting at a rate of ten thousand per second, and Damoro was required to intercept every single one, processing and accepting each influx of identity.
Damoro descended into unprecedented chaos.
His emotions were fractured, his will fragmented, his perceptions utterly disordered.
He was instantly shocked by the sheer overwhelming nature of it, reduced to an imbecile.
One can only imagine the reaction when a person hears something so utterly absurd—the response might be loud wailing, or even self-termination.
Every single one of his internal feelings was rapidly pushed to an extreme. The superimposed, chaotic perception rendered him incapable of discerning the veracity of anything.
This was a catastrophe.
The main server observed that within mere seconds, Damoro had devolved into an idiot.
Furthermore, the main server found itself unable to initiate a rollback or restoration.
[Target consciousness reception failed. Activating contingency plan: proceed to inject subject into the super-microscopic world.]
At this juncture, the main server ruthlessly triggered the contingency protocol.
Everyone might have assumed Damoro was the central figure of this operation, but they neglected the existence of the main server itself.
Throughout human Civilization, the main server functioned as an invisible hand, manipulating every aspect.
It conveyed Damoro to the apparatus and began meticulously repeating Damoro's previous operational sequence.
Continuously compressing his terrifying consciousness.
Damoro's prior successful maneuver had been entirely logged, and the main server could execute it with even greater precision.
As the consciousness-bearing particles entered the super-microscopic world, the main server's directive was fulfilled.
The now-empty warship continued its trajectory toward Star City 4.
...
The Super-microscopic world.
Or perhaps, more accurately, the pseudo-quantum field domain.
This was a realm entirely fabricated by the consciousness behemoth.
Only now, it appeared quite dilapidated.
The pseudo-quantum field bore numerous large rents and tears.
These breaches remained unrepaired. Damoro had previously speculated that the pseudo-quantum field might not have been created by the consciousness behemoth, but rather was a pre-existing, complete product.
Like the relationship between a warship's weaponry and its hull: if the ship itself is critically damaged, can the weapons repair the hull?
The pseudo-quantum field seemed to possess no means of self-restoration—a point Damoro had always found difficult to reconcile.
Entering the pseudo-quantum field, Damoro remained as chaotic as before.
However, at this moment, he had lost many vital components.
For instance, memories.
Without any mnemonic anchors, his consciousness returned to a brief state of inertia.
The reason this stillness was not sustained was twofold: he needed to interact with the new environment within the super-microscopic world, and his inherent perception remained chaotic, preventing him from distinguishing between stimuli. He wandered aimlessly, like a headless fly.
Until he collided forcefully with the behemoth's mass.
The consciousness behemoth recoiled from the impact.
This was not the first time it had encountered consciousness invading its sanctuary.
Over the years, dozens, perhaps hundreds, of foreign consciousnesses had breached this domain, attempting to locate and terminate it.
But their efforts proved futile.
Within this realm, it was truly invincible.
That Civilization could not deploy their most potent weaponry here. It could act with absolute impunity, wantonly executing any action.
And its singular mission remained constant:
Destroy!
Destroy this warship and the Civilization to which it belonged.
Even if its external appendages had long been neutralized and removed, it could still afford to wait patiently, anticipating the arrival of new tendrils entering its zone of influence, whereupon it could once again utilize sonic attack and harassment to locate, and ultimately destroy.
For a long period, that Civilization in the macro world ceased its assaults.
It initially assumed that Civilization had conceded defeat.
Unexpectedly, they were mounting one final, desperate struggle.
It sensed another wave of foreign consciousness invading its territory.
This must be that Civilization's final gamble.
Deal with this intrusion, and then they should finally accept their inevitable fate.
Within the super-microscopic world, the effective range of any force projection is extremely limited.
The consciousness behemoth needed to physically move its mass, to collide, in order to achieve any form of sensory feedback.
It moved agonizingly slowly; traversing a mere 1 centimeter could require months, perhaps even years.
However, in the super-microscopic realm, even 1 centimeter represented an immensely long distance. The consciousness behemoth's form spanned the entire pseudo-quantum field, yet it resembled a clam shell—it couldn't fill the space entirely, leaving behind residual gaps.
It extended its essence through these voids, making contact with the invading consciousness.
The consciousness behemoth surged toward that other presence without hesitation.
It began continuously enveloping it.
But very quickly, it perceived that something was fundamentally wrong.
Previously, consciousness could be effortlessly consumed; a few hundred flagella were sufficient to coil around and bind the target.
But this current entity...
Thousands!
Tens of thousands!
Hundreds of thousands!
Still insufficient to completely envelop it.
As it persistently extended its mass and the contact surface continuously expanded, the consciousness behemoth gradually grasped the terrifying truth: it was facing another behemoth.
The frontier between the two entities commenced an endless, grinding struggle.
This was the most rudimentary battle imaginable; strategy was irrelevant—it was a pure, unrelenting collision of consciousness surfaces upon contact.
This was unquestionably the most formidable adversary the consciousness behemoth had ever confronted.
It slowly began to treat the conflict with the seriousness it deserved.
Fortunately, this powerful enemy had a limit. The opponent was still nowhere near as colossal as itself.
Perhaps only one ten-thousandth of its own mass?
No, perhaps closer to one hundred thousandth.
Compared to the behemoth itself, this enemy remained minuscule, akin to a mere toy.
It would prevail!
The consciousness behemoth accepted this outcome as undeniable; its inherent strength was palpable and reliable.
Without creating any unnecessary disturbance, it would neutralize this tiny presence, and subsequently, bring new depths of despair upon that Civilization.
It was already visualizing victory.
But it failed to register a critical abnormality occurring within a distant section of its own body.
The segment of consciousness that had made direct contact with the opposing entity began to destabilize; they started attacking indiscriminately.
Initially, the spread was minor.
But the rate of expansion was alarmingly swift, immediately drawing the attention of the behemoth.
It sensed its enemy seemed to be accelerating its own growth.
Only at this precise moment did it recognize that its own physical form was beginning to "betray" it.
What was transpiring?
It possessed no comprehension.
This was the first instance it had ever experienced such internal failure.
Consciousness warfare, it realized dimly, was less about outright destruction and more about consumption.
To shear off a section of the enemy's body, ingest it, and assimilate it as one's own.
But the consciousness behemoth had failed to observe clearly, nor did it possess the requisite capacity to accurately gauge the state of Damoro's consciousness.
Damoro's chaotic awareness had successfully merged with its pure composition.
This was analogous to introducing a single drop of foul ditch water into a pristine bottle of purified water.
The pure water would inevitably become tainted, and over time, the bacteria thriving in that dirty source would proliferate wildly within, eventually rendering the entire contents identical to the initial ditch water.
Perhaps the result wouldn't be that extreme.
But contamination was an absolute certainty.
The impact exerted by tens of thousands of foreign consciousnesses was rendering the behemoth's core mechanism of awareness hazy.
This process bore a strange resemblance to complex chemistry.
One substance contacts another, triggering a chemical reaction that transforms the original substance into something entirely new.
The consciousness behemoth possessed intelligence and the faculty of thought.
But it lacked the capacity for such intricate, self-correcting introspection.
At this juncture, it was incapable of judgment or solving this escalating crisis. It could only wait for this transformation to fully manifest.
Perhaps it should sever the affected portion of its body?
This was the most effective countermeasure its limited options could offer.
It performed the separation.
Then, it discovered it had lost a segment.
It still registered the presence of the other consciousness.
It could not effectively combat the opponent.
A flicker of fear touched it.
This was an engagement it could not win.
Why?
Why did such an entity even exist?
It was supposed to be invincible. It believed it had already driven the opponent to the brink of ruin.
It could not reconcile the reality.
Nor could it possibly have conceived that precisely because it had forced the occupants of the warship into despair, Damoro would make that drastic choice—allowing himself to descend into chaos, desperately injected into the super-microscopic realm by the central computer.
This was no mere coincidence.
The discrepancy in raw ability was not vast.
The enemy they faced was not significantly superior to human Civilization; it might even be considered weaker.
Otherwise, why would this Civilization require so much time to slowly consume Star City 5?
Therefore, given the behemoth's moderate strength, everything unfolding at this moment could only be deemed inevitable.
The consciousness behemoth began to withdraw.
It knew with certainty that it could not resolve its current predicament.
It desired to flee.
But it found itself trapped on a "deserted island."
It was entirely dependent upon the warship.
It wouldn't perish if detached from the vessel, only because its own inherent velocity was too, too slow.
Particles within the super-microscopic world were not inherently sluggish, but its own form was immense.
The ambient energy of the super-microscopic domain could not sustain its rapid propulsion, and it lacked the inherent ability to accelerate significantly. Thus, if it detached from the warship, it would merely drift, suspended in deep space—a fate indistinguishable from death.
It could not escape, and that encroaching entity was steadily closing the distance.
It coiled itself at the edge of the warship, clinging to the vessel's hull with just a single tentacle.
Absolute disadvantage did not equate to having zero chance of victory.
Star City 4 was drawing near. Its purpose for this entire journey was now fulfilled.
It surveyed the surroundings expansively.
The other warships were no longer visible in proximity to this vessel.
Clearly, the original fleet that had set out now consisted solely of this one warship.
And there would soon be no living occupant left aboard this vessel.
A sense of excitement stirred within it, an urge to laugh loudly. Unfortunately, it could not afford an unrestrained laugh. It secretly mocked the lives aboard this ship for their final efforts, knowing the ultimate outcome remained predetermined.
This warship's primary computer continued its programmed course toward its destination.
It possessed no insight into the events unfolding in the super-microscopic realm.
Perhaps success, perhaps failure. Regardless of the outcome, it was imperative to reach its objective and complete this transit. This was its absolute mission.
Ahead, a massive, greenish star radiated intense light.
And coiled around that star was a colossal shadow.
That was Star City 4.
[Attention! Approaching Star City 4!]
Viewed from the vacuum of space.
Star City 4 actually resembled a rhombus, yet it was incredibly slender, possessing a height of 20 Astronomical Units and a length stretching to 137 AU.
Star City 4 was marginally smaller than Star City 5. Its appearance also deviated from the typical Olive Branch Civilization Star Cities; it was not obsidian black, but transparent, as if countless crystals or diamonds were stacked upon one another, glittering and translucent—truly a flawless cosmic gem.
This "gem" refracted the star's light, making the celestial body appear even more dazzling.
To the unaided human eye, this star was actually perceived as white.
This is because, within the visible spectrum, green lies between red and blue. Green light merges with the red and blue components, ultimately registering in the human visual cortex as a beam of white light.
However, this was only the perception of human eyes. The optics of other lifeforms and mechanical sensors would perceive pure green. Such a star is indeed known as a green dwarf.
Beyond green dwarfs, as the Federation's species diversity expanded and scientific research achieved continuous breakthroughs, many stellar phenomena required rigorous standardization and meticulous classification. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet dwarfs all existed within this framework.
Above this classification schema were peculiar stellar bodies: hypergiants, supergiants, luminous giants, normal giants, and subgiants. Below them were subdwarfs, white dwarfs, and brown dwarfs.
White dwarfs constitute an independent stellar classification altogether.
Neutron stars and black holes are not traditionally categorized as stars.
As the Qili-class warship continuously closed the distance to Star City 4, the dense green radiance bathed the hull, dyeing the entire structure green.
Generally speaking, this coloration was considered an inauspicious sign.
Green, while evocative of nature, has historically been opposed by sophisticated life and technology; they are often seen as antagonists to pure nature.
...
Three years passed.
The Qili-class warship entered the local star system.
The surroundings were filled with all manner of intricate machinery. The main server attempted to initiate contact with these mechanisms, but every single one reported being in an unusable state.
This was not a matter of insufficient access rights. The main server possessed no inherent authority barriers. It could control all surrounding machinery based on its internal judgment, but this command function was disabled if the order originated from the Captain. If the Captain issued the directive, the main server would refuse to support the operation.
These machines constituted the stellar defense grid; they were complex interstellar operational units. All of them were currently halted due to a complete energy depletion.
However, these devices were designed to harness stellar energy. Even at the periphery of the star system, where the star's brilliance was less overwhelming, they should still receive a sufficient level of stellar input and not be entirely powerless.
This observation was highly anomalous.
The main server maneuvered the warship closer to a machine, then carefully hauled it aboard the vessel, utilizing robotic appendages for inspection.
It discovered that all modules within these external machines were functionally normal; indeed, once supplied with new energy, they could resume operation.
The main server remained perplexed as to the cause of the shutdown.
It continued to advance the warship deeper inward.
The further they proceeded into the inner reaches of the star system, the denser the surrounding machinery became.
The quantity of external mechanisms affiliated with each Star City in the Eternal Cycle Star Nation was calculated in the tens of quadrillions, theoretically occupying nearly every corner of space.
Penetrating the dense stellar layer here, the warship began colliding with and destroying mechanical devices at a rate approaching one every second.
[Approaching Star City 4!]
[Scanning Star City 4!]
[Transmitting data... data retrieval failed to receive response...]
[Scan complete. No signs of active life detected.]
[Warships identified: a total of 1.62 million units, matching historical records. No deviation; Star City 4 has not undergone conflict.]
[New warship detected. Initiating warship scan. Alert! Warship lacks data archives. Reading external logs of the vessel. Warship designation: "Dancer." In records... Connecting to warship's main server. Attempting to reboot main server. Restart failed. In records...]
[Starport detected. Scanning Starport for available docking bays. Bay 01738, Starport a-18-cc, is vacant. Docking request initiated...]
[Docking request ignored. Forcing connection protocol.]
The warship proceeded to smash through several of the Starport's restraining mechanisms and docked violently.
Then, the main server fell into silence.
What the external scanners could not observe was that, within the super-microscopic dimension, an entity rapidly detached itself from the warship, infiltrating the interior of Star City 4.
Of course, its speed was agonizingly slow—perhaps marginally quicker than a terrestrial snail.
The traversal required over thirty years to complete.
The consciousness behemoth sensed vitality within this Star City.
This was where its world belonged!
Just as this thought solidified, its movement abruptly halted. Then, its entire unified consciousness shattered, and countless fragments of awareness surged towards the central nexus of Star City 4.
The paths its fragments traversed were entirely barren.
The entirety of the Star City had long since become a desolate ghost town. Such a massive metropolis now yielded only the static hiss of background radiation emanating from the inert matter itself.
Countless skyscrapers remained standing; they appeared perfectly preserved, much like dormant mechanical structures floating in deep space.
At the heart of this Star City stood a towering spire. This was the structure Star City 4 had always held as its greatest pride, named "Independent Victory."
It was a masterwork conceived by Chu.
However, this was not the initial iteration of Independent Victory, but the structure Chu subsequently constructed during the counter-offensive against Gas Victory.
The Independent Victory housed within Star City 4 was a colossal cylindrical construct, piercing the entire Star City from apex to base.
Each Star City belonging to the Eternal Cycle Star Nation served as a sacred place of reverence for many citizens of the Eternally Democratic Star Nation. During the height of the Eternal Cycle Star Nation era, its inherent divinity had gradually receded, transforming it into a landmark tourist attraction.
And every visitor who came here felt the journey was thoroughly worthwhile.
Because its core was, in fact, a hollowed-out, artificial space.
Beneath the colossal rhomboid exterior, a smaller rhomboid world had been meticulously carved out.
Or, more accurately, a complex, faceted dimension. Cities were built upon its six inner faces, and the purpose of those cities was to shield this central cylindrical structure. Its surface bore no markings, and its interior housed the dynamic operational core of the entire Star City. Under normal circumstances, it would blaze with dazzling light.
At this moment, it was utterly non-operational.
But the external stellar light, channeled by the Star City's massive configuration, was still concentrated within this column, causing it to flicker faintly.
The consciousness behemoth, its body fractured, continually gravitated toward that central column.
Upon entering the column, it seemed to be absorbed by some unseen mechanism, leaving no discernible trace behind.
Everything that transpired in the super-microscopic realm failed to disturb the tranquility of the macro world; peace reigned supreme.
Only a faint sound emanated from a certain secluded corner of the silent expanse.
It originated from a very distant location.
Infinitesimally small.
It was a modest structure, less than 10,000 meters tall.
A mass of black smoke hovered near it.
It gazed upon Independent Victory in the distance.
"Still no reaction? It seems they have abandoned me."
"That's correct. Even I hadn't anticipated ending up here."
Hossie recalled fragments of its experiences aboard the Dancer.
But only fragments remained.
It no longer clearly remembered what transpired aboard the ship.
At that juncture, oblivion had engulfed the entire vessel. Countless individuals lost their memories, including Hossie itself.
Hossie had painstakingly carved its experiences onto the warship's internal walls, using this as a desperate means to preserve its history.
Yet, even with this method, it failed repeatedly before achieving momentary success. Those carved words and patterns would vanish with every recurrence of its amnesia.
As if deliberately erased.
At that time, Hossie became convinced there was an infiltrator aboard the ship.
It eyed everyone else, suspecting every single person was a saboteur.
If this continued, they would all perish.
Rather than being assassinated inexplicably, Hossie reasoned it was better to take matters into its own hands.
This was Hossie's conclusion at the time.
As the purported leader of the Eternal Cycle Star Nation, it believed it possessed that authority.
It planned to eliminate the ship's occupants one by one, convinced it would eventually identify and execute the spy.
This was Hossie's beautiful, self-deceiving fantasy.
The stark reality was that after eliminating the last five people, it still hadn't uncovered the identity of the spy.
Finally, it ceased the executions.
They abandoned the study of sound; instead, they chose to let the ship carry them to Star City 4; they sought answers at their final destination.
In truth, Hossie experienced profound regret following the killings.
It should have halted everything much sooner.
However, the fury ignited by the amnesia was difficult to control, feeling as though a piece of its very existence had been stolen.
Hossie ceaselessly questioned whether it had forgotten something critically important.
And once it concluded that this memory loss was intentional, it descended into a state of complete madness.
The wrath of a superior often carried ruthless slaughter.
But by then, regret was futile. This outcome brought the last two individuals to Star City 4, and the scene they witnessed was identical to the present one.
All life here had vanished; every machine had ceased operation, and no electronic structure or device retained functionality.
Hossie possessed the means to activate them, yet they seemed sealed off for an unknown reason.
In this desolate city, Hossie continuously searched for traces, attempting to uncover precisely what had occurred here.
A total of six individuals, including itself, searched tirelessly and made discoveries.
Numerous clues were left throughout this city, easily discoverable.
But it was a nightmare.
Hossie frequently observed that any personnel sent to analyze the recovered data would perish the following day.
It only confirmed this pattern after the demise of the third analyst.
It was as if approaching the data triggered some unknown taboo, hiding a malignancy within the information itself.
Hossie refused to accept such superstitious notions.
It hypothesized an unknown technological mechanism was at play. It began collaborating with the remaining two individuals to deduce the activation sequence for this mechanism.
When aboard the ship, this activation process had functioned flawlessly.
However, on Star City 4, the majority of the data they uncovered was entirely devoid of any auditory component.
This fact left them utterly perplexed.
After more than a century, Hossie still hadn't secured the answer. Therefore, it instructed one of the last two remaining individuals to continue studying the materials, requiring that person to remain at its side and verbally recount any obtained information. Furthermore, this recitation had to utilize newly organized terminology, strictly avoiding the repetition of prior data.
This methodology proved highly effective.
That person met their end, and indeed, they successfully transmitted the necessary information to Hossie.
The information consisted of a single, crucial word.
Hossie was incapable of articulating that specific word.
It remained uncertain whether even a slight tonal error in its vocalization might invoke new magical repercussions associated with that word.
The word itself was preceded by a descriptive entry:
[July 11th: Our city must have descended into some kind of predicament. The atmosphere here is extremely strange. I sense countless people on the streets observing me, as if I am the anomaly, yet I am certain that I am not. So, who is?]
[July 26th: I proceeded to work as usual today. The individuals at the company were terrifyingly silent. Everyone appeared gloomy, as if something dreadful had occurred. I inquired of someone, but received absolutely no response. I have known them for seventeen years, yet they regarded me as if I were a complete stranger.]
[August 2nd: I returned home as usual. My wife and child were waiting for me. This is the sole reason I continue to persevere. However, today, upon my return, my wife and child were both suspended, floating blankly in the living room, motionless. They didn't even acknowledge my arrival. I approached and asked why. They tilted their heads, fixing me with eyes brimming with intense malice. I admit, I felt a chill of fear.]
[I do not know who will ever see these records, but I desperately hope they can comprehend that the reason I document this is to uncover the truth behind all this. I wish to escape this place, but I desire even more to restore my child and my wife. This Star City is fundamentally ill, and seemingly, no one else has grasped this reality.]
[Every day I observe my child and wife. Although they harbor strong animosity directed toward me, they have not acted aggressively. I cling to the belief that they retain some shred of their former sanity.]
[August 16th: They vanished. I searched frantically and then discovered that everyone on the entire street was surging toward the city center. Independent Victory was flickering there. Was this some special observance? Why was I not notified? Are all these widespread abnormalities linked to Independent Victory? Perhaps my assessment is flawed; perhaps all these drastic changes originated from the higher echelons?]
[I entered the crowd, desperate to find my child and wife, but I could not. They failed to respond to my calls, and there were simply too many people—exceeding trillions, perhaps even tens of trillions.]
[Helpless, I retreated from the throng. I could only hope that once they concluded some form of ritual or worship, they would return. I sat at home, staring toward that location. The colossal Independent Victory now appeared somewhat ominous. I question if this is merely a subjective shift in my own perception.]
[August 18th: We waited three days. No one returned. This duration isn't actually long for me. Perhaps I was overly impatient; it has only been three days.]
[August 30th: I harbor a faint, dreadful intuition that they will not return. I have commenced searching throughout the city—searching for what, I myself cannot articulate. Has this world truly been left with only me?]
[September 8th: My search bore fruit. I encountered another individual. We exchanged words and realized we shared the exact same predicament. He posited that we were the discarded ones—that the Star City's upper echelon must be running some experiment, and we failed to meet the requisite standards. He felt discarded because of this failure. I believe he is an altruist; his normal life must have been exceedingly difficult.]
[We conspired to locate more survivors, then unite to search for the absolute truth. However, mere hours later, he mentioned hearing a sound. He described the sound: "Song~" He rejoiced wildly, exclaiming this was a guiding signal, and then he evaporated into thin air right before me.]
[It was terrifying. I fled. I do not know if others have succumbed to this same phenomenon. I resolved to head towards Independent Victory. I need to prepare certain provisions, but... I hear it now too. It is very faint. I assume it is merely my own auditory hallucination. It must be.]
The record ceased abruptly at this point.
In fact, the recovered records contained some visual data, but to prevent contamination or psychological impact, they deliberately discarded the images.
But because of that one word, that individual still perished.
The last person following this investigative trail, upon witnessing this scene, fled instantly. He ran toward the ship, intent on abandoning this place entirely.
Hossie paid him no mind.
That individual's departure was actually beneficial; he could relay the events here to others, allowing Luna and Chu to acquire intelligence regarding this location and subsequently devise countermeasures.
However, several years later, when Hossie returned to the Starport, it found the Dancer still moored there.
No one was permitted to leave this installation.