Someone nudged Pei Ran's arm.
It was the man in the coat. He tilted his head toward the car—asking if she wanted to get in.
Pei Ran nodded, but her eyes drifted back to the other side of the street.
There was nothing beside the ruins of the library.
The metal sphere had vanished.
The man pressed a key to unlock the car and went to open the back door. His sister climbed in first, and Pei Ran followed, sitting beside the girl.
The car's interior matched its vintage exterior—soft leather seats, no screens, only a steering wheel and a few mechanical dials. Not a trace of modern tech.
The man slid into the driver's seat. Once seated, he pulled up a virtual keyboard on his wristband and typed:
[Thank you. If not for you, we wouldn't have gotten the meds—and our car would've been stolen.]
He was very polite.
Pei Ran nodded and reached into her backpack, pulling out the roll of tape.
She peeled off the strip covering her mouth, tore off another segment with her teeth, and handed it to the man.
With the three of them sitting so close together, Pei Ran was deeply concerned that even a casual "thank you," "sorry," or "excuse me" might get someone killed.
Tape wasn't a perfect solution, but it helped keep people's mouths shut.
The man understood. He took the strip and firmly taped his mouth shut.
Pei Ran tore another piece and held it out to the girl.
She didn't move. Didn't even glance at the tape in front of her. Her gaze was locked outside the window, lost in thought.
The man leaned over from the front seat, gently tucked her hair aside, and taped her mouth himself.
He typed:
[Sorry. She's not usually like this.]
[This afternoon… our mom realized something was wrong. She got in the hover car to go buy medicine for my sister. She sat right in front of us and then—]
He looked down at the bloodstains on his coat.
Now she understood. The blood wasn't from a fight.
It was from someone they loved.
Never get in a hover car. They'd learned this rule the hard way.
He typed again:
[We'll drop you off at Hank Street, then go home to… take care of Mom's remains.]
Though if she was shredded into pieces, there might not be much left to "take care of."
He looked devastated. But Pei Ran knew—he'd be okay. The real problem was his sister.
She sat motionless, mouth sealed, staring blankly outside.
[I'm Helan Ting. My sister's name is Helan Yu.]
Pei Ran nodded but didn't offer her own name.
She typed: [Let's go.]
What she really wanted to say was: Brother, could you stop chatting? The longer we sit here, the higher the chance someone else finds the medicine.
Helan Ting nodded and started the engine.
The antique car hummed to life—no AI voice, no alerts—just four wheels rolling cleanly over the pavement.
It couldn't fly, but it was fast. They soon left the chaos of the commercial district behind.
The car sped toward the city center.
The sun was low in the west, its dim orange disk gradually disappearing behind towering buildings.
The city had blacked out. Neon signs and digital screens once everywhere were now dead, replaced by tall buildings standing like a concrete forest.
No cars—but there were people.
Pedestrians filled the streets. Some rushed to buy supplies, others were likely searching for loved ones. Some dragged suitcases, trying to flee the city on foot.
But there wasn't a single voice.
Between the gray buildings, they moved like silent ghosts.
Helan Ting must've feared another carjacking—he drove even faster.
At one sharp turn, they almost hit a family crossing the street. He slammed the brakes.
The mother yanked her daughter into her arms, hurrying them both to safety.
Out of the corner of her eye, Pei Ran saw Helan Yu stir.
Still covered in blood, still sealed with tape—she cried.
Silent, but wrenching. A grief so deep it seemed to tear through her body even without sound.
Comfort was useless.
This world was cold and brutal. No one could truly save another. In the end, everyone had to survive alone.
Pei Ran turned her head and calmly resumed watching the passing scenery.
After a while, the car made another turn. Helan Ting lifted one hand from the wheel and gestured toward the upcoming intersection.
Hank Street.
Helan Yu had stopped crying. Just the occasional, soundless shudder of breath.
She turned to Pei Ran. Her eyes were red and swollen.
Pei Ran knew what she wanted. She tore off another strip of tape and held it out.
Helan Yu quietly took it, removed the wet, half-loose tape from her face, wiped away her tears with her sleeve.
Then she carefully reapplied the tape—corner to corner, sealing her mouth shut. She pressed it down firmly.
Pei Ran saw the gesture and knew: This girl will survive.
A familiar blue-and-white sign appeared ahead—Wolin Pharmacy.
This was the main store, far larger than the branch they'd just raided. It occupied the entire first floor of a building, and unlike the smashed-up branch, its doors were sealed tight.
Same "glass" door. The metal frame was dented—someone had tried to break in. Clearly, they'd failed.
Helan Ting parked and stepped out with Pei Ran, pulling up his wrist screen.
[Can I come in with you?]
Pei Ran nodded before he finished typing.
When he offered to bring her here, she already knew what he was thinking.
Helan Yu needed medication every day. They'd only gotten two boxes at the branch. No telling how long this chaos would last—more meds could mean survival.
Pei Ran was worse off. She didn't have any JTN35 left.
Her shoulder throbbed—where the mechanical arm connected, it burned with a soreness that made the limb feel like a weighty, unnatural extension.
She needed the JTN35. Soon.
Helan Ting typed again:
[I never imagined I'd break into a pharmacy one day… But the city security bureau's collapsed. We can't talk. Can't even call for help…]
Pei Ran didn't care about his moral crisis.
She walked up to the door and slammed her fist into it.
A small crater formed, spreading spiderweb cracks across the surface.
Promising.
But the impact sent a sharp jolt through her shoulder—pain radiated down her back.
She pulled her hand back and rolled her shoulder to ease the ache.
A chocolate bar appeared in front of her.
Helan Yu.
She offered it silently, her dark eyes focused and calm.
You need energy to hit harder.
Pei Ran hadn't eaten all day. She was starving. She took the bar, peeled back the wrapper, devoured it, and sealed her mouth again.
Then she squared up and kept punching.
Crack by crack, the hole widened.
Then—
A mechanical voice spoke from behind.
"Warning. You are in violation of Federal Public Order Regulation…"
The street had been dead silent. Suddenly hearing a voice made Pei Ran spin around instantly.
Floating two or three meters behind her was a hovering sphere.
Not the same as the silver ones she'd seen before—this one was smaller, painted dark blue, labeled "Baigang City Security Bureau", with a serial number: CT007.
Its voice was crisp and emotionless:
"…Article 132, subsection—"
Boom.
The ball exploded.
Anything capable of speaking was doomed.
If its speech hadn't been so long-winded, maybe it could've finished its last words.
Helan Ting looked puzzled. He typed:
[That's one of the new AI patrol drones launched recently. They're meant to maintain order… I can't believe they're still functioning.]
The entire bureau had collapsed. But the patrol bots still kept patrolling.
Helan Ting looked uneasy—worried about being marked a criminal.
No need to worry. That bot was now shrapnel.
And with how talkative these things were, it wouldn't be long before every last one blew up mid-monologue.
Pei Ran cleared away the broken glass and climbed through the hole.
She'd barely gotten one leg inside when—
"Warning. Unauthorized entry is classified as a level-9 offense—"
Another patrol bot. Blue and white. Serial CT008.
"Please immediately—"
Boom. Gone.
Even Helan Ting was starting to go quiet.
He typed:
[There was a law passed recently… These bots can actually arrest people now.]
Pei Ran had heard as much on the bus. The new federal regulations allowed AI drones to arrest suspects.
Level-15 offenders could even be executed on the spot.
The bot had said level-9. Which might mean tranquilizer darts.
Still, better a tranquilizer than dying without medicine.
Pei Ran ducked and slipped through the hole.
Helan Ting typed:
[They patrol in pairs. I bet those two were a set…]
Pairs, huh. Talkative ones, too.
Pei Ran stepped into the dark pharmacy.
No power. No windows. The space was dim—but she immediately spotted the cabinet near the register.
She looked at Helan Ting—inside?
He and his sister had followed. He nodded.
Same layout as before.
First time awkward. Second time smooth. Third time industrialized.
Pei Ran punched the cabinet open in a few strikes.
She lit her wrist screen and spotted it: a white box.
Simple packaging, with just one label: JTN35.
Not just that. Below it were two yellow boxes—Helan Yu's meds.
She reached in and pulled them out.
Something at the door glinted.
Pei Ran looked up.
Another patrol bot, CT105, floated in, gliding toward her.
"Warning. You are suspected of unauthorized—"
Boom.
Gone.
Pei Ran: "…"
Just then, another sphere floated in—also labeled CT105.
Right as it entered, it flew through its predecessor's remains and paused mid-air, almost confused.
Pei Ran saw a red dot flash to life above its "eye."
Her body moved before her mind did—she dove sideways.
Bang!
Muzzle flash lit up the pharmacy.
Where she'd just stood, the cabinet now bore a charred black hole.
That definitely wasn't a tranquilizer.