The metal sphere hovered in the air, retraced its path, and exited through the open door.
The advertisement, which had paused at some point, resumed playing.
"This is a beautiful home—"
"Carrying our dreams—"
The jingle sang cheerfully.
"…peace of mind…"
"…happiness…"
"…sunshine…"
The noise in the carriage drowned out the .
"Can these AIs now kill people directly in public??"
"Haven't you seen the news? The new Federal Security Law passed last month gave them the authority."
"Was the person it killed a fugitive?"
"Didn't you hear? AI never makes mistakes. During the small-scale trial, the error rate was only 0.00001% or something? Way lower than human sheriffs' error rates."
"They say the ones they shoot are either extremely dangerous fugitives or terrorists."
"Right. They say when arresting ordinary criminals, they use stun guns, but for L16-level extremely dangerous individuals, in emergency situations where they pose a serious threat to others' safety, they can shoot to kill directly."
"So that thing just left? What about the body?"
"Someone will come to handle it when we reach the terminal."
"So we're just riding with a dead person?"
The one truly "riding with a dead person" was Pei Ran.
The dead woman's thigh still pressed tightly against Pei Ran's, the residual warmth lingering.
People standing nearby had all moved as far from the body as possible, creating a relatively empty space in the crowded carriage.
Seats were hard to find, so Pei Ran stayed put.
The woman's head lolled weakly, a small hole in her forehead from which blood flowed continuously, soaking into the corpse's pants, quickly spreading into a large dark red stain, then trickling down the leg onto the carriage floor, filling the air with a fishy stench.
The bus restarted, and with a turn, the body slumped weakly toward Pei Ran.
Pei Ran pushed her arm inward, making her lean against the window on the other side, then lifted her head, propping it in the corner between the seat back and the window, tilting it up slightly so the blood wouldn't flow so chaotically.
Having grown up surrounded by the dead, Pei Ran felt nothing.
In the bunker world, bodies often piled up; this was just one.
She arranged the woman's body, then wiped her cheek with her fingertips and took off her gloves.
As she removed her right glove, she froze.
Beneath the glove was a mechanical hand.
All black. Matte.
The hand was intricately crafted, with complex joint structures, the metal part extending into the sleeve at the wrist.
Pei Ran subconsciously moved her fingers.
The mechanical hand felt normal, flexible—she hadn't noticed anything wrong with it at all, even with her sensitivity.
The fingertips and gripping surfaces even had distinct textures; on closer inspection, these metal surfaces differed from the rest, with a finish, presumably housing some kind of sensory components.
Pei Ran glanced around, then silently felt up her right arm.
The hard metallic texture extended all the way to her shoulder, where she finally felt soft, elastic muscle.
Pei Ran removed her left glove too.
This time, it was a human hand—but something was off.
Its size, shape, even the were eerily familiar. It was exactly like her hand in her original world.
Pei Ran froze, then touched the bracelet on her wrist.
On the bracelet, a small hard black square had a protrusion; her hand moved by muscle memory, pressing it, and a small virtual screen popped up, hovering in front of her.
Pei Ran flicked her fingers, and the screen moved up smoothly with the motion, enlarging slightly.
Icons were neatly arranged on the screen. Pei Ran found the camera icon, opened it, and switched to front-facing.
A familiar face appeared on the screen.
The same nose, eyes, even the pale, sun-deprived skin—exactly like hers.
But in the bunker world, Pei Ran shaved her head periodically, never letting her hair grow past an inch before shaving it again. A buzz cut was easy to clean, and convenient for treating head wounds.
This body had long hair, past the shoulders.
The familiar face with a different hairstyle felt novel.
Years ago, Pei Ran had traded a bottle of her homemade liquor in the black market for an old storage reader, which contained many books—mostly ancient novels.
Time travel was written about countless times in those novels.
Protagonists and their counterparts usually shared the same name, or at least similar-sounding ones—a sign of fate and the trigger for time travel.
Pei Ran studied her face.
To share the same face too… that was some
The bus changed lanes, dipping sharply downward, descending like a plane landing, jolting before pulling into a stop.
The view outside was familiar; Pei Ran knew instinctively she'd reached her stop.
The bus landed on the ground. The narrow street was lined with uncollected black garbage bags, some torn, emitting a strange odor. Passersby tiptoed, carefully picking their way through the trash.
Pei Ran got off, turning into an old building nearby.
Fragments of memory flooded in.
"Unit 02115, Block A, Huanyi Building." She murmured, entering the elevator and pressing the button.
Unit 02115 was an apartment, left to the original owner by her parents.
The elevator reached the 21st floor, and Pei Ran found her door.
There was no iris-scanning virtual screen on the door, just a fingerprint lock, its touchscreen worn and faded, looking a generation outdated.
Pei Ran took off her gloves, pressed her left index finger against it, and the door opened.
The building had once been an old factory for a tech company called Huanyi. Converted from a factory, the apartment had an unusually high ceiling and a decent area, but it was old—exposed heating pipes were fixed to the walls with metal clamps, their bolts covered in rust.
Pei Ran closed the door, left her coat on, and first checked every corner, then peeked out the window.
Outside was the building across the road, gray like everywhere else in the city, with neon signs glowing even in daylight.
A "window"—something new.
In the bunker world, a man named Alim had a large painting on the wall behind his stall in the black market.
The painting showed an open window, with grass painted in bright green and a sky in vivid blue outside—colors so intense everyone passing by stared.
"Back then," Uncle Alim said, "everyone lived in houses with windows."
Someone nearby doubted, "Everyone?"
Uncle Alim was certain: "Yes, everyone. Every house had windows, and through them, you could see the sky outside."
In the bunker world, there were only walls, always.
Pei Ran stood at the window, craning her neck to look at the small patch of gray sky visible between the buildings.
She actually had a home.
A home that belonged to her alone, with a window, where she could see the sky outside.
She opened the bracelet's virtual screen, sifting through 残存 memories, logged into the original owner's account, and checked her finances.
The bad news: she'd lost her job today, with no income for now. The good news: she owned an apartment, and the original owner had saved quite a bit—no need to worry about survival for a while.
It was a nice apartment.
It was cold inside, cold enough to see her breath. Thick heating pipes ran in, but the vents emitted no heat.
The bathroom was fully equipped, and there was a clean, comfortable bed with a thick yet light quilt.
On the nightstand was a crystal trophy—first prize in a robot modification competition, dust-covered. Judging by the date, it must have been won by the original owner in college. A standing punching bag and a set of dumbbells in the corner, however, weren't dusty—the original owner seemed to exercise regularly.
In the kitchen, the fridge was almost empty, only a few bottles of mineral water—apparently, the original owner didn't like cooking. But one cabinet was filled with snacks.
Mostly big bags of potato chips.
Pei Ran stared at the snack cabinet.
In the bunker world, food was the most precious resource, counted down to the last crumb. She'd never had so many resources at once.
She took out a bag of chips, flipping it over to study the ingredients.
A 轻飘飘 bag, containing a full 800 calories!
800 calories!
A precious calorie bomb.
She remembered once, when collecting supplies on the surface, an accident trapped her in a cave. She'd survived four days on the last 700-800 calories of food she had.
And this bag of 800-calorie goodness wasn't even rough black bread—it was the legendary oil-sugar mix!
Oil and sugar! Explosive calories!! Delicious beyond words!!!
Pei Ran took off her coat and shoes, silently hugged the bag of chips, and flopped onto the bed, burying her face in the soft pillow.
This time travel was amazing, like winning the lottery.
After lying there a while, she rolled over, opened her bracelet's virtual screen, brought it up in front of her, and continued exploring.
Searching through fragmented memories, she logged into the original owner's account and checked her financial situation.
The bad news was she'd lost her job today, with no immediate income. The good news was she owned the apartment outright, and the original owner had saved quite a bit—no need to worry about survival for a while.
It really was a nice apartment.
It was cold inside, her breath visible. Thick heating pipes ran through, but the vents gave off no warmth.
The bathroom was fully equipped, and there was a neat, comfortable bed with a thick yet lightweight quilt.
On the nightstand was a crystal trophy—first place in a robot modification contest, dusty. Judging by the date, it must have been from the original owner's college days. In the corner was a standing punching bag and a set of dumbbells, which weren't dusty—the original owner seemed to exercise regularly.
The kitchen fridge was almost empty, only a few bottles of water—apparently, the original owner didn't cook much. But one cabinet was filled with snacks.
Mostly big bags of potato chips.
Pei Ran stared at the snack cabinet.
In the bunker world, food was the most precious resource, measured down to the last crumb. She'd never had so much at once.
She picked up a bag of chips, turning it over to read the ingredients.
A flimsy bag, containing 800 calories!
800 calories!
A precious calorie bomb.
She remembered once, when gathering supplies above ground, she'd gotten trapped in a cave. She'd survived four days on her last 700-800 calories of food.
And this 800-calorie bag wasn't even rough black bread—it was the legendary oil-and-sugar combo!
Oil and sugar! Explosive calories!! Incredibly delicious!!!
Pei Ran took off her coat and shoes, silently hugged the bag of chips, and jumped onto the bed, burying her face in the soft pillow.
This time travel was amazing, like hitting the jackpot.
After lying there a while, she rolled over, opened her bracelet, brought the virtual screen up in front of her, and kept exploring.
In the bracelet settings, the battery level showed—"31.4 years."
The bracelet would probably break before the battery ran out.
She scrolled further, pausing at the original owner's notes.
Under today's date were several lines—not today's to-do list, which was odd:
[Missing you]
[Blood freezing]
[Soul stiffening]
[A billion years from now, if someone pries open my petrified teeth]
[They'll see my tongue]
[Frozen with your name.]
Pei Ran paused: Was this… poetry?
So lovesick—the original owner was in love?
There was a red notification dot next to the poem. Pei Ran tapped it, and inside:
[Miss you so much, my heater!!! Remember to report the heating after work, please!!!] followed by the city hotline number.
Pei Ran: "…"
Got it—the original owner really loved the heater deeply.
Below that was another note: [Tuesday: Pizza day]
This world even had "pizza," as described in novels.
A crust with a hint of char, a dusting of flour on the bottom, piled high with unnameable toppings. Lift a slice, and soft, warm cheese stretches reluctantly into strings.
Just thinking about it melted her heart.
The food delivery app was right next to the note. Pei Ran opened it, immediately stunned by the variety.
All kinds of foods she'd heard of but never tasted.
After much hesitation, she decided to follow the original owner's schedule, ordering a bacon and shrimp pizza from her usual place, a matcha cake, and an iced cola.
Less than twenty minutes later, someone rang the doorbell.
The delivery guy stood at the door, handing over the pizza box and drink, looking apologetic.
"I forgot your cake. I'll go get it right away."
Pei Ran: "It's fine."
The guy looked uncomfortable. "It'll be quick."
Ten minutes later, the delivery guy returned to Unit 02115 with the matcha cake, ringing the bell.
Pei Ran opened the door, reaching for the bag.
Guy: "About the pizza…"
Pei Ran: ?
Guy: "The restaurant said they might have messed up. It should be bacon and shrimp, but they sent avocado and shrimp instead. Could you…"
He held out his hand.
Pei Ran paused.
Pei Ran: "The pizza…"
Guy: ?
Pei Ran: "I already ate it all."
The delivery guy looked shocked.
A fifteen-inch extra-large pizza—bigger than a large wok, enough for a family of four or five. She'd eaten the whole thing in less than ten minutes?
Was this girl a bottomless pit?