The Jian Hua shuddered as the first MAS interceptor cutter pulled alongside, its magnetic grappling lines snapping against the hull like whipcracks. Below the waterline, the aquatic Jìngwù—the "Sirens"—were tearing at the rudder assembly, their subsonic vibrations threatening to shake the ship's engines off their mounts.
"Do it now!" the First Mate screamed over the roar of the sea.
Lei slammed the final connection. He had wired the Key of Leda directly into the ship's 50-kilowatt depth-sounding array. He didn't play the Master Frequency; he played the Recursive Loop—the same "Null Signal" that had frozen the land-based Ghosts.
The effect was instantaneous. A massive, underwater shockwave erupted from the ship's keel. The Jian Hua groaned, its rivets screaming under the pressure, but the effect on the Sirens was terminal. The rhythmic banging against the hull stopped as the aquatic predators went rigid, their neural pathways overloaded by the absolute "nothingness" of the signal. They sank into the dark depths of the South China Sea like stones.
The MAS cutters, realizing their biological weapons were neutralized, turned to kinetic force. A spotlight as bright as a miniature sun swung onto the deck, and a voice boomed over the waves: "THIS IS MARITIME SECURITY. CEASE ENGINES OR WE WILL COMMENCE HULL BREACH."
"We're crossing the line!" the Mate yelled, pointing at a shimmering wall of gold and blue light on the horizon.
Macau.
As the Jian Hua surged across the maritime boundary, the world changed. The oppressive silence of the open sea was obliterated by the Acoustic Wall of the Cotai Strip. Millions of watts of neon signs, the rhythmic thump of a thousand subwoofers from the casino resorts, and the constant roar of high-speed hydrofoils created a sonic environment so hostile that no Jìngwù could survive within five miles of its shore.
The MAS cutters veered off, their black hulls disappearing back into the dark. They couldn't follow him here. Not openly.
The cargo ship docked at a private, rusted pier behind the Venetian. The First Mate hurried Lei out of the container, his hands shaking as he handed back the glowing stone.
"Go," the Mate whispered. "Before the local police or their 'consultants' find you. Head for the Grand Lisboa. There's an international press gala tonight. If you want a global audience, that's where the cameras are."
Lei stepped off the ship and was immediately hit by the sensory overload of Macau. The heat was stifling, and the noise was a physical weight. After years of the Quiet Hours, the sheer volume of a city that never stopped was terrifying. Every car horn made him flinch; every shouting tourist made his hand jump to his empty holster.
He looked down at himself. He was covered in grease, salt, and blood. He looked like a ghost in a city of neon gods.
He moved through the narrow, winding alleys of the old city, avoiding the main boulevards where facial recognition cameras were thick. He reached a small, underground cyber-cafe—the "Lucky Dragon"—hidden beneath a noodle shop.
He inserted the Key of Leda into a high-speed terminal. The stone's violet light had faded to a dull, angry red. The data was corruption-sensitive; he had one chance to upload.
He accessed the International Resistance Relay, a network Mei had mentioned in her encrypted logs. But as he began the handshake protocol, a new window popped up on his screen. It wasn't a government warning. It was a live video feed.
The camera was fixed on a cold, sterile room. In the center, strapped to a medical chair, was Mei.
She was alive. But her eyes were clouded, her head fitted with an array of silver electrodes. A man's voice, the same cold tone as the commander from the Pearl Tower, spoke over the feed.
"We knew you'd reach Macau, Lei. We knew you'd find a terminal. If you press 'Upload,' the modified frequency will broadcast, yes. But it will also trigger the 'Final Reset' in the Leda Signature. The signal will pass through the host's neural core. You can silence the world... but it will fry her brain."
Lei's hand hovered over the 'Enter' key. The world's freedom was a single click away, but the price was the woman who had given him the key in the first place. The MAS wasn't just using her as a shield; they had turned her into the kill-switch for the truth.
He stared at the screen, at Mei's pale, flickering image. She couldn't see him, but her lips moved, a silent, repeated word that only someone who knew her could read.
"Upload."