An hour later, the colony city had changed.
There were now many patrol robots on the streets, and armed personnel stood at the entrances of every building—not bionic insects, but humans. Dressed in gray uniforms, wearing masks, holding stun guns.
"Maintain order," the broadcast repeatedly played. "All residents are to return to their residences. The Seed of Fire selection will begin in three days."
But no one returned home.
The streets were full of people. They stood in the square, outside shops, beneath the dome, looking up at the massive screens. The screens scrolled the selection criteria: Genetic Integrity (40%), Cognitive Bias (30%), Social Contribution (20%), Other Factors (10%).
"What is Cognitive Bias?" someone asked.
No one answered.
"What are Other Factors?"
Still no answer.
But everyone had an answer in their hearts.
Other factors mean who has the needed connections. Other factors mean whether you have enough resources to bribe the reviewer. Other factors mean how much your life is worth.
Ye Mi moved through the crowd.
She needed to find that broadcast station—the place where Su Qing's video was played. If there were more evidence, more people—if she could find them—
A hand grabbed her wrist.
Su Nian.
"Follow me."
"Where to?"
"Save people."
They pushed through the crowd, crossed the street, and finally stopped in front of a building.
A medical station.
The entrance was crowded—people crying, shouting, lying on the ground, chest heaving violently. They were radiation victims from the flare—skin ulcerated, eyes red and swollen, struggling to breathe.
But the door to the medical station was shut.
A notice was pasted on it:
"Due to resource shortages, medical services are now only available to candidates of the Seed of Fire. Ordinary residents, please handle your own matters. Thank you for your understanding."
Handle it yourself.
Ye Mi looked at the people lying on the ground. There was a child, about five or six, curled in his mother's arms, skin covered in blisters. The mother held him, silent, not crying, just sitting there blankly.
"Her eyes," Su Nian whispered, "are already gone."
Ye Mi walked over and squatted in front of the mother.
"Why didn't you take her inside?"
The mother looked up at her.
Those eyes had no light.
"I'm not a candidate," she said. "My gene score is only 62. Social contribution is 31. I'm a cleaner. My daughter is the daughter of a cleaner."
She lowered her head, burying her face in her child's hair.
"She didn't even get to be on the list."
Ye Mi stood up.
She looked at the tightly shut door, the guards outside, the guns in their hands.
Then she took out that fragment.
It was heating up.
Hotter than ever.
She clenched it and walked toward the door.
"Stop," the guard raised his gun.
She didn't stop.
"Stop!"
She paused at the door, raising her hands, aiming the fragment at the camera on the door.
The fragment glowed.
Brighter than before. Like a small sun.
The electronic lock on the door emitted a sharp beep—and then, with a loud pop, it opened.
The guard froze.
Ye Mi turned around and looked at the people lying on the ground.
"Go in," she said.
No one moved.
"Go in!"
The first person got up, stumbling toward the door. Then the second, third. The mother holding her child stood up, step by step, walking into the medical station.
The guard raised his gun but didn't fire.
Because from inside the door, more people surged out—doctors, nurses, volunteers. They pushed stretchers, carried medicine boxes, and began to carry the injured inside.
"You—" the guard wanted to say something, but was drowned out by the crowd.
Ye Mi stood still, watching everything.
The fragment was still heating, still glowing.
She looked down at it.
The patterns on it had changed again.
This time, only one line of words:
**"Phase Two Complete. Phase Three Initiation: Awakening."**
She didn't understand what it meant.
But she knew, from this moment on, everything had changed.
Above the dome, the projection screens still scrolled the selection criteria. In the square, the crowd gazed up at those numbers. Inside the medical station, the injured were being treated.
But in the distance—the edge of the dome—flames flickered.
That was Area D.
That was the industrial zone.
That was where she was chased last night.
The flames grew brighter, larger.
Then she heard a voice.
Not from the broadcast, not from the Central Brain, not from any machine.
It was a human voice.
Tens of thousands of voices.
They were shouting.
What they were shouting was unclear. But that rhythm, that cadence, that roar erupting from deep within their throats—
Ye Mi had heard it once before.
Twenty-three years ago, she was seven, on Earth. It was the last global gathering. People had come together to celebrate the day humanity became a Level Two civilization, and they shouted.
Back then, it was: "Long live humanity!"
Now, they shouted—
"Truth!"
"Truth!"
"Truth!"
Su Nian stood beside her, watching the flames.
"It's starting," she said.
Ye Mi said nothing.
She only clenched the fragment, feeling its warmth. That warmth passed through her skin, through her veins, straight to her heart.
Like a seed, beginning to sprout.