The air was still, unnaturally still.
Lin Chen stood within the half-faded confines of the System Sync Room, the edges of his consciousness still fluctuating after the system's catastrophic evolution and stabilization. Golden data flickered faintly around his body, dissipating like the final embers of a long-burning flame.
He thought it was over.
But it had only just begun.
[System Prompt: Host Neural Resonance Reached. Memory Fragment Detected.][Do you wish to access the unlocked psychic archive?][Warning: Viewing this memory may result in emotional instability and permanent psychological effects.]
A chill ran down Lin Chen's spine.
"Access it," he whispered.
[Confirmed. Retrieving fragment… Displaying projection in 3… 2… 1…]
The world around him blurred—colors folding into grayscale shadows—until he found himself standing in a cold, dimly lit room. Not in reality. This was a memory. His memory.
And yet… one he had never lived through.
The Child in the Chair
The metal clink of surgical tools echoed.
A boy—no more than seven years old—was strapped to a high-backed medical chair. His arms and legs restrained with tight, sterile bindings. His hair was unkempt, cheeks pale, lips trembling.
Lin Chen's breath caught in his throat.
"That… that's me."
He recognized the eyes. His own. Filled not with anger or ambition, but with fear.
Two men in white coats hovered nearby. Behind them stood a third—a tall figure in a black lab coat, face blurred by the system's encryption protocol. His voice, though muffled, struck Lin Chen like a thunderclap.
"Subject B—pre-integration trial begins. Inject prototype serum. Begin Phase Zero."
The syringe glowed faintly with eerie blue light as it punctured the child's arm.
The boy screamed.
Not from pain alone—but from something deeper. Something primal. Like his very soul was being rewritten.
[SYSTEM PROTOCOL: ROOT INJECTION COMPLETE. PRIMARY GENOME MODIFIED.][Codename: B-013. Neural Compatibility: 89.4%][Subconscious link established. Subject will retain no memory post-injection.]
The men seemed satisfied. They wrote on their tablets, murmuring about control variables and long-term behavioral studies.
But the third figure—the one in black—remained silent.
Watching.
And Lin Chen, now a silent observer of his own forgotten past, couldn't tear his eyes away.
The Fragment Ends
The scene blurred.
When the colors settled, he was back in the Sync Room.
Sweat streamed down his temples. His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor.
[System Update: Memory Fragment Acquired (2/12)][Hidden Progress Unlocked: Subject Origin – Phase I][Emotional Calibration Status: Elevated. Caution advised.]
He stared blankly at the air, fists clenched tight.
All this time, he'd thought the system came to him by chance.
A mysterious gift in the ruins of his failure. A miracle.
But it had been inside him all along. Buried. Sleeping. Installed—like malware waiting for the right key to activate.
"They... made me this," Lin Chen murmured. "They made me a host before I even had the chance to be human."
And then, another system prompt slid in, quiet but deadly.
[System Notice: Memory anomaly correlates with Erebus Host Classification File B. Subject D (Li Chu) is likely to contain related memory fragments.][Recommendation: Initiate cautious psychic synchronization with Subject D. Shared exposure may trigger more hidden memory segments.]
His heart twisted.
Li Chu.
She wasn't just another player in this war. She was part of it. Maybe even its core.
The question he kept running from came back stronger than ever.
What if their connection wasn't fate?
What if it was programming?
Dark Reflection
Later that night, Lin Chen sat alone in his top-floor apartment overlooking the Shanghai skyline. The lights below were beautiful. Peaceful. Fragile.
He clutched the USB drive that stored the memory fragment backup—a physical anchor for something intangible. Inside it was the image of a scared boy… and the ghost of something inhuman.
[System Status: Memory Archive Active][Do you wish to lock this memory to prevent accidental reliving?]
He hesitated.
"No," he said finally. "Let me remember."
[Acknowledged. Memory access remains open. Stay strong, Host. This is only the beginning.]
He didn't sleep that night.
He couldn't.
For the first time in a long time, Lin Chen was afraid. Not of Erebus. Not of failure.
But of the truth.