It was 3.47 a.m.
Rain had stopped hours ago, leaving the dormitory in a hush so deep it felt as though the building itself were holding its breath. Somewhere in the ventilation shaft, a fan coughed, rattled, and fell silent, the sound swallowed by concrete. Lin Kai still perched on the bed's edge, suit dried into a brittle shell, fingers loose between his knees. Bruises pulsed, ribs complained with every shallow breath, and his thoughts sagged beneath promises he could no longer keep.
Only a weak amber night-light pooled through the half-open door, small, tired, and kind.
Pain crept up his spine in serrated waves. Something inside him twisted, and anger flared without a target. His gaze fixed on an enamel mug beside the bed, half-filled with lukewarm tap water. Before he could think, he snatched it up and hurled it at the wall. Ceramic exploded with a crack that stung his ears; when he shifted his boot, shards grated under the sole, the vibration running straight into the break like a live wire. Water splashed in a dull fan across the linoleum.
The crash stole what little strength remained. Bent forward, he clutched his ribs while sparks of white popped behind his eyelids.
Slowly, he levered himself upright and limped to the cramped washroom. Peeling off the ruined suit was like tearing bark from green wood; the lining had fused to a ribbon of dried blood, and when it came free, the skin beneath wept bright again. He stepped beneath a dribbling shower, lukewarm water tracing pink runnels where stitches had seeped. In the cabinet, he found antiseptic and gauze, binding his ribs anew, hands trembling with fatigue.
Back in the room, a towel wrapped round his waist, he thumbed the wall switch for the ancient air-conditioner. The unit clattered, sighed a thread of tepid air, and the filmy curtain stirred, yet the chill inside his bones refused to move. Amber light glinted on the broken mug's fragments, tiny constellations on the floor.
An ache radiated from shoulder to temple, throbbing in time with his pulse. He closed his eyes, and darkness pressed close.
SYSTEM PING.YOU HAVE BEEN IDLE FOR FOUR HOURS.RECOMMENDED ACTIVATION: INFRASTRUCTURE MODULE, ENERGY PRIMARY.DETECTED: CITY-WIDE ENERGY CRISIS. FAILURE INDEX: SEVERE.
The words bloomed inside his skull, no sound, no glow, only thought. He almost snarled, but the voice lived behind his eyes and could not be throttled. He did not respond.
NEW TECHNOLOGY AVAILABLE: WIND CONVERSION ARRAY, MODEL SYLPH A3.APPLICATION: DECENTRALISED ENERGY, URBAN MICROGRID COMPATIBLE.OPERATES IN WIND AS LOW AS 3.2 KM H. STORM RESISTANT FRAME WITH MAGNETIC STABILITY SUSPENSION. HIGH EFFICIENCY ULTRAFLUX ROTORS. ONE UNIT POWERS A THREE-STOREY BUILDING. ZERO EMISSIONS.NOTE: BLUEPRINTS ONLY. MATERIALS REQUIRED: STANDARD ALLOYS, COMPOSITE NANOFIBRE, SYNTHETIC SUBSTITUTES ACCEPTED.MINIMUM FABRICATION TIER: LEVEL TWO INDUSTRIAL FACILITY.TURBULENCE MITIGATION: ACTIVE FLOW CONTROL, 96 PERCENT OUTPUT RETENTION IN ROOFTOP VORTEX CONDITIONS.
Behind his closed eyes, a diagram unfolded in cool blue lines, graceful arcs shaped by wind, silent rotors nested like calligraphy. Data cascaded faster than he could blink, each column of numbers punctuated by a pulse of pain behind his right eye. He recognised terms from engineering journals—boundary-layer shear, Stall Delay Protocol—yet the efficiencies listed beat every prototype he had ever seen by a decade. City rooftops usually hosted small turbines, chaotic gusts choking output; the Sylph array claimed to drink turbulence like water. If the figures were real, one unit on every tower could turn the skyline into a silent forest of power.
Something shifted beneath the ache: not hope, but curiosity, and beneath that, responsibility.
He opened his eyes. Pain stabbed anew as he straightened, towel rustling. The blueprint lingered in the corner of his vision, only for him.
ACTION REQUIRED: INITIATE PLANNING SEQUENCE.CURRENT RECOMMENDATION: SURVEY FABRICATION ZONE.KNOWLEDGE IS POTENTIAL; APPLICATION IS ESSENTIAL.
He exhaled through his teeth, tasting rust that was only memory. A fabrication tier two plant meant the old rail-side machine hall, if its roof still stood. Composite nanofibre was science-park territory, but maybe the university's shuttered lab still had spools in storage. Obstacles tallied themselves like a ledger, yet the sums refused to say impossible.
Kai acknowledged silently. The diagram folded into a waiting icon in his thoughts.
Beyond the sealed windowless wall, a shy wind found the drainpipe, low and tentative, humming one uncertain note. He listened until it faded, an unfinished promise written in air.
A door chain slid two rooms away, the faint click followed by hurried footsteps, someone double-locking before retreating. Silence returned, no longer hollow but edged with the promise of wind.