Chapter 36: The Man at the Gate第三十六章：门前的人

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Forty-nine.

The brass weight swung left. A white-hot needle jammed straight behind my left eyeball.

It swung right. My knees buckled. I hit the white tiles hard, bile burning the back of my throat.

It wasn't just a metronome. It was an acoustic kill-switch. Every metallic clack resonated at the exact frequency of the neural chip buried in my skull. My vision fractured into jagged red static. Nose started bleeding, warm and thick, dripping onto the sterile floor. The system was remotely wiping Clone 48's hard drive to make room for the next batch.

I couldn't breathe. My fingers clawed at the smooth tiles, brushing against rough nylon.

Lu Yan’s discarded belt.

I didn't think. Yanked her heavy nine-millimeter out of the kydex holster, thumbed the safety off with a shaking hand, and shoved the barrel straight into the dead monster’s hollowed-out chest. Right against the swinging brass.

I pulled the trigger.

CRACK.

The gunshot was deafening in the tight titanium room. Brass shrapnel and tiny gears exploded outward, peppering my tactical vest. The antique mechanism shattered.

Instantly, the invisible vise crushing my brain snapped open. I lay there on the floor, gasping like a landed fish, wiping blood from my upper lip with the back of my glove.

As the ringing in my ears faded, a heavy mechanical clunk echoed from the back wall. Shooting the metronome had broken a closed circuit. A seamless section of the titanium paneling slid aside, revealing a narrow service stairwell leading straight down into the bedrock.

Lu Yan hadn't stayed to watch me die. She had left the door unlocked. It was an invitation.

I checked the magazine of her pistol. Ten rounds left. Special subsonic tungsten-core bullets. I racked the slide, stood up, and stepped into the stairwell.

The sterile hospital smell vanished within ten steps. As I descended the steep metal stairs, the polished titanium walls gave way to raw, jagged black basalt. We were way below the Pan-Asia facility now. Deeper than the clone vats. Deeper than the transit tunnels. The air down here was strangely dry and warm, smelling faintly of sulfur and old ash.

Thick, armored fiber-optic cables ran down the rough stone walls like glowing blue veins, pinned into the rock with heavy iron pitons.

Halfway down, my flashlight beam caught a boot.

I froze, raising the pistol.

The person didn't move. I stepped closer. It was a skeleton, sitting slumped against the basalt wall, wearing arotted canvas mining suit from fifty years ago. A faded Pan-Asia Geological Survey patch was stitched to the shoulder.

Then I saw another one. And another. Seven skeletons lined the narrow landing.

My stomach tightened. None of their bones were broken. Their suits weren't torn. The monsters hadn't killed them. I leaned in, shining the yellow halogen light directly at the nearest skull.

I swallowed hard.

The dead miner was still gripping a heavy industrial power-drill in both bony hands. The long tungsten drill bit was jammed five inches deep into his own right eye socket.

I swept the light down the row. Every single one of them had done the exact same thing. Driven screwdrivers, rock picks, or steel rebars straight through their own eyes. And above their heads, chiseled into the hard black stone with a mining pick, were three jagged words:

IT SEES BACK.

My skin crawled. What the hell had they dug up down here half a century ago? They didn't blind themselves out of madness. They did it to break a connection.

I didn't linger. I stepped over the brittle leg bones and reached the bottom of the stairs.

The narrow passage opened up into a massive subterranean cavern. No—not a cavern. A plaza. The floor was paved with seamless, non-reflective black stone slabs that definitely hadn't been laid by Pan-Asia engineers. This place was ancient. Pre-human.

Two hundred yards ahead stood "The Gate."

Two colossal pillars of black obsidian rose from the floor, wrapped in a chaotic web of Pan-Asia liquid-nitrogen cooling tubes and pulsing biological veins. Between the pillars, the air itself was wrong. It looked like a vertical lake of black mercury,rippling slowly, filled with floating, unblinking golden lights that looked way too much like irises.

The Gate was wide open.

I dropped into a crouch behind a rusted generator housing, raising the pistol.

Right in front of that rippling wall of abyssal horror stood Lu Yan. Her back was to me. Her leather jacket was gone, and her right arm had completely mutated into a thick, braided rope of black biomech tendrils that were plugged directly into a portable server rack.

But she wasn't the one running the terminal.

Ten feet away from the Gate, someone had set up a simple, metal folding chair and a small camp table.

A man with neatly combed silver hair was sitting there, wearing a pristine, old-world white lab coat. While the terrifying golden eyes in the Gate swirled inches from his face, he calmly lifted a small clay teapot. He poured a stream of steaming, fragrant green tea into two tiny porcelain cups.

The scent of roasted tea leaves drifted across the ancient stone floor, cutting right through the smell of sulfur.

The old man set the teapot down. He didn't turn around, didn't even look away from the swirling black wall, when his voice echoed clearly across the dead plaza.

It was my voice. Just thirty years older, raspier, and completely devoid of fear.

"Put the gun down, forty-eight. You can't shoot a memory," my aged voice said, as he gently pushed the second cup of tea across the table. "Come sit. You and I have fifty years to catch up on."

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49。

黄铜配重块向左摆去。一根烧红的钢针猛地扎进了我左眼球的正后方。

它向右摆去。我的膝盖直接软了，整个人重重砸在白色的瓷砖上，泛着酸水的胆汁瞬间涌上了喉咙管。

这他妈根本不是什么节拍器。这是一个声波处决开关。每一次金属的咔哒声，都精准地与埋在我颅骨深处的神经芯片产生同频共振。我的视野瞬间碎裂成一片锯齿状的血红雪花。鼻血涌了出来，温热粘稠，滴滴答答地砸在无菌地板上。系统正在远程格式化48号克隆体的硬盘，好给下一个批次腾出空间。

我喘不上气。手指在光滑的瓷砖上疯狂乱抓，指尖擦过了一截粗糙的尼龙带。

是陆炎丢在地上的腰带。

我连想都没想。一把将她那把沉甸甸的九毫米手枪从快拔枪套里扯了出来，颤抖着用大拇指推开保险，把枪口直接捅进了死尸那被掏空的胸腔里。死死顶住那个还在摇摆的黄铜块。

我扣下了扳机。

砰！

枪声在狭窄的钛合金房间里震耳欲聋。黄铜碎片和细小的齿轮炸裂开来，打在我的战术背心上噼啪作响。那个老式机械装置彻底碎了。

一瞬间，那把死死夹碎我大脑的无形铁钳松开了。我瘫在地上，像条被扔上岸的鱼一样大口喘着粗气，用手套背面胡乱抹去嘴唇上的鼻血。

随着耳鸣声逐渐消退，后墙传来了一声沉重的机械脱扣声。打碎节拍器居然直接物理切断了一个闭合电路。一整块无缝拼接的钛合金墙板滑向一侧，露出了一条狭窄的维护楼梯，笔直地通向地底深处的基岩。

陆炎没有留下来看我怎么死。她甚至没锁门。这是一封邀请函。

我退下弹匣看了一眼。还剩十发。特制的亚音速钨芯穿甲弹。我拉动套筒上膛，撑着身体站起来，迈进了楼梯间。

仅仅往下走了十步，医院里那种无菌的酒精味就彻底消失了。随着我顺着陡峭的金属台阶不断深入，抛光的钛合金墙壁让位给了粗糙、参差不齐的黑色玄武岩。我们现在已经彻底处于泛亚设施的下方了。比克隆培养槽更深。比单轨列车隧道更深。这里的空气干热得反常，隐约飘着一股硫磺和陈年灰烬的味道。

粗大的装甲光纤电缆像发光的蓝色静脉一样顺着粗糙的岩壁往下延伸，被沉重的铁楔死死钉在石头里。

走到一半的时候，手电筒的光束扫到了一只靴子。

我猛地顿住脚步，举起手枪。

那个人没动。我放轻脚步凑了过去。那是一具骷髅，瘫坐在玄武岩墙壁边，身上穿着五十年前那种已经腐烂的帆布采矿服。肩膀上还缝着一块褪色的“泛亚地质勘探队”臂章。

紧接着我看到了第二具。第三具。狭窄的楼梯平台上整整齐齐地靠着七具骸骨。

我的胃猛地揪紧了。他们身上的骨头没有任何断裂的痕迹。采矿服也是完好的。不是怪物杀了他们。我俯下身，将昏黄的卤素灯光直接打在最近的那颗骷髅头上。

我艰难地咽了口唾沫。

那个死去的矿工，两只白骨森森的手依然死死攥着一把重型工业电钻。那根长长的钨钢钻头，正从他自己的右眼眶里捅进去，足足深入了五英寸。

我把光束顺着这一排骸骨扫过去。每一个人。他们每一个人都做了完全相同的事情。用螺丝刀、鹤嘴锄、或者钢钎，硬生生捅穿了自己的双眼。而在他们头顶上方的坚硬黑石上，有人用矿镐凿出了三个歪歪扭扭的大字：

它在回望。

我浑身起了一层鸡皮疙瘩。半个世纪前，这帮人到底在地底下挖出了什么鬼东西？他们弄瞎自己根本不是因为发疯。他们是为了物理切断某种“连接”。

我不敢久留。迈过那些脆弱的腿骨，我终于走到了楼梯的尽头。

狭窄的通道豁然开朗，变成了一个极其庞大的地下空洞。不——不是洞穴。是一个广场。地面上铺着严丝合缝、完全不反光的黑色石板，这绝对不是泛亚的工程师铺设的。这个地方太古老了。甚至早于人类出现之前。

前方两百码处，矗立着“门”。

两根巨大无比的黑色黑曜石石柱从地面拔地而起，上面缠满了泛亚公司的液氮冷却管和正在突突跳动的生物静脉。而在两根石柱之间，连空气本身都是扭曲的。那看起来就像是一面垂直竖立的黑色水银湖泊，正缓慢地泛着涟漪，里面漂浮着无数颗不眨一下的金色光点——那形状，像极了某种生物的瞳孔。

门，已经彻底打开了。

我猛地矮下身，躲进一个生锈的发电机外壳后面，举起了手枪。

就在那面翻涌着深渊恐怖的黑色水银墙正前方，站着陆炎。她背对着我。身上的皮夹克已经不见了，她的整条右臂已经彻底异变成了一束粗大的、如同麻花般绞在一起的黑色生物机械触须，正直接插在一台便携式服务器机柜里。

但操控终端的人并不是她。

在距离“门”不到十英尺的地方，竟然有人支起了一把极其简单的金属折叠椅，还有一张小巧的露营桌。

一个头发梳得一丝不苟的银发男人正坐在那里，身上穿着一件一尘不染的旧世界白色实验服。哪怕“门”里那些令人毛骨悚然的金色瞳孔就在离他脸不到几寸的地方翻涌，他却依然极其平静地拎起了一把紫砂小茶壶。他将一股冒着热气、香气四溢的绿茶，缓缓注入两个小巧的瓷杯里。

炒茶的清香顺着古老的黑色石板飘了过来，硬生生切开了空气里的硫磺味。

老人放下了茶壶。他没有回头，甚至连视线都没有从那面翻涌的黑墙上移开，他的声音就已经清晰无比地穿过了死寂的广场。

那是我自己的声音。只是苍老了三十岁，更加沙哑，而且听不出哪怕一丝一毫的恐惧。

“把枪放下吧，48号。你杀不死一段记忆的。”那个苍老的我淡淡地说道，伸手将桌上的第二杯茶轻轻往前推了推，“过来坐。你和我，有整整五十年的旧账要聊。”

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Author's Note： ️ Author's Note / 原创声明

[EN] This chapter’s text is 100% human-authored. The original story was written in Chinese (my native language) and then manually translated and refined to break away from AI-generated stiffness. I am doing my best to preserve the authentic cyberpunk vibe and emotional tension in the English translation. (Note: The cover illustration was generated using AI tools strictly based on my original story prompts.) Thank you to the CCC community, the curators, and all my readers for supporting genuine human creators and following my journey!

[CN] 本文正文为本人 100% 全手工原创。原版故事使用我的母语中文创作，并经过人工翻译与精心润色，以摆脱 AI 翻译的生硬感，尽最大努力在英文版中保留原汁原味的赛博朋克氛围与情感张力。(注：本文封面配图为作者根据本人小说情节，使用 AI 工具生成的概念视觉图。) 感谢 CCC 社区、各位策展人以及所有读者对真实人类创作者的持续支持与鼓励，感谢大家一路以来的陪伴