📖 Previous Chapter / 上一章： The Man at the Gate第三十六章：门前的人

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I didn't lower the nine-millimeter. Kept the front sight glued right between his silver eyebrows as I stepped out from behind the rusted generator.

My boots made no sound on the ancient black stone. Ten yards from the camp table, I spared a half-second glance at Lu Yan.

She wasn't breathing. Her skin looked like cheap candle wax. And that heavy lilac smell hanging in the sulfur air? It wasn't coming from her neck. It was venting out of tiny, rhythmic pores along the black biomech tendrils that used to be her right arm.

A synthetic pheromone. A chemical leash.

My stomach twisted into a cold knot. All that worry, all that instinct driving me to follow her scent through the dark—it wasn't loyalty. It was pre-programmed obedience. Pan-Asia had coded my brain to chase a smell, just like a lab rat following cheese through a maze.

"Sit, forty-eight," the old man said, his voice a dry, papery echo of my own. He took a slow sip from his porcelain cup. "Your right hand is twitching. Low potassium. Always a flaw in the forty-series."

"Who the hell are you?" My thumb stayed heavy on the hammer. "The original?"

"Doctor Yun Feng. Project Director," he said mildly, gesturing toward the towering obsidian pillars. Between them, the vertical wall of black mercury rippled, hundreds of golden irises rotating lazily in the dark sludge to track my movement. "Fifty years ago, my survey team broke through the basalt crust. We didn't find oil. We found an organism. Ancient. Dormant. Big enough to span half the continent's tectonic plate. Its nervous system processes data faster than any quantum core on Earth."

He nudged the second teacup toward the edge of the table.

"We called it Hell's Eye. Built the entire facility right on top of its optic nerve to harvest its dreaming brainwaves. Fixed the world's energy crisis overnight. Until it started waking up."

"And the clones?" I took another step closer. The heat radiating off the black mercury wall felt greasy against my face. "Target practice?"

"Sedatives," the old man replied without a blink. "Looking directly at the Eye fries a normal human brain. You saw the miners on the stairs. So I started printing copies of myself. Stripped out my scientific memories, gave you a fake backstory about growing up in the 'Gutter' so you'd be scrappy enough to survive the lower tunnels. Every time a clone fights through the digestive tract and dies in terror right here at the Gate, Lu Yan’s server extracts that fear and feeds it into the Eye. It likes nightmares. Keeps it asleep."

My finger tightened on the trigger. Every memory I had—the rusted tin roofs of the Gutter, the cheap street noodles, my whole life—was just a starter pack installed on a blank hard drive.

"Number forty-seven broke the loop," the old man continued, holding out a pale, wrinkled hand. "He ripped out the master override shard before the array could digest him. Give it to me, forty-eight. Hand over the shard, drink your tea, and I'll turn off your pain receptors before I wipe your drive."

The roasted green tea smelled incredible. Warm. Earthy. For a crazy second, my arm actually wanted to lower the gun. The code in my head was begging me to obey my own voice.

I looked down at the tiny porcelain cup waiting for me.

Then I stopped.

The green liquid inside wasn't steaming. It was writhing. Thousands of microscopic, hair-thin black worms were boiling at the surface, rubbing together to mimic the sound of simmering water.

My eyes snapped down, looking underneath the small camp table.

The old man didn't have legs.

From the waist down, his white lab coat was rotted away, fused directly into a petrified mass of black cables and pulsing grey meat anchored deep into the stone floor. He hadn't moved from that folding chair in decades. And when the golden light from the Gate caught his face at a new angle, I saw the truth beneath his silver bangs.

His eye sockets were completely hollow, packed tight with glowing golden mycelium.

Doctor Yun Feng was dead. Long dead. The thing behind the Gate was wearing my creator's corpse like a hand puppet, using his vocal cords to trick me into surrendering the only weapon that could hurt it.

"Tea's gone bad," I spat.

I didn't shoot the corpse. I swung the pistol left and fired four tungsten-core rounds straight into the main liquid-nitrogen cooling manifold bolted to the obsidian pillar.

CLANG-HISSSSS!

The pressurized pipe ruptured. A blinding white blizzard of freezing nitrogen exploded across the plaza.

The reaction was instant. The golden irises inside the black mercury dilated violently. A sound ripped through the cavern—not a roar, but a deafening, high-frequency screech like a million dial-up modems burning out at once. My nose bled instantly.

Behind the camp table, the old man’s corpse jerked upright, spine snapping as the golden fungus in his skull realized the trick had failed. Lu Yan’s mutated arm whipped free from the server rack, the black tendrils splitting open like jaws.

I didn't back up. I charged straight into the freezing white fog.

I dodged the blind swing of Lu Yan’s tendrils, yanked Clone 47’s bloody data shard from my pouch, and slammed it straight into the red maintenance port at the top of the portable server rack.

Sparks showered the dark. The server screens turned blood red.

[BACKDOOR EXECUTED. PURGING OPTIC CAMOUFLAGE.]

The towering wall of black mercury between the obsidian pillars violently convulsed, then shattered like holograph glass.

There was no monster behind the Gate. There was no abyss.

Standing right behind the pillars, previously hidden by the Eye's psychic projection, was a massive, rusted cargo freight elevator. Above its heavy iron doors, a neon sign flickered with a name that made my breath catch in my throat:

[SECTOR 0 — THE GUTTER]

The tentacles from Lu Yan’s arm lashed through the nitrogen fog, slicing my cheek open. I didn't hesitate. I threw myself between the obsidian pillars, hit the manual release lever inside the freight elevator, and slammed the heavy iron grate shut just as a mass of black flesh crashed against the bars from the outside.

The elevator cables groaned. The platform didn't go up. It dropped.

Ten seconds of free-fall braking, and the iron doors rattled open.

I stumbled out, pistol raised, gasping for air.

And my brain completely flatlined.

I wasn't in a cave anymore. I was standing on a wet asphalt street. Cheap neon signs buzzed in Cantonese and English overhead. Acid rain dripped from rusted corrugated tin roofs into greasy puddles. Right in front of me was a dilapidated noodle stall, and just past that—Apartment 404. My apartment.

Pan-Asia hadn't given me fake memories of the Gutter. They had built the entire slum five miles underground, right inside the belly of the beast. A giant terrarium for clones.

Before I could even take a step onto the wet street, the rusted iron door of my apartment building twenty feet away suddenly bulged outward.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

Someone was on the other side, hammering on the metal with crushing, desperate force. And from behind the dented door, my own voice screamed out in terror:

"Let me out! For God's sake, forty-eight, open the door!"

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第三十七章：诱饵的香气

我没有放下那把九毫米手枪。我从生锈的发电机后面走出来，准星依然死死咬在他那两道银色眉毛的正中间。

我的军靴踩在古老的黑色石板上，没有发出半点声音。在距离露营桌还有十码远的时候，我分出半秒钟的余光瞥了一眼旁边的陆炎。

她已经没有呼吸了。裸露的皮肤看起来像劣质的白蜡。而空气中那股压过硫磺味的浓烈丁香花香，根本不是从她脖子上散发出来的。那是顺着她右臂异变出的黑色生物机械触须，从上面一个个细小、正有节奏开合的气孔里喷出来的。

是合成信息素。一条化学狗链。

我的胃瞬间拧成了一个冰冷的死结。一路上所有的担忧、所有驱使我在黑暗中追踪这股香味的本能——根本不是什么同伴情谊。那是预先写进芯片里的服从程序。泛亚公司早就给我的大脑编好了代码，让我像实验室里追着奶酪跑的小白鼠一样，顺着气味自己走进屠宰场。

“坐吧，48号。”老人的声音响起，那是我自己的声音，只是干涩得像两张砂纸在摩擦。他端起小瓷杯，慢条斯理地抿了一口，“你的右手在抖。低钾血症。40序列的克隆体总有这个毛病。”

“你到底是谁？”我的大拇指死死压着击锤，“母体？”

“云锋博士。项目总负责人。”他语气平淡地说道，抬手朝着那两根高耸入云的黑曜石石柱指了指。在石柱之间，那面垂直的黑色水银墙正泛着涟漪，几百颗金色的瞳孔在粘稠的黑泥里慵懒地转动，死死锁定着我的动作，“五十年前，我的地质勘探队打穿了玄武岩地壳。我们没挖到石油，而是挖到了一个活体生物。古老。休眠。庞大到几乎横跨了半个大陆的板块。它的神经系统处理数据的速度，比地球上任何一台量子核心都要快。”

他用手指把桌上那第二杯茶朝我这边推了推。

“我们叫它‘地狱之眼’。直接在这颗眼球的视神经正上方建起了整座地下设施，用来收割它做梦时产生的脑电波。一夜之间就解决了全世界的能源危机。直到它开始苏醒。”

“那这些克隆人呢？”我又往前逼近了一步。黑色水银墙散发出的热量扑在脸上，带着一股令人作呕的油腻感，“用来练靶子的？”

“是镇静剂。”老人连眼皮都没眨一下，“正常人类直视这颗眼球，大脑会直接烧毁。你在楼梯上见过那些矿工了。所以我开始批量打印我自己。洗掉我的科研记忆，给你们塞一段在‘下水道（下巢）’长大的假背景，好让你们像野狗一样足够凶悍，能活着穿过下层的隧道。每一次，当一个克隆体杀穿消化道，最后在‘门’前极度恐惧地死去时，陆炎的服务器就会提取那种临死前的恐惧，喂给这颗眼球。它喜欢噩梦。这能安抚它继续睡觉。”

我扣在扳机上的手指猛地收紧。我脑子里所有的记忆——下水道生锈的铁皮屋顶、廉价的街边面摊、我的一生——全都只是出厂前装进空白硬盘里的“新手礼包”。

“但47号打破了这个死循环。”老人继续说道，朝我伸出一只苍白、布满皱纹的手，“他在被阵法消化之前，硬生生拔走了最高权限的后门芯片。把它给我，48号。交出芯片，喝完这杯茶，在格式化你的硬盘之前，我会帮你关掉痛觉神经。”

那股炒绿茶的香气实在太好闻了。温暖。醇厚。在那么极其荒谬的一秒钟里，我的手臂竟然真的产生了把枪放下的冲动。脑子里的底层代码正在疯狂叫嚣，让我服从“我自己”的声音。

我低头看向桌上那只等着我的小巧瓷杯。

然后，我浑身僵住了。

杯子里的绿色茶水根本没有在冒热气。它在蠕动。成千上万条肉眼几乎看不见的、比头发丝还细的黑色线虫正在水面上翻滚沸腾，彼此摩擦，模拟出热水翻滚的嘶嘶声。

我的视线猛地往下移，看向那张小巧露营桌的下方。

老人根本没有腿。

从腰部以下，他那身白色的实验服早就腐烂光了，下半身完全与一团石化的黑色电缆和突突跳动的灰肉融为一体，深深地扎根在黑色的石板地里。他已经在这把折叠椅上坐了几十年，一步也没离开过。而当“门”里的金光换了个角度扫过他的脸时，我看清了他那梳理整齐的银发下隐藏的真相。

他的眼窝里空空如也，里面密密麻麻地塞满了散发着金光的菌丝。

云锋博士早就死了。死透了。门后的那个鬼东西，正像套手偶一样穿着我创造者的尸体，利用他的声带，骗我交出唯一能伤害到它的武器。

“茶馊了。”我从牙缝里挤出三个字。

我没有朝那具尸体开枪。我猛地把枪口甩向左侧，对着钉在黑曜石石柱上的液氮冷却主管道，一口气连开了四枪。

当——嘶嘶嘶嘶！

钨芯穿甲弹直接打穿了高压管道。刺眼的白色极寒液氮瞬间如暴风雪般在广场上炸开。

反应在一瞬间发生。黑色水银墙里的数百颗金色瞳孔猛地剧烈收缩。一声尖啸刺穿了整个地下空洞——那不是野兽的咆哮，而像是上百万台老式拨号调制解调器同时烧毁时发出的高频噪音。我的鼻血瞬间狂飙而出。

露营桌后，老人的尸体猛地弹起，脊椎发出咔吧的脆响，他颅骨里的金色真菌意识到骗局败露了。陆炎那条异变的右臂猛地从服务器机柜上扯了下来，黑色的触须像野兽的颚骨一样裂开。

我没有后退。我一头扎进了那片极寒的白色氮气浓雾里。

我矮身躲过陆炎触须的盲目抽击，从口袋里扯出47号那枚带血的数据芯片，狠狠一巴掌拍进了便携式服务器顶端的红色最高权限接口里。

火花在黑暗中炸开。整排服务器屏幕瞬间变成了刺眼的血红色。

【后门程序已执行。正在清除视觉伪装。】

两根黑曜石石柱之间，那面高耸的黑色水银墙剧烈地抽搐了一下，随后竟像全息玻璃一样轰然碎裂。

门后根本没有什么远古巨兽。也没有什么无底深渊。

笔直地矗立在石柱后面的——之前一直被眼球的精神投影所掩盖的——是一座巨大无比、锈迹斑斑的工业货运电梯。在厚重的铁门上方，一块闪烁的霓虹灯牌上写着一行让我呼吸瞬间停滞的字：

【0号扇区 —— 下水道（贫民窟）】

陆炎手臂上的触须穿透氮气浓雾狠狠抽来，直接划破了我的脸颊。我没有任何犹豫，纵身跃过黑曜石石柱，一把拉下货运电梯里的手动释放杆，在外面那团黑色血肉狠狠撞上铁门的瞬间，将沉重的铁栅栏门死死锁上。

电梯缆绳发出令人牙酸的哀鸣。轿厢没有往上升。它在往下坠。

十秒钟的自由落体与紧急制动后，沉重的铁门哐当一声弹开了。

我举着手枪，跌跌撞撞地冲了出去，大口喘着粗气。

下一秒，我的大脑彻底当机了。

我已经不在洞穴里了。我正站在一条湿漉漉的柏油马路上。头顶上方，廉价的霓虹灯牌用粤语和英语闪烁着微光。酸雨顺着生锈的波纹铁皮屋顶滴落，砸在油腻的水坑里。就在我的正前方，是一个破败的街边面摊，而越过面摊往前走两步——是404号公寓。我的公寓。

泛亚公司根本没有给我植入什么关于“下水道”的假记忆。他们竟然直接在地下五英里深处、在这只巨兽的肚子里，一比一建造了整座贫民窟。一个专门用来饲养克隆人的巨大生态缸。

还没等我抬脚迈上这条湿漉漉的街道，二十英尺外，我那栋公寓楼生锈的铁门突然猛地向外凸起。

砰！砰！砰！

门后有什么人，正用一种碎骨般的、绝望至极的力量疯狂砸门。而在那扇布满凹痕的铁门后面，传来了我自己的声音，带着撕心裂肺的恐惧尖叫：

“放我出去！看在老天爷的份上，48号，快开门！”

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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