Chapter 38: The Man on the Screen第三十八章：屏幕里的人

📖 Previous Chapter / 上一章： https://steemit.com/ccc/@eagithao/ext-1792328460532

---

BAM. BAM. BAM.

The rusted iron door of Apartment 404 buckled outward again. The heavy hinges shrieked, threatening to snap under the sheer, desperate force hammering from the other side.

"Let me out! For God's sake, forty-eight, open the door!" my own voice howled through the dented metal. It was raw, tearing at the vocal cords, dripping with a kind of primal, animalistic terror that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I didn't answer. I stayed crouched behind the rusted handrail of the walkway, the heavy nine-millimeter tracking the center of the door.

A drop of "acid rain" fell from the corrugated tin roof and landed directly on my tactical glove. Hiss. A wisp of acrid white smoke curled into the freezing air. The Kevlar weave melted instantly, a searing heat biting into my knuckle.

I stared at the smoking burn. This wasn't toxic weather. It was highly concentrated digestive fluid. The entire underground "slum" was a massive, bio-engineered stomach chamber. And the rain was turning it into an active dissolving vat.

I stepped forward, raised the pistol, and fired my last subsonic tungsten round point-blank into the heavy Pan-Asia biometric padlock.

CRACK.

The lock shattered into a spray of sparks and twisted brass. I raised my boot and kicked the iron door with everything I had. It slammed inward, hitting the inner wall with a deafening clang.

I swept the room, finger white-knuckled on the trigger.

Empty.

The layout was a perfect, agonizing replica of my fabricated memories. The cheap laminate desk. The messy, unmade bed. The leaking faucet dripping rhythmically into a stained porcelain sink. The air hung heavy with the smell of stale instant noodles and cheap tobacco.

But there was no one inside. The screaming had stopped the exact microsecond the door swung open.

I moved silently across the peeling linoleum floor. The air in here was stiflingly cold, a sharp, clinical contrast to the greasy, acidic heat of the street outside.

On the laminate desk, sitting right where my old ceramic ashtray used to be, was a heavy, military-grade Pan-Asia radio transceiver. It wasn't just sitting there; its thick black power cables had burrowed deeply into the wood of the desk, merging with the synthetic material like parasitic, pulsing roots.

A single green light blinked rhythmically on the console. It was a live transmission channel.

I reached out and touched the radio's metallic casing. It was warm. It felt like it had a pulse.

My eyes drifted to the wall behind the desk. The cheap floral wallpaper was bulging outward. Not from water damage, but from something massive and solid built right behind the plaster.

I grabbed a loose corner of the damp paper and ripped it down.

Dust and glowing fungal spores choked the air. Behind the flimsy facade of my "bedroom" wall was a massive, circular titanium airlock. A deep-pressure submarine hatch. Embossed dead center on the heavy locking wheel was the Pan-Asia corporate logo, completely uncorrupted by rust or biomech tendrils.

This wasn't a slum apartment. It was a camouflage blind. An access node.

I holstered the empty gun, grabbed the freezing steel wheel, and threw my entire body weight into it. With a hydraulic groan that vibrated straight through my teeth, the airlock unsealed. I pushed it open and stepped through.

The transition was jarring. I left the rotting, fleshy slum behind and entered a pitch-black, sterile void. The moment my boots hit the metal grating, banks of fluorescent lights violently hummed to life overhead, illuminating a sprawling, high-tech Pan-Asia observation deck.

The entire far wall was a massive array of surveillance monitors. Hundreds of screens, all broadcasting live feeds of "Sector 0 - The Gutter". I saw the noodle stall. The wet asphalt. The glowing neon signs.

It was a Panopticon. They had been watching the clones live, fight, and rot in the digestive tract from up here the whole time.

I walked toward the main console, my reflection ghosting across the dark glass of the dormant screens.

Then, my eyes locked onto the central monitor. The live feed was labeled: [CAM 404 - EXTERIOR ALLEY].

My breath caught in my throat.

On the screen, standing in the wet alley right outside the iron door of my apartment, was a man. He was wearing the exact same frayed tactical gear as me. He had the exact same fresh, bleeding cut across his right cheek from Lu Yan's tentacles.

It was me.

But I was inside the observation room.

I watched the screen in paralyzed horror. The "me" on the monitor slowly turned his head and looked directly up into the hidden security camera.

His face was utterly devoid of emotion. Then, the corners of his mouth stretched upward, splitting his cheeks in an impossibly wide, grotesque smile that revealed rows of jagged, bioluminescent golden teeth.

The figure on the screen raised a Pan-Asia radio to his mouth.

A split second later, the bio-fused radio on the desk in the fake apartment behind me crackled to life, blasting the live audio.

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

Before my brain could even send the signal to turn around, the heavy titanium airlock behind me slammed shut with a deafening boom. The locking wheel spun furiously on its own, sealing me in.

And then, from the pitch-black shadows in the far corner of the sterile observation deck, I heard the slow, wet sound of a heavy mechanical lung taking a breath.

---

砰！砰！砰！

404号公寓生锈的铁门再次向外猛烈凸起。沉重的铰链发出令人牙酸的尖啸，仿佛随时会被门后那股纯粹的、绝望的暴力生生折断。

“放我出去！看在老天爷的份上，48号，快开门！”我自己的声音透过布满凹痕的金属门板凄厉地嚎叫着。那声音极其嘶哑，像是在撕裂声带，透着一种让人汗毛倒竖的、属于动物趋利避害本能的极度恐惧。

我没有搭腔。我死死蹲在走廊生锈的扶手后面，手里那把沉甸甸的九毫米手枪稳稳地指着铁门的正中心。

一滴“酸雨”从波纹铁皮屋顶上滴落，正好砸在我的战术手套上。嘶啦—— 一缕刺鼻的白烟在冰冷的空气中升腾而起。凯夫拉纤维瞬间被融化，一股钻心的灼热感死死咬住了我的指关节。

我死盯着那处烧焦的痕迹。这根本不是什么有毒的气象灾害。这是高浓度的消化液。整个地下“贫民窟”就是一个巨大无比的、经过生物工程改造的胃囊。而这场雨，正在把它变成一个活跃的溶解池。

我猛地跨前一步，举起手枪，将最后一发亚音速钨芯穿甲弹顶着泛亚公司的重型生物密码锁，直接扣动了扳机。

砰！

锁头瞬间炸成了一团火花和扭曲的黄铜碎片。我抬起军靴，拼尽全力一脚踹在铁门上。门轰然向内砸去，重重地撞在里面的墙壁上，发出一声震耳欲聋的巨响。

我端着枪迅速扫视整个房间，手指死死扣在扳机上。

空的。

房间里的陈设，与我那些被捏造出来的记忆完美地、令人痛苦地重合着。廉价的胶合板书桌。凌乱没有叠被子的单人床。漏水的水龙头正有节奏地滴在满是污渍的陶瓷水槽里。空气中弥漫着一股放馊了的方便面和劣质烟草混合的浓烈气味。

但里面根本没有人。在铁门被踹开的那一微秒，尖叫声就戛然而止了。

我踩着剥落的油毡地板，无声地向里面走去。这里的空气冷得让人窒息，跟外面街道上那种油腻、充满酸液的闷热形成了极其突兀的对比。

在那张胶合板书桌上，原本应该放着我那个旧陶瓷烟灰缸的位置，此刻却端端正正地放着一台沉重的泛亚军用级无线电收发器。它不仅仅是“放”在那里；它粗大的黑色电源线已经深深地扎进了木头里，像某种寄生植物跳动的根须一样，与人造板材彻底长在了一起。

控制面板上，一盏绿色的指示灯正有节奏地闪烁着。这是一个实时通讯频道。

我伸出手，摸了一下无线电的金属外壳。是温热的。它摸起来就像是有脉搏一样。

我的视线缓缓移向书桌后面的墙壁。那张廉价的碎花壁纸正诡异地向外凸起。那不是因为受潮，而是因为在石膏板的后面，修筑着某种极其巨大且坚硬的东西。

我一把扯住潮湿壁纸翘起的一角，猛地撕了下来。

灰尘和散发着微光的真菌孢子瞬间呛入了我的气管。在我这间“卧室”墙壁伪装的背后，竟然镶嵌着一扇巨大无比的圆形钛合金气闸门。这是一扇深海抗压级别的潜艇舱门。在沉重的闭锁转轮正中央，赫然印着泛亚公司的企业标志，上面没有任何锈迹，也没有被生物触须侵蚀。

这他妈根本不是什么贫民窟公寓。这是一个伪装掩体。一个接入节点。

我把打空的手枪插回枪套，双手握住冰冷的钢铁转轮，把全身的重量都压了上去。伴随着一阵震得我牙齿发麻的液压轰鸣声，气闸门解除了密封。我用力推开门，迈步走了进去。

场景的转换突兀得让人头晕目眩。我将腐烂、充满血肉气息的贫民窟抛在身后，踏入了一个漆黑、无菌的空间。就在我的军靴踩上金属格栅地面的那一瞬间，头顶上一排排荧光灯管发出暴烈的嗡嗡声，瞬间照亮了一个极其庞大的泛亚高科技监控室。

最深处的一整面墙上，密密麻麻地排列着监视器矩阵。几百个屏幕，全都在实时播放着“0号扇区——下水道”的画面。我看到了那个面摊。看到了湿漉漉的柏油路。看到了闪烁的霓虹灯牌。

这是一个全景监狱。他们一直高高在上地坐在这里，看着克隆人们在消化道里挣扎、厮杀、然后腐烂。

我朝着主控制台走去，我的倒影在那些熄灭的黑色屏幕上幽灵般地滑过。

突然，我的视线死死地钉在了最中央的那个监视器上。那个实时画面的标签写着：【CAM 404 - 外部小巷】。

我的呼吸瞬间卡在了喉咙里。

在屏幕里，站在湿漉漉的巷子里、就在我公寓生锈铁门正外面的，是一个男人。他穿着和我身上一模一样、磨损破烂的战术背心。他的右侧脸颊上，甚至有着一道一模一样、刚刚被陆炎的触须抽出来的流血伤口。

那就是我。

但我现在人明明已经站在监控室里面了。

我浑身僵硬，惊恐万状地盯着屏幕。只见监视器里的那个“我”，极其缓慢地转过头，直勾勾地盯着隐藏在暗处的安全摄像头。

他的脸上没有任何表情。紧接着，他的嘴角开始向上扯动，直接咧到了一个人类绝对无法达到的夸张弧度，撕裂了脸颊，露出了一整排参差不齐、散发着幽幽金光的尖锐牙齿。

屏幕里的那个怪物，举起了一台泛亚无线电对讲机，凑到了嘴边。

零点一秒后，我身后那间假公寓书桌上的生物无线电里，突然炸响了实时的音频：

“放我出去！看在老天爷的份上，48号，快开门！”

还没等我的大脑把转身的指令发送给身体，我身后那扇沉重的钛合金气闸门发出一声震耳欲聋的巨响，轰然关闭。门上的闭锁转轮像发疯了一样自动旋转起来，将我彻底锁死在了里面。

紧接着，在无菌监控室最深处、那片灯光照不到的死寂黑暗中，我听到了一声极其缓慢、湿滑的，沉重的机械肺叶抽动空气的呼吸声。

---

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