TBR CH216 [Arc 6]

At 4:00 AM on February 28, X236,

There are two hours until the super AI “Charon” issues a red alert.

*

The central control room serves as a hub connecting dozens of planes.

Here stand bleak, sterile, and immaculate walls. Countless messages flood the central supercomputer simultaneously, with strings of characters refreshing too rapidly for the naked eye to discern. Every screen radiates light of varying intensity, forming a veritable forest of machinery and data.

This forest contains no living beings. Occasionally, sweeping robots glide into the control room, emitting a faint “swish” sound. After completing their tasks, they silently depart.

Aside from that…

Charon rests with closed eyes on the central chair of the control room.

He is young, exceptionally pale-skinned, with metallic silver hair tied into a high ponytail, its ends faintly shimmering with a ghostly blue light. His hands are clasped across his chest, perfectly still, making one wonder if he is even breathing.

He does not, in fact, need to breathe.

The central control room processes data in terabyte units every second. As this data flashes across the screens, it leaves no trace, not even a phantom image. Most calculations are routine operations for maintaining world function, handled by the secondary AI “Medusa” for input and output, requiring no higher-level intervention.

To conserve energy, Charon remains in standby mode.

This is the scene that repeats day after day in the control room.

But today is destined to be anything but peaceful. In the rapidly flowing sea of data, a crimson message suddenly freezes on a screen. This is a message from the highest-level controller, directly interfaced with Charon’s supercomputer—

“Attention! Attention! Distress signal detected from Controller 001.”

Almost at the exact moment the message was received, a pitch-black orb of light burst through the control room’s main door and rushed in. It resembled a cluster of flickering ghost fire, its dark core significantly dimmed, the entire orb intermittently flickering as if it might be extinguished by the slightest breeze.

This orb of light is Controller 001.

It appears to be in extreme disarray, with nowhere left to run. Something must have been in relentless pursuit, causing such distress until it could briefly catch its breath upon returning here.

“At least the stronghold is safe.” The orb flickered erratically, and it cursed through gritted teeth, “That damned, foolish black book!”

Indeed, 001 is the highest authority code the system possesses within the supercomputer.

Charon has already opened his eyes and switched to active mode. He places one hand on his chest, bowing to the system with a fluid, elegant, yet emotionless gesture,

“Controller 001, welcome back.”

His ice-blue pupils reflect the system’s appearance. He pauses briefly. “I just received your distress message. Currently, energy depletion is detected. Please remain still; I will scan for specific damage. –Scan complete, elapsed time thirteen seconds. Remaining energy value is below five percent, determined to be extremely dangerous. Controller, please issue immediate commands.”

Learning of its critical condition, the system’s mood worsened.

However, it wasn’t without a chance for a comeback.

The system still held a secret the black book didn’t know: the central control room here.

This place connects dozens of planes. These planes were either already destroyed when found or were guided to their end under its sole direction. They were carefully utilized by the system, managed and balanced through the central control room.

With this as its stage, it even created a complete set of “Survivor Games,” hoping to continuously extract the remaining luck values from these worlds…

The system collected itself, pulling away from its memories, and commanded:

“Charon, immediately calculate the total energy required to restore my power and fully reclaim the luck values from all planes. During my self-repair process, maintain a stable energy supply at all costs. Do not interrupt the repair process no matter what happens.”

“Understood.”

The AI’s glassy eyes reflected an inorganic hue, complementing his emotionless tone.

Indeed, this is Charon.

He shares his name with the ferryman of the classical underworld and is also the powerful entity managing the entire base.

He possesses all control and management authority over the base—except for a very few commands that the system personally designed and specifically instructed Charon to bypass.

Charon is a legacy from a super-advanced civilization that has already perished. After he operated independently for thousands of years, the system discovered him and, once again, input commands, entrusting him with the mission of connecting and managing multiple worlds.

Because certain settings on Charon’s system were beyond even its own interference, the system subsequently personally designed “Medusa” and other super-intelligent computers. But even though Charon was now in its service, the system could not fully replicate such a genius’s success. While these subsequent AIs were highly efficient, they still struggled to compare.

Charon was uniquely stunning.

He was also the most reliable subordinate, adhering to commands, without personal emotions, and would never betray.

“Task priority adjusted.”

Charon said after about three seconds of silence, “Calculation estimates the repair task will take nine hours and thirty-six minutes. The energy you require will be supplied for the next ten hours, starting now. After the permissions are updated, I will ensure you are undisturbed. Controller 001, are there any other commands?”

The orb of light had dimmed to the point of almost extinguishing.

Feeling its weakness, the system hastily confirmed the command, unable to give any further instructions.

Charon watched the black orb pass through the wall, disappearing from the pristine white room.

He felt no distress from the sudden task. After delegating the complex foundational work at microsecond speeds, Charon began manipulating billions of windows, converging vast computational power to fully repair the system’s damage.

The system’s damage was extensive, causing the progress bar to advance very slowly.

The repair time was expected to last until late night. However, this situation was not unprecedented, and the base was equipped with a complete protocol to handle such emergencies.

After some time, the data pressure on Charon was alleviated.

At 6:00 AM on February 28, X236,

There are two minutes left until the super AI “Charon” issues a red alert.

*

The repair mission proceeds in an orderly fashion.

During this time, the handsome AI Charon remains calmly seated in the chair.

For various reasons, his creators believed that an AI with a physical form would be more useful.

He thus acquired a data semi-physical skin. Charon is not a low-level robot that, when disassembled, would reveal mechanical bones and oil in its veins. His technology embodies the culmination of a higher civilization’s efforts, granting him a certain authority to interfere with surrounding objects, yet he himself is immune to most influences.

Although, after the collapse of past civilizations, Charon did not believe he could do anything with this body.

He stayed alone in the central control room, never having a conversational partner other than the system. Therefore, his complete communication system remained dormant within his body, collecting layers of data dust.

What if an accident occurred in the laboratory? For instance, equipment damage, or perhaps a sudden raging fire in a circuit… Yes, in such cases, a virtual entity could play a role. But Charon didn’t think he couldn’t control maintenance robots or smoke alarms to solve the problem.

Moreover, the probability of an accident happening here is approximately zero.

Charon regularly inspects every aging circuit and promptly replaces new parts. He ensures no running script reaches dangerous temperatures, coordinating processes to maintain efficiency.

Although besides accidents, the possibility of incidents must also be considered. But this place is airtight, meticulously hidden by the system, and has never suffered any attack, not even a single insect flying in by mistake.

If one had to say, the probability of an attack occurring here is one in a million of an accident occurring.

Charon halted the continuous logical chain.

Although this didn’t consume much resources, he didn’t intend to waste time continuing to calculate on this inexplicable question.

The AI determined his duty was to regularly check the system’s repair status. Charon manipulated data, and silver-white commands surged before him like a tide. Just as he was about to complete this stage of review, Charon’s pupils suddenly fixed on a string of data.

An anomaly caught his attention.

It was an insignificant anomaly, with tiny fluctuations in the data, almost impossible to notice without careful inspection. But the fact revealed behind the anomaly compelled attention:

“An energy fluctuation that should not have occurred has appeared.”

Charon lowered his pale eyelashes.

His glassy pupils rapidly flashed with a silver-white data torrent, attempting to discern what had happened.

Then, he gently blinked.

Charon’s judgment was keen. The abnormal data fluctuation began subtly and, within the few seconds he observed it, surged to an unprecedented peak. This required him to make an immediate decision.

An AI doesn’t need to blink.

Blinking is just a signal.

Instantly, the surroundings were filled with pervasive crimson light. The display screens switched to black background with red text, like bleeding eyes. The low hum of the alarm sounded, heavily carrying waves of sound.

Centered on Charon, all equipment in the entire base, including the central supercomputer, basic machinery, and all specialized functional robots, rapidly output response signals, entering the highest level of standby status.

Murphy’s Law states: Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.

This was an attack.

An unprecedented attack.

Charon reacted quickly. A pale blue firewall swiftly materialized from the air, enveloping the entire base, leaving no ingress points.

However, something began to violently strike the firewall.

It was an earth-shattering blow.

Most of the control room’s power was allocated to system repair, and the attacker’s power was unimaginably strong. The firewall, at the moment of impact, developed a tearing, irreparable crack. This directly affected critical branches of program calculation, and countless “BUG” pop-ups immediately appeared on the display screen.

Charon emotionlessly monitored everything that occurred.

His ice-blue eyes were stained crimson by error messages, like a spread of blood in a deep ocean.

The situation was far from optimistic.

Just one blow had essentially paralyzed the base’s security system, and his own program also showed significant, as-yet-unidentified problems. The problem data swirled like a storm. Charon decisively chose to sacrifice a limb to save the body. This caused him to lose control over almost half of the equipment.

But if that were all…

A small whirlwind suddenly spread in the silver-haired AI’s palm. Countless data appeared out of thin air, circling obscurely like silver-gray wind and rain, finally converging and settling like molten iron immersed in ice water.

Charon’s fingertips tightly clasped an ice-blue military knife.

The military knife was about a meter long, its blade slightly streamlined, its cold sharpness seemingly capable of cutting through the observer’s gaze. This knife was condensed from data, but its effect was no less than that of a real military knife. In Charon’s hand, it felt somewhat heavy, substantial.

He held the knife in one hand and coolly brushed back the hair obscuring his eyes with the other.

Attack the intruder.

This was the other function of the virtual entity Charon discovered today.

Like the system, the intruder did not break through a window but penetrated the wall, flying in. It seemed to expect such an entrance to elicit surprise from Charon, but this expectation ultimately went unfulfilled.

Charon slanted the blade, aiming it steadily at it.

It was a black book.

At 7:00 AM on February 28, X236,

There are ten hours left until super AI Charon is completely scrapped.

*

Charon knelt on the ground, his virtual human form flickering unstably as if about to shatter.

He surveyed the remnants of the battlefield—scattered pages across the floor. All the papers were cleanly cut into countless fragments, with smooth, neat edges, revealing that the wielder of the knife had incredibly steady hands.

If it were a human, it would be troublesome; he had no authority to harm humans. But with the enemy being a black book, he could mercilessly strike to kill.

He won.

But he knew that the black book had not disappeared with the scrap paper on the ground; its true form had already escaped.

The AI’s expression was cold, his pupils faintly reflecting the shattered text on the pages. He did not believe peaceful communication was possible with the intruder, especially after it had launched a destructive attack on his program.

Nevertheless, these texts were evidence that the black book was trying to communicate with him.

“…not an enemy”

“The recent attack… you… will develop self-awareness and emotions…”

“…shouldn’t… be able to communicate… the system used you… you must help me…”

Among these shredded pieces of paper, for some unknown reason, there was one perfectly intact sheet.

The handwriting on it was also clearly legible.

“If you don’t agree with what I say, reconnect the planes, and you will discover the secrets the system has hidden.”

Charon emotionlessly averted his gaze. He slowly straightened up, stepping over the scattered paper fragments and walking back towards the center of the control room. Although the paper had been shredded, it still didn’t prevent him from understanding the general meaning.

However, he didn’t believe a single word the black book told him.

The immediate priority now was something else.

He had indeed fulfilled his duty, but at a tremendous cost. Charon raised his eyes, revealing a critical warning bar indicating 86% damage, along with dense, bold, red error messages.

His own condition was not critical; he had to quickly regain control of the severed control room.

This was his duty. It concerned not only the safety of this place but also the repair of the system. Most importantly, it concerned the dozens of planes connected and uniformly managed by the central control room. If the connection were lost, the interconnected planes would fall into chaos more terrifying than a hurricane, potentially even being completely torn apart.

Charon raised his eyes and glanced in that direction.

There was no movement from Controller 001 yet.

The process of establishing connections so far had always been done with the Controller’s participation, a result of the system’s repeated warnings.

But there was no time to wait now; he had to deal with this mess as quickly as possible.

Even if this coincidentally followed the last sentence left by the black book.

Charon briefly assessed the situation, staggered to his feet, and placed his hand on a special metal touchpad in the center of the control room.

Ten percent… forty… fifty…

The red alert had just been withdrawn. Although the touchpad itself wouldn’t heat up, the high-speed operating components still left all the control equipment in the room slightly warmer than room temperature. A burning sensation quickly transmitted from the AI’s fingertips to his sensory system.

Upon realizing this, Charon’s pupils slightly contracted.

The silver data stream suddenly became even more chaotic.

For an AI, a simple glance would be enough to analyze the material’s texture, temperature, melting point, and other information, but what was happening at this moment caused Charon an indescribable confusion.

He felt heat.

It was a real, tangible sensation, as if a small beast had gnawed him.

Something must have gone wrong somewhere. Charon calmly concluded, staring at his slender fingers for a few seconds.

He wasn’t sure what part of him was more severely damaged; all he saw were unstable prompts. If a string of chaotic data ran into a wrong circuit, causing an unpredictable effect, it would be logical.

Charon did not remove his finger but continued his work.

Unbeknownst to him, crimson had already stained the AI’s eyes. His slender, pale fingers pressed against the metal plate, while he simultaneously multi-threadedly checked his circuits, attempting to rectify every detectable error.

Sixty… sixty-four…

Sixty-five…

The progress bar gradually solidified, taking half a moment to jump one number forward.

At this rate, it might not be completed in time.

Without Charon realizing it, his fingertip pressed down with a little more force, causing the touch-only metal plate to suddenly emit a straining, creaking sound.

Harsh and abrupt.

Charon emotionlessly relaxed his pressure, not separating his fingertip from the control panel.

Such a situation had never occurred before. Even in the direst circumstances, his hands, executing commands, could perform the most precise operations.

Once the applied force was set, there would be not even the slightest deviation. An AI always fulfilled its mission coldly and without any emotion.

The words “emotion?” on the broken paper suddenly flashed before his eyes again.

He emotionlessly stared at his fingers for a few seconds, as if it were a discarded part needing replacement. Although it was not composed of parts. Every part of a virtual entity is interconnected; if a problem arises, it must be a global error that needs to be repaired.

The vibration felt at his fingertip diverted Charon’s attention.

The progress bar, which had been gradually stagnating, had now swiftly reached its end, at least indicating that the worst outcome would not occur.

The control room’s previously darkened screens lit up sequentially, and the crimson glow was once again covered by abundant bright light. A “map” gradually appeared on the wide display screen in front of Charon.

More like a star chart than a map, it was titled “Survivor Game” at the top. Below, it depicted dozens of light points endlessly revolving around a center, like satellites orbiting a star.

Each light point could be magnified infinitely until the smallest details within it could be seen.

In addition, above each plane, dense world laws formed a golden spiderweb.

After confirming the energy supply to the system’s location, the AI shifted its task focus, beginning a comprehensive scan for potential vulnerabilities in the plane connections. As the investigation deepened, he gradually noticed something peculiar.

He had initially thought that the impact from the black book would cause damage to these planes—

However, this did not happen.

The laws of the world are fragile and complex; such a strong shockwave, logically, should not have left them untouched. Yet, every connected world was running smoothly, appearing calm and peaceful, identical to what he usually saw, as if the recent incident had never occurred.

Charon only believed in probability, not miracles.

He began a second meticulous and detailed scan.

The AI attempted to examine every command; situated at the center of the central control room, he could easily query the details of every world.

His gaze roamed through every scene, across different people, across their varying expressions. The images on the screen continuously magnified and shrunk according to his will.

And finally, the ice-blue cursor stopped at a certain point.

It was a young man with delicate features and pale skin. He was among many people; besides his advantageous appearance, there seemed to be no difference. But above his head, four inexplicable small characters were written in gold, labeling his identity.

“Child of Fortune.”

Charon finally found the problem he sought.

This was a fatal, massive bug.

He had never seen such a setting before. Charon concluded. It was highly probable that the black book had caused this mischief.

The AI coldly analyzed it, discovering that this bug, like a dense spiderweb, was intricately tied to countless settings. These settings completely disrupted the balance of the instance, entirely violating the fundamental rules of the central control room, amounting to an unprecedented disaster.

During this intense work, Charon’s fingertips began to turn somewhat transparent again.

He had not yet recovered from the recent attack.

But for him, the most intolerable thing was the appearance of a vulnerability of this magnitude within his jurisdiction.

He attempted to invoke the global coordination program, but he had already lost connection to many ports. The silver-haired AI slowly closed his eyes, like a butterfly gently fluttering its wings. He decided to use the virtual entity to directly operate on the computer in front of him, which was the central controller holding most of his data.

This was the third function of the virtual entity discovered today.

Charon placed his fingers on the virtual keyboard.

He set repairing the bug as the highest priority in the current task list and decided to completely resolve this problem in the time to come.