The new <color=#ff4e4eff>Central Purification Filters</color>, equipped with an improved filter core, are quickly spreading like wildfire across all conservation areas under Babylonia's control.
However, even with these advancements, the new Central Purification Filters can't completely eliminate the Punishing Virus.
While the filters drive it away, the virus slowly reforms in areas outside the safe zones. In places without the new filters, Dead Zones gradually merge into vast regions, becoming breeding grounds for Red Tide and more Hetero-Creatures.
These creatures are slowly evolving.
Yet, the people of Babylonia have no time to worry about these looming disasters. The elites have unanimously shifted their focus from external threats to internal affairs, specifically fixating on information leaked from Gestalt.
More precisely, they're obsessed with the timestamp attached to that information.
There's nothing in Gestalt that corresponds to this timestamp.
Hunched over the console, Teddy explains to the person beside them without looking back, their hands never pausing as cascading data and complex command windows flash on the screen.
If that were the case, the response team would have to act tomorrow to handle the chaos this "bug" would cause throughout Babylonia.
It's not a bug. Someone's already pinpointed its time period. I'm just the unlucky soul who got stuck with the mission of tracing this timestamp back to its original coordinates.
This thing just doesn't exist before the leak, and good luck trying to reverse-engineer it with conventional methods once it's intercepted. Its origin is pretty obvious then.
The display's flurry of activity finally dies down. Teddy lets out a slow breath, taking a moment to rest. Just then, a communication dialog pops up with a note attached to the timestamp—Golden Age.
It's straight from the Golden Age—right out of Dominik's impenetrable chasm of zeros and ones, from beyond that unsolvable <b><ud><color=#34aff8ff><link=26>data wall</link></color></ud></b> inside Gestalt.
As she speaks, Teddy glances at the persistently flashing communication alerts and lets out a derisive snort.
Parliament erupted the moment this news hit. Public pressure, directives, demands, pulling every personal favor they could—those politicians have thrown more tactics at me than there are antivirus programs, all to push me into finding a breach in that wall.
And then escort their technicians inside.
Memories surface of the scene witnessed when connected with Teddy—that bizarre space existing within Gestalt, that data wall stretching endlessly from ground to sky...
No—my professional assessment is no, but unfortunately, nobody's going to listen to me.
She shrugs, her eyes glued to the terminal screen in front of her.
Those pencil pushers who fuss over meeting minutes always have some crazy idea about the past. They can't wait to make their glorious mark in the history books, writing, "This is the decision that turns the page on humanity's history, leading us into a new era..."
Teddy suddenly goes quiet, her brow furrowed as she zeroes in on a specific point in the data stream.
Shh...
Not yet, but...
Her fingers fly across the terminal at lightning speed—
3, 2, 1—
Got it—the final coordinate.
After swiftly punching the precise coordinates into the terminal and transmitting them to Asimov, Teddy finally turns around and picks up where she left off.
Coordinates, coordinates... Ha! Nobody even remembers that when we first stepped into Gestalt, we only wanted to use its computing power to upgrade the Inver-Device.
The original Inver-Device structure and Golden Age treasures clearly pique their interest way more than just upgrading the Inver-Device.
<b><ud><color=#ff4e4eff><link=25>The Normans</link></color></ud></b> really went all out to make that happen.
At the mention of the name, Teddy rolls her eyes.
Those people are so hung up on digging up anything about Dominik from Gestalt or Reactor No. 1, but they're so shallow they completely miss the point.
It's Gestalt, okay? Gestalt.
The young woman narrows her eyes, giving you a sidelong glance.
That message with the error stamp, the one Gestalt put out... What is Gestalt really thinking?
No one knows the answer to that.
Gestalt gives off a faint, cold glow, looming silently, completely speechless.
The sudden click of a code lock breaking the silence as Asimov appears in the room, dark circles heavy under his eyes.
Is the information trace complete?
Seriously, did you even need to ask?
The data wall coordinates that [player name] and I tracked while deep in Gestalt? They're all in the encrypted document I just sent you.
Anything new pop up?
No, same old. The data walls are still a brick wall, blocking access to that secret space's core. We're only seeing a few chinks in the armor.
Even though everything points to us being able to crack it open, I'm sticking to my guns. I could try to hijack it using the lower-level protocol, but Gestalt's database might just activate its own defenses and take a hit.
...
The code for Gestalt's foundational database has been lost in the shuffle for ages, so there's no telling how much damage we're talking about. Which means...
If we hijack Gestalt, sure, we might just snag the tech they're after. But there's also a good chance we could blow Gestalt's entire foundational database to smithereens.
Have they made a decision yet?
A rare look of concern washes over Teddy's face.
Since Gestalt still can't crunch certain numbers, they're gearing up for a parliamentary vote on whether to open these data walls.
...
Brainless idiots.
The parliamentary vote won't be derailed just because a few tech folks are against it.
The Science Council scholars pushing to open the data wall reckon they can mimic the safety protocols from the Inver-Device experiments by setting up an isolation zone within Gestalt.
The idea is to cordon off all operations to this zone; that way, if anything goes south, they can just jettison the zone and keep most of Gestalt's modules intact.
"The fruits of the Golden Age"—nobody can pass that up, especially not when they've already snagged partial blueprints of the Inver-Device.
The writing's on the wall for this one.
Commander Nikola's proposal received 52.8% support, 35.1% opposition, and 12.1% abstentions.
The proposal passes.
Babylonians are buzzing with excitement, eagerly awaiting the grand unveiling of a new technological marvel. To amp up public anticipation even further, politicians have slated the "Data Wall" to open in just two days.
Meanwhile, far from the celebratory hubbub, you, Asimov, and Teddy are holed up in a Science Council laboratory. You couldn't care less about the festivities; your focus is on cracking open Dominik's mysterious invitation.
Hmm... There, that should do it.
Teddy gives the last two screws on a peculiar machine a final tighten with her wrench before dusting off her hands with a satisfied flourish.
Have a seat and put this on. Asimov and I are hooking the invitation up to this Full Sensory Simulation Device. Then you'll be able to access the information inside.
Sure you can.
Asimov inspects the terminal connected to the machine as he begins to explain.
We're taking apart the underlying architecture of the invitation. After Teddy cracks the Conundrum data lock, I keep on decoding the remaining portions.
The code itself isn't rocket science, but its arrangement is all over the place with unusual boundary condition judgments. While digging through the Science Council's internal database, I stumbled upon a similar code structure pattern—
This is it: the Full Sensory Simulation Device.
That's right.
I'm looking at the code she wrote—it's a real spaghetti of complexity, yet somehow that jumble just works.
The code structure for the invitation is practically a dead ringer for the Full Sensory Simulation Device.
Asimov gives the data on the terminal one last once-over.
I've run tests using the encryption keys she stashed away, and it's physically safe—but I can't vouch for whether the experience is just this machine playing tricks on your mind.
Alright, enough talk—let's just give it a whirl.
Teddy pulls you over to the machine.
Once you're inside, I'll punch in the right keys, and Asimov will keep an eye on the machine the whole time. If anything goes south, we'll yank the plug immediately. Don't sweat it, you're totally safe.
Come on, what's with the suspicious look?
Let's go! Gray Raven Commandant!
This invitation has a one-time encryption key. Make sure to jot down any info you find inside.
Asimov's voice fades into the darkness as the helmet slides over your head.
You're hit with a wave of dizziness.
Your mind drifts into a vast, empty expanse. The silence is so profound you can only hear your own heartbeat.
You're here.
A synthetic voice echoes from all directions within the dark void.
You finally got the key, but the Tower isn't growing anymore.
No need to worry, ■ is just a ghost floating through data space, a mere shred of history that no longer exists.
■ is Dominik, part of the Gestalt.
Everything's connected. You're here because something's off; ■ picked up on an anomaly.
You've got the key, but the Tower isn't growing anymore.
Are you a time traveler? Did you mess everything up?
...
Dominik seems to weigh his suspicions for a moment before speaking again.
So, do you know where the advance team is?
That phrase is like a firework in my mind—a quick burst before it's gone. In that flash, fuzzy images pop up at the edge of my vision.
A madman, covered in white mist, slumped on a couch, sorting out his suicide note.
Alright, you've handled all the infected within your reach.
Keep the force field-equipped protective suit on. Welcome to the advance team.
I hope▂▄▁doing well, Profe▁▂▄▁Trout.
Our current technology has its limits. My consciousness is cluttered with too many other voices, but digitizing remains essential.
You're looking for someone to take over Agent Zero's authority, and I'm curious to see what possessing such power is like. But first, one must shed their human form.
These symptoms of yours... they're remarkably similar to the effects of Agent Zero's authority.
If there are no secrets about you I don't know, then it means you've eventually merged with Chaos and taken Agent Zero's place.
The hazy visions gradually fade, leaving only empty darkness before me.
Even though the invitation came from Nanami, revealing what I know to someone whose identity is unclear would be unwise.
So you're not a time traveler after all?
But the new Central Purification Filter core clearly has tech from way further in the future...
The data ghost mutters to itself.
Dominik was never a know-it-all. Besides, ■ is just the echo of Dominik's consciousness, left behind before he went into Reactor 1.
The real Dominik might still be kicking around in the <color=#ff4e4eff>Fog</color>.
The one in Reactor 1 is just "the final Dominik."
It's a pretty tangled story. Let ■ figure out what to share with you right now.
The air hangs heavy for a moment before the voice in the void slowly speaks.
<phonetic=The Primordial One>Dominik</phonetic> leads the advance team <color=#ff4e4eff>into the Hetero Tower</color>. After recycling its core, he vanishes into the Fog.
Through an "invitation," he picks "inheritors" in this world. These successors, who take on the "Dominik" identity, throw themselves into unearthing deeper secrets within the M.I.N.D. and pushing back Punishing Virus.
But after a certain point, no messages from <phonetic=The Primordial One>Dominik</phonetic>... have come through for ages.
So, no one can confirm Dominik's current status.
The Fog is a space inside the Hetero Tower.
A long, long time ago, <phonetic=The Primordial One>Dominik</phonetic> left behind coordinates to a spot in the Fog that could receive messages.
Based on our calculations, that location should be where the Hetero Tower manifests.
Now, since the Hetero Tower isn't showing up, the Fog is naturally impossible to enter.
About the Gestalt.
After we discovered the Hetero Tower hadn't appeared, ■ and Gestalt ran the numbers. The results suggest someone from the future might've reversed time, stopping the "Hetero Tower" from growing.
■ used to think the time travelers on the advance team had pulled it off...
His voice trails off.
That crimson spiral tower I caught a glimpse of when Lee was switching Hyperreal frames, and earlier, when Vonnegut kept talking about "the Tower"...
If all these "towers" are actually the Hetero Tower...
Then what kind of thing could it really be?
The Hetero Tower...
He seems a bit uneasy, pausing for a moment before slowly starting to talk.
■ doesn't really know much either. <phonetic=The Primordial One>Dominik</phonetic> just mentioned that it signals impending doom.
It seems to have powers that go beyond dimensions and can only be controlled with "keys."
The invitations are just one piece of the puzzle. Their whole point is to wreck the Hetero Tower's core and then recycle it.
For more information, <phonetic=The Primordial One>Dominik</phonetic> himself is the only one who'd know.
"Dominik" lets out a soft sigh, and silence fills the air once more.
Not entirely. This info is actually a "bonus." ■ only loaded this invitation with extra data after realizing the Hetero Tower hadn't shown up.
Originally, the invitation was simply a way to pass on "knowledge."
<phonetic=The Primordial One>Dominik</phonetic> picks a spark and sends it out—whoever catches it becomes the new "Dominik," tasked with bringing humanity glory.
Way down the line, they're all supposed to add their own data to this invitation, then pass it on to future "Dominiks."
But now...
Would you be up for becoming the new "Dominik"?
The digital specter, calm as ever, slowly lays out its weighty proposition:
To become the new Dominik, to embrace history's call, to sculpt a new future.
And the answer?
There's hardly a pause—not out of caution or a fear of responsibility—even if everything this entity describes rings true. You simply won't take the bait.
Does this era even need a Dominik? No, should I say...
You look the ancient being squarely in the eye and speaks softly.
The key to breaking free from our current bind lies in the present.
Ah... So that's your choice?
The last sentence hangs unspoken, yet "Dominik" gets it. A voice echoes in the void—devoid of sadness or relief—as Dominik gives a gentle nod.
So be it. Time's ticking, and this information will soon vanish.
Hidden beneath this invitation is an information black box only you can open.
The last known coordinates of where <phonetic=The Primordial One>Dominik</phonetic>'s messages hit are also tucked away in the information black box.
The air around them starts to subtly shake.
We're hitting the wall here...
Yes.
What's behind those walls isn't just old Golden Age echoes. Way too much time has passed; those data walls are falling apart. They're going to crumble eventually, even if nobody tries to open them.
Think of it as the last gift to humanity.
The shape lurking behind the data slowly melts away.
It's time to leave.
The Hetero Tower hasn't shown up. Maybe... maybe you'll see a better "future."
Just like that, the dark world drops back into dead silence.
Classified Laboratory, Science Council
Classified Laboratory, Science Council
"Invitation", "Hetero Tower", "the Fog"...
Asimov jots down these cryptic terms on his terminal, connecting the dots, trying to make sense of their relationships.
I think... I'm finally getting it.
First off, there's the "Hetero Tower," which could be a harbinger of disaster. Its appearance is—
It most likely dates back to Dominik, the one they call "The Primordial One."
The Hetero Tower appears to have transdimensional abilities—or perhaps, it allows travel through time.
But to control the Hetero Tower, you need "keys." The invitation you're holding is part of them; the other part remains a mystery to us.
So, based on what you "saw", "Dominik"'s explanation, and what Vonnegut told us...
What did you do to the "Tower"?
Ascending the Tower with a mortal body? That's impossible.
After we discovered the Hetero Tower hadn't appeared, ■ and Gestalt ran the numbers. The results suggest someone from the future might've reversed time, stopping the "Hetero Tower" from growing.
■ doesn't really know much either. <phonetic=The Primordial One>Dominik</phonetic> just mentioned that it signals impending doom.
It seems to have powers that go beyond dimensions and can only be controlled with "keys."
Asimov is speaking in a grave tone in the dimly lit room.
The "Hetero Tower" was originally supposed to show up in this world at a specific point in time.
The sudden deja vu I had during the Hyperreal frame replacement flashes vividly in my mind.
Was that the moment? The time the "Hetero Tower" was supposed to appear?
It seems ever since then, my deja vu visions have been getting weaker and further from what actually happens...
Whether it's the spherical forest that never appeared, or Shorthalt's testament that I received unexpectedly...
For some reason—
Asimov types a lone question mark onto a blank document on his terminal.
Something external messed with things, and the Hetero Tower just never showed up.
Vonnegut's convinced you meddled with something "in the future," and Dominik's got you pegged as a time traveler.
So, did you actually pull some strings in the future?
It wouldn't even take much—a tiny bit more of that Punishing Virus and I'd be a goner, my whole body rotting away.
Maybe because you twisted the "future," not the "past."
Remember those "war aftereffects" we talked about in that meeting, right before you saved Selena from the Time Prison?
The Mind Beacon went haywire because of those war aftereffects...
Could that have been the moment your "future self" popped back in?
In science, even the craziest ideas are fair game.
Asimov just casually shuts down the conversation.
Time itself will prove it for us.
His face stays hidden in the shadows, only his voice cutting through the darkness.
It's about time. Let's kick off our investigation with the "Data Wall."
Let's see if there's really something beyond the "Data Wall"... something more than just Golden Age relics.
Science Council
Testing Ground
At the Science Council's testing ground.
Protocol decryption is complete.
Initiating hijack.
The giant screen projected by the terminal scrolled with the latest updates, as layers of the data wall are systematically hijacked.
—Hijack complete.
At the moment Teddy presses the final key, Gestalt's terminal flickers, unleashing a torrent of unknown data, with countless lost technologies cascading into the terminal's memory.
Thank goodness!
Wait! What is that!?
The moment Gestalt's <b><ud><color=#34aff8ff><link=27>Data Wall</link></color></ud></b> opens, the hall plunges into darkness. Only crimson warning alerts frantically flash across the screen.
The entire Babylonia begins to shake in sync with Gestalt's tremors. Violent crimson lightning crackles under the alloy shell as the Punishing virus seeps out.
The Punishing Virus contracts inward, condensing into a pitch-black sphere that's no larger than a human eyeball.
It looks like a dark star that can devour even light.
...So it has come to this moment after all.
In the darkness, a woman gazes toward the source of the chaos, where humanity is racing against time before disaster strikes.
The past remains unchanged. So once again, the arrival of Punishing begins on December 20, 2160...
The Hetero Tower never descended, and the Ascension-Network...
When the Punishing arrived on Earth, it first targeted the cornerstone of human civilization—information itself.
So it infiltrated the largest information hub of that time—Gestalt.
If Punishing were to take control of Gestalt, then given enough time, its memetic contamination could seep into civilization itself—even into language. When that happens, Earth's future would be lost entirely.
But when the virus broke out on December 20th, that trait was stripped away by humanity. Only an "empty shell" remained, and that is the Punishing Virus humanity knows now.
Over time, this "empty shell" infected countless Constructs, machines, and humans, and it was gradually filled with information belonging to Earth. Bit by bit, it became Earth's own "specialty"—a network, Ascension-Network.
<phonetic=The contaminating memetic>Dark Star</phonetic> is about to be released, and if it merges with the Ascension-Network...
Now that the Hetero Zone is gone, Luna, what will you do to fight against Selene?
She gazes into the distance at the A1 Air Port, already reduced to ruins by Selene.
Deep within the city where Reactor 1 is located.
Deep within the city where Reactor 1 is located.
Is this... the place?
A girl in a green hood stands near the library, pale flowers clustered around her feet.
She gently strokes the Hetero-Creature there, inclining her head to catch its whispers.
She then slips silently into the long-abandoned city.
This is the graveyard of a collapsed civilization.
This is the story of civilizations—they fall, rise, and then fall again.
There is always a pattern to follow.
Standing before the shattered library entrance, she gazes up at the towering guardian robot.
So... what happens next? What's my script?
A gentle breeze sweeps through the grass and rustles the leaves. No one answers.
What's going on? Has my script been interrupted?
She's run through these "lines" countless times here, but no one has ever responded to her voice.
Sigh...
Cradle squats on the ground, utterly bored, like an exhausted actor who's just wrapped their final scene.
So, what now?
Why isn't anyone here? What am I supposed to do?
In a distant room, the Merciful One watches everything unfold below.
Ah... and you, too.
She flips through the pages of the Red Tide's book, but beneath Cradle's name, "Agent Zero" is crossed out.
The Hetero Tower never descended, and Agent Zero never got their hands on Cradle's body within the Red Tide...
Well then, grow freely from now on.
Perhaps... you also represent a new possibility.
