A fleck of green light drifted down from the sky—like a snowflake, like a firefly—fluttering unsteadily.
Then it suddenly shifted direction.
It surged forward, fast, filling her entire field of vision.
"BEEP—"
A shrill car horn.
The green light seemed to melt away before her eyes, vanishing in a blink.
A rush of air hit her from behind, straight to the back of her head.
Without thinking, Pei Ran ducked low on instinct.
It was a reflex honed from years of surviving in warzones.
A hovercar screamed past, grazing her scalp.
Then another.
And a third.
All three blasted their horns as they shot over her head like arrows, weaving madly between skyscrapers in a chaotic chase.
Despite flying, each car had wheels attached to their undercarriages, darting through the air like frantic beetles with no sense of direction.
Pei Ran looked down.
She was standing on a platform suspended in mid-air.
Only two or three square meters wide, it was enclosed by transparent glass railings. Above it floated several semi-transparent holographic screens displaying arrival times and vehicle numbers.
A transit stop.
Next to her stood a young woman who seemed to be waiting for her ride.
The platform jutted out from the midsection of a skyscraper. Far below, lines of traffic flowed through the air like rivers of light, snaking between high-rises. The bottom was an abyss.
This skyscraper, like all those around it, was shaped like a slender bamboo shoot. Dozens of them clustered together, dense and towering.
Though it was clearly daytime, the sky was covered by a heavy smog, casting everything in a dull gray haze.
The sun was no more than a dim, orange disk, its light barely penetrating the pollution. Neon signs flashed constantly in all colors, even in broad daylight, and nearby, a giant advertisement screen the size of a building silently cycled through visuals.
Pei Ran's eyes scanned the scene calmly.
Had she... crossed over?
Moments ago, she'd been in a war-torn bunker, under relentless shellfire. Now she was here, in this bizarre, dazzling world.
The roar of engines—those hovercars were coming back.
Leading the charge was a small, bright yellow vehicle, a little worn, with "Baigang City Municipal Facilities Maintenance" painted in black on the side. Beneath the text was the symbol of a curved U-shaped drainage pipe.
Its roof was thrown wide open.
At the wheel sat a woman in a yellow utility uniform, sleeves rolled high to her elbows, her chestnut-red hair whipping wildly in the wind.
"Yeehaw—!" she hollered like a cowboy roping cattle.
Wherever she passed, countless square flakes rained down—translucent like glass, drifting and dancing like snow.
Each one bore glowing neon text.
Pei Ran recognized the script at once: it was Manya, the standardized script of the Federation—a hybrid of phonetic symbols, letters, and logographs.
GET AI AGENTS OUT!
SAY NO TO ROBOTIC TYRANNY!
CITY WORKERS NEED TO EAT!
WORK! WORK! WORK! We need jobs! We need to feed our families!
Behind the yellow car, two navy-colored vehicles pursued relentlessly.
Each bore flashing lightbars on their fronts and roofs, white light dazzlingly bright.
"Baigang City Public Security Bureau" was stenciled on the sides.
A cold, mechanical voice rang out from within one of them, enunciating with inhuman clarity:
"Attention, driver ahead. You are in violation of Federal Security Ordinance 427, Article 13.
Unauthorized operation of a vehicle in regulated aerial lanes.
Cease movement immediately. I repeat, stop now."
"They're part of the strike," the long-haired girl next to her suddenly spoke.
She was wearing an oversized brown flannel blazer, her chestnut hair draped over her shoulders, hugging a large cardboard box to her chest.
"Protesting AI taking everyone's jobs," she said. "It's been going on for days."
Fragments of memory rushed back into Pei Ran's mind. Fuzzy, fragmented—familiar, yet strange.
Baigang City had been on strike for two weeks.
To cut expenses, the city government was planning to roll out more AI-managed autonomous maintenance vehicles, replacing human workers.
The Municipal Workers' Union was furious.
In protest, they organized a massive walkout.
It was winter. Half the city had lost heating, with water and electricity cut off in many buildings. Garbage piled in the streets, rotting in the cold.
The yellow car dodged and darted in midair, expertly weaving through the patrol cars trying to box it in. But the police weren't letting up either.
Through the front windshield, Pei Ran suddenly noticed—there was no one in the driver's seat of the patrol car.
No one at all.
Fully autonomous.
Yet the voice still spoke, emotionless as ever through the speaker:
"Final warning. Cease all movement. Repeat: stop immediately!"
Stop? Pei Ran thought.
How the hell was that little yellow car supposed to stop in mid-air? Did they expect it to hover?
Her head throbbed.
Memory fragments of her host body flickered in and out. Blurred.
Then she saw one of the security vehicles accelerate sharply—
It was charging the yellow hovercar head-on.
They were going to use force.
The yellow car jerked upward just in time, narrowly avoiding the crash.
Sparks flew as metal screeched against metal. The sound was so high-pitched, it hurt her ears.
But Pei Ran wasn't worried about that.
She was watching the patrol car.
Having missed the yellow vehicle, it was now hurtling straight toward this platform.
Though still some distance away, it showed no signs of braking or changing course.
A chilling thought struck Pei Ran: Brake failure?
Or worse—had the AI control gone haywire?
At this speed, it would smash straight through the platform.
There was nowhere to dodge—
The platform was tiny, suspended in the air.
The only escape was the building entrance behind them.
The long-haired girl seemed to have the same thought. She leaned toward the floating screen beside the door.
On it glowed the words: Iris Scan Required.
But the door remained sealed.
"We quit the company," the girl said anxiously. "Our scans don't work anymore. We can't open it without access…"
Before she could finish, Pei Ran stepped back, raised her leg, and kicked the door hard.
Thud.
The door looked like frosted glass—but didn't budge an inch.
The hovercar kept coming.
Pei Ran strode to the railing. Cold wind whipped through her coat. The hem flared like butterfly wings as she vaulted effortlessly over the side.
"Wait—! Don't jump!" the girl shrieked.
Pei Ran wasn't planning to.
Her hand gripped the railing tightly as she landed on the narrow outer edge—barely a few inches wide. Her body leaned out into open air as she peered downward.
The sky was thick with flying cars.
The nearest building wall was smooth, with no windows—no ledges.
No way to climb down.
No way to jump.
The patrol vehicle was nearly on them.
The long-haired girl waved desperately, trying to get its attention—
To show there were people here. Living people.
But the empty driver's seat stared back blankly.
No response.
A gust of wind.
One of the transparent protest flyers floated in front of Pei Ran. As it touched the glass railing—
Pop.
It burst like a soap bubble and vanished.
Pei Ran raised her eyes, staring at the oncoming vehicle.
No escape. No shelter.
One thought filled her mind:
How do I stop that thing?
Suddenly—
Green light exploded in her vision.
The same green fleck from before—
Only now it wasn't in front of her eyes.
It was inside her mind.
The light twisted and traced a path, forming a glowing glyph—
A character in Manya script, its strokes writhing like living things.
It said:
[STOP.]
There was even a period at the end.