Log 06
Fractured Signal
When the world falls silent, it becomes the loudest.
The quieter it is, the more voices there are — only hidden, refusing to be heard.
And I, unfortunately, can hear them.
On the third day after the forensic center explosion, New City appeared restored to order.
The news was calm, almost clinical: “Preliminary police investigation suggests a chemical reaction accident. The case remains under investigation.”
Every word sounded like a requiem written for someone.
We were ordered to “stand down on leave.”
In a policeman’s world, those four words mean polite exile.
You still exist — but you are no longer trusted.
Cheung Man Man and I changed into civilian clothes and hid inside an abandoned warehouse near the coastal industrial district.
Outside stood a metal fortress of stacked shipping containers, iron sheets groaning whenever the wind passed.
We parked inside, powered the laptop with spare batteries, disabled all network access, working strictly offline.
It felt like being fugitives —
in truth, we were.
“Chee Yan made progress,” Man Man said quietly, holding her phone.
The screen showed lines of encrypted code unraveling.
I watched file names surface in fragments: “M-9_SUBJECT001,” “Consciousness Intervention Log,” “Directive_Audio.”
“He recovered about thirty percent of the SSD data,” she said, looking at me. “There’s video. And audio.”
I was silent for a moment. “We wait until he confirms it’s secure.”
She nodded, though something unsettled flickered in her eyes.
“Tin Kay… if the Commissioner really participated in this…”
“Then he isn’t just a criminal,” I cut in. “He’s an architect.”
“An architect?”
“He’s building a prison no one can see.
Making everyone sleep inside it.
Dream the same dream.”
My voice stayed calm.
My fingers trembled.
Not from fear —
but from cold.
The cold that comes after witnessing too many lies.
At noon, Lee Wai Hing sent the coded message: “The parrot flies.”
An old narcotics signal. It meant: something real.
I went to the meeting point — a basement bar in old Chinatown.
The sign outside read “Under Renovation.” It wasn’t.
Inside, dim yellow lights. Air thick with smoke and cheap alcohol.
Wai Hing sat at the counter, two untouched glasses of whiskey in front of him.
“There’s more noise here than liquor,” I said, sitting down.
He smiled. “Everyone’s eavesdropping on someone else. That’s why it’s safe.”
He handed me an envelope. Inside was a night-vision photograph.
High angle. Surveillance capture.
Commissioner Lau Kwok Fong stood inside an underground facility. Behind him — a row of sleep pods.
Timestamp: September 14, 2021. Four days before Lam Chi Ying died.
“Where is this?” I asked.
“Pier District Warehouse One. Front’s labeled ‘Wing Shing Frozen Logistics.’”
“How’d the informant get it?”
“He worked night security.”
“Is he still alive?”
Hui Xing paused. “Hit by a car yesterday. Report says accident.”
I crushed the cigarette in the tray.
“The world loves writing endings for people.”
“And we tear the covers off,” he said quietly. “One more thing. The night the forensic center exploded — the Commissioner was there.”
“Proof?”
“Witness saw him enter. Fifteen minutes later, he left.”
I looked at my reflection in the whiskey. The surface shimmered red like liquid sunset.
“He was clearing the site,” I murmured.
“More precisely,” Hui Xing said, “he was terminating an experiment.”
—
Eight p.m.
Chee Yan sent a decrypted file with one message:
“Do not connect to the internet. Self-destruct in fifteen minutes.”
Man Man and I sat in the dark warehouse. The laptop glow carved light across her face.
The video quality was grainy. Surveillance footage.
A laboratory — we recognized it. The underground level of the forensic center.
A young woman was strapped to a chair. Electrodes fixed to her temples.
On screen: Subject 7 – L..C.Y.
Lam Chi Ying.
The angle shifted.
Commissioner Lau entered frame, removing his coat. Voice steady.
“Prepare for Phase Seven.”
Dr. Lau Zi Him hesitated. “Her brainwaves are exceeding limits. Prolonged dream induction may—”
“I said begin.”
Cold. Mechanical.
The machine’s pitch rose.
The waveform spiked.
Lam Chi Ying’s eyes widened. Her lips parted — no sound. Only pain.
Then suddenly, she smiled.
A calm smile.
The Commissioner’s shadow fell across her face like a black hand.
The video cut.
Error message: Data Corrupted.
Man Man paused the screen and exhaled slowly.
“That’s how she died.”
I nodded. “She was a test subject. He needed proof E-IX could control consciousness — turn dreams into tools.”
“Then why burn the forensic center?”
“Because Lam Chi Ying wasn’t meant to wake.
Her brain might still have carried something he couldn’t afford to leave behind.”
Silence.
She looked at me. “Tin Kay. What do you intend to do?”
“Keep investigating.”
“Even if the enemy is the entire police bureau?”
I met her gaze. There was fire there.
“I’m not investigating them,” I said. “I’m investigating who truth belongs to.”
—
Meanwhile.
Chee Yan’s apartment. West district.
Welding sparks flashed against the walls. Hard drives dismantled. Circuit boards everywhere.
Mun Tseng sat on the couch, recording decryption notes.
“Seven more hours,” Chee Yan said, fingers flying over the keyboard.
“In seven hours we could be found,” she replied.
“I know.” He smiled faintly. “But if I were afraid, I wouldn’t have fallen for you.”
She froze for half a second.
“You ran into fire for me. What’s left to fear?” he continued lightly.
“That wasn’t rescue,” she said softly. “It was… choice.”
“Choice?”
“I chose to believe you’d come back.”
Her voice stayed steady.
But light trembled in her eyes.
He reached across and covered her hand.
Silence.
Heavier than words.
The screen flickered.
New folder: Project MORPHEUS / Directive.
They exchanged a look.
“Open it,” Mun Tseng said.
He pressed Enter.
—
Text file:
“Objective: Establish controllable collective consciousness model.”
“Method: Induce shared dream state through E-IX. Subjects share memory streams, forming collective subconscious.”
“Application: Social stability management, behavioral guidance, emotional regulation.”
“Primary Supervisor: L.K.F.”
L.K.F. — Lau Kwok Fong.
Chee Yan swore under his breath.
“He wants to build a dream society,” Mun Tseng whispered. “One without resistance. Without emotion.”
Chee Yan was silent for a long time.
“Then we’ll be the first ones awake inside it.”
—
That night, we split up.
Man Man and I infiltrated Wing Shing Frozen Logistics.
From outside, an ordinary cold-storage warehouse.
Infrared scan revealed a lower level beneath.
I pried open a vent. Cold air hissed out like mist. A steel ladder descended into darkness.
Lights flickered three times before stabilizing.
The underground floor was larger than expected.
Rows of silver sleep pods lined the hall.
The air carried that familiar scent — jasmine, sandalwood, bitter sweetness.
On the wall:
“Within dreams, no guilt.”
I approached the first pod.
Inside lay a man, breathing evenly. Alpha waves elevated.
“They aren’t dead,” Man Man said.
“No,” I replied. “They’re left in dreams.”
I scanned the labels.
The seventh name stopped me cold.
LAM, CHI YING.
My chest tightened.
Her pod was intact. Heartbeat slow, steady.
“She’s alive?” Man Man whispered.
I stared at the rhythm on the screen.
Not alive.
Preserved.
Suddenly, the monitor beside the pod lit up.
Text appeared:
“Welcome back, Luo Tianqi.”
We drew our weapons simultaneously.
All lights turned pink.
The scent thickened, almost sweet enough to taste.
A voice echoed through hidden speakers.
Low. Controlled. Commanding.
“Loke Tin Kay. Stop running.”
“The dream you are chasing does not belong to you.”
“Come back. Sleep.”
It was the Commissioner’s voice.
I aimed at the control console.
“If this is a dream,” I said, “I’ll wake it.”
One shot shattered the screen. Sparks erupted.
Lights flickered twice.
Darkness.
Only the scent remained.
Floral. Metallic. Like blood disguised as perfume.
From the shadows, machinery began to hum.
Pods opening one by one.
Man Man gripped my hand. “He wants us inside.”
I squeezed back. “Then he can wait forever.”
We ran up the ladder.
Behind us, pod lids opened in sequence — like beasts awakening.
Each step upward felt like walking the border between dream and reality.
And I knew—
This was no longer about solving a case.
This was a war.
A war to reclaim wakefulness from within the dream.