Log 09
Pressure Line
It was quiet in an unnatural way.
The waves struck the hull without sound, as if the world itself had been muted.
I looked toward the distant city—New City.
Mist wrapped around it, pale and luminous. The entire skyline resembled an electrocardiogram: smooth, without fluctuation.
“Is that really fog?” Man Man whispered.
“No.” I looked at her, lowering my voice as well. “It’s light feedback.”
She frowned. “You mean… the entire city’s lights are flashing in sync?”
“Yes. The city is dreaming.”
Our lifeboat slipped into the shadow of the breakwater. The tide carried the smell of oil and corroded metal.
New City should not have been this quiet. At four in the morning, the harbor should have carried the distant horn of tugboats or the clatter of forklifts. But now—there was only wind.
Even the wind felt wrong, too evenly cold, without direction.
I pulled up my hood and slung my pack over my shoulder. “We’re going ashore. Now.”
Man Man followed, efficient and precise.
Her footsteps were lighter than I expected, silent as they touched the ground. In the force, she had trained in Wing Chun—close-range control, redirecting force. At a time like this, it mattered.
The harbor had two layers of defense: outer patrol drones and an inner infrared detection wall.
I took out a modified EMP jammer Chee Yan had left behind.
“Three-second pulse,” I said. “Run.”
She nodded.
I pressed the switch.
A nearly silent tremor rippled through the air, like a heartbeat skipping.
The infrared wall flickered twice, then died.
We crossed the corridor in darkness—concrete walls, rusted pipes, iron doors stamped “Restricted.”
As I ran, I glanced back.
The distant city looked like an enlarged X-ray. Through the mist, lights blinked slowly.
Every building, every streetlamp, every vending machine indicator pulsed in the same rhythm.
—The frequency of a heartbeat.
—The cadence of alpha waves.
I finally understood: MORPHEUS was not merely controlling individual dreams—it was putting the entire city to sleep.
People connected to the city. The city connected to the network. The network connected to me.
I was the metronome.
“Where are we going?” Man Man asked.
“The darkroom,” I said.
It was MCS’s secret base. Second floor of an abandoned cold storage facility in the harbor district. A sealed room, its walls covered with case boards and cables.
All our deductions, maps, and clues were there.
As we turned a corner near the docks, Man Man suddenly grabbed my arm. “Stop.”
We slipped behind a stack of containers.
A patrol beam swept across ahead—not an ordinary searchlight, but a red pulse lamp.
Its flashing frequency matched E-IX’s alpha band.
“They’re using light waves to test brainwave responses,” she whispered.
“Which means—anyone whose brain reacts to that frequency reveals who they are.”
I drew in a slow breath.
This wasn’t just containment.
It was cognitive scanning.
We moved along the wall.
Water pooled along the harbor’s edge reflected the red light, twisting our shadows.
I saw my own shadow trembling—not from wind, but from my heart.
When we passed the warehouse sector, a drone hovered overhead.
I lowered my head instantly.
It was an M4E—police-grade reconnaissance from Lau Kwok Fan’s era, equipped with an E-IX dispersal module.
Every mechanical eye in this city was now dreaming.
They were no longer monitoring people. They were monitoring those who were awake.
“How long until shutdown?” Min Min asked.
“Two minutes,” I checked my watch.
“Too long.”
She pulled out a fine needle and punctured the valve of an oil drum at the corner of a container.
“Step back.”
I did.
She flicked a lighter.
Boom—
The vapor ignited, flames leaping ten meters high.
The drone pivoted immediately, alarms blaring.
We used those few seconds to run through the firelight.
Heat brushed my face; the scent of burning mixed with salt air.
I caught that familiar smell—caramel and blood.
“Still able to run?” I asked.
She grinned. “If I can’t, who’s going to yell at you for being reckless?”
The entrance to the darkroom was hidden behind a false freezer wall.
I entered the code: 170918—the date of Lam Chi Ying’s death.
The door opened.
Inside, the air was damp and dusty.
The lights flickered before stabilizing.
The whiteboard was still there, the ink cracked with dryness.
The last time we left, it read:
“No trace in dreams, but guilt in the heart.”
I stared at the words.
Wai Hing had written them.
We began organizing.
I powered up the computer. When the screen lit, I almost expected the familiar login interface.
Instead, a single line appeared:
“System Override: MORPHEUS-CITY α ACTIVE.”
“The entire police mainframe has been taken over,” Min Min said.
I nodded. “Even our data is synchronizing.”
She frowned. “So everything we’ve done—our actions, records, conversations—is being replayed in the dream?”
“More precisely,” I said, “it’s being pre-simulated.”
I pointed at the screen. “It’s learning us. It knows our next move.”
She was silent for a moment. “Then what do we do?”
“We do what it can’t learn.”
“Such as?”
“Mistakes.”
I removed the computer’s side panel, unplugged the power, and plugged it back in. The screen flashed white.
System errors flooded the display in red.
I smiled. “It expects commands. Instead, I give it chaos.”
“You’re sure that helps?”
“Sometimes humanity’s greatest advantage is irrationality.”
She looked at me, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. “That sounds like something Wai Hing would say.”
I paused.
“Yes. He would.”
I reached into my coat and took out a smoke-scorched USB drive.
Wai Hing had pressed it into my hand before the harbor explosion. “If I’m not around, this is the backdoor.”
I inserted it.
The screen flickered twice, then opened a hidden window.
MORPHEUS-CORE: PRIMARY SOURCE = L.T.K.
Backup SOURCE = [NULL]
“That’s you,” Man Man said.
“Yes.”
“They’re using your brainwaves as the primary source.”
“Yes,” I said quietly. “As long as I’m alive, MORPHEUS won’t stop.”
She looked at me—concern and understanding intertwined.
“What are you going to do?”
“Find a substitute.” I closed the laptop. “We create a fake version of me.”
“A fake you?”
“A ghost node. Let the system believe I’m still dreaming, while I detach from it.”
“And who can help?” she asked.
A name surfaced in my mind—Chee Yan.
The fool who could turn mistakes into miracles.
“We have to find Chee Yan.”
“He’s not…”
“No body, no death,” I cut her off.
I opened a hidden cabinet and took out an encrypted radio—Zhih Ren’s own modified model, simulating military frequencies.
I entered his call sign. “5021-Charlie, respond.”
At first, only static.
Then a faint, trembling voice: “…Tin Kay…?”
I gripped the handset. “Chee Yan, where are you?”
“Not sure… West District… underground…”
“You’re alive?”
“Barely.” He laughed weakly. “Thought I died in the dream.”
“You didn’t. The city’s been taken over. MORPHEUS is still running.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I can see a mirrored copy of the city’s main control system here.”
“What does that mean?”
“There’s someone updating it. The login ID isn’t the Commissioner’s.”
My breath stalled. “Who?”
A pause. Then he said the name:
“Lau Zi Him.”
Man Man and I exchanged a look. The air felt frozen.
“He’s alive?”
“More than alive,” Chee Yan said. “He’s running the new version—MORPHEUS β.”
I clenched my jaw. “Location?”
“Medical School. Main building. Basement level three.”
I said clearly, “Wait for me.”
The transmission ended.
I looked at Min Min. “We’re going back to the Medical School.”
She nodded. “That’s the core of the dream now.”
Before leaving, I paused at the door.
The words on the wall—“No trace in dreams, but guilt in the heart”—were blurred by moisture.
I wrote beneath them:
“If you are awake, go find the dream.”
We changed into old work uniforms, slipping into the early morning city disguised as harbor workers.
Dawn had come, but the light remained gray-white.
Pedestrians were sparse. Every step they took was at the same pace, even their footsteps synchronized.
“They’re walking inside the dream,” Min Min murmured.
“Yes,” I said. “They’re under MORPHEUS control. Dreamwalkers.”
At a street corner, a little boy stood holding a balloon.
The balloon was pink, printed with the words “Sleep Well.”
He looked up at me with empty eyes.
“Uncle, you should rest.”
I froze.
The tone—the cadence—was identical to MORPHEUS’s system prompt.
I touched the badge in my pocket but said nothing.
“Let’s go,” I said softly.
We passed beneath Central Bridge. In the distance, the white tower of the Medical School loomed through the mist like the center of a dream.
Wind blew from that direction, carrying a faint scent of jasmine.
“Do you smell that?” Min Min asked.
I nodded.
It wasn’t fragrance. It was signal.
MORPHEUS was still broadcasting.
The entire city was still dreaming.
I looked up at the sky.
It was a washed silver-gray, the clouds like frozen waves.
I said it to myself—and to the city:
“We’re back.”
“This time, we wake the dream.”