Methods of Control

"Xia Fan, Xia Fan! Wake up!"

Someone grabbed his shoulders and shook him twice.

It was as if Xia Fan's consciousness had only then returned from illusion to reality. The deathly silence around his ears became noisy and chaotic, filled with Li's questions and the increasingly urgent hum of the alarm. He looked at the back of his hand. Less than two minutes remained on the countdown.

He had probably been frozen in a daze for too long, and his companions had noticed something was wrong.

He gave the floating wreckage overhead one last look, then turned and ran toward the high wall. "I'm fine. It's just that the protective suit is about to give out. We need to get back to that little room quickly!"

The moment they shut the airtight door again and pressed the green button, the numbers officially reached zero.

Perhaps because of a built-in margin, Xia Fan did not immediately feel short of breath after the countdown hit zero. Only, the air inside his helmet had clearly become more foul. A minute later, the green light went out. He was the first to remove his helmet and let out a long breath.

"What exactly happened to you just now? You looked like your soul suddenly left your body," Li finally asked.

The gazes the others cast his way were full of concern as well.

Xia Fan opened his mouth, yet did not know how to answer.

That was right. They had no concepts such as spacecraft or spaceports in their minds, so they could not make any association with the metal wreckage scattered through the air. It was a blind spot in their understanding. To them, those faintly visible reflective objects were no different from celestial bodies—both were strange curiosities of the new world.

What