Flashbacks in the Corroded Circuit, Lynn Countered Chaos from Afar

The Scarlet lines on the terminal screen spread rapidly, shredding the dark blue system interface to shreds.

The quartz particles in the tray on the corner of the table silently decomposed into tiny ash, and a wisp of Chaos Magic hidden within traveled along the capacitor contacts to Lynn's fingertips under his skin.

A slight tingling sensation climbed upwards from the metacarpal bone.

This is not physical destruction, but rather a form of mental exploitation targeting the brain's central nervous system.

Wanda's contingency plan in this Stone Mile was extremely insidious; by using the compliant path of official document transmission, she precisely identified the recipient's physiological characteristics.

If the person reviewing the document experiences even a half-second of emotional fluctuation, this magical power will extract the host's current brainwave imprint and deep memory fragments.

Lynn did not let go, nor did he move his right arm that was resting on the edge of the table.

His breathing rhythm was perfectly regular, with his lungs maintaining a steady rhythm of one inhalation every two seconds and one exhalation every three seconds.

The body's systemic barriers automatically shut down the moment they came into contact with the foreign power, firmly blocking the Chaos dark thorns that were trying to delve into the memories outside the nerve membrane.

The erosion of the Skyfather-level rules landed on the barrier, only causing a barely perceptible physiological tingling, not even causing the fine hairs on the skin's surface to stand on end.

Lynn lowered his eyes to look at the flickering terminal screen.

If this magic is simply suppressed with a barrier, Wanda, five levels underground, will immediately receive a response.

A broken line is a flaw.

Whether to resist or cut ties, it's all part of that woman's calculations.

Lynn took a data bypass adapter from the drawer with his left hand and snapped it onto the debugging interface at the bottom of the terminal.

The carbide latches were locked in place, and a one-way output channel was manually cut out of the circuit loop.

He pulled up the Forty-Second Execution video that the Clockmaker had transmitted from the ruins.

The truthful record that was originally enough to overturn the Management Committee was rapidly dismantled beneath Lynn's retinal layer.

One hundred and eight thousand logical nodes, three thousand six hundred sets of screen frames.

Lynn adjusted the potentiometer knob on the adapter by half a notch.

The reasoning logic deep within my mind meshes at full speed, more precisely than any supercomputer.

He didn't modify the entire record; he simply replaced his own face on the execution platform with a tattered insignia of the Management Committee's Internal Security Inspector.

The execution order was no longer issued by the Director's Office, but by a joint signature from the Department of Internal Affairs and the Stability Maintenance Office.

However, at the end of this fabricated data, Lynn deliberately preserved a set of extremely inconspicuous physiological tremor waveforms.

That was a slight pause of 0.3 seconds in the right index finger caused by nerve compression when the operator at the Control Console was entering the final verification code before the execution gun was fired.

This habit was unknown to the Clockmaker, unknown to Hela, and only Wanda herself experienced it.

Lynn released his will to suppress the system barrier, allowing the altered memory to flow back into the Scarlet thorn without any hindrance.

The Data Stream cascaded down the high-frequency cable into the depths of the ground.

The Department of Technology's core laboratory is located on the fifth basement floor.

The red light in the entire Zero Buffer Corridor suddenly lengthened.

The Chaos Magic Main Reactor, which had just resumed operation at half power, emitted a low, metallic groan from its massive lead-steel shell.

The dark red ball of light in the center of the furnace, which had been suppressed within the Magnetic Field, throbbed violently.

Wanda, standing in front of the Control Console, suddenly looked up.

Her left gauntlet, resting on the edge of the control panel, trembled, and the edge of the torn dragon skin between her thumb and forefinger gleamed faintly.

The magical threads that had been emanating from the reply slip retracted, and a massive flow of information instantly flooded into her consciousness.

Wanda closed her eyes.

The hem of the gray-white lab coat moved without wind, brushing against the cold lead plates on the ground.

She saw the firelight.

They saw the Obsidian platform on the sixth underground level, which was designated as an absolute restricted area.

I saw myself back then, with lead chains piercing my collarbone, kneeling in the middle of the ruins.

In the scene, the figure standing on the high platform is shrouded in heavy fog, with the distinctive silver scales emblem of the Internal Affairs Inspection Office hanging on his chest.

Not Lynn.

The cold voice that issued the command to strip away memories, processed through an underlying audio filter, exuded a rigidity and numbness unique to bureaucratic systems.

Wanda frowned slightly, her pale knuckles gripping the alloy workbench tightly, her fingernails scratching white marks on the metal surface.

She had always had doubts.

For the past six months, the recurring dream of cleansing in my mind—is it a fabrication by the Stability Maintenance Office, or a tragedy orchestrated by the Director's Office?

The piece of Carbonization quartz that was dug out from the crack in the door of Zero Storage Room was her only irrefutable evidence.

She sent the stone upstairs, hoping to use that wisp of her innate magic to personally tear off the disguise in the Director's Office.

If Lynn panics or forcibly disperses the magic, it will confirm that he was the mastermind back then.

However, the fragments of memory that were transmitted back pointed directly at the Internal Affairs Inspection Office and Hela's Black Crow Guard.

The gravitational constant around the main reactor began to become disordered, and dozens of spare bolts scattered on the ground slowly floated into the air, hovering half a meter high and rotating slightly.

Wanda's expression was colder than ever before.

Thomas's arrogance outside the door just now seemed to have a legitimate reason to provoke those parasites in the Inspection Office.

They've been cleaning up her past from the very beginning.

Just as Wanda's magic was about to explode out of control, the memory rewind in her mind suddenly stopped at the last second of the execution countdown.

Above the platform, before pulling down the high-voltage switch, the Executioner paused for a moment on the red handle with his right index finger.

The pause was extremely brief, lasting only 0.3 seconds.

Not only that.

The Executioner's stance was tilted fifteen degrees to the left, an instinctive defensive posture where he used his shoulder to shield himself from blind spots.

That posture wasn't for executing prisoners, but for blocking stray bullets coming from the side and rear.

Wanda's breath caught in her throat.

Dozens of alloy bolts fell to the ground with a clatter, making a crisp, jumbled sound.

Her eyes, which had been glowing with a bloodthirsty dark red, suddenly shrank to the size of pinpoints.

This habit...

Back then, beneath the ruins of Sokovia, amidst the sky torn apart by artillery fire, when that agent pinned her tightly against the rubble, he used his back to block all the projectiles.

Before each magazine change and before each push away from her, his right index finger would habitually pause slightly.

That's a hidden ailment left behind from nerves being constantly tense under high pressure.

Wanda raised her trembling left hand and pressed it tightly against her chest.

The collar of the long robe was creased from being gripped so tightly.

"Not the Inspection Office..."

Her lips were pale, and her deep voice echoed in the empty underground hall, carrying an indescribable sense of suffocation.

The key image in that receipt was altered; the Executioners's face was replaced with that of the inspector.

The alteration was extremely sophisticated, erasing all traces of administrative affiliation.

But the person who modified the data deliberately left this pause at the very end, a secret mark known only to the two of them.

What is he hiding?

Whom is he covering for?

Wanda abruptly pressed the reverse tracking button on the Control Console.

The topology layers on the screen are peeled away, and the final source of the data backflow is clearly fixed at the top of the building.

Director's Office.

Lynn was sitting there at that moment.

He not only saw through the quartz particle's probing, but also calmly and deliberately injected a half-true, half-false file into the system, making the entire Inspection Office the scapegoat.

He was protecting the building's fragile balance.

But he never told her about the real danger that happened back then.

Wanda's chest heaved violently, and the red light in her eyes shifted from savagery to a twisted and morbid obstinacy.

"Lynn..."

She murmured the name softly, her voice hoarse, almost a whisper.

"You think I won't recognize your handwriting just because you altered the records?"

At the tear in the glove, faint wisps of crimson magic emanated from beneath the pale skin, rapidly coursing along the veins.

The person who took the last look at her on the Obsidian platform before he breathed his last was indeed him.

Her memories were erased forty-two times.

And that man, in this cold building, wearing a flawless mask, looked at her forty-two times.

Even today, he is still using these compliant official documents to try to keep her out of the storm.

The air pressure in the Main Control Room plummeted, and the ice cracks on the heavy observation window spread another half inch.

Wanda slowly straightened her body, all the weariness and hesitation on her face vanished, replaced by a chilling calm.

She turned and walked towards the duty room door, her bare feet stepping across the cold ground.

Claire.

The Communicator outside the door connected, and Secretary Claire's cautious voice came through. "Minister, what are your orders?"

"Notify the mailroom."

Wanda stared at the tightly closed airtight door, her eyelids lowered, a faint, cold smile playing on her lips.

"The Department of Technology accepted the receipt stamped by the Director's Office."

"In addition, send a copy of the backup access port for the orbital control room of Satellite No. 7 to Director Gwen Stacy of the Liaison Office as a Top Secret technical appendix."

Claire paused for a moment, then said, "Minister, that's the internal control link of the defense zone. According to regulations, it can't be directly delegated to the field operations department..."

"Do as I say."

Wanda raised her hand to brush away the stray hairs by her ear, her tone flat and devoid of any inflection.

"Since the defense zone wants to escalate things, let's give them a push."

"I want to see how many people will still dare to stand in his way when this play is over."