When Ye Mo pressed the power button on the sensing device, his finger lingered on the metal edge for half a second longer. The soft sound was like the end of some kind of ritual—not a click, but a muffled sound, like a heartbeat being abruptly stopped during its final struggle. He didn't look at the screen again, and simply stuffed the lump of assembled scrap metal into his hoodie pocket. The metal casing rubbed against the outside of his thigh, a little prickly, but he didn't adjust its position.
Emma Frost had already reached the top of the stairs, the hem of her robe sweeping across the steps, her voice softer than her breath. She didn't turn around, but Ye Mo knew she was waiting. This tacit understanding wasn't something taught; it was forged in battle. The last time the two of them stood side by side on a high place was on a cliff on the border of Wakanda, where a Shockwave blew up half the mountain. This time, things had to be more stable than then.
They walked up the maintenance corridor. Every ten meters overhead, an emergency light shone, its greenish-blue glow casting oily shadows on the metal walls. The soundproofing layer muffled most of their footsteps, leaving only the soft rustling of their shoes against the anti-slip mats. Ye Mo habitually touched his glasses; the projection on the lenses had long been off, but he could still "see" the line—the trajectory drawn from the edge of Orion —and there were only five hours and thirteen minutes left.
When the platform door opened, the wind rushed in first.
It was cold, carrying the distinctive smell of a city at dawn: exhaust fumes, damp cement, and the oily fumes from some breakfast stall frying dough sticks. Ye Mo took a breath without frowning. This smell was much better than the recirculated air in the space station, at least it meant that Earth was still breathing normally.
The viewing railing at the edge of the rooftop wasn't high, only waist-high, and it was rusted all around, probably because the property management hadn't repaired it in three years. Emma Frost walked over, placed her hands on the railing, her knuckles slightly white. She wasn't wearing gloves, her palms pressed against the metal, as if taking a temperature. At that moment, her mental energy network spread out, silently, like an invisible Silk slowly enveloping the city sky. Ye Mo didn't ask how large the area was; he knew it would be pointless, Emma Frost never gave numbers for these kinds of things.
He stood half a step to her left, just enough to see the outline of her profile. The wind ruffled her hair, a few strands clinging to the corner of her lips, but she didn't brush them away. Ye Mo didn't move either. He knew that any unnecessary movement at this moment might disrupt her rhythm.
Neon lights still flickered among the distant buildings. A gym sign read "Burn Calories," its red light flashing intermittently, like a spasm. Further away was the subway viaduct, the empty tracks tinged with a bluish-gray hue; the next train wouldn't arrive for another forty minutes. The city hadn't yet woken up, but it was already moving—underground water pipes were flowing, substations were humming, lights were on in hospital emergency rooms, and convenience store clerks yawned as they scanned QR codes to sell oden.
Everything is as usual.
But Ye Mo knew that this was just an appearance.
He raised his hand and adjusted his glasses. He had repeated this action countless times, at least twenty times since last night. The fact that the system hadn't alerted him didn't mean he was safe. Before Thanos came last time, the system hadn't made a sound either. At that time, he thought he just had a cold, but later he realized that the bottom layer of the Gene Spiral Tower was resonating—a kind of oppressive feeling from a cosmic scale that even the system couldn't recognize.
"This time, I'm not hiding," he said.
The sound wasn't loud; the wind almost blew it away. But he knew Emma Frost had heard him. She had said that as long as he spoke within three meters, she could receive more than 70% of the semantic information, even if he mumbled while covering his mouth.
Emma Frost glanced at him sideways. Two seconds. No more, no less. Then her lips twitched, a very slight movement, as if she wanted to laugh but was too lazy to actually do so. She didn't speak, but simply turned her gaze back to the night sky.
Ye Mo understood.
Some things don't need to be said in full. Like "I believe in you," or "We'll get through this together." These words are too heavy; saying them sounds insincere. They're not the kind of people who would high-five and shout slogans. They're the kind of people who can continue pushing forward tactical points even when the opponent has a broken leg.
The wind picked up.
The hem of his hoodie was lifted, patting the old scar on his lower back. That spot had once been pierced by Dark Elves's shadow spear; it still felt slightly dented to the touch. It had taken three Regenerative Phasing and completely repair the nerve connections, during which he relied on system notifications to stay awake—"Warning: Signal delay at the twelfth vertebra" "Attention: Right leg muscle activation efficiency decreased by 18%." It sounded incredibly calm, but it was actually lines he made up to convince himself that "there's still hope."
The scar doesn't hurt anymore. But whenever he stands on a high place, he still subconsciously tenses that muscle.
He raised his right hand, palm down, and gently pressed it down. It wasn't directed at anyone, nor was it a gesture. It was just an instinctive reaction, like when he was a child and would close his eyes when he saw lightning. This was both to reassure himself and to give the entire city a silent promise: Don't panic, someone is here to protect you.
Emma Frost closed her eyes.
Her Diamond Form wasn't activated, but her overall silhouette became clearer in the dim light, as if something was slowly increasing pressure within her. Her mental energy network had expanded to a hundred-kilometer scale, covering the main urban area, airport, port, three nuclear power plants, and two military radar stations. Any abnormal thought fluctuations would be detected; even if an insomniac programmer suddenly had the thought of "blowing up the company server," it would be marked as a gray risk.
She didn't intend to block out all negative emotions. That's something even a god couldn't do. She was simply waiting for that "inhuman" signal—an intrusive consciousness driven purely by logic, devoid of emotional foundation and subconscious noise. Such a thing shouldn't exist in the human brain.
Ye Mo stared at the sky.
The trajectory is still there. Straight, steady, with no intention of evasion. It doesn't look like reconnaissance; it's more like a delivery to their door. Either they're stupid, or they're simply not afraid of being discovered.
He mentally reviewed the existing combinations of abilities.
Fire Core + Self-Healing: It can withstand pressure head-on, provided you don't get instantly killed.
Wall Phasing + Regenerative Phasing preparation: Used for escape and survival, but the cooldown time is too long to be used as a regular skill.
Telepathy Fragment + Mental Interference Reflection: This combination can be surprisingly effective when used with Emma Frost, but it is ineffective against unconscious targets.
These are all old tricks, familiar but not ruthless enough. If the opponent is carrying something of Reality Stone quality, these moves are like trying to fight a tank with a slipper.
But he didn't open a new floor.
The twenty-layered Gene Spiral Tower is like defusing a bomb with each unlocked layer. Last time, when he tried the seventh layer, he was unconscious for six hours. When he woke up, he found that his left little finger had turned transparent, and it took three days to return to normal. The system didn't give any reminders, warnings, or explanations. It just stood there, like a stoic overseer, watching him recklessly court death.
Therefore, the tower should not be moved unless absolutely necessary.
What he fears most now isn't how strong the enemy is, but rather something going wrong with his own people. For example, a random passerby might suddenly be possessed and turn into a human bomb; or a child might be holding something that looks like a toy, but is actually a trigger. These things can't be predicted; you can only rely on your on-the-spot reaction.
Emma Frost suddenly opened her eyes.
Her pupils contracted to a thin slit in the darkness, like a feline's reaction when it senses danger. She didn't move, but Ye Mo sensed that the frequency of her mental network had changed—switching from wide-area scanning to directional focusing.
"The location of the truck on the east side..." she whispered, "Is offset by 0.7 kilometers."
Ye Mo immediately pulled up the map from his memory. The abandoned train carriage, which was originally parked fifteen meters outside the wall at a garbage dump, had been moved south. Who moved it?
"Not one of ours." Emma Frost seemed to read his question. "A mental blank lasting more than three seconds. Either a machine, or a living being whose consciousness has been stripped away."
Ye Mo sneered, "Quite meticulous, taking one step at a time and hiding the truth."
"It thought it was well hidden." Emma Frost's voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "Actually, it was exposed from the very first scan."
"Then let it continue." Ye Mo put his hands in his pockets. "Anyway, the stage is set up, someone has to finish the opening remarks."
The two fell silent.
Time ticked by, second by second.
The city lights gradually thinned out, perhaps due to the activation of energy-saving mode. In the distance, the advertising screen on an office building changed its content, from a skincare product advertisement to a weather forecast: Sunny today, northerly wind level 3, air quality good.
That's perfectly normal.
But the more normal something is, the more unsettling it becomes.
Ye Mo looked up at the starry sky. The clouds were thin, and he could see the three stars of Orion's Belt. The trail was not in his field of vision, but it was definitely approaching. He could "feel" it, like the dull ache before a toothache, he couldn't pinpoint where it was, but it was there.
He recalled the day he traveled through time.
It was evening. He was lying on his dorm bed scrolling through short videos, watching a foreigner review spicy snacks, laughing so hard he was hiccuping. The next second, everything went black, and when he opened his eyes again, he was outside the cave the day before Tony was kidnapped. His first reaction was, "Holy crap, I've time-traveled!" His second was, "Oh no, I forgot my power bank!"
Looking back now, the panic he felt then was actually quite simple. At least he knew fear. The situation is different now—he knows danger is coming, but he can't be afraid. Not just for himself, but also for the city behind him, and for those who are still dreaming.
Emma Frost tapped her fingers lightly on the railing.
Three short and one long.
Morse code.
"It's still there," she said.
Ye Mo nodded.
He took off his glasses and wiped them clean; they weren't actually dirty at all. Then he put them back on. The lenses reflected the city's image, and the ever-approaching straight line.
Five hours and eleven minutes.
He stood up straight, shoulders back, back arched. The wind blew harder, the hood of his sweatshirt swung back, revealing his slightly messy short hair. He didn't bother to fix it.
At this moment, he was no longer the college student who only wanted to live a peaceful life, nor was he " Mr. X " hiding in the shadows gathering intelligence. He was Ye Mo, standing at the last line of defense before the storm, ready to fight.
Emma Frost opened her eyes and glanced at his profile. She didn't speak, but simply placed her hand lightly on the railing, less than ten centimeters from his.
The two stood side by side, gazing into the distance.
The city slept beneath their feet.
Meanwhile, in the sky, an unknown threat is approaching at 0.17 times the speed of light.