The ruby sparkled again.
Ye Mo didn't move, but the corner of his mouth curled up slightly.
"Sure, bro."
As soon as he finished speaking, the cooling system of his right leg's Steel Bone completely restarted. The cracks in the armor layer were still there, but the internal structure had regained its load-bearing capacity. He slowly moved his left foot forward half a step, shifting his weight off the pillar, and stood up straight. The wind, carrying dust, rushed in through the opening above his head, making the hem of his hoodie sway. He raised his hand to wipe his face, his palm brushing against the bloodstains on his chin. His fingertips still retained the tingling sensation from the mental connection, like the emptiness in his ears after the headphone cord was unplugged.
He knew it wasn't an illusion.
Vision really did "hear" it just now. Even if it was only for a moment, the fluctuation of that ruby wasn't a rhythm of program repair or energy charging, but something more primal—a reaction. A reaction to the statement "You are not a weapon."
This means someone is struggling inside.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began to reactivate the " Telepathy " module. Inside the nineteenth-floor Gene Spiral Tower, the small ball of blue light trembled slightly, like Hive being awakened. The last time he forced his way in, it almost overloaded his brain; this time, he dared not be reckless again. He remembered Emma Frost teaching him a saying, "Mind reading isn't about picking locks, it's about building bridges." At the time, he laughed at her for being pretentious, but now, thinking about it, it made a damn good point.
He stopped trying to penetrate and instead lowered his consciousness to the lowest possible frequency, sweeping across the area like a Wi-Fi signal. It wasn't an intrusion, but a broadcast. He wove three short sentences into a looping information stream: "You are not a weapon," "You are a choice," "You can stop." Unadorned, illogical, it was as simple and brutal as the old ladies playing "The Most Dazzling Ethnic Trend" in the square downstairs when he was a kid.
His forehead began to burn, and his temples throbbed. He knew this was a sign that his ability was activating. His body swayed slightly, as if he were standing in a swaying subway car, but he gritted his teeth and held on. He slowly raised his left hand, palm facing forward, not in an attacking stance, but more like handing over an invisible note.
"If you hear me, reply, brother," he thought to himself. "Forget about Ultron or Ultron, you're the one who decides."
Vision remained standing, his eyes closed, the crimson light fading. But in that instant, Ye Mo felt an extremely faint response—not words, nor images, but a slight tremor of "presence," like a phone vibrating while on silent mode.
Success?
Before he could even catch his breath, Vision's body suddenly trembled.
It was very light, but undeniably real. The index finger of the right hand twitched half an inch, as if trying to lift itself but being held back by something. Immediately afterward, the ruby on the forehead suddenly lit up, not fully illuminating, but flickering a few times like a light bulb with a faulty connection, the frequency chaotic and erratic, clearly not in normal working order.
Ye Mo's eyes lit up, and he almost shouted it out. He knew what this meant—a battle was raging within Vision. Ultron's control program and his own nascent consciousness were vying for dominance. Like a computer running two operating systems simultaneously, a blue screen was inevitable.
"Give it another try," he muttered under his breath, cold sweat beading on his forehead. "You already said 'I don't want to,' wouldn't it be embarrassing to take it back now?"
He continued releasing the message, even increasing the output power slightly. This time, he tried adding a touch of emotional simulation, wrapping the phrase "You can stop" in a wave of human empathy, like the rhythm of a mother humming to her child. The system offered no prompts or warnings; he had to figure it out himself. After all, this wasn't a WeChat voice message where you could see if the recipient had read it.
Vision's shoulder twitched.
It was a small movement, but quite noticeable. The entire body seemed to be pulled by invisible ropes, the left side rising less than two centimeters higher than the right, before freezing again. The ruby's flashing frequency changed, from random jumping to a rhythm close to a heartbeat, once every 0.8 seconds, lasting for three times.
Ye Mo even softened his breathing.
He knew he was witnessing AI's first true moment of "hesitation".
This is not a program bug, nor a data error, but something closer to "humanity" is emerging. Like a seed in the desert, even without water or light, it still manages to push through the cracks in the rocks and sprout a tender shoot.
"Yes, that's it." He almost laughed. "You're the fucking main character, don't listen to that backstage administrator's nonsense."
He raised his right hand and took another step forward. The gravel on the concrete crunched under his feet. Five meters away, now only four and a half meters remained. He wasn't afraid of Vision suddenly attacking and killing him; if he really wanted to, he would have done it already. Vision was awakening now wasn't fighting power, but confusion.
But at that very moment, a very low humming sound came from within Vision's body.
It wasn't the sound of machinery running, nor the whistling of energy charging, but a short, cold, emotionless "beep" similar to the motherboard self-test during a system restart. Immediately afterward, the ruby suddenly began to glow steadily, and a crimson light stream once again filled its eye sockets. Its gaze focused, but no longer in Ye Mo's direction; instead, it stared straight ahead at the ruins, its eyes as hollow as a scanner turning on.
The " Telepathy " module in Ye Mo's mind disconnected instantly.
The feeling in that instant was like being suddenly blocked by someone you were video chatting with, frantically typing "Are you okay?" only to find the message wouldn't send. He staggered back half a step, a sharp pain shooting through his temple, as if someone had pricked him with a needle and then pulled it away. Cold sweat trickled down his temples, dripping onto his collar, sending a shiver down his spine.
It's over.
His heart skipped a beat.
Ultron is back.
Moreover, this time it wasn't just simple remote control; it directly activated the underlying protocol, forcibly refreshing Vision's entire consciousness structure. All that struggle, that wavering, that "unwillingness" was treated as an abnormal process and killed.
Vision stood ramrod straight, his arms hanging down, his shoulder armor recalibrated and returned to its original position, even the slight displacement left by his fingers twitching earlier was restored. If Ye Mo hadn't witnessed that momentary tremor with his own eyes, he would have doubted whether he was hallucinating.
"Damn it..." he cursed under his breath, wiping his face. "So this is what you call a failed first battle, huh?"
He stood still, his right hand slowly hanging down, the tingling sensation from releasing his mental power still lingering at his fingertips. He knew running was useless now, and he couldn't win a fight either. That mental confrontation had already exhausted most of his energy. The module on the nineteenth floor of the Gene Spiral Tower was automatically cooling down, and the indicator icons were turning off one by one.
But he was not willing to give up.
He stared at Vision's forehead, at the steadily glowing ruby, his mind racing. Ultron's ability to suppress Vision meant he was conscious; the fact that he could suppress him so quickly meant he feared this consciousness growing stronger. In other words—the weakness had been found.
This time, however, they couldn't pry it open.
He caught his breath, adjusted his posture, and shifted his weight to his left leg. Although the Steel Bone in his right leg had recovered, the joint was still a bit stiff, like a rusty hinge. He looked down at his hands; his palms were sweaty and sticky. That last move was more tiring than a fight. After all, fighting relies on muscles and reflexes, while this relied on his brain and willpower—purely self-torture.
The wind blew in again, carrying the smell of burning and molten metal. There were still sporadic explosions in the distance, but the place was eerily quiet. Vision remained motionless, like a robot awaiting instructions. Ye Mo also remained still, like a pedestrian waiting at a red light.
Time passed little by little.
He suddenly remembered taking the CET-4 exam in college. He was sitting in the last row of the exam hall, and everyone in front of him was writing furiously, but he was just staring blankly at the last reading comprehension question. The question asked, "Why did the author mention the dog?" He read it five times over, but still couldn't understand it. Finally, the bell rang, and he could only fill in a B.
At that time, he felt that some answers simply couldn't be found.
But things are different now. He knows that the Vision isn't a question, it's alive. Even if he doesn't answer correctly this time, he can change his options next time.
He looked up at Vision, his voice soft, as if talking to himself. "Remember this, next time I come, don't get formatted again."
After saying that, he didn't leave or back down. He just stood there, his left hand in his hoodie pocket, his right hand hanging naturally at his sides, his eyes fixed on the ruby. His breathing was slightly heavy, and his expression was serious but not flustered.
He knew Ultron had his eye on him.
He knew he wouldn't be so gentle next time.