Two Choices

In the encrypted satellite communication line, only the faint white noise of the current and Kong Xiang's own slightly heavy breathing due to tension and fear remained. The call had ended, but Lin Feng's echoes of "I will handle it" and "Wait for me to contact you" still buzzed in his ears, like a fragile rope temporarily securing him in the midst of turbulent waves.

He huddled in the dark studio, his back against the cold wall, his eyes fixed on the closed door, as if an uninvited, fully armed intruder would burst through at any moment. Time ticked by, each second stretched endlessly by fear. Outside, the Seattle night was silent, but to him, every gust of wind, every car passing by in the distance, even the faint sound of a television from his neighbor's house, felt like a looming threat.

He could sense that those gazes, that surveillance, hadn't disappeared because of his phone call. They were merely lurking in the darkness, like patient hunters, waiting for their chance, or... waiting for him to make a mistake out of panic.

He dared not move, dared not turn on the light, dared not even breathe loudly. His mind was a mess, a frenzy of terrible thoughts surging through him: being arrested by breaking down the door, being secretly imprisoned on some trumped-up charge; being taken away by unidentified kidnappers and disappearing forever; or worse, being "committed suicide" on the street on some rainy night, becoming one of the unclaimed "Gundams" in his own words...

He recalled the stories he had told: Miguel's numbness, José's unwavering persistence despite his broken leg, the whispered words of a father whose lungs were burning through... He had once thought of himself as merely a calm, even cold, observer and recorder, dissecting the ills of society from a safe distance. But now, the chill emanating from those ills was truly, little by little, enveloping him, threatening to devour him.

It turns out that being above the "Kill Line" and looking down is a completely different experience from being below it and shrouded in shadow. The former still leaves room for thought and analysis, while the latter leaves only instinctive fear and struggle.

I don't know how much time passed, maybe only a dozen minutes, maybe centuries. The satellite phone, which had been silent all along, suddenly lit up with a pale blue light, accompanied by an extremely faint vibration that could only be heard if you were very close.

Kong Xiang practically lunged forward to grab the phone, his fingers stiff with cold and tension. He pressed the answer button and pressed the receiver tightly against his ear.

"Kong Xiang." Lin Feng's voice came through, steady and clear despite the distance and encrypted line, without any noticeable delay or distortion typical of long-distance calls. The voice itself acted like a calming stone, instantly silencing Kong Xiang's wildly beating heart and forcibly suppressing the terrified scream that was about to burst from his throat.

"Boss..." Kong Xiang's voice was dry and tight. He only managed to utter two words before he didn't know what to say next. Report the current situation? Seek comfort? Ask for solutions? None of these seemed right. He just gripped the receiver tightly, as if it were the only channel connecting him to a safe world.

"I have a general understanding of the situation on your end." Lin Feng cut to the chase without beating around the bush. His tone was calm, without surprise, anger, or even excessive emotional fluctuation; he was simply stating a fact and, based on that fact, offering a solution. "The surveillance is being escalated. Your location may have already been exposed, or is being rapidly located. Seattle, you can no longer operate 'anonymously' as before."

Kong Xiang's heart sank. His boss's assessment confirmed his worst fears. His throat went dry. "Then... what should I do?"

On the other end of the phone, Lin Feng paused slightly. This pause was extremely brief, but to Kong Xiang it felt like an eternity. He could almost feel through the airwaves that Lin Feng, thousands of miles away, was calmly weighing and evaluating the situation before making the decision that would determine his fate.

Then, Lin Feng spoke. His voice remained steady, but every word carried immense weight, transmitted clearly and unmistakably:

I'm giving you two choices now.

Kong Xiang held his breath, and all the muscles in his body tensed up.

"The first choice."

Lin Feng's voice was as calm as if he were describing a pre-arranged work plan:

"I'll immediately arrange for someone to go there and send you back to China using the fastest and safest channels. The identity of ' Prisoner A ' will be completely erased from the online world, and all traces will be wiped clean. You'll return to being an ordinary international student, Kong Xiang, and complete your studies. Or, if you wish, I can arrange for you to find a stable and respectable job in any city you like in China, get married, and live a good life. I guarantee you will have no financial worries and no safety concerns for the rest of your life."

This is an incredibly tempting choice. To escape this perilous country, return to a relatively familiar and safe homeland, erase all unpleasant and dangerous memories, and start a new, peaceful, even comfortable life. To leave behind the rainy Seattle night, the chill of the morgue, the storm on the internet, and the possible surveillance outside the door. Like a child who has just woken from a nightmare, everything is back to normal.

Kong Xiang's breath hitched for a moment. This option was like a door suddenly opening in the darkness, revealing warm light outside. Almost without thinking, the instinct for survival screamed at him to grab it.

But he didn't answer immediately. Because he knew there was a second option. And the options offered by the boss were never a one-sided favor.

As expected, Lin Feng continued speaking, his tone unchanged:

"The second option."

He paused, as if giving Kong Xiang time to process the weight of the first option, before slowly saying:

"You stay."

Stay.

Those three simple words were like three cold, massive stones, crashing into Kong Xiang's heart, stirring up a raging storm. Stay? Stay in the eye of the storm? Stay under those ever-closer, malicious gazes?

"Stay," Lin Feng repeated, a barely perceptible, almost cruel frankness in his voice, "Meaning you'll have to face everything that comes next. Investigations, potential stigma, more insidious and dangerous threats. You'll need to hide deeper, you'll need stricter protection, and you'll also need to... shoulder more responsibility."

"You can continue live streaming, but the risks will increase exponentially. The 'recording' you want to do, the voice you want to make, may encounter greater resistance, or even more direct attacks."

"I won't force you to choose any path. It's your fate, and you decide for yourself."

After Lin Feng finished speaking, he fell silent. In the encrypted line, only a near-vacuum, absolute silence of waiting remained. He had completely handed over the weight of his choice to Kong Xiang.

There was no urging, no guidance, no use of responsibility or emotional blackmail. Two paths were simply laid out clearly before him: one was a safe retreat, a return to the ordinary, but it meant abandoning everything "Prisoner A" had done, and giving up any continued attention or potential, albeit slight, influence over those he had witnessed living on the Kill Line. The other was a dangerous path ahead, fraught with thorns and dangers, but "Prisoner A" was still there, his voice might still be there, and those observing eyes might still be there.

Kong Xiang gripped the phone, his palms drenched in cold sweat. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but found himself unable to utter a sound. A tremendous internal conflict tore at his soul like two hands.

He thought of the peaceful life he might have after returning home, his parents' worried faces, and the days and nights without fear. It was too tempting.

But then, more images uncontrollably flooded into my mind:

It was Halloween, in the freezing rain, those three pairs of hungry eyes staring intently at the hamburger.

It was Rose, the Black woman, who broke down in tears in the rainy night, and her words, "I need to earn the bail money."

It's the names on the labels in the morgue, names that were once vibrant but ultimately faded into silence.

These were the countless unfamiliar IDs in the live stream who remained silent, shocked, and then began to think when he explained the "Kill Line" theory.

It was he himself who, when he first told those stories to the void of the internet, experienced a strange feeling as if the heavy stone in his heart had been slightly moved.

"Prisoner A" is more than just a code name. It became his interface with that dark world, a way for him to vent his stress and also an attempt to leave a trace. If "Prisoner A" disappears, will those stories, those forgotten corners, return to utter darkness? Will the "Kill Line" that some people started discussing because of his live streams be obscured again by superficial glamour?

He chose to livestream, perhaps initially just to "recover his Sanity," to save himself. But unknowingly, the act itself seemed to have acquired a meaning beyond his personal survival, even though that meaning was faint, dangerous, and possibly futile.

On the other end of the phone, Lin Feng remained silent, waiting. This silence was a sign of respect, but also the most severe test.

Time flowed silently. Every second, the scales in Kong Xiang's heart swayed violently. Fear and the instinct for survival were locked in a life-or-death struggle with an inexplicable yet increasingly clear sense of responsibility and unwillingness to give up.

Seattle outside the window is shrouded in darkness. The faint sound of police sirens drifts in from afar, then fades into the distance. In this world, whether he chooses to leave or stay, the cruel aspects continue to operate, and some people continue to struggle below the "Kill Line."

He slowly, deeply inhaled. The cool air entered his lungs, bringing a slight sting, but also a strange sense of clarity.

He knew he was afraid, terrified. But he seemed even more afraid of simply running away silently, pretending nothing had happened, and then, on some peaceful night in the future, being tormented for the rest of his life by those eyes and whispers from his memory.

He gripped the satellite phone tightly, his knuckles turning slightly white from the force. He looked up, and although the room was pitch black and he couldn't see anything, he felt as if he could see through the walls to the city shrouded in rain clouds, and to the silent majority, those he had spoken of and those he hadn't.

He held the receiver, straining with all his might, and finally found his voice. It was hoarse, dry, and trembling slightly, yet it carried a resolute, determined clarity:

"Boss..."

He paused, then, word by word, stated his choice.