Chapter 4: Broken Blade in the Mist

I. The Night Mist Attacks

The night in New York is as thick as ink, like black paint splashed on Seventh Avenue. The mist rises from the Hudson River, swallowing up the halo of the street lamps, leaving only dim spots swaying in the mist. Niu Aihua sat in the driver's seat of the police car, her fingers tightly gripping the steering wheel, her knuckles white from the force, and the cold wind came in through the gaps in the car window, stinging her cheeks. Jeffers, who was sitting in the passenger seat, lowered his head to fiddle with the memory card he had just stolen from the sun umbrella company. The blue light of the laptop screen reflected on his face, illuminating his tightly furrowed brows and trembling eyelids. The car radio rustled, broadcasting the midnight weather forecast, the voice was intermittent, like a tired old man whispering: "The haze is getting worse, visibility is less than ten meters, please drive carefully."

"Old Chen's photo is real." Jeffers inserted the memory card, the laptop screen lit up, and Zhou Ming's experimental record popped up: seven days of continuous sleep, dense brain wave collection data, the last day of cardiac arrest, the waveform graph returned to zero, like a silent death line. He frowned and whispered: "These guys use people as batteries, squeeze them dry and throw them away." There was a hint of anger in his voice, and his fingers tapped the keyboard unconsciously, as if suppressing some kind of uneasiness.

Niu Aihua didn't look up, her eyes passed through the windshield, staring at the red light looming in the fog - that was the navigation mark of the drone group, like a group of vultures waiting for an opportunity, circling in the night sky. She whispered: "My brother is also in it, I feel it." Her voice was low and hoarse, like a low roar squeezed from the depths of her throat. Her brother's face appeared in her mind: he was sitting on the sofa in the apartment, with the red spot on his wrist as bright as blood, whispering: "Aihua, don't worry about me, they are more terrible than you think." She clenched her teeth, her teeth creaked, and whispered: "I won't let him die in vain."

Jeffers glanced at her, his tone softened, with a hint of consolation: "Don't fight too hard, you still have to keep your life. If your brother is alive, he doesn't want you to be like this." He paused and sighed, "We took the things, they won't let it go."

She sneered, her mouth corners slightly raised, with a hint of sarcasm and determination: "Life? I gave it to this street a long time ago." Her eyes swept out of the car window. In her eyes, Seventh Avenue is not only a road, but also a scar-ten years ago, after her brother disappeared, she looked for him on this street for three days and three nights, and finally only found the letter. She stepped on the accelerator, the engine roared through the fog, the wheels rolled over the slippery road, splashing small water, as if tearing open the veil of the night.

At this moment, her phone vibrated. She looked down and saw an anonymous text message: "You are not welcome on the seventh floor." The font was rough, as if written by a trembling hand. The light from the screen cast a cold outline on her face. She clenched the steering wheel, her knuckles white, and growled: "I have the final say on whether you are welcome or not." The scene of the escape at the dock in Chapter 3 flashed through her mind: drones flew overhead, red lights flashing, like a group of bloodthirsty eyes. She whispered: "You wait."

2. Brake failure

When Seventh Avenue turned into the Sun Umbrella Bridge, the fog was as thick as cotton wool, and the headlights could only illuminate the gray and white world a few meters ahead, as if trapped in an endless maze. Niu Aihua swerved the steering wheel to avoid a truck rushing out, and the body of the truck scraped against the guardrail, making a harsh metal friction sound. The fluorescent words "S.U.C Logistics" on the rear of the truck flashed in the fog, like a ghostly mark. She frowned and whispered, "It's them again." Her heartbeat quickened, and the repair order handed over by Lao Chen in Chapter 3 came to her mind: "Police car NYPD-773, brake line replaced, S.U.C logistics completed." She clenched her teeth and whispered, "I should have thought of it earlier."

Jeffers was still typing on the keyboard, and the internal communication of the parasol popped up on the screen: "C area experimental group, sacrifice rate 77%, dream extraction efficiency increased to 89%..." He was about to read it, when the car body suddenly shook, as if it was hit by something heavy, and the steering wheel shook violently, almost out of her control. She stepped on the brakes, but there was a strange feeling of emptiness under her feet - the brakes did not respond, like stepping on a ball of cotton. She growled: "Jeffers, hold on!"

She pulled the handbrake hard, and the harsh friction sound echoed in the car, like metal tearing, and the tires rubbed against the ground with a strong smell of burning, but the speed did not slow down, but even faster, and the pointer on the dashboard climbed wildly. She growled, "The brake line is broken!" Her voice was filled with anger and panic, and the date of the repair order flashed through her mind - yesterday. She cursed, "They were prepared."

Jeffers looked up, his face pale: "What?" He leaned over and saw that the warning lights on the dashboard were flashing wildly, and the oil pressure and brake system were all red, as if screaming a death sentence. He growled, "This car has just been inspected, how could it be..." Before he finished speaking, the car body shook again, as if it was hit from the side, and the window glass was cracked with fine cracks.

The bridge railings were looming in the fog, like a row of cold iron teeth. The speed of the car reached 80 miles per hour, and the engine roared like a beast. Niu Aihua gritted her teeth and slammed the steering wheel to slow down by friction. The tires screamed on the slippery road, the car body slid sideways, and hit the guardrail hard. The loud noise of metal twisting hurt her eardrums, and the car body tilted, as if it would roll over at any time. She glanced at the rearview mirror, and three drones flew low, with red lights flashing, as if mocking their struggle. She whispered, "The son of a parasol."

"Jump out of the car!" She pushed open Jeffers' door and unbuckled her seat belt with her fingers. Her movements were so fast that they seemed like instincts that had been trained thousands of times. Before Jeffers could react, the front of the car slammed into the bridge pier, the glass exploded, and the fragments scratched her face. Blood dripped down her cheeks, and the stinging pain mixed with anger. She rushed to Jeffers and dragged him out of the car. When she landed, her shoulder hit the concrete floor. She groaned in pain, and her bones seemed to be broken.

The police car rushed off the bridge and fell into the Hudson River. The black water engulfed the car body. The taillights flashed a few times underwater, like a desperate distress signal, and then completely went out. Niu Aihua lay on the ground, her ears tinnitus continued, blood dripped down her forehead, blurring her vision. She gasped and turned her head to see Jeffers lying a few meters away. His leg was pierced by a broken steel bar, and the blood stained the ground red, like splashed paint. She growled, "Jeffers!"

She crawled over, pressing his wound with shaking hands, blood gushed out from her fingers, warm and sticky, and the pungent smell of rust penetrated her nose. In the mist, the sirens approached like a group of late bystanders. She growled, "Hold on! Don't fucking die here!" Her voice trembled, anger and fear intertwined, and her mind flashed through the loneliness after her brother's disappearance. She whispered, "I can't lose you again."

3. The life and death line in the hospital

The white light of the ambulance was dazzling, like a sharp knife cutting through the mist. Jeffers was already unconscious when he was carried on the stretcher. His face under the oxygen mask was as pale as paper, and his lips were bloodless, like a body that had been drained of life. Niu Aihua followed beside him, the blood on her hands dried into dark red, sticking to her skin like a layer of curse that could not be torn off. She stared at the stretcher and whispered, "Don't die, you owe me a meal." Her voice was so low that it was almost inaudible, as if she was talking to herself. Jeffers's smiling face when he handed her coffee in the police station appeared in her mind: "I'll treat you to steak after the investigation, as an apology." She clenched her teeth and whispered, "You dare to break your promise."

The smell of disinfectant in the hospital emergency room was pungent, mixed with the smell of blood, like a silent nightmare. The doctor cut open Jeffers' trouser legs, revealing the steel bar that ran through his calf, bloody and fleshy, with bones vaguely visible. The nurse pushed the defibrillator and shouted, "The heart has stopped!" The voice was rapid, like a death knell. Niu Aihua clenched her fists and stood outside the glass door, watching the defibrillator pressed against his chest again and again, the sound of the current was harsh, as if tearing her nerves. The first time, there was no response; the second time, it was still flat; the third time, the electrocardiogram finally jumped out a weak waveform, like a fragile life-saving straw. The doctor breathed a sigh of relief and whispered, "He saved his life." The nurse wiped the sweat from her forehead and turned to Niu Aihua and said, "He is very strong. You have to hold on too."

Niu Aihua leaned against the wall, the pain in her shoulder piercing her heart, as if a knife was stirring in her bones. The blood on her forehead dripped onto the floor, like a string of silent tears, splashing tiny water. Her phone vibrated, and she looked down. It was a voice message from the director, with an angry and tired tone: "I said don't investigate! If you want to die, don't drag others into it! If Jeffers dies, will you be responsible?" She slid her finger and deleted the message. Her eyes were as cold as ice, and she whispered, "Drag? I can handle it alone." The scene of the director shaking hands with the public relations of the parasol emerged in her mind, and she whispered, "Selling out teammates is pretty fast."

In the ward, Jeffers lay on the bed, his legs wrapped in thick bandages, his breathing weak, like a candle in the wind. She sat by the bed, staring at his pale face, and whispered, "You're right, I have to keep my life. But if I don't investigate further, I'll live like a waste." She paused, held his hand, her palm cold and weak, and whispered, "You can scold me again when you wake up, I'll listen." She took a deep breath, the smell of disinfectant was pungent, and she whispered, "Hold on, I haven't settled accounts with you yet."

IV. Counterattack in the Fog

At three o'clock in the morning, the hospital corridor was empty, only the fluorescent lights in the corners flickered, as if panting. Niu Aihua walked out of the ward, the gauze on her face oozing blood, sticking to her skin and stinging unbearably. She leaned against the window and lit a cigarette, the smoke mixed with the fog drifting away, blurring her vision. Outside the window, the red lights of the Sun Umbrella Bridge were still flashing, like a pair of sleepless eyes, staring at her indifferently, and whispered, "They are waiting for me."

Footsteps came from behind, and a cleaner wearing a red hat pushed a cart past, the wheels squeaked like a mouse gnawing on wood. He wore torn gloves, revealing corroded fingers, and his skin was unnaturally gray. She frowned and recognized that it was Lao Chen. He lowered his head to wipe the floor, his movements slow, and whispered: "They did it to the car." His voice was hoarse, like a warning squeezed from the depths of his throat.

"Where is the evidence?" She put out the cigarette, the cigarette butt burned her fingertips, and her voice was as cold as a knife.

Lao Chen looked up, his eyes trembling, like a person swallowed by fear. He took out a crumpled maintenance order from the bottom of the car and handed it to her. The edges of the paper were yellowed, as if soaked by sweat. He whispered: "Police car NYPD-773, brake line replaced, S.U.C Logistics completed." The date was yesterday, and the handwriting was sloppy, like a hastily written death notice. She clenched the paper and growled, "How dare they play such a big game?" Her heartbeat quickened, and the drone chasing at the dock flashed through her mind. She whispered, "I should have guessed it earlier."

"Not only that." Old Chen looked up, his eyes bloodshot, and whispered, "More and more people in Area C are dying. They know you took something and are anxious." His voice trembled, and his fingers unconsciously grabbed his trouser legs, as if he was suppressing some kind of pain. "I went to the seventh floor again last night. When I was mopping the floor, I heard them say that they wanted to move the evidence."

Niu Aihua looked down at the back of the maintenance order, and it was scribbled, "Seventh floor, you are next." The handwriting was crooked, like a curse written in blood. She sneered, the corners of her mouth slightly raised, and whispered, "Okay, I'll wait." Her brother's letter emerged in her mind: "The seventh floor is a black hole, don't get close." She whispered, "Black hole? I'm going to blow it up."

The TV at the end of the corridor suddenly lit up, the screen flickered, and broadcast the news: "The Sun Umbrella Company donated millions to fund the upgrade of NYPD equipment." The screen cut to the director shaking hands and smiling, the smile was stiff like a mask. Niu Aihua gritted her teeth and whispered, "It's selling so fast." The tone of the director's voice when he received the call from Sun Umbrella flashed through her mind, and she whispered, "Dogs on a boat." She took a deep breath, the air was mixed with disinfectant and the sweat of Lao Chen, and whispered, "They are scared."

Lao Chen lowered his head and whispered, "Little girl, don't go. Your brother is gone, and your partner almost died. Is it worth it?"

She stared at him with eyes like knives, and whispered, "I have the final say on whether it is worth it or not." She turned and left, her boots thumping the floor, as if declaring war.