The command center was a cathedral of shadows and flickering lights, a vast chamber where endless rows of server racks stood like towering altars to technology’s dark deity. The air hung heavy with the acrid scent of ozone and burnt circuitry—a metallic tang that clawed at the back of Luo Jian’s throat. It was the smell of a dying empire, the scent of a funeral pyre for the digital kingdom he had painstakingly forged, line by line, code by code.
Luo Jian stood motionless, eyes locked on a dozen screens before him, each one dead or glitching, fractured like shards of stained glass reflecting his battered soul. The largest monitor blinked a final prompt, its message pulsing like a heartbeat counting down to oblivion:
FAILSAFE PROTOCOL ENGAGED.
CONFIRM EXECUTION?