In the laboratory at three in the morning, blue light flickered across the data screens. Lin Mo’s knuckles rested against the delete key; after hovering for three seconds, he pressed down hard. Memory files spanning the next fifteen years began to gray out one by one, like lighthouses swallowed by a rising tide.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" The System Spirit’s phantom descended from the ceiling. Its human form, composed of translucent data streams, was more blurred than usual. "You spent seven years collecting this business intelligence."
Lin Mo loosened his tie, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed the metallic taste of blood. "Tesla Research Institute archives indicate that when a core overloads, non-essential memory modules are prioritized for deletion." He suddenly began to laugh at the empty air, his voice abruptly shifting into an electronically synthesized tone. "So, they already foresaw the data storm back in 2009."
Chapter 37