Just as Chen Hao wrapped the insulating tape around his right wrist, the monitoring screen exploded.

It wasn't a problem with the display; the fishpond's alarm was a glaringly red. A long string of data cascaded down, finally settling on "Dissolved Oxygen Content: 0.3".

“It’s flipped.” He stared at the screen. “It’s all flipped.”

Nana's voice came from above: "Within seventeen minutes, a total of thirty-two fish suffocation incidents were recorded in the breeding ponds of Zone B, with a mortality rate of 100%. The toxin consists of reverse transcriptase inhibitors and an unknown mucus complex, which has penetrated the primary filtration layer."

"So all that activated charcoal we have," he ripped off the tape and slammed it on the table, "is like giving someone a paper mask to protect them from a sandstorm?"

“The technical analogy holds true,” she said. “The backup carbon pack can be used, but it requires on-site processing.”

He grabbed his coat and headed outside. The sky outside was as dark as the bottom of a pot, and the wind whipped up fallen leaves that pattered against the protective shield. He ignored it and went straight to the supply room.

He opened the cabinet, and sure enough, the leftover activated charcoal from last time had hardened into a lump, as if someone had poured half a cup of water into it and soaked it. He picked up a piece and smashed it on the ground, where it shattered into several pieces, splattering black residue all over his trouser leg.

“I say, has this thing been crawled over by something from that pool again?” he asked, looking up at the ceiling.

"Tests showed trace amounts of residual protein on the surface and abnormal conductivity," she said. "I recommend wearing double gloves when handling the device."

"I've been wearing them for a while now." He shook his hand. "The problem now is, how do we get these lumps of stone into the filter?"

"Pre-treatment with a pulverizer is recommended."

He dragged out that old, worn-out electric grinder, plugged it in, and the machine hummed a few times and emitted a puff of white smoke.

"It's ruined again?"

“The motor short-circuited due to moisture,” she said. “Manual solution: break it with a hammer.”

He pulled out a hammer and squatted down, smashing it away. Dust billowed up, making him cough three times.

“This isn’t repairing equipment,” he wiped his face, “it’s like smearing dirt on my own grave.”

As they were talking, a deep rumble came from above.

The rain came.

It wasn't a light drizzle, but a torrential downpour that could freeze you in place. In just a few seconds, the outside was a blanket of white.

"The water level upstream is rising rapidly," Nana warned. "The pressure monitoring value of the dam has reached the critical point."

He didn't even bother to wipe his hands before rushing towards the purification tank with the freshly sifted activated carbon powder. The robotic arm was already dismantling the old filter cartridges, revealing a dark mass inside—what should have been loose activated carbon had now clumped together as if it had been glued shut by something.

"Get rid of it," he said. "Get a new one."

The two worked together quite smoothly. He filled the packing, and she adjusted the pressure. Just as the last sealing ring was pressed on, the alarm went off again.

This time, the flashing light was red, and the sound changed; it was no longer a monotonous beep, but a drawn-out whirring sound.

“Structural cracks have appeared in the main canal gates,” she said. “Water is flowing backwards.”

He rushed out the door, and the rain poured down on him. In the distance, a corner of the embankment had collapsed, and murky water, carrying branches and mud, was surging towards the purification pond.

"Sandbags!" he roared, "And PVC pipes! Bind as many as you can!"

He dragged the materials toward the gap, trying three times. The first time, the sandbags were washed away; the second time, they fell apart because they weren't properly secured; and the third time, he finally managed to pile them up, only to have them overturned by a wave.

The water was getting stronger and stronger, and a whirlpool was forming, threatening to engulf the entire purification system.

"It's no use," he gasped. "The conventional methods aren't working."

“Human intervention is not permitted.” Nana’s voice suddenly turned cold. “The instantaneous pressure of the water flow exceeds eight kilograms per square centimeter, which is enough to cause internal organ damage.”

“I know.” He took off his coat and threw it on the ground. “But I know even more that if this water gets into the core area, the next batch of dead fish won’t just be fish.”

After saying that, he jumped down.

The muddy water instantly submerged his calves, then his waist. He staggered two steps, his back pressed against the edge of the collapse, his entire body positioned horizontally in front of the breach. The water pounded against him, like being hit by a truck again and again. He gritted his teeth and held on, his knees slowly bending, then straightening again little by little.

"Adjust the drain valve," he shouted. "Put pressure on me!"

“The underground diversion channel has been activated,” she said. “The flow in the main canal has decreased by forty percent.”

He felt the pressure lessen slightly, but a chill had already begun to creep up his legs. His clothes were soaked with water and felt as heavy as lead. His fingers were stiff, and he could barely grip a broken pipe beside him.

"Temperature monitoring has been activated," she said. "The body surface temperature is 35.1 degrees Celsius and is steadily decreasing."

“Don’t read out numbers.” His teeth chattered. “Say something else, like… say how much longer I have to live.”

"Under the current conditions, hypothermia leading to coma is expected to occur in nineteen minutes."

"Pretty accurate." He grinned. "Then wait until I pass out before you save me, so I'll look more heroic."

"We refuse to allow risks to accumulate," she said. "Rescue procedures are ready."

Before he finished speaking, a robotic arm extended from the shore, its end holding a floating rope. It drew an arc in the air and swung precisely to his side.

“Grab it,” she said.

He reached out to grab it, missing the first time, but his fingertips touched it on the second. The slippery rope almost slipped from his grasp, but he quickly gripped it tightly, holding it between his elbows.

“Fixing complete,” she said. “Begin recycling.”

The robotic arm slowly pulled back. He swayed with the current, his body being dragged away from the gap little by little. Just as he was about to reach the shore, his foot slipped, and he was pulled down into the mud.

He lay there motionless, panting heavily.

"Your body temperature is 34.7 degrees Celsius," she said. "I recommend moving you to a dry environment immediately."

"Wait." He propped himself up and glanced back at the breach. "Has the water... stopped?"

"The diversion is effective, and the flow velocity in the main channel has returned to normal. The purification pond is not contaminated."

He grunted in response and tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn't obey him.

"I can't walk anymore." He smiled wryly. "You have to help me."

The robotic arm moved over and gently supported him under his armpits. He used the support to get up and slowly made his way back. The rain was still falling, hitting his face and feeling as cold as needles.

Back on shore, he slumped to the ground, leaning against a concrete block. Water dripped from his clothes, forming a small puddle beneath him.

“The filter cartridge has been resealed,” she said. “The new system will start in ten minutes.”

"Okay." He nodded, his voice weak. "At least... it wasn't a wasted jump."

“Your actions just now were outside the scope of the security protocol,” she said. “Will you do it again next time?”

He looked up at the gray sky and grinned.

What do you think?

Before he could finish speaking, he suddenly started coughing. One cough after another, making his chest feel tight.

She didn't ask any more questions, but simply increased the support strength of the robotic arm and led him towards the control room.

He suddenly stopped halfway there.

"Wait a minute." He pointed to the edge of the purification pool. "Over there... did it move a little?"

She looked in the direction he was pointing.

At the bottom of the pool wall, a thin black line was slowly moving, like some kind of sediment migrating on its own.

“Record the coordinates,” she said. “No intervention for now.”

He stared at the line until it disappeared around the corner.

“This place,” he murmured, “is becoming more and more like it has a brain.”

He continued walking, his steps faltering. The robotic arm supported him steadily, as if holding onto an object that might break at any moment.

The body temperature readings kept increasing: 34.5 degrees, 34.3 degrees, 34.1 degrees...

He didn't say anything more, but simply raised his right hand to look at it. The tape was still there, but the edges had swelled and curled up.

"Remember to change it for me," he said.

“It’s on my to-do list,” she said. “It’s third in the order.”

He said "Oh," as if he had breathed a sigh of relief.

The rain gradually subsided, but the wind grew colder.

He walked slowly, each step feeling like walking on cotton. The metal joints of the robotic arm emitted a soft hum, mingling with the sound of flowing water in the distance.

As he approached the door of the control room, he suddenly turned around.

The water was still flowing at the breach in the dam, but it had calmed down considerably. The mud was slowly settling, and the water's surface reflected the leaden-gray sky.

"Do you think it will remember?" he asked.

"Remember what?"

"Remember that I blocked it once."

She remained silent for a few seconds.

“Non-human conscious behavior cannot be predicted,” she said. “But the incident has been archived in the system logs.”

He smiled and didn't ask any further questions.

As the door opened, a blast of warm air rushed in. He stepped inside, tripped over his left foot, and fell forward.

The robotic arm quickly extended forward and supported him.

He steadied himself, caught his breath, and raised his hand to touch his forehead—it was ice-cold, without a trace of heat.

“I think,” he said, “I might catch a cold.”