The red dot in the surveillance footage finally started to move away.

At first, no one spoke; only the soft hum of the equipment could be heard. Chen Hao stared at the screen, his fingers still resting on the edge of the control panel, his posture unchanged. He had maintained this position for almost two hours, not even bothering to drink water.

“The direction has changed,” Nana said. “The speed is stable, and it’s on an evacuation trajectory.”

Carl straightened up from the wall. "They packed up their tents, and the camera captured people stuffing things into their backpacks."

Susan flipped through the notebook beside her. "The broadcast went off seven times, the lights were triggered five times, and the traps gave false alarms three times... They didn't rush over, nor did they test the waters."

Chen Hao slowly removed his hand from the table and rubbed his neck. "Alright, turn off all that nonsense. Flashing lights, false alarms, random announcements, stop them all."

Nana swiped her finger across the screen: "Deception mode has been turned off. The system has reverted to basic monitoring. Power load has decreased by 62 percent."

"How long will the saved electricity last?"

"Sufficient to keep the main control room running for four days, without connecting any additional equipment."

Chen Hao nodded and leaned back in his chair. "It seems they actually believed our act."

The room fell silent for a moment.

Then Carl chuckled, “I just saw a guy squatting on the ground looking at that ‘High Voltage Danger’ sign, looking left and right, and finally walking around it, almost falling into the ditch.”

Susan couldn't help but laugh, "That crooked skull we drew?"

“Yes, that’s the one,” Carl said. “He even gestured with his hand, as if he was measuring the voltage.”

Nana pulled up the playback footage. "According to the behavioral analysis, the group stayed 300 meters from the wall for 13 minutes, during which they held a brief meeting-like gathering before deciding to retreat. There were no aggressive actions, and they were not carrying any heavy tools."

Chen Hao raised his hand and made a chopping motion. "Whether they're genuinely scared or just pretending, as long as they leave, that's fine. Our mission isn't to catch them, it's to prevent them from coming back."

He stood up, stretched, and his bones cracked a few times.

“This trick worked,” he said. “We accomplished the most with the least amount of money.”

Susan opened the storage cabinet and took out a can of beverage from the back. The silver packaging was a little dented, but the seal was intact.

She walked up to Chen Hao and handed him the drink, saying, "I've kept this bottle for three months, and I haven't been able to bear to open it. Let's mark the occasion today."

Chen Hao glanced at the label. "Energy drink? You can actually drink this stuff?"

"It expires next month," Susan said. "If I don't drink it soon, it'll become a collector's item."

Chen Hao took it, unscrewed the cap, but didn't drink it directly. He turned around, rummaged through the drawer, and pulled out three small plastic cups. He poured three cups, and drank the rest himself.

“Come on,” he said, raising his glass. “One sip each, that’s the point.”

Nana took the cup and gently touched its rim. Her movements were always very light, as if she were afraid of crushing the cup.

Carl, holding his cup, chuckled and said, "Attention to the control room, abnormally high frequency of laughter detected."

Everyone laughed when he said that.

The laughter was a bit dry, like a valve suddenly released after holding it in for too long. But it was definitely a laugh; the shoulders relaxed, and the tension on the face disappeared.

Chen Hao crushed the empty cup and threw it into the recycling bin. "If anyone ever says we're repairing a fault display stand again, I'll make them watch this video."

“I suggest archiving this,” Nana said. “Name it ‘Successful Case of Psychological Deterrence 001’.”

“Okay, save it.” Chen Hao sat back in his chair. “Also, make a list of how many materials we used this time, so that no one will say we were wasting resources next time.”

Nana projected a table.

"The original physical defense plan was estimated to require: twelve metal plates, eighty meters of wire, five battery packs, and four sensors."

She paused, then turned to the next page.

"The actual materials used in the psychological warfare plan were: three pieces of sheet metal, two cans of spray paint, four old light bulbs, one audio recording file, and several modified tripwire devices. The total consumption was 17 percent of the original plan."

“What about reaction time?” Susan asked.

"From decision-making to full launch, it took nineteen minutes. The original plan was to take more than four hours."

Carl whistled. "Nineteen minutes? Last time I changed a fuse it took me half an hour."

"The key is that we don't need to weld, dig, or move things," Chen Hao said. "We are poor now, but we can't be so poor that we can only rely on physical strength."

Susan opened the new document. "I think the biggest change isn't saving on materials, but changing our mindset. Before, we always thought about how thick the walls should be and how sturdy the doors should be, but people aren't like cows that just keep banging their heads against walls. They can see, they can think, and they can be afraid."

“That’s right,” Chen Hao replied. “We’re not afraid of them coming in; we’re afraid of them thinking they can come in. As long as they’re uncertain, we’ve won.”

“So the core isn’t defense itself,” Nana said, “it’s making it impossible for the opponent to determine whether the defense exists.”

“To put it more bluntly,” Chen Hao held up a finger, “they don’t know if we have electricity, guns, or people. But they know the sign says ‘high voltage,’ the lights flash, and the loudspeaker speaks—that’s enough.”

Carl scratched his head. "So, next time, could we add something else? Like playing some weird noises in the middle of the night?"

"Don't make it too surreal," Chen Hao waved his hand. "The simpler, the more real. If you play ghostly screams, people will know it's an act."

“Moreover, the cost will increase,” Nana added. “The increasing complexity of audio requires storage space and playback devices, which the current system does not have the necessary priority for.”

"Did you hear that?" Chen Hao looked at Karl. "If the robot says it won't work, then stop messing around."

Carl shrugged. "Just give it a try, what if it scares you?"

“It might scare away stray dogs,” Susan laughed. “It won’t scare people. Humans are smarter than dogs, but they’re also more timid. If you give them some room to imagine, they’ll scare themselves away.”

"So we're not guarding the base," Chen Hao leaned back in his chair. "We're managing other people's minds."

Nana began organizing the system logs, marking and archiving each entry. Her work was swift, with almost no pauses.

Susan lowered her head to write a summary, the pen scratching softly on the paper.

Carl checked the equipment status and casually plugged in the walkie-talkie he had just used.

The room quieted down, but the atmosphere was different. It was no longer the tense silence, but the relaxed feeling after everything was done.

Chen Hao looked at the screen, where only a few green dots remained, indicating that the monitoring range was normal.

“If you encounter this situation again,” he suddenly said, “ask three questions first.”

The others looked up.

"First, what are they afraid of?" Chen Hao held up one finger. "Second, what can we pretend to be? Third, what's the minimum cost?"

"Don't try to weld a wall right away." He smiled. "We may not have money, but we have brains. Even if I only use my brain to think about what to have for dinner."

Susan noted down these three points and marked them with emphasis.

"Actually, the most dangerous place this time was because we never thought anyone would come. We protected against wind, rain, and landslides, but we didn't protect against people."

“That’s normal,” Nana said. “The system’s initial target is natural disasters and wildlife threats; human intrusion is not included in the risk assessment model.”

“But things have changed now,” Chen Hao said. “From today onward, ‘people’ are also a source of danger. Not because they are bad, but because they also need to survive. And our resources are just what they consider worth living.”

Carl nodded. "That's why I said it's best to communicate. But you can't expect everyone to be reasonable."

“We don’t refuse to communicate,” Chen Hao said, “but we need to make people afraid to approach us without asking. Once they’re standing far away, then we can talk about how to speak.”

Nana finished archiving and turned off the projector.

"All data has been backed up. This defense response process is marked as 'successfully closed'."

"Closed loop?" Chen Hao raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like something a robot would say."

“It means,” Nana looked at him, “that the process was complete from the beginning, and the result was clear. There were no missing steps.”

“Alright.” Chen Hao stood up and stretched his shoulders. “Then I’ll give it a name too—‘Winning Without Making a Move on the First Try’.”

Susan closed her notebook. "I suggest adding a subtitle to the title: 'How to Scare Away a Group of People with a Piece of Broken Tin.'"

“Sure,” Chen Hao smiled. “Send it out, and it might become teaching material.”

After Carl finished adjusting the equipment, he looked up at the monitor screen and said, "It's completely clear outside; even the footprints have been covered by the wind."

“Okay.” Chen Hao sat down. “Next, resume the normal patrol frequency and switch the monitoring back to scanning once every five minutes. Continue using the power-saving mode; don’t suddenly put the battery back up.”

"Understood." Nana confirmed the command input.

Susan put the empty beverage cans into a bag and casually placed the notebook in the center of the table.

Carl leaned against the control panel, turning a small part in his hand.

No one left.

The lighting was stable, and the green dots on the screen blinked regularly.

Chen Hao picked up a pen, casually drew a circle on the paper, and wrote three words next to it:

Afraid

Pack

Province

The pen paused for a moment.

He looked up at a small red dot in the corner of the monitor screen—it was the backup line's signal indicator light, which was flashing continuously.

Flash once, pause for two seconds, then flash again.

Like a certain rhythm.

His hand slowly lowered, and the pen rolled to the edge of the table.