The heading deviation has widened to 6.7 degrees.

The thrusters did not respond to correction commands, and the ship's tilt angle continued to increase. The flight path on the main control screen seemed to be pulled by something, slowly sliding towards the dark area in the lower right. The light representing the spacecraft was accelerating forward, moving further and further away from its original route.

“It’s pulling us down.” Chen Hao stared at the screen, his voice a little dry. “It’s not a suggestion, it’s dragging us down.”

Nana's fingers were already swiping across the terminal, moving so fast they almost left a blur. She severed the data link between the communication array and the flight system; the physical isolation module automatically popped out, and a wisp of white smoke rose from the interface.

“It’s disconnected,” she said, “but the residual commands are still executing.”

Susan stood by the control panel, her finger hovering over the emergency brake button, but she didn't press it. She knew that forcibly stopping the thrusters now could cause the ship to lose attitude and spin out of control.

Carl got up from the ground, having just removed the last piece of the buffer layer. "That hidden data packet... is still running. Even though the external connection is cut off, it's like a little gadget with its own power supply; it can't be turned off."

"Then let it run away." Chen Hao suddenly grinned. "Let's find it a more lively place to play."

He turned to look at Nana, "Do you have any fake news in your knowledge base that's specifically designed to fool the system? Like those reports that make people think there's something wrong with them."

Nana nodded. "Yes. Deep Space Communication Protocol Vulnerability #34: Forging of Flight Path Verification Failure Messages."

"This is it." Chen Hao slammed his hand on the table. "Write a paragraph saying that there's a problem with the path we're on now, and we need manual confirmation before we can continue. Make it panic."

Nana began entering the code. Carl accessed the backup channel transmission port and checked if the power output was stable. Susan stared at the system feedback interface and saw that the navigation module was still displaying "Current route is the optimal solution," the green text coldly lit.

Three minutes later, Nana pressed Enter.

"send."

The main screen flickered.

A few seconds later, a prompt sounded: "Automatic navigation interrupted, awaiting manual input."

Chen Hao immediately reached out and entered the original flight path parameters into the coordinate bar. The thrusters hummed and began to adjust their attitude in reverse. The skewed flight path on the screen slowly straightened, and the dot of light re-aligned ahead.

"You're back." Susan loosened her grip on her hand.

Twelve minutes later, the course was fully restored. The deviation was zero.

No one sat down.

"Where's the signal?" Chen Hao asked.

Nana pulled up the monitoring chart. The waveform, which had been fluctuating every thirty seconds, was now still. Only extremely faint ripples remained, like a distant breath.

Five minutes later, the signal strength recovered.

This time, the waveform structure changed. It was no longer a jumble of fragments, but a regular pulse code, neatly arranged, like the rhythm of a certain language.

“It’s here again.” Carl leaned closer to the screen. “And this time… it’s much clearer.”

Nana initiated an offline decoding program to avoid secondary infection. Database comparison results showed that this encoding format belonged to an old-era interstellar rescue general alarm protocol, a non-military encryption level, commonly used for automatic broadcasting in disaster areas.

“82% credibility,” she said. “It doesn’t seem like a control command; it’s more like a legacy warning.”

The parsed fragment appears on the screen:

"...Energy collapse...Irreversible...Do not enter the center..."

Susan scoffed. "Who would put up a sign in a dangerous place? If they were that kind, they would have rescued themselves long ago."

“But it says ‘center’,” Carl said, pointing to the last sentence. “The radiation zone we’ve passed through is the edge. If this is indeed a warning, it means there’s something deeper inside.”

Chen Hao touched his wrist. The redness was still there, and the fever hadn't subsided. He remembered that every time the signal refreshed, this patch of skin felt like it had been scalded with hot water.

“I might have been infected,” he said. “It wasn’t just talking to the ship, it was shouting at me too.”

No one laughed.

Nana glanced at him. "Your physiological data has been recorded. We can analyze whether there is any resonance effect later."

"Let's not talk about who's possessed yet," Chen Hao waved his hand. "The problem is, why is it waiting for us to correct our course before releasing new content? Before, it was all fragmented, but now it's suddenly speaking human language."

“Perhaps,” Susan said slowly, “it will only update its information when we make a choice.”

“You mean…” Karl frowned, “it’s testing us?”

"Or a rating." Chen Hao shrugged. "We've fixed the oxygen, passed the radiation zone, and now we've regained control—aren't we close to completing the game? Is the reward a spoiler of the ending?"

No one responded.

The air was still for a few seconds.

"How much fuel is left?" Chen Hao suddenly asked.

Nana brought up the energy panel. The main fuel tank reading remained at 41%, and the yellow warning box was flashing.

“It’s below the safety line,” she said. “At the current speed, it can only support a maximum of fourteen jumps. There are still seventeen jumps to go before we get home.”

“Three sections short,” Susan calculated immediately. “Not enough for a detour.”

“The emergency power lasted for three minutes,” Nana added, “consuming extra fuel that wasn’t planned.”

Chen Hao leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. "So here's the thing—there's something nobody understands sending signals ahead, and a virus that nobody can handle is escaping from the ship. We've just managed to free ourselves, and we're already finding our wallets are almost empty."

“There are three options.” Nana opened the simulation interface. “First, reduce the speed by 30%, which will allow us to last for two more segments, but still not enough for one more segment. Second, shut down unnecessary systems to save 5% energy. Third, combine the first two options and put everyone into low-metabolic hibernation for 48 hours, which should be just enough.”

"Sleeping won't work," Chen Hao shook his head. "What if something happens on the way? Who'll wake up?"

“Then we’ll just have to use it sparingly,” Carl said. “Set the lighting to intermittent mode, keep the temperature control only on the core compartment, and turn off everything else.”

“Okay.” Chen Hao sat up straight. “Let’s try the energy-saving mode first. There’s nothing much to see anyway, so keeping it dark will save electricity.”

Susan got up and walked to the power management area to switch system priorities. Carl returned to the communications equipment, put the disassembled casing back on, and backed up the data packets of the new signal.

Nana continued monitoring the signal frequency band. The waveform still fluctuated periodically, but the content no longer changed. The warning messages played repeatedly, like a pre-programmed recording.

“It hasn’t upgraded anymore,” she said. “That’s probably all the information we have.”

“They might be waiting for our next move.” Carl tightened the last screw. “For example, to get closer.”

Chen Hao stood up and walked to the main screen. The flight path stretched straight ahead, the fuel gauge a blindingly yellow. He stared at that string of numbers for a long time.

“Tell me,” he suddenly spoke, “what if we turn back now? Instead of going home, we can go in a different direction, anywhere is fine. Will it still care about us?”

No one spoke inside.

Nana operated the terminal and brought up the signal source pattern. The spot was still lit, transmitting steadily.

She input a set of hypothetical routes to simulate a ship turning away from the signal source.

Ten seconds later, a system notification sounded.

A line of text pops up on the navigation screen:

"Path deviation. Correction recommended."

Chen Hao laughed. "It won't even let me run away."

“It’s not just a suggestion.” Nana pointed to the log. “The simulation just now triggered a hidden response mechanism. Although it wasn’t actually executed, the system internally generated a forced callback instruction template.”

“You mean,” Carl said in a low voice, “that it will attack again as soon as we dare to turn?”

“The possibility is very high.” Nana nodded.

"So what exactly does it want?" Chen Hao scratched his head. "It won't let us go back, it won't let us hide, and it won't let us leave. It just wants us to keep driving towards it?"

“Perhaps,” Susan said, walking back from the power area, “it doesn’t need us to know the answer. It just needs us to get there.”

The air seemed to sink.

Carl opened the communication log, preparing to write an incident report. Nana set the fuel consumption curve to a constantly displayed window, refreshing it every minute. Susan checked the status of the energy-saving mode, confirming that all non-essential modules were turned off.

Chen Hao sat in the driver's seat, his hand next to the control lever, without moving.

The signal waveform on the main screen jumped again.

This time, the analysis results contained a few more words:

"...those who approach...will be registered..."

"Register?" Chen Hao read aloud. "What does that mean, clocking in for work?"

No one responded.

Just as Nana was about to speak, the console suddenly vibrated.

Fuel readings dropped from 41% to 40.8%.

The rate of descent was 0.3 units faster than normal.

“The consumption is abnormal,” she said. “The power system is not reporting any errors, but the rate of fuel loss is exceeding the theoretical range.”

"Did you miss it?" Karl looked up.

“The pipe seal is normal.” Nana quickly pulled up the test results. “It’s not a physical leak. It’s… some kind of hidden damage.”

As Chen Hao looked at the screen, he suddenly felt the red spot on his wrist getting hot again.

He glanced down at it.

The skin had a faint sheen, as if it were coated with an invisible layer of oil.