Chen Hao stuffed his phone back into his pocket, and as soon as the screen went dark, he turned and walked towards the control panel. Nana was looking down at the terminal, her fingers flying across the screen. Susan stood next to her, a pen in her hand, occasionally jotting something down. Carl stood against the wall, one hand holding the ladder, the other holding an empty water bottle, twirling it between his fingers.
"We're done practicing," Chen Hao said. "Now it's time to settle the score."
“What accounts?” Carl looked up. “I didn’t overspend.”
“It’s not about money.” Chen Hao pulled out a chair and sat down. “It’s about life. Just because we ran fast doesn’t mean we’re really safe. We need to know exactly where it’s solid and where it’s drafty.”
Nana looked up: "You want to do a comprehensive assessment?"
“Yes.” Chen Hao nodded. “Looking at the results of the drills alone is too superficial. Whether the wall can withstand impacts, whether the gate closes tightly, whether the alarm works effectively, and whether people react quickly—all these things need to be considered together. Otherwise, we’re just blindly stumbling upon something.”
Susan closed the notebook: "So how do you plan to judge? Based on your feelings?"
“I don’t rely on intuition.” Chen Hao looked at Nana. “I have brains, and I even have a database.”
Nana didn't speak, but she had already brought up the backend interface. A series of folders popped up, labeled with dates and numbers. From wall load-bearing tests to door and window sealing records, from tunnel support structure diagrams to comparisons of action trajectories from the two drills, everything was listed.
"You've saved so much?" Susan was a little surprised.
“The system requires regular archiving,” Nana said. “I’ve saved the original data for all construction milestones, testing reports, and response logs.”
"That's good." Chen Hao smiled. "Now is the time to use it."
The model begins loading on the screen. The progress bar slowly advances, and a prompt appears next to it: Generating a defense index radar chart.
Carl leaned closer: "How many points would you give this thing?"
“One hundred is the maximum score,” Nana said. “Currently, the calculation dimensions include five aspects: physical protection, early warning capability, emergency response, structural stability, and team collaboration.”
“Sounds like an exam,” Carl muttered. “I hate exams.”
“You don’t need to write the answer this time,” Chen Hao said. “You are the answer.”
Carl paused for a moment, then burst out laughing: "Then wouldn't I be the standard template?"
"Pretty much." Susan patted him on the shoulder. "The only person in the base who has walked through every pitfall and come back alive."
"Thanks," Carl rolled his eyes. "I'll try not to get my leg stuck next time."
Once the data loading is complete, the screen switches to a three-color radar chart. Each of the five corners represents an indicator, with the green area dominating the majority and only one small corner glowing yellow.
Nana began her explanation: "The impact resistance of the perimeter wall has been upgraded to level eight, which can withstand continuous impacts from large objects. The alarm system response time has been reduced to 2.1 seconds, and the false alarm rate has decreased by 76 percentage points. After the tunnel was reinforced, its stability score was 9.3, which is close to the limit. The doors and windows have undergone high-pressure spray testing, and their sealing performance has been improved by more than four times."
She paused, then looked at the last item: "The team's average emergency response time decreased from 7 minutes and 15 seconds to 3 minutes and 9 seconds, path deviation was reduced by 83 times, and collaboration efficiency increased by 67 percent."
Carl stared at the all-green chart, then suddenly pointed at it: "Wait, what else could this be but an impregnable fortress?"
“It’s not an impenetrable fortress,” Chen Hao shook his head, “but it’s much sturdier than before.”
"You're still finding fault?" Karl was skeptical. "What's wrong with it?"
Chen Hao looked at Nana: "What's written on the last page of the report?"
Nana brought up the notes: "Some peripheral sensors still rely on temporary power supplies, and power fluctuations may cause monitoring interruptions."
"See that?" Chen Hao pointed to the words. "The lights being on doesn't mean the power is stable. We're like running in bulletproof vests, but our shoelaces aren't tied tight."
“But that’s a minor issue,” Susan said. “Everything else is up to standard.”
"It's precisely because everything else is fine that we need to keep a close eye on this little mess," Chen Hao said. "When disaster strikes, it doesn't happen at all, but when it does, it just finds a crack in the wall."
The room was quiet for a few seconds.
Then Carl stretched and said, "So you mean we're strong, but we can't just give up?"
“That’s right.” Chen Hao stood up. “Before, we panicked and dodged, but now we know how to dodge. This is not the end, but a new beginning.”
Susan looked down and wrote "Overall score: 86.7" in her notebook, then circled it.
"Higher than I expected," she said.
“I also thought it would be lower,” Nana added. “The actual data is better than most predictive models.”
“That means we’ve made progress.” Chen Hao leaned against the table. “It’s not just good luck, it’s real hard work.”
Carl walked up to the screen and stared at the little yellow corner for a long time.
"That temporary power supply you mentioned..." he asked, "is it troublesome to change the batteries?"
“It’s not a hassle,” Nana replied, “but it needs to be changed manually, every two weeks.”
“I’ll go,” Carl said. “I can’t sleep tonight anyway, and it’s on my way.”
"You're quite enthusiastic," Susan laughed.
“There’s no way around it.” Carl shrugged. “Now I know I’m an important asset, and I have to cherish it.”
“You’ve finally come to terms with reality,” Chen Hao said.
“I realized it a long time ago,” Carl snorted. “I just couldn’t be bothered to admit it.”
Nana continued refreshing the backend data stream, and all parameters fluctuated steadily. In the monitoring footage, the training ground was deserted; the smoke had dissipated, and the damp patches on the ground were drying. The sign at the entrance to the refuge chamber reflected the light, its red background and white lettering clearly visible.
“The behavioral prediction model update is complete,” Nana said softly. “The next effective risk avoidance success rate is projected to be 91.4 percent.”
"More than 90%?" Susan raised an eyebrow.
"Under the premise that the conditions remain unchanged," Nana said, "if any variables are not entered, the value will be dynamically adjusted downwards."
"Like a power outage?" Carl asked.
"For example, network outages, structural damage, and staff shortages," Nana listed several scenarios.
“Then let’s not let that happen,” Chen Hao said. “We’re not just trying to survive now, we’re trying to protect our bottom line.”
Susan put the pen back in her pocket: "Before, I would be confused when I heard an alarm, not knowing whether to believe my ears or my eyes. Now I know that as long as I follow the markings, I won't go wrong."
“The key is that the markers really work,” Carl said. “Unlike last time, when it was all guesswork.”
“Nobody’s guessing anymore,” Chen Hao said. “The system tells you what to do, and you’ve learned to make your own judgments. That’s the biggest change.”
Nana suddenly spoke up: "A slight displacement of the stent in the third zone has been detected."
"Which location?" Chen Hao asked immediately.
"Near the east side of the drainage ditch, the amplitude is 0.3 centimeters."
Will it affect the structure?
“It doesn’t affect us at present,” Nana said, looking at the 3D model. “But long-term exposure to moisture may accelerate aging.”
"I'll go take a look tomorrow," Chen Hao said. "And while I'm at it, I'll re-secure the floor tiles over there."
"More overtime?" Carl sighed.
"You don't want to go?"
“I want to sleep through the night,” Carl said. “I haven’t had a complete dream in ages.”
"What did you dream about?" Susan asked.
"I dreamt I was putting up signs," Carl said with a pained expression. "One after another, it never seemed to end."
"That means you've done your job well," Chen Hao said with a smile.
“I’d rather not be there,” Carl muttered, “at least I could get a good night’s sleep.”
“You can sleep now,” Chen Hao said, “because what you built can really save lives.”
Carl didn't speak, but looked down at his shoes. The soles were a little muddy, from when he brought them back from the training ground. He slowly lifted his foot and rubbed it against the corner of the wall.
“Actually…” he said in a low voice, “I came down again last night.”
"Sleepwalking again?" Susan asked.
“No,” Carl shook his head. “I was awake. I just stood at the door and watched the alarm light for a while. I only went back to lie down after I saw it was on.”
No one in the room laughed.
Chen Hao glanced at him: "And now? Still need to come and check the lights in the middle of the night?"
Karl thought for a moment: "Maybe we don't need to. As long as you're still here, the system will remain."
“The system won’t get tired,” Nana said. “I will keep monitoring it.”
“People will,” Chen Hao said, “which is why we have to do every step right.”
Susan closed her notebook: "I don't think we're afraid of disasters coming."
"It's not that I'm not afraid," Chen Hao corrected, "it's that I'm not afraid of losing."
Carl leaned against the wall and slowly slid down to the floor. He crushed the empty bottle and tossed it into the recycling bin at his feet, right in the middle.
"So tonight..." he asked, tilting his head back, "I can get a full night's sleep, right?"
Chen Hao didn't answer. He stared at the overall score on the screen, the number silently remaining at 86.7.
Morning light streamed into the control room, falling on everyone's faces. Nana's fingers were still moving across the keyboard, updating the real-time data. Susan stood behind her, watching the flowing curves. Carl closed his eyes, his head gently resting against the wall.
Chen Hao placed his hand on the edge of the control panel and tapped it twice with his fingertips.
The terminal suddenly emitted a short notification tone.
Nana's gaze sharpened.
“The signal from the peripheral western line sensors has been interrupted.”
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