The beam of the flashlight flickered in the corridor. Chen Hao kicked away the debris by the door frame, muttering, "This place is dirtier than my storage room."
Carl crouched before the rusted lock, the hydraulic shears gripping the gap, and pressed down hard. A harsh scraping sound came from the metal as the door was pried open a crack.
"It's done." He took a half step back and clapped his hands.
Nana stood behind the three, holding a detector in her hand, the green light of the screen reflecting on her face. "No harmful gases, no signs of life, you may enter."
Susan switched on another flashlight. "Don't touch anything inside yet. Let me memorize the original state."
Chen Hao ignored her and bent down to crawl inside. Dust fell down in a flurry, and he waved his hand to fan it away. He stepped on a hard box and looked down to see that it was a metal box.
"Huh? They actually have some?"
Carl followed him in and shone his flashlight into the corner. Three sealed boxes were stacked against the wall, the labels blurred, but the words "Military Emergency Rations" were still legible.
“That’s it,” he said. “The old-style reserve canned goods, they keep well.”
Susan put on gloves, opened the top one, lifted the lid, and inside were neatly stacked dark brown metal cans with slight signs of oxidation on the surface.
“The vacuum seal isn’t broken.” She picked up a can and held it up to the light. “Although it’s seven years past its expiration date, as long as there’s no air leak, food that’s been sterilized at high temperatures won’t spoil.”
Nana took the can and scanned it. "About 60% of the protein has been lost, and the vitamins are almost gone. Short-term consumption will not affect health."
"Isn't that just a psychological comfort?" Chen Hao grinned. "At least it fills my stomach."
“It’s better than starving,” Carl said. “And this is a large batch, enough to last us two weeks.”
"Okay." Chen Hao patted the box. "Take it and we'll talk about it when we get back to the main control area."
The four of them started moving the boxes. Chen Hao carried the heaviest one, taking a break every few steps, humming an off-key tune to encourage himself.
"Why didn't anyone register these canned goods?" he asked as they walked. "Was it a clearance sale three months before departure? Did they end up empty-handed?"
“System records may be skipped.” Nana walked at the back. “These types of modified boats often have manual operations that are not synchronized.”
"So—someone's slacking off," Chen Hao laughed. "We're picking up the leftovers that others missed."
"Leftovers can save lives," Susan reminded them. "Don't talk, we're almost there."
The entrance to the main control area was at the end of the corridor. They placed the boxes on the open ground outside the door, intending to go in first to report the situation before making allocations.
Just as Chen Hao was about to push open the door, the alarm light above his head suddenly flashed red.
"Drip—drip—drip—"
The sounds are short and the rhythm is steady.
"Not again?" He rolled his eyes. "Can't you let me put the food down first?"
Nana rushed into the control room, her fingers flying across the main screen. The oxygen concentration bar turned from green to yellow, and the value steadily declined.
"The current oxygen content is 19.3%, and it continues to decline."
"How much?" Chen Hao squeezed through to look. "It's only been a few minutes?"
“It dropped 1.7 percentage points in ten minutes.” Nana pulled up the graph. “The trend is flat but not stopping. If it continues at this rate, it will fall below the safety line in forty-eight hours.”
"What's the safety line?" Susan asked.
17%.
The room was silent for a second.
"So, in two days we'll start having trouble breathing?" Chen Hao looked up at the ceiling. "Who can steal the air? Last time it was food, this time it's oxygen? Did our ship start a side business, recycling?"
“It wasn’t stolen.” Nana stared at the log. “It was a signal interruption in the circulation system’s filter module that caused the regeneration function to stop.”
"So it's broken?" Carl frowned.
“Or the connection is broken,” she said. “We need to check the hardware status on-site.”
“I’ll go.” Carl turned and left. “I know the equipment bay area well.”
"Wait a minute." Chen Hao stopped him. "Let's get this straight. What do we do now? Are we still going to share the food?"
“No distinction,” Nana said decisively. “Priority adjustment: Suspend survival resource management and switch to environmental crisis response.”
So all the canned food we painstakingly brought back can only be left to dry at the door?
"Let's put it on hold for now." Susan crossed out the original plan on her tablet with a pen. "We'll discuss it again once the system is restored."
"What the worst luck!" Chen Hao plopped down on the edge of the control panel. "We just found some food, and now the air is killing us. Is this ship possessed? Does it deliberately target us when we're about to have a good time?"
“Emotions won’t solve anything,” Nana said. “I suggest we divide the tasks immediately: Carl goes to the equipment compartment to disassemble and inspect the filter module; Susan counts the number of emergency oxygen cylinders and their available time; I will monitor the data changes and calculate the consumption model; you will be responsible for coordinating communications and support.”
"I'm not a technician," Chen Hao said, shrugging. "What can I do? Hand you a wrench?"
“You can talk less,” Susan said, closing her notebook. “At least don’t disrupt the rhythm.”
“Hey, I’m just trying to lighten the mood.” He stood up. “You guys are all so serious, it looks like a suicide note press conference.”
“No one has the energy to laugh when there’s not enough oxygen.” Nana looked at him. “Every word you say now consumes an extra 0.03 liters of oxygen.”
"..." Chen Hao shut up and raised his hand to make a zipping motion.
Carl slung his tool bag over his shoulder, opened the door, and prepared to leave.
"Wait a minute." Chen Hao suddenly called out to him, "Are you going to the equipment bay alone? It's pitch black there, what if another 'cat-sized heat source' pops up?"
“I’ll keep in touch.” Carl pressed the intercom on his wrist. “Call me immediately if anything happens.”
"But what if the communication is cut off?" Chen Hao persisted. "We haven't even caught what was in the ventilation duct last time, and now there's a new problem. Don't you think it's too much of a coincidence?"
“There is currently no evidence to suggest a link between the two,” Nana said.
"There's no evidence to say they're unrelated." Chen Hao glared. "Maybe it's the same 'guy,' eating first, then cutting off the air valve, and next, is it going to unplug the power?"
“If it were an unknown biological interference system, infrared and weight monitoring should have been recorded,” Nana said. “But none of the nodes triggered abnormally.”
"So it can become invisible?" Chen Hao sneered. "Or can it walk through walls?"
"We can't rule out the possibility of a combination of mechanical malfunctions and coincidences," Susan said calmly. "What we need to do now is to respond, not to guess."
“That’s right.” Carl nodded. “I’ll go check on the machine first.”
The door closed, and the footsteps faded into the distance.
Chen Hao leaned against the wall and reached up to touch the ventilation grille above his head. "Do you think there might be a little devil hiding in there, coming out to cause trouble every day?"
“No,” Nana said. “The mesh openings are less than five centimeters in diameter, so they can’t let objects weighing more than two kilograms pass through.”
"Oh, you mean if it were really inside, it would have gotten stuck long ago?" Chen Hao laughed. "That makes sense."
“The logic holds true,” she said.
“But I still feel something’s not right.” He withdrew his hand. “There’s less food, less air, and the security cameras can’t see anything. This isn’t a malfunction, it’s playing hide-and-seek.”
Susan walked to the medical cabinet, opened a drawer, and began to count the oxygen cylinders. "There are currently twelve in stock, each providing thirty minutes of standard respiratory support, for a total of six hours of emergency use."
"Six hours?" Chen Hao whistled. "Not even enough time for me to get a nap."
“It’s only for extreme situations,” she said. “Under normal circumstances, we still rely on the main system for repairs.”
Nana suddenly looked up.
"The latest data shows that the rate of oxygen decline has accelerated."
"How many?"
"It's now decreasing by 0.3 percentage points every ten minutes."
"Twice as fast as before?" Susan frowned.
“Yes.” Nana zoomed in on the waveform. “Moreover, the fluctuations are regular, with a sudden drop every nine minutes or so, like some kind of periodic leak.”
"Periodic?" Chen Hao leaned closer. "You mean... periodic gas release?"
“The mechanism cannot be confirmed at the moment,” she said, “but the pattern is clear and does not resemble a random failure.”
“That’s even weirder.” He straightened up. “A machine that sets its own alarm to release oxygen? What’s it trying to do, lose weight?”
"I suggest strengthening inspections of key nodes," Nana said, "especially the connections of the main circulation pipeline."
“I’ll go take a look.” Susan put down the list. “Take the testing equipment and check each section one by one.”
"Be careful," Nana reminded. "If you notice any unusual airflow or pressure difference, please report it immediately."
Susan nodded, picked up the equipment, and went out.
Only Chen Hao and Nana remained in the control room.
He sat in the chair, swinging his legs and staring blankly at the ceiling.
"Do you think Carl is in the equipment bay yet?"
"Entered the area three minutes ago and is currently opening the unit's outer casing."
"I hope he doesn't run into anything weird," Chen Hao muttered. "Like a bunch of empty cans, with a little monster sitting next to him, playing with an oxygen valve like a toy."
“The probability is zero,” Nana said.
"Couldn't you just say 'maybe'?" he sighed. "Do you have to extinguish the last glimmer of hope in people?"
"My job is to provide accurate judgment, not to offer comfort."
"Then tell me, what will happen next?"
“Two possibilities,” she said, looking at the screen. “One is that Carl discovered a loose connection or a damaged module, and the system restarted after repair; the other is that there is an unidentified physical vulnerability that needs to be further located and repaired.”
"That sounds like nonsense." Chen Hao rolled his eyes.
"But that's the truth."
The alarm sounded again, this time more urgently.
Nana quickly turned to the screen.
"Oxygen concentration dropped below 19%."
Chen Hao suddenly stood up.
"So fast?"
“The downward slope continues to increase.” She slid her finger across the screen. “The latest round of losses occurred thirty seconds ago, with an increase of 0.4 percentage points, equivalent to the consumption of a normal ten minutes.”
“This isn’t a leak,” Chen Hao said in a lower voice. “This is extraction.”
“Agreed.” Nana pulled up the ship’s air pressure distribution map. “A localized negative pressure area has appeared in the central part of zone B, and the area is expanding.”
“B section?” He squinted. “That’s… where the ventilation ducts pass through.”
“Exactly,” she said. “And the area happens to cover the path of the previously detected mobile heat source.”
Chen Hao slowly turned his head to look at the doorway.
"Do you think... it might not be a machine malfunction at all?"
"you mean?"
“I mean,” he lowered his voice, “is it possible that 'that thing' is breathing our air right now?”
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