Chen Hao tossed the pen cap into the metal box, the dull thud echoing through the workshop. He stared at the words "Timer" on the whiteboard, then looked up at Nana: "You said the process would be ready in two hours, what time is it now?"
Nana's screen flashed: "Uploaded to the shared directory, version number 1.0, current time 5:07 PM."
"Okay." Chen Hao clapped his hands. "Then let's have a short meeting now and finalize this."
Susan was flipping through the work schedule when she heard this and looked up: "Now? There are still fourteen doors and windows left to be finished, and installation has to start first thing tomorrow morning. Are we having a meeting now?"
"We have to turn it on because we need to install it." Chen Hao pulled a piece of scrap paper from the table, tore it into four pieces, and placed one piece in front of each person. "Let's not talk about grand principles. Each of you write down one thing you are most worried about. Don't embellish it, just write down whatever comes to mind."
Nobody moved.
Carl scratched his ear: "Does it have to be this formal?"
"Otherwise what?" Chen Hao sat down. "On the day of the drill, if someone stands in the wrong place, do you think it's because I didn't ask clearly? Or because you're too embarrassed to say so?"
Susan wrote two words, folded them, and placed them on the corner of the table. Carl wrote three lines and drew an arrow at the end. Nana's piece of paper glowed faintly; it was a summary automatically generated by the e-ink screen. Chen Hao folded his own paper and opened the draft process in the shared directory.
"Let's look at the content first," he said. "The first round simulates an earthquake, a level 4 tremor, lasting five minutes; the second round involves a power outage and localized water spraying, with evacuation to be completed within fifteen minutes; the third round involves a comprehensive disaster chain, requiring a full response, with the goal of preserving the power supply to the main control station."
“It sounds like an exam,” Susan said.
“It’s just an exam after all.” Chen Hao nodded. “But the price of failing is drafts, water damage, power outages, and the possibility of being blown away.”
Carl grinned. "I support high intensity. The more realistic the better. If you can't even touch fake water, you'll wet your pants if you actually drown."
“That’s the problem.” Susan opened the schedule book. “The only time we can squeeze out each day is the half hour during shift handover. If you do a 30-minute drill, it’s like cutting off half a window. Fourteen windows, seven drills would take a week. By the time we finish installing the doors and windows, a typhoon will have already hit outside.”
“So we can’t have all of us on every time,” Carl said. “We should practice in groups, rotating between pairs.”
“That’s even more chaotic.” Susan shook her head. “One group is acting, and the other is doing the work; the information doesn’t match up. Nobody remembers who fixed the electrical box yesterday, so how can you expect them to remember the escape routes?”
Nana interjected: "Data shows that the efficiency of teams that train in batches drops by 18 percent in the early stages, but they surpass the group that trains in batches after two weeks."
“Data doesn’t get tired.” Susan closed her notebook. “People do. I can see the cutting lines of the rubber strips even with my eyes closed. I don’t want to cram a bunch of new stuff into my brain.”
The air was still for a few seconds.
Chen Hao picked up his piece of paper, unfolded it, and read: "Afraid that I'll forget to turn off the valve." He put it down. "This is what I wrote. I'm not afraid to act, I'm afraid that even after I've acted, I still won't know how."
He looked at Carl: "I understand you want high pressure. But high pressure requires everyone to know what to do. We don't even have a timer right now, so how are we going to control the rhythm?"
Karl opened his mouth, but didn't say anything.
"Nana," Chen Hao turned his head, "can you break down the psychological adaptation curve model into several steps?"
“Okay.” Nana pulled up a chart. “I suggest dividing it into the cognitive period, the adaptation period, and the stress period. Each stage corresponds to a different intensity of environmental disturbance.”
“Translate it into human language,” Carl said.
"In the first stage, we just follow instructions without doing anything," Nana said. "We familiarize ourselves with the commands and role assignments. In the second stage, we introduce slight interference, such as flashing lights or background noise. Only in the third stage are we introduced real physical variables."
"So, in other words," Chen Hao continued, "on the first day, there's no need for earthquakes or water spraying; we just stand there and wait for orders, maybe even walk a few steps?"
“Correct,” Nana confirmed.
Susan frowned: "What's the difference between that and just shouting slogans?"
“The difference is,” Chen Hao said, “that we first need to learn not to freeze when we hear the word ‘earthquake.’ Last time we tested the wind shield window, the alarm sounded for eight seconds, and no one reacted in time to turn off the air valve—because no one usually presses the alarm.”
Carl stroked his chin: "Your first round was too soft. You should at least turn off the lights, otherwise everyone will think we're in a meeting."
“Turning off the lights is fine,” Susan agreed, “but only for ten seconds, and we have to give advance notice. We don’t want to create panic, or people getting distracted and cutting their hands while working.”
"Transaction completed." Chen Hao crossed out "Complete blackout" on the whiteboard and changed it to "Brief lighting interruption".
"What about the water spray?" Karl pressed.
"Let's hold off for now," Chen Hao said. "We'll wait until the first two rounds go smoothly. The waterproof tarpaulin hasn't been inspected yet. If it leaks, it won't be a simulated disaster, it will be a real disaster."
Karl snorted, but did not object.
"How do we set the time?" Susan asked.
"Still tomorrow afternoon at three o'clock," Chen Hao said. "Thirty minutes during the shift handover period is enough to complete the first module."
“I’m afraid this ‘first module’ will become the last module.” Susan looked at him. “Every time he says he’ll give it a try, but after the trial, nothing happens.”
“This time it’s different.” Chen Hao picked up a marker and drew a progress bar on the whiteboard. “I’ll draw a line on it every time a round is completed. All three rounds must be completed before the doors and windows are installed.”
"Who's supervising?" Susan asked.
“You,” Chen Hao pointed at her, “you hate wasting time the most, so you set the timer.”
Susan paused for a few seconds before finally nodding: "Okay. But I have one condition—production must be suspended during the drill. Don't rush the progress while we're rehearsing; no one can concentrate that way."
"Agreed." Chen Hao wrote, "The exercise will be suspended immediately, and no output will be counted within the first thirty minutes."
Carl suddenly raised his hand: "Can I make a request?"
"explain."
“In the second round,” Carl grinned, “let me be the ‘wounded’ one. I wanted to see what it felt like to be carried out.”
The room fell silent for a moment.
Then Chen Hao laughed out loud: "Okay, I'll get you a stretcher later, made from scrap steel pipes."
"You'd better tie it up securely," Carl said. "Don't let it fall apart halfway through, or you might really hurt yourself."
Nana updated the agreement: "The tripartite consensus terms have been included, and three new rules have been added: 'phased progress,' 'time-limited work stoppage,' and 'role rotation.' The version has been upgraded to 2.0."
"That's good." Susan opened the schedule book and drew a red circle around the 3 o'clock position for tomorrow. "I hope this circle isn't just for show."
"Not at all." Chen Hao stretched his shoulders. "We're lacking in many things right now, but at least there's one thing we don't lack—experience from failure."
“You talk like it’s a medal of honor,” Carl muttered.
"That's true," Chen Hao said with a smile. "We only learn the way to go by making mistakes and getting stuck."
He walked to the whiteboard and circled "First Rehearsal: Module One to be activated tomorrow afternoon at 3 PM" in red pen. The pen tip pressed down a bit too hard, causing the paper to dent slightly.
“It’s settled then,” he said. “We’ll see tomorrow at this time, and see if we can get moving immediately when we hear the word ‘earthquake’.”
Susan put away her notebook and turned to walk towards the cutting area. Carl squatted on the floor, took out his pocket knife, and drew a wiring diagram for the vibrating machine on the floor. Nana's terminal screen scrolled through the log entries for the new protocol.
Chen Hao stood still and glanced at the half-section of steel pipe piled up in the corner.
He walked over, bent down, picked one up, and weighed it in his hand.
"This thing," he muttered to himself, "is the welding frame long enough?"
Carl didn't even look up: "Just add a short section; there's plenty in the scrap heap anyway."
Chen Hao placed the steel pipe upright on the ground, which conveniently blocked a crack under his feet.
“That’s what we’ll do,” he said.
He let go, and the steel pipe stood firmly without falling over.
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