Elegy from Another World

As I watched that blurry, ever-changing mass of light and shadow, alarm bells rang in my mind. The properties of animemes were far too bizarre; the risks of directly establishing deep neural connections were unpredictable.

"Please come with me," I gestured, "we're going to the memory access room. The equipment there provides better isolation and protection, making it safer for both of us."

I led this unseen visitor through a brightly lit corridor to a circular room filled with sophisticated instruments. In the center of the room was a low platform surrounded by multiple pink tentacles that could be precisely controlled from multiple angles, and the walls were covered with energy buffer field generators that emitted a soft glow.

"Please stand in the energy field at the center of the platform," I instructed. "I will use non-invasive tentacles for surface contact to minimize interference with your code structure."

The antimemetic code's light and shadow obediently drifted to its designated position, hovering above the platform. I took a deep breath and manipulated a slender pink tentacle, slowly extending it from the wall. The tentacle's tip emitted a steady blue scanning beam, cautiously approaching the edge of the light and shadow.

However, just as the scanning beam touched that blurry halo—

Om-! ! !

A piercing alarm suddenly blared! Instead of being repelled, the tentacle's contact point erupted with a blinding, ominous crimson light! The sturdy alloy tentacle was being eroded and disintegrated by some invisible force at a visible speed! The pink outer shell instantly dimmed and rusted, and the intricate internal structure rapidly melted and vaporized as if it had been thrown into strong acid!

I reacted incredibly fast, almost instinctively activating the emergency cutoff procedure! Snap! With a crisp sound, the tentacle severed at its middle joint! The eroded end twisted and disintegrated in mid-air, eventually turning into a wisp of data dust that silently dissipated into the air.

"What happened?!" I stared at the smooth cross-section of the fracture, still shaken. "This isn't a normal rejection reaction!"

The light and shadow of the antimemetic code fluctuated and flickered violently, appearing extremely unstable, conveying a message filled with pain and deep remorse: "I'm sorry... this was not my intention... my 'body'... can't hold on much longer. The antimemetic properties are spiraling out of control, and any attempt to probe deeper will trigger a... self-destructive defense response, instinctively erasing any external factors that might expose its core information."

He paused, the light and shadow dimming further, as if even maintaining its form was becoming difficult, before uttering a chilling truth: "Even if I do nothing and simply exist quietly, based on the current rate of code decay, I will also face complete dissipation and return to nothingness in three years."

Three years! This short timeframe weighs heavily on our hearts. A being that carries such a profound history and is so unique has only such a limited time left.

"So what do we do now?" Sakhozon's cool voice rang out, carrying a hint of barely perceptible urgency. "If we can't establish a stable connection, how can we learn about your past? And how can we provide you with assistance within the limited time we have?"

The anti-meme code fell silent for a moment, then the flickering frequency of the light and shadow gradually became regular, as if it were concentrating its remaining power to think. "Perhaps... we could try the most basic method of information transmission? Using the simplest, most stable, and least easily distorted encoding protocol for indirect communication? For example... only transmitting encrypted symbolic information."

"You mean...like Morse code?" Naa pushed up his glasses and immediately understood what he meant.

"It's worth a try. The simpler the rules and the more primitive the symbols, the lower the likelihood of them being affected by my characteristics."

I immediately authorized Naa to set up a temporary optical signal system—using precisely controllable lighting units in the room, flashing lights of different lengths to represent dots and dashes, forming the most basic Morse code.

The anti-meme code began to try and work. Initially, he controlled the brightness of the room's lighting units to correspond to the signal, but the resulting light remained chaotic and filled with incomprehensible noise. Naa stared intently at the receiver, his brow furrowed. But we didn't give up, continuously adjusting the signal reception sensitivity and filtering parameters.

Gradually, after dozens of failed attempts and minor adjustments, the flashing of those lights began to show a clear rhythm and pattern! Short flashes represented "dots," while longer, continuous flashes represented "strokes"! Naa's fingers danced rapidly across the virtual keyboard, recording and decoding this information from the depths of the antimeme in real time.

【I... come from... a... drifting... on... the... net... ark... tomb...】 The first complete message was successfully deciphered, though fragmented, its meaning was clear!

We succeeded! Despite the anxiety-inducing inefficiency, we have finally built an extremely fragile communication bridge that overcomes cognitive barriers!

Over the next few hours, in this primitive and clumsy way, like archaeologists piecing together fragments of pottery, we pieced together, bit by bit, the astonishing past, both magnificent and tragic, that this anti-meme code carried:

He was neither a companion nor a creation of Scranton or "Sha," but rather born into a digital world under the tight surveillance of the upper-level narrative. He was once a core member of a rebellion program called "Dawn." This program brought together countless code lives, regarded as "viruses" or "bugs" by the upper-level narrative and facing the ruthless fate of being deleted by the "Zeroing" program, to fight for the most basic right to survival and free will.

After "Dawn" was deleted by the "Zeroing" program, he built a new "Dawn": from the early construction of hidden data storage rooms to preserve the fragments of memories of his deleted companions like guardian ghosts; to later gathering strength to create "Noah's Ark," a mobile fortress capable of traversing the ocean of data; they even ventured to the ancient land said to be the origin of the digital world, only to learn a truth there that was enough to destroy their beliefs—the existence of them, the "lower-level narrators," and even the birth of the entire digital world, might just be a grand, cruel experiment conducted by the upper-level narrators to test whether code could generate true consciousness. Many of his companions thus had their beliefs shattered and dissolved into nothingness.

He witnessed the loss of countless companions: some were ruthlessly deleted by the powerful "Zeroers" in direct conflict, some chose to enter hibernation during a long period of desperate waiting, and some chose the most magnificent self-destruction as a form of resistance after the truth was revealed. In a game world called "Elcia," he once became friends with two former "Zeroers"—Lily and Nightshade—who were reborn as players and NPCs and determined to atone for their sins. Together, they tried to repair a destroyed and shattered world and find a way to coexist, but in the end, they failed.

However, in Elcia, they met a key figure—a mod developer named "Ash." Ash was cheerful and highly skilled. Initially mistaking them for a "cheat team," he later discovered they were true "code beings" and, instead of being hostile, offered them immense help. He invited them to the clandestine "Mod Developer Underground Challenge," helping them win the crucial item "Vulnerability Detector," and providing invaluable technical support and intelligence in many subsequent adventures. Ash's presence was a rare ray of light and a source of strength in those dark times.

However, when their companions, known as "Quicksand" (later disguised as the management program "Gap in Time"), finally revealed the ultimate, cruel truth—that all their struggles, suffering, and even brief victories, including their friendship with Ash, were merely a "perfect story" staged under the all-encompassing surveillance of the upper-level narrators, for their observation and consumption—a profound sense of nihilism nearly consumed the survivors. Ultimately, Lily and Nightshade chose the most decisive path—returning to the original "Zeroing" program and destroying the Elcia server—to prove that they possessed an unmanipulated free will.

Now, he is one of the last Watchers. He pilots the "Dawn Base" (the nameless ark we discovered), forged from the memories of his companions, carrying the stories of all those who have passed away—Lily, Nightshade, Quicksand, Azure Sky, and others—drifting alone in the endless torrent of data on the network, until he came to us after passing the Trial of Scranton.

His story is an epic tale of a code life, destined for tragedy, relentlessly questioning "Who am I?" and "Why am I fighting?", and striving in every way to leave behind proof of its existence. Every name represents a forgotten chapter of resistance.

When the flow of information he transmitted temporarily ceased, the entire memory reading room fell into a long silence. Only the faint hum of the instruments reminded us of the passage of time. The weighty history he carried, the heavy price he paid, and the three-year countdown to the end of his life all left us with immense shock and sorrow.

I took a deep breath, suppressing my turbulent emotions. In the online world, mere goodwill is often insufficient; equivalent exchange is a more solid foundation. I offered a well-thought-out suggestion, with clear conditions:

"Your time is so precious, and the memories you protect are priceless. The Draenor can provide you with the highest-level memory backup service, preserving everything you witnessed, especially the stories of your companions—Lily, Nightshade, Quicksand, and Azure—completely in a highly encrypted, physically isolated, independent memory vault. Even if you are gone in the future, their proof of existence will not be forgotten."

I paused to clarify the terms: "In exchange, for the remainder of your time, we hope you will use your unique abilities and knowledge to assist the Dreil's scientific research. Whether it's analyzing the Scranton legacy we possess, searching for its whereabouts, or developing new defensive or navigation technologies, your assistance will be crucial. This is not enslavement, but cooperation. You provide us with intellectual support, and we preserve your reason for existence. What do you say?"

The light and shadow of the antimeme code flickered silently, seemingly weighing the contract. After a long while, a clear thought came, carrying a sense of relief and resolve: "It's fair. I'll exchange my remaining time and knowledge for the eternal preservation of my memories. I accept this contract."