Chapter 11-I Clean Up Garbage in a Wasteland World
Chapter 11 The Truth of Death
As expected—once technology reached a certain level, artificial intelligence inevitably emerged. In Zhu Ning's previous era, there had been countless warnings about AI: scientists urging caution, fearing it could bring apocalyptic crises.
Yet her world wasn't destroyed by AI. When the zombie tide hit, the power grid collapsed, and every server fried.
Absolute brute force rendered intelligent life helpless.
In this world, even Androids had self-awareness; the AI era was in full swing. But Zhu Ning didn't know how far it had progressed—had they formed their own societies? From Fang Ying's description, Prometheus seemed more like advanced predictive Big Data.
If every datum of a person's life from birth was tracked, algorithms could map their entire future: peaks, valleys, death.
At its extreme, humans were just strings of code in "its" database, fuel for the machine's evolution.
Even in Zhu Ning's old world, AI had sold human privacy, feeding achievements to tech overlords.
From the random novels she'd read, AI was always the ultimate villain. She couldn't yet gauge Prometheus's alignment—chaotic neutral, maybe?
Named after the myth—the fire-stealer for humanity—what was its original purpose?
Why had "it" chosen her? Was it tied to the original host's death?
Zhu Ning asked, "Can I refuse?"
She'd made enough money. Live comfortably on it, enjoy her remaining time—why tangle with contaminants? She could tell the waters ran deep: AI, departmental politics at the Center.
Possibly linked to original host's death. Jumping into an obvious trap wasn't smart.
Fang Ying paused, clearly not expecting that. She quickly smiled. "You can. You'd just need to go through confidentiality procedures."
But she added, "I suggest you stay. With your current savings, you can afford one GeneBoost dose—nowhere near a full course."
For Zhu Ning, this was the best job: high pay, great benefits, perfectly suited. No reason to refuse.
"We won't force you," Fang Ying said finally. "Looking forward to good news."
…
By the time Zhu Ning changed into casual clothes and left the Center hugging her files, the sun had set. Info-ads popped up along the road—Genesis Tech aggressively promoting Consciousness Cloud Upload services.
Cloud Consciousness: the apocalypse's dreamed paradise.
The ads were annoying, even hover-tracking. Ordinary people couldn't escape conglomerate ads; close one, another spawned. Zhu Ning endured five minutes before hers drifted off to harass the next victim.
Neon lights flashed on the skyway overhead, garbage trucks streaming endlessly—waste from all 260 federal districts funneled to 103.
She saw the abandoned City-Guard Android again: a weathered giant, burning trash inside, furnace glow never ceasing—like a lighthouse in the dark, illuminating miles.
Zhu Ning gazed up at the colossal machine, its furnace eyes like a living titan. Beautiful, in a way.
Giant humanoid incinerator, backed by skyway light strips, surrounded by floating high-tech ads. No stars above—clouds too thick or pollution too heavy. Even with the Iron Dome open, the sky was chaotic gray.
The realization hit hard: this world was utterly alien from hers. High-tech wasteland laced with contaminants—blistering advancement on one hand, squalor and chaos in the corners.
Order inside, disorder outside. She hadn't even seen beyond the walls.
A cold gust blew; Zhu Ning huddled deeper into her coat.
Since her mother's death, her closest bond severed, Zhu Ning learned true loneliness. Zombie world or wasteland—it made no difference. She had nothing, no home anywhere.
No family, no friends. Always alone.
She exhaled deeply, steadying herself. Paid rent to Auntie Wei, covered bills. Balance: 671,200 NewCred.
Instead of heading home, she went elsewhere—the abandoned garbage house.
First place she'd seen upon waking. Now deserted. Pitch black inside, dim light casting eerie shadows.
The moldy stench hit her. Returning felt different—almost nostalgic. No flashlight; she put on the Employee Wristband Fang Ying gave her. Sure enough, it lit up.
Warm yellow beam, adjustable.
She scanned the room: mountains of scrap metal, dozens of discarded Androids in corners. In her old world, steel was recycled—scrap alone worth a fortune.
Here, it piled like a Mech Graveyard—corpses everywhere.
She recalled the jagged palm-sized shard in her stomach, serrated edges. She'd tossed it casually after waking.
Killer used what was handy. Cause of death obvious—motive?
Original host: 19, mechanical engineering grad, ordinary fifth-class Defective. No money, no resources, nothing worth coveting—except maybe sanity.
But was her high sanity original host's, hers from transmigration, or System-granted?
Someone might've cleaned the scene—no blood, no weapon.
Post-waking, fragmented memories led her to a vending machine a kilometer away for MegaHeal.
Memories muddled—she'd been overwhelmed: transmigration, impending death, the System. Details slipped.
Zhu Ning sat where she "died," immersing herself, trying to recall. Looked up—the roof had a hole, acid rain that day. From the ground, a sliver of yellow sky visible. Like a frog in a well, dying, staring at that tiny patch.
Original host lay among scrap, bleeding out, watching the sky.
What were her final thoughts?
Zhu Ning sat a while, gained nothing. Felt silly—not Sherlock with a memory palace.
As she stood, she froze. Blood drops in the corner—visible only from this low angle.
Between scrap and wall, crooked scratches. Sitting wouldn't reveal them—original host had been lying down, dying.
She crouched, carefully moved a piece of metal. Faded words on the wall:
"The… apocalypse is coming," Zhu Ning whispered, "you and I… are but ants?"
The apocalypse is coming—you and I are but ants.
Her mind buzzed.
"The apocalypse is coming hahahaha—"
"The apocalypse is coming."
"You're just like me."
"You… you'll become… like me… like me…"
The Fishman's dying words, crawling toward her, babbling nonsense.
She'd thought psychic contamination. Naive. Rephrased elegantly: "The apocalypse is coming—you and I are but ants."
A contaminant saying it was one thing. Why here, at original host's death?
Why was she chosen? Defective, no ties, disposable trash in 103?
Without transmigration, original host's death would've gone unnoticed. If found, incinerated—no news, no ripple.
Clean.
Zhu Ning's first instinct: open the Employee Wristband, access the Center's internal network.
Fang Ying said her video was uploaded. If the Fishman said something that weird, forums would discuss. Login required formal employee ID.
She needed to join District 103 Sanitation Center officially.
Her motto: If you can't beat them, join them.
No hesitation. Selected a department, filled the simple form.
Login successful.
Wristband: Congratulations on joining.
Followed by trivial onboarding, lengthy consent forms. Zhu Ning skimmed, clicked through, entered the public forum.
Top post: [Shocking! Temp newbie with 1200 sanity! We have an S-Rank national treasure!]
Zhu Ning: "..."
Next: [Study material, internal only: Full purification process of the disappeared Last Train in D-Rank zone]
She clicked. Helmet footage splice—hers and Li Nianchuan's. Fast-forward to brawling the Fishman on the sub-rail.
Her helmet cracked, lens spiderwebbed, audio full of static. She kicked the Fishman onto the rail—crushed instantly.
"They think I'm… spoiled, can't handle hardship."
"Am I spoiled?"
Next should've been her with the fire axe, Fishman crawling, about to speak the apocalypse line.
But it cut. Straight to train arriving, Fishman pulped, spores released.
She rewatched. Confirmed—no apocalypse segment.
She was there. If not for trusting her memory, she'd think she hallucinated.
Edited? By whom? Prometheus? Helping her? Why?
[Ding—]
[Side Quest triggered: Uncover the truth of your death. Long-term quest, can run parallel with others. Rich rewards on success; failure = health zero. Current progress: 5%. Keep going!]
Zhu Ning: "..."
Shouldn't have come to the garbage house!
Damn System—no reward details, but failure wipes health?
Wait—the logic fit reality. Her "death" likely tied to why Prometheus chose her.
Someone tried to kill her. She survived, joined the Center—they'd try again.
She had to find the truth first, strike preemptively. Otherwise, second death = game over, health zero.
Clues required Center access, formal employment—contact with Prometheus, next contaminant.
Great. Back to happily sweeping garbage.
Zhu Ning used her Sub-Brain to photograph the wall from every angle, then scraped the words away with metal.
Mid-"destroying evidence," a faint creak outside.
Creak—
"Who's there?" Zhu Ning grabbed an iron bar—killer returning for round two?
A round little Android toddled in, half-human height, startled, raising chubby arms.
Zhu Ning: "..."
Looked low-end, like old-world mall guides. Red shell rusted, mismatched patch panels—pitiful.
She lowered the bar. "Fifth-class citizen?"
It nodded.
Of course—only a Defective would be in this dump. Zhu Ning: "Me too."
No voice. Screen face displayed: "Garbo."
Its name?
Zhu Ning shamelessly: "Call me Ning-bao."
Garbo's screen flashed a smiley. Service model originally—friendly. Happy to see her.
Question occurred. "You pick garbage around here?"
Name Garbo—probably a defective sanitation bot, discarded.
It nodded.
"Seen anyone suspicious?"
Garbo: "You."
"..." Zhu Ning: "Besides me?"
Garbo: "No."
Makes sense—killer would avoid witnesses.
"Any surveillance nearby?"
Garbo: "No."
Useless. Abandoned garbage house—no cameras. Disappointing.
Garbo sensed her mood, typed: "But Androids have."
"Hm?" Interest piqued.
Garbo slowly typed: "Android cameras on by default."
Standard feature—cameras were their "eyes." Even scrapped, many still recorded if powered.
Scrap mountain, but residual power meant some cameras likely active. Killer knew murder, not Androids—or wouldn't have chosen here.
One working scrapped Android camera could have captured original host's entire death.
Zhu Ning's eyes lit up. "Can you find it?"
Garbo: "No. Too many."
Mountain of junk. Screening functional cameras, exporting data, analyzing—two months minimum.
Zhu Ning: "..."
"Garbo," she crouched eye-level, iron bar in hand, grinning, "wanna make a deal?"
Garbo: "?"
In the wasteland world, humans mature faster and education is compressed, so people graduate university at 18. That's why Zhu Ning, at 19, already holds a bachelor's degree. The Sub-Brain is basically a combination of our smartphone + wallet + ID.
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