Reboot the Galaxy

Chapter 1 Assassination

"I killed the prime ministerial candidate in the neon district."

Di Yan leaned back in the hard chair, tilting his head slightly back, his tone nonchalant, as if he were talking about someone else's affairs.

In the gray, square room, bright white light shone from the ceiling, enveloping Di Yan like a net from the sky.

Opposite the spotless metal table sat two officers in dark green uniforms, side by side. The one against the wall stared at the empty tabletop, his palms resting on it, his fingers tapping incessantly as if he were typing on a non-existent keyboard.

The officer sitting opposite glanced at his comrade who was taking notes on his iris, stopped tapping his index finger on the table, looked up at Di Yan, and said in a flat tone: "It seems you have a clear understanding of your actions."

"You didn't even ask who ordered me to do it."

Di Yan tried to move his wrists, which were numb from the electromagnetic handcuffs, but the slightest movement sent electric currents piercing his skin like steel needles, causing pain even in the bone crevices.

The officer answered almost immediately, "No, we know."

……

Six hours ago.

3414年2月2日，10：32。

Jianshui Valley Square.

The gray PVC door was pushed open from the inside, and a muscular man wearing a baseball cap and a black windbreaker walked out, with a tag hanging on his chest and carrying a camera that was nearly half a meter long.

The empty corridor was dark and deserted, save for the sound of his footsteps and the shouts of the frenzied crowd outside.

He went into the bathroom, placed the machine on the sink, and took off his hat to wash his face.

The man was Di Yan.

He had spent two whole days in that cramped, dark storage room, and his discomfort eased considerably with a yawn.

When nature calls, one must relieve oneself.

He walked out carrying the camera, pushed open the door to the fire escape, and went down the stairs.

The door slammed shut behind them, shutting out the noise of the crowd.

Pushing open the fire escape door on the first floor, Di Yan easily turned into the lobby, and headed straight for the revolving door as if no one else was there, then pushed it open and went out.

Outside the building, two policemen in black uniforms stood guard on either side of the entrance like a pair of mascots. When they saw Di Yan come out of the building carrying a machine, they didn't pay much attention to him.

This is why Di Yan arrived here two days earlier.

All the buildings around Jianshui Valley Square had been under surveillance a day in advance, making it virtually impossible to sneak in at the last minute.

Security measures for the prime ministerial candidate's speech were extremely tight, with a level of control involving both the military and police. Armored vehicles, robotic guards, and heavily armed soldiers patrolled the square. This didn't even include the candidate's large group of bodyguards.

Therefore, for Di Yan, this clumsy method was the only option.

This is also the best way to get him to bring the items in safely.

Thousands of people gathered in the square, their voices and shouts blending together.

They were all audience members whose identities had been officially screened, representing the side that supported Yen Tsung-jen.

It is 10:38 now. At 11:00, Yen Tsung-jen will go on stage to speak.

The weather was partly overcast, with the sun weaving through the clouds, never showing its full side.

Di Yan walked around the crowd with a camera, pretending to be someone from a news media outlet. And in the square, many others like him were also carrying cameras and counting their steps.

The sunlight on the square was gradually obscured by moving dark clouds. When the clouds covered half of the square, Yan Zongren took the stage.

This is a traditional politician who looks older than his age. He is dressed in a very formal black suit, his silver hair is neatly combed, and there are deep smile lines at the corners of his eyes.

The crowd below began to cheer, and some started shouting slogans:

"Oppose quantification!" "Respect individuality!" "Equal opportunity for all!"...

The slogans spread like ripples from a stone thrown into water, until thousands of people shouted in unison.

Yen Tsung-jen, with a kind yet serious expression, gestured for the crowd to be quiet, and the entire square quickly fell silent.

He held onto the sides of the podium and began his speech into the standing microphone:

"Ladies and gentlemen, friends, it is a great honor for us to gather here today to discuss the future of the neon district."

Over the past five years, we have watched as society has slid toward a future that is not its own, and our once prosperous social life remains stagnant.

The culprit is simply this one thing: the quantification system that everyone despises!

The crowd erupted in cheers of approval.

As Yen Tsung-jen said, they all deeply hated the "system that could quantify all aspects of everyone," called "the Pearl Net."

"Each of us carries unique genes from birth. Our thoughts and ideas are bestowed by God; they should not be defined, calculated, or used as a standard to judge where our destiny should lead!"

Next, I'd like to tell you a story. My granddaughter is 12 years old. When it came time for class selection at school, Zhuwang (my father) quietly assigned her to the political science track! Friends, could Zhuwang have done this besides because his grandfather is an old, decrepit politician?

I remember clearly that what my little granddaughter truly loved was history class! And this is utterly unforgivable in the eyes of certain political factions—how absurd! She's still a child!

Yan Zongren's speech stirred up public sentiment, igniting long-suppressed emotions in everyone's hearts, and his voice was already deafening.

Each of them is an angry and oppressed individual who feels they have been long imprisoned by algorithms and have suffered unfair distribution and treatment. Yen Tsung-jen has repeatedly declared in public speeches that he will cancel Zhuwang's operations in the Japanese-speaking region after taking office.

Di Yan didn't care about any of this. He carried his camera and buried himself in the crowd, squeezing forward with difficulty until he slowly approached the podium.

When he got close enough, he was surrounded by people with raised arms and banners, so he put the camera on the ground and squatted down to start fiddling with it.

……

"So, there was a handgun hidden in that camera?"

The officer sitting opposite him stared at Di Yan with great interest, as if he had heard a joke.

"To be precise, they were parts. I squatted there and assembled them into a pistol." Di Yan said expressionlessly, his lips twitching slightly. He added, "If you don't believe me, I can go home and send you the blueprints. You can make an exact replica by following their instructions."

"No need, we've already investigated everything."

The officer smiled and tapped the table with his knuckles, turning a section of the table into a display screen.

He pulled up a photo, then swiped it, his index finger leaving the table and pointing forward at Di Yan.

The officer slid the photograph across the table, and like a real photograph, it spun along the table and flew to Di Yan, where it stopped.

The photo shows a researcher wearing a white lab coat, holding a small object, and turning his head to look at the camera.

He looked like he'd been caught off guard by a paparazzi, his eyes filled with panic and surprise. His high nose was adorned with small, silver-rimmed glasses, and his curly hair made him look rather comical.

Di Yan's eyes twitched.

"Jeryck Godwin graduated from MIT in 3408 with dual doctorates in mechanical engineering and computer science. He was a genius."

The officer looked confident and watched Di Yan's reaction, but Di Yan remained unmoved.

"You all know, yet you still come to interrogate me?" His tone was icy, and his lazy gaze carried a chilling aura.

The officer leaned back, resting his elbows on the armrests of his chair, his fingers interlaced and supporting his chin: "I just want to hear more of your stories."

……

In the crowd, Di Yan disassembled the camera that Jeremy had built for him. Inside was a complex cavity with many strip-shaped and block-shaped parts fitted tightly against the cavity walls.

He took them out one by one and assembled them little by little in order, glancing up at the people around him from time to time.

Everyone was drawn to the podium, and no one would have guessed that Di Yan, who was squatting on the ground, was assembling guns.

On the podium, Yen Tsung-jen's voice grew increasingly impassioned, his hand gripping the microphone as if he wanted to break it.

He waved his arms, trying his best to speak for the people below, and many people were moved to tears.

This upright microphone has existed for over a thousand years, empowering countless politicians. In an era where wireless communication is readily available, its existence is one of the few small objects that has weathered the tides of history—insignificant, yet profoundly meaningful.

The people around him were visibly more agitated. Someone moved their feet and kicked Di Yan's camera housing a short distance back, but this did not disturb him.

Even in his personal opinion, he did not agree with what Yan Zongren said.

Such old politicians usually make grand promises during their campaigns, but once in office, they simply repeat their old ways.

After all, it's the result of hundreds of years of practice, so as long as we follow the steps, there won't be any problems.

As for the general public, they might be fooled, but who would actually take it seriously?

In his hand, a gun was almost completely formed, and on the ground, inside the black cavity, a gleaming bullet was lodged.

This was his only bullet, his only chance.

The bullet was removed, the chamber was loaded, and the sound of the bolt striking the barrel was crisp and pleasant.

"We stand at a historical crossroads. Our choices will determine our destiny!"

Yan Zongren spoke vehemently, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the crowd. Finally, as if by some strange twist of fate, he spotted the dark muzzle of a gun hidden in the crowd.

puff.

The gunshot wasn't loud; Jerry had done an excellent job of concealing himself. The person next to him only felt someone tap some kind of plastic shell next to his ear.

Yan Zongren's body disappeared from the podium, falling backward, leaving a trail of blood in the air as his head traced an arc.

A large group of bodyguards in suits rushed onto the stage and surrounded Yan Zongren's body. The military and police around the square immediately became agitated, and the radio channels suddenly became lively.

"ah!!!"

A woman screamed, and the crowd panicked completely.

Di Yan silently threw the pistol into the cavity on the ground, closed the cap, and quickly squeezed through the surging and chaotic crowd to leave.

"Drip, drip, drip..."

The countdown to the bomb hidden inside the camera has ended.

With a deafening roar, a fireball several meters high shot into the sky, blasting away unsuspecting civilians. Limbs and severed bodies rained down, and the special plastic parts of the guns turned into gas and liquid in the high temperature of over a thousand degrees.

All evidence against Di Yan vanished with the explosion.

……

"Excellent," the officer commented truthfully. "If we hadn't caught you, we would never have guessed you were someone like this."

Di Yan sat up straighter.

The situation is very unfavorable for him now. These people have not only found out his identity, but also found out about Jerry along with him.

"Di Yan, male, born on April 3, 3386 in the capital of China, enlisted in the army at the age of 18, and later trained in the Special Operations Brigade of the Southwest Military Region. He retired in 3410 due to the Third Disarmament Agreement, and then seemed to have vanished into thin air. No personal records about you can be found anywhere in the world."

The officer read out Di Yan's resume.

He synchronized the files on the eye mask to the desktop and swiped them in front of Di Yan, just like he had done with photos before.

The file before me was confirmed to be Di Yan's record from the first 24 years of his life, containing a great deal of detailed information.

"So what? After talking to me for so long, is it worth the death penalty?"

The officer closed his eyes slightly, shook his head, and instead revealed a slightly friendly look in his eyes:

"Not only do you not need the death penalty, but you've actually done a good deed."

Di Yan frowned and raised his chin.

He clearly killed a prime ministerial candidate in the Japanese ward. Even if the shot missed, the charge of terrorist attack against a politician alone would be enough to get him executed several times over. The laws in the Viennese are very strict.

"What do you mean?"

"What would you think if I told you that Yan Zongren is not only not dead, but is actually alive and well?"

Di Yan's eyes widened.

Was everything that happened this morning just his hallucination? That's ridiculous.

He never makes a mistake in completing the tasks assigned to him.

However, if you walk by the river often enough, you're bound to get your shoes wet. To this day, he still doesn't understand how these people managed to pull him out of the vast sea of ​​people; he doesn't feel like he made a mistake at any point.

Modern technology is often very sophisticated, and perhaps he was detected by some unexpected means.

However, these are all things to be discussed later. The real question worth paying attention to is: why didn't Yan Zongren die?

"Because you didn't kill the real person, but a clone, it's that simple."

boom--

It felt as if a bomb had been dropped into Di Yan's mind.

With cloning technology far from perfect, how could such a lifelike Yan Zongren stand on the podium and deliver a passionate speech?

For example, if yesterday's news reported that the federal government had approved a project to explore a planet, the next day facilities would already be built on it.

"It's just a poorly made product; it's remotely controlled. In other words, what you're seeing is indeed Yen Tsung-jen giving a speech, but he's not actually standing on a stage; he's somewhere you don't know."

Di Yan stared intently at the smiling face of the officer at the table, pondered for a moment, and then asked, "Did you hire me to kill this clone?"

The officer nodded: "That's right, because only in this way can Yan Zongren become Prime Minister Yan."

"Heh... an old trick that's been played to death."

Di Yan had no interest in playing along with these politicians.

All he wants now is to escape, and perhaps take Jerry with him.

"So we are still very grateful to you." The officer's words didn't sound fake, but they still made Di Yan want to laugh.

"You're thanking me but you're not letting me go?"

"Of course not. You've already become deeply involved in this matter, so we can't let you spread the news."

"I have no interest in spreading this."

"Then you can't leave either."

Di Yan chuckled twice and then fell silent.

The officer pulled out another document, slid it in front of Di Yan, and covered up Jerry's photo and Di Yan's personal file.

"We are ready to reinstate your military status and allow you to serve the Union once again."

Di Yan glanced at the title of the document out of the corner of his eye, and in that instant, his eyes seemed to be firmly drawn to it.

"What are you doing...?"

"That's right, we plan to recruit you into the Viyin Star Fleet."