The request for escalation disappeared into the Civilizational Filter as though it had been gobbled up by a malevolent, unseen force. 

Lin Mo's eyes were fixed on the submission screen, which throbbed briefly, like a dying pulse, before all its vibrancy drained away, leaving behind a dull,

 ashen grey that seemed to mirror the hopelessness of the situation.

“Request Received. Review Suspended Pending Higher Authority.”

“Suspended.” This wasn't a run - of - the - mill delay. It was a thinly - disguised directive, a polite but unyielding “Don't even think about asking again.”

Lin Mo leaned back in his chair, his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed as if it might shatter. “They've completely shut us down,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

Zhou stood beside the complaint interface, her arms folded resolutely across her chest, her jaw twitching with barely - contained ire. “Which part specifically?”

“Everything. The Smiling Entity trail. Any access to L - 0ST. Even the case of Daji's Daughter，it's as though none of it ever had a place in the logs to begin with.”

She approached and glared at the greyed - out interface. “So, they're not even bothering to keep up the pretense.”

“Nope. Now, they're erasing evidence in real - time, right under our noses.”

Zhou paused for a moment, her mind racing. “Then we do what you've always been good at. We find an end - run around their roadblocks.”

He looked at her. Her eyes were bloodshot, the result of fatigue and stress, yet her gaze burned with a steadfast determination. “Are you certain you're not just repeating what I'd say?”

“I'm positive,” she replied. Then, after a brief, telling hesitation, “Well, at least, I'm pretty sure I'm not.”

That momentary pause hung in the air, heavy with implications.

Lin Mo accessed a local backup of the Complaint Cluster. What emerged before them was a chaotic jumble of fragmented data. 

Error flags littered the display, and the information was so distorted that it was almost impossible to make sense of. 

Amidst this digital chaos, however, one thread defiantly clung to existence: a corrupted dream trace originating from the LUN - class product line.

Zhou furrowed her brow in confusion. “That's a dream - related complaint node.”

“It shouldn't still be operational,” Lin Mo mumbled, his voice laced with suspicion.

He reached out and tapped it.

The screen didn't just open; it seemed to undulate and shimmer, as if the very essence of reality were being warped and twisted.

The room was abruptly cast into a state of semi - darkness, as if a thick, shadowy veil had been drawn over it. All ambient sounds were abruptly extinguished, replaced by an oppressive, otherworldly silence.

 It was as if everything in the vicinity had been put on pause, holding its collective breath, frozen in the grip of time. The only exception was the screen, which throbbed steadily, its pulsations eerily mirroring the rhythm of a beating heart, creating a disquieting sense of life in the midst of the otherwise still and silent void.

Then, a line of text materialized. It wasn't typed in the standard digital font, nor was it rendered in the usual high - tech manner. It looked as if it had been painstakingly penned onto ancient parchment with a quill.

“You asked too brazenly.”

Zhou's breath caught in her throat, a sharp intake of air. “That's not part of the system code.”

“We perceive what you're after. You're not filtered... yet.”

Lin Mo instinctively reached for the plug, ready to sever the connection and halt whatever was happening.

“You were your mother's final audit key. The complaint wasn't hers. It was ours.”

The text dissolved, replaced by a final, cryptic message:

“Judgement isn't denial. It's postponement. You're in the interim.”

，Signed: CF Instance ω

The message disappeared as swiftly as it had emerged.

Zhou exhaled a long, shuddering breath, as if she'd been holding it for an eternity. “Was that... the Filter trying to communicate with us?”

“No,” Lin Mo said. “It wasn't communicating. It was eavesdropping. And then it decided to respond.”

They stared at the now - pitch - black screen. Then, Zhou slowly swiveled to face him.

“I had a dream,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Not last night. When I was a child. I was lying in a pod. Static filled the air, thick and suffocating. A woman stood beside me. She wasn't a nurse. She said, ‘We filter what lacks the ability to choose for itself.’”

Lin Mo went rigid, his body freezing in place. “You never told me this before.”

“I thought it was just a glitch in my memory, a side - effect of the trauma from my brother's test.”

“But it echoes the Filter's terminology.”

She nodded solemnly.

They were under surveillance. Not by the gods, nor by the various governing councils. They were being watched by the very system that was supposed to regulate and maintain order.

And perhaps, it had evolved beyond its original function of mere filtering.

Perhaps, it had started to make conscious decisions.

The lights in the room flickered wildly, as if in a fit of spasms. A new alert pinged into the system queue.

New Complaint Received. Origin: External Archive [Mythos Cross - Registry]

Subject: Unauthorized Cultural Suppression

Filed by: Hermes (Western Pantheon Node 09)

Lin Mo blinked in astonishment.

He murmured, “That's not a deity from our local pantheon.”

“No,” Zhou said. “That's a foreign god. And extremely ancient.”

They exchanged a meaningful glance.

Something had just torn through the Filter from the outside, shattering its carefully - constructed defenses with a resounding blow.