The file boasted a precise duration of twelve minutes.

Or, at the very least, that was what it was meant to be.

Timestamped from 03:14:06 to 03:26:06, the surveillance footage of Lei Zhenzi's final trial sequence had initially been tagged as irretrievably corrupted. 

However, when Zhou activated an archaic decryption filter，EchoPass.v3_ghostseed, a creation of Lin Mo's mother，something extraordinary came to light.

What emerged was neither video nor audio.

Rather, what emerged were motion ghosts, contorted data patterns, and flash - scorched silhouettes painstakingly assembled from lingering heat imprints and biometric echoes. 

These spectral manifestations throbbed irregularly through the pitch - black void in fractured glimmers, bearing a far stronger resemblance to an otherworldly séance than to ordinary surveillance footage.

Zhou's gaze was locked intently on the reconstructed sequence, her lips compressed into a taut, anxious line. “He wasn't by himself,” she declared with unwavering certainty.

The ghost - like frames disclosed three unmistakable figures. 

The first figure was undeniably Lei Zhenzi. The telltale sign of his identity lay in the ragged, asymmetric state of his thunder - encircled wings, which served as a clear giveaway.

The second was a shadowy, cloaked figure. Their face was hidden from view, yet a mysterious glyph emblazoned their shoulder, standing out starkly. 

This entity belonged neither to the pantheon of gods nor to the mortal world. Instead, it was an enigmatic being that had evidently passed through some unfathomable filtering process.

The third was a brilliant, luminous streak that blatantly defied the camera's line of sight. As Zhou perceptively pointed out, “This is a blatant violation of the laws of physics. The only way this could occur is if the very vantage point itself has experienced a gravitational disruption.” 

Lin stood there in silence, his mind awhirl with thoughts. The glyph on the second figure was far from an ordinary mark. It was precisely the same fragmented spiral that was emblazoned on the override coin his mother had hidden away.

ω.

“Identical to the Filter's insignia,” he breathed, his voice so faint it was almost lost in the air.

Zhou responded in a hushed tone. “This isn't mere surveillance. It's a meticulously crafted message.”

The footage looped yet again. But this time, the final three seconds veered into uncharted territory.

They blinked. These were no random, glitch - induced blinks. Instead, they blinked with a distinct, deliberate rhythm, as if establishing an unshakable, direct connection with the viewer's gaze, as if trying to convey a hidden meaning that lay just beneath the surface. 

In the immediate following instant, a solitary frame materialized as if emerging from the void. It was emblazoned with static - encoded words that appeared to throb with an otherworldly import:

“CIVILIZATION IS NOT A LINEAR SYSTEM.”

“THE SMILE WAS A TEMPLATE.”

“HE WAS OUR MODEL. YOU ARE OUR OFFSET.”

Zhou leaned forward, her eyes aglow with a blend of curiosity and unease. With practiced dexterity, she paused the frame.

“You,” she said, spinning around sharply to meet Lin's gaze head - on. “They're talking to you.”

Lin Mo's long - since - expired badge flickered faintly, its lights fluttering with residual energy. Clearly, the Filter had not yet concluded its complex machinations involving him, and this was merely the opening gambit of its elaborate game.

Suddenly, without the slightest forewarning, the room was wracked by a ferocious convulsion. This was no ordinary power outage; no simple disruption of electrical currents.

It was the tangible outcome of a deep - seated, fundamental temporal realignment, a shift in the very fabric of time itself. 

The lights dimmed, then flared back to life, but the timestamps on every screen had now been jolted twelve minutes backward.

Lin stood there in silence, his mind awhirl with thoughts. The glyph on the second figure was far from an ordinary mark. It was precisely the same fragmented spiral that was emblazoned on the override coin his mother had hidden away.

ω.

“Identical to the Filter's insignia,” he breathed, his voice so faint it was almost lost in the air.

Zhou responded in a hushed tone. “This isn't mere surveillance. It's a meticulously crafted message.”

The footage looped yet again. But this time, the final three seconds veered into uncharted territory.

They blinked. These were no random, glitch - induced blinks. Instead, they blinked with a distinct, deliberate rhythm, as if establishing an unshakable, direct connection with the viewer's gaze, as if trying to convey a hidden meaning that lay just beneath the surface. 

Zhou clutched his arm tightly. “We're trapped, Lin. This entire floor has been transmuted into a myth - birthing cradle. You're at the epicenter of a testbed.”

“A testbed for what?”

She tilted her head back, her eyes lifting towards the ceiling. In an instant, the expanse above them began to shimmer, its form undulating and gradually transforming into a colossal, gleaming mirrored dome.

Within the reflective surface of the dome, his reflection stared back at him，

But there was a smile on that reflected face.

A smile that was not his own.

It was his mother's smile, unmistakable and disconcerting.

The voice echoed once more, this time in a hushed, more subdued timbre.

“Complaint Code L - 0ST: Resumed.

Claimant: Subject ‘Lin Mo’

Category: Unauthorized Origin Injection

Pending Verdict: Postponed by Sovereign Entity – Jōkin of the Light.”

Zhou's hands trembled violently, as if gripped by an uncontrollable force. “Lin... who in the world is that?” she stammered, her voice filled with a mix of confusion and dread.

He swallowed thickly, his throat parched.

He had not the slightest clue.

But the Filter, that inscrutable arbiter, knew.

And it was now presenting him with a choice that could well determine his fate.