Chapter 361: Better to Kill by Mistake

One week later.

Federal Weird Investigation Bureau Technical Analysis Center.

Seventy‑two high‑definition displays covered the entire curved wall, showing everything from satellite thermal imaging to city surveillance, from dark web data streams to weird fluctuation spectra; all information refreshed, overlaid, and cross‑checked at a rate of hundreds of entries per second.

L sat at the central console, red alert pop‑ups filling the screen reflected in her black‑rimmed glasses. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard, not pressing down.

She wasn't thinking.

It was because there were so many red pop‑ups that she needed to prioritize them first.

"Honghai City southern suburb substation, suspected Mutated Entity cluster."

"Ling Chang City No. 7 Middle School missing teacher confirmed as a Gospel Church follower, already mutated."

"Bohai Bay fishing village collectively lost contact; satellite imagery shows the building cluster undergoing biological swelling."

"A doctor on duty in the emergency department of a top‑tier hospital in Jiang Hai City reported consecutively treating seventeen patients with identical symptoms—all claiming they were 'chosen'."

L nudged her glasses upward, and her fingertips finally struck the Enter key.

"In the past seven days, across the entire Federation, there have been a total of 412 suspected Gospel Church‑related incidents, a 307 % increase over last week. Among them, 89 confirmed Mutated cases, with over six hundred deaths."

Her voice showed no fluctuation, her speech rate steady, almost like reading a weather forecast.

But Nie Yang, standing behind her, after listening, twisted the Goji Berry Thermos lid halfway, and their hand stopped.

"Four hundred twelve?"

"The precise figure is 412.5. The last half is being verified on site by the division, with a high probability of confirmation."

Nie Yang tightened the cup lid and gulped a mouthful of goji water.

The warm liquid slid down their throat, warming their stomach, but their back grew cold.

"There's another data set," L switched to a page, her voice still as flat as a straight line, "needs attention."

A heat map popped up on the screen.

It's not a Weird Domain distribution map. It's a public opinion propagation model.

Orange, red and deep‑red blocks spread from the southeastern coast inland, mirroring the spread pattern of an epidemic—the central city falls first, then radiates to second‑ and third‑tier cities along transport arteries, logistics corridors and social networks.

"What is this?" Nie Yang leaned in to look.

"In the past seventy‑two hours, the discussion heat distribution across the entire network for keywords like 'evolution', 'Seed', and 'Sai Men' is shown," L's finger tapped the deepest‑red, most concentrated area, "Honghai City tops the chart. Related posts on the dark web forum grew 1,700 times within forty‑eight hours."

Nie Yang's thermos hovered in mid‑air, and they didn't take a second sip.

"One thousand seven hundred times?"

"There's something even more interesting," L's tone didn't change, but she used the word 'interesting'—in her linguistic system, those three characters are equivalent to saying 'it's doomed' in ordinary speech.

She pulled up another data set.

"This is an IP trace analysis of dark web forum users. Among the accounts posting the 'Gospel' information, 73 % are newly registered, with registration times clustered within the past five days."

"Trolls? Hired by Sai Men or Yan Ming?"

"No," L shook her head, the motion precise to two millimetres, "the registration devices, network environments, and typing habit features of these accounts are highly heterogeneous, not matching any known troll operation patterns."

She nudged her glasses again.

"Conclusion: these are all real people. Genuine, living humans with independent will, who voluntarily registered accounts and voluntarily posted and spread information."

Nie Yang's thermos lid loosened.

Tightened it again.

Nie Yang said nothing.

L kept scrolling down, and a captured dark web chat log popped up on the screen—

"Anyone know how to get the Seed? I've got a source, but I'm not sure if it's legit."

"Don't buy from the Black Market; fakes are abundant. Find the direct disciples of Lord Sai Men; only the seeds they hold are genuine."

"Bro, my friend's friend ate the Seed and really changed—strength like a bull, doesn't feel pain. The only side effect is looking a bit ugly, but who cares?"

"Who gives a damn. Being handsome doesn't feed you. My son has late‑stage leukemia, the hospital wants six hundred thousand. I can't even scrape together five thousand. Give me a chance to keep him alive, I'd even turn into a toad if I had to."

The IP location of that final message showed — Jiang Hai City First People's Hospital, Inpatient Department Wi‑Fi.

Nie Yang set the thermos down.

The cup base struck the desk, the sound neither loud nor soft.

After about ten seconds, Nie Yang finally spoke, the warm smile still on their face, but the curve of the mouth had stiffened.

"Physical isolation nets can block the monsters outside," Nie Yang said, their voice slow, as if strolling, "but they can't block the worms inside the belly."

L didn't respond. She wasn't good at replying to such metaphorical sighs.

Nie Yang continued, cradling the thermos with both hands, rotating it half a turn.

"After the Yan Ming case, the Intelligence Department sent me a report titled 'Psychological Portrait of Gospel Church Followers'."

He smacked his lips, expression like he'd eaten a bad peanut.

"What do you think it says? I originally thought that believers in that thing would all be desperate wretches, low‑educated, easy to be duped. But actually—among the followers there are doctors, teachers, veterans, mid‑level managers at listed companies. Even two are civil servants from our Investigation Bureau's peripheral cooperation units."

L turned her head to look at him.

Nie Yang smiled a little, his smile was extremely gentle, so gentle it was almost sickening.

"L, do you think these people are brain‑washed?"

L pushed her glasses down.

"Based on data model analysis, no."

"Hmm."

"Traditional brainwashing requires three necessary conditions: information isolation, high‑frequency repetition, and emotional manipulation. But the Gospel Church's propagation path doesn't fit this model at all. No closed environment, no repeated indoctrination, not even a core doctrinal text. Its dissemination mechanism is closer to..."

L paused for three seconds. In her world, that already counted as a long hesitation.

"... word‑of‑mouth marketing."

Nie Yang's hand, holding the thermal cup, shook.

"Word-of-mouth marketing?"

"Users spread it spontaneously, based on real-experience feedback, possessing high credibility and high conversion rate. Yan Ming is a living advertisement—he ate the seed, mutated, but retained complete rationality. After this case was broadcast, its effect is equivalent to......"

L pushed their glasses up again.

"...... equivalent to a five-star review."

Nie Yang stopped smiling.

Footsteps came from the end of the corridor.

Steady, unhurried, the rhythm of the soles striking the ground was even, like a metronome.

When Lord Wei pushed the door and entered, the collar button of his Mao suit was fastened to the top.

His complexion wasn't good-looking, nor was it ugly. To be precise, it was the kind of expression where all emotions were suppressed below the cheekbones, leaving only a pair of eagle eyes scanning outward.

L and Nie Yang stood up together.

Lord Wei didn't let them sit down, nor did he take a seat. He walked to the curved screen wall, hands behind his back, scanning from left to right.

Seventy-two screens. Four hundred and twelve incidents. Six hundred lives.

Plus the constantly popping dark web posts, underground gathering locations, and suspected mutated entity sighting reports.

He watched for three minutes.

In those three minutes, the air in the analysis center was so quiet that the hum of the server cooling fans could be heard.

"We spent nearly a month building the isolation net, and seventy thousand person-times of police force for the physical blockade."

Lord Wei's voice was deep and low, each word spoken with force.

"We're defending against what's outside."

He raised his hand and pointed at the screen.

"But it cannot solve the internal root cause."

Nie Yang and L didn't speak.

"Starting today." Lord Wei's speech quickened, "The Federation's thirty-six core cities will immediately enter Level III emergency status. Special Forces will rotate in three shifts, around-the-clock clearing all underground gathering points, dark web transaction nodes, and suspected Gospel Church gathering areas."

He paused.

"Better to mistakenly kill than to let anyone slip through."

Nie Yang's lips moved, as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed it back.

Lord Wei glanced at him.

"Got something to say?"

"Chief." Nie Yang's smile faded, something that rarely happened on his face, "How should the scope of mistaken killing be defined? If believers voluntarily defected but are still ordinary people who haven't mutated——"

"Whether mutated or not doesn't matter."

Lord Wei interrupted him.

"What matters is that he chose to stand against humanity."

After those words landed, not even the fan's sound could be heard in the analysis center.

L's fingers hovered over the keyboard, frozen, and only after five seconds did they drop to begin executing the order.

Nie Yang tightened the lid of the thermal cup and stuffed it back into his windcoat pocket.

Each person, preoccupied with their own thoughts, got busy. Orders were encrypted and sent to all branches; the Special Forces' dispatch system lit up a dense cluster of green dots on the holographic projection, like a tide spreading outward from headquarters.