"Beep... beep... beep..." The insistent busy signal was a physical blow, each pulse a hammer against Chen Mo's skull. Lin Yuhan's final, clipped words—"the police..."—echoed in his ears, overlaid by the phantom sounds of struggle and shouting. The image of her face, etched with fear, burned behind his eyelids. This wasn't just a simple kidnapping; this was something far more calculated, far more sinister.
He slammed his fist into the reinforced steel wall, the impact jarring even through the thick metal. The resulting dent was a testament to his rage, a physical manifestation of the chaotic storm raging within him. He forced himself to breathe, to focus, to channel that fury into a sharp, analytical precision.
Wang Fatty? No. The man was a sniveling coward, incapable of orchestrating something this elaborate. This required planning, resources, and a level of ruthlessness that went far beyond Wang Fatty's pathetic ambitions. The implications were chilling.
The mysterious figure. The one who'd been subtly shadowing him for weeks, a phantom in the periphery. He'd dismissed it as paranoia, but now… the pieces clicked into place with a sickening thud. This wasn't just coincidence; this was a calculated move, a deliberate strike. And Lin Yuhan was the pawn.
He pictured the figure, a fleeting glimpse of dark clothing and a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in the shadows. He'd felt the prickle of danger, the unsettling sense of being watched, but he'd underestimated the extent of the threat. This wasn't a simple abduction; it was a carefully orchestrated trap.
"Hmph, whoever you are," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, "you've made a grave mistake." His gaze fell on Wang Fatty and Hei Hu, their faces pale and drawn, their bodies trembling. He didn't need to speak; the icy fury in his eyes was a sufficient threat. They were insignificant pawns in a much larger game, and he had no time for them.
He spun on his heel, leaving the two men to their terror, and burst from the server room. The rhythmic thud of his boots on the cold metal floor was a relentless drumbeat, a promise of retribution. He had to find Lin Yuhan. Every second felt like an eternity, each tick of the clock a hammer blow to his already frayed nerves. He couldn't bear the thought of what might happen to her.
Meanwhile, in the deserted cafe, Lin Yuhan felt a prickling unease. The sudden silence was unnerving, a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of city life. The air hung heavy, thick with an unnatural stillness. She looked around, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The cafe was empty. Completely, utterly empty. Tables stood untouched, chairs were neatly arranged, but there wasn't a single soul in sight. Not a waiter, not a customer, just her.
Panic clawed at her throat. She pushed open the door, expecting to see the usual urban chaos, but instead found a street frozen in time. Cars sat abandoned, doors flung wide, as if their occupants had vanished into thin air. The silence was oppressive, a suffocating blanket that muffled the usual city sounds. This wasn't just a power outage; this was something far more unsettling.
A cold dread seeped into her bones. The rumors about the Overclock Alliance, whispers of their ruthlessness and their terrifying abilities, flooded her mind. The images—blurred, fragmented, yet horrifyingly vivid—haunted her. The stories of disappearances, of people vanishing without a trace, were no longer just urban legends. They were a stark reality.
She was trapped. Isolated. And utterly alone. The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow. She had to think, to act, to find a way out. She had to reach Chen Mo. She had to warn him. But how? The city around her was a ghost town, a silent, watchful predator waiting to strike. The weight of her predicament pressed down on her, a crushing burden. She had to find a way to break free, to survive. But the silence, the emptiness, the chilling stillness of the deserted city, whispered a grim warning: escape might be impossible.