Chapter 2

I livestreamed for half an hour straight. Without any filters, my face was visibly pale.

The chat feed had shifted from: “Audrey’s genuinely a PhD, her ideas are so advanced!”

“Holy crap, her method could solve my current technical problems!”

To: “Audrey, do you researchers ever exercise? You’re breathing so heavily!”

“Audrey, I know this path. Just a few more steps, there’s a federal facility ahead, go ask for help! You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Mom, help! Someone’s about to collapse on my screen!”

I looked up, weakly gazing at the screen, my forehead visibly drenched in cold sweat.

“Yeah, I don’t feel so great. Might be low blood sugar, I’m so sorry.”

The comments scrolled thick and fast: “No, no, no, Audrey, don’t talk! Someone save her!”

“Officer! This citizen needs serious help!”

Finally, I saw the gates of the facility. I mustered all my strength, sped up a few steps, and stumbled past the yellow warning line.

“Hold it right there! What are you doing?!”

The officer at the gate, gun in hand, immediately went on high alert, seeing someone holding a selfie device walk directly into the restricted area.

I kept my head down; the camera could capture my pale face and half-closed eyes, but the officer couldn’t see them.

To him, an unknown individual was ignoring his warnings and barging into the base. One officer raised his weapon, while another called for backup and cautiously approached me.

Until I crashed heavily into him, then softly collapsed to the ground.

I squinted at the time: 9:48 PM. Seven minutes until the fire.

I gasped, a tense knot in my chest suddenly loosening, my consciousness instantly fading.

I felt someone shaking me. I struggled to open my eyes, unable to make out the face in front of me. I tried to speak as loudly as I could, but the sound was barely a whisper until he leaned his ear close to my mouth.

“I’m sorry… I’m not a bad person… I’m still livestreaming, could you… turn it off for me?”

The last image on the livestream was the officer's cap.

My consciousness receded, and I saw my past life.

Waking up to my blankets being ripped off and being dragged out of bed while still half-asleep—that was the nightmare that haunted my past life.

Dressed in thin pajamas, surrounded by a group of police officers and university officials, repeatedly questioned in harsh tones about why I started the fire, all I could do was offer a weak, helpless “I didn’t.” Nothing more.

My hands were clamped in cold handcuffs, and I felt as though my entire life had been locked away.

During my days and nights in prison, I replayed countless scenarios. The best possible explanation was that the fire was caused by a short circuit, not intentional arson, meaning I wouldn't be sentenced so severely.

But I couldn't prove it wasn't me who was last in and out of the lab.

The surveillance clearly showed me entering and exiting the building, and the lab’s access card records were under my ID. The evidence was so solid, it could crush me.

It wasn't until a year later, when my former mentor was teaching in the States, and the research he published was built directly upon my core technology, that I finally understood the truth.

The fire wasn’t meant to destroy anything; it was meant to cover something up.

And now, without my unwitting cooperation, who else could help him pull off this clandestine data swap?