The shrill Möbius siren continued to wail furiously deep within Kane's brain, like countless cold steel needles repeatedly piercing and stirring. It wasn't a sound from the outside world, but rather a kind of lingering noise pollution seared directly into the depths of his consciousness, carrying with it a recurring despair and a strange, non-Euclidean sense of distortion. Amidst this maddening whistle, Kane stood frozen in place, the lingering touch of the cold iron band on his right wrist still lingering, like the mark of his own withered claws. His gaze was fixed on the crimson numbers on the wall clock—

71:00:00:00

A new countdown, a longer, heavier Möbius strip, had begun to spin.

At this moment, a distinct, physical, and extremely subtle humming sound pierced the piercing siren within his mind. This humming didn't originate from any laboratory instrument; it felt more like a high-frequency vibration from space itself, like the roar of a giant beast in the distant void, or the warm-up of some precision machinery about to burst into high gear. Kane's chaotic consciousness was suddenly jolted by this new stimulus. He instinctively raised his left hand to reach for the particle gun at his waist, but was horrified to find that his body felt like it had been cast into solidified cement, unable to move even a finger! Invisible, cold, sticky forces squeezed him from all sides. The air seemed to have transformed into a solidified gel, weighing down every muscle and joint. Only his eyeballs could still move with difficulty within a tiny range.

The humming sound of space trembling suddenly rose in pitch, becoming sharp and piercing!

The air less than three meters in front of him began to violently twist and ripple! Light, like the surface of water after a stone has been dropped, spread out in circles of rapidly expanding ripples. At the center of the ripples, space itself seemed to be violently torn and crumpled by an invisible hand! A hole, with unstable blue-purple arcs flickering at the edges and deep darkness swirling within, appeared out of thin air!

There was no sound. Only the tooth-crushing visual dislocation of space being violently torn apart. The next second, three figures appeared at the hole's location, as if printed from nothingness.

The hole vanished the instant they fully appeared, leaving only the lingering smell of burnt ozone and the aftermath of the violent spatial disturbance.

Three people. They wore identical, featureless dark gray jumpsuits, the material smooth as liquid metal, clinging to their bodies, outlining their muscular yet inhuman features. Their faces were covered by perfectly smooth silver-white metal masks, devoid of any openings or markings. A subtle, cold glow flowed across the surface, like solidified mercury. Their movements were perfectly synchronized, without a single unnecessary movement, and carried a cold, mechanical precision.

The Time Bureau Task Force.

Kane's heart sank. They were here. They always appeared immediately after a mission was completed (or failed?), like a janitor clearing out the trash. But this time, he was no longer a tool waiting to be recycled after a mission was completed. He was... what? The releaser of the virus? The product of a time paradox? Or... the latest link in the Ouroboros ring? The three task force members made no sound, not even a glance. One of them, with absolutely precise steps, approached Kane. The sleek metal mask faced him expressionlessly, and Kane could even see his own distraught, terrified, and distraught reflection in the cold light.

The task force member extended a hand. It was also clad in the dark gray material of the uniform and wore no tools. But as it approached Kane's right hand, which was tightly gripping the Pandora releaser, Kane felt an irresistible pull! It was as if the metal cylinder in his hand had become the core of a magnet.

"No..." Kane's throat uttered a dry hiss, his right muscles tensing to the limit, trying to resist. But the force was absolute. The metal cylinder, Pandora, was easily peeled from his stiff fingers, like plucking a dead leaf.

Another task force member silently appeared to his left, aiming for the particle pistol at his waist. Again, without suspense, the cold weapon was instantly disarmed. The final task force member walked straight to the control panel, their target clear: the crimson virus release button that had just been forcibly pressed. He extended a uniform-covered finger and tapped the air above the button a few times. A fine blue beam of light shot out from his fingertip, scanning the button. After a few seconds, he withdrew his hand and made a subtle gesture to the other two.

Mission accomplished. Target item recovered and confirmed.

Kane watched helplessly as "Pandora" fell into the hands of the first task force member, as if watching his only remaining proof of something happening being taken away. He opened his mouth, wanting to question, to roar, to tell these cold machines about that face, about his aging self, about the Ouroboros on the wall and "THEY LIE," about the 71-year countdown... But his throat felt as if clamped in an invisible iron clamp, and only gurgling breaths came out.

The three task forces completed the recovery, like three cold statues, turning their expressionless metal masks towards Kane again. Their movements remained in unison, as they simultaneously raised their arms and pointed at Kane.

No warning, no explanation.

Kane felt his vision suddenly go black! An invisible force, far more powerful and overbearing than the previous spatial confinement, instantly enveloped him. This time, it wasn't just that he couldn't move; he felt his entire being—body, mind, even soul—compressed and folded by this force! As if squeezed into an infinitesimal, infinitely dark point.

Then came a violent pulling sensation! Like being tied to a meteor plummeting into the abyss! The very concepts of time and space completely collapsed at that moment. He felt himself being torn apart and then reassembled, hurtling through incomprehensible dimensions at high speed. All that remained in his ears was the continuous, sharp hum and storm-like howling of space being torn apart by brute force! The Möbius siren in his mind seemed to be temporarily suppressed by this violent teleportation, or perhaps... assimilated? It became an even more chaotic, even more maddening background noise.

I don't know how long it took, perhaps a moment, perhaps an eternity. All the tearing and whistling ceased abruptly.

The terrifying pressure that enveloped his body suddenly vanished.

Kane lost all support, his legs buckling, and he fell heavily to his knees! His knees clattered against the hard, cold metal floor with a dull reverberation. A wave of intense dizziness and nausea washed over him like a tsunami, and he couldn't help but dry heave. His stomach was empty, and he could only vomit sour bile. Sweat instantly soaked his back.

He struggled to raise his head.

The first thing he saw was the floor. A dark gray, matte, unknown metal, seamlessly laid out, so smooth that it reflected his now utterly miserable reflection. His face was as pale as paper, his eyes vacant, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, and traces of vomit clung to the corners of his mouth.

He struggled to look upward.

This was a vast, completely enclosed space. It was at least half the size of a football field, so high it seemed impossible to see the top. The dome seemed cloaked in a deep, lightless darkness. The walls were also clad in the same dark, matte gray metal, seamlessly smooth, as if the entire space had been hollowed out from a single, massive block. There were no decorations, signs, or even light switches on the walls. The light came from the walls themselves—a soft, cool, and pervasive glow that evenly illuminated the entire space without casting any shadows. Everything seemed incredibly clear, yet incredibly ethereal.

Absolute silence.

No wind, no whirring machinery, no footsteps, not even the sound of air moving. Only Kane's own heavy, strangled breathing and the frantic pounding of his heart were amplified in this dead silence, sounding jarring and lonely.

Is this... the Time Bureau? Kane looked around blankly. It was nothing like the bustling, futuristic, technological hub he had imagined. This place felt more like a vast, sterile, cold morgue, or... a metal cage designed to imprison foreign objects.

"Number K-7, Kane."

A male voice, devoid of emotion and synthesized by a precision instrument, suddenly rang out, breaking the dead silence. The sound didn't come from a single direction; it resonated throughout the entire space, as if the very air itself was vibrating.

Kane started and struggled to stand, but his weakness and lingering dizziness caused him to fall back to his knees.

"Mission log shows: Fourth 'cleaning' mission, coordinates Tokyo, the eve of the third impact. Target 'Pandora' and its creator 'Doctor', physical annihilation command failed." The cold voice continued, each word like an icicle hitting the metal floor, clear, precise, and devoid of emotion. "The prototype of the target object 'Pandora' was accidentally activated and released. The target person 'Doctor' suffered an unexplainable morphological annihilation during the mission. Mission Rating: Catastrophic Failure."

"Failure? No! It wasn't me!" Kane finally managed a hoarse retort, his voice faint and ridiculous in the empty space. "It was him! It was that old man! He grabbed my hand and pressed it! He looks exactly like me! He's..." He pointed sharply at the cold walls around him, as if trying to point out the vanished Ouroboros. "It says 'THEY LIE' on the wall! The Time Bureau is lying! That countdown! 71 years! What the hell is going on?!"

Kane's voice echoed throughout the vast space, filled with desperate madness and questioning. However, the cold voice made no response to his hysteria. It paused for a second, as if processing data, then continued in its impassive tone:

"Operator K-7's mental state has been detected to be fluctuating abnormally, with severe cognitive impairments. Deep scan and analysis procedures initiated."

As soon as the words fell, three slender beams of light, emitting a faint blue light, silently descended from the deep, dark dome above Kane's head. The beams precisely enveloped Kane's head, like three icy probes. There was no warmth, no touch, but Kane instantly felt a powerful, icy stream of consciousness violently invading his brain!

Countless images, sounds, and fragments of sensation were forcibly extracted and churned!

—Frozen darkness, a ripped, torn feeling of time travel.

—The hellish scene of Tokyo, burning buildings, desperate cries.

—The familiar yet unfamiliar face in the newspaper, the chill of cardiac arrest.

—The cold silence of the underground laboratory, the humming of instruments. —The unforgettable shock of his aging self turning around!

—Those eyes filled with exhaustion and relief!

—The ghostly figure piercing the wall!

—The touch of a cold iron band on his wrist!

—“Finally, this time it’s right!” that hoarse roar!

—The sticky sensation of a crimson button being pressed!

—The sharp Mobius siren that pierced his soul!

—The moment his aging body turned to ash!

—“Remember… the loop… the key…” that final whisper!

—The crimson 71-year countdown on the wall clock!

Every memory, especially what he had just experienced, was repeatedly washed over, scrutinized, and analyzed by that cold stream of consciousness. Kane felt like a toy being taken apart, all his secrets and pain exposed to the merciless gaze. He curled up in agony, clutching his head tightly, trying to resist the mental torture, but it was futile. After an unknown amount of time, the icy stream of consciousness vanished like the receding tide. The dark blue beam enveloping his head also silently retracted.

The space fell into a dead silence once again. Only Kane's heavy breathing and suppressed sobs could be heard.

A moment later, the omnipresent, cold voice echoed again. This time, it seemed to carry a subtle, almost imperceptible... change? A deeper, inorganic coldness. "Scan complete. Cognitive bias confirmed to be caused by external high-dimensional information contamination. Source of contamination labeled: Ouroboros. Operator K-7 has been deeply contaminated, becoming a potential timeline destabilizer. Pursuant to Article 13 of the Seventh Amendment to the Basic Law of Time, a final disposition plan for K-7, the source of contamination, has been generated."

"Disposition?" Kane's head shot up, his bloodshot eyes filled with horror and disbelief. "What disposition? What are you going to do?! I'm a cleaner at the Time Bureau! I've carried out four missions for you! Those faces! That old man! He's just like me! You know! You must know!"

His question fell on deaf ears again. The cold voice continued its pronouncement:

"Final Disposition Plan: Project Ouroboros Containment Procedures Initiated. Target: K-7. Order: Erase all unstable memory traces, reformat personality base, and reshape into a dedicated execution unit for Project Ouroboros."

"Format... reformat personality..." Kane chewed on these icy words, a bone-chilling chill instantly freezing his blood and soul. They were going to erase him! Erasing his memories, his pain, his doubts, everything about who he was as "Kane"! Turning him into... a hollow tool to carry out Project Ouroboros? Like those task force members?

"No!!!" Kane roared in despair, using all his strength to stand up and rush towards the source of the sound, even if it was just a void! But the invisible force once again held him firmly in place, unable to move.

A silent crack slid open in the smooth gray wall, and a figure stepped out.

No longer one of the task force members in gray uniforms and metal masks. This one wore a dark black uniform resembling a military uniform. The shoulder straps and cuffs were decorated with simple, dark gold patterns that twisted like snakes. Without the mask, the face was that of a middle-aged man. This face... Kane's eyes widened!

This face!

It had no wrinkles, no signs of aging, but the contours of that face! The direction of his brow, the line of his nose, the arch of his jaw... they bore a striking resemblance to Carson in New York, Evans in London, Said in Cairo, Dr. Nakamura in Tokyo... and even to the aged Kane! Only younger, colder, his eyes like two cold, black crystals, devoid of any human emotion, only absolute, unquestionable control.

He walked to a stop five meters from Kane, gazing down at the kneeling Kane with a gaze as if he were examining a test subject awaiting processing.

"You...you are all..." Kane's voice trembled, the overwhelming fear and sense of absurdity nearly rendering him speechless.

The black-clad supervisor didn't answer his question, but simply raised his right hand. On his wrist was a strangely shaped black device, similar to a watch but more complex. He extended his index finger and lightly tapped the glossy surface.

A soft white light, imbued with an irresistible will, emanated from the device, casting a translucent, extremely complex holographic image before Kane. At the core of the image lay a massive, slowly rotating Ouroboros symbol. Surrounding this symbol were countless fine, golden lines, like neural circuits, connecting four gleaming nodes. Images of the nodes flashed by rapidly—the toxic green fog enveloping New York, the rust-red dome of London's Collapse Dome, the golden glow of Cairo's meltdown core, and... the all-consuming pale flash of Tokyo's nuclear explosion!

The four apocalyptic nodes, precisely connected by golden veins, formed the closed loop of the Ouroboros!

"The 'disaster' you've experienced," the black-clad supervisor finally spoke, his voice low and steady, with the indifference of a statement of universal truth. "The 'cleansing' you've performed, the 'paradoxes' you've encountered... are all manifestations of 'Ouroboros.'""It's a necessary link in the operation of the Ouroboros plan. Every 'annihilation,' every 'reset,' reinforces this closed loop, ensuring that time flows along the 'correct' path we've set."

His gaze fell on Kane's pale face. His black, crystal-clear pupils held no pity, only a hint of almost cruel insight.

"And your role, K-7," he paused, his lips curling into an incredibly subtle, imperceptible arc, his gaze as cold as the glint of a scalpel. "It's far more important than just a cleaner... You are the most crucial cog in this closed loop. A... a perfect carrier."

Kane was struck by lightning, his whole body icy. Carrier? A perfect carrier? Those identical faces... his aging self... the forced release button... the 71-year countdown... All the shattered clues, before the Director's cold words and the holographic image of the Ouroboros loop, were forcibly pieced together by an invisible force, pointing to a horrifying truth that froze his soul!

"No..." He whispered desperately, his body trembling violently with fear and resistance.

The black-clad supervisor remained silent. He simply made a simple gesture toward the invisible space behind Kane.

Kane didn't even have time to turn around.

A sudden, icy sting pierced the back of his neck! Like the bite of a venomous snake! Some icy liquid was rapidly injected into his veins, instantly rushing to his brain!

His vision blurred and spun. A profound drowsiness, like a dark tide, instantly overwhelmed his consciousness. In the final moment before utter darkness, he seemed to hear the sharp, cold, repetitive sound of the Mobius siren again. This time, it seemed no longer confined to his mind, but seeping from the cold metal walls on all sides, penetrating every cell of his being.

Buzz——————

His consciousness sank into an endless abyss of darkness. On the cold metal floor, only his unconscious body remained, and the siren's wail, a symbol of an endless cycle that seemed to echo eternally in the dead space.