Interstellar adventure

The sting of quantum entanglement shot up Lin's spine to the back of her head as her mechanical fingers sank into Martian rock formations. The moment the translucent inscription emerged from the sandstorm, her dark matter prosthetic eye began to shake uncontrollably - a string of cosmic coordinates etched into the silicon-based crystal clearly pointed to the Beijing laboratory where her frozen embryos were born.

"Warning, quantum tidal field disorder." The synthetic sounds of the AI sub-brain mixed with the gritty gritty sounds. Lin breaks the magnetized protective mask, exposing her circuit-lined neck to the thin Martian atmosphere. The 50,000-year-old inscription is playing surveillance video of his father before his suicide: In 2035, Lin Shen raised his antimatter gun at the observation window of the particle collider, and the space station suspended in the synchronous orbit of Mars was transformed with the wreckage of the collider.

"Twilight, come out!" The captain's voice on the communicator carries a dimensionally distorted murmur. But Lin's carbon-fiber bones were nailed to the spot, and the pocket watch her father had repeatedly wiped before his death cast an eerily luminous spot on the inscriptions - it was the relic she hid in her chest, the second hand stopped forever at 3:17 a.m., the moment Lin deep disappeared into a miniature black hole.

The sandstorm suddenly stopped in amber, and the inscription began to rewind my father's life. Lin Twilight saw the baby room in 1999, his unfertilized embryo frozen tube in liquid nitrogen ups and downs; One night in 2023, my father injected a silver-gray fluid into my eyes. Finally, at the excavation site of Mars, 50,000 years ago, the self is engraved with a mechanical finger.

"Causal chain closure warning!" The parasencephalic alarm burst into a shrill buzzer. Lin's dark matter prosthesis began to quantum evaporate, and the data stream recorded in her left eye before her father annihilated woke up at this moment. When the first silvery fluid spilled from her pupil, the entire Olympus Ring collapsed into a Klein bottle.

At the moment when the four-dimensional space unfolds, Lin finally sees the inside of the pocket watch: there are no mechanical gears at all, only infinitely nested Dyson sphere models, each metal shell engraved with the same cosmic coordinates. The high-dimensional creature that seeded the civilization of Mars 50,000 years ago is now chuckling in her quantized cerebral cortex - it turns out that humans are the real inscription.

When the sandstorm resumed, Lin's mechanical hand penetrated the inscription and grasped the hand that her father had pulled the trigger in 2035. In the curvature of the antimatter muzzle, she smiled at the viewing window with the same smile that a Martian carver did 50,000 years ago. When the miniature black hole annihilates in the time loop, the second hand of the pocket watch suddenly starts to beat.