The lower town of Gear City is always filled with three smells: the sweetness of burnt engine oil, the pungent smell of magic refrigerant, and the complex smell that wafts from the data cemetery in the Forgotten Area, similar to the mold of old books with a hint of ozone.
Shen Mo squatted in front of a scrapped "spiritual consciousness server", and the multifunctional screwdriver in his hand made a low buzz. The server shell was severely corroded, and the words "Made in Shiyuan Era 2007" on the nameplate were blurred—it was a product fifty years ago, more than twenty years older than him.
"The seventh main data pipe has a spiritual conductivity of less than 3%. It is recommended to replace it." He whispered to himself, and the monolithic analyzer in front of his right eye projected a light blue data stream, "The eighth pipe... Huh?"
The data flow gets distorted here.
It's not the usual kind of break caused by physical damage, but a weird "knotting" - where the information flow should be transmitted straight, there is a spiral self-loop, like someone has tied the thread of time into a tight knot.
