Chapter 2

The morning sunlight sliced through the gaps in the blinds, cutting mercilessly through the dim air of the apartment. Thanks to last night's nightmare, my temples throbbed as if beaten by rhythmically striking hammers. I took a large gulp of lukewarm coffee and opened the old laptop.

The browser history was still on those very pages from the previous life: the appointment backend for the experimental institution, the climate disaster monitoring forum, and that commission letter stamped with an official seal. Nothing had changed, which gave me a sense of safety so sick as to be pathological—if this truly were a hallucination, it was far too meticulously crafted.

I quickly cross-checked the data saved in my email regarding the research institution. The check-up date, the injection site, the project manager's name, even the internal designation known as "Project Codename: Dawn"—all matched my memories without a single discrepancy.

I clicked on the news feed, hovering my mouse over the technical report on "Unknown High-Latitude Airflow Convergence." Hidden within that multi-thousand-word article was the fatal signal: a bias anomaly, ionospheric fluctuations, and unpredictable extreme cold convection. In my previous life, these terms weren't "decrypted" by the independent post-disaster scientific community until three months after the catastrophe—it was the countdown to doom.

Just then, the phone beside the desk vibrated. The caller ID flashed my brother's name—Luke.

I pressed the answer button, took a deep breath, and tried to make my voice sound calm and ordinary.

"Hey, Luke, what’s up so early?"

A piercing background noise came through the receiver, like a marketplace or a crowded street. Luke’s breathing was rapid; he spoke much faster than usual, his voice carrying an over-excited tremor: "Bro! You... did you sleep okay last night? I had a dream, a very, very real and strange dream."

My hand on the mouse tightened. "Oh? What did you dream about?"

"I dreamt of you..." Luke lowered his voice deliberately, yet couldn't hide an eager intensity; he seemed somewhat incoherent. "I dreamt you were on the screen... you were wearing that... that special tactical armor. All the flashbulbs were popping for you, and everyone was shouting your name. They said you were the hope of the city, the only guardian."

I coldly watched the sound waves bouncing on the display screen; my heart felt as if constricted by a cold, thin wire.

"That’s indeed a good dream, Luke." I suppressed the welling disgust. "But it’s just a dream. In reality, your brother is just an engineer in a dumpy apartment worrying about rent."

"No, Bro, you don't get what I mean!" Luke interrupted him impatiently, showing even a hint of irritability. "I saw what happened after that injection in the dream. I don’t think it was a dream; it might have been some kind of... prophecy. If one day you really have that kind of power—the power to make everyone look up to you, the power to make everyone listen to you—would you... protect us first? I mean, with that kind of power?"

His logic for the question was chaotic, but his purpose was extremely clear. This wasn't asking about a prophecy; this was confirming whether such "power" truly existed and whether it could be obtained.

"What exactly are you trying to say?" I asked coldly.

"Nothing, I’m just... there are some things I haven't been able to explain clearly yet. I feel like the whole world is turning toward a certain point. Bro, if you really have a chance like that, you have to seize it. Don't ever give it to anyone else."

After the call ended, I sat in the silent apartment, feeling the chill behind my back growing thicker.

That noon, we met at a cheap burger joint in the north of the city. Luke seemed even more agitated than in my memory. He kept tugging at his hair, his eyes subconsciously scanning the messenger bag I was carrying.

To probe him, I deliberately ordered a beer, threw my phone on the table, and made myself look nonchalant. "That experimental project, the one I mentioned to you about cold exposure testing—it really isn't as simple as the outside world touts. I recently checked some internal data; the side effects of this serum are massive. The top brass treats this as a disposable consumable experiment; they don't intend to give anyone any 'hero dreams'."

I stared intently into his eyes.

Sure enough, the moment I mentioned "side effects" and "disposable," a flicker of intense greed shone in the depths of Luke's eyes. He completely ignored the negative information and shot back immediately: "What experiment doesn't have risks? If the higher-ups aren't giving it to just anyone, it must be because it’s reserved for the most critical person."

He even leaned toward me, lowering his voice, attempting to display a kind of "superman vision." "Bro, if you can get stronger, even if the price is a shorter life, it’s still much better than freezing to death in the dark. You’re an engineer; you understand efficiency best, right?"

Seeing him like this, I finally came to a complete realization.

Luke hadn't gained the so-called "memories of the previous life," or rather, he had only obtained a "highlight reel" beautified by his brain. He remembered the radiance I possessed on the screen, remembered the privileges and security I brought, but he didn't remember that it was a grave piled up with my own bones and lifespan.

In his eyes, I was merely a stepping stone on his path to heroism, or a talisman that could keep him from surviving like a stray dog in the cold wave.

All he wanted was an "admission ticket to heroism."

After he left, I walked alone through the cold street, feeling no anger, only a profound sorrow. This was my biological brother. I died in the snow trying to protect this very mindset, didn't I?

Returning to the apartment, I moved the silver serum from the desk's secret compartment and placed it into the base of an old-fashioned radio that looked even more inconspicuous.

I watched the neon lights outside the window, the moonlight obscured by thick clouds, appearing dim and oppressive.

Just hiding it wouldn't work.

Since he had already decided he wanted that admission ticket, if I didn't give it to him, he would become even crazier, risking pressuring me through the research institute or simply uniting with those higher-ups.

Luke’s biggest flaw in this life was that he would never see—past the screen—what exactly the man who was having his arms ripped off by frozen corpses looked like.

"Since you want it, Luke," I whispered to the empty room, stroking the hard plastic casing of the radio, "then take it. I just hope beneath the title of hero, it's really as warm as you imagine it to be."