Chapter Eighty-Nine: The Blood Ledger
Section One: Outbound Directive
A process isn't a command or power. It's a blade, a fire, the skin you plaster up, shout out, and refuse to pull back even when hacked at.
Jason stood at the command console, flipping through ARGUS's final signal migration map. Data lines rippled outward, S-7 the epicenter, other nodes quivering with beacon tremors as the process touched them.
One thing was clear: the process was spreading.
Not by official decree or spoken claim, but by people carrying the process—stepping beyond its intended bounds.
"We're not defending the process anymore."
"We're sending it out."
His calm words, though soft, silenced the command hall.
Tarn stood aside, fresh bandages off his arm. His shoulder twitched, but he held his ground.
"I can lead the second team out," he said. "Process isn't drawn on maps—it's walked into being."
Zhao Mingxuan scanned the dispatch table, tapping ARGUS's peripheral monitoring port. "C-3's old market signal is stable, but three pseudo-process activities popped up, codes one digit off HX sequences. Crowds can't tell—it's a grab for process rights."
Maria said coldly, "If we don't take it, next time they'll claim 'we wrote the process all along.'"
Jason nodded. He didn't like speeches. He preferred orders.
"Starting today, we send processes out proactively."
"Process code HX-S2 enters 'outbound directive state.'"
"Process doesn't wait."
"It makes others choose—accept or die."
That afternoon, the process dispatch team formed.
Code HX-S2-EX, execution mode "directive push." For the first time, a process wasn't requested, guided, or implanted—it advanced in combat mode from one process zone to another.
The team wore full gray armor, codes sprayed on chests, backs, arms in blood-red dye, signaling the process came from wounds, not pens.
No process documents carried.
They brought process boards, connectors, execution record modules—and heavy assault rifles and shock shields for breaking bodies.
Process now fought its way in.
Target: C-3 old channel market, south city.
Controlled by the Free Engineers' Corps, theoretically neutral, but three "circulated process files" reported in the last month, unattributed. The corps had tried drafting their own process maps, pushing a "people-elected node execution protocol."
ARGUS flagged it as a "proto-process structure." A warning.
Process isn't yours just because you wrote it—it's executed, bled for.
Jason marked C-3 a "process collision point." If not crushed, it wouldn't be "two processes fighting" but "process no longer ours."
En route, crowds watched the process team like a war criminal parade.
They weren't uniformed men—they were the process itself.
Codes gleamed on armor, S-7's blood still crusted on worn patches.
A child asked his mother, "Are they an army?"
She didn't answer.
No. Not an army.
The process had come.
Meanwhile, C-3's market got word.
The Free Engineers' Corps faced its first major split:
One faction pushed to "accept the process," feigning compliance to probe and monitor.
Another demanded "lock beacons, seal the zone," using their code "LF-GT1" to confuse and stay independent.
A third suggested, "Let Jason's process fail naturally, drag them down."
But Marquez, the silent commander, spoke coldly at the meeting's end:
"You can write a process, fake a code."
"But can you write blood under it?"
His words stilled the room.
The vote opened a buffer negotiation point to meet the process team.
"Let's see how much blood they bring."
The process team reached the outer old water tower zone.
A white curtain rose ahead, marking a "neutral inspection waiting area"—process executors couldn't cross without triggering a temporary ceasefire.
Tarn halted the team, raising the process board, voice deep, "Our process is here."
"You can accept it."
"Or block it."
"We'll wait thirty minutes."
"After thirty, we enter."
He drove the process board into the mud, its code lighting up, beacon linking C-3's edge.
Red digits ticked down.
This wasn't negotiation.
It was thirty minutes to decide—accept the process or bleed.
Section Two: Thirty Minutes
As the countdown's final second ended, no one moved on C-3's borderline.
The process board's red glow faded, replaced by steady amber digits: "Directive Pushed · Awaiting Response."
Tarn glanced at his watch.
"Time's up."
His words triggered a soft click from the process board in the mud—the beacon lock module engaging.
They weren't "requesting entry" anymore—they were "executing."
The process had entered C-3.
Whether accepted or not, it stood on their ground.
In C-3's main control, Marquez sat before monitors in a dim room, face calm as distant rain.
"Send someone?"
"We have a process."
"Didn't we say our code's valid too?"
"We've got maps, frameworks, projections—we can link beacons."
He was right. They had a process. But no one had bled for it.
No one had blocked a bullet or pinned it to a burning wall.
"They're delivering a process."
"If we accept, the next step isn't process."
"It's territory."
A faint unease flickered in Marquez's eyes, something he himself sensed:
Process is just a weapon, but the man behind it, if he holds, makes it a flag.
He couldn't let this ground fly that flag.
"Send a team to observe."
"But if anyone lets that process board hit the central beacon zone, I'll—"
He didn't finish.
The process team advanced.
Twenty men moved in standard combat formation: first row gray-armor shield line, second row with process boards and compact signal emitters, final row logging reaction data per meter.
All written in the process.
Every step compliant.
The process stated clearly:
"If no connection action, zone defaults open.
Process unfolds per default path.
Obstruction equals process severance.
Severance equals anti-process state."
Not war language. Process language.
But now, it was nearly war.
The team reached C-3's central old channel bridge.
No negotiators, no crowd blockades, but a first obstacle:
Before a mid-sized pump house, a rusted metal shield wall stood, white paint scrawled:
"This zone runs grassroots process structure.
Process deliverers need not connect."
The Free Engineers' Corps' response:
We don't deny your process.
We have ours.
Enter, we won't fight.
But your process fails, don't blame us.
Tarn stared at the wall long.
Zhao Mingxuan refreshed recognition data from the rear interface.
"They didn't seal beacons but blocked access ports."
"It's a process we can't push in, but can't call rejected."
"They want us to die of embarrassment."
Tarn yanked the process board, jamming it into a crack under the shield wall.
"Then we die standing."
"This board stays."
"We execute the process here. If it fails, it fails here."
"Process can't be dragged dead in a zone where they shrug it off."
"Process—lives only where we stand."
Crowds gathered in C-3.
No shouts.
Someone whispered, "They're hardcore."
"No one's fighting them."
"But they… still planted the process board."
"That's a process board?"
"That's a sign—it's got blood written on it."
ARGUS logged:
[Process Structure HX-S2-EX Entered Execution · No Hard Resistance · Default Process Unbroken]
[Status: Process Mounted]
[Process Entered C-3, No Confirmed Attribution Point]
[Crowds Observing · No Organized Conflict Signs]
Fuxi prompted:
[Gradual Advance] → [Cauldron]
"Directive meets no block, crowd hearts gather. Not seizure, but standing."
Jason watched from the control room.
He murmured, "They don't dare block."
"They can't afford what comes after blocking us."
"But once our process takes root—they can't afford the ground."
Section Three: The Unresisting Sink
On the third day of HX-S2-EX's insertion into C-3's main street, the process team still stood.
The process wasn't formally accepted. Nor expelled.
The process board remained before the old pipeline house, rainwater pooling in its code grooves, corroding the gray-armor team's boots.
Tarn didn't move. Daily, he wiped the board, reactivated it, logged execution.
Each activation, ARGUS pinged:
"Executor Stand Time: +24 Hours."
"No Rejection, Process Defaults Continued."
"Process Entered 'Inert Execution Phase.'"
Inert execution meant the process hung like a slogan on a wall—unbelieved, but untouched.
But process wasn't a slogan.
It was blood; unflowing, it rotted.
C-3's Free Engineers' Corps initially cold-shouldered it, but by day three, things shifted.
Scrapnet platforms spread clips:
"They've stood three days, process code unbroken."
"If no one drives them off, is their process ours?"
"Who says I can still issue my own process?"
"Or is process now not written, but whoever plants it first?"
Marquez watched the trending tags spiral out of control in main control.
He'd chosen the softest path—"neither accept nor fight."
But this "neutral" move was the most dangerous.
It wasn't "we're still in charge," but crowds asking—*are we in charge?*
"Process isn't broadcast—it's who plants it."
"Crowds don't ask process logic; they ask who planted it."
"Whoever plants, they trust."
He smashed his data pad, growling, "If we don't pull that process, they're not delivering—they're ruling it."
"They're not spreading process—they're taking our ground."
At seven a.m. on day four, four water well distribution points in C-3's North Second Street hung temporary process tags: "Executing · Owned by HX-S2."
The process team knew nothing.
The crowds decided: since the board wasn't pulled, since they still stood, this process was theirs.
Crowds ignored central process attribution, code legitimacy.
They looked at:
Who came?
Who bled?
Who's still standing?
ARGUS reported:
[C-3 North Street Process Mapping · Generating Process Fission State]
[Zone Process Code: HX-S2-EX-A]
[Attribution: Unassigned]
[Execution Basis: Crowd Default Judgment]
Maria sat at the console, eyes complex.
"We didn't push it."
"But the crowds defaulted."
"Our process grew branches on its own."
Zhao Mingxuan smirked, "This is process colonization."
"Not broadcast, not meetings."
"You plant it, hold it, don't die—it's yours."
On day five, the Free Engineers' Corps held an emergency high-level meeting.
Many realized they weren't facing Rust Street's process team, but something colder—a process forming a self-sustaining system, rooting wherever someone stood.
"We don't fear their process."
"No one dares say our process is worth guarding."
The room fell silent, Marquez spitting, "If our process lost trust, fine."
"But we can't let their process—make our people believe."
That afternoon, the process team faced its first stone attack.
Not soldiers or resisters, but a small mob incited by the corps' extremists.
A rock cracked a process recorder's helmet, splitting the brow guard.
Tarn blocked retaliation instantly. He knew: striking back turned process into occupation.
They weren't seizing land.
They were letting the process live in.
Fuxi appeared that night, offering a brief note:
[Cauldron] → [Contention]
"Unresisting sink; unguarding lose."
Jason read it, slowly closing the terminal.
He knew:
Next section, the process would decide who were its "guardians" behind it, and who its "exploiters" against it.
Stay soft, and the process would devour itself.
Section Four: Cut Roots
On the fifth night, C-3 issued a public process notice:
[Non-Recognition Statement]
"Given the chaotic process environment in C-3, HX-S2 process code, unverified by this zone's Process Management Committee, is deemed an external inflow.
Effective immediately, this zone will enact an autonomous process restoration plan, suspending all non-native code access points.
Continued mounting of external processes will be treated as illegal directive behavior, subject to disconnection by this zone's correction team."
The statement was starkly neutral.
No named attacks, no declared war, no call to resist.
But its core was war.
A severing of the process's "root" legitimacy.
Not targeting process people, but whether the process deserved to live on this ground.
Within two hours, S-7 process line viewership broke ten thousand.
Comments fell into three types:
"They've stood six days."
"You issue statements, but dare you pull their board?"
"Process was stood for, not judged by you."
Crowds didn't back anyone—they watched if the process guarded itself.
Board untoppled, they believed.
Board pulled, they'd hear who spoke.
Rust Street's control got the notice, Jason standing silent before the observation line.
Zhao Mingxuan frowned, "They're cutting our process's root."
"Not pulling the board, but writing us into their logic."
Maria said slowly, "Our process grew in. They want to choke it with paper."
"Like cutting foreign blood from their veins."
Jason nodded.
"Then we do one thing."
"Make process not 'written in,' but 'cut in.'"
"Cut so deep—no one can sever it."
That night, ARGUS received an unsigned "directive tactical request" from Jason's private channel.
One line:
"Authorize HX-S2 for 'anti-binding process push combat.'"
Anti-binding process push logic:
No waiting for acceptance;
Executors carry full-chain codes into enemy process nodes;
Force "process over process," not via broadcast, but through blood-bound conflict history;
Whoever bled, held ground, stood longest, the system defaults as "high execution priority."
Process stopped merging.
Your death, my process lives.
At four a.m., Tarn's team moved out.
Process Code: HX-S2-EX-R1
Mission: Enter C-3's main channel sync port, insert process board, activate "process replacement protocol."
The board carried a new module: a conflict log chip. If enemy processes tried "disconnecting" HX, the system would cross-check "execution blood volume," auto-nullifying their code priority.
Simultaneously, the Free Engineers' Corps mobilized their process planters—"Source Layer Protocol Team," seven strong, code "LF-GT1-Beta," aiming to seal HX's board with "internal process right clauses."
S-7 and C-3's beacon rights would clash before the next sunrise.
Process boards no longer hung walls.
They started nailing bodies.
Section Five: Broken Board
Process Code HX-S2-EX-R1 entered C-3's core node combat zone.
Five fifteen a.m., pre-dawn, streets damp, signals unsynced.
The process team advanced, board carrying triple execution structure:
Main Code: HX-S2-EX
Holder ID: Tarn (6 days standing + 1 combat record)
Conflict Priority: Authorized · Level 3-A (Can suppress rival processes)
The enemy lay in wait.
The Free Engineers' "Source Layer Process Team," six in formation, wore unmarked armor but bore "elected process execution badges."
Not armed, but process-legitimate.
This wasn't soldier versus soldier.
It was process versus process.
"Our process is established."
"Your later code can't overwrite."
"Persist in planting, and per Process Coding Law, Article Six, you're 'process disruptors.'"
Tarn didn't react.
Zhao Mingxuan said calmly, "Our board's executed six days, unbroken."
"Who wrote yours?"
"What days did it stand?"
"Which board's stained with your process's blood?"
Silence.
Tarn stepped forward, driving the process board into the ground's main beacon port.
The enemy team acted—not attacking, but pulling.
One executor yanked the HX board, but its bound code triggered a beacon wail:
"Process code conflict detected."
"Recognition: External process attempted code replacement—"
"Detection complete: New code lacks execution record."
"Priority: HX-S2."
The puller froze.
He hadn't expected system judgment failure.
Tarn said coldly, "Process isn't yours the moment you plant."
"It's whether you can bleed for it, hold it."
"No blood spilled, don't dream of pulling mine."
A second pull followed.
This time, the enemy executor pulled while drawing a standard "process code rewriter," trying to implant an "LF-GT1" board.
A classic "code-grab" tactic:
Pull the process;
Write your code;
Fastest writer, beacon-recognized—process is yours.
Tarn charged, shoulder armor slamming the enemy off.
The board hit the mud, rolling twice, hissing interference.
But its code held.
Tarn dove, shielding it.
A third enemy sprinted from behind, hammer smashing Tarn's spine.
The board cracked, main code section bent, port sparking.
ARGUS backend issued its first forced judgment:
"Process structure board broken · Non-code damage detected."
"Process validity: Under review."
Jason asked coldly, "Fuxi, what's your read?"
Fuxi's terminal paused five seconds, displaying a hexagram:
[Cauldron] → [Unfinished]
"Form incomplete, strength near spent. Body must mend, then forge the vessel."
Tarn rose, right arm dislocated, left hand clutching the shattered board, bone spur piercing the code's core port, blood flooding the recognition point.
The board linked.
System recognition:
"Physiological input replaced code beacon mode established."
"Board invalid, executor blood assumed process confirmation rights."
"Process execution continued."
Not saving the process.
Rebuilding it with a man's body.
A Free Engineers' rear member snapped, shouting, "Process can't fight like this!"
"Process should be rules!"
Tarn, blood-soaked, mud trembling on his face, growled, "Rules need people alive."
"Your rules—nobody guarded."
"They're not rules."
"They're scrap."
He punched the man down, jamming the code shard into his armor's crack, force-registering him as "process suppression failed."
HX-S2-EX-R1 fully bound C-3's link:
Overwrote local process records;
Crowd approval hit 73%;
Executor list grew by two;
Holder record updated: "Post-injury reconnect · Blood repair · Main control trust elevated."
Process stopped waiting for writers.
It killed its way in and lived.