Chapter Ten: The Leap Research Institute

Blood surged into the air, only to plummet back down instantly.

A rain of blood drenched the sky, splattering with a rhythmic patter. A head, its expression still twisted in lingering fury, rolled slowly into the spreading pool of gore.

"Hah... whew, hah—"

Song Shi gasped for air. This physiological reaction, born of pushing his body past its limits, was nearly impossible to suppress through sheer willpower alone.

He had truly been betting his life just now.

A First-Ring Psionic possessed physical attributes exceeding those of an average human and a handful of psionic techniques; had he lived in the ancient era, this would have been commendable. But it was now the year 2150 of the New Era, ninety years after the "Seven Earths War" that had nearly shattered the world.

The proliferation of implant technology had long since changed everything. A single surgical procedure to replace a limb could easily shatter the natural limits of human strength, to say nothing of subcutaneous armor, alloy skeletons, or artificial glandular pumps.

As for psionic techniques, those below the Third Ring were almost entirely replicable. Take "Ignition," for example—the ability to summon flames from thin air, which Song Shi had opted not to use. A simple "phlogiston flamethrower" component, provided one wasn't afraid of self-inflicted burns, could reach temperatures over two thousand degrees, spewing flames that were long, fierce, and relentless.

Psionics who harbored the delusion of being "chosen ones" and charged headlong into combat against cyborgs, only to be shredded by a hail of bullets, were no longer a rare sight.

—At least, not until the Fourth Ring, "Sublimation."

Song Shi didn't need to look down to know that his entire right arm was trembling, to the point where he could barely maintain his grip on the dagger. He had channeled his entire reservoir of psionic energy into that one arm, attempting to force a greater output, and used the "Forge Flame" as a medium to reinforce the blade.

The union of the three had birthed a strike capable of severing a metal spine.

But the cost was equally immense.

His trembling arm was the consequence: torn muscles, chemical burns, bruised bones... it was effectively half-crippled. Even the injected painkillers could barely suppress the agony. Compared to this, the pain of dislocating his own thumb to slip out of the handcuffs was trivial.

But he had no time to worry about that now.

Song Shi lunged forward, ripped open the opponent's tactical vest, tore through the inner layers, and after a frantic search, finally found what he had been looking for.

...

On the fifth floor, inside the laboratory.

Maliko’s appearance had changed drastically once more. His upper garments were shredded, his exposed skin largely cracked, and a gaping hole occupied his upper abdomen. Only a fragment of his sodden artificial lung remained, with severed nerve cables dangling and swaying with every movement.

"I am... Maliko, no, I want to... Geli... urgh—!"

His face was speckled with blood, his expression oscillating between confusion and rage.

"Load live ammunition! Live fire is now authorized!"

This cyber-psycho was more troublesome than anticipated. With at least a 30% augmentation rate, continuing to fight with the mindset of preserving company assets would likely end in disaster.

Hearing the captain’s voice over the headset, the man—hiding behind a freezer, his two cybernetic eyes protruding like bottle caps above his bushy beard—grinned hideously. He grabbed a pre-prepared large-caliber magazine and slammed it into the TAL heavy assault rifle in his hands.

It was, as always, a weapon from Marshall Brothers Corp.

Though the man suspected the procurement department of taking kickbacks, Marshall Brothers was a veteran manufacturer, and their gear was undeniably reliable, so he didn't care much about the kickbacks.

Right now, he just wanted to fill that cyber-psycho across the room with his bullets.

Someone, however, was faster.

A dull, thundering roar suddenly echoed through the room. He was all too familiar with that sound.

It was the weapon Dick had purchased privately—a prized possession he often boasted about. Produced by the megacorporation "Southern Domain Heavy Industries," it was the "Axiom Explicator," a heavy kinetic pistol renowned for its lethality at close range, which consumers preferred to call the "Can Opener."

The official website price was 55,000 credits, with a ten percent discount for premium members.

A split second before the shot rang out, Maliko had already attempted to evade, but he was a beat too slow. The bullet from the Axiom Explicator grazed his shoulder—and that mere graze was enough to tear the entire prosthetic shoulder skin into shreds.

Beneath the synthetic skin lay not red muscle tissue or bone, but a dense, chilling array of mechanical parts and electronic components. Driven by the immense kinetic impact, these components shattered in large clusters, clicking as they sprang onto the floor.

Maliko’s prosthetic arm sparked with a series of electrical discharges.

The "Daedalus Hand" was a high-quality industrial prosthetic, featuring fourteen universal interfaces, high-precision sensors, and an integrated suite of tools—including hydraulic shears, a pneumatic cutter, and a phlogiston flamethrower. The standard version retailed for 300,000 credits; Maliko was currently on his sixteenth installment payment.

Only moments ago, another researcher had had their head crushed by those hydraulic shears.

But that was the end of it.

Soon.

Under the pressure of constant crossfire, the remaining three researchers, including Vidani, finally retreated to the laboratory doorway. Maliko’s body resembled a ragged, broken doll, his movements having lost their previous speed.

"Please do not target the head; I wish to obtain a live specimen."

Just before leaving the lab, Vidani sent a message to the captain: "His threat level has been significantly reduced. He should no longer pose a problem for you. From here on, prioritize containment."

"Understood."

The captain glanced at the message on his interface. Instead of replying, he pulled a coil of high-strength steel cable from his waist. He then withdrew a small hydraulic nail-gun module, linked one end of the cable to the gun barrel, and slotted the entire device into the exposed interface on his prosthetic forearm. The moment they locked, the three indicator lights on the nail gun lit up in sequence, signaling that output had reached its limit.

"Notification: I have engaged the 'Tripwire.' Everyone else, maintain fire to suppress his movement and create an opening for me to release the wire, but do not aim for fatal zones."

Hearing the voice in the channel, the bearded man cursed under his breath, "Fucking hassle," but he stifled the urge to keep firing, tossed his assault rifle aside, and drew a pistol loaded with rubber rounds. It didn't matter; it wasn't as if he were the one fighting that cyber-psycho in close-quarters combat.

A "cyber-psychosis" case caused by a former Level 3 engineer.

If it were a fight to the death, the man didn't think he would lose, especially with his weapons on hand. But injuries and damage to his implants were inevitable, and those were real, tangible losses that his subcontracting agreement would only partially reimburse.

It wasn't worth it. Truly, it wasn't.

"Copy that! No problem! You have our support, Captain!"

As the man leaned his head out from cover and leveled his pistol, he shouted, "We'll provide the covering fire—"

But the next instant.

A piercing, thunderous roar suddenly tore through the night sky!

The man couldn't help but freeze for a moment.

That sound.

That was... Barron’s... tactical vehicle that they had driven here?!

What was that guy thinking? Did he not want his attendance bonus?

Outside the laboratory, hearing the roar of the engine, Vidani suddenly realized something and lunged toward the window.

A dazzling flare of light erupted in the distance. It was one of the security procurement items of the institute, a product under the banner of the megacorporation "Chronos Transit."

The "Leaper" tactical motorcycle was roaring at this very moment. Ignoring the urgent warnings from the onboard AI, someone had cranked the power to the maximum in an instant, speeding wildly toward the main gate of the institute!

"Song Shi?!"

For the first time, Vidani’s tone shifted. She revealed a flash of astonishment, her expression one of utter disbelief. Thinking of Brolik, who had yet to return, she finally realized the truth. Leaning over the windowsill, her upper body protruding, her glass-like prosthetic eyes began to glow.

"Authorization executed. Seal the main gate immediately. 'Sentinels' enter search-and-track mode. Cameras begin anchoring—"

At almost the same moment.

"So... Song Shi?"

The roar of the engine pushed to its limit was too deafening.

Maliko had also implanted a partial sensory-enhancement system; his hearing was significantly improved, and he had caught Vidani’s words.

"......Song...... Shi?"

Maliko stood dazed amidst the ruins, muttering to himself involuntarily. A phrase suddenly bubbled up in his clouded mind.

"......A promise."

And so, he remembered.

"I remember now... I am... Maliko."

The man looked around. The once-spacious laboratory was now a scene of utter devastation. Equipment was damaged beyond repair, reports soaked in plasma were plastered to the floor, and severed limbs, wreckage, and various components were scattered everywhere.

His gaze shifted downward.

The "Daedalus Hand" he had once taken such pride in—the one for which he was still paying off installments—was now broken beyond repair. A few remaining scraps of synthetic skin hung loosely, and indigo sparks flickered intermittently from the shattered inner fissures. The original paint was long since masked by thick, congealed blood.

"I don't even know anyone named Geli."

Maliko whispered. His previous memories came rushing back: the physical links, the prosthetic unlocking, the engine roar now echoing... The man seemed to have suddenly heard an incredibly hilarious joke. His shoulders shook uncontrollably, his face twitching.

"Ha, ha! Hahaha—!"

In the hollow, miserable laughter, Maliko wept. Combined with his current appearance, he looked utterly monstrous.

"Why should I be the one to die? Do I deserve to die?"

Maliko wanted to scream this aloud, but he dared not. He couldn't let the others in the institute know.

In the distance, the engine roar had just begun, and Vidani was leaning out, one hand slowly raised.

Yes, he could not let the institute obtain his memory files. They could not be allowed to know about his deal with Song Shi.

*Click.*

A metal canister popped out of the "Daedalus Hand." It was the phlogiston storage tank for the flamethrower component. This high-energy industrial phlogiston could melt even alloy, let alone a brain.

*Remember your promise.*

Maliko thought, and that was all he could think.

There was no time for hesitation.

With trembling hands, Maliko cut a slit into the phlogiston tank, shoved it into his mouth, and lunged toward Vidani in the distance.

"The target is attempting a suicide attack! Everyone get back—no, don't shoot!"

The captain’s pupils contracted.

A hail of bullets struck Maliko like a torrential storm. The latter ignored it all, acting like a rabid dog, charging headlong toward Vidani in the distance!

*Bang—BOOM!*

It was unclear which shot sparked the fire.

Maliko was instantly engulfed in flames. The melted wax of his synthetic skin dripped away, and a seemingly endless torrent of fire erupted from his facial features. His entire head was incinerated! A shockwave swept in all directions!

He looked like a demon from hell.

The next instant, unable to withstand the trauma any longer, Maliko’s body flew backward like a kite with a severed string, knocking over countless pieces of equipment along the way, while the ensuing storm of bullets and sea of phlogiston fire swallowed everything in its wake.

Outside the laboratory.

Vidani dodged a spray of flying metal shards. Before the waves of flame had even fully dissipated, she stared fixedly at the ground below the building.

A kilometer away.

With the幽蓝 (ghost-blue) flames spewing from the four exhaust pipes, accelerating to the limit in defiance of safety protocols—in the blink of an eye, the motorcycle transformed into a streak of ghost-blue fire that tore through the night!

Under the roar of the engine, a sound of mechanical rotation echoed.

Under Vidani’s command, the autonomous sentinel machine-gun matrices stationed in the flowerbeds and atop the high walls simultaneously awakened, entering alert status. Crimson lights glowed from within, and the system—composed of the institute’s cameras and their own target-acquisition devices—locked onto that streak of flowing, fiery light in an instant—

*Click.*

*Click-tock.*

The autonomous sentinel machine-gun matrices clicked, but they never fired.

Within the network.

A polymorphic program had been injected into the public grid! Although the firewall was erasing it at a speed visible to the naked eye, the program had clamped onto the fire-control permissions of the sentinel matrices so tightly that they couldn't be reclaimed!

Vidani whipped her head around.

"Remote fire support!"

"We don't have remote fire support!" the captain shouted, his speech rapid: "The deployment preparation time was too short! And our initial assessment was that long-range and heavy weaponry were not needed, nor suitable, for this location!"

Vidani was about to say something else when her pupils suddenly contracted, and she threw her body to the side.

Amidst a series of gunshots that almost blurred into a single line, the area near the window suddenly exploded!

Twelve shots in total—one magazine.

Though distance and the design of the pistol meant most of the bullets flew off into nowhere, one had the luck to strike the area, gouging a hole in the exterior wall of the window.

Vidani instinctively dodged, then instantly reacted, lunging back to the sill.

The ghost-blue motorcycle exhaust flames... no, there was more!

Far from the city neon, beneath the pitch-black, profound night sky.

On that figure atop the motorcycle, a silent burst of scarlet-gold flame flared for a fleeting moment, like a tracer round briefly illuminating the surroundings.

The volunteer specimen who had been cowering just moments ago was now holding the motorcycle with one hand and tucking away his "Black Powder" pistol with the other. In the brief illumination of the dying light, their gazes met clearly—the young man’s lips parted slightly, as if he had said something.

Before the data processor could analyze his lip movements.

Without a shred of restraint left.

The young man pressed down on the handlebars without hesitation, leaning his body weight forward, and twisted a knob on the instrument panel.

The "Leaper" tactical vehicle derived its name from the "Mimetic Anti-Gravity System" it carried. It was touted as allowing consumers to enjoy the sublime experience of a hover-yacht at one percent of the cost.

Amidst the roar of the engine, now pushed to its absolute limit, Song Shi took a deep breath and pinned the throttle to the floor!

The next moment.

It felt as if a cyborg with ultra-heavy industrial implants had held their breath, gathered their strength, and delivered a massive, vertical punch to the chassis of the bike.

As he smashed through the third security gate ahead, a colossal force erupted from beneath his body. Amidst the tearing air current and the biting, freezing wind, Song Shi jerked the handlebars, and the entire motorcycle soared into the air!

The "Mimetic Anti-Gravity System," otherwise known as the "Pneumatic Spring"!

Under the pitch-black sky of Palosse.

A dark shadow shot toward the heavens!

Ten meters above the ground, the motorcycle, burning with ghost-blue flames, shattered the air. With an unstoppable posture, it wantonly trampled over the institute’s main gate, which was just about to close!

Then came a sound like a giant tremor shaking the earth.

And then, both the violent roar of the engine and the surging, burning flames vanished completely at the horizon.

"Vidani, so now..."

The captain picked up his rifle and spoke cautiously.

Vidani looked up at the sky, staring into the deep, pitch-black void.

There were no stars in the sky.

Amidst the sleepless, roaring factories of the Rota District, the sky of Palosse had long been shrouded in thick smog, with corrosive acid rain falling year-round. Even on the rare clear days, the sunlight would reflect iridescent, multicolored light as it filtered through the clouds.

It was just like the neon of the daytime.

Watching the woman who seemed to be in a trance, the captain hesitated for a moment, preparing to leave first. This mission was a complete failure; there would certainly be a mountain of reports to write later, along with all sorts of accountability hearings. At the mere thought of it, even he couldn't help but...

"Ha, ha—haha—"

"Interesting fellow... a rare specimen."

Vidani let out a low, suppressed laugh. The next instant, she turned her head, her expression returning to its usual indifference.

"I will notify the teacher about this. As for the rest, we will follow company policy."

She glanced at the laboratory in the distance.

The fire caused by the phlogiston had slowly extinguished, leaving only a broken, blackened skeleton kneeling in the ruins.

"The degree of physical destruction to this extent..."

Vidani frowned slightly. She didn't ponder for long before making a decision.

"Find someone to pack it up and send it to the cold storage first. This specimen might be useful later."