Chapter Forty: The Omen

“Ah, long time no see, this is your dear Milton...”
“Milton.”
The voice on the other end of the communication interrupted, “How’s the progress?”
“Sigh, why so impatient...”
Milton sighed as he looked at Keng in the video, “There’s some clue now, it won’t take much longer.”
He tapped his temple and sent a few photos.
“Don’t worry, that guy is still hiding in the Deep Moss Zone. These images were extracted from the default recordings of a bionic eye when someone encountered him earlier. I’ve roughly determined his activity range, next is to check systematically.”
“I promise, it’ll be quick.”
Upon hearing this, Keng’s expression softened slightly, “If that’s the case, as long as you have it under control. But I remind you, it’s already been four days, our agreement was within a week.”
“Don’t you trust me that much?”
Milton said in a very aggrieved tone, “My most respected Director Keng... in our previous collaborations, haven’t I done well?”
“And honestly, you get what you pay for. This is the level I’m at. If you think I’m slow, why not hire a higher-tier mercenary?”
Milton slapped his forehead, suddenly enlightened. “Ah... I get it. It’s definitely not because others don’t want to deal with a fallen director who can’t afford their price, it must be you who doesn’t want to, right?”
“Hmm! That’s it! Thank you for your trust—”
Beep.
The communication was cut off again.
Keng took a deep breath, feeling an urge to crush the communicator in his hand. Every time, the other side managed to ignite his anger—but he didn’t actually hold a communicator; the call was through an electronic implant and communication software.
But the emotion only lasted an instant.
As a management staff member of Emerald Pharmaceuticals’ Paloce Branch, Keng had undergone a set of enhancement surgeries that partially suppressed his emotional fluctuations to improve focus and judgment.
Inside his body was also implanted a full set of “physiological monitors,” and he had subscribed to Emerald Pharmaceuticals’ costly medical intelligent data analysis service.
Any excessive emotional fluctuations would trigger a service alert and release embedded drugs to soothe and stabilize his mood, preventing traumatic outbursts.
Keng closed his eyes, then reopened them, returning to the calm middle-aged man he was.
He dialed another communication.
“Vidani, how’s the lab equipment repair progressing?”

---

“Is it ready to use? Good, you did well... Then restart the experiment and notify the next group of volunteers to prepare.”
“...Failed again over at the ‘trial grounds’?”
Keng was silent for a moment.
When he spoke again, his tone was cold and resolute: “No, it must not stop—never in history has any research achievement been obtained easily.”
“I admit this requires sacrificing some people.”
“But our goal is not sacrifice; sacrifice alone is worthless, yet the path to the ultimate result is inevitably paved with sacrifice. Vidani, remember this: this is what we need—and what a great researcher must possess.”
The communication had long since ended.
But Keng remained standing, seemingly lost in thought.
After a long while, the man finally raised his head.
A low murmur echoed through the bright, spacious apartment in the White Gate District—two bedrooms, one living room, furnished with all sorts of high-end furniture.
“The sacrifice itself... is worthless. I must succeed.”
Even with his director’s authority, within the “Cyber Psychosis Suppressant” project, he had the volunteers who succumbed to cyber psychosis taken away under the pretext of “scrap disposal.”
Even secretly diverting institute funds to establish a hidden location to conduct research on the “Weaponization of Cyber Psychosis Patients” project using those smuggled-out volunteers.
As long as he could make the “cyber psychosis patients” controllable...
No, even if just a trend toward controllability appeared, he could apply to headquarters for an official project! A project of this level, the people at the Paloce Branch could neither refuse nor dare defy the will of headquarters!
Those damned fools would no longer dare reject his project applications, block his advancement or training opportunities, or make his funding approvals difficult.
And he—Keng Tris—would then return to the power center of Paloce, even push further, climbing toward company headquarters and the true power core of Emerald Pharmaceuticals!
[Dear user, your emotional fluctuation has exceeded the expected range by 23%. Please maintain smooth breathing, drink a small amount of purified water, sit firmly or lie down, and regulate your emotions.]
[Additionally, do you require contacting the nearest available physician, or have the delivery drone dispatch medication...]
“No need.”
Keng took a deep breath, his expression gradually returning to indifference.
“Warm up the vehicle at the door, activate autonomous mode, destination set—Paloce Institute of Neuropsychiatric Research, Third Division.”
He walked to the mirror, adjusted his collar carefully, then headed toward the door.
Time to work.

---

Paul leaned against a corner of a wall thickly covered with graffiti.
The afternoon sky was heavy with thick haze; the glaring sunlight pierced through the haze gaps, causing Paul to squint instinctively. Several dizzying rings of light flickered before his vision suddenly went black with a snap.
“Really unreliable...”
Paul had long grown used to the intermittent rebooting problem with his “Blue Lake Corporation” bionic eye. He tugged at the dirty blanket beside him, waiting for the eye to reboot once again, muttering to himself.
“Blue Lake” had clearly announced a lifetime warranty on their products, yet their offline stores refused to repair his bionic eye—even though he had bought this third-hand from underground black-market medics, had no product warranty proof, and had recklessly downloaded a bunch of pirated software, causing his cybernetic agreement to be compromised.
But hadn’t he spent money?
He had! A full 350 credit points!
Why won’t they repair it? Or just replace it with a new one? He would have been perfectly reasonable about that.
Reaffirming his conclusion that “damn companies are the worst,” Paul’s bionic eye finally finished rebooting and returned to normal—if you ignored the pop-up ad in the lower left and the black spot in the upper right.
But at that moment, Paul was startled.
Unnoticed until now, a person wearing a baseball cap and a mask was half-squatting before him.
The person looked at him and slowly pulled down the mask, revealing their true face.
That face...
A full six seconds of close-range eye contact finally triggered the implant’s intermittently functioning “facial recognition program.”
Immediately, a prompt popped up: “Dear user, the person in the photo you added to your memo two days ago has been identified as a similar individual. Would you like to tag them—”
But Paul had no time to care, nor any hint of joy at “actually finding the person!”
“Do you know me? Recognize this face? Even if you don’t, it’s okay... but judging by your expression, you already have.”
A metallic chill silently pressed against Paul’s throat.
Song Shi gripped the surgical knife, his voice gentle:
“—Then I need you to do me a favor.”