Lan Bo lay in the fish tank, propping a cushion against the wall to avoid straining his back. Submerged in water, he used a waterproof-wrapped remote to switch channels and find a movie to watch, his face covered with a few blue-light jellyfish masks for hydration.
Suddenly, the television playing the film went blue, lines of white scrambled code appearing across the screen. In the center, a black, wriggling worm symbol slowly emerged.
The worm slithered toward the top-left corner, and a video automatically started playing in the middle of the screen.
The footage showed the eerie Enxi Hospital, and the camera soon focused on Bai Chunian dodging flying playing cards.
Lan Bo, surprised, climbed out of the tank and sat beside the TV, staring intently at Bai Chunian, poking at him with his finger.
However, the video had been edited; the last frame froze on a playing card about to slice Bai Chunian’s throat, and then the footage cut off. Only the wriggling worm remained on the screen.
The worm slowly crawled across the screen. Lan Bo followed it with his gaze, biting the television wherever the worm moved. When the worm reached the edge of the screen and disappeared, he had left five distinct bite marks on the TV. Lan Bo searched behind it for a long while.
Meanwhile, Bai Chunian had already entered the hospital’s technical R&D area. Enxi Hospital wasn’t just a top-tier institution because of a few veteran experts—it owed much of its prestige to its pharmaceutical engineering and technology research. The hospital had a standalone, enclosed research building, and the omega hacker Lan Bo sought required Bai Chunian to find Dr. Lin Deng, the head of the R&D department.
The building was so quiet that every breath echoed. But it wasn’t empty. Through the windows on the doors, rows of labs revealed doctors in white coats, clearly infected with the circulating virus, their eyes blood-red, mechanically repeating the same motions.
Some empty labs contained entire walls of incubators, doors open and empty, with only large stains of dried blood inside.
Bai Chunian gestured for the two behind him to step lightly, careful not to disturb the early-stage infected whose aggression was still unclear.
Not all lab doors were closed. When they passed certain open labs, the infected doctors immediately entered late-stage infection, bursting out to attack.
Bai Chunian’s strong hand grabbed one infected by the jaw, forcing it to shut its mouth. A twist of his wrist shattered its cervical spine, and the corpse collapsed silently, now a highly decayed shell.
Han Xingqian glanced at a splash of blood on the edge of his white coat and brushed it off.
“I’ve attended Professor Lin Deng’s lectures,” Han Xingqian said. “He’s specialized in infectious diseases for years. I’ve summarized all fifty-seven of his SCI papers. He’s a very kind beta and not even forty—quite young and accomplished in our field.”
Bai Chunian sneered. “I can’t understand why such a young, accomplished professor would agree to work for Institute 109. You know how it operates—numerous breeding bases under it raise experimental embryos into juveniles, then select the most valuable ones to sell to Institute 109, or transform suitable humanoid creatures into experimental subjects.”
“This Lin Deng was one of those breeders. In the hospital’s R&D area, he misused public resources to secretly raise experimental embryos. Experimental subject 408, Samael, came from his hands.” Bai Chunian’s voice dripped with mockery. “Since the Institute 109 database was stolen, many experimental subjects escaped—408 is one of them. Looks like it came back for revenge.”
“What could one gain from doing such a thing?” Ying asked cautiously. “Professor Lin Deng is so respected—he has plenty of money already.”
Bai Chunian snorted. “You don’t understand. Who ever has enough money?”
Han Xingqian didn’t argue, calmly noting, “I heard his family moved to Germany five years ago. Oddly, Dr. Lin refused offers from top German hospitals and insisted on returning to China. Why would he send his family so far away?”
“I don’t know. I’m just here to take him away,” Bai Chunian said lightly. “I deal with all breeders, not singling out Lin Deng.”
“I understand.” Han Xingqian sensed something and glanced around. Pinhole cameras were installed at intervals along the corridor ceiling.
Bai Chunian noticed the hidden cameras too but ignored them.
As they searched each lab toward the far end of the corridor, a rustling noise came from the stairwell, as if something was calling.
A small white creature, roughly the size of two fists, scurried down the stairs, squeaking.
Bai Chunian frowned and stepped back.
“A rat?” Ying tilted his head, rifle in hand, noticing the creature’s eyes were unnaturally red, corners crusted with pus, and its mouth grotesquely twisted into a humanlike grin.
Suddenly, the white rat let out a piercing scream, echoed by a chorus of sharp cries from the stairwell. The floor trembled slightly, and a stench of decay and rot flooded their noses.
A massive swarm of red-eyed rats poured down the stairs, running incredibly fast. Their sheer number induced claustrophobic terror.
Ying froze. “In-, instructor… the lab rats have escaped! What… what do we do?”
Bai Chunian had already advanced ten meters.
“You two go first. I’ll cover the rear.” Agile as ever, he swung from the ceiling, hooked onto a vent, kicked off the wall, vaulted several meters, and used stacked crates in the corridor as leverage to continue moving—never touching the floor.
“Move!” Han Xingqian grabbed Ying’s arm, pulling him along. Ying fired at frenzied rats biting his coat hem, leaving bloodied holes in the fabric.
A huge swarm of rats flooded the floor, nearly covering it entirely. Just as the three were about to exit the R&D area, the walls suddenly lit up. Bai Chunian realized the ceiling devices weren’t pinhole cameras—they were micro projectors.
The surrounding smooth walls were suddenly covered in projections, turning the floor, walls, glass, and ceiling into a chaotic mosaic of images.
A jester in an exaggerated gold-and-red plastic costume bounced into the projection. He wore a smiling mask, its painted red mouth stretched high, and a comically round red ball perched on his nose.
“Samael…” Bai Chunian’s eyes fixed on the dancing jester in the projection.
At first, the jester performed card tricks, the playing cards flowing seamlessly between his hands. Soon, he put the cards away and pulled out a hula hoop wrapped in a red spiral pattern, tumbling through it with excitement.
After this bizarre performance, he tossed the hula hoop toward them.
Unexpectedly, the hoop became solid. In the narrow corridor, it spun at high speed, duplicating rapidly—one became two, two became four—and soon the air was filled with flying hoops. Three of them flew straight toward the three of them, like carnival ring tosses aimed at their heads.
“Take cover.” Bai Chunian pushed Ying beside Han Xingqian. “Hurry.”
Experimental subject 408, M2, had a differentiation ability called “Happiness Hoop”: anyone caught inside the hoop would be infected by the circulating virus. Infected subjects trapped by the hoop would instantly enter late-stage frenzy.
In other words, a healthy person hit twice by the hoop is certain to die.
Bai Chunian leapt and climbed over wooden crates in the corner, nimble and precise. But the seemingly random hoops were tracking him, relentless in pursuit, herding him toward the rat swarm.
As he faced the oncoming mass of white rats, he halted mid-leap, gripping the ceiling diffuser with both hands. His arm muscles tensed, veins bulging through his shirt sleeves, holding his body flush against the ceiling. Two pursuing hoops collided, shattering with a loud crash and falling to the ground.
Jumping down, Bai Chunian swatted a rat crawling onto his arm. “Move! Let’s get out of here.” He shoved Ying and Han forward. “It’s a trap. Samael is stopping us from reaching Lin Deng.”
The red-and-white plastic hoops were actually extremely hard, easily smashing through lab doors and targeting any infected, encircling their heads.
Infected trapped in these hoops immediately split open grotesque, bloody smiles. Their pupils vanished, eyes blood-red, and they charged out with other infected from interrupted viral cycles, entering late-stage frenzy.
Hundreds of infected ran and screamed throughout the building. The sound was psychologically overwhelming. Nearly exhausted, Ying felt a wave of despair wash over him.
He threw a flashbang down the corridor. The intense light and explosive shockwave toppled large numbers of infected and infected rats, granting a brief window to escape as he grabbed Han Xingqian and ran.
Bai Chunian stayed at the rear, instinctively monitoring the team. He had trained Ying for situational awareness, perfect for a support role, but here, he had to shift from support to front-line assault. He noticed Ying’s adrenal reserves were nearing exhaustion; further overuse could irreversibly damage his glands.
Despite the difficulty, Bai Chunian felt a protective fondness for these unlucky trainees.
As they left the R&D area and approached the hospital’s safe corridor, a distant roar approached from another direction—this time sounding even larger.
Bai Chunian moved ahead, hearing desperate pounding and cries from the other side of the safety door. He pressed his hand to the heavy hydraulic lock, twisting it open effortlessly. The door swung wide, and people on the other side poured into the corridor.
The joker fish omega carried an overheating Nova shotgun on his back, wielding two nearly empty KS-23 shotguns. He pushed the doctors to the safest position near the door, standing alone against dozens of relentless infected. Alternating his fire, the blast radius of the shotguns tore apart infected bodies, splattering walls with gore.
“Get out! Close the door!” the joker yelled to the doctors without turning back. “Close it! Wait until I take care of half of them before reopening, or this door won’t hold!”
The shotguns could only fire so fast. During reload intervals, infected lunged at him, biting his vest. He kicked one away, stepped back, and faced them again. A golden shimmer rose behind him, solidifying into countless orange-gold tentacles, wrapping him in the center. From above, purple toxin threads shot down, touching infected. They stiffened, convulsed, and black blood seeped from their nails as foam poured from their mouths.
The joker’s gland J1 differentiation ability, “Tentacle Sea Anemone”, was a rare symbiotic summoning: the symbiont materialized and used neurotoxic attacks for protection.
During reloads, he felt the deep ache in his gland, having nearly exhausted the ability to summon the anemone. One more summon might tear the gland apart.
Shotguns remained, but most weapons were overheated and near destruction. Without them, he would be as good as dead. Physical strength was also nearly gone; his mind blank, focused only on getting the doctors to safety.
As the anemone began fading behind him, he drew a deep breath, closing his eyes and pushing the last of his glandular energy forward.
Yet no anemone appeared. A rough-gloved hand pressed lightly to the back of his neck, injecting a strong calming pheromone tinged with the scent of white brandy. Instantly, the pain from his overworked gland eased significantly.
“That’s enough.” Bai Chunian pulled him behind him, raising his M98B to point-blank the heads of approaching infected, then called back to Han Xingqian:
“Look, for the effort my trainee is putting in to protect your people, at least lend a hand.”
Han Xingqian remained standing, one hand in his pocket, gently pushing up the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose. The delicate chain swayed slightly. “I didn’t think I’d actually need to use this,” he said.
A layer of white keratin began to grow from his forehead, spiraling upward until it formed a smooth, gleaming horn.
He didn’t move, yet everyone felt a strange warm current flowing into their glands—Ying and the joker fish felt it most strongly, their energy nearly depleted.
Energy reversed, glands refilled, and even the hunger and exhaustion in their bodies vanished.
Not only that, weapons close to overheating rapidly cooled, scratches vanished, and they returned to pristine condition. The joker fish’s battered bulletproof vest was restored as if never worn, and the tactical knife at Bai Chunian’s thigh became sharp again in an instant.
This was the Pegasus gland J1 ability: “Endurance Reset”—an area-of-effect restoration that immediately replenishes stamina, energy, and equipment integrity. Each restoration halves the target’s durability ceiling.
Unlike other malformed glands, Han Xingqian had a fused gland, inherited from both parents and combining the traits of his father, a White Horse alpha, and his mother, a Swan omega, along with a gene mutation. This fusion amplified its power significantly.