With a soft hiss, the laboratory door slid open as Jiang Hai stepped inside.
A pure white world greeted him.
Almost everything in the front of the laboratory was white—the walls, floor, ceiling, tables, and chairs. Bright white lights bathed the room, making it feel sterile and blinding. The only discordant element was the pungent stench of blood that hung heavily in the air.
Jiang Hai's vigilance spiked. This seemed to be the office area of the lab, given the twenty-odd desks scattered about, suggesting a sizable staff before its destruction. Now, however, the room was eerily silent. Severed limbs and disemboweled heads lay strewn between desks, while dried blood coated the floors where bodies had once been.
Frowning, Jiang Hai pressed onward. Passing through the first area, he entered the second—a slightly larger hall, likely the surveillance area.
At the center sat a hexagonal array of chairs, each facing outward, though now the only occupant was a sea of blood. The computer still hummed, smeared with gore.
Jiang Hai swallowed hard. He was no stranger to violence, yet the scene made his skin crawl. For a moment, he half-expected the dead to rise—a ridiculous thought, yet his instincts flared.
The surveillance room monitored six electronic doors: aside from the main laboratory entrance, five others led to the Observation Room, Laboratory, Medicine Room, Supply Room, and Rest Area.
He could check the computers to locate Doflamingo Campbell. But he hesitated before the hexagonal table. Something felt off. His instincts were right: a needle lay on the chair—a trap.
Instead of sitting, Jiang Hai half-squatted, relying on the horse stance training he had practiced with Campbell and Qi Jie. From this low position, he reviewed the surveillance footage.
The Observation, Medicine, Supply, and Rest Areas were empty. Only the Laboratory contained people—but their identities were unclear.
Opening the Laboratory door with his security card, Jiang Hai stepped inside.
The smell of blood intensified. Dozens of people were tied to experimental tables, some disemboweled, others long dead and dried. These weren't patients—they were likely the original staff: doctors, nurses, researchers.
Ahead, a familiar figure appeared: Doflamingo Campbell, perched on a lab table with a twisted smile. Surrounding him were grotesque figures—huge, obese men over two meters tall, skinless humans, and other abominations. Jiang Hai was surrounded, yet his gaze remained fixed on Campbell.
"Quite a shock, isn't it?" Campbell chuckled. "But that's not enough. Aren't you curious what experiments we've conducted here?"
"I have no interest," Jiang Hai replied coolly.
Campbell's lip curled. "Even if you don't care, I'll tell you anyway. This pharmaceutical company… they're monsters. They've been using us as guinea pigs."
He explained the facility: a company-run mental hospital, supposedly free, ostensibly for mentally ill inmates. But the reality was far darker. Patients weren't just tested—they were tortured. Hormones, skin treatments, forced experiments—most with deadly results. The Californian authorities likely knew, but no one would advocate for convicted murderers. Darkness thrived unchecked.
"Look at them," Campbell continued, gesturing to the fat men and skinless patients. "These were all normal once. Fat men injected with weight-loss hormones, mouths sewn shut. Skinless bodies? Experiments for dermatology drugs. Don't you see—they deserved to die?"
Jiang Hai blinked. None of it concerned him.
"I don't care if they're insane or pretending. I'm not here to avenge anyone. Their lives—or yours—don't matter to me. Darkness exists, but I have no intention of becoming its sun," he said calmly.
Campbell laughed, eyes wild. "Your goal is Bruce David, right? He's on the first floor, working in the kitchen as head chef. We've been eating the staff's flesh for days—hahaha! Consider this a hint… if you can survive!"
Jiang Hai didn't respond. Words were meaningless; action was all that mattered.
As soon as Campbell finished speaking, the lunatics lunged. Jiang Hai didn't hold back. He had already learned Bruce David's location and had navigated through countless labs.
Leaping into the fray, he smashed an iron medicine pole over a skin-disease patient's head, sending him flying. Others tried to converge, but Jiang Hai moved like a predator, scattering attackers like sheep before him.
Each strike was precise, calculated, and merciless. There was no hesitation—no pause. This was survival, not morality.
(To be continued.)