The truck sped along the road through the rice fields, the golden rice stalks filling the air with the fragrance of rice. The warm afternoon breeze carried the scent. Logan loved the comfort of midday. If there was nothing urgent, he would slow down, roll down the window, and let the warm breeze fill the truck with the fragrance.
But now, his mind was elsewhere. He looked at Donald, who was driving the truck beside him, with cautious eyes. "What exactly do you want?"
"Logan, relax. I'm just going to pick something up."
Donald looked at Logan with a cheerful expression and suddenly asked, "Haven't you contacted Gabriella?"
Logan noticed Donald's gaze and said coldly, "Ha, your people have been watching me. Do you think I would dare?"
Since Donald had a business relationship with the Lawrence family, Logan believed he probably already knew his address. Perhaps even now, there were still many eyes watching the factory.
"You'd better not be lying."
Donald smiled again, looking curiously at Logan's hands. "Can you still extend your claws?"
Whoosh!
Logan suddenly raised his hand, and a steel claw shot out from between his knuckles, its silvery-white surface shining coldly in the sunlight.
But only half of it extended.
Donald looked at the half-extended claw, then at Logan's expression.
He could see that this was Logan's maximum limit; the claw could no longer extend and retract with the same freedom as in his youth.
Seeing this, Donald burst into laughter: "Middle age inevitably brings a decline in strength, doesn't it?"
If it were the young Logan, few would want to provoke him; no one wanted to be an enemy of such an immortal guy.
For now…
Donald looked at the claw and sneered.
Just an old man on his deathbed.
Donald stopped talking, turning his gaze back to the road, even humming a soft tune.
Logan smiled helplessly, said nothing, and quickly retracted the claw, turning to look at the rice fields speeding past the truck window.
Their destination this time was Florida, located in the southern United States, just like Santa Fe. The climate was similar to San Antonio, with no trace of autumn, and intense, oppressive heat in the air.
They arrived the next morning.
It was a small village on the outskirts of Florida, surrounded by dense thickets, with lush green forests on both sides of the road.
The traffic in the village was terrible, mostly bumpy dirt roads. For the truck's suspension, those roads were a real challenge, and for the passengers, the bumpy ride felt as if their bodies were about to fall apart.
"Time to change vehicles."
Donald got out of the truck and addressed Samuel and Josh, who were following them. "The truck can't get through the road ahead. There's a motocross rental place nearby."
Samuel kept rubbing his feet against a rock, trying to remove the mud from his shoes, and couldn't help but complain: "Is this an abandoned field? There isn't even a paved road."
"Kid, I advise you to shut up."
Donald patted Samuel on the back, reminding him: "This is hillbilly territory."
Logan cautiously observed the surroundings. There was only a bumpy dirt road, with dense forest on both sides.
"Let's go, let's leave while it's still daylight."
Logan looked at the sky; he didn't want to camp in unfamiliar territory.
"It seems James is getting impatient."
Donald narrowed his eyes as he looked at the long dirt road, smiling expectantly. "I'm also impatient to see the cargo."
Logan suddenly frowned; Donald's expression gave him a bad feeling.
Led by Donald, the group found a small rental shop full of motocross bikes on a bend and rented four at a relatively expensive price.
The roar of the motorcycles then echoed through the forest.
There were no landmarks, but Donald clearly knew the area, accelerating and letting the engines roar as they cut through the trees. Logan and his two companions had to increase their speed, constantly zigzagging through the undergrowth.
After almost half an hour, Donald slowed down and finally stopped in front of a clearing deep in the forest.
A large, enclosed house stood in the clearing. Apart from the main door, there were no other entrances or exits; even the windows were sealed like floor-to-ceiling panes.
Logan narrowed his eyes as he observed the house; he realized it was not designed to be inhabited, but was a secret laboratory hidden deep in the forest.
However, it seemed to have ceased functioning. The exterior walls were completely peeled, and dense grass almost entirely surrounded the laboratory. Climbing plants cascaded down the walls, occupying almost an entire section.
No sound or human presence was visible.
"What idiot built a house in this desolate place? Are they crazy?" Samuel muttered, looking at the laboratory; the frustration of the journey irritated him.
Josh, however, sensed that this place was anything but ordinary. He nudged Samuel in the back and whispered, "Keep your voice down."
Logan turned to Donald with a frown.
"What exactly do you want us to carry?"
This place was clearly not common; although dilapidated, it probably held many secrets.
Donald chuckled. "You'll know when you go in."
With that, he walked towards the laboratory door.
Worn and rusty, the door was practically useless.
Thud!
Donald suddenly kicked open the large iron door.
The lock broke, and the rusty frame crashed backward, stirring up dust.
"Follow me!"
Donald motioned for the others to follow him and then entered the laboratory.
The laboratory, silent and dimly lit, reeked of decay; the floor was covered with a thick layer of dust. On both sides were rows of sealed rooms, their contents completely hidden.
Donald seemed very familiar with the place; despite the darkness, he led Logan and the others to a room with practiced ease.
He also kicked down the iron door. Inside were rows of sealed steel cages.
Logan frowned as he looked at the cages.
"So many cages."
Samuel walked over to examine a thick iron cage, which looked like a bank vault.
"What kind of animals are kept in these cages?" he asked Donald curiously.
"Animals?"
Donald looked at Logan with narrowed eyes, then smiled, flipping a switch.
Boom!
The lights instantly came on, illuminating the entire room with a blinding glare.
The walls were covered with photographs of various people, each with a different appearance; some looked almost normal, while others retained animalistic features.
Next to the photos were experimental numbers: seven, nineteen, twenty-one...
Looking at the photos, Donald narrowed his eyes and murmured, "Aren't mutants animals?"