In a dim room, cold nutrient fluid overflowed from the gap of a life-support pod's transparent lid, carrying a peculiar smell of ionized ozone mixed with disinfectant.
A young man sat up abruptly, coughing violently as if trying to expel the phantom pain of that massive explosion lingering in his lungs.
"Tsk, the sensory feedback from self-destruction is... absolutely terrible."
He rubbed his throbbing temples, murmuring a complaint.
As his consciousness cleared completely, the residual discomfort on his face was rapidly replaced by extreme excitement and greed.
"That old fool Dr. 062..."
The young man scoffed, his fingertips unconsciously tapping the edge of the pod.
"Actually labeled C-137 and C-136 as 'uncontrollable failures'? Truly blind!"
The final images synchronously transmitted back played in his mind—
That black symbiotic substance could forcibly invade his mechanical prosthetic body, briefly wrestle for control, and even... alter his mechanical structure!
"Biological traits... yet capable of interfering with or even driving mechanical consciousness... and that near-perfect bioplasticity..."
Dr. 077's breathing quickened slightly, his eyes shining with the fanatical light of discovering a new continent.
"How is this a failure? This is simply... the perfect evolutionary direction! A living, walking treasure trove of biotechnology!"
Originally just a routine mission to observe the "resurrection" phenomenon, he hadn't expected to hook such an unimaginably "big fish."
Just then, the sealed door of the room slid open with a hiss.
A slice of cold white light cut in abruptly, briefly dispelling the gloom.
By the fleeting light, one could clearly see—hundreds of identical life-support pods were densely and neatly arranged in the room.
Like a cold metal graveyard extending silently to the end of vision, filled with a suffocating sense of order and inhumanity.
The light outlined a figure standing ramrod straight at the door.
"Dr. 077, you are awake. Number 32 is at your service."
The uniformed Number 32 spoke in a flat, waveless voice, but the eyes looking at 077 burned with near-fanatical, believer-to-god absolute loyalty.
Dr. 077 didn't even look up, issuing a direct order:
"Go to the warehouse, retrieve the S01 Unit-01 to Modification Room 3. Immediately."
"Yes! Obeying your command!"
The young man codenamed Number 32 turned without hesitation.
But just as he took a step, his feet halted abruptly, and a trace of extremely subtle, human uncertainty appeared on his face.
"What is it?"
Dr. 077's voice carried a hint of imperceptible impatience.
"Doctor," Number 32 turned around, his tone carrying a hint of inquiry, "S01 Unit-01 is..."
Dr. 077 frozen instantly.
He slowly looked up at Number 32's face, written with "absolute obedience" but clearly lacking certain "common sense." He took a deep, extremely helpless breath, as if bearing mental exhaustion inappropriate for his age.
Gritting his back teeth, he restated reluctantly, almost word by word:
"Go get the 'Terminator T-800' prototype model and bring it to Modification Room 3. Is it clear this time?"
Number 32 immediately showed an expression of realization, as if a blocked circuit suddenly cleared:
"Yes! Understood!"
"Everything for the evolution of mankind!"
He saluted crisply and turned around. The sealed door closed quickly behind him, returning the room to a gloom suitable for thinking.
In the silence, a long time passed.
Dr. 077 finally couldn't hold it back. To the empty room, he squeezed a low curse filled with resentment through his teeth:
"Screw Hollywood."
---
Meanwhile, in a dorm room at Nevermore Academy, a sickly sweet scent of chocolate and a faint smell of gunpowder hung in the air.
Victor, whose hearing had recovered days ago, lay on his simple cot next to the toilet door, legs crossed, reading One Thousand Magical Potions: From Entry to Burial.
He suddenly moved the book away from his face, tilted his head, and scanned his two roommates suspiciously.
"I say," he drawled, narrowing those eyes that usually danced with manic light.
"Are you two hiding something from me? Why do I feel... you guys are weird today?"
On the other side of the room, the scene was indeed somewhat abnormal.
Enid Sinclair was facing a small exquisite mirror, using a soft brush to dip a large amount of foundation and carefully layering a second coat onto her already near-transparently pale cheeks...
No, looking closely, this was already the tenth-something time today.
Her expensive bottle of soft-light liquid foundation, opened only yesterday, was visibly bottoming out.
She radiated a nervousness of trying to cover up secrets with cosmetics.
Wednesday Addams, on the other hand, stood before that iconic whiteboard of clues, arms crossed, motionless.
The board was covered with close-ups of bloody limbs, cutouts of case reports, and several prophecy drawings with eerie strokes full of ominous signs.
Her dark eyes were sharp as usual, but her focus didn't seem to truly land on those clues she knew by heart. It looked more like... spacing out?
Hearing Victor's question, Enid turned immediately, blooming a smile that was overly sweet, perhaps even trying too hard:
"No! Victor! We're just doing our own things!" Her voice was unnaturally light.
Wednesday didn't even turn her head, just emitting an extremely light nasal "Hm" of affirmation, as if completely immersed in the maze of clues and too busy to care.
"OK~" Victor dragged out the sound, shaking his crossed leg, the suspicion in his eyes deepening. "Let's review, fellas. Usually at this time—"
He pointed an index finger at Enid:
"Our little werewolf Enid should be sitting under the rose trellis in the Quad with her sisters, leisurely drinking afternoon tea with double syrup, discussing the latest nail art or who is dating whom in the academy."
Then, the finger turned to Wednesday:
"And our Goth detective Wednesday should be rushing somewhere to chase clues about the 'Hyde' monster killings and traces of Joseph Crackstone's resurrection."
He sat up abruptly, the book falling to the floor with a thud.
"But! Today!" He waved his arms exaggeratedly. "Enid! Look at you! You've brushed over ten layers of foundation on yourself!"
"Baby, you are now as white as Wednesday freshly crawled out of a coffin! Your poor, newly bought foundation is about to heroically sacrifice itself for you!"
Then he turned to Wednesday:
"And you! My dear Captain! That board! You've been staring at it for three whole days! And you already reached a conclusion yesterday! Those unlucky organs taken from the Hyde's victims are the key puzzle pieces to resurrecting that old antique Crackstone!"
"You also said you planned to put surveillance cameras in the sewer holes marked on the prophecy drawing where the Hyde might appear these few days! So tell me! What! Exactly! Are! You! Looking! At?!"
His voice echoed in the dorm, carrying a triumphant "don't think you can fool my all-seeing eyes" tone.
The air froze instantly.
Enid's brushing hand froze in mid-air. Wednesday's fingers on her arms tightened slightly.
The two exchanged a lightning-fast glance, sparks seemingly flying where their gazes met.
Almost simultaneously, they turned abruptly to Victor and blurted out:
"Victor, tomorrow night..."
The voices collided and stopped abruptly.
They shut their mouths immediately, staring at each other again. Their eyes were filled with warning, competition, and a tacit understanding of "don't you dare beat me to it." The smell of gunpowder in the air became instantly choking.
"Tomorrow night?" Victor's curiosity was thoroughly piqued. He looked at one, then the other.
"What's happening tomorrow night? A party I don't know about? Or a limited edition chocolate sale? Or..."
Ding-dong—
Just then, his phone in his pocket chimed crisply, interrupting his questioning.
Victor subconsciously pulled out his phone. A notification lit up the screen: [Owl Post] Your order has arrived at the Academy Mailroom. Please pick up with the collection code.
"Oh! My baby is here!"
Victor instantly threw the previous question to the back of his mind. A brilliant smile, like seeing true love, bloomed on his face. He kip-up jumped off the bed.
"Excuse me, ladies! Let's talk about your 'tomorrow night' later!"
He rushed out of the dorm door like a gust of wind, humming an out-of-tune song, leaving behind the two girls with their own agendas and the increasingly subtle, tense atmosphere lingering in the air.
Enid and Wednesday stared at each other silently. The conversation interrupted by the delivery now seemed to have become a heavier secret, one requiring even more contest.