**The Black Domain**. Sector SF-999, a derelict star region where gravity constants are in chaos and radiation levels exceed safety limits by three thousand times. This is the dumping ground abandoned by the "Tower" civilization, and simultaneously, the burial ground for countless low-level gene-users attempting to defy heaven and alter their fate.
**Hummm—**
A piercing alarm shatters the dead silence of the void. A massive holographic projection flickers above the fractured dome. Red warning spots, like dripping tears of blood, cast the "Walled City" below—a structure built from scrap metal and radiation dust—into a suffocating, oppressive crimson glow.
**Hierarchy is the iron law carved into the genes.**
In this era, bloodline dictates everything. From the lower-tier "Waste-Bloods" to the upper-tier "Pure-Blood Nobles," every step of ascension demands a massive consumption of Gene Essence. Resources are monopolized within the temperature-controlled pods of core laboratories, while the world outside is a jungle of the strong devouring the weak. Every breath is a gamble with death; every evolution comes with the excruciating pain of flesh and bone reorganization.
**Click.**
A crisp sound of mechanical engagement echoes through the air.
A boy stands at the edge of the wind-swept ruins. He wears an ill-fitting, oil-stained **Lab Coat**, his black hair tousled by the fierce gale, yet unable to hide the depth of his eyes, which are as dark and cold as a winter night. Most striking of all is the pair of specialized data glasses perched on his nose, where streams of azure data flow—data invisible to ordinary eyes.
**0.03 seconds.**
His pupils contract slightly. Countless lines of code instantly project onto his retina. It is the gene map of a mutated beast hiding in the sandstorm: *C-T-G-A... Mutation rate 98.7%... Energy circuit overload warning...*
In his eyes, the world is not made of flesh and blood, but of strings of **Source Code** waiting to be decoded and reorganized.
"The Gene Lock is merely encrypted garbage code," the boy murmurs softly, his voice devoid of any warmth.
He raises his hand, his fingertips tracing a path through the void. No weapon, no light effects—only the subtle energy fluctuations in the air are forcibly twisted by his will. A Tier-3 mutated beast lurking in the shadows lets out a shriek of agony. Its skeleton is instantly disassembled and reorganized by the energy flow he decoded, reducing it to a pool of flesh that can never regenerate.
**This is the truth of evolution.**
In a universe shrouded by the shadow of the **Gene Tyrant**, so-called strongmen are nothing more than lucky few who hold more gene keys. But what the boy sees is a truth of a higher dimension: **Everything can be rewritten**.
Far away, in the deep void, a star that was once constant suddenly dims, as if swallowed by some indescribable black tentacle. The "Abyss" is awakening. It is a sign of the cosmic cycle where destruction and rebirth alternate.
**Fear spreads, yet hope grows in the cracks of the code.**
The boy turns around, his lab coat snapping in the wind. His silhouette is slender, yet it seems to bear the weight of the entire universe. He needs no pity, no understanding; he only needs **analysis**. To analyze pain, to analyze death, to analyze the ultimate shackle that binds the evolution of life.
When the data stream once again covers his vision, a faint curve forms at the corner of his lips—a mark of absolute confidence born from rational calculation.
"If the Gene Lock is code," he looks up at the starry sky being swallowed by darkness, "then I will recompile it."
**All Laws Return to One, starting from the dust.**