"Please... You can do anything you want to me... Just let my child go!"
The woman’s sobs struck the laboratory’s metal walls and bounced back.
Diablo Clark gripped his tablet so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
"Experiment Record Number 104 begins now." His voice carried through the microphone, steady as a machine’s. "Instrument parameters are normal. The subjects’ vital signs are stable."
Behind reinforced glass, a boy was strapped to a metal chair. Beside him, his mother was secured to another chair, tears smearing her entire face.
They were Number 65 and Number 66.
Numbers in the files.
Diablo knew they were mother and son.
"Willie, perform knuckle severance on Number 66," he said. "Monitor all of Number 65’s physiological signals simultaneously."
His stomach clenched.
"Command confirmed," the assistant robot Willie replied.
The mechanical arm swung down.
The scalpel flashed coldly.
The little finger on the boy’s left hand was severed.
The device retrieved the finger as the hemostatic spray hissed.
"Aaaah—! My hand! My hand—!" The boy’s screams pierced the glass.
Diablo took a deep breath.
"Too loud. Disable laboratory audio capture. Continue recording physiological responses."
He had to block out those sounds.
Otherwise, he would go mad.
"Acknowledged. Please reconfirm the command."
A drawling voice sounded behind him.
"Well, well. Our great genius is still so ‘merciful,’ I see."
Diablo turned around, a smile already fixed on his face.
"What brings you here, Henry?"
Henry White was smiling too. The smile stopped at his lips; his eyes were cold.
"I came to check on your progress. Director Thomas is pressing hard." He deliberately emphasized the next two words. "We’ve consumed so much ‘material.’ If there are no results, it’ll be hard to answer to the taxpayers."
His gaze swept over the mother and son behind the glass.
"The experiment is proceeding smoothly," Diablo said, maintaining his smile. "If there is any breakthrough, I will report it immediately."
The so-called results were nothing more than weapons the Marleyan military wanted.
Henry stepped forward and stood beside him, looking at the boy through the glass. His tone was dripping with false concern.
"I’m only worried that you’ve just graduated from Utopia Academy and may not be accustomed to our... way of working here."
The threat was hidden in his words.
Without waiting for Diablo to reply, he turned to Willie, and his tone changed abruptly.
"Didn’t I tell you to gag him? That sound is revolting!"
"Requesting specific instructions. Which tool should be used? The current experimental protocol does not include—"
"Anything! A blade, a piece of iron! Make him shut up! And that woman too! Immediately!"
Henry cut it off brutally, his face twisting with disgust.
Then he turned back to Diablo, his expression instantly shifting into friendliness.
"Sorry you had to see that. The moment I hear those Eldian vermin making noise, I just can’t keep my temper down."
"Entirely understandable." Diablo dipped his head slightly and recited the familiar line. "The Eldians’ sins run deep. Their current circumstances are simply what they deserve."
Every word scraped across his throat like a rusty blade.
"I’m glad you understand!" Henry’s voice suddenly rose, charged with sick excitement. "After all, wasn’t the founder of your ‘Utopia Academy’ that Eldian ‘hero’ who stopped the Rumbling—Armin Arlert?"
He sneered.
"Stopping the destruction of the world makes him a savior? But who still remembers that they were the ones who started the war? They were the ones who dragged the whole world into hell!"
His words dripped down like venom.
"If you ask me, Marley should have wiped them all out back then. Every last one."
Diablo raised a smile at the appropriate moment.
"Forgive me for interrupting, Henry. The experiment has reached a critical stage, and the director has just sent another demand for progress... Would you let me continue first?"
"Ah, look at me. Once I start talking about this, I can’t stop." Henry patted his shoulder and turned toward the airtight door. "Work hard. I’ll make sure your contribution is remembered."
The door slowly closed.
A red light flashed.
The smile on Diablo’s face collapsed at once.
He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
Contribution?
When it came time to steal the credit, he probably would not even mention my name.
Henry White.
An extreme racist. A sycophantic little man skilled at currying favor.
He was merely a reflection of the system of the modern Marleyan Federation.
The ideals Diablo had once believed in—human understanding, world peace—the idealism Utopia Academy had preached to him over and over, were as fragile as paper soaked in water before a reality like this.
One touch, and they fell apart.
He looked toward the experimental chamber.
The boy designated Number 65 convulsed in pain, his thin body trembling. The AI voice system repeated mechanically: "Please stop crying." "Abnormal sound waves detected. Executing gagging command."
"Stop." Diablo gave the order quietly. "Initiate trauma-treatment protocol. Prepare for the next phase of testing."
He knew it was only a drop in the ocean.
But he had to do something.
Even if it only delayed their suffering by a few minutes.
Even if this was the only insignificant act of resistance he could exercise.
Two hours later, the experiment ended. The restraints were released.
Mother and son curled up at the edge of the testing platform, with only ragged breaths left in them. The woman’s hand still shielded her child’s head tightly. Even through her haze of consciousness, she refused to let go.
Diablo stared at the monitoring screen.
"Initiate limb reattachment procedure. Conduct neural regeneration repair simultaneously."
He paused.
"Raise their living-treatment rating for the next three days to Grade A."
Nutrient solution, painkillers, private observation pods—resources that were never meant to belong to experimental subjects.
But at least... let them sleep peacefully for once.
"Warning: Twenty percent of your project funding remains. Maintaining Grade C standards is sufficient to meet basic survival needs—"
"Do as I said." Diablo’s tone was resolute. "I will apply directly to the director regarding the funding issue."
Watching the mother and son being wheeled back into compartments like cages, he drew a deep breath.
The smell of disinfectant.
"Doing this... I’ll definitely go to hell after I die."
He muttered to himself.
As though stating a fact that was bound to come true.
His personal terminal vibrated.
The screen read: "Rhodes Island Hospital."
Diablo’s pupils contracted. He rushed out of the laboratory and answered the call.
"Hello, who is this?"
"Is this Mr. Diablo Clark? This is Rhodes Island Hospital. Your younger sister, Zoe Clark, collapsed at school—"
"I’ll be right there!"
Every thought vanished, leaving only worry.
He grabbed his coat and ran out of the research institute.
Outside the taxi window, Marley’s cityscape sped backward.
The terminal screen displayed: December 28, 1066, 16:27.
Utopia Academy’s student loans, the research institute’s unspeakable but highly paid "special projects"...
He had already sunk too deeply into it.
Like an insect that had wandered into a spider’s web, every struggle only tightened the threads around him.
Another year was almost over.
Zoe’s mysterious illness, for which no cause could be found, was like a silent black hole, constantly devouring money, time, and the last remnants of his conscience.
He knew he was wrong.
But if he had to do it again, he would still make the same choice.
For those he loved, he would stop at nothing!
Outside the hospital room, the attending physician had just come out.
"Doctor, I’m Diablo Clark. The patient inside is my sister. How is she?"
"Don’t worry. She has regained consciousness, and her condition is stable. You may go in and see her."
After thanking him, Diablo gently pushed open the door.
The setting sun shone through the window, laying a halo over the girl’s profile on the hospital bed. Her crimson hair flowed like the evening clouds.
Hearing him enter, she turned her head and offered a slightly pale but sincere smile.
"Big brother."
"Zoe, how do you feel?" He hurried to the bedside.
"Same old problem. I’ll be fine after some rest." Zoe shook her head, then lowered her voice uneasily. "But this time was different... That voice was clearer. It kept saying, ‘The time is coming.’ I asked it what time, but it wouldn’t answer. Do you think it could be the Path—"
"Zoe!" Diablo cut her off sharply, signaling with his eyes that the walls had ears.
Rumors about the Paths were taboo.
He could not allow her to become involved in anything dangerous.
"Don’t overthink it. Get some rest." His tone softened. "What do you want for dinner? I’ll order delivery."
"Cheese pizza!" The girl’s eyes brightened.
"All right. I’ll order it now."
Watching his sister’s excitement, Diablo felt an indescribable mix of emotions.
Zoe was adopted. Officially, she was Marleyan too.
But while sorting through their parents’ belongings, Diablo had discovered proof of her true heritage—she was an Eldian.
They both understood this without ever speaking it aloud.
In this violently racist Marley, that secret was enough to get them killed.
"Big brother, be careful lately. Don’t go anywhere crowded." Zoe pointed at the news on her terminal. "There’s been another terrorist attack. It sounds like Eldians were behind it..."
"Every day, I only go between the institute and the dormitory. It’s perfectly safe." He smiled reassuringly.
Yet he was thinking of the secrets beneath the institute and its tight security.
Compared to terrorist attacks outside, the place he worked might be even more dangerous.
"By the way, big brother... Is your job very stressful?" Zoe asked hesitantly, her gaze passing over his exhausted face. "You never used to drink."
"It’s nothing. High pay naturally means heavy responsibilities. The details are confidential."
He brushed the question aside again, bitterness filling his heart.
How could he tell her that the medical bills keeping her alive were stained with the blood and suffering of her own people?
"I know... You’re just connecting to Eldians’ ‘Paths’ or something, promoting understanding among all humanity, and bringing about lasting peace..." Zoe muttered, repeating the institute’s official public explanation.
A beautiful façade.
Pain stabbed through Diablo’s heart.
"I’m going to pay the medical bill. Getting better soon will be the greatest help you can give me."
He ruffled Zoe’s hair and turned to leave the room.
He did not dare look into her pure eyes any longer.
As he paid the bill, his wrist terminal vibrated.
An encrypted message appeared.
[Return to the laboratory immediately. There is an emergency. —Director]
Trouble always came one after another.
He quickly replied, "Understood," then sent Zoe a message: "I might not come back tonight. Don’t wait for me."
The taxi drove away from the hospital as night steadily deepened.
An unnatural chill crept up his spine.
This road... was too quiet.
At this hour, the main road leading to the research institute should have been ablaze with lights, patrol vehicles constantly coming and going.
Yet now, the streetlamps were dim, and the road lay as empty as an abandoned ruin.
Even the wind had fallen still.
He clenched his phone, his heartbeat accelerating.
As they neared the institute, a blinding blaze suddenly tore across the sky!
Boom—!!
The deafening blast exploded like thunder, shaking the ground.
The taxi lurched violently.
Up ahead, a gray-white mushroom cloud rolled upward from the direction of the research institute, swallowing the last of the dusk.
"What happened?!" Diablo’s pupils shrank sharply.
"Turn around! Run! It’s an attack! Terrorists!" the driver screamed, wrenching the steering wheel.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three gunshots rang out.
The windshield shattered into a spiderweb of cracks.
The driver’s body jerked stiffly, a crimson flower blooming across his forehead.
He did not even have time to cry out before collapsing over the steering wheel.
The piercing horn wailed without pause.
Three soldiers approached, their black combat uniforms smeared with dust and blood. Their gun barrels were aimed at the only living person in the car—Diablo.
"There’s actually one alive," one of them sneered. "You won the bet."
"Enough talk," another said coldly. "Get rid of this Marleyan pig and prepare to withdraw."
Diablo’s mind raced as cold sweat soaked his back.
I can’t die!
Zoe is still waiting for me!
"Wait!" he shouted, raising both hands. His voice trembled, but he fought to remain calm. "I’m a brain science specialist from Utopia Academy! I know all the data from the Paths project! I can give you every piece of intelligence you want—"
Before he could finish.
A black gun barrel pressed against his temple.
Cold. Hard. Absolute.
There was no hesitation in the other man’s eyes. Only lifeless killing intent.
In that instant, he saw the sunset in Zoe’s hospital room and heard her softly say, "Big brother, I’m hungry."
‘Zoe... I’m sorry...’
‘Your brother... broke his promise...’
His consciousness fell into darkness.
The last thread of light went out.
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