Ian began with just a taste.
He set down the empty bottle and picked up another.
It was green, and the label read "Compound V · Modified Type · Low Concentration." Ian took a sip, and the system prompted, "Constitution +23."
He took another sip. "Constitution +8."
He took another sip. "Spirit +5."
He finished this bottle too, set down the empty, and licked his lips.
"Interesting. So they're random little drinks."
Ian sighed in appreciation.
The old scientist from before had not run. He stood off to the side, watching this young man drink Compound V as if it were a beverage, his face going from pale to livid.
Each bottle of Compound V cost enough to buy a house. This man was drinking them—not injecting them, drinking them.
And after drinking them, he had no reaction whatsoever. No convulsions, no vomiting, no bleeding from the eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.
"How is that possible?"
The old scientist was both furious and shocked.
Ian picked up a third bottle. Purple, high concentration. He took a sip.
"Intelligence +15."
Another sip. "Spirit +9."
Another sip. "Strength +7."
He placed the empty bottle on the table and picked up a fourth. His movements grew faster and faster—twist off the cap, tilt his head back and drain it, set down the empty, pick up the next.
The notification sounds rang through his mind in a dense cascade.
Strength +23, Constitution +17, Spirit +11, intelligence +8, Strength +19, Constitution +12—
The numbers jumped. His attributes rose. The corners of Ian's mouth lifted slightly. He liked these little drinks—each bottle had a different flavor, and every one brought him a surprise.
The scientists watched him drink his way through two rows of Compound V on the shelves, and not one of them dared speak.