07 Test Subject

In the mountains on the outskirts of Tokyo, there was no neon glow of the city to be found.

On a slope overgrown with wild weeds, an isolated building stood alone, its white exterior paint peeling and mottled.

Patches of mold spread upward along the cracks in the walls, and wild vines reached out from shattered windows, climbing further up the corroded steel reinforcements.

Inside.

Cold white lights illuminated the biological laboratory, leaving nothing hidden.

The sterile operating table gleamed with a cold, hard luster, surrounded by several monitoring instruments with flickering screens, where green vital sign curves pulsed monotonously against black backgrounds.

A boy lay flat on the table, his eyes tightly shut, his hands and feet bound.

Three laboratory staff members in thick white coats stood around the boy, their masks covering most of their faces, revealing only eyes devoid of warmth as their rubber-gloved fingers nimbly manipulated various instruments.

The boy's eyelashes fluttered a few times, and he struggled to open his eyes into a narrow slit.

"Subject 07 has regained consciousness." The researcher closest to him immediately caught the signal.

As he spoke, he released the restraints on the boy's limbs. "Vital signs?"

Another person stared intently at the screen: "Everything is normal. The red blood cells have fused perfectly with the genetic modification serum; there is no rejection from the immune system..."

Before the words could fade, a piercing alarm tore through the silence of the laboratory.

Beep-beep-beep—beep-beep-beep—

The steady green curve suddenly began to shake violently, rising and falling in jagged, intermittent bursts.

The cold white lights began to flicker frantically, mixed with the blinding red of the alarm, slicing the entire space into fragments of light and shadow.

The boy on the table arched his back sharply!

His thin body began to convulse uncontrollably, his flimsy hospital gown instantly soaked through with sweat, clinging to his trembling frame.

His skin flushed a deep red as blood vessels pulsed wildly beneath the surface, only to drain of all color a moment later.

With the restraints gone, his limbs thrashed against the metal table, the dull thuds of impact mixing with the screaming of the alarm.

Fine beads of blood soon seeped from his wrists and ankles, leaving tiny, scattered marks on the white surface.

"Sedative! Quickly!"

"Prepare the adrenaline!"

The laboratory descended into chaos. A reagent bottle was knocked over, rolling onto the floor, where pale purple liquid mixed with transparent culture medium, creating eerie, bubbling color patches on the ground.

The monitoring screens turned completely crimson, the vital sign curves jumping at an increasingly frantic frequency.

The three experimenters moved around him in a panic. Their faces beneath their masks were heavy with gravity; one of them quickly drew emergency medication, the needle piercing the side of the boy's neck as the pure white liquid was pushed into his veins.

But the convulsions did not stop.

A faint smell of burning began to emanate from the overloaded monitoring instruments, mingling with the scent of disinfectant.

The boy's breathing became weak and rapid, and the convulsions finally began to subside—not because he was improving.

Those eyes that had just opened were now staring blankly at the ceiling. His pupils dilated, reflecting the flickering red light.

Beep-beep-beep—beeeeeep—

A long, sustained drone.

On the screen, that frantically jumping green curve was finally replaced by a straight, red line.

Silence suddenly descended. Only the cooling fans inside the instruments continued to spin.

"...Another failure." The experimenter holding the defibrillator removed his mask, revealing the face of an exhausted middle-aged man.

He sighed, his tone devoid of anger, filled only with deep weariness. "Record the time and dispose of him."

Two minutes later, two guards in full protective gear entered the laboratory.

Without a word, they pushed the boy, along with the operating table, out of the room.

In the observation room next to the lab, a man wearing thin-rimmed glasses sat slumped in an office chair.

His phone had fallen onto the polished tile floor, its screen shattered.

Just moments ago, he had finished that call.

"...Please, give me one more chance," his voice was still trembling, even though the call had long since ended, "next time... next time I absolutely will..."

His glasses slid down to the tip of his nose, but he made no move to adjust them. Beads of sweat on his forehead trickled down his temples.

The next day, Tokyo, Japan.

On a massive LED screen on the facade of a shopping mall, the morning news was playing.

"Early this morning, a small-scale explosion occurred at an abandoned factory on the outskirts of Tokyo. Preliminary police investigations suspect a connection to a gang conflict; no casualties were found at the scene. The government urges citizens to stay away from the area for the time being, and if you spot any suspicious individuals, please call immediately..."

The news footage cut to blurry video of the scene: in the rain, the silhouette of an abandoned building, with the blue and red flashes of police cars visible in the distance.

After the news ended, the screen switched to a brightly colored advertisement.

Kōtō Ikusei High School: The only path to becoming an absolute elite! Our school boasts a one hundred percent rate of advancement to higher education and employment, with all room and board provided free of charge, equipped with the most advanced teaching facilities and a perfect living environment... Here, every student will receive a tailor-made elite education and become a pillar supporting the future of Japan!"

On the sidewalk below the screen, a small figure stopped in their tracks.

His hollow gaze remained fixed directly on the giant screen.

A single raindrop struck his cheek.

Immediately, a fine drizzle began to fall, weaving a gray, misty curtain. Pedestrians cried out as they scrambled for cover, and a queue for umbrellas quickly formed in front of the convenience store.

"It's raining!"

"Hurry, hurry."

Umbrellas snapped open with a "whoosh," blooming like flowers beneath the gray canopy of the sky. People hurried their pace, huddling together in twos and threes under the canopies, walking briskly toward the subway station or the shelter of eaves.

Yet, the boy remained frozen in place.

Rainwater slid down his bangs, traced a path along his pale cheeks to his jaw, and finally dripped into his collar.

The sea of umbrellas moved slowly before him, forming a series of barriers that gradually blocked his view of the giant screen, leaving only fragmented snippets of advertisements flickering through the rain and mist:

"...absolute... elite..."

"...future..."

His hollow eyes showed not the slightest ripple. He neither looked up at the rushing crowds around him nor raised a hand to shield himself from the intensifying rain. He gradually vanished into a small alleyway...

(Unfinished, the book is cut, I've been roasted into numbness.)