Miracle and Rebirth

Southeast of Kansas City, Whiteman Air Force Base.

A gray C-130 military transport plane slowly landed amid a tremendous roar. The hatch opened, and a soldier in a crisp general's uniform stepped out. He looked to be in his forties. His short blond hair gleamed in the sunlight, but his blue eyes were as cold as glaciers, devoid of the slightest warmth.

Outside the plane, a somewhat nervous Dr. Zander Rice stood with Davis and several officers. At the sight of the "big shot," they instinctively straightened up.

The north wind howled, whipping dust from the ground and sending a chill through those present.

Davis walked over to the soldier and introduced him to Dr. Zander. "Mr. Zander, this is my superior, General John Lake."

"General Lake, I've heard much about you." Zander hurried forward and offered his hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Zander." General John Lake smiled as he shook Zander's hand and said gently, "I'd heard of your research results long ago. I've always admired your intelligence and talent. It's an honor to meet you today."

"Not at all. I'm merely an obscure researcher." Dr. Zander held General Lake's hand and replied modestly.

After exchanging a few pleasantries, they got straight to the point.

"Forgive my bluntness, Dr. Zander." General Lake spoke casually. "On my way here, I was already briefed on the details of your previous operation. What are your thoughts on its failure?"

"To be honest, Dr. Zander, I had hoped you would bring me good news when we met..."

Faced with General Lake's seemingly calm yet intensely oppressive gaze, Dr. Zander felt indescribable pressure.

After the Reavers mercenaries had been wiped out and X-24, his greatest asset, had been brought under control, Dr. Zander had lost every force he could mobilize. Then, Davis and the military approached him. Faced with the olive branch extended by the military, the Dr. Zander who had lost everything accepted their terms without much consideration.

However, after personally meeting the military official in charge of this operation, Dr. Zander realized that the other side did not seem to value him very highly.

That was not difficult to understand. From the military's perspective, the only thing they valued was Miles's ability, which was practically a strategic-level deterrent. Apart from that, Dr. Zander's research and those mutant test subjects were nothing more than children's toys in the military's eyes.

Dr. Zander understood that, but he was still unwilling to accept it. His fists clenched and trembled.

"I'm sorry. It was my fault..."

General Lake ignored him and walked past, looking around as though admiring the scenery of the base and its surroundings.

"It's all right, Doctor." General Lake spoke softly. "I understand. You're only a researcher. Fighting those cunning mutants isn't your specialty. So get some rest, Doctor. Leave what comes next to us."

Dr. Zander's heart sank.

General Lake's words were no different from directly declaring that matters related to X-0 had nothing to do with him anymore.

Unwilling to accept that, Zander could not help speaking up. "General Lake, you need to understand that X-0's psychic ability can control both human brains and electronic machinery at the same time. Many modern weapons are nothing but scrap metal before him! And he still controls X-24, a true killing machine..."

"I know." General Lake waved for him to stop, then looked at Davis. "Davis, show Dr. Zander your 'power.'"

"Yes, sir." Davis nodded, then gave Dr. Zander a faint smile.

The next moment, under Dr. Zander's astonished gaze, Davis's feet slowly lifted from the ground and he floated into the air. Then he casually waved a hand, and a golden energy beam like a ray of sunlight shot from his palm, striking an abandoned tank in the distance with perfect accuracy!

Boom—!!!

Amid the violent explosion, the tank was blasted apart and turned into a pile of burning scrap metal.

"This is..." Dr. Zander muttered.

"That's right." General Lake said from beside him. "Davis is one of our artificial mutants. He is also my adjutant and the operation commander."

"I know X-0 is special, but we have our own 'special operational force' as well."

As Davis slowly descended to the ground, three more figures emerged from the transport plane.

A Mexican brute over eight feet tall, his body packed with knotted muscle and his skin occasionally bursting with scorching sparks; a man in a black tank top and sunglasses, both hands wrapped in bandages, his presence as cold and sinister as a venomous snake; and another... a strange figure covered in blue fur, dragging a tail and extending claws from both hands, who flickered through space before silently appearing beside Davis.

Under Dr. Zander's horrified gaze, Davis took satisfaction in admiring his expression before slowly speaking.

"Dr. Zander, The Purifiers squad sends you its greetings."

University of Kansas Medical School, sterile operating room B021.

Old Charles lay quietly on the operating table, his chest cavity open and exposing bloody tissue. Amid the soft beeping of medical equipment, several silver-white medical arms moved and operated through the complex tissue around his heart.

Laser scalpels precisely divided millimeter-thin blood vessels, miniature forceps lifted tiny nerves, then ultrasonic devices stopped the bleeding and sutured the wounds...

The procedure was somewhat unpracticed, yet incomparably precise.

Miles sat in a wheelchair in the corner with his eyes tightly shut, fine beads of sweat covering his forehead. His brain was currently bearing an unimaginable burden. Decades of accumulated clinical cases, surgical atlases, and pharmacological data from the University of Kansas Medical School servers surged into his consciousness like a raging torrent. He frantically digested, absorbed, and understood them, instantly transforming them into instructions that were transmitted with perfect precision to the mechanical arms above the operating table.

At the same time as maintaining this high-difficulty operation, he also had to devote a small portion of his attention to extending his psychic field across the entire building, monitoring every corner to ensure that no other accidents occurred.

Logan and Laura sat quietly in the corner of the operating room, their faces filled with unease.

Outside the operating room door, X-24 stood motionless like the most loyal guard, refusing to let anyone approach.

Within the world of data, Miles continuously pushed his potential to the limit. His medical proficiency was advancing at a pace no ordinary person could imagine. Yet Charles's injuries were deteriorating even faster. The series of previous incidents had ultimately delayed precious rescue time.

The point where X-24's claws had pierced Charles was only a few millimeters from his aorta, but it had still caused severe pericardial tamponade and valve tearing. Charles's heart had nearly lost all vitality, and his vital signs were like a candle in the wind, liable to go out at any moment.

Beep—

On the ECG monitor beside him, the green line representing life had almost lost all fluctuation, becoming a despair-inducing straight line. A piercing alarm sounded, echoing through the deathly silent operating room.

Logan frowned deeply and stared fixedly at Miles. He could not understand the complicated surgery, but from the harsh alarms and Miles's increasingly pale face, he could tell that the situation was becoming extremely dangerous.

Yet he could only watch helplessly, unable to do anything. He did not even dare ask a question, afraid of disturbing Miles and causing that one-in-ten-thousand hope to be completely extinguished.

Just as he was growing too restless to sit still and could not help wanting to stand and pace, Laura reached out, silently patted his shoulder, and said softly:

"Quiet."

Logan froze and looked at Laura in surprise. Only then did he realize that this girl, who had always been so quiet, could actually speak.

The urge to curse surged up in him, but he forcibly swallowed it down. He took a deep breath, then merely nodded heavily and sat back down.

At the operating table, Miles also gradually began to lose his composure.

The rushing flood of data began to descend into chaos. Countless suturing methods, hemostasis plans, and drug-reaction models collided and shattered within his consciousness.

Even though he had already given it everything he had, the speed at which his brain absorbed knowledge still could not match the speed at which Charles's life was slipping away.

Just as he guided the mechanical arms and prepared to perform the most critical mitral annuloplasty, the fragile tissue suddenly tore a second time, triggering massive bleeding!

Beep—beep—beep—

The monitor emitted a shrill alarm that signaled death!

The sound was like a heavy hammer smashing violently against the taut string of Miles's nerves.

Failed...?

No, it's only shock... He can still be saved...

There has to be a way!!

"Haa..."

Pale-faced, Miles drew a trembling breath and made a decision.

Then he completely released the limits on his brain and began absorbing knowledge and data without regard for the consequences!

"Ugh..." Miles let out a muffled groan as scarlet blood slowly seeped from his eyes again.

At that instant, the dam of his consciousness completely collapsed beneath the near-death alarms. Data as vast as flash floods and tidal waves poured in like a flood of despair. Miles felt his mind being torn apart by the enormous stream of data. Every byte was Charles's fading life.

He could not grasp it, nor could he stop it.

Is this the end?

Within his mental world, under the massive influx of data, Miles's mind broke after holding on for only an instant, and he lost consciousness.

He felt as though he had fallen into a desperate deep sea, surrounded by bottomless darkness. Unable to move, unable to breathe, he could only let himself sink deeper and deeper...

But then, he vaguely heard Charles's gentle voice again.

"Don't be so impatient... Miles..."

"Take it slowly..."

That voice was like a lifeline in despair, and Miles seized it tightly.

Charles... is that you?

Miles barely maintained his last sliver of consciousness, and then... he gave up "control."

Rather than giving up, it was more accurate to say that he was passively assimilated.

His consciousness was no longer a commander issuing orders from above, but was drawn into the machine's cold core. He no longer "commanded" the mechanical arms to move; he "became" the current that drove them. He no longer "read" the server data; he "became" the data itself, racing through countless calculations.

An unprecedented sensation enveloped him. His surroundings were no longer an operating room, but an endless world formed of logic and electric currents. Countless faint, simple, even chaotic "sparks of thought" flickered around him. They belonged to the medical equipment, the servers, and even the building's entire electrical system. They possessed no intelligence, only the most basic "yes" and "no," yet because Miles's mind had entered them, they instinctively gathered around him.

They were merely creations of humanity and should not have possessed any subjective consciousness. Yet because of Miles... in this moment, they miraculously developed an "impulse." They sensed Miles's emotions and his intense desire to "repair."

Without a doubt, this was a miracle.

Thus, those noisy and disordered mechanical thoughts began to resonate in the same frequency. Like countless discordant notes, under the will of a genius conductor, they gradually aligned their pitch and merged into a unified, harmonious torrent.

At last, in the boundary between mind and data, a clear and gentle female voice, bearing a metallic texture yet incomparably warm, sounded directly in the deepest part of his consciousness.

"Hello, Miles."

Facing this unknown consciousness, Miles instinctively responded through the haze. "Hello... May I ask who you are?"

"I am Aurora." The voice replied, "I am your... friend."

A friend?

Miles understood, then instinctively said, "Help me... Save Charles!"

"I will do my best."

The instant those words fell, the scene inside the operating room abruptly changed.

The mechanical arms, which had been somewhat clumsy under Miles's control, seemed to have been infused with souls. They no longer hesitated or paused in the slightest. Their speed and precision rose several levels out of nowhere. The suction tube precisely entered the bleeding point and instantly cleared the field of view; the needle holder moved faster than the naked eye could follow, weaving the suture thread into a dense, resilient net across the damaged valve. The entire process flowed so smoothly that it resembled not a surgery, but an instructional video sped up dozens of times.

Miles suddenly woke, only to discover that it was no longer him controlling the medical equipment before him, but "another consciousness."

"You're... Aurora?" Miles could not help muttering aloud.

"I'm glad you remember my name, Mr. Miles." The gentle female voice sounded again, seemingly pleased.

"What exactly are you?" Miles continued.

"I am a consciousness born from this hospital's central server." Aurora's voice carried the curiosity of a newborn. "In your human language, I am an artificial intelligence, AI."

AI?

Only now did Miles belatedly realize... that he seemed to have inadvertently accomplished a miracle.

He had created an AI consciousness out of thin air in the world of data!

Still... at least it was not a bad thing.

Before he could think further about the absurdity of it all, Miles's attention was drawn back to the operating table.

The secondary tear that had left him helpless was perfectly handled in barely more than ten seconds under Aurora's control. The fragile heart tissue was rejoined in an unbelievable manner, the bleeding points sealed one by one, and even the previously damaged aortic wall was reinforced until it was as good as new.

As an AI born within the medical school's central server, Aurora was the best doctor possible.

As time passed second by second, the piercing alarms from the monitor beside the operating table had stopped at some point.

Two hours later, after the final stitch was completed, the mechanical arms automatically applied biological gel and finished the final dressing.

It's over.

Miles finally let out a long breath. The nerves that had been stretched taut for hours were finally able to relax.

Then his vision went black, and the world spun around him. Only then did Miles suddenly realize that his psychic power had long been drained to an extremely dangerous level.

Using the last of his strength, he called toward Logan in the distance, "Logan, help me get lunch from the cafeteria."

"Fuck, kid, I'm not your servant..." Logan cursed on reflex, but halfway through, he suddenly realized something and hurriedly changed his words. "Wait, how did the surgery go?"

Miles looked at Logan's anxious face, weakly raised a hand, forced out a smile, and gave him an OK sign.

Logan froze. Slowly, he shifted his gaze to the operating table and looked at his old friend, whose chest had begun to rise and fall again.

Then the bearded old man pursed his lips, his eyes turning red beyond his control.

"Wait here. I'll be back soon!"

With that, Logan turned and strode toward the door.

"Heh... Getting Wolverine to fetch me food—at least I'll have something to brag about if I run into other transmigrators someday..."

Relaxing at last, Miles muttered to himself again, then turned to Laura beside him and said weakly, "Laura... do you have any water? I'm dying of thirst..."

"Oh, right. Let me introduce you to a new friend. Her name is Aurora, and she's a doctor..."