Watching, Cleanup and an Invitation
In the observation room, the air seemed to freeze, with only the low hum of the ventilation system remaining.
K sat in the observation chair like a cold statue, his gaze calmly observing everything happening in the operating room opposite through the huge double-pane glass. His face was expressionless, devoid of disgust, excitement, or fear, only displaying a pure, objective observation.
Across the glass, under the operating lights, the doctor, whom the Skinny called "boss," was putting on a "performance" that was both professional and rife with his own morbid quirks.
Wei Guangyuan and Qian Zhiming had completely lost the ability to resist, and even the strength to cry out. Their bodies were firmly fixed to the operating table, and the vital signs monitor showed that their heart rate and breathing curves were still fluctuating weakly, indicating that they were still alive—living in a way that was worse than death.
The doctor's movements were precise and efficient, fully meeting the most stringent surgical standards. But what he did went far beyond simply "removing the required organ."
He started with Qian Zhiming. He used a scalpel to cut open the abdomen, skillfully separating the tissues. Then, instead of directly removing a whole organ, he used tweezers to pick up a small piece of trembling tissue—which looked like the edge of part of the liver or spleen—and held it at an angle that Qian Zhiming could barely see, gently shaking it.
"Look, Deputy Director Qian, this is your liver. It's a bit dark in color, and there's obvious fatty infiltration. You must drink a lot at social events these days, right?" The doctor's voice came through what could possibly be a hidden speaker in the observation room, his tone still steady, with an air of academic interest.
Qian Zhiming's eyes darted around in terror, and he made a hissing sound in his throat, but he couldn't utter a complete sentence.
Next was Wei Guangyuan. The doctor opened his chest cavity, avoiding the major blood vessels, and then used a special retractor to gently separate the ribs, exposing the inside of the chest cavity more clearly. He even adjusted the angle of the operating light to allow the light to penetrate better.
"President Wei, your heart... is beating quite strongly. Unfortunately, there are some signs of coronary artery atherosclerosis. You should pay attention to your health." As the doctor spoke, he very lightly touched the stubbornly beating heart with his gloved fingers. Wei Guangyuan's body then experienced a violent, completely uncontrollable spasm.
This is not a necessary medical procedure at all. It's torture, a display, an extension of the doctor's personal perverse pleasure. He is systematically and methodically revealing the mysteries of the body's interior to his "works," while simultaneously conducting a cruel "health critique."
K watched for a long while before finally speaking, his voice low but breaking the silence of the observation room. Without turning around, still facing the glass, he asked, "Isn't it just a cornea transplant? What is he doing?"
His question was direct, pointing to the doctor's obviously unnecessary movements.
The Skinny and the man with High Cheekbones standing not far behind K stiffened slightly upon hearing this. They quickly exchanged a glance, their faces showing embarrassment and unease.
The Skinny swallowed hard, took a half-step forward, and cautiously replied, "Um... buddy, this... this is one of our boss's... um... personal little hobbies." He chose his words carefully, his voice low, as if afraid the person on the other side of the glass would hear. "He... he just likes it this way. To let the 'donor'... uh, to know more about themselves. It's kind of... pre-operative... interaction?"
This explanation was weak and bizarre. K didn't press further, but merely nodded almost imperceptibly, indicating that he had heard.
The Skinny and the man with the High Cheekbones breathed a sigh of relief, quickly backing away and lowering their heads again. K glanced out of the corner of his eye and noticed that these two men, who had seemed fierce and shrewd on the docks, now dared not look directly at the scene inside the glass window. Their eyes darted around, staring at the smooth ground beneath their feet, their posture revealing a clear tension and fear. Obviously, they did not entirely accept their boss's "little hobby," but rather felt more fear and obedience.
K withdrew his peripheral vision and refocused his attention on the operating room.
The presentation has finally come to an end.
The doctor seemed to have satisfied his need for "interaction." His movements became pure and efficient again. He quickly and precisely removed the corneas—the "goods" explicitly required in this "transaction." Two pairs of clear corneas, with some surrounding tissue attached, were carefully placed into a specially made cryogenic container filled with preservation fluid, the lid was closed, and a label was affixed.
Then, the doctor straightened up and stretched his neck, seemingly a little tired. He raised his head, his gaze passing over the operating table and landing precisely on the observation room, on K sitting behind the glass.
Although he was wearing a mask and surgical cap, revealing only his eyes, K could clearly see that the previous focus and pleasure in those eyes had not completely faded; instead, there was a hint of... inquiry? And a clearly discernible curved arc.
He was smiling.
Separated by double-pane glass and several meters apart, K's gaze met and stared at the deranged doctor for a brief two or three seconds. There were no sparks, no exchange, only a cold, mutual scrutiny.
The doctor then looked away and ignored it. He pressed a button next to the operating table.
Soon, the airtight door on the other side of the operating room slid open, and two men, also dressed in sterile gowns but moving more mechanically, like porters, walked in. They pushed in two empty gurneys covered with plastic sheets, and without a word, began cleaning the area.
They removed Wei Guangyuan and Qian Zhiming, who had already lost vital signs and were physically mutilated, from the operating table, transferred them to a gurney like two bags of goods, hastily covered them with plastic sheets, and then quickly pushed them out of the operating room. The whole process was efficient and silent, with an indifference towards the handling of medical waste.
Inside the operating room, only the doctor and an assistant remained, quickly performing initial instrument cleaning and table disinfection.
In the observation room, K watched the two stretchers disappear through the door, and finally spoke again, his voice still steady:
Where will they be sent?
The Skinny seemed to have anticipated this question and quickly replied, his tone carrying a sense of assurance. "Don't worry, buddy, our process here is very thorough. We have our own... um, processing facilities. It's very private, won't leave any trace, and won't cause you any follow-up trouble." He subtly mentioned ultimate disposal methods like "crematoriums," but didn't say it explicitly.
K nodded upon hearing this. This answer was within his expectations. Such an organization must have a complete chain for handling "waste".
"In that case," K stood up from his chair, his movements swift and decisive, "The deal is done. Send me back."
His tone indicated that he believed this "observation" was over and the cooperation had come to an end.
However, as he stepped toward the door of the observation room, the Skinny and the man with High Cheekbones moved simultaneously. Neither of them adopted an aggressive stance, but they moved a step in unison, blocking K's path and creating a subtle obstruction.
K stopped and looked up at the two men. His gaze remained calm, but the Skinny and the man with High Cheekbones felt an invisible pressure.
The Skinny forced a somewhat stiff smile, rubbing his hands as he explained, "Um... sorry, buddy, I'll have to trouble you to wait a little longer."
He paused, glanced at the operating room across the glass that had been mostly cleaned, and lowered his voice to say:
Our boss... he'd like to meet you.
K's gaze lingered on the two men's faces for a moment, as if making a quick assessment. The Skinny and the one with High Cheekbones looked tense and serious, not like a spur-of-the-moment attempt to make things difficult, but more like conveying an instruction that had to be carried out.
There was a few seconds of silence.
K said nothing, but slowly sat back down in the black leather chair. He adjusted to a more comfortable position, crossed his arms, and looked once again at the empty operating room across the glass, as if quietly waiting for the next "performance" or "meeting" to begin.
Seeing this, the Skinny and the man with High Cheekbones visibly breathed a sigh of relief, but they still dared not relax, standing a little distance away on either side, like two silent guards.