Kensington L. Orland felt like a caterpillar.
His eyes were covered, his mouth gagged. Though not tied up, he seemed stuffed into a bag—just big enough to keep him from moving, with only his head poking out for air. He figured he was in a car trunk, and the driver was anything but gentle, making sharp, wild turns so Orland rolled around like a caterpillar in the trunk.
[I've been kidnapped!]
[Who is it?]
[Am I going to be killed?!]
Orland couldn't help but think of everyone who might want him dead, and realized the list was way too long. His mind raced with worry, sweating through his clothes in the dead of winter, his aging heart nearly giving out. After what felt like forever, he was finally freed—plunked down onto a chair.
The chair was cold and hard, but still better than ending up a corpse in the Thames.
So the old professor let himself relax a little—maybe he still had some value after all.
"Hey, can't move? Take off the blindfold yourself."
He heard a voice—a woman's, strong and forceful, like a red-hot metal rod smacking him right in the head. Shaking, Orland raised his hands to his face, fumbled around, and—swish—the blindfold came off. Absentmindedly fixing his messy hair, he realized, to his surprise, that he was holding his favorite steam sleep mask.
This was scarier than any fancy torture device—it meant someone had figured out his every move.
The old professor opened his eyes. Total darkness all around.
Click—a desk lamp flicked on nearby. The light was blinding, hitting him right in the eyes. Dazed, Orland threw up a hand to shield himself. After so long in the dark, the sudden glare made everything a blur. He could just make out a plain table a few meters away, with a woman sitting behind it.
"You're Kensington L. Orland?" The woman's silhouette seemed to have eight big Chinese characters floating above her head. Orland didn't know what they meant, but her intimidating presence was enough. Not much point denying it—what was he going to say, "No, you've got the wrong guy, I'm just the janitor"? That'd insult both their intelligence. So, the old professor nodded.
The woman chatted away, oddly interested: "There's a Kensington Road in London—named after your ancestor? Kensington family and all that, you must be from a noble line."
"No, BIG-BOSS, you've got it wrong." A man's voice suddenly cut in, making Orland jump—he hadn't even realized someone else was so close in the dark. From the sound, it was the same guy who'd chopped him earlier.
"I got it wrong?"
"You did. In English, the first name comes first, last name after. His last name's Orland, first name's Kensington. Even if there is a Kensington family, he's not part of it."
"Oh~~ Thanks for the English lesson, Mr. Jason Bond. So enlightening! If you hadn't said anything, this English dummy would've been fooled—did you really think I was that stupid?" She slammed the table, making Orland jump. "Old man, listen up—you're in trouble!"
"Me? In trouble?" Time to play dumb. Orland shook his head furiously: "What trouble could I be in? I'm just a university professor doing research—I don't know what you're talking about! Who are you people? What do you want from me?"
Ha, don’t get it? Let me give you a little hint." The woman leaned back, arms folded, and said calmly: "Zade Family."
"Z-Zade Family?!" Orland’s face went white as a sheet. His mind was zapped with a thousand wild thoughts. Of all his unspeakable secrets, the ones involving the Zade Family were the most dangerous, the most central. He’d imagined a million scenarios, but this was the one he dreaded most.
He forced himself to stay calm and protested, "I...I don’t know what you’re talking about. Zade Family? Never heard of them."
Never heard of the Zade Family? Fine. Have you heard of Tiberius Laboratory?
At that, sweat the size of beans rolled down Orland’s forehead. He could tell these folks meant business—dropping ultra-classified names like playing cards, catching him totally off guard. "I-I-I’ve never heard of it..."
Playing dumb, huh? That’s fine—I’ve got all the time in the world. But you, Professor Orland, you’re out of time.
You—you’re going to kill me?" Orland whipped out a handkerchief, wiping sweat and trying to muster courage. "Is this where you show me a countdown, and when it hits zero, I’m dead? Don’t bother—I know you kidnapped and interrogated me because I’ve got something you need. You’re not going to kill me that easily!
Exactly right, Professor Orland—we’re not here to kill you. In fact, we’re not here to kill you at all. But who said we’re the only ones who want you dead?
Huh?" Orland was thoroughly confused.
The woman leaned in, hands folded under her chin, looking every bit the shadowy puppet master. Even her voice was as deep and dark as the ocean at night: "Admit it or not, we know for sure—thirty-seven, or maybe thirty-nine years ago, you had a secret deal with Mr. Zade, the current head of the Zade Family. You’re a genius in research, but a total shut-in when it comes to real life. With your social skills, you’d never have made it big, so you needed a little help from Mr. Zade. And in return, you did two things for him."
First," the woman raised a finger, "you taught a student—the most talented, unbelievable, perfect student you’d ever met. So good, you wondered if your whole life had gone to the dogs."
Second," she raised another finger, "you designed a lab—something you’d only ever dreamed of. Way ahead of its time, totally crazy, unreal, and unmatched. So incredible, you couldn’t believe it ever left the drawing board."
Gulp. Orland swallowed hard, speechless. Secrets buried for decades—like a locked box deep in the mud—had surfaced, pried open for all to see.
Mr. Orland, every ambitious schemer has their little secrets. And anyone involved—or even just aware—never ends well. Zade Senior is one of those schemers, maybe even a misunderstood madman. What do you think he thinks of you?
Sweat poured off Orland like a waterfall. "What are you trying to say? Are you saying Mr. Zade wants to kill me? Ha, you can talk all you want—I’ll never believe it, because it’s just not possible!"
Her voice was smooth and convincing: "Looks like you and Zade Senior had some kind of deal. But no matter how it was signed, just because Zade doesn’t kill you himself doesn’t mean other ambitious people won’t. For Tiberius Laboratory, there’s more than one person willing to do anything."
Impossible, it’s impossible!" Orland protested loudly. "You don’t get it—Tiberius Laboratory doesn’t exist anymore! Who’d waste their time chasing after something that’s gone?"
How do you know it doesn’t exist? And it’s not just about what you believe." The woman snapped her fingers, and the man in the dark tossed Orland a stack of documents. Orland flipped through them, and his face turned ghostly pale after just one look.
The woman’s voice was calm and steady: "Just days ago, someone raided the Zade Family’s knockoff Tiberius Laboratory in New Mexico. The place was trashed like a locust swarm—priceless research and tech stolen, samples destroyed. Some researchers ended up splattered all over the walls and ceiling in the chaos. Let me tell you, even an R-rated warning wouldn’t cover it! The HD photos are all in your hands—take your time. But that’s not the worst part—the top-secret files were all cleaned out. Guess who did it?"
Looking at the shocking, real-deal photos, Orland was nearly convinced. His voice came out dry: "Who?"