The man had disheveled hair, filthy clothes, and pale skin. His dark circles were so intense that they looked like shriveled, cracked rings of black bark. His eyes were shot through with blood-red veins, stretching from the sockets all the way into the pupils. Dirty drool dripped from the corner of his mouth, splattering all over his body.
His expression was bizarre—a deep, vacant stare mixed with a hysterical, twisted grimace. When he saw Cobra, his eyes darted around, and that madness in him was awakened along with his consciousness. He immediately opened his mouth and began to howl and curse wildly.
His face flushed, neck bulging, struggling desperately. Flames kept bursting from his fingertips, but he couldn’t do anything to the sturdy metal frame. Even his furious curses couldn’t be heard, because although it looked like only a layer of glass separated them, there was actually over five meters of vacuum between them.
Bathed in the glare from across the glass—like the guy wanted to eat him alive—Cobra stayed calm, chatting with his assistant: “So what’s this guy’s story again? I remember he was some kind of street magician, right?”
The attendant rattled off the stats like reciting a grocery list: "Joe Young, twenty-two, male, college graduate. Former street magician—he used his Chosen One's pocket dimension and a weak flame ability for party tricks. Arrested six days ago for espionage, classified as Weak D, ranked top seventy-four thousand on the Heavenly Ranking."
Top seventy-four thousand, Weak D—barely even qualifies as a grunt. That flame power’s only good for lighting cigarettes and setting off firecrackers. But even grunts have their uses, and just being a Chosen One is worth its weight in gold." Cobra drummed his fingers on the table, eyes glinting with mischief. "Honestly, these nobodies make the best lab rats—live or die, doesn’t matter to me. Speaking of which, it’s about time for the show.
Just then, Joe Young—who’d been cursing nonstop—suddenly shuddered in a weird way, his howls cut off. He started convulsing like he was having a seizure. His fingers twitched, his eyes rolled so far back it was scary—almost like the pupils were going to flip into his skull. His stomach kept spasming, foaming at the mouth, and strange blotches began to surface and spread across his skin.
The attendant asked, puzzled, “Boss, is this...?”
"Zombie virus." Cobra whipped out an apple and bit into it with a crunch, not a care in the world. "Remember that bioweapon someone tried to smuggle into Beijing using their storage space? Our darling Major Jingzhe swooped in and nabbed the guy—and I, being the resourceful fellow I am, quietly pocketed the bomb for myself."
The attendant gasped, incredulous: "There was zombie virus in that bioweapon?!"
"Of course not—zombie virus these days is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Terrorists aren’t that dumb. But—" Crunch. He took another bite, talking with his mouth full. "I flipped the bomb to the Zade Family and swapped it for a bottle of miracle virus. Sigh, the Zade Family—honest, reliable, and always good for business. We should trade more often."
"Zade Family..." At the mention of the name, the attendant's eyes showed deep wariness: "That Zade Family is no joke, Boss. You better watch out or you’ll be left with nothing but crumbs. I always feel like that arms-dealing family is way deeper than it looks—bottomless, really."
"Sharp instincts. The Zade Family really is no joke—actually, they’re even more complicated than you think." Cobra set down his apple and got serious: "Both arms dealers, but Zade Senior is every bit as impressive as those Stark types in the movies. Maybe even more so. In the movies, the Stark family creates miracles. In real life, Zade Senior has done even more, and his vision is broader. Alright, since you’re my deputy, I’ll give you a crash course so you’re not totally lost."
The attendant straightened up, knowing that what Cobra was about to say was probably a global top secret. Cobra, for once, got serious and started telling a story: "Where should I begin... Ahem, alright, let’s put it this way: In my opinion, Zade Senior is truly a great man. His foresight was way ahead of his time—and ahead of any superpower."
Last century, the tense Cold War led to worldwide military standoffs—and a boom in technology. Back then, the two superpowers, the US and the USSR, set their sights on outer space, on the dark, empty void, convinced that was humanity’s future. But Zade Senior wasn’t like that. He was just a young upstart, but he’d already begun a remarkable project—Unknowable Research.
You should know, Unknowable Research back then had natural limitations and difficulties—you can tell just from the name: Unknowable. No method could explain even the simplest piece of Unknowable Material. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t crack that lock full of question marks.
Compared to the Zade Family’s traditional arms business, Zade Senior’s chosen field was a bottomless pit—no matter how much money you threw in, you’d never hear a single coin drop.
No family elder would support such a hopeless, futureless project. The entire Zade Council would rather pull their cash out and jump on the deep-space bandwagon, chasing space profits.
But Zade Senior did it. He toughed it out for forty years. Forty years later, sure, aerospace might earn the Zade Family a few hundred billion dollars—sounds impressive. But the benefits from Unknowable Research are so vast they can’t be measured. It made the Zade Family’s black tech darker than smog, miles ahead of the world, while the rest of us are left eating dust.
"In the coming new world, this family can soar high on forty years of groundwork and reach the very top. When the time comes, even arm-wrestling with a country wouldn’t be out of the question."
"That’s Zade Senior for you—a tyrant, both ruthless and visionary, who did things his own way."
"Of course, things are different now. Research is way easier these days. Take him, for example—" Cobra pointed at the young man across the glass. "You know what I love most about Chosen Ones? They’re the perfect test subjects. As Chosen Ones, they can react to almost any kind of Unknowable Sample. Collisions you’d never see in any movie can happen with them—like historical figures battling across time. For example, like this—"
Beep. Cobra pressed a button, and the room across reacted instantly. With a hiss, a hatch opened in the floor, and a glass case rose up. Inside was a white chunk of flesh, about the size of a quail egg. It looked ordinary enough, but the attendant’s face changed immediately.
He knew exactly what that thing was.
Creak. A robotic arm grabbed the flesh, swiftly cut open the man’s chest, and stuffed the chunk inside. Blood spurted everywhere, but the man didn’t even scream—his transformation was deepening, his mind slipping away.
Cobra adjusted his glasses, putting on his serious scientist face: "An Alien Embryo parasitizing a Chosen One halfway to zombiehood—who also has flame powers. So what’ll happen? Will the Alien hatch? Will it zombify? Will it gain powers? Let’s find out."
Even after seeing plenty of bizarre things, the attendant was silent for a long moment. Finally, he changed the subject: "Boss, I don’t get it. If Unknowable Material really is unknowable, then there shouldn’t be any way to study it, right? How did the Zade Family make progress and get ahead of the world?"
"Good question. No wonder you’re my right-hand man—getting smarter." Cobra slapped the attendant on the shoulder. "I’ll break every confidentiality rule and risk getting shot to tell you: The Zade Family—or more specifically, Zade Senior—has an artifact."
"An artifact?!" The attendant was stunned, jaw dropping. He hadn’t expected that answer at all. "Boss, are you speaking metaphorically, or do you mean the kind of... actual artifact used by gods?"
"Of course I’m speaking metaphorically!"
The attendant let out a huge sigh of relief, like his worldview had just survived a close call. If there really were gods, he wouldn’t know what to believe anymore.
"Alright, I lied. It’s not a metaphor. It’s real."
Pfft—the attendant nearly coughed up blood.
"If you want to be technical, it’s somewhere between metaphor and reality—nobody knows where it came from or who made it, but the thing works miracles. Even if it wasn’t forged by literal gods, it’s still earned the right to be called an artifact. For folks like us, it’s the gateway to the future—the master key to the treasure vault."
Cobra stared at the glass. Behind it, the white chunk of flesh had finished parasitizing, its veins now fused with the young man. It pulsed rhythmically, dividing and differentiating cells at a speed visible to the naked eye. The whole scene was deeply unsettling.
But Cobra gazed at it like he was seeing the Mona Lisa with laser eyes, his face practically glowing with excitement. In a voice as reverent as a pilgrim before a holy relic, he softly uttered the name: "This is—the Heart of Tiberius."
"Heart of Tiberius..." The attendant rolled the words around in his mouth, then resolved to bury it deep in his memory.
Whew... That’s done. Pretty boy’s officially knocked up with the Alien’s spawn—should pop in three hours. Better start boiling the noodles for the celebration! But while we’re waiting for our little alien bundle of joy, let’s check in on the other soon-to-be mom.
Cobra twisted another dial, and the equipment behind the glass whirred into action again. The convulsing man was moved off to the right and vanished into darkness, while another brightly lit cubicle appeared on the left. In this room was a rack, and chained to it was a woman—her belly swollen with pregnancy.
Her head drooped, long hair hanging down, needles stuck all over her body. Various fluids were being pumped into her veins. The lines radiated outward, making her look like a fish caught in a net.
"Looks like less than three months left." Cobra waved at her through the glass and picked up the mic: "Hey, in there—you’re gonna be a mom soon. How do you feel?"
The woman across shuddered slightly, then slowly raised her head, revealing a familiar face—it was Swallow, the female special agent they’d seen in the Pacific World. After all this time, she was a ghost of her former self. Her eyes were like dead wells, hollow and haunting, staring at Cobra—or maybe at nothing at all.
Cobra immediately pinched his chin: "Nope, this won’t do at all. The experts say pregnant women should keep their spirits up, or else the baby’s health takes a hit. We gotta trust the experts! Come on, follow my lead—move it~~ cheer for new strength~~ move it~~~"