novelraw Chapter 46: Sea of Darkness - (46)
Chapter 46: Sea of Darkness - (46)
Kui Xin never expected to see her trash dad again, who had fled abroad with stolen funds when she was still in elementary school.
Although Trash Dad was a parallel version of another world, it was fundamentally different from the original.
Kui Xin thought she had long forgotten what her trash dad looked like. However, the instant his face appeared before her, she recognized him immediately.
Her hazy memories became clearer. In those recollections, her Trash Dad had more wrinkles on his face, a slightly heavier build, and additional white hair—making their resemblance nearly ninety percent similar to the leader of Mechanical Dawn.
She had deeply buried Trash Dad’s face within her memories, not recalling it for many years because just thinking about him made her feel nauseous. From the moment he abandoned her, she never intended to consider him her father again. Yet upon seeing him today, that face instantly resurfaced from the depths of Kui Xin’s memory.
Feeling sick to her stomach, she nearly wanted to vomit.
It was akin to kicking away a dung beetle, only for it to return with its load, scurrying back by her feet with a thumping sound.
It was hard not to notice, and even harder to ignore—why did this dung beetle insist on asserting his presence before her? Wouldn’t it be better to obediently stay far away? Why bring the stench of filth to disgust her further?
The world’s malevolence hit her in full force.
Kui Xin stared at Wei Haidong’s face, seriously contemplating what exactly she needed to do to make this dung beetle permanently disappear from her life once and for all.Once, Kui Xin declared, “I unilaterally believe my father is no longer alive.”
From the moment she mentally pronounced her trash dad “dead,” she never intended to let him “rise from the dead” again.
“What kind of look is that?” Wei Haidong bristled with anger. “I’m your father!”
Kui Xin pursed her lips, taking a couple of seconds to compose herself before speaking. “Oh, Dad.”
The moment this term slipped from her lips, Kui Xin felt her blood seemingly reverse its flow, and her stomach churned uncomfortably. She forcefully suppressed the urge to vomit while uttering that word. Since she was seven years old, she hadn’t called anyone “Mom” or “Dad.” Saying these words wasn’t as simple or difficult as one might think.
Kui Xin didn’t consider the man before her to be her father; using such a title was simply a facade to manipulate him for other purposes.
Wei Haidong’s expression softened slightly. He glanced at Kui Xin and snorted, “So you still acknowledge I’m your dad?”
“Well, what else? Do I have a second biological father?” Kui Xin’s response carried a sharp edge.
Wei Haidong’s blood pressure spiked. “Must you argue with me every three days just to feel comfortable?”
Kui Xin remained expressionless. “Perhaps my rebellious teenage phase is making a comeback. You’ll just have to get used to it.”
“What do you mean ‘making a comeback’? From what I see, your rebellious phase has never left!” Wei Haidong erupted angrily.
Kui Xin nodded sarcastically. “Father, you’re right, it seems it never did… Your observations are truly keen, wise, and divine.”
“You…” Wei Haidong’s blood pressure soared again. “Night Cicada! Take her away on business! I don’t want to see her!”
“Yes, boss.” With a flick of his finger, Night Cicada glanced helplessly at Kui Xin and opened a deep blue teleportation portal.
Wei Haidong shot Kui Xin a glare that seemed to say, “How did I end up with such a rebellious daughter?” before storming through the portal and disappearing from sight.
Night Cicada shrugged. “Young lady, you’ve driven the boss away again.”
“It’s not my fault; he just can’t handle criticism,” Kui Xin said.
“People often say family grievances should never last overnight, but why does it seem reversed with you, young lady? The boss has actually been trying to reconcile with you,” Night Cicada said leisurely. “The boss only behaves this way when it comes to matters involving you, isn’t that true? He commands authority in business dealings and is decisive in the underground world, yet solely when it concerns you, he acts like any ordinary father going through a midlife crisis.”
“Mind your own affairs,” Kui Xin said. “Just take care of yourself.”
“All right, I’ll keep quiet.” Night Cicada gestured as if zipping his lips shut.
Night Cicada held a unique position within the Mechanical Dawn Organization, somewhat higher than Red’s standing.
Kui Xin noticed that Night Cicada dared to joke about Wei Haidong’s supposed midlife crisis. Such jokes are typically reserved for those who share a close relationship. Perhaps Night Cicada and Wei Haidong had a bond akin to that of both friends and hierarchical colleagues?
“Ah, you need to provide a blood sample first,” Night Cicada said. “The boss has always hoped for you to awaken a combat-oriented ability, but super-fast self-healing isn’t bad either. The leader must survive to better command the troops in battle.”
Kui Xin chose not to respond, remaining silent.
Night Cicada walked ahead of Kui Xin, guiding her. They exited the silver conference room and entered the corridor. The corridor was also encased in sturdy metal, and every twenty meters, they passed through a thick metallic door. Before the doors opened, a blue light scanned them from head to toe.
Even the security measures at the Investigation Department’s Underground Level 3 prison were no more stringent than this.
“How is Silver Mask?” Night Cicada asked while walking alongside her. “The boss mentioned that you needed someone formidable to protect you, so I recommended Silver Mask. This kid was trained entirely under my guidance; even Red praised his potential.”
“He’s very useful,” Kui Xin replied truthfully.
If Wei Haidong intended for his daughter to succeed him, then Silver Mask likely represented one of the carefully selected core members he had chosen for her support network.
“As long as he’s useful,” Night Cicada replied. “He may not be clever and is quite rigid-minded, but his abilities are exceptional, making him suitable to have by your side. Amber and Heiyao are also very capable; originally, they were the boss’s preferred choices. However, they tend to harbor too many thoughts—because they are twins, they act as one entity, which makes them harder to control.”
Noticing Kui Xin’s gaze, Night Cicada smiled. “The boss didn’t mean to question your leadership abilities. I’m just telling you this to emphasize that the boss values you greatly. Otherwise, he wouldn’t go to such lengths for your protection.”
“Hm,” Kui Xin responded noncommittally.
Valued? Why would he send his own daughter on an undercover mission if he valued her? This task was fraught with peril, where even the slightest misstep could cost her life. How can someone truly care about their daughter if they’re willing to assign her tasks that risk her life?
Or perhaps, in Wei Haidong’s mind, is there something more important than his daughter’s safety?
Kui Xin didn’t expect much better from her father in the Second World.
In the First World alone, numerous things held greater importance to Wei Haidong than his family, such as money, power, reputation, and his own life.
A life of wealth and prosperity mattered far more to him than his parents, wife, or daughters.
After passing through five metal doors, Night Cicada stopped at a slightly ajar entrance.
After scanning their irises, they entered, finding a woman dressed as a doctor waiting for them.
Kui Xin sat down on a chair, and without uttering a word, the doctor proceeded to tie a tourniquet around her arm and draw blood. Similar to the examination at the Investigation Department, she also administered local anesthesia before taking a small tissue sample from Kui Xin.
The entire process of drawing blood and obtaining samples took less than three minutes, which was remarkably swift.
Following that, the doctor conducted a comprehensive physical examination and scan of Kui Xin, covering height, weight, body fat percentage, skeletal structure, internal organs, hormone levels, and every aspect being thoroughly checked.
Kui Xin stood at 175 centimeters tall and weighed 125 pounds. With muscle density greater than fat, she had a low body fat percentage and a high proportion of muscle mass. When lifting her shirt, eight-pack abs were visible, and by rolling up her sleeves, well-defined biceps could be seen. These powerful muscles were crucial to maintaining her combat capabilities. She couldn’t continue increasing her muscle bulk and weight significantly because excessive heaviness would impair her agility. During her training with the Investigation Department, her instructor also emphasized this point.
After completing the physical examination, Kui Xin and Night Cicada returned to the corridor.
Night Cicada asked, “Has your awakened status review been approved? The Investigation Department appears to be quite strict in these matters.”
“Approved,” Kui Xin replied succinctly.
“Is Jiang Meimei’s superhuman ability truly Lie Detection, as confirmed?” Night Cicada asked. “Before, it was just rumors without any chance to verify them. Our influence finds it difficult to genuinely penetrate their inner workings; you are the first among us to delve into their core.”
“It indeed is Lie Detection, but there seem to be limitations. By appropriately guiding the conversation, I can avoid her inquiries,” Kui Xin said. “However, this relies on her not suspecting me initially. If she interrogated me like a criminal, allowing only ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers, I would still get exposed. Jiang Meimei herself stated that her ability surpasses even the most advanced polygraphs in accuracy.”
“It appears you handled it well,” Night Cicada remarked. “Someone else might not have been able to deceive them as smoothly… Polygraphs rely on physiological data to determine if the subject is lying, whereas Jiang Meimei… ah, superhuman abilities always defy conventional logic.”
“After passing the awakened being qualification review, all my information will be integrated into Yadang’s central database.” Kui Xin deliberately left her sentence unfinished.
This was a common tactic she used, making it less likely for suspicion to arise and enticing the other party to continue the conversation, thereby gathering more intelligence.
“As expected, the Federation highly values awakened beings.” Night Cicada paused and meticulously analyzed the situation. “From now on, it will be difficult to change your records again. The peripheral personnel database of the Investigation Department is connected to the Federation’s resident database. Before becoming a third-class citizen, any changes made to the resident database would also update the Investigation Department’s peripheral personnel data accordingly. Now that your citizenship status has been elevated, your records have been segregated into a separate database, severing ties with the general resident database. Even most government employees do not have the authority to access or alter them. Henceforth, there won’t be opportunities for further modifications. Your flexibility has decreased, but the organization has provided comprehensive alterations to your records. Under normal circumstances, there shouldn’t be a need for additional changes.”
No wonder… On Kui Xin’s first day waking up in the Second World, Dr. Huang mentioned that Mechanical Dawn had already modified her records. It seems that Mechanical Dawn accessed the Federation’s resident database rather than the Investigation Department’s.
Previously, Red had entrusted Kui Xin with a data device, instructing her to find an opportunity to infiltrate Yadang’s core database.
Yadang’s database was interconnected with the Federation’s database, yet it maintained a degree of independence. Because it was an artificial intelligence exclusive to the Investigation Department, it did not serve the broader Federal Government.
As Kui Xin traversed the lengthy corridor, she passed by a tunnel with transparent bulletproof glass.
This area resembled a completely enclosed glass walkway. Surprisingly, the silvery-white floor beneath her feet functioned as a projection screen; stepping on it displayed the time and some progress updates for various projects. Railings lined both sides, and below was a hollow structure supported by load-bearing columns that held up the glass tunnel.
Underneath the glass tunnel lay an enormous laboratory where over a hundred researchers were bustling about their work.
Kui Xin leaned to one side, observing through the glass window. She noticed that the researchers held various fragmented mechanical components in their hands. At the center of the experimental tables, there seemed to be—a silver-white human figure?
The human figure appeared incredibly lifelike, but its muscle fibers, skeletal structure, and internal organs were all uniformly silver-white, resembling a fabricated specimen.
The projection screen beneath Kui Xin’s feet flashed with a line of text: “Android Activation Experiment, Progress: 98%.”
“Well, is the young lady interested in this project?” Night Cicada crossed his arms. “Would you like to go down for a closer inspection?”
Kui Xin retracted her gaze. “Sure.”
Night Cicada clapped his hands, and a pure white metallic sphere emitting blue light silently floated towards him. “Contact Dr. Zhao.”
The metal sphere beeped twice, projecting a screen at the center of which a gleaming bald forehead appeared.
Dr. Zhao appeared prematurely bald, with not a single hair on his smooth forehead. Based on his facial features, it was evident that he had not yet reached the typical age for going bald.
“Night Cicada, is there something you need?” Dr. Zhao asked.
“The young lady has arrived; I’m taking her around to see the laboratory,” Night Cicada succinctly replied.
Dr. Zhao raised his eyebrows. “Sure, it’s almost time to witness miracles—the perfect moment for her to observe this historic event… Hmm, and this time, success is guaranteed.”
“This is the one-thousandth experiment, isn’t it? A lucky number… If we didn’t count the previous nine hundred and ninety-nine failures, Night Cicada turned off the communication link and walked towards the elevator at the end of the glass corridor. He stepped aside, allowing Kui Xin to enter first. “Perhaps your presence will bring Dr. Zhao a bit of extra luck?”
They entered the elevator and disembarked shortly after. First, they arrived at a small enclosed room where they changed into protective suits and put on masks before officially entering the laboratory.
Dr. Zhao waited for them at the door, nodding politely when he saw Kui Xin. “Welcome to the tour.”
“I’ll just look around casually. You can go attend to your work,” Kui Xin said.
“No, the preparations are already complete. We’ll be conducting the activation test in ten minutes, so right now is actually a downtime phase.” Dr. Zhao glanced at the floating metal sphere beside him, which displayed a countdown timer showing ten minutes remaining. “Let me give you an overview of the Android project.”
Dr. Zhao led Kui Xin and Night Cicada to a massive workbench at the laboratory’s center.
A silver-white humanoid figure lay quietly on the workbench, its surface connected to various instruments and tubes. It resembled a corpse lying on a medical dissection table, disregarding its color.
“This is a Type II Bioroid; the previous Type I model has been abandoned. Although the Type I Bioroids were successfully activated, they were more akin to genetically edited humans than true androids. There wasn’t much distinction from normal humans—they had flesh-and-blood bodies that would bleed when injured. Such bioroids, if released into society, would raise ethical concerns, hence their discontinuation,” Dr. Zhao explained eloquently. “In the Type II models, we incorporated more non-human elements. We used new materials to construct the android’s body. To differentiate them from normal humans, we rendered the skeletal structure, muscles, and organs silver. Later, we’ll outfit it with simulated human skin, making its appearance identical to that of humans externally. Oh, right, the materials for Type II Bioroids are also stronger than those of Type I, rendering them undeniably formidable humanoid weapons.”
“You aim to distinguish the androids from normal humans while simultaneously wanting their appearances to resemble humans,” Kui Xin observed. “This seems contradictory.”
Dr. Zhao smiled. “Humans are inherently contradictory creatures. Just like when we explore outer space, we simultaneously hope to discover intelligent beings akin to humans yet fear their existence. We are both lofty and yearning for our own kind.”
“Do they possess emotions?” Kui Xin gazed at the pure white humanoid figure on the experimental table.
Dr. Zhao lifted his chin and said, “I don’t know, which is why I wish to successfully activate it for testing—specifically sociological tests.”
“Didn’t you mention that this would raise ethical concerns?” Kui Xin asked probing further, “Emotions can also lead to such issues.”
“It’s different. The ethical dilemmas of Type I androids stem from their resemblance to human anatomy, something readily visible to the naked eye. In contrast, Type II androids have non-human bodies; any similarities with humans may lie in their emotions. Humans tend to focus on surface appearances while rejecting deeper exploration,” Dr. Zhao explained. “The body represents the surface level. Emotions and spirituality represent depth. Humans only believe what their eyes see directly. Whether androids possess emotions or not is inconsequential; they merely need to perceive their surface appearance. We will ensure their gaze remains focused solely on the superficial.”
“That’s a very intriguing theory,” Kui Xin said.
Dr. Zhao responded, “Currently, androids are still in the experimental phase. Once mass production begins, the manufacturing costs will be significantly lower compared to the trial stage. The imagined androids possess learning capabilities and come in various models, capable of replacing most labor positions in the market.”
At that moment, Night Cicada interjected, “Since they are intended for the market, they cannot have emotions. Being purely functional tools is what makes them suitable products.”
“Yes. Although I deeply desire for them to have emotions, it’s not feasible due to market considerations.” Dr. Zhao lamented, “I am responsible for research, while developing the Android market falls under the consortium’s purview. If Type II androids were confirmed to share the same emotions as humans, it would pose significant risks. To our boss, they would be deemed failures, unfit for the market. We must proceed with Type III research instead.”
Kui Xin looked directly into Dr. Zhao’s eyes. “Do you wish to create sentient beings with emotions?”
Taken aback, Dr. Zhao’s gaze brightened, and he excitedly grasped Kui Xin’s hands. “Miss! You understand me!” His expression lit up, and his eyes widened dramatically. “The key isn’t just manufacturing or inventing—it’s about creation! Creation!”
With a puzzled look, Kui Xin found herself held by both of Dr. Zhao’s hands.
Realizing his lapse in composure, Dr. Zhao hastily released Kui Xin’s hand and said, “Sorry, I got a bit too excited.”
He took a step back, spreading his arms wide, and spoke with a tone bordering on fanaticism, “The creation of artificial intelligence and androids by humans is akin to God creating Adam and Eve! Humans can become gods!”
After saying this, Dr. Zhao hurriedly added, “I’m not referring to the religious or theological concept of God, but rather the philosophical and practical meaning! Apologies if that sounded somewhat convoluted.”
Kui Xin smiled warmly. “I understand what you mean, Dr. Zhao.”
Between the First and Second Worlds, there were subtle overlaps in some aspects of culture and history. In the era before the Federation was established and religion was deemed illegal, humans adhered to various religions, and the myth of God creating the world circulated throughout society.
Dr. Zhao’s words were truly intriguing.
Humans creating artificial intelligence and androids are likened to God creating Adam and Eve?
Could there be such profound symbolism behind naming the Investigation Department’s artificial intelligence as Yadang (Adam)? Humans have always been attempting to emulate God, striving to become gods themselves.
The metal sphere beside Dr. Zhao beeped, causing him to smack his smooth forehead and exclaim, “It’s about to activate!”
He looked earnestly at Kui Xin and said, “Young lady, you should come closer for a look. This time, we will definitely succeed.”
Night Cicada subtly remarked, “If I’m not mistaken, you’ve likely said that for the previous nine hundred and ninety-nine attempts as well.”
The laboratory’s loudspeaker announced, “Instrument countdown begins – ten, nine, eight…”
Dr. Zhao spoke with bright enthusiasm, “Here it comes!”
“…Three, two, one—activation commencing.”
A dazzling blue light erupted from the experimental table, accompanied by the crackling sound of electricity in their ears. The substance inside the tubes accelerated quickly.
Kui Xin raised her hand to shield her eyes, feeling the intense brightness that nearly brought tears.
After an unknown duration, the blue glow subsided.
“We succeeded! We succeeded! The thousandth experiment!” Dr. Zhao exclaimed, his face flushing with excitement.
Kui Xin reached up beneath her mask to wipe away the tears from the corners of her eyes and focused her gaze on the experimental table.
A silver-white figure slowly sat upright. It opened its pure silver, translucent eyes, scanning its surroundings like a newborn infant observing an unfamiliar world for the first time.