novelraw Chapter 66: Sea of Darkness - (66)
Chapter 66: Sea of Darkness - (66)
Upon reaching the Investigation Department, Kui Xin glanced at the clock—it was still a bit early before eight o’clock. She decided to take a detour and visit her teammate, Jiang Ming.
She took the elevator to the floor where the medical center was located and asked it, “Adam, has Jiang Ming woken up?”
“Security Officer Jiang Ming is in good condition and has already been transferred from the intensive care unit to a regular ward,” Adam responded with the room number. “Visiting hours are from 7 a.m. to 8 p.m., so you may go ahead and visit him.”
The elevator stopped, and considerately, Adam made the corridor’s indicator lights flash a few times to guide Kui Xin.
Upon reaching Jiang Ming’s ward, Kui Xin gently knocked twice before entering.
Jiang Ming was having breakfast; his spirits were relatively good despite his pale complexion.
“Morning, Kui Xin.” Jiang Ming picked up a cup of soy milk and downed it in one gulp.
“Good morning. How are your wounds?” Kui Xin examined his covered legs beneath the blanket and asked, “Are they still painful?”
“Not anymore; the nurse administered painkillers. The wounds have healed significantly; now it just needs slow recovery.” Jiang Ming candidly lifted the blanket to show Kui Xin his amputated leg. Below the knee on his left leg, everything had been removed, leaving the pant leg of his hospital gown empty.
Curiously, Kui Xin asked, “Have you decided which model of mechanical prosthetic limb you want for your leg?”Jiang Ming smacked his lips thoughtfully. “Mechanical leg prosthetics are generally designed for amplification purposes; offensive ones are quite rare. Designing legs primarily for offense isn’t very practical. Others can raise their mechanical arms, transforming them seamlessly into blades or guns, but I have a mechanical leg. It’s not like I can lift my leg and suddenly turn it into a blade or gun too; that’d be akin to performing circus tricks.”
“Amplification-type prosthetics are indeed more practical,” Kui Xin agreed. “How will you manage mobility until your custom-designed mechanical prosthetic is ready?”
“I’ll use assistive devices.” Jiang Ming patted the bed’s side, and a robotic arm automatically detached from it. Then it extended, positioning itself as if offering support. “It’s quite inconvenient; even going to wash up becomes challenging. Dr. Huang suggested using a standard-issue mechanical leg first to ensure basic daily activities, then switching to the customized prosthetic once it’s completed.”
“It makes sense to try out the mechanical leg beforehand. The experience must feel vastly different compared to a natural limb,” Kui Xin remarked.
“I heard that last year’s newly developed mechanical nerve interfacing technology has already been implemented. Compared to the older spot-connecting neural interface technique, it offers numerous advantages,” Jiang Ming said. “Dr. Huang mentioned that with this new technology, the control sensation of mechanical prosthetics is nearly comparable to human limbs. Technology advances so rapidly—it’s almost making me eager to see how I’ll function with these prosthetics.”
Kui Xin had no understanding of the “neural interfacing technology” and “punctual neural connection technique” mentioned by Jiang Ming; she only vaguely recognized these terms.
The Second World was both dark and perilous, yet full of vitality—a world constantly evolving with infinite possibilities, akin to a tree continuously sprouting new branches, each branch representing a potential outcome.
While Kui Xin and Jiang Ming were conversing, someone knocked on the ward’s door.
Shu Xuyao entered with a smile. “Ah, Kui Xin is here too.”
“Yes, I arrived early, so I thought I’d visit Jiang Ming.” Kui Xin glanced at the time—it was still eight minutes before 8 AM.
“How are you doing, Jiang Ming?” Shu Xuyao pulled up a chair next to the hospital bed.
“I’m doing pretty well. I slept almost the entire day yesterday and woke up around 4 AM today,” Jiang Ming replied. “I was famished when I woke up. The dining hall was closed, so I had Adam heat some canned food for me and bring it over.”
“It couldn’t be helped,” Shu Xuyao said helplessly.
Kui Xin looked toward Shu Xuyao. “Do we know what work awaits us today? Has the search in Port Bay District been completed?”
“We’ve already searched the critical areas,” Shu Xuyao said. “Unfortunately, we haven’t found the group responsible for installing the detonators. However, we did uncover numerous drug traffickers; some even set up their own small-scale production line to sell homemade firearms.”
“Tsk, if you ask me, the main reason why crime rates remain persistently high in our Federation is because we don’t have capital punishment,” Jiang Ming remarked. “Execute one criminal at capture and see if they’d still dare to commit crimes!”
“Changing laws alone won’t suffice. Are the problems solely rooted in the laws themselves, Old Jiang?” Shu Xuyao responded calmly.
Jiang Ming fell silent for a few seconds before letting out an irritated click of his tongue.
The world was grotesquely distorted, akin to a festering wound oozing pus—a sight utterly vile.
To truly heal such a wound, requires a ruthless approach—cutting away the rotten flesh and applying potent remedies. However, these wounds form on human bodies, with their origins deeply rooted within individuals. Even after excising one infected sore, upon looking around, countless more festering lesions continue to emerge, making them fundamentally impossible to eradicate completely.
As Kui Xin listened to their conversation, she inadvertently let out a large yawn.
Turning towards her, Shu Xuyao expressed concern: “Why are your dark circles so pronounced again?”
“Last night, my mind couldn’t relax, and I only slept for three hours.” Kui Xin murmured.
“Is it because you’ve been too tense lately?” Shu Xuyao asked. “Both you and Old Jiang got injured; indeed, it’s been fraught with misfortunes.”
“After turning thirty-five, you can be transferred to logistics positions, but there’s still some time to endure, Kui Xin,” Jiang Ming sympathetically said. “Would you like to visit the psychological therapy room and talk with Director Yang?”
“If I have free time, I will.” Kui Xin sighed.
“We should have a relatively leisurely day today. With Jiang Ming injured, our squad can’t go on field missions, and the extensive search in Port Bay District is almost over. From now on, occasional surprise inspections will suffice,” Shu Xuyao explained. “We’re not always this busy, constantly teetering between life and death.”
“My ideal life would involve sitting in an office sipping tea,” Kui Xin said. “Running around all the time is exhausting; my bones feel like they’re about to fall apart.”
“The dream of a carefree life spent lounging in an office with a cup of tea is unattainable,” Jiang Ming remarked. “It might barely become possible after retirement. We retire at forty-five, so hang in there.”
“What if we tragically die before reaching forty-five?” Kui Xin retorted. “Even if I were to perish, my family wouldn’t receive any of the Investigation Department’s allocated compensation for casualties.”
“Then enjoy the present,” Shu Xuyao said. “At least today, our work is relatively leisurely. Now you can go have tea in the office, or here’s another option—go to the therapy room and chat with Director Yang.”
With two minutes left until eight o’clock, Kui Xin stood up from her chair and stretched her neck. “I chose tea… It’s time for work now; we should head out.”
“As long as you’re alright, Kui Xin and I will leave first.” Shu Xuyao nodded at Jiang Ming.
“Alright.” Jiang Ming waved goodbye.
Kui Xin and Shu Xuyao walked side by side into the elevator when Adam sent over the day’s work schedule.
“Morning: Office duty. Afternoon: Training.” Upon seeing the word “training,” Kui Xin’s eyebrows twitched slightly. “Ah, training is still better than going on missions, even if it’s tiring.”
“After enduring the first three months of training, it gets easier,” Shu Xuyao remarked.
“So, after three months, there’s no more training?”
“No… I meant that you’ll adapt to the training intensity over time, and the level of discomfort will lessen.”
“Oh…”
“After one year, the frequency of training decreases from daily sessions to three times per week.”
Kui Xin tapped her head with exasperation. “That sounds brutal.”
Suddenly, the elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. Jiang Meimei entered, her brows tightly furrowed and her expression devoid of its usual ease, as if she were brimming with anger.
Noticing someone else in the elevator, she maintained her customary demeanor, nodding and smiling at Kui Xin. Then, specifically addressing Shu Xuyao, she greeted him, “Captain Shu.”
Shu Xuyao politely replied, “Team Leader Jiang.”
Jiang Meimei seemed uninterested in small talk; once the elevator reached her desired floor, she swiftly exited, her leather shoes clacking loudly against the floor.
“Did something happen? Team Leader Jiang looked quite busy,” observed Kui Xin as they also arrived on their floor.
Thoughtfully, Shu Xuyao replied, “I haven’t received any urgent messages.”
This didn’t make sense.
With last night’s sinking of the Kraken and the crash of the Investigation Department’s armed helicopter into the sea, how could the leadership remain completely unperturbed? Unless they were suppressing some information.
As Kui Xin stepped out of the elevator, she asked, “Captain, are you close to getting promoted?”
Caught off guard, Shu Xuyao abruptly halted his steps. “Why do you ask that?”
“Team Leader Jiang specifically greeted you,” Kui Xin said. “Maybe I’m overthinking it, but I felt like she treated you quite equally, not quite resembling the typical manner of speaking between a superior and subordinate.”
“Promotions depend on the arrangements made by superiors.” Shu Xuyao smiled. “Feelings alone don’t count.”
They walked along the lengthy corridor.
“Are all the high-ranking officials in the Investigation Department awakened beings?” Kui Xin queried.
“Not entirely. Being an awakened being doesn’t necessarily mean possessing leadership capabilities,” Shu Xuyao replied while scanning his iris to open the office door. He then added, “Among the four team leaders, only Team Leaders Wei Zhi and Jiang Meimei are awakened.”
Kui Xin followed Shu Xuyao into the office, jokingly saying, “Well, Captain, you still have a good chance then. Once you get promoted, can you transfer me to a position with lighter duties?”
Shu Xuyao was caught between laughter and tears. “Don’t entertain such wild fantasies about something that hasn’t even happened yet.”
“Oh, right. Are the Minister and Deputy Minister Extraordinary Ability Users?” Kui Xin feigned curiosity: “What are their abilities?”
“They are,” Shu Xuyao replied. “As for the Minister’s abilities, I’m not certain; the Minister of the Investigation Department doesn’t personally engage in combat missions. However, the Deputy Director’s abilities are actually an open secret, known to security officers with more experience.”
Kui Xin pressed further, “What exactly is it?”
“The Eyes of Perception,” Shu Xuyao replied. “It’s a capability that cannot directly enhance one’s fighting power. Its effect is to discern the specific superhuman abilities possessed by a targeted individual, essentially functioning like a mobile detector for Extraordinary Ability Users.”
Upon hearing this, Kui Xin instantly broke out in a cold sweat, feeling as though all the blood in her body had reversed its flow. Her heart raced erratically, and her pupils dilated. Fortunately, she kept her head lowered, and Shu Xuyao, also leaning forward at his desk, did not notice her unusual reaction.
“Discern the specific superhuman abilities possessed by a targeted individual?” Kui Xin asked, striving to maintain her composure. “Can it also reveal those abilities’ weaknesses and usage flaws?”
“That, I wouldn’t know,” Shu Xuyao responded. “Although it’s an open secret, nobody would go around publicizing it. It suffices for insiders to be aware. You’re an awakened being yourself, so you’ll gradually understand these things over time.”
An unprecedented sense of panic spread throughout her body; even on the Kraken, she had never felt this terrified.
She was gripped by retrospective fear, stronger than ever before.
Deputy Director Lin Xinji had returned from his business trip to the Investigation Department. If Kui Xin were to cross paths with him while walking within the inspection building, he would instantly discern that she possesses more than one superhuman ability.
Her undercover identity, her status as a player, and everything she has strived to conceal since arriving in this world would be exposed under his gaze. All her efforts would crumble to nothingness, and the awaiting outcome might be far worse than death itself.
She could become the next Leini’er Brandonberg—imprisoned, interrogated, and tortured. They would restrict her movements, leaving her unable to even choose death.
No, it cannot happen like this.
Kui Xin sat at her assigned desk, staring intently at the dark tabletop, and made up her mind in less than a second.
She must eliminate Deputy Director Lin Xinji.
This decision felt different from when she killed Chai Jian, Ball Python, or Fang Zhi. Each killing act had a distinct motivation behind it.
She killed Chai Jian out of desperation, Ball Python out of vengeance, and Fang Zhi because his presence tainted her life.
Now, her determination to kill Lin Xinji stemmed from striking first for self-preservation.
If she didn’t eliminate Lin Xinji, he would become like the Sword of Damocles hanging over her head. Working together at the Investigation Department meant they would constantly cross paths—perhaps just passing each other in the elevator could expose her. Before this Sword of Damocles fell, Kui Xin had to shatter it completely.
“Late again! One day’s wage is gone.”
Lan Lan entered the office dejectedly.
Following Lan Lan, Liu Kangyun also walked in and lamented with a dispirited tone, “At least I’ll be docked pay alongside you.”
“What happened to you two?” Shu Xuyao asked, looking up from his work.
“I was waiting in line for breakfast; it took too long.” Liu Kangyun elaborated. “I’d already paid, so I couldn’t leave without getting my meal, but then… ended up losing more due to that small delay.”
“I got on the wrong train.” Lan Lan covered her face, embarrassed. “Don’t mention it; it’s too humiliating! My mind wasn’t fully alert, yet my body moved on its own, and I boarded the electric railcar heading towards Port Bay District.”
“…That’s really unfortunate,” Kui Xin sympathized. “Were you dozing off while waiting for your train, Lan Lan?”
She seamlessly joined the conversation, maintaining a facade of fitting in effortlessly. The rapid transition of emotions and practiced ease of expression even surprised her momentarily.
Kui Xin had now become as adept a double agent as Dr. Huang.
By continuing this lifestyle, sooner or later, she risked developing dissociative identity disorder.
The relatively leisurely day quickly passed by.
Near the end of her shift, Kui Xin overheard colleagues discussing at the training ground that Deputy Director Lin Xinji had gone on another business trip, this time for a short assignment to a neighboring city.
This momentarily relieved her; at least while Lin Xinji was away, she felt safe.
After completing her training session, Kui Xin changed into casual clothes in the locker room, took the elevator downstairs, and boarded a floating electric railcar to head home.
On the railcar, as usual, Kui Xin checked the messages on her bracelet.
Night Cicada: “I know you’re somewhat interested in the ‘Players’ detained at Headquarters. Would you like to take a look tonight? You can even personally conduct an interrogation.”