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A few minutes later, that heavy mahogany door was pulled open from the inside, letting out a dull "creak."
Noah and Phoenix Bell walked out one after the other.
Noah's expression was no different from when he entered, still as calm and unruffled as ever, as if he had just gone into the next room to get a bottle of water.
His hands were clean, unstained by anything, but the thick scent of blood in the air seemed to cling more tightly to him.
Phoenix Bell followed behind him; she had already put those documents and checks into her tactical waist bag.
There was no extra expression on her face either, but her gaze was a few degrees colder than before.
Bruce MacWeen spat his tasteless chewing gum into a tissue, wrapped it up, and stuffed it into a recycling pouch on his tactical vest.
He looked up, his gaze passing over the two of them, and caught an inadvertent glimpse into the open room.
The lights in the room weren't on, but the light from the corridor slanted in, outlining a blurry silhouette.
It was something slumped on the carpet, something that for the moment could only be described as a "thing."
It roughly maintained a curled-up human shape, but it had completely lost the integrity of a "human" structure.
Like a tattered leather bag filled with minced meat and bone fragments, discarded carelessly.
The deep red liquid had already soaked the expensive carpet, turning it into a dark, almost black area.
In the air, that stench of excrement, blood, and viscera surged out from the crack in the door, savagely assaulting Bruce's olfactory nerves.
He scratched his blonde hair, his Adam's apple bobbing, but ultimately said nothing.
He simply nodded silently to Noah and Phoenix Bell, reconfirming the team's assembly.
The three set off again, continuing down the corridor.
Their footsteps were absorbed by the thick carpet, and the surroundings were so quiet that only their intentionally lowered breathing and the occasional slight friction between their tactical gear could be heard.
The atmosphere was even more silent than before.
Bruce felt he needed to do something to break this suffocating atmosphere.
"Hey."
Bruce cleared his throat, his voice sounding somewhat abrupt in the empty corridor.
He intentionally made his tone sound lighter, as if chatting with a friend in a bar.
"Um... Phoenix."
He tentatively called out Phoenix's name, clearly still unfamiliar with the Eastern pronunciation.
Phoenix Bell was walking at the front, responsible for security; she didn't look back, only letting out a questioning monosyllable from her throat.
"Hmm?"
"Do you..." Bruce turned his head as he walked, trying to see Phoenix Bell's profile, "Do you have a boyfriend?"
Phoenix Bell's pace faltered slightly, seemingly stunned by this massive leap of a question.
A few seconds later, she shook her head, her voice remaining steady.
"No."
Hearing this, a bright, typically American sunny smile appeared on Bruce's face.
He turned to look at Noah walking beside him, asking the same question with his eyes.
Noah looked straight ahead and uttered three words.
"I have wife."
"Awesome!"
Bruce snapped his fingers happily, then cast an eager gaze at Phoenix Bell's back once more.
"Then would you mind... having an American boyfriend too?"
His voice carried blatant confidence and a perfectly measured touch of playfulness—the weapons he used to navigate social situations with ease.
However, this time, his weapon seemed to strike cotton.
Phoenix Bell did not answer immediately.
They had reached the end of the corridor, where a metal door marked with a "High Voltage Danger" sign appeared.
Phoenix Bell stopped and skillfully took a multi-tool from her tactical waist bag, prying open the casing of the distribution cabinet.
Inside was a dense array of wires and switches.
Referencing the circuit diagram on her tactical tablet, her fingers flipped through the complex array of switches with precision and speed.
"Zzzt... Click."
As she flipped the last circuit breaker, the elevator indicator lights further down the corridor and the emergency lights on the ceiling lit up simultaneously, emitting a soft white light.
Power restored.
Only after finishing this did Phoenix Bell put away her tools and turn around.
Her gaze landed calmly on Bruce's face; in those beautiful eyes, neither joy nor distaste could be seen.
She extended a slender finger and lightly tapped her chin, seemingly in deep thought.
After a long moment, she uttered two words.
"We'll see."
Having said that, she ignored the stunned Bruce and turned to walk toward the elevator.
Bruce turned his head, his expression confused like a student who didn't understand an exam question.
He leaned in toward Noah and asked in a low voice.
"Hey, man, what does 'we'll see' mean? Is it a yes or a no?"
Noah glanced at him, the corner of his mouth curling into a faint arc—the first time Bruce had seen anything resembling a "smile" on his face.
"A woman's heart is like a needle at the bottom of the sea."
Noah shrugged, dropping this proverb full of ancient Eastern wisdom before stepping forward to follow Phoenix Bell.
"Alright, I guess that's true..."
Bruce scratched his head, muttered helplessly, and hurried to catch up.
Regardless, the atmosphere was finally less stiff.
The elevator doors slid open silently, and the three of them stepped inside.
Phoenix Bell pressed the button for "B3-Exhibition Hall."
The elevator descended smoothly; inside the metal box, there was only the slight "hum" of the ventilation System.
Bruce could feel that as the elevator descended, the surrounding air seemed to grow colder—a chill different from an air conditioner's cold breeze, but a damp, antiseptic-scented coldness seeping from the metal walls and floor.
"Ding."
The elevator reached its destination.
As the door opened, an even more pungent smell—a mixture of formalin and refrigerant—wafted toward them.
Before them was a vast space beyond imagination.
This was less of a hall and more of a massive underground warehouse.
The ceiling was extremely high, and cold white lights shone down from the vault, illuminating the entire space as bright as day, yet making it feel even more empty and deathly silent.
Along both sides of the hall, rows of massive, cylindrical metal tanks several meters high were neatly arranged.
These refrigeration tanks were made entirely of brushed stainless steel, their surfaces covered in complex pipes and instrument panels, with deep blue indicator lights blinking rhythmically like the eyes of sleeping monsters.
Thick cooling pipes hung from the ceiling, connecting to the top of each tank, their surfaces coated in a thick layer of white frost.
In the entire hall, aside from their footsteps, there was only the low, almost imperceptible resonance of the equipment running.
The sight was incredibly eerie and jarring.
Bruce held his gun, walking at the front warily; he felt like he had stepped into the specimen room of some mad scientist.
Noah and Phoenix Bell followed behind him, their gazes also scanning these giant containers.
These things were Morpheus's true "artwork" collection.
Just as they reached the center of the hall.
"Hiss—"
A slight sound, like high-pressure gas leaking, suddenly erupted from their right.
The three of them stopped almost simultaneously, snapping their muzzles toward the source of the sound.
Not far to their right front, red warning lights atop four adjacent refrigeration tanks suddenly began to flash frantically.
Immediately after, a large amount of white cold gas burst out from the connection between the tanks and their bases, instantly enveloping the area like a thick fog!
"Click... Bang!"
The sound of heavy metal latches snapping open rang out one after another.
The front hatches of those four massive metal refrigeration tanks were slowly, inch by inch, opening outward under the action of hydraulic rods...
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