Pakunoda turned her head to look at the figure sitting on the other side.
Chrollo sat on a relatively flat concrete slab, a thick, ancient book spread open on his lap.
He did not light a lamp, reading only by the moonlight; his profile appeared exceptionally calm in the dim light.
Machi stood at the edge of the broken floor, gazing at the scattered lights of the city below.
She wore a simple white shirt and dark trousers, the night wind blowing through her long hair.
"Leader."
Pakunoda spoke, her voice echoing through the empty floor.
"Still can't get through. I can't reach Uvogin and Franklin."
Chrollo did not look up, his fingers gently turning a page.
"Has their last known location been confirmed?"
"The southern part of the Urubian Continent, Kukupu City."
Pakunoda pulled up the records on her phone.
"Two months ago, there were traces of their activity there. There has been no news since."
Machi turned around at this moment.
The moonlight shone on her face; that delicate, refined face was devoid of expression, but her eyes were as sharp as needles.
"If we head there now,"
she said,
"it will take about three days."
She paused, then added,
"But I have a feeling that Uvogin and the others might already be in danger."
Pakunoda looked at her.
"Your intuition?"
"Intuition."
Machi answered briefly and affirmatively.
She did not state her reasons, nor did she need to.
Everyone in the Phantom Troupe had witnessed the accuracy of Machi's intuition—it was a keenness bordering on precognition that had saved their lives on many critical occasions.
Chrollo finally closed the book.
He slowly stood up and tucked the ancient book into his coat.
Under the moonlight, he wore a fur-collared coat, the inverted cross tattoo on his forehead appearing and disappearing in the shadows.
"Uvogin's personality does indeed invite trouble easily."
Chrollo's voice was calm, as if stating an objective fact.
"But Franklin would keep an eye on him. For both of them to lose contact for two months..."
He paused.
"Either they encountered a powerful enemy they couldn't escape, or—"
Chrollo raised his eyes, his gaze sweeping over Pakunoda and Machi.
"—they are already dead."
The building fell into a brief silence. The night wind continued to howl, and the faint sound of sirens drifted from afar.
Pakunoda gripped her phone tightly. Machi's gaze grew a few degrees colder.
"Let's go."
Chrollo stepped toward the stairwell.
"We are going to Kukupu City."
His pace was unhurried, the hem of his fur-collared coat fluttering slightly in the wind.
"If they are still alive, we will bring them back."
"If they are dead..."
Chrollo's voice was very soft, but every word was as clear as ice picks hitting the ground.
"Then we will find the person who killed them."
Pakunoda and Machi exchanged glances and followed the Leader's footsteps.
The three figures disappeared into the darkness of the stairs. The unfinished building returned to silence, with only the night wind still moaning.
In the vast sea area south of the Urubian Continent, bordering the Mitene Federation.
A small island with no markings on any map, isolated far from the shipping lanes.
The surface of the island was covered in dense tropical vegetation, looking no different from countless other deserted islands in the vicinity.
But thirty meters underground—was a massive base.
The massive underground space was divided into several zones, the walls made of smooth alloy that reflected cold light.
Various precision high-tech equipment, incubation pods, and analytical instruments were arranged in an orderly fashion, emitting a low hum.
The air was filled with a strange mixture of disinfectant, preservatives, and a hint of an unmistakable, lingering scent of blood.
In the central circular experimental area, more than twenty operating tables were arranged in a radial pattern.
Lying on the tables were various "specimens"—some were humans, both male and female, ranging in age from young to middle-aged; there were also various beasts, wolves, bears, and even a few clearly mutated fox-bears, wild boars, and Dragon, among others.
Their bodies were restrained, covered in tubes and sensors, some still twitching unconsciously.
More than a dozen personnel in white protective suits were busy in the area.
Some were dissecting an experimental subject that had just stopped breathing, skillfully removing organs and placing them into liquid nitrogen containers; others sat before monitoring consoles, eyes fixed on the scrolling vital sign data on the screens, recording rapidly; still others were moving canisters filled with unknown liquids.
In another area, hundreds of alloy cages and high-strength glass tanks were stacked layer upon layer.
Inside were living captives—some humans with hollow eyes, others strange creatures in deep sleep.
Dozens of security squads, armed with specialized firearms, moved through the base with expressionless faces, their footsteps echoing rhythmically on the metal floor.
On a high platform, a middle-aged woman stood by the railing.
She wore a neat white lab coat, gold-rimmed glasses, and her long hair was meticulously tied into a bun at the back of her head.
The eyes behind the lenses calmly scanned everything below, devoid of any emotional fluctuation, as if watching a performance unrelated to herself.
It was the long-missing Doctor.
Footsteps came from behind her.
A young researcher quickly walked onto the platform, stopped three steps behind her, and lowered his head respectfully.
"Doctor, experiment subject no. 8 died after surviving for five days; the cause of death was systemic organ failure due to rejection. Experiment subject no. 7 only lasted for three days before its body collapsed. Experiment subject no. 3 is currently in good condition, having survived for nine days, with an implanted tissue Fusion rate of 67%."
He paused, then added,
"Other batches of experimental subjects are undergoing a new round of implantation. However... the specimen reserves have been depleted by 80% and need to be replenished."
The Doctor did not turn around, her voice calm.
"Send all the dead ones to feed experiment subject no. 0."
"Yes."
The researcher nodded, then remembered something.
"Additionally, Supervisor Victor sent word that experiment subject no. 1 is currently in an unstable state with intense emotional fluctuations; while experiment subject no. 2 is stable, its plasticity and power are far below expectations. He requests approval to provide a higher dosage of experiment subject no. 0's blood samples, as well as... the recently recovered output from experiment subject no. 9."
The Doctor was silent for a few seconds.
Below the platform, an experimental subject suddenly convulsed violently, making weird wheezing sounds in its throat, and after a few seconds, it stopped moving completely.
The staff nearby recorded the time with an expressionless face and began to remove the sensors.
"Approved."
The Doctor finally spoke.
"Tell Tieshan and Devon to keep an eye on them. Experiment subject no. 1 and experiment subject no. 2 are the only results currently showing progress, and I don't want a repeat of what happened last time."
The "what happened last time" she referred to was an incident three months ago where an experimental subject went berserk, resulting in the deaths of three researchers and the destruction of a large amount of equipment.
The researcher's body stiffened slightly.
"Understood. I will go communicate that now."
He turned and walked away quickly.
The Doctor stood in place, watching the assembly-line-like operations below for a while longer.
Then, she took a specially encrypted mobile phone out of her lab coat pocket and dialed a number.
A few seconds later, a processed electronic synthesized voice came through the receiver, making it impossible to distinguish gender or age.
"What is your request this time?"
The Doctor's voice had no inflection.
"I need more specimens, the higher the quality, the better."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.
The electronic voice sounded again, with a tone of obvious dissatisfaction.
"Doctor, the manpower and resources we have invested have far exceeded the initial agreement. A year has passed. I hope to see substantial results, not an endless demand for 'more'."
The Doctor pushed up her glasses.
"The stability of experiment subject no. 0 has improved to 89%, and although experiment subject no. 1 and experiment subject no. 2 still have flaws, they have proven the feasibility of the implantation plan. As long as you continue to provide specimens, you will soon see the 'results' you want."
She paused, then continued.
"High-quality specimens can shorten the R&D cycle. The physical data of Nen Users is crucial for perfecting the Fusion model."
Another few seconds of silence.
The electronic voice finally said.
"I will arrange for my subordinates to handle it, but remember your promise, Doctor. If the next report is still just empty words..."
The voice did not finish, but the threat was clearly discernible.
"Hmm."
The Doctor responded and hung up the phone directly.
She put the phone away and turned her gaze back below.
A staff member was dragging the remains of an experimental subject toward a corner passageway—that was the direction leading to the "experiment subject no. 0" feeding area.
The corners of the Doctor's mouth tugged upward, ever so slightly.
It was not a smile, but more like a kind of... anticipation.