The middle-aged scientist's words were undeniably cruel. He was giving away the culmination of their team's painstaking research to others, sacrificing his own life to ensure their survival. Worst of all, he had made this decision unilaterally, without informing his colleagues, making it profoundly unfair to those who had worked alongside him.
Yet after the scientist spoke, no one in the video uttered a word—not even the man gripping his collar. A heavy silence descended.
As some of humanity's most elite minds, these individuals possessed rationality far exceeding their emotions. After all, the path of science demanded such detachment; an overly sentimental person could never progress far in this field.
So, despite the undeniable injustice of the scientist's decision, the astonishing truth was that after a moment of contemplation, the vast majority of the laboratory staff silently accepted it.
"Your choice is sound," one finally said. "Even if we survive, humanity has no future."
"Entrusting it to the Seventh Laboratory is the wisest course."
"Sigh..." The man who had been gripping the middle-aged scientist's collar let his hands fall limply. He lowered his head, knelt on the ground, and muttered to himself, "What about me? What was the point of all those years of research with you? It wasn't for some grand ideal of humanity's survival. It was just because... if we succeeded, my family could secure a place in one of the newly built medium-sized shelters."
The general public was only aware of the large settlements and seven small laboratories. Unbeknownst to them, there were also several medium-sized shelters strategically placed between these locations, designed to house specially selected individuals.
Suddenly, as if struck by a new thought, the man looked up at the scientist. "I only have one daughter. Could you send her to the Seventh Laboratory? What difference would one more person make?"
The scientist remained silent. Strictly speaking, one extra person wouldn't matter. But everyone knew that in a situation like this, adding one person wouldn't mean "just one."
The oppressive silence lingered until a sudden, violent cough shattered the stillness. Like a chain reaction, everyone in the laboratory erupted into hacking fits.
The middle-aged scientist muttered between coughs, "Cough... cough... Has... has it reached us already?"
This meant that everyone in the large settlements and medium-sized shelters had been wiped out.
"No!!!" The man who had been kneeling on the floor sprang up and bolted from the laboratory, tearing through the door into the corridor. After a moment's hesitation, the others silently began to follow.
They had lived in this laboratory for over a decade, never faltering under immense pressure, never once leaving its confines. They hadn't seen the sun in over ten years.
Yet this outbreak was inexplicably faster than any recorded before. There was no gradual onset of fever or cold; the coughs swiftly devolved into coughing up blood. Everyone felt their bodies weakening rapidly. In the end, none of them even made it out of the laboratory, collapsing in the corridor just outside the entrance.
The skeletal remains all faced the exit, likely not because some monster was chasing them, but simply because of... despair.
Even if these people had managed to escape the laboratory, they probably wouldn't have seen the sun. After all, the sun no longer existed. A massive, ever-widening Dimensional Rift had cleaved the sky in two.
After watching the entire video, Lingsha couldn't help but sigh softly. This world bore a striking resemblance to the Little Glutton World she had encountered before—another world destroyed by a Dimensional Rift.
The difference was that the Little Glutton World had left behind a contingency plan for reconstruction, while this world... had failed.
Or perhaps not.
Lingsha turned to look at Li beside her. Could these ignorant, primitive Beast-Eared Girls be this world's last hope?
It was worth noting that Li was now silently bowing her head, her tail no longer wagging. Though she couldn't understand the contents of the "iron box," she could sense the emotions of those around her.
When those around her were happy, she rejoiced with them. When they were sad, she shared their grief.
Ikezawa's emotions were in turmoil. "They... they were true heroes. If I were in their place, I could never make such a selfless decision."
But amidst his admiration, a cold dread crept in. "So, this world is plagued by the Death virus. Does that mean I'm already infected? Was that mysterious illness I had earlier a sign? Am I going to die?!"
To be precise, Ikezawa would experience increasingly severe illnesses, culminating in a terminal disease that Lingsha's healing powers couldn't cure, ultimately leading to his death.
If there was any hope for him now, it lay in two options. First, they could leave this world. But Lingsha couldn't determine whether the virus was confined to this realm or if it could spread beyond it. If it could infect other worlds and people, all would be lost.
Second, they could seek out the Seventh Laboratory, the last bastion of hope for this civilization. Perhaps a cure or a way to stop the virus lay hidden within its walls.
Lingsha noticed a small envelope icon beneath the video they had just watched. She gently tapped it with her index finger, and a line of text appeared before her:
[If any survivors manage to reach this place, please accept this as the last gift I can leave behind.]
The machine before her hummed to life. A moment later, a panel opened, and a compass-like device popped out—a mechanical map pinpointing the exact locations of the other six laboratories.
Simultaneously, the liquid in the largest glass tank at the center of the machine began to drain. Once empty, a palm-sized white egg appeared before Lingsha.
Plop—
The glass tank split open, and Lingsha stepped forward to retrieve the egg. As if sensing the warmth of her palm, the egg began to tremble slightly as she cradled it in one hand, still puzzling over what it was.
Cracks spread across the eggshell, and soon a tiny, adorable white head poked through, flicking its tongue.
It was a snake.