In the dim warehouse, only the eerie green light from a palm-sized terminal screen illuminated Han Feng's grave face.
"The Prometheus Project..."
Han Feng's fingers gently swiped across the screen. This top-secret file, like the ramblings of a dying man, unveiled a sliver of the world's cruel truth.
The file didn't open with convoluted data, but with a monologue bordering on despair:
"The moment the Sky Mist descended, everyone cheered for the revival of Spiritual Qi, praising it as a gift of evolution.
Only we saw that it was no gift. It was feed, scattered to fatten the pigs for slaughter."
"This so-called transcendence is nothing more than a 'flavor enhancement' bestowed upon lower-dimensional beings by higher-dimensional predators."
Han Feng's mouth twitched.
'These people from Star Sea Technology... their words are so blunt they make my stomach churn.'
But he had to admit, as harsh as the words were, they hit the nail on the head.
