The "Survival on the Train" game has bugs, it's really laggy!

Ninety-nine doors opened almost simultaneously.

The corridor lights flickered violently three times, the light jumping from stark white to dim yellow and then back to stark white, so fast that it made my retina ache.

The creaking of the rusted door hinges piled up, creating a metallic chord that made your teeth itch.

Then, they came out.

The first one was a fist-sized grayish-white tumor that bulged on his right shoulder, tearing his hospital gown and revealing gray skin covered with code patterns underneath.

The second one had half of his neck wrapped in a thick rope-like mass of dark red proliferating tissue, his head was squeezed to one side, and he could only see the road with one eye.

The third. The fifth. The twelfth. The thirty-seventh.

The further along the process, the deeper the mutations become.

Some had their entire left arm swollen into a grayish-white column of flesh, covered with countless tiny nodules. Others had their spines everted, with joints piercing the skin from their backs, and grayish-white lines creeping along the exposed vertebrae to the back of their heads. Some had half their faces completely swallowed by the proliferating tissue, leaving only a nostril and half a row of teeth exposed.

They were barefoot, dragging their feet.

Some were dragging IV stands. Some were clutching rusted metal plates. Some were carrying nothing, their two gray hands hanging limply at their sides, their fingernails scratching long white marks on the floor tiles.

Ninety-nine sixteen-year-old Su Yuans.

Ninety-nine different degrees of pollution distortion.

The same face.

The corridor was completely blocked off. Grayish-white bodies were packed tightly together, the fabric of their hospital gowns rustling against each other, and the sound of bare feet stepping on the tiles creating a damp, muffled thud.

The smell of disinfectant was overshadowed by another aroma.

Rotten flesh. Old blood. And the distinctive ozone-burning smell of the base code.

Xiao Huo lay beside the control panel, raised his bloodied face, and glanced out the car window.

One glance is enough.

His pupils shrank to their smallest size, and his whole body began to tremble uncontrollably.

"Ninety-nine..."

Wang Hu knelt on one knee on the floor, the robotic arm dangling, the servo motor still beeping intermittently. He turned his head and saw it too.

He didn't speak, but his Adam's apple bobbed up and down twice.

The first clone, nailed to the wall, hung its head, grayish-white blood dripping from the holes in its face. A chilling smile lingered on its lips.

"I already said so."

Its voice was broken into wisps of air.

"One hundred of us."

"Once you cut one, the remaining ninety-nine will watch you slowly die from exhaustion."

Su Yuan stood in the corridor.

The scalpel was still held in his left hand. The grayish-white bloodstains on the blade had not been wiped away.

He looked at the dense, gray-white crowd.

The mechanical left eye turned half a grid.

Click.

Ninety-nine clones did not rush over.

They all stopped in their tracks.

The corridor was silent for two seconds.

Two seconds later.

Ninety-nine mouths opened at the same time.

It's not about speaking.

It's a launch.

Ninety-nine base-level memory scrambled codes were simultaneously ejected from ninety-nine throats, their frequencies superimposed, their amplitudes resonating, and their phases locked.

One of them alone could push Xiao Huo and Wang Hu to the brink of brain death.

Ninety-nine stacked together.

Gray sound waves surged from the clone's mouth, condensing into a visible, distorted shockwave. The leading edge of the shockwave scraped across the ground, shattering the tiles beneath their feet. The fragments were swept up and tumbled by the sound waves, crashing into the walls on either side and embedding themselves in them.

The entire corridor floor was turned upside down in 0.3 seconds.

Tiles. Cement. Steel plate at the bottom.

Completely shattered.

The gray sound waves, carrying debris, crashed into the front of the Devourer.

boom--

The front of the vehicle emitted a metallic, twisting sound that made one's back teeth ache. The dark gold scales were bent by the sound waves, and several welds burst open, with white sparks shooting out from the cracks.

Inside the carriage.

Thick, dark blood gushed from Xiao Huo's nostrils and ears simultaneously. Not seeping, but gushing. The blood dripped from his chin onto the floor with a splattering sound.

His core sensory layer had been more than half damaged by the previous impact.

This round.

It chopped straight down to the bottom.

His mouth was agape, his eyes rolled upwards, and his consciousness teetered on the edge of a broken thread. His tail lay completely limp on the ground, its tip no longer even twitching.

Wang Hu lasted one second longer than him.

A second later, his knees slammed into the floor, the metal joints of the robotic arm cracking from overload. He braced himself with his hands on the ground, the veins on his forehead bulging like earthworms.

Blood gushed from his nose and splattered onto the back of his hand.

He hasn't fallen yet.

But his eyes were already out of focus.

The interior of the train carriage was not in sight.

It was all white. A white ceiling. White sheets. White fluorescent lights.

And a boy who knelt on the ground for three hours, until his knees were shattered, but no one paid any attention to him.

That wasn't his memory.

But that despair was real.

Then his respiratory system started to spasm.

In the corridor.

Su Yuan stood directly in front of the sonic storm.

A gray shockwave slammed into him. The surface of the dark gold bone armor vibrated rapidly, and cracks seeped from the edges of the armor plates.

Scrambled memories flooded his senses.

Sixteen years old.

hospital.

That corridor was longer than this one. The lights were that same stark white. The nurse's footsteps passed by three times, the sound of her shoes on the tiles clearly audible.

Nobody stopped.

Su Yuan's right eye, a tricolor vertical pupil, showed no change.

From beginning to end.

Memories flooded in. He caught them.

It's not resistance. It's not blocking.

It means to catch it.

Just leave it there. Don't push it away. Don't let it sink in.

He glanced down at the scalpel in his left hand.

The blade is still there.

He looked up.

Ninety-nine clones took a step during a break in the sonic storm.

They held hands.

Grayish-white fingers intertwined, nails digging into each other's skin, grayish-white blood seeping from between them. Neat. Uniform. Stretching from the left wall of the corridor to the right, forming an impenetrable wall of flesh.

The wall of flesh slowly advanced forward.

With each step pushed, ninety-nine mouths opened simultaneously.

Ninety-nine hoarse voices from puberty piled together, heavy as metal.

"You didn't shed a single tear!"

Footsteps. One step.

"Look how cold she is!"

Another step.

"You washed that stain on the sheets three times!"

Another step.

"Your nails were covered in blood the third time!"

Sound waves are not a means of attack.

Sound waves are the decoy.

They are driving Su Yuan out of control.

They were forcing him to draw his knife.

They are forcing him to use any means beyond the scope of "physical scalpel".

As long as his tricolored vertical pupils light up for a moment. As long as his law of negation is activated for a split second. As long as he releases even a wisp of non-physical power from his palm.

The AI ​​of the Great Wall Defense Line will determine medical accidents within 0.001 seconds.

Disqualification as chief surgeon.

Their identity was reclassified as that of an infected intruder.

Physical removal.

The flesh wall was twelve meters away from Su Yuan.

Eleven meters.

ten meters.

Slaughterhouse Command Center.

The terminal screen is synchronized.

The seven officers stared at the gray-white human wall formed by ninety-nine deformed teenagers, wounded and bleeding, and not one of them could utter a single word.

The fire control officer lay on the ground, mouth agape.

He had witnessed fleet clashes. He had witnessed planetary bombardments. He had witnessed the instantaneous collapse of dimensions.

I've never seen anything like this before.

Ninety-nine faces, identical to the same person, hold hands and recite in unison that person's most painful memories, walking forward step by step.

His stomach shrank into a ball.

The communications officer leaned against the wall, staring at Su Yuan on the screen, whose bone armor had cracked from the sonic boom.

"He can't fight."

The sound was very dry. So dry it felt like sand being rubbed together.

"You can't use laws. You can't use devouring. You can't use denial."

The adjutant added.

"Even a scalpel can only cut one at a time."

The commander sat on the ground, his back against the legs of the tactical platform.

He stared at the advancing speed of the fleshy wall in the image and made a rough estimate.

Thirty seconds later, the flesh wall pressed against him.

If ninety-nine contaminated clones simultaneously smear grayish-white slime onto Su Yuan, the assimilation rate will not be additive, but multiplicative.

He didn't even have time to cut the second one.

"A dead end."

The commander said two words.

The voice lacked emotion.

Because at this point, feelings are no longer useful.

Wasteland shelter.

The staff officer stood in front of the screen, his face as white as the wall.

His hands were resting on the table, his knuckles turning blue.

"Even without following the rules, relying solely on hand cutting..."

He swallowed hard.

"It's impossible for him to physically perform 99 surgeries at the same time."

"One person, two hands, and a knife."

"Facing ninety-nine lesions."

"Even if you calculate it to the absolute limit, with your hand speed at maximum, how long would it take to slice one? Thirty seconds? A minute?"

"When he cuts the second one, the remaining ninety-eight will surround him."

"The grayish-white slime has no cooling period."

"These things share the same base code node."

"Killing one will only send the signal that makes the rest more excited."

The commander dropped the cigarette ash from his hand onto the table without noticing.

"Speak like a human being."

The staff officer looked up.

"Single-threaded can't beat multi-threaded."

"If he had a hundred hands, maybe he could still put up a fight."

"But he only has one pair."

"And he's missing his right hand."

pause.

"No. His right hand ends below the wrist."

Strictly speaking, he only has one intact hand.

The observation area of ​​the high-dimensional dark web.

The young elder struggled to lift half of his body from the pool of black blood.

He saw it.

Ninety-nine to one.

The laws cannot be used. Devouring cannot be used. Any superphysical means cannot be used.

One hand.

a knife.

Ninety-nine lesions.

The young elder smiled.

This time, the laughter was more relaxed than ever before.

It wasn't hysteria. It wasn't a forced, sarcastic remark.

I really saw the end.

"They're doomed."

He raised his hand from the black blood and pointed at the screen.

My fingers were still trembling, but they were filled with genuine joy.

"This is not a battle of laws. It is not a high-dimensional game."

"It's just an elementary school math problem."

"One person. Ninety-nine targets. No clones. No projections. Only physical manipulation."

"It's no use no matter how many galaxies he swallows."

"Killing any number of gods won't help."

He only has two hands.

The young elder laughed so hard that black blood bubbled from his nostrils.

"Useless, Su Yuan."

"Your destination is a division problem."

"One divided by ninety-nine."

The answer is zero.

In the corridor.

The wall of flesh advanced to six meters.

Grayish-white slime had already seeped from the soles of the front-row clones, spreading a layer on the cracked ground. The real source membrane beneath Su Yuan's feet was resisting, but the amount of slime was too great, and grayish-white code began to appear at the edges, attempting to bypass the membrane and crawl up the cracks to his feet.

five meters.

Ninety-nine mouths are still chanting.

The sound is no longer a specific sentence.

It turned into a pure, dense, physical vibrational level of emotional oppression.

despair.

Despair at sixteen.

From every direction. From every angle. From every frequency band.

It poured in from every angle.

Four meters.

Su Yuan did not retreat.

His right eye, with its tricolor vertical pupil, remained unchanged.

The silver-black mechanical ball in the left eye socket spun wildly, and the AM resonant slot emitted high-frequency vibrations that were almost audible.

Click click click click click click click.

He did not raise the scalpel with his left hand.

He turned around.

He took two steps toward the door of the Devouring Wasteland vehicle.

Wang Hu lay on the floor, blood staining half his face from his nose, and shouted something hoarsely.

"Old Su, where are you going—"

Su Yuan did not turn around.

He stepped over the door frame.

The severed wrist of his right hand hung limply at his side.

Left hand.

index finger.

It landed on the old-fashioned mechanical keyboard next to the control panel.

Click.

Click. Click click. Click click click.

The fingers tap rapidly, the pace increasing from medium to high speed. The index finger moves precisely between the keycaps, with the travel distance minimized and the rebound utilized to its fullest potential.

Morse code.

An extremely long passage.

Xiao Huo was awakened from his semi-conscious state by the sound of keyboard clicks. He turned his head to look at the terminal and found that the number of lines of code had already scrolled past the entire height of his screen and was still going down.

Su Yuan's index finger stopped.

Press Enter.

Snapped.

A green terminal with white text displays a complete instruction request.

"urgent!"

"A severe and serious outbreak of hospital-acquired infection occurred in the corridor."

Number of infected cases: 99.

"All of them exhibited a high degree of aggression and a tendency to self-spread."

"The lesions are parasitic on the basal level scavenger code."

"A single person is no longer able to control the scene during wound cleaning."

"Surgeon 001 Application —"

"Initiate a joint expert consultation model."

"Request full support from the medical device repository."

Little Fire lay on the ground, his face covered in blood. The moment he saw those words, his mouth opened wide.

It won't close.

Wang Hu knelt in a pool of blood, turning his face to look at the terminal. The broken hand of the robotic arm twitched uncontrollably twice.

"He is—"

"Call for backup?"

Slaughterhouse Command Center.

Green background with white text pops up simultaneously.

Seven officers stared at the line of application.

The fire control officer's mouth opened and closed again.

The communications officer made a dry, swallowing sound.

The adjutant leaned against the equipment cabinet, his entire body seemingly frozen in place.

The commander sat on the ground, read the entire text, and his eyelids twitched three times.

"Is he asking the defenses for reinforcements?"

The communications officer's voice trembled.

"Not reinforcements. It's medical consultations and equipment."

The commander paused for two seconds.

"Does the Great Wall even have this function?"

No one can answer that.

Wasteland shelter.

The staff officer jumped up from his chair.

"Joint consultation?"

He stared at the line of green text on a white background on the screen, his brain working at high speed.

"Is he requesting to activate a multi-camera surgical collaboration model to initiate the defense line?"

"Does such a thing exist?"

The commander looked at him.

The staff officer's lips trembled slightly.

"Theoretically... if the underlying design logic of the Great Wall defense line is really a hospital..."

There is usually more than one doctor in a large operating room.

"Severe cases can request a multidisciplinary joint consultation..."

"Full mobilization of the medical equipment inventory is also standard procedure..."

His voice grew softer and softer as he spoke.

"But the question is whether the defense line will be approved."

The high-dimensional dark web.

The young elder's laughter stopped for half a second when he heard the words "joint expert consultation".

Then he laughed even harder.

"consultation?"

Black blood spurted from the corner of his mouth.

"Whom should we consult with?"

"The hallway is full of patients, except for him!"

"He's the only living human being in this corridor!"

"Whom did he turn to for help? The wall? The ceiling?"

He lay in the black blood, laughing until his whole body convulsed.

"A deputy chief surgeon won't just magically appear out of thin air in Earth's old hospital system!"

"Even if the defense line is approved, then—"

His laughter sound was stuck in his throat.

Because the terminal light was on.

In the corridor.

All the lights went out at the same time.

The darkness lasted for a full two seconds.

Within two seconds, the wall of flesh stopped. The memory attack from the ninety-nine clones was interrupted for a moment.

They didn't stop on their own.

It was the ground beneath our feet that was moving.

The third second.

All the lights came back on.

It wasn't the unhealthy flickering light that used to flicker between bright and dim. It was a stable, stark white light, operating at full power and so stable it made my eyes ache.

The brightness is three times higher than before.

The shadow was flattened from every angle.

At the same time, the green-and-white terminal emitted a long, piercing buzzing sound.

Buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz—

It lasted for four seconds.

Four seconds later, the terminal refreshed.

"The situation has been verified."

"The cluster infection in the hospital has been confirmed."

"All 99 patients met the criteria for severe malignant infection."

"Surgeon 001 Application —"

"approve."

"The joint consultation model has been launched."

"Full mobilization of the medical equipment inventory - authorized."

"implement."

With a loud bang.

It wasn't an explosion.

It is a building restructuring.

The old walls on both sides of the corridor, covered in black mold and faded department signs, cracked open in the middle. The crack widened rapidly along the wall, causing the entire wall to fold downwards and sink below the ground.

The ceiling expands outwards at the same time.

Cement layers, metal frames, pipes, light fixture bases—all the building structures are physically rearranged.

It's not about demolishing. It's about unfolding.

It's like an operating room that has been folded up for who knows how many years, finally being allowed to open.

The broken tiles on the floor were pushed off from below by the metal base plate, revealing a brand new, cool-looking gray-white medical stainless steel floor.

The wall receded into the distance, out of sight.

The ceiling was raised to a height of fifteen meters.

A massive, circular space, large enough to accommodate thousands of people, took shape physically.

Intensive care sterile operating room.

Physical level.

The floor is made of non-slip stainless steel, the kind used for old-fashioned operating tables.

The wall has an old-style negative pressure suction port embedded in it.

A faded label on a metal cabinet in the corner reads: "Sterile Instruments - For Surgeon Use Only".

The air filtration system emitted a low hum, and the concentration of disinfectant odor reached the standard operating room level within three seconds.

The ground beneath the feet of the ninety-nine clones had completely changed.

Their bare feet stepped from the broken tiles onto the cold stainless steel.

The formation of the flesh wall was briefly thrown into disarray the moment the ground shifted. Several clones' toes were caught in the seams of the new floor before they could lift, producing a piercing metallic clanging sound.

But what really stopped them wasn't the ground.

It's the top of the head.

On the ceiling.

Ninety-nine sturdy, old-fashioned robotic arms were ejected from their pre-set compartments.

Metal joints. Hydraulic telescopic rod. Three-jaw end gripper. Older model. Heavy-duty industrial design.

Each robotic arm has a main body diameter of over thirty centimeters, and its surface is coated with a gray-green military paint worn by time. Rivets are exposed at the joints, and hydraulic lines are tied to both sides of the arm.

old.

Ox.

However, the motion precision of each joint is accurate to 0.01 millimeters.

Ninety-nine robotic arms extend vertically downwards.

Each line points directly to a clone.

At the same time, ninety-nine shadowless lamps also descended.

Old-fashioned. Round lamp face. Halogen bulb.

The lampshades have yellowed over the years, but the moment they are turned on, each one bursts forth with surgical-grade pure white light.

Ninety-nine beams of light fell straight down, illuminating the ninety-nine clones in minute detail.

Every coded line of the grayish-white sarcoma. The direction of blood vessels beneath the proliferating tissue. The extent of the lesion around the eye socket. All of it was smoothed out by the shadowless lamp, exposed without exception.

Then came the restraint belts.

They popped out from both sides of the robotic arm.

Old-fashioned physical restraint straps. Steel base. Polymer braided strap body. The buckle is an old-style ratchet structure.

The speed at which they are launched is the full-load value of the basic physical acceleration of the Great Wall defense line.

There are no rules to guide us.

Purely mechanical. Purely spring-like. Purely kinetic energy.

It's fast.

The first restraint strap locked the left wrist of clone number 12.

Click.

Ratchet engagement.

Article 2. Article 3. Article 4.

Click-clack-clack-clack-clack.

Limbs and neck.

Five lock points.

99 multiplied by 5.

Four hundred and ninety-five ratchet clicks rang out in less than a second.

They formed a continuous, resounding chain of metal.

Click-clack ...

Ninety-nine clones had their limbs locked, their necks fixed, and were simultaneously lifted upwards by a robotic arm.

They left the stainless steel ground barefoot.

Grayish-white mucus dripped from his toes.

They look like white-bodied pigs hanging upside down on a slaughterhouse assembly line.

A row.

Neat and tidy.

Ninety-nine.

The clasped-hand formation of the gray-white flesh wall was forcibly broken the moment the restraints tightened. The interlocked fingers were pried open one by one by the steel buckles. Several clones' fingernails snapped off during the separation, gray-white fragments scattering onto the steel floor.

The chorus of scrambled memories came to an abrupt end.

It's not because ninety-nine throats stopped making sounds.

This is because the neck restraint band is positioned precisely on the muscle groups on both sides of the vocal cords.

Physical compression of the vocal cords.

The volume dropped directly from 100 to less than 10.

The corridor—no, the operating room—suddenly became so quiet it was almost deafening.

Ninety-nine clones were suspended in mid-air.

Ninety-nine shadowless lamps filled the room with light.

Under the stark white light, the grayish-white sarcoma lost its shadow concealment, appearing ugly and fragile.

Xiao Huo propped himself up halfway from the floor.

The nosebleed is still flowing. More than half of the core sensory layer is damaged, and all computations are sluggish.

But he heard the four hundred and ninety-five clicks.

He saw ninety-nine clones hanging upside down.

“…………”

His mouth was open.

I can't say anything.

Wang Hu knelt on the ground, turned his head to look out the window at the stark white operating room and the endless array of robotic arms.

He slowly closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again.

It was confirmed that it was not a hallucination.

Then he lowered his head and rubbed his face with the hand that he could still move.

"OK."

His voice was muffled by the slap.

"It's here."

"They've really arrived."

Slaughterhouse Command Center.

The terminals in front of the seven officers simultaneously displayed a panoramic view of the operating room.

Ninety-nine robotic arms. Ninety-nine shadowless lamps. Ninety-nine restraint straps. Ninety-nine dressed pigs.

The fire control officer lay on the ground, his mouth opening and closing three times, but he couldn't make a sound.

The communications officer, with his back against the wall, slid down to the ground little by little.

The adjutant looked at the screen and managed to squeeze out a single word.

"Slaughterhouse".

It paused for a moment.

"A real slaughterhouse."

The commander remained seated.

He stared at the ninety-nine deformed bodies hanging in the screen, at the pale and fragile gray tumors under the operating lights, for a long time.

"It's not a slaughterhouse."

He spoke.

The communications officer turned his head.

The commander's voice was low.

"It's the delivery room."

"To remove the lesions one by one from the body."

Wasteland shelter.

The staff officer's legs went weak, and he could not sit still in the chair, his hands gripping the edge of the table tightly.

"It's done..."

His voice trembled heavily.

"The defense line has this system."

"Multi-camera surgical collaboration platform."

"Physical robotic arm. Physical restraint straps. Physical shadowless lamp."

"The entire architecture is from the old era."

"No high-dimensional interface. No proof of concept."

"Therefore, the dock cleaner code cannot hack into these devices."

The commander stared at the screen.

"But the robotic arm needs to be operated by a person."

The staff officer's trembling voice paused for a second.

"right."

"Ninety-nine robotic arms."

"A manipulator is needed."

He looked at Su Yuan standing in the center of the operating room on the screen.

"He was all alone."

The high-dimensional dark web.

The young elder's laughter was dead.

He lay prone in the pool of black blood, staring at the ghastly white operating room scene, the muscles at the corners of his mouth frozen in a twisted arc.

He saw the robotic arm. He saw the restraints. He saw the clone being suspended.

The situation was brought under control.

but--

"and then?"

His voice was as hoarse as sandpaper grinding a piece of iron.

"So what if we control it?"

"He was alone, with only one hand."

Even if the robotic arm helps him stabilize the patient.

"He has to cut it himself, right?"

"Cut them one by one."

"Ninety-nine."

He was aware of the regeneration speed of the base code.

"Each slice takes at least thirty seconds."

Ninety-nine times thirty.

"Approximately fifty minutes."

"Can the restraints withstand the base-level struggle for fifty minutes?"

"Can the hydraulic limits of the robotic arm withstand simultaneous stress in ninety-nine directions?"

"His stamina—"

He opened his mouth, but didn't continue calculating.

Because Su Yuan in the picture moved again.

In the center of the operating room.

Su Yuan stood directly beneath the intersecting beams of the shadowless lamp.

Ninety-nine lamps shone on him from different angles, cutting his shadow into pieces and grinding them into the stainless steel floor.

He did not approach any of the suspended clones.

He raised his left hand.

He held the scalpel in a reverse grip between his index and middle fingers, with the handle against his palm.

Then his right hand segment—the severed wrist that had never existed after being erased by causal collapse—was inserted into the door of the Devourer.

Xiao Huo was struggling to get up in the carriage. He saw Su Yuan's severed wrist reaching in, towards the bottom of the control panel.

The biobus pipeline convergence area below the control panel.

Su Yuan did not touch the pipeline.

He was doing something else.

Extremely slender dark gold vines began to grow from the bottom of the Devourer.

Not thick, fighting vines. Not fanged, devouring tentacles.

It's as thin as a medical catheter.

The diameter does not exceed four millimeters.

Each strand is completely coated with a high-polymer insulating layer. There are no cyclical patterns. No additional concepts are added. There is no engulfing structure.

End.

It's not a knife cut.

It is a standard interface header.

Cylindrical shape. With three positioning slots.

Old-fashioned industrial data interface.

It is compatible with the control ports of the ninety-nine robotic arms on the ceiling.

Xiao Huo lay on the ground and saw the vines emerge from under the car, extending in all directions along the stainless steel floor, accurately climbing the walls, scaling the supporting structures, wrapping around the pillars, and finally reaching the ceiling.

One. Five. Twenty.

Fifty. Seventy.

Ninety-nine roots.

Each one was precisely inserted into an old-fashioned data interface at the back of the robotic arm base.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Ninety-nine soft connection confirmation sounds.

Xiao Huo's hair stood on end.

He had seen Su Yuan manipulate vines before.

He had seen Su Yuan devour a fleet with thousands upon thousands of vines. He had seen the dark gold giant vines tear apart planetary armor.

But those operations require very low precision. Just crush it. Just tear it apart. Just swallow it.

This is different.

Ninety-nine robotic arms.

Ninety-nine sets of three-axis, six-degree-of-freedom joints.

The gripper at the end of each arm also has independent rotation and extension functions.

Add up.

Nearly 800 independent motion axes.

Precise control is required at the purely physical level.

There is no AI assistance.

There are no rules for calculation.

It all comes down to his brains.

A human brain.

Simultaneously, micro-manage 800 motion axes.

To have surgery.

Live organ dissection surgery.

The accuracy requirement is to 0.1 millimeters.

Little Fire's Adam's apple bobbed violently twice, and the tip of its tail bounced up uncontrollably.

"Owner."

His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.

"Are you crazy?"

Su Yuan didn't look at him.

Su Yuan's attention was no longer on the train carriage.

He stood in the center of the operating room, his left hand gripping the scalpel in reverse, his right severed wrist hanging by his side.

Ninety-nine dark gold conduits extended from behind him, connecting to ninety-nine old-fashioned mechanical arms on the ceiling awaiting commands.

His right eye, with its tricolor vertical pupil, finally showed a change.

It is not activated by the law.

It's the rapid layering of the three colors in the pupil.

The dark gold layer controls the signal output of the motor cortex.

The pure white layer takes over spatial positioning and distance perception.

The dark layer pinpointed the precise coordinates and cutting paths of the ninety-nine lesions.

Three-color parallel processing.

It is not within the scope of the rules.

It is the physical limit of brain functional areas.

He's using his own brain as a central processing unit.

Slaughterhouse Command Center.

The fire control officer lay on the ground, staring blankly at the ninety-nine dark gold conduits connecting to the robotic arm on the terminal screen.

"He wants to control 99 stations all by himself."

The communications officer's chapped lips trembled several times.

"at the same time?"

The adjutant leaned against the equipment cabinet, staring at Su Yuan's three-colored right eye on the screen, and cold sweat broke out on his back.

"It's not the kind of rough work where you fire all the cannons at once."

"The surgeries were performed at the same time."

Ninety-nine surgeries.

"Each machine has a different cutting path."

"Each lesion has a different shape."

"The embedding depth is different. The root code structure is different."

The commander sat on the ground, his expression no longer changing.

He only said one sentence.

"What's this called again?"

"Being able to multitask is what makes a genius."

What's it called when you can use your mind for ninety-nine things at once?

No one responded.

The high-dimensional dark web.

The young elder lay prone in the black blood, staring at the screen.

His smile vanished thirty seconds ago.

His expression is blank now.

It's not relief. It's not despair.

It's the brain refusing to process it.

He watched as ninety-nine dark gold conduits connected to the robotic arm base. He watched as Su Yuan's right pupil split into three colors. He watched as the man with only one intact hand stood in the center of the operating room, preparing to perform ninety-nine precision surgical procedures simultaneously by himself.

The young elder opened his mouth twice.

He didn't say anything.

The afterimage beside him was also watching.

Much later, a lingering shadow spoke softly.

He wasn't having surgery.

The young elder did not react.

The sound of the afterimage was very soft.

"He's treating his nervous system like an operating room network."

The young elder finally moved.

His hand clenched in the black blood, then loosened.

"It's impossible to succeed."

His voice was very dry. So dry that even he himself didn't believe it.

Inside the operating room.

Ninety-nine robotic arms lowered their heads simultaneously.

The three-jaw gripper at the end opens. An old-fashioned surgical instrument pack pops out from inside the gripper.

The instrument pack is opened.

Each set contains a scalpel.

Stainless steel handle. Carbon steel blade. 9 cm long. 0.3 mm cutting edge width.

An old-fashioned physical surgical scalpel.

It's exactly the same as the one in Su Yuan's hand.

Ninety-nine scalpels were precisely gripped by a three-jaw chuck.

Clamping angle: 37 degrees. Standard surgical scalpel handling posture.

Ninety-nine knives descended simultaneously.

It stopped above the largest grayish-white tumor among the ninety-nine clones.

The tip of the knife was 0.1 millimeters away from the surface of the sarcoma.

The gray-white code patterns contracted and writhed rapidly under the cold metallic gleam of the blade's tip, as if instinctively trying to avoid something.

Ninety-nine clones struggled simultaneously.

The ratchet of the restraint strap was under extreme stress, and the metal joints made a clicking and creaking sound.

"Do not touch me!"

"You can't cut us!"

"We are you!"

"You're cutting yourself!"

Ninety-nine hoarse voices were suppressed into muffled growls by the neck restraints, but when combined, they still made the stainless steel floor vibrate and hum.

Su Yuan stood in the middle of them.

He doesn't look at any of the clones' faces.

I won't listen to a single word.

He only looks at the lesions.

He gently flipped the scalpel in his left hand, adjusting the angle of his grip.

The terminal was refreshed for the last time.

"99 patients have been restrained and are in place."

"99 sets of equipment have been loaded."

"Surgeon 001 confirms he will perform the surgery."

"The joint consultation model is fully operational."

"Waiting for the surgeon's instructions."

In Su Yuan's right eye, the three colors in the tricolor vertical pupil completed the final calibration.

Ninety-nine cutting paths unfolded simultaneously in his mind. Ninety-nine different lesion outlines were precisely locked. Ninety-nine sets of parameters for incision angle, cutting depth, and cutting speed were calculated in the same instant.

He spoke.

The sound wasn't loud.

It was so calm it was chilling.

"All wards."

"Simultaneous surgery."

Inside the command center of the Slaughterhouse, seven officers held their breath.

Inside the wasteland bunker, the staff officer's pen slipped from his hand again, and the commander didn't even notice the cigarette falling.

In the observation zone of the remnants of the high-dimensional dark web, the young elder lay prone in a pool of black blood, his lips moved slightly, but no sound came out.

All old hardware terminals in the universe connected by AM relay links are displaying the same screen simultaneously.

Su Yuan stood under ninety-nine shadowless lamps.

Ninety-nine knives hung above ninety-nine tumors.

The air gap of 0.1 millimeters between the scalpel tip and the lesion emits a subtle light scattering under the operating light.

Everyone's heart skipped a beat.

Su Yuan's left fingers twitched slightly.

Ninety-nine dark gold conduits simultaneously transmit signals.

The hydraulic servo motors of ninety-nine robotic arms started simultaneously.

Ninety-nine scalpels, in the same instant, fell upon the grayish-white tumor less than one millimeter in size.

The moment five knives cut into the edge of the tumor.

From the deepest shadows of the operating room came the sound of clapping.

Snapped.

Snapped.

Snapped.

Very slow. Very clear. Each beat is spaced exactly two seconds apart.

The muffled thud of palms hitting palms bounced between the stainless steel walls, refracted by the lampshade of the shadowless lamp, and reached the ears from various angles.

Su Yuan stopped.

Ninety-nine robotic arms stopped.

Five lancets, each having cut 0.5 millimeters deep, remained suspended in place.

Footsteps could be heard in the shadows at the end of the corridor.

The sound of leather shoes stepping on a stainless steel floor.

Not barefoot. Not military boots.

They are hard-soled leather shoes. Old-fashioned. With a heel.

A glaring red warning box suddenly popped up on the terminal.

The font size is two sizes larger than all previous prompts.

Red background with white lettering.

"warn!"

"Highest privileges conflict detected!"

"Another qualified surgeon is being transferred to the ward."

"Surgical access has been forcibly locked."

"Chief Surgeon 001 - Please wait for authorization arbitration."

Su Yuan's mechanical left eye suddenly turned a notch.

Click.

He turned his head and looked into the depths of the shadows.

The sound of leather shoes grew closer.

A figure emerged from the darkness beyond the reach of the operating lights.

White coat.

An old-fashioned white lab coat. Buttoned all the way up to the top. The cuffs were frayed. Two pens, one blue and one black, were tucked into the left breast pocket.

Name tag.

The old plastic name tag had yellowed edges.

The stamped lettering on it reflected a clear light under the shadowless lamp.

"Pangu Project First Clinical Center"

"Chief Surgeon"

"Number: 000"