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

The sound of leather shoes stopped directly under the operating light.

The person in the white coat stopped.

An old-fashioned medical mask covered half of his face, revealing only his eyes. Grayish-white. No pupils. No irises. The entire eyeball was a solidified, stagnant grayish-white mass.

The stamped lettering on the name tag reflected a cold light under the shadowless lamp.

"Pangu Project First Clinical Center - Attending Surgeon - Number: 000"

Su Yuan's mechanical left eye rotated half a notch. The AM resonant slot emitted a very short click.

He didn't speak.

Number 000 didn't say anything either.

The two stared at each other for a full three seconds amidst the intersecting beams of light from ninety-nine shadowless lamps.

The fourth second.

A sharp, screeching sound came from the ceiling as the hydraulic system abruptly stopped.

It wasn't just one robotic arm that stopped. It was all ninety-nine of them that stopped simultaneously. The noise of the hydraulic servo motors plummeted from a full-load hum to zero, the metal joints shuddered one last time due to inertia, and then stiffened.

Ding--

The ninety-nine dark gold conduits extending from behind Su Yuan's severed right wrist popped out simultaneously.

It didn't fall off naturally.

It's an interface forcibly pushed out by a layer of insulating gel seeping from inside the robotic arm's base. Physical repulsion. No laws intervening. No concept overriding. It's the most basic hardware-level access control barrier.

Ninety-nine standard connectors were ejected from the data port, tracing brief arcs in the air before landing with a clatter on the stainless steel floor.

at the same time.

Ninety-nine scalpels, suspended above the tumor, were retracted by a three-jaw gripper. The blades withdrew from a cutting depth of 0.5 millimeters. Five wounds that had broken through the epidermis oozed grayish-white fluid, which was then blocked by the proliferating tissue.

The terminal screen went crazy.

The red warning box fills the entire display area, and the font is so large it's blinding.

"The highest privilege overwrite has taken effect!"

"Surgeon No. 000 has been connected to the ward's main system!"

"Surgeon No. 001's operating privileges - Frozen!"

"Please wait for arbitration."

Xiao Huo lay beside the control panel, his face covered in blood, looking at the dark gold conduits that had fallen to the ground.

The connector at the tip of the conduit, still warm from the metal, bounced slightly twice on the stainless steel before coming to rest.

He opened his mouth.

He didn't say anything.

It's not that I don't want to talk about it.

Before his mind could recover from the shock of "one person controlling ninety-nine surgeries," he was hit with a blunt object.

Wang Hu knelt on the floor, his mechanical arm hanging down, and turned his head to look at the center of the corridor.

His gaze swept over the ninety-nine broken tubes and landed on the figure in the white coat.

His throat bobbed.

"Old Su."

The voice was very low.

"The visitor is not friendly."

Su Yuan did not respond.

In his right eye, the three colors in the vertical pupil had not yet returned to their original state. Dark gold, pure white, and jet black slowly rotated deep within the pupil, like a processor that had been disconnected from its power supply and was making its final idle run.

He stared at number 000.

Number 000 is also watching him.

The grayish-white eyes had no focus, but the angle at which they looked at people carried an extremely uncomfortable sense of superiority.

It is an examination.

It's like a doctor looking at a disobedient patient.

Number 000 finally moved.

He didn't look at the ninety-nine clones hanging in mid-air. Not even once. He walked straight to the old-fashioned operating table embedded in the left wall of the operating room, the hem of his white coat making a slight rustling sound as it scraped against the stainless steel floor.

His left hand came out of his pocket.

Her fingers were very white. Her nails were trimmed extremely short. The pads of her index and middle fingers had thin calluses, the kind that come from years of holding a scalpel.

The hand was placed on the fingerprint recognition area of ​​the control panel.

beep.

Fingerprint approved.

Switching to the terminal interface.

A new diagnostic report appeared. Green background, white text. Neat format. The spacing between characters and lines strictly followed the old-fashioned standards for clinical documents.

Su Yuan's mechanical left eye captured the content on the screen.

The clicking sound of the AM resonant slot suddenly quickened by one beat.

"Diagnostic opinion of surgeon No. 000—"

"1. All 99 patients exhibited a deep parasitic state of basal-level scavenger code."

"Secondly, the depth of parasitism has breached the host genome lock-in layer, and is irreversible."

"III. Comprehensive assessment: All indications for surgery have been lost."

Fourth, it lacks clinical value in emergency treatment.

The last line.

"Instructions: Initiate palliative care. Remove physical restraints. Allow to resolve naturally."

Number 000 lifted his fingertip from the control panel.

He turned around, put his hands in the pockets of his white coat, and tilted his gray-white eyes slightly upward.

Looking at Su Yuan.

A voice came from behind the mask. Deep. Steady. With the routine tone of someone making rounds in an old-fashioned hospital.

"99 of them are beyond saving."

He said.

"Don't waste any more time."

On the ceiling, the ratchet locks of the ninety-nine restraint straps emitted a series of soft mechanical unlocking sounds.

Click. Click. Click.

The latches loosened one by one.

First the ankles. Then the wrists. Finally the neck.

Ninety-nine hanging clones began to fall.

The moment their bare feet touched the stainless steel ground, the grayish-white growths on their faces and bodies swelled violently.

They are no longer suppressed.

Once the constraints were lifted, the proliferation rate of the base code tripled. The tumors on half of the faces of the clones in the front row had bulged up to their chins, and grayish-white lines spread along the carotid artery to their collarbones, tearing their hospital gowns in several places.

Their eyes lit up.

A murky, grayish-white light surged from the depths of his pupils, more excited than before he was restrained.

They turned their heads.

Ninety-nine faces of sixteen-year-old Su Yuan all turned to look at the center of the operating room.

Then they laughed.

The hoarse, broken laughter, with the rough texture unique to puberty, overlapped and reflected back and forth between the stainless steel walls.

"Thank you, doctor."

Ninety-nine voices spoke at the same time.

"We are free."

Grayish-white slime seeped from their bare soles and spread rapidly across the ground.

Inside the Desolate Wasteland train carriage.

Xiao Huo lay on the floor, staring out the car window at the grayish-white liquid carpet that was spreading again, his pupils shrinking to their limit.

"It's over..."

His voice was broken and out of tune.

"All that work was for nothing...all for nothing..."

Wang Hu knelt on the ground, staring intently at the number 000 in the white coat, his teeth clenched so hard they ached.

"Old Su! He's got the highest authority! He sentenced him to death! We can't perform the surgery!"

Slaughterhouse Command Center.

The terminal displays the synchronized screen.

The seven officers watched as the ninety-nine clones landed, as the grayish-white slime spread out again, and as the ratchet locks of the restraints popped open one by one.

The fire control officer lay on the ground, his lips trembling three times.

"Give up treatment?"

The communications officer leaned against the wall, his voice hoarse and cracking.

"The ultimate authority's dimensional reduction attack... Doctors cannot kill patients, but the attending physician can legally declare abandonment."

The adjutant's face was half covered in dried blood, and he swallowed hard.

"The rules weren't broken. The procedures weren't violated. It was a clean and compliant death sentence."

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

He looked down at his hands, which were bracing themselves on the floor.

The back of my hand was covered with dried scabs.

"That's worse than killing him."

He said.

"Tell him right in front of him, to his face, that you are not qualified to save people."

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

The young elder suddenly propped himself up halfway from the pool of black blood.

He stared at the figure in the white coat on the terminal screen, at the cold diagnosis that read "not clinically valuable for emergency treatment," and the muscles at the corners of his mouth began to twitch uncontrollably upwards.

"ha!"

He laughed out loud.

Short. Sharp. With the madness of a drowning person finally reaching the rocks on the shore.

"Did you see that!"

He raised his hand from the black blood, pointed at the screen, and a thick, dark liquid clung to his fingertip.

"Supreme privileges! Supreme privileges!"

"Number 000 is the designation of the initial architect of this defensive line!"

"His diagnosis is divine law! It's an ironclad rule! It's code etched into the foundation!"

"What does Su Yuan have? A work number, 001, which was assigned to him later?"

"On what basis does 001 overturn 000's judgment?"

He laughed until his whole body trembled, and black blood gushed from his nose, but he didn't wipe it away.

"It's no longer a matter of force!"

"It's not about who has the bigger fist anymore!"

"It's about access levels!"

"Even if you, Su Yuan, swallow a hundred star systems, you can't change one fact—"

"Zero. Always comes first."

The remaining figures nearby remained silent.

But there was no rebuttal.

This time, the silence carried a genuine sense of agreement.

Because this isn't just being stubborn.

This is logic.

In the operating room.

The grayish-white slime had spread from the clones' feet to a distance of three meters. Under the operating lights, the ninety-nine deformed boys slowly straightened up, and the expansion of the grayish-white tumors visibly accelerated.

They began to walk in the direction of Su Yuan.

Barefoot, stepping on the grayish-white liquid, produced a sticky, slapping sound.

Number 000 stood beside the control panel, hands in his pockets, his greyish-white eyes calmly observing everything from above his mask.

Be patient and calm.

Let's wait and see how it ends.

Su Yuan stood in the center of the operating room.

They didn't move an inch.

Ninety-nine clones are approaching. Grayish-white slime is spreading. The catheter is ejected, the robotic arm is locked, and the restraints are released.

All his physical tools were taken away by Number 000 with a diagnosis.

Wang Hu's roar came from inside the carriage.

"Old Su! His judgment doesn't count! You were here first! You—"

Su Yuan did not turn around.

His right eye's tricolor vertical pupil stabilized in that instant.

The three colors are no longer separated into layers.

Instead, they merged into a quiet ball of light.

It was so quiet it made your scalp tingle.

He raised his left hand.

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

He did not point the knife at number 000.

He took the bottom of the knife handle and slammed it heavily onto the control panel.

The location of the shot was very precise.

The bottom right corner of the panel. A dented, heavily worn old-fashioned physical button. The label on the button is yellowed and curled at the edges, but the bold lettering is still legible.

"Medical objection".

Snapped.

The button was pressed all the way down.

The metal contacts are closed.

The red warning box on the terminal screen flashed suddenly, and the border color changed from pure red to alternating red and yellow.

Su Yuan spoke up.

The voice was neither high nor low, neither fast nor slow.

So steady that even the intervals between breaths were perfectly synchronized.

"Physician No. 001 submitted an objection to the joint consultation."

Number 000's gray-white eyeball turned slightly at an angle.

"According to Article 4, Paragraph 2 of the General Principles of Pangu Medical Care."

Su Yuan's voice struck the stainless steel wall with every word, reflected back by the operating lights, and poured into everyone's ears from all directions.

"The attending physician has an inalienable right to interpret the patient's medical records."

The red and yellow warning boxes on the terminal screen froze for a moment.

It froze for a full second.

Then start scrolling through the lines of code at high speed.

Number 000 pulled his right hand out of his pocket, and his grayish-white fingertips flicked lightly in the air.

He smiled.

Laughter came out muffledly from behind the mask, carrying a sense of superiority that made one's teeth ache.

"The right to interpret the initial consultation?"

He tilted his head slightly.

"001, are you bad at math?"

He pointed to the ninety-nine clones that had been suspended and then lowered.

"These are ninety-nine independent cases. Ninety-nine independent medical records. Ninety-nine independent assessments of surgical indications."

"Your right to be the first to consult a doctor covers the details of the treatment plan for each individual case."

"My diagnosis is based on an assessment of the overall harm of the cluster infection event."

"Individual interpretation cannot overturn the overall diagnosis."

He withdrew his hand and put it back in his pocket.

"Inequal access levels".

"001".

"Go back and rest."

Wasteland shelter.

The staff officer stood in front of the screen, his face deathly pale.

"An individual's right to be the first to see a doctor cannot overturn a group's diagnosis..."

His voice was trembling.

Logically speaking, he is not wrong.

"Ninety-nine cases, ninety-nine independent medical records. 001 has the right to interpret the treatment details of each one, but 000 has higher authority for overall assessment."

"Coverage relationship".

The commander stared at the screen without responding.

The staff officer lowered his head.

"The overwhelming dominance of higher-level permissions over lower-level permissions."

"It has nothing to do with the galaxy-devouring event."

In the operating room.

After saying those words, Number 000's gray-white eyes held a certainty.

So certain that even the angle from which he looked at Su Yuan didn't change.

Ninety-nine clones were still closing in. The front few were already less than four meters from Su Yuan. The grayish-white tumors swelled and bulged from all angles, and the viscous fluid dripping onto the ground made a hissing, corrosive sound.

Su Yuan did not look at them.

He took something out of his pocket.

Very small.

Pinch it between two fingers.

Snapped.

Slap it on the control panel.

Metal against metal. The sound is crisp.

Number 000 bowed his head.

A rectangular iron plate lay on the workbench. Its edges were rounded, and its surface was covered in rust.

The stamped lettering on the front is clearly visible under the shadowless lamp.

"001-A (Backup)"

"Blue Star Era - Pangu Project - Discarded Cloning Batch"

Su Yuan placed his left index finger on the metal plate and slowly pushed it, causing it to rotate half a circle on the control panel, facing the number 000.

"Look carefully."

Su Yuan's voice was flat.

"001-A".

What does A mean?

"Backup materials."

"What is a backup?"

"It's a copy of the original."

He removed his index finger from the metal plate and tapped it lightly on the control panel.

"This is not ninety-nine patients."

thump.

"These are ninety-nine organ slices from the same patient, patient zero."

Number 000's gray-white eyeball finally moved.

It's not a microswitch.

It contracted suddenly.

Su Yuan raised his head and stared at those grayish-white, lifeless eyes.

"001-A. A stands for accessory. All numbers ending in A are derivatives of the 001 entity. Their medical records are not independent. They never have been."

He slammed his left palm down onto the iron plate.

The metal rattled.

"I am the sole legal owner of this medical record as the primary care physician."

"Your diagnosis of them is your diagnosis of me."

"If you want to overturn the right of first-visit diagnosis, you'll have to get over me first."

The red and yellow warning boxes on the terminal screen suddenly froze.

This is not a normal processing halt.

The underlying logic created an irreconcilable conflict.

Two instructions were firmly held back in the system kernel.

One is the overall diagnosis with the highest authority, number 000.

One is that the interpretation of the first consultation right of patient number 001 redefines patient attribution.

The system cannot determine which one takes precedence.

Because these two rules come from the same chapter of the same Pangu Medical Principles.

Their permission levels are the same.

The terminal emitted a sawing electronic hum. Lines of code on the screen scrolled and rolled back and forth frantically, like two gears meshing together and spinning endlessly.

The red and yellow borders began to flash faster.

The most noticeable change occurred with the ninety-nine sets of restraint belts.

The ratchet lock's unlocking process has stopped.

The wrist lock, which was already half-loose, was stuck in the middle, neither too loose nor too tight. The neck restraint was half-open, with the metal ratchet teeth stuck in the grooves, neither too high nor too low.

The progress of the ninety-nine clones slowed down.

They didn't stop on their own.

The ankle lock was still hanging on the ankle bone, dragging a half-loose restraint strap, and the metal base scraped the ground with a harsh sound, slowing down the movement.

Little Fire lay on the ground, tilting its head to look at the terminal.

His core perception layer was damaged by more than half, and his calculations were all sluggish, but this did not prevent him from understanding the constantly flashing red and yellow box on the screen.

"Stuck...stuck?"

Wang Hu lifted his face, which was covered in blood scabs, and opened his mouth slightly.

"How did he do that?"

Slaughterhouse Command Center.

The communications officer leaned against the wall, staring at the rusted iron plate slapped on the control panel on the terminal screen, his pupils twitching twice.

"Not ninety-nine patients... but ninety-nine organ slices from one patient..."

The fire control officer lay in a pool of blood, his breath coming out of his throat.

"The initial consultation right covers all accompanying slides..."

"For 000's overall diagnosis to overturn 001's primary diagnostic authority, it must first be proven that these ninety-nine are not appendages of 001..."

"But the metal sign clearly states the suffix 'A' in black and white..."

The adjutant leaned against the equipment cabinet, his back pressed against the cold metal, his lips moving for a long time.

"He used a piece of rusty sheet metal to create an infinite loop in the highest-level diagnostics system."

The commander sat on the ground, remaining silent for a long time.

After a long while, he slowly stood up from the ground.

"I take back what I just said."

The communications officer turned to look at him.

The commander stared at Su Yuan's left hand, which was pressed against the iron plate, on the screen.

"That's not someone who can be trapped by rules."

Wasteland shelter.

The staff officer sprang up from his chair, his hands gripping the table, his knuckles turning white.

"It's stuck! The access control arbitration has entered an infinite loop!"

His voice was so high it was off-key.

"The 'A' suffix on the metal plate is hard-coded! It's the original data engraved on the physical medium!"

"The system can't deny it!"

"001-A is a derivative product of 001!"

"He managed to find a blind spot in the logic of basic ethical principles!"

The commander stood in the corner, unaware that his cigarette butt had burned his fingers.

"It's not a blind spot."

He stubbed out his cigarette.

"He was thinking about this when he dug that iron plate out of the first clone's face."

The high-dimensional dark web.

The young elder's laughter stopped the second the iron plate was placed on the control panel.

He lay prone in the black blood, staring at the screen.

His mouth was open.

It won't close.

The afterimage beside him whispered.

"He used a discarded metal plate to push back the highest-level diagnostic access for number 000."

The young elder's Adam's apple bobbed three times.

He didn't speak.

It's not that I don't want to talk about it.

The word cannot be found.

In the operating room.

Number 000 looked down at the rusty iron plate on the control panel.

The grayish-white eyeballs reflected a cold, stagnant light under the operating lights.

He looked at it for three seconds.

Then he laughed.

Laughter came from behind the mask, short and low, with a hint of impatience, like someone had stepped on your shoe but you were too lazy to retaliate.

"clever."

He raised his head, his gray-white eyes meeting Su Yuan's.

"But it didn't work."

He turned around from beside the control panel and took two steps.

Walk to the mechanical arm that is closest to clone number 12.

His left hand came out of his pocket.

The fingertips pinch the lancet in the three-jaw gripper at the end of the robotic arm.

When metal touches metal, it makes a very faint clinking sound.

Although the tube for 001 was ejected, the knife remained in the holder. Physical tools are not under authorized jurisdiction. Anyone can reach in and take them.

Number 000 pulled out the scalpel.

The standard surgical hand position: Hold the knife handle between your index and middle fingers, with your thumb supporting the end, and keep your wrist slightly bent.

The hand holding the knife was extremely steady.

"Didn't you want the right to be the first to see a doctor?"

He turned to the side, his gray-white eyes glancing sideways at Su Yuan.

"Then let me show you why your patient is beyond saving."

He twisted his wrist.

The cutting edge deviated by one millimeter.

Just one millimeter.

It was deviated outward by one millimeter from the standard entry angle.

Then he cut it down.

The carbon steel blade of the scalpel did not follow the contours of the sarcoma. It did not peel away along the boundary between the lesion and normal tissue.

The blade pierced directly into the center of the largest grayish-white tumor on the left cheek of clone number 12.

It pierced the core of the venom sac.

puff.

The grayish-white, highly concentrated base contaminant liquid sprayed out from the punctured bladder wall.

The pressure is immense.

The pressure of a burst water pipe.

A column of grayish-white liquid exploded from the face of clone number 12, shooting straight toward Su Yuan's face three meters away.

The liquid column carried dense base cleaner codes.

Touching the skin will trigger the underlying uninstallation process.

Touching the Dark Gold Bone Armor will rewrite its physical attributes.

Touching the real source material will trigger a rejection reaction.

But if Su Yuan were to use the laws to block—

The yellow warning box in the terminal, "Disruption of the medical environment will result in immediate removal from the list," was still lit up.

Number 000's gray-white eyes looked at Su Yuan from above the mask.

I wasn't nervous.

I have no expectations.

Only that kind of certainty.

So certain it was almost boring.

You'll die whether you catch it, dodge it, or block it.

I legally sentenced you to death using the rules.

The grayish-white liquid column flew to a position less than half a meter away from Su Yuan's face.

The little fire let out a half-scream in the carriage.

The scrap metal joint of Wang Hu's robotic arm suddenly bounced.

Under the shadowless lamp, the droplets refracted a murky gray-white reflection, and each one contained active code wriggling within it.

Su Yuan did not dodge.

Eyes not closed.

He didn't even blink.

He moved his left hand.

Scalpel.

The blade flips.

It only turned a quarter of a circle.

How fast was it? — The grayish-white liquid jet that sprayed from the face of clone number 12 was still a complete line when Su Yuan's knife had already completed the entire arc and he withdrew his hand.

The light from the shadowless lamp was so fast that it didn't even have time to leave a complete reflection on the blade.

The scream that was about to burst out was still stuck in his throat.

The blade tip precisely caught the largest drop of venom at the very tip of the liquid column in mid-air.

It's not an interception.

It's not split open.

It's about choosing a spot.

As the blade flips, the centrifugal force throws the drop of venom toward the side of the blade, where it spreads a very thin lubricating film on the carbon steel surface.

then.

Su Yuan's left wrist twitched.

The vibration amplitude is extremely small. Three millimeters.

But these three millimeters caused the direction of the blade tip to deflect precisely to a fraction of a degree.

The blade, lubricated by the venom, cut in along the reverse path of the jet of liquid.

It wasn't about attacking clone number 12.

It cut in along the gap in the venom spray nozzle—that is, the tear in the sac wall pierced by No. 000.

There is no hydraulic arm assistance.

There is no mechanical precision calibration.

There is no higher-dimensional power.

A left hand.

A nine-centimeter scalpel.

The incision cuts into the cyst wall fissure and follows the code root junction layer at the bottom of the sarcoma.

laugh.

The carbon steel blade slices through the interface between the grayish-white tissue and normal cells.

The sound was extremely faint. So faint that it was like the soft sound of a knife cutting through fibers, or the sound of silk being sheared.

one second.

The knife traced the entire line.

The grayish-white tumor on clone number 12's face, which had been pierced by clone number 000, along with the emptied venom sac, all the code roots at the bottom, and the diseased tissue attached to the roots, were completely and cleanly peeled off without leaving a single extra fiber.

Snapped.

The sarcoma detached from the clone's face.

There was a half-second of silence in the operating room.

For half a second, the air seemed to freeze.

Su Yuan slightly turned his left wrist, and the fist-sized lump of flesh, still oozing grayish-white liquid, was wrapped around the blade of the willow-leaf knife.

He raised his hand.

One pick.

The tumor flew out.

It flew three meters, spinning, covered in grayish-white blood, mucus, and half a still-twitching code root.

*Splat*

It was smeared on number 000's face.

The face mask is in the center.

Grayish-white blood trickled down from the top edge of the mask, obscuring half of the grayish-white eyeballs. Mucus clung to the folds of the mask, dripping down the curve of the chin and leaving dark stains on the collar of the white coat.

Number 000 did not move.

It's not that I don't want to move.

They didn't react in time.

His gray-white eyeballs twitched violently twice, obscured by the bloodstains.

This was the first time he had lost that confident expression since appearing in the operating room.

Su Yuan flicked his knife.

The grayish-white bloodstains remaining on the blade were flung onto the ground, splattering into several small spots on the stainless steel plate.

He looked at Number 000's face covered in blood.

The sound wasn't loud.

But each character looks as if it were carved with a scalpel.

"If your hands shake, you'll roll off the operating table."

"Don't hogging the toilet seat."

He tilted his head slightly.

"system."

"Determine if it is a medical malpractice case."

The terminal's alternating red and yellow border flashed three times in that second.

After three taps, the color changed.

The alternation of red and yellow turned into pure green.

A blinding green.

The stainless steel walls of the entire operating room were tinged with a cold, emerald-green sheen.

A green background with white text pops up.

"Judgment complete!"

"The procedure performed by Doctor No. 000 on Patient No. 12 was seriously flawed."

"—The blade deviated by 1mm, piercing the core of the venom sac and triggering a high-pressure spray of contaminated liquid."

"—Judged as: Deliberate operational error."

"--Level: Serious Medical Malpractice"

The screen scrolls.

"at the same time."

"Doctor No. 001 completed the emergency rescue within 0.4 seconds of the accident caused by No. 000."

"—Complete resection with one hand without any assistive devices."

"--Cutting accuracy: Qualified."

"--Tissue damage: within controllable range."

"—Judged as: Excellent first aid operation."

The last line.

The font size is one size larger than all the previous lines.

"Based on Article 11 of the Pangu Medical Principles - the principle of prioritizing medical standards."

"Doctor No. 000: Your right to perform surgery in this session is hereby revoked immediately."

"Doctor No. 001: Confirmed as the only legally authorized surgeon in this case."

"Takes effect".

"No appeal possible."

Bang.

A physical partition was lowered from the ceiling.

Thirty centimeters thick. Pure steel. The surface is painted with the same gray-green military paint as the old robotic arm.

The partition fell directly above No. 000's head and precisely locked into the ground guide rail, separating No. 000 and the operating table from the surgical area.

Number 000 was pushed out.

It wasn't driven by laws. It was the physical thickness of the steel plate and the mechanical force of the guide rail. His leather shoes slid half a meter across the stainless steel floor, and the hem of his white coat swept across a puddle of grayish-white liquid.

The partition was placed on the ground.

thump.

The tremor traveled from the ground to the ceiling.

The lampshades of several shadowless lamps swayed twice.

at the same time.

The ninety-nine dark gold conduits at the bottom of the Devourer sprang up from the ground.

They moved much faster than when they were first connected. The extremely thin conduit traced ninety-nine parallel paths in the air, and the standard connector at the end rotated and aligned in mid-air, precisely inserting into the data interfaces behind the ninety-nine robotic arm bases.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

The ninety-nine incoming confirmation sounds were so dense that they formed a continuous line.

The robotic arm is back online.

The hydraulic servo motor jumps from a stationary state to full power load.

The ratchet lock of the restraint strap re-engages.

Click-clack ...

Ninety-nine clones that were approaching Su Yuan were simultaneously locked in place from four directions by their limbs and necks, neatly lifted off the ground, and resuspended under the shadowless lamps.

Barefoot off the ground. Grayish-white viscous fluid drips from his toes.

Ninety-nine shadowless lamps were turned on at full power.

The stark white lighting obliterated all shadows.

Ninety-nine lancets popped out of the three-jaw gripper and hovered above the ninety-nine grayish-white fleshy tumors.

The blade tip was 0.1 millimeters away from the lesion.

Su Yuan stood in the center of the operating room.

Ninety-nine dark gold conduits extended from behind him, connecting to all the mechanical arms on the ceiling.

His right eye's tricolor vertical pupil completed its final layered calibration.

The dark gold layer controls the movement of the cortex. The pure white layer controls spatial positioning. The jet black layer locks the cutting path.

Three colors in parallel.

All 800 motion axes are now online.

Inside the Desolate Wasteland train carriage.