Chapter 2: Parasite

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[Warning!]
[Subject 06 has experienced an energy eruption. Please proceed immediately to Room 1, Section C!]
The mechanical alarm blared in her ears. Ian, hunched over her research desk, jerked her head up and summoned the surveillance feed for Section C on her optical interface.
She set aside her work and hurried toward the door.
In Section C’s corridor, red flashing lights mixed with the shrill alarm, flooding Ian’s mind. The area had entered second-level security lockdown—should the monitored subject riot or wield their abilities, the security squad would respond with force.
Yet on the feeds, Ye Mi showed no abnormal behavior. Her body was unchanged; the only difference seemed to be her poor mental state.
The security squad stood behind Ian, awaiting her command.
They observed Ye Mi through the door for a full ten minutes. Only after confirming no further energy eruptions did Ian unlock the door and enter.
Dim light eagerly escaped through the gap in the curtains, darting into Ian’s eyes, causing her pupils to constrict—
Why had Ye Mi drawn the curtains?
Could her eyes see again?
Almost as if in reply, Ye Mi, sitting cross-legged on the cold floor of the empty room, lifted her head at the sound, gazing precisely in Ian’s direction.
The girl’s delicate face was utterly expressionless; her disheveled hair and pale, grayish eyes lent her an uncanny aura.
No—her eyes were unchanged.
[No current abnormalities detected in target’s physical data.]
The AI assistant’s report sounded in her ear. Ian strode over to Ye Mi, the security squad lining up behind her, weapons trained on the girl.
Ian spoke gently: “Why are you sitting on the floor?”
The Bureau had prepared an isolation room for Ye Mi—simple, but equipped with bed, desk, chair, screen, all necessities. There was no reason to sit on the floor unless she wanted her seat to be cold.
Ye Mi’s lips trembled: “…Ian?”
Approaching, Ian noticed Ye Mi’s lips were pale and cracked, flecked with blood, as if she hadn’t drunk water for ages.
Her cheeks were thinner than during their last experiment; dark circles under her eyes testified to her recent restlessness.
Ian was certain she had never ordered Ye Mi to abstain from food or water.
The cause of her current state was unmistakable: the anxiety triggered by the plan Ian had revealed last time.
Ian withdrew her hand from her lab coat pocket, helping Ye Mi to her feet, her face flickering with a trace of inscrutable emotion.
“Go sit on the sofa. Your body’s too weak—you’ll get sick like this.”
It was no empty warning. Ye Mi’s constitution was fragile to the point of ruin. For five years she had worked herself to exhaustion, rarely sleeping more than six hours; her immunity was critically low. Then came the accident—injured, unable to afford treatment, she barely recovered under a black-market doctor’s care, but lost her sight forever…
Undeniably, Ye Mi was a sickly girl in both body and spirit.
To prevent the Bureau’s most special subject from self-destruction, Ian had invested considerable effort—even personally comforting Ye Mi, a true sacrifice for science.
Now, her daily concern for Ye Mi’s health had become instinct.
Ye Mi sensed the kindness in her words and didn’t resist, obediently following Ian to sit on the bed.
Her docility softened Ian’s heart for a moment. Unable to help herself, Ian patted her head and scrutinized her: “Are you feeling unwell anywhere?”
She wanted to know the cause of the energy eruption.
Ye Mi shook her head, silent.
Ian didn’t press her further, instead summoning her robotic assistant, taking out an instrument to scan Ye Mi for energy anomalies, from head to toe.
The results showed nothing unusual.

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That shouldn’t be possible.
She had deliberately leaked the Maternal Plan to Ye Mi, hoping to provoke a display of hidden power. But Ye Mi only seemed mentally exhausted; was that all?
There had clearly been an energy eruption—every detector in the room was top-tier, incapable of error—yet now nothing could be found.
Ian shut off the instrument and handed it to the assistant. At that moment, Ye Mi suddenly grabbed her hand.
The security squad immediately closed in, tension thickening the air.
Ye Mi’s breathing turned rapid; her fingers clamped Ian’s wrist so tightly her knuckles whitened, as if she meant to crush the lab coat’s sleeve into the bone.
Ye Mi’s voice trembled as she repeated the question from five days ago: “What is the Maternal Plan? Am I…going to become some kind of bio-monster?”
She didn’t know the Bureau’s decision, but she’d seen movies before; the word “maternal” wasn’t hard to understand.
Ian’s lips still wore the gentle smile Ye Mi couldn’t see, as if deaf to the terror in her words.
She stroked Ye Mi’s head softly, the hair rough from chronic malnutrition.
Like soothing an anxious child, Ian whispered, “Don’t think about it. Just rest.”
Ye Mi’s chest heaved violently; tears slid down uncontrollably, her throat blocked and aching with dryness.
So it was still this answer!
“Ian…when I first arrived, you said I could treat you as a friend, didn’t you?”
Seeing Ye Mi’s breath quicken, Ian silently patted her shoulder. In that moment, Ye Mi’s emotions ignited like a fuse, erupting instantly.
She shoved Ian’s hand away, crying out in a hoarse, broken voice: “What do you want to turn me into?! Tell me the truth!!”
“Let me go!! I don’t want to stay here!”
Naive words, almost childlike.
Ian, pushed aside, stood where she was, her gaze lingering on Ye Mi’s collapsing form, a nearly imperceptible satisfaction flickering in her eyes.
“I won’t let you go.” Her voice remained gentle, but was chillingly cold.
Ian leaned in slightly, her lips near Ye Mi’s ear, whispering with serpentine persuasion: “Do you want to kill me? With your ability?”
Ye Mi’s sobs abruptly ceased.
She raised her head, her gray-white eyes blankly “looking” toward Ian, murmuring, “My ability?”
“Yes, your ability.”
As she spoke, the security squad aimed their weapons at Ye Mi’s limbs; Ian quietly retreated behind them; the surveillance drone’s main lens fixed on Ye Mi, its iris contracting with a mechanical shutter’s click.
The tension peaked.
Ian waited patiently, her gaze locked on Ye Mi, hoping for an explosive outburst of power—then, in the next instant, for the squad’s specialized weapons to subdue her.
She was desperately curious how Ye Mi could remain unaffected by the Light Ruins distortion.
But seconds later, Ye Mi seemed to collapse, her strength draining away.
She slid off the bed, hugging her knees, burying her face deep, the tendons on her frail hands taut as she clutched her hair.
Her cries were no longer hysterical, but turned to near hopeless whimpers, as if she had accepted reality—Ian would never tell her the truth, no one could save her, not even herself.
Soon, she would become that creature, unable to live, unable to die—a breeding monster.
The strange tension eased.
Ian watched, her anticipation replaced by disappointment. She walked forward, paused, and finally reached out to gently stroke Ye Mi’s head.
The gesture was tender, almost cruel.
Ye Mi’s faint sobs echoed in the empty room. Before long, her fingers gripped the bedframe, her body spasming uncontrollably, painful retching sounds rising from her throat.

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When grief reaches its peak, the stomach reacts involuntarily.
Ian’s eyes sharpened as she calmly ordered: “Hold her down, don’t let her hurt herself!”
The robot behind her extended its mechanical arms, immediately restraining Ye Mi’s trembling limbs.
Ye Mi’s pupils were unfocused, gray-white eyes misted with water, a faint silver light flickering within. Her blurred gaze caught Ian’s silhouette, as if regaining a shred of sanity.
“…Ian…”
Her voice was rasped beyond recognition, but her struggles eased slightly.
Ian noticed at once, removing her gloves and placing her cool fingers on Ye Mi’s forehead, feeling the burning sweat.
Ye Mi was only twenty years old, and now, her life was ending.
The thought softened Ian’s heart. She comforted gently, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”
Then she drew out the sedative she’d prepared long ago.
Ye Mi’s breathing was rapid, tears mingling with cold sweat, her trembling fingers gripping Ian’s sleeve as if clinging to her sole anchor.
She had no other options left.
“My head hurts…hurts so much…”
Ye Mi whimpered, her voice barely audible.
Ian didn’t reply, only pressed the needle into Ye Mi’s jugular vein, slowly injecting the medication. Ye Mi’s body relaxed inch by inch.
“Ian…it hurts…”
“Relax…” Ian gently pressed Ye Mi’s temples, massaging slowly and firmly.
Ye Mi closed her eyes, tears still streaming from their corners. Because she was lying flat, they slid straight onto Ian’s hand at her temple—
A tear burst against Ian’s fingertip, an invisible glimmer of silver flashing and sinking into her skin.
Ye Mi’s tears continued to fall, the hidden silver entity stirring in her eye sockets, slithering along the moisture like a venomous serpent attaching to Ian’s skin, slowly tracing the lines, slipping into her bloodstream with near voracious aggression.
Neither Ian nor the energy detector noticed a thing.
Ye Mi basked in Ian’s massage, her hand trembling neurotically—not from pain, but from excitement.
Excitement for the drama she’d meticulously prepared over five months, now on the brink of success.
What was Ian feeling now?
Ye Mi wondered in the darkness.
When she erupted with energy yet collapsed like an ordinary person, did Ian’s eyes show disappointment? Contempt?
When she pleaded hysterically like a naive fool for answers, did Ian secretly sneer?
Did Ian think her pitiful for breaking down, powerless before fate?
Ye Mi had always depended on Ian’s unconditional kindness, but Ian seemed to relish manipulating her emotions, then casting her into the abyss.
For five months, Ye Mi had played the idiot test subject they imagined. Now, the silver entity had finally followed the blood into Ian’s eyes—the perfect hiding place, forever undetected by the immune system.
Ye Mi pictured how others looked at her: pitying her for trusting in Ian’s kindness, for relying on her? Mocking her as a weak, useless thing incapable of rebellion?
Ye Mi’s lashes quivered, but her expression remained innocent and fragile.
How wonderful, Ian still believed she was soothing a hopeless wreck.