Chapter 46

Chapter 46: Sea Without Light Part 46

Kui Xin never imagined she would see her “worthless father” who had fled overseas with money when they were still in primary school.

Although this “worthless father” was a version from another world, there was an essential difference between them.

Kui Xin believed she had long forgotten what her “worthless father” looked like. However, at the very instant his face appeared before her, she recognized him immediately.

Her vague memories became clearer. She remembered her “worthless father” having more wrinkles on his face, being fatter, with more white hair, and his appearance was nearly ninety percent similar to that of the Mechanical Dawn’s leader.

She buried the image of her “worthless father” deep in her memories; for years, she had not reminisced because thinking about him made her feel nauseous. From the moment he abandoned her, she had no intention of considering him as her father again. But today, that image surfaced from the depths of her memory immediately upon seeing him once again.

She felt disgusted, even wanting to vomit.

It was like kicking away a dung beetle only for it to push another piece of dung and return to her feet.

It was hard not to notice him, hard not to care. Why did this dung beetle want to show his presence in front of her? Would it not be better if he just rolled away far? Why carry all that filth to make her sick?

The world’s malice struck her head-on.

Kui Xin stared at Kui Haidong’s face, seriously pondering how to get rid of this dung beetle from her life for good.

Kui Xin had once said: “I unilaterally believe that my father is no longer alive.”

From the moment she convinced herself that her “worthless father” was dead, she never expected him to come back to life.

“What kind of look is that?” Kui Haidong was furious. “I am your father!”

Kui Xin pressed her lips tightly, lowering her head for a few seconds, then said, “Oh, Dad.”

The moment that word slipped out of her mouth, Kui Xin felt her blood rush in reverse, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. She struggled to hold back the urge to vomit as she spoke those words. She hadn’t called them “Mommy” or “Daddy” since she was seven, and while uttering it was not an easy task, it wasn’t as difficult as she thought.

Kui Xin didn’t consider the man in front of her to be her father. Calling him such was merely a means to manipulate the situation, in order to achieve other purposes.

Kui Haidong’s expression softened; he sneered and said, “Still remember that I’m your father.”

“Well, isn’t there anyone else? Do I have a second biological father?” Kui Xin retorted sarcastically.

Kui Haidong’s blood pressure rose: “You feel uncomfortable if you don’t argue with me for three days?”

Kui Xin wore a blank expression: “Could be another sign of teenage rebellion, you should get used to it.”

“What teenage rebellion—every time I look at you, it looks like you are still in your rebellion phase!” Kui Haidong raged.

Kui Xin nodded insincerely, “Dad, you’re right. It seems I haven’t walked out of it… you are indeed observant.”

“You…” Kui Haidong’s pressure skyrocketed, “Night Cicada! Take her to do something! I don’t want to see her!”

“Yes, boss.” Night Cicada glanced helplessly at Kui Xin, then pointed his finger to open a dark blue portal.

Kui Haidong shot Kui Xin a look as if saying “how did I end up with such a rebellious daughter?” and stormed through the portal.

Night Cicada shrugged, “Miss, you chased off the boss again.”

“It’s not my fault, it’s just that he can’t handle it.” Kui Xin stated.

“Everyone says there’s no grudge among family, but why is it different when it comes to Miss you? The boss is actually trying to make peace with you.” Night Cicada said slowly, “The boss only behaves like this about you, ruling the business world and having the final say underground, but he acts like a middle-aged dad struggling with regular problems only when it concerns you, Miss.”

“Don’t interfere in my affairs,” Kui Xin said, “Just mind your own business.”

“Alright, I’ll shut up.” Night Cicada placed his hand over his mouth as if zipping it.

Night Cicada held an unusual position in the Mechanized Dawn organization, even higher than that of Red.

Kui Xin noticed that Night Cicada dared to joke about Kui Haidong’s midlife crisis. This joke could only be made by someone close. So their relationship was a mix of camaraderie and hierarchy?

“Uh, we need to draw some blood samples first,” Night Cicada said, “The boss has always hoped you awaken a destructive power, but super-fast self-healing is fine too. For leaders to survive is essential to command their subordinates effectively.”

Kui Xin chose not to respond.

Night Cicada led the way in front of Kui Xin. They exited the silver conference room, walking down a corridor lined with thick metal doors. Every twenty meters, a solid metal door needed to be passed through, and blue light scanned them from head to toe before opening.

Security measures at the third level of the Investigative Bureau’s prison were similarly robust.

“How is Silverface doing?” Night Cicada asked, continuing to walk, “The boss wanted someone powerful around you. I recommended Silverface, who I personally trained. Even Red praised his potential.”

“He’s very reliable.” Kui Xin responded honestly.

If Kui Haidong intended to groom a successor, Silverface was one of the chosen team members.

“As long as he’s reliable,” Night Cicanda said, “He may not be smart, but stubborn. His capabilities are outstanding, making him suitable for the role. Amber eye and Black Obsidian are both great, but the boss originally wanted them, but they’re a bit complex, and twins are harder to control.”

Noticing Kui Xins’ gaze, he smiled, “The boss doesn’t doubt your leadership skills. These details are just to tell you that the boss values you, otherwise, there wouldn’t be so much effort put into your affairs.”

“Uh-huh,” Kui Xin responded nonchalantly.

Was it valued truly? Valued why send his own daughter on a mission that was almost certain death, with only a slim chance of success? Did the boss really care about her if he had her perform dangerous tasks?

Or was there something in Kui Haidong’s mind that outweighed his daughter’s safety?

Kui Xin didn’t expect much from her father in the Second World either.

In the First World, many things were more crucial to Kui Haidong than family. Money, power, reputation, and his own life took precedence over his parents.

A luxurious and wealthy life meant far more than being a mother or daughter.

After passing through five metal doors, Night Cicada halted her at a side entrance.

They entered after an iris scan, and a doctor, dressed like a lady, waited for her.

Kui Xin sat in the chair; without a word, the doctor tied a rubber band around her arm and drew blood. Using the same local anesthesia technique she had been given as part of the Investigative Bureau’s tests, the doctor excised a small piece of Kui Xin’s tissue.

The whole process took less than three minutes, remarkably quick.

Next, the doctor conducted a comprehensive physical examination of Kui Xin, scanning every inch of her body including height, weight, body fat percentage, bones, organs, and hormone levels.

Standing at 1.75 meters and weighing 125 pounds, Kui Xin had dense muscles that contributed to a low body fat ratio, and her high muscle content allowed her visible eight-pack abs and prominent biceps. Maintaining her physique and strength was her key to combat effectiveness; however, she couldn’t keep growing anymore due to the risk of compromising her flexibility.

After the examination, Kui Xin and Night Cicada returned to the corridor.

Night Cicada asked, “Did they approve your awakened qualifications? The Investigative Bureau seems to be quite strict about this area.”

“It’s done,” Kui Xin replied tersely.

“Has it been confirmed that Jiang Meimei’s extraordinary ability is truth discernment?” Night Cicanda asked, “It was rumored before, but we couldn’t verify it. Our hands couldn’t directly reach in. You are the first to touch the core.”

“It is indeed truth discernment, though somewhat limited. With proper guidance during conversations, you can bypass her inquiries,” Kui Xin said, “But this assumption is based on her not suspecting me. If she interrogates me strictly, allowing only yes or no answers, I’d still be exposed. Jiang Meimei herself mentioned that her ability is more accurate than the most advanced lie detection instrument.”

“Seems like you’ve done well,” Night Cicanda remarked, “Another person might not have been able to hide it as smoothly… lie detection instruments rely on human data to confirm whether a person is lying, but with Jiang Meimei… extraordinary abilities always defy logic.”

“Afterward, all my documents will be incorporated into Augus’s core database,” Kui Xin half-finished.

This was her usual tactic, making it difficult for others to notice and encouraging further dialogue to get more information.

“This aligns with expectations, the Federation greatly values awakened people,” Night Cicada stopped and analyzed, “It will be challenging to alter your profile in the future. Peripheral personnel databases of the Investigative Bureau are connected to the Federated Resident Databases. Before obtaining Level 3 citizenship, modifications to the resident database will update the peripheral personnel data of the Investigative Bureau as well. Now that your citizen grade has risen, the data is now separately archived in its own database, disconnected from the resident database. No normal government official can access it, nor will there be opportunities for modifications in the future… the flexibility is reduced, but our organization ensures the completeness of the data modification, generally not needing further changes under normal circumstances.”

No wonder… on the day Kui Xin woke up in the Second World, Doctor Huang who performed her head surgery mentioned that the Mechanized Dawn had already modified her data. The Mechanized Dawn’s data modification entry points seemed to be the Federated Resident Databases rather than Investigative Bureau’s databases.

Red had previously handed Kui Xin a data device to find an opportunity to infiltrate Augus’s core database.

Augus’s database was interconnected with the Federation’s, but it also maintained a certain independence. It belonged to the Investigative Bureau’s artificial intelligence and did not serve the federal government.

As they walked down the lengthy hallway, Kui Xin saw a tunnel lined with transparent bulletproof glass.

This place resembled a fully enclosed glass bridge with a silver projection screen on the floor. Stepping on it showed the time and project progress. There were railings on both sides, and the tunnel was supported by heavy columns holding the glass.

Underneath the glass tunnel was a massive laboratory where researchers were busy working.

Kui Xin turned and observed through the glass window. Researchers were handling fragmented mechanical parts, with a silver human figure lying at the center of the experimental table.

This figure was so lifelike, save for its silver muscle fibers, skeleton structure, and internal organs, resembling a fake specimen.

A projection flashed on the screen under Kui Xin’s feet: “Bioroid activation experiment, progress: 98%.”

“Interested in this project, Miss?” Night Cicada crossed his arms and asked, “Want to go take a look?”

Kui Xin retracted her gaze, “Sure.”

Night Cicada clapped his hands and a pure white metallic ball radiating blue light silently floated beside him, “Contact Doctor Zhao.”

The metallic ball beeped twice, the screen showing a shiny bald forehead.

Doctor Zhao seemed young and bald, with not a single hair on his smooth, bald head.

“Night Cicada, anything wrong?” Zhao asked.

“Miss Kui Xin is here, take her to tour the lab,” Night Cicada replied succinctly.

Doctor Zhao raised an eyebrow and said, “Sure, the moment of miracle is coming soon; it’s perfect timing for her to witness this historical moment… yes, this time we will definitely succeed.”

“It’s been a thousand times already? Isn’t that an auspicious number… if you don’t count the nine hundred and ninety-nine times that failed.” Night Cicada ended the comms and approached the elevator at the end of the hall, gesturing for Kui Xin to enter.

“Perhaps your arrival will bring some luck to Doctor Zhao?”

Entering the elevator and exiting it. They went to a small sealed room to change into hazmat suits and wear masks before officially entering the laboratory.

Zhao waited at the door, nodding politely to Kui Xin, “Welcome.”

“I’ll just take a look around; you can continue your work,” Kui Xin said.

“No, preparations are complete. We will activate the test in ten minutes, now is the idle time.” Zhao glanced at the floating metallic ball beside him, which had a countdown of ten minutes on its display. “Let me explain the Bioroid project.”

Zhao led Kui Xin and Night Cicada to the immense central lab table.

The silver-white human form lay silently on the table, covered in various instruments and tubes. Ignoring its color, it looked like a corpse on a medical anatomy table.

“This is the II-type Bioroid. The previous I-type was scrapped. Though the I-type activated successfully, it more resembled genetically edited individuals than true Bioroids, hardly different from us humans. They can get wounded and bleed. Placing them in society would raise ethical issues, hence they were shelved,” Zhao explained fluently, “We added more non-human elements to the II-type and used novel materials. To differentiate it from normal humans, we rendered its skeletal structure, muscles, and internal organs silver, and will eventually equip it with realistic human skin, making it indistinguishable to the naked eye. Furthermore, the II-type material quality is superior to that of I-type, making it a formidable human-shaped weapon.”

“You strive to distinguish Bioroids from normals yet aim for them to externally resemble us,” Kui Xin commented, “That’s contradictory.”

Zhao chuckled, “Humans are themselves paradoxical. When exploring outer space, we both hope to encounter intelligent species like ourselves while fearing their existence. We pride ourselves yet yearn for kindred spirits.”

“They have emotions?”

Zhao lifted his chin, “I’m unsure, thus the need to activate one for testing – social science tests.”

“You said these would raise ethical issues, though,” Kui Xin pushed.

“Not the same. The I-type’s ethical issues stem from their resemblance to human physical forms. Ethical concerns with the II-type may arise from their possible emotional similarity to humans. Humans tend to superficially examine things, ignoring deeper truths,” Zhao said, “Form – surface. Emotions and Mind – depth. Humans trust only what they can see, whether Bioroids have emotions isn’t critical. They just need to seem human. We will ensure that perception only reaches the surface.”

“It’s an intriguing theory,” Kui Xin remarked.

Zhao elaborated, “Bioroids are currently in experimental stages. If mass-produced, costs will drop significantly. The conceptual design allows for learning functions and different models, capable of replacing most work positions in the market.”

At this point, Night Cicada interjected, “For market viability, they must lack emotions; they must simply be tools.”

“Yes. Despite my wish for them to have emotions, the market demands dictate otherwise,” Zhao lamented, “My job is research, expanding the Bioroid market is the job of a financial consortium. Should confirmation prove them emotionally equivalent to humans, this could raise significant risks, viewed as failures by the boss, unsuitable for the market. We must launch III-type research.”

Kui Xin scrutinized Zhao with her eyes, “Do you hope to create a species with feelings?”

Zhao paused, his eyes lighting up. He excitedly grasped Kui Xin’s hands and exclaimed, “Miss! You understand me!” His enthusiasm was palpable, his eyes wide. “It’s not about creation or invention, it’s about creating life!”

Kui Xin looked bewildered as Zhao held onto her.

Realizing his lapse, Zhao quickly released Kui Xin, “Sorry, I got carried away.”

Taking a step back, he spread his arms and said with a fervent tone, “Humans creating AI and Bioroids is like God creating Adam and Eve! Humans can become gods!”

Zhao hastily qualified his statement, “I don’t mean the religious sense of ‘God,’ but the philosophical and practical meaning. Apologies, it can be confusing…”

Kui Xin smiled softly, “I understand your meaning, Doctor Zhao.”

There are subtle resemblances between the cultures and histories of the First and Second Worlds. During the time when the Federation had not established religion nor considered it illegal, humans followed diverse religions, and creation myths involving deities spreading across the land were widespread.

Zhao’s words were genuinely intriguing.

Humans creating AI and Bioroids, just like God creating Adam and Eve?

Is the name given to the Investigative Bureau’s AI, Adam, indicative of such profound meaning? Are humans continuously imitating and aspiring to become gods?

The metallic ball at the side of Zhao’s head beeped. He slapped his bald head and exclaimed, “It’s going to be activated!”

With anticipation, he looked at Kui Xin, “Miss, step closer. This time, it will surely be successful.”

Night Cicada remarked subtly, “If I’m correct, I’d heard you say that numerous times about your past nine hundred and ninety-nine tries.”

A broadcast echoed from the laboratory, “Instruments starting countdown: 10… 9… 8…”

Zhao’s eyes sparkled as he declared confidently, “It’s here!”

“…3… 2… 1… Activation begins.”

The experimental table glowed with dazzling blue light as a current buzzed loudly, and substances in the tubes accelerated their flow.

Kui Xin raised her hand to shield her eyes; the intense light made her eyes water.

After an undetermined amount of time, the blue light dissipated.

“Success! We’ve succeeded! This marks our thousandth experiment!” Zhao’s excitement colored his face red.

Kui Xin wiped away tears from beneath her mask and focused on the experimental table.

The silver-white human body slowly sat up, its transparent silver eyes opened, surveying the surroundings like a newborn observing the unknown.