Right as the carnival commenced, a broadcast echoed through the ship.
It was a heavily distorted, mechanized voice-impossible to tell if it were male or female-and exceedingly eerie.
"Welcome aboard Project Zero-Transit."
The voice let out a chilling, grating laugh. "Allow me to share some wonderful news with you all-"
"From the moment we crossed into international waters, your former names, identities, and nationalities ceased to exist on this ship."
"From this second forward, we do not question the authenticity of who you claim to
be, nor do we care where you came from or where you are going."
"Who you are does not matter."
"What matters is whether you can keep your current identity alive."
"All transactions on board are strictly voluntary."
"Once a deal is struck, there are no take-backs."
"We do not prohibit conflict. We do not prohibit slaughter. We do not prohibit plunder."
"All consequences of death are your own to bear."
After a brief, dramatic pause, the digitized voice laughed even harder, reveling in the madness. "A word of advice to you all: Project Zero-Transit has no other rules, but we strictly forbid one thing."
"No one is permitted to damage the cargo."
"Anyone who approaches the Sanctum Vault without authorization will be added to Project Zero-Transit's blacklist."
"And executed without mercy."
When the broadcast ended...
A beat of silence fell over the Merchant's Quarter.
Some lowered their heads to sip their drinks; others smiled cryptically.
Those who had maintained a facade of aristocratic restraint completely dropped the act.
One by one, the true, savage faces beneath their elite masks were laid bare.
Over in the Predator's Den, the hunters whistled in sheer exhilaration. "Now things are getting interesting."
They were itching for action.
A hundred trillion dollars. Here they came!
In the Med-Tech Quarantine, some licked their lips, staring at the vials and tissue samples locked in cold storage, no longer bothering to hide their greed.
No rules, only the survival of the fittest.
That meant...
They could use whatever means necessary to take the drugs or samples they coveted!
Meanwhile.
A knock sounded at the door of Serena's private suite.
She was sitting at the workstation, casually flipping through the basic manifest provided by the medical sector.
At the sound of the knock, a profound glint flashed in her eyes, and her fingers paused.
"Enter."
The door swung open.
The silver-spectacled director of the Med-Tech Quarantine stood in the doorway.
He still wore his polite smile.
Only this time, there was an
โวเ
unmistakable urgency beneath its "Your Excellency The Panacea One of the medical Living Assetsas experiencing rejection symptoms."
"The higher-ups would like you to take a look."
Serena lowered her eyelashes.
It seemed the very thing she was looking for was being delivered right to her doorstep.
But when she lifted her gaze, her face displayed only the cold,
mercenary pragmatism expectal
of
The Panacea My services are very expensive."
The director smiled. "As long as you can keep it alive, name your price."
Serena arched an eyebrow, her smile widening. "You should know my rules."
The director was clearly prepared.
He raised his hands and clapped twice.
Promptly, a crew member walked in, carrying a black briefcase.
He set it on the desk and unlatched the combination lock.
With a click, the lid popped open.
Inside were neat stacks of crisp US dollars.
Serena's eyes lit up slightly.
The director smiled. "Your Excellency, here is one million dollars—just a consultation fee for you to take a look."
"If you can successfully stabilize the asset's rejection symptoms, the remaining
compensation will be negotiated separately."
Serena's smile grew a fraction more
genuine as she trailede
fingers
over the cash like working w
straightforward people."