Eventually, the man at the head of the table tapped his knuckles against the wood. "Have the team overseeing Specimen Seven conduct another full diagnostic. I want the latest data, and I want updates every ten minutes."
The order was issued.
The medical team immediately initiated a new round of comprehensive testing on Specimen Seven.
Every single metric was re-collected from scratch.
The examination dragged on for three grueling hours.
Data point after data point was pulled up for review.
Initially, everything appeared perfectly normal; Specimen Seven's condition remained relatively stable.
At least on the surface, The Panacea's recent treatment had been highly effective.
There were no obvious anomalies in the neural fluctuations, and the rejection index stayed well within a manageable range.
Several specialists confidently concluded that The Panacea was just bluffing to jack up her price.
But as the monitoring continued and the hours ticked by.
Someone finally spotted a discrepancy. "Wait a second!"
A pharmacist stared intently at the neural response curve on the screen, his face paling. "Is this curve... trending upward?"
A colleague leaned in for a look. "It's a microscopic fluctuation. Probably just an equipment error, right?"
"It's not a random fluctuation," the first man replied, his voice tightening with panic. "It spikes slightly every ten minutes. The increments are small, but the upward trend is undeniable."
"Pull up the data from an hour ago. Right now."
The historical data was brought up instantly.
Comparing the timelines, the color drained from everyone's faces.
Specimen Seven looked stable on the surface.
However, the neural response curve was undeniably climbing again.
At first, the shifts had been so minute they were practically negligible.
But when juxtaposed against the readings from an hour prior, the escalation was glaringly obvious.
And as time marched on, it was only going to become more pronounced.
What did this mean?
It meant The Panacea hadn't been lying.
She had predicted that Specimen Seven would reject the modifications again within six hours.
Now, with time still left on the clock, Specimen Seven's body was already flashing early warning signs.
"Report this to the top immediately!"
"Hurry, transmit the data to the executives!"
The latest diagnostics from the specialized treatment zone were quickly placed in front of the ship's upper echelon.
The boardroom fell into a suffocating, eerie silence.
Every executive wore a grim, defeated expression.
The Panacea had been right, and her prediction was terrifyingly precise.
That was the most horrifying part.
If she had just gotten lucky suppressing Specimen Seven's initial rejection, they could have chalked it up to potent drugs.
But accurately predicting the exact timeline of the subsequent rejection
proved she was far more than bet
just a stalled pharmacist content
"What do we do now?" someone asked in a low heavy voice.
complete core data to an outsider."
absolutely cannot handet
"Especially not to her. The Panaceal has a terrible reputation on the black ruthless, and
market she's greedyc
completely unpredictable. Giving her the core experimental data i@far too risky."
FindNovel.net
"But if we refuse, and Specimen Seven rejects the modifications again, who takes the fall?"
The question plunged the boardroom right back into a dead silence.
Who would take the fall?
No one could afford to.
Specimen Seven had already been reserved by a buyer.
Suspending the Living Assets preview had already sparked outrage in The Merchant's Quarter.
If Specimen Seven actually died on board, it wouldn't just be the loss of an auction
item.
It would severely jeopardize the inspections scheduled at Whitecliffe Harbor.
And, most importantly...
When the higher-ups demanded accountability, none of them would survive the fallout.
The complete data couldn't be surrendered.
But Specimen Seven couldn't die either.
So, what was the play?
After a prolonged silence, the man at the head of the table finally spoke. "How much
time is left before her six-hour deadline?"
"Less than an hour, sir," a staff member replied instantly.
The man tapped his knuckles on the table. "Then... we compromise."