Everyone's gaze instantly whipped back to Specimen Seven.
Their hearts hammered in their chests as they waited to see what kind of miracle— or disaster-Serena's two vials would trigger.
One minute passed.
Two minutes passed.
At exactly the ten-minute mark.
The massive monitors tracking Specimen Seven's vitals finally began to shift.
The violent spikes of his neural response curve steadily began to level out.
The rejection index plummeted. Organ stress levels drastically decreased.
The dark-purple veins that had been pulsing beneath his skin finally went dormant. Specimen Seven's rigid, thrashing muscles slowly relaxed.
While his brain waves remained highly active, they had settled into a sustainable, rhythmic pattern.
Inside the chamber, the medical staff stared at the readouts in absolute awe.
It wasn't until every metric stabilized completely that a collective sigh of relief echoed through the room.
Silas's tightly wound features finally softened. "Miss Panacea, what is Specimen Seven's current condition?"
Serena meticulously retrieved her needles. "As long as you don't let these useless idiots pump him full of random drugs, he won't die before we reach Whitecliffe Harbor."
The underground doctors and pharmacists who had previously assisted Arthur York —the aforementioned "useless idiots"-flushed with deep humiliation.
Yet, not a single one of them possessed the courage to argue the point.
Silas patted his chest, a genuine laugh finally escaping his throat.
As long as the asset survived to Whitecliffe Harbor and passed the buyer's inspection.
Then absolutely nothing else mattered.
He nodded enthusiastically. "From now on, every drop of medication given to
Specimen Seven will require your express authorization."
"Thank you for your incredible work, Miss Panacea!"
The gratitude in his voice was profoundly sincere.
"Work is work," Serena replied, meeting his eyes with a greedy, brooding smirk. "If you're truly grateful, why not throw in a bonus?"
Silas was utterly speechless.
The Panacea's obsession with money was truly on another level.
Meanwhile, tucked into a shadowy corner of the ceiling, an imperceptible
surveillance camera silently pivoted.
Deep within a sealed, pitch-black observation room.
A wall of massive screens glowed, feeding live footage from every corner of Project Zero-Transit.
The largest screen dead center displayed the specialized treatment chamber.
A shadowy figure stared intently at the brooding, lazy woman packing up her medical kit.
On the monitor, Specimen Seven's vitals held perfectly steady.
Even without the full core data, The
Panacea had neutralized the very rejection crisis that the
had spent years failing to solve.
The figure rhythmically tapped his fingertips against his desk.
Beside the screen, a dark crimson Raven crest glowed ominously.
"The Panacea..."
The voice was heavily modulated grating, guttural, and impossible to identify.
A subordinate leaned in and
whispered, "She has stabilized Specimen Seven twice in a row flawlessly diagnosing the conflict between the neural chips and the standard stabilization protocol."
The room fell silent for several seconds.
"She is far more fascinating than the rumors suggest," the modulated voice finally rasped. "Keep a close eye on her."
"But do not alert her."
"A woman with her talents will draw some very interested parties once we reach Whitecliffe Harbor."
Back on the screen.
Serena grabbed her medical kit and headed for the exit.
The man in the dark room watched her, his unblinking gaze locked onto her for a long time.
...
Outside the specialized treatment zone.
Jerrick Lancaster stood just beyond the security perimeter, flanked by two towering mercenaries from the Fenris Squad.
He had just received a classified, priority message from the ship's command.
[The Panacea has been granted temporary access to The Sanctum Vault's Outer Perimeter.]
[Without alarming her, you are to
ensure she leaves the treatment et
zone without any classified ship data or biological samples