The alloy dagger that had claimed the lives of countless fugitives was crushed. The old man's withered fingers gripped Brian Clark's neck, lifting Brian Clark off the ground like a chick.

　　All four limbs were bound, and the blood vessels in the neck were nearly blocked from the pressure.

　　"Heh, you came at just the right time." Judging by his voice, the old man seemed quite pleased, even a little impatient.

　　If it were an ordinary person being held like this, their eyes would have rolled back long ago, but Brian Clark still had the presence of mind to think of countermeasures.

　　The old man looked at Brian Clark, even more satisfied.

　　One door after another opened and closed. Brian Clark grew increasingly alarmed—who would have thought such a place was hidden beneath this slum!

　　This underground chamber was definitely more than thirty or fifty years old, and far more complex than Brian Clark had imagined. Both its defenses and concealment were excellent; otherwise, it wouldn't have gone undiscovered for so many years—or perhaps, anyone who did discover it was already dead.

　　Brian Clark caught sight of a room with its door open, inside which people were preserved in liquid tanks like specimens. The twisted expressions on their faces sent chills down Brian Clark's spine; it was clear that before death, they had endured unbearable torment.

　　Perhaps, in the next moment, Brian Clark would become one of them.

　　The old man didn't seem intent on killing Brian Clark immediately; the strength in his hand was well controlled—giving Brian Clark no chance to escape, but not damaging Brian Clark's bodily functions either.

　　The reason the old man said Brian Clark had come at the right time was because, just after putting the previous test subject into a liquid tank, Brian Clark had delivered themself right to his door.

　　Brian Clark was brought to a room filled with all kinds of instruments and tools. On a table in one corner sat many bottles and jars. Brian Clark recognized a few of them from the gases vented through the pipes—these were reagents for purifying DNA.

　　In this era, aside from a few old scholars, almost no one used or even understood such primitive methods of DNA purification anymore. Brian Clark had done similar experiments out of curiosity, but never studied them in depth.

　　With today's technology, purifying DNA only required a palm-sized device—fast, precise, and capable of functional genome analysis. However, every purification analyzer required real-name registration; each device had a registration code, chip binding, and data connectivity.

　　Since the old man chose to purify by hand, and apparently in large quantities, it meant he was engaged in illegal research and was a wanted criminal. Yet, no matter how hard Brian Clark searched their memory for wanted information, nothing came up about this man. The planet's wanted list, regardless of danger level, was public, and each notice only had two pieces of information: a picture and a reward amount.

　　Because this laboratory was underground and lined with a rare isotope shielding layer, it had escaped detection by "Sky Eye." The lab's instrument data was also likely not connected to the outside world, thus avoiding other forms of investigation.

　　What exactly did this old man want to do?

　　Placing Brian Clark on a floating white platform, the old man pressed a button on a nearby device. Cuffs emerged from the platform, locking Brian Clark's wrists and limbs in place. Fine threads rose from the surface, piercing through Brian Clark's clothes and burrowing into the body, instantly turning Brian Clark into a test subject bristling with wires and tubes—red filaments on one side, blue on the other, while data flickered rapidly on the nearby monitors.

　　Now that Brian Clark was completely restrained, not even a finger free, the old man withdrew his hand, his fingers returning to their original twig-like state. After injecting Brian Clark with a tube of sticky, icy-cold liquid, he quickly pressed buttons on the instruments, combining and analyzing data from more than a dozen other machines.

　　Pain—pain that bored into the marrow. Fingers trembled, blood coursed irregularly through the body, every moment pushing the nerves to their limits. Thought was almost instantly scattered, but after a brief blankness, Brian Clark managed to focus their mind again. Otherwise, it wouldn't be long before Brian Clark became one of those specimens.

　　That sticky, liquid-like substance was actually made up of tiny, specially designed biochips. Some of their properties were very similar to gene vectors, able to integrate into human chromosomes and replicate and divide in sync.

　　The red filaments mainly induced, providing nutrients while accelerating metabolism and cell division. The blue filaments induced apoptosis, causing lagging cells that couldn't keep up to die off.

　　The old man stared at a rising peak on the screen, chuckled a few times, and turned the knob at his side ten degrees clockwise. With every ten degrees, the level of induction rose a stage, and the chip activation increased accordingly.

　　Changes in the hippocampal region of the brain, methylation regions on chromosomes, and intercellular communication frequencies were all displayed as data on the constantly flashing screens, which excited the old man immensely.

　　Brian Clark's nerves were struck by an even greater wave of pain, and then they struggled to gather their focus once more.

　　"Remarkable, remarkable! For an F-class genotype to achieve this level!" Watching the knob already turned one hundred and eighty degrees, the old man began to mutter to himself, his words brimming with obvious excitement.