A woman walked into the room. After sitting down, she tapped her watch, and a 3D holographic screen appeared in the air.
The image displayed was of a young asian man. His pitch-black eyes were deep like an uninhabited expanse of space, casting a shadowy hue on an otherwise sunny and handsome face.
Below the image were his name and other details. The woman only gave them a cursory glance before looking away—not just because she had seen them countless times, but also because the person in question was sitting right in front of her.
"Hao, right?"
The man sitting across from her was currently bound in a restraint suit, tightly secured from head to toe, with only his head exposed.
His face was covered in an unkempt beard, and his hair was a greasy mess, making it difficult to discern his original appearance.
"In the company's prison, is there anyone else getting the same treatment as me?" Hao chuckled. The tone was somewhere between mockery and self-deprecation.
The woman didn't get upset. She brushed back a strand of her purple hair, her demeanor strictly professional. "You can call me Nepher. I'm in charge of your final debrief. I hope you'll cooperate. That way, I might be able to get you the breakfast you want."
Hao fell silent, seemingly reminiscing about something. After a moment, he sighed softly. "The breakfast I want probably doesn't even exist anymore in this era."
Nepher didn't press him about what kind of breakfast he wanted—that wasn't her task today. She glanced at the time and got straight to business.
"Before your execution begins, I have a few more questions to ask you."
She paused and swiped through the holographic screen. The image showed a middle-aged man in an exoskeleton suit. His chest armor was shattered, and a long spear had pierced his heart. He lay in a pool of blood.
"Master Hart—did you kill him?"
In response to her question, Hao looked up at the screen and let out a snort. "Master?" he scoffed.
Nepher frowned. "Answer the question. You know there are… many ways to execute someone."
Hao looked away from the projection and locked eyes with the woman in front of him. She was a textbook example of a "New Era" human—her appearance already deviating somewhat from that of old-era humans. For instance, her purple hair wasn't dyed, but a manifestation of her genetics.
Nepher felt a strange unease under Hao's stare, but her expression remained calm and her voice firmed.
"I've read your previous statements. You admitted to the crime, but you never explained how you did it."
Hao leaned back and twisted his neck as though he were trying to loosen up after too long in restraints.
"I already told you how I did it. You just didn't believe me."
A flicker of something odd passed through Nepher's eyes. It was true—the man before her had described his "method."
But it was too unbelievable. Utterly impossible.
While Nepher was still pondering how to pry the truth from him, Hao looked up at the ceiling and began to recite names:
"Hart, Wan, Nort...
..."
With each name Hao uttered, Nepher's frown deepened. These were all globally recognized martial arts masters.
Even though she held martial arts from the old era in contempt—dismissing it as outdated nonsense that couldn't hold a candle to modern tech—she had to admit, those people had incredible physical conditioning. And with the added advantage of exoskeletons, they were formidable by any human standard.
Yet the man in front of her had killed every single one of them—with no technological aid whatsoever.
Human physical strength is weak; this is universally acknowledged. Historically, strongmen who could deadlift several hundred kilos were considered extraordinary. But with an exoskeleton, even a sickly person could easily lift three or four hundred kilos.
As for those martial arts masters—already physically strong—when wearing exoskeletons, they could exert force in the thousands of kilos.
"How did you do it?"
Nepher couldn't help but ask. Finding out Hao's secret was her task—and now, her curiosity was also piqued.
"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Hao smiled.
"I don't think it was that hard to kill them."
"That's impossible. Don't say your martial arts were superior to theirs—I've done the research. Why did old-era boxing competitions have weight classes? You weren't even in the same league."
Leaning forward, Nepher locked eyes with him. "If you confess now—tell us how you discovered and exploited the system's vulnerability—the company might reconsider your sentence. Depending on the situation, they could even offer you a position."
Hao was stunned for a moment, then realized what had happened—everyone had misunderstood. They thought he had found a vulnerability in the company's exoskeleton system and used it to defeat those so-called martial masters.
No wonder the company had kept him locked up for so long without killing him—they were trying to determine whether their product had a fatal flaw.
"Looks like I cost you quite a bit of money," Hao said with a mocking smile.
"So, what's your answer?" Nepher asked again. That was the real concern of the company.
The incident had caused a huge stir. Even though the company had some control over the media, word still got out: ten top martial artists were killed in hand-to-hand combat by a single man. It made the public question the reliability of the company's products. Even the military had returned a batch of orders.
Until they got to the bottom of it and confirmed that the new generation exoskeletons had no systemic flaws, the company didn't dare dispose of Hao lightly.
"Have you ever read a manga?"
"What?"
Nepher hadn't expected that answer. She had heard of manga—an old entertainment medium from the previous century—but what did it have to do with the current situation?
"When I was a kid, I read one called Baki. There was a guy in it who claimed to be the strongest creature on Earth. I thought his approach to fighting made a lot of sense."
Hao reminisced silently, while across from him, Nepher sat with a completely bewildered expression.
"Mr. Hao, please answer the questions seriously."
Nepher's face turned cold—she thought he was toying with her.
"It's really hard to communicate with you," Hao said, shrugging. "Fine, I'll be straightforward. In short... when facing someone stronger than you, use technique. When facing someone more skilled than you, brute force your way through with overwhelming strength."
He grinned. "Your exoskeletons might be good at boosting strength, but those guys—had no technique."
"You expect me to believe that you, someone in your twenties, are far superior to martial arts masters who've spent half their lives immersed in their craft?"
Nepher looked completely unconvinced. "Strong enough to overcome an absolute difference in power?"
It wasn't just that Hao had killed ten martial arts masters. Even if he'd killed a single child wearing the company's exoskeleton, she'd still find it hard to believe. After all, human physical strength is limited and fragile.
"You could say that."
Hao closed his eyes, clearly done talking.
Before this purple-haired company operative had been sent, a dozen interrogators, negotiators, and psychologists had already tried to "chat" with him—but none got the answers they wanted.
Most of what he told them had been the truth, but they didn't believe him. People only believe what they want to believe. Even in this so-called new era, that hadn't changed.
The company believed he had found a system vulnerability in their exoskeletons—or even a backdoor into their network—that allowed him to take down ten elite martial masters with ease.
They wanted to uncover the flaw in their product and find out whether Hao was backed by some anti-corporate resistance group.
But the truth was, he was acting alone—and he had long since made peace with the idea of dying.
He knew Nepher was the company's "final offer." After over six months, their patience had run out. The system had likely been fully updated, and the media storm around his actions was fading.
Nepher was like a foot the company had placed in front of his face. If he just stuck out his tongue and licked it, he might live. But he didn't want to.
"Let me ask a different question, then. Why did you kill them?"
Nepher took a deep breath and returned to her formal tone, intent on following protocol through to the end.
"They were corporate dogs. Traitors. They got my master killed... Too many reasons. You already know them."
Hao yawned and glanced at the time on the projection. "Can we start the execution now?"
Nepher frowned. She had seen people unafraid of death, but this man was disturbingly calm—almost as if he was bored of the world.
Like a lone warrior standing at the cold, lonely peak of a mountain.
She stood and put away the projection. "I'll take you to the execution site."
The recording would be preserved in audio form, and as a high-profile death-row case, Hao's execution would also be fully recorded by Nepher. The footage and death certificate would be archived together.
Under the escort of two guards in exoskeletal armor, Hao was soon brought to the open-air execution ground.
He squinted under the harsh sunlight, eyes scanning the surroundings once they adjusted.
"What a grotesque display," Hao sneered. "Sometimes I really wonder where your so-called progress is leading. This feels more like a regression to barbarism."
He looked at the execution platform: a mechanical contraption.
Once the execution began, he'd be strapped in and torn apart limb by limb by a set of mechanical arms.
He remembered this method being called dismemberment in ancient eastern history. And the company had many such methods.
To prevent any accidents, the circular square was surrounded by armed soldiers, with figures stationed on the high walls, observing the scene below.
"For a violent criminal like you, harsh punishment is necessary to set an example," Nepher said beside him. "Any last words?"
Escorted by the two guards, Hao ascended the steps one by one. "I just remembered something... from when I was little. My master once praised me..."
As he spoke, his straitjacket was unfastened. One guard used an exoskeletal arm to hold down his neck, the barrel of a gun pressing to his head as they began the process of securing him to the platform.
Nepher didn't understand why Hao would bring that up at this moment. Still, she asked curiously, "He praised you for being a martial arts prodigy?"
Strapped to the execution machine, Hao felt the strength of the mechanical limbs around him. He smiled wide, looking at the observers on the high platform.
The mechanical arms being used for his execution were company products—perhaps intentionally, perhaps not, they were the exact same model as the exoskeletons worn by the masters he had killed.
From the cameras surrounding him, Hao guessed that the company was trying to prove a point: that their products had no quality issues, and could easily tear a man limb from limb.
If he had truly exploited a system flaw, surely he would use it now to escape. But the company believed he couldn't interfere without external devices. They were watching to see if some resistance force would intervene.
Hao had to admire how thorough the company's plan was. No matter how things turned out, they could either restore public confidence or expose their enemies.
But today, they were wrong. Hao had bet correctly.
On the high platform, an old man in a black robe and sunglasses looked down at Hao, smiling calmly.
Hao smiled back, baring his teeth. He burst into wild laughter—like a man gone mad at the brink of death.
If the mechanical limbs weren't holding him in place, he might have been rolling with laughter.
The executioner pulled the switch. Hao immediately felt intense force pulling at his limbs. His neck wasn't restrained—by design. This method was meant to make the prisoner suffer.
If the neck snapped right away, it would be too painless. But with the limbs being torn off first, the prisoner would scream in agony before dying.
Hao acknowledged the cruelty—and then, oddly, felt grateful to whoever had designed today's execution.
He laughed heartily. And under the stunned gaze of all present, his muscles tensed and bulged, resisting the mechanical arms.
"My master didn't praise me for being a martial arts genius..."
Hao's voice started low and slow, but as he pushed back with strength, it grew gritted and fierce. His limbs bulged with knotted muscle—like dormant volcanoes preparing to erupt.
His words intertwined with the mechanical whirring of the arms, like whispers from the depths of hell:
"He said I... possess a kind of numerical beauty."