"Thirty million!"
"No! One hundred million! One hundred million dollars!"
Seeing Android 18 unmoved, Hammer frantically raised his stakes.
"How about five hundred million?"
"One billion! I'll pay one billion for my life!"
"I really don't want to die! Please, I didn't see anything!"
Seeing no chance of escape, Hammer dropped to his knees in panic, numbers spilling from his mouth like desperate prayers.
Money he would never earn in a lifetime had now become his only bargaining chip—his last hope that she might show mercy and spare his wretched life.
Through a special frequency, Android 18 contacted Renjie, who was thousands of miles away.
The man's fate rested entirely on the whim of the Creator.
[Renjie: Take him back to the base. He still has some use.]
The order from the Creator brought a faint smile to Android 18's face.
"Boss, we're meeting…"
She said with a smile, then grabbed Hammer by the collar, yanking him off the floor.
A foul stench wafted off his body.
Android 18 immediately tossed him aside, pinching her nose in disgust.
"There's a refuge at the end of this escape tunnel. Full sanitation facilities inside."
"I have spare clothes! Don't kill me! Don't kill me!"
Hammer panted in terror, his reddened face bulging with veins as he shouted desperately.
"Thirty minutes…"
Android 18 shot him a disgusted glare and kicked the nearby wall, a clear warning: no clever tricks, or this is what happens.
Hammer forced a cringe-worthy, sycophantic smile, but he knew one thing: his life was safe—for now.
…
An hour later.
Dressed in his white suit, Hammer was dropped from midair by Android 18 into a sealed chamber below.
The thud of his landing echoed through the space.
Clutching his bruised leg, he howled in pain, gritting his teeth.
Seeing no one paying attention, Hammer struggled to his feet, warily scanning the area.
The room was too dark to discern his surroundings.
Scratching, collisions, and low wails sounded from all around.
Creatures—upright, walking animals—perhaps monkeys, perhaps gorillas.
Hammer's stomach dropped as realization dawned: this sealed space might be a cage for test subjects.
"Y-you… hello?"
"Respected… 'Boss' sir?"
"I… I'm Justin Hammer, chairman of Hammer Industries."
He forced a stiff smile, limping and waving his hands in a comical, mechanical gesture, like a pathetic clown.
Humans were contradictory creatures: fearful yet curious about the unknown.
Especially after experiencing events that defied all logic.
Hammer was a shrewd businessman. If he was still alive, it meant he was valuable—a bargaining chip he could use to survive. His only chance.
"Is anyone there?"
He trembled as he asked, the oppressive atmosphere unbearable.
Then, suddenly, a bright white incandescent light flared above him.
It spread outward in a pattern like an Eight Trigrams Array, illuminating the entire sealed chamber in an instant.
The sudden brightness made Hammer instinctively squint. Relief washed over him—finally, some light.
But when his gaze swept the room, horror overtook him.
He was inside a sealed laboratory.
Outside the transparent glass, a horde of bloodied, grotesque zombies gathered.
Thousands, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Even the sealed escape tunnel was clogged with the shambling dead.
Twisted heads cocked, gray-white pupils locked on the living flesh inside.
Blackened mouths curved into sinister smiles; mutated teeth still bore remnants of biological matter.
Rotting claws scratched the glass, leaving white streaks.
Some stronger zombies even slammed their heads against the reinforced panes.
Those earlier strange noises? They came from this horde.
These zombies still displayed intelligence, remnants of humanity.
They wore blue-and-white uniforms, wristbands marked with numbers—undeniable test subjects.
The place's nature was clear: a biochemical laboratory.
These walking corpses were either failed genetic experiments or infection victims from a virus outbreak.
"Heavens!"
"What do you want?!"
"Whatever you want, I'll give it to you!"
Hammer's legs gave out; he collapsed to the floor, pleading desperately.
Who knew how long the glass could hold?
The result was already inevitable: when the horde broke in, this billionaire would die without a doubt.
Just as despair consumed him, a filtered voice came over the lab's intercom:
"Justin Hammer, I don't like beating around the bush.
"I want you to act as my intermediary, selling medical supplies.
"In return, I can make you surpass Tony Stark, a man at the cutting edge of technology."