Chapter Forty-Eight: The Nature of Man

"Run! The end of the world is here!"

"Snap!"

"We have to get out of the laboratory to survive!"

Suddenly, the laboratory erupted in chaos. Sounds of shattering glassware and medicine vials filled the air, and tables were overturned as everyone scrambled to reach the exit. When faced with the mysterious and unknown, people instinctively anticipate the worst.

It is like someone involved in a car accident or falling off a cliff; they immediately assume they are dying. Yet, they remain filled with desperate hope, asking if the crash was fatal, or whether a fall resulted in a broken leg or a shattered body. With the leadership offering no explanation, it was clear that a situation had occurred that even they could not understand or explain. Perhaps the legends of resource depletion, volcanic eruptions, and cataclysmic disasters were true—perhaps the apocalypse had truly arrived.

Faced with the threat of death, the human survival instinct flared. In the pitch-black laboratory, people used every means at their disposal to escape. Those behind wanted to get out, which meant running faster. How could one run faster? By pushing. The doorway was narrow, only wide enough for one person at a time, yet three or four were fighting to squeeze through simultaneously.

The entrance could not accommodate four people abreast; to survive, one had to push—push with everything they had! Those at the front shoved, desperate to be the first out, their arms flailing as they tried to push those beside them backward to propel themselves forward.

"Ah!"

Some grabbed the doorframe, their fingers crushed until they turned crimson, letting out agonizing roars and cursing in pain. Yet, they refused to give up, determined to exit before those beside them.

"Keep moving!" those in the back shouted in a panic, shoving the people in front to make them go faster. Some were swallowed by the chaotic crowd, trampled onto the cold floor, wailing and weeping.

Various research instruments were knocked over as if in rebellion. Some stepped carefully, but the slightest misstep meant falling into the void. Those behind, regardless of whether there was a gap ahead, shoved forward relentlessly. In the once-silent room, screams were now piercingly clear, yet when one person cried out, those nearby ignored them. Everyone was near death—why should they care about anyone else? The coldness of human nature was laid bare in that moment; even with bodies beneath their feet, people stepped over them without a second thought, driven only by the singular desire to live.

Within a dozen seconds of the panic erupting, much had happened: from the mass stampede to the fact that not a single person had managed to squeeze through the small doorway. The four people at the entrance were flushed, their faces twisted in agony, clinging to the doorframe with every ounce of strength they possessed. One man finally broke free. Driven by momentum, he stumbled forward, body hunched to stabilize his center of gravity, gasping for air.

Suddenly, he felt something. He turned his head and his face went pale—a dense, surging crowd was "charging" toward him. He turned to flee, but the speed of the crowd was faster than his own. His right shoulder was slammed, then his left, like the beat of a drum. He felt the world spin, swaying left and right, until a pair of "powerful" hands shoved him. He collapsed to the ground, and countless feet trampled him mercilessly.

He struggled, his body covered in red welts. Dizziness washed over him, and he felt the devilish weight of feet crushing his skull. He lost all sensation of being stepped on; the pain slowly faded, and his mind grew heavy, slipping into unconsciousness as he lay on the cold floor.

"Finally, release," his eyes went hollow and listless, his face pressed against the ground as he muttered.

"Zhenhua! What are you doing? Why aren't you running?" He had tried everything to get the cylinder to light up, intending to flee with the crowd, but in the blink of an eye, he saw a familiar figure still tinkering with his research.

"You go ahead! I feel like I'm almost done... if I'm just a little more careful!" Zhenhua replied vaguely, as if immersed in his own world, indifferent to the chaos outside.

"We're all about to die, and you're still doing research? Do you think your life isn't worth anything? Even if you finish now, can you even get out alive?" he shouted in rage. Even if scientists were a bit eccentric, surely they would have some sense when faced with death!

"Hmm..." Zhenhua acknowledged him with a grunt, but remained in place, fiddling with his work.

"This..." Confronted with his indifference to a well-intentioned warning, he felt a surge of anger. He had been so worried, and yet Zhenhua was unmoved. He rushed over, intending to give him a piece of his mind.

But as he took a few steps, his vision blurred. Suddenly, the room lit up—as bright as day, blindingly so. The instruments were overturned, and the researchers were "fleeing" in a frantic throng; more than half the laboratory was already empty.

Seeing the cylinder without power and the crowd in turmoil, he had merely frowned, but seeing Zhenhua jump, he was startled. His eyes, assaulted by the sudden glare, briefly lost focus. But after just one breath, in a daze, he watched the light contract visibly. Meanwhile, Zhenhua looked at the sphere on his table, his face glowing with delight, as if he had just tasted a sweet treat.

Black reagent flowed into the sphere, and as it did, the light began to shrink. It was like a sunset; the brilliance gradually faded, and darkness began to reclaim the room. His own eyes grew hollow and vacant. The entire laboratory seemed to have undergone a cycle of day and night, plunging back into gloom. He watched as Zhenhua grabbed the sphere, jumping for joy.

"A grown man, acting like a child! So reckless!" he thought to himself, though he dared not say it, for he was consumed by curiosity. All the electronics in the lab had failed, yet this little sphere had emitted such brilliant light. He did not believe the apocalypse had arrived, because what he saw was not enough to prove it.

But before he could move, the sphere flared again. Zhenhua collapsed to the ground, let out a soft sob, and went still.

His face changed drastically. He kicked out, sending the sphere rolling away from Zhenhua’s body like a filthy ball.

"What is going on!" He felt a wave of inexplicable rage. He shook Zhenhua a few times, and suddenly, the laboratory began to tremble.

"Snap! Snap!"

The sound of shattering cups filled the room, rhythmically, like an organ.

He saw that Zhenhua wouldn't budge. He wasn't just a researcher who stayed indoors; he had strength, having taken genetic supplements and exercised daily to strengthen his body. Otherwise, how could he have carried Zhenhua?

As he lifted his leg, he felt movement beneath his feet. He looked down and saw a man dragging a mangled right leg, crawling toward him, mouth gasping intermittently, "Save... save... me!"

"Pah!"

He spat on the man. Though the man was pathetic, pity often comes with contempt. When the lights first went out, this man had been the loudest, pushing others to the ground and trampling over their bodies to save himself. He would not save such a person. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't, and he feared that if he did, the man would only return evil for good.

He ruthlessly stepped on the man's chest. Under the weight of his two-hundred-pound frame, the sound of breaking bones echoed. He put him out of his misery.

Sometimes, living is more painful than dying.