The sudden brightness was not dawn. It was a supernova detonating across galaxies.

  High-intensity current pierced his cerebral cortex. Leo convulsed. A dry wheeze clawed its way from his throat before being choked back into his chest.

  Death is absolute silence. Pain is the only proof of life.

  He was in pain. Therefore, he was not dead.

  Haha. You couldn't kill me. Now wait for my counterattack.

  He forced his eyes open. But there was no man in black. No exceedingly evil Fire Keeper.

  Only a massive blue planet filled his vision.

  His consciousness froze. The agony in his body—as if plunged into liquid nitrogen—instantly solidified. Then transformed into a tremor bordering on awe.

  He had seen it in holographic atlases. Stared at it in grainy war films. Even experienced it in hallucinogenic dreams.

  But those were pixels. Reflections. Illusions.

  Now, it hung before him. Beautiful as a titanium-alumina crystal, radiating absolutely pure blue light.

  In comparison, all his complaints, all his fury—insignificant. Noisy. Filthy.

  Yes. It had no omnipresent radioactive dust. No aluminum particles in artificial air. No low gravity breeding flaccid muscles and fragile bones.

  If only he could return to the amniotic fluid of his homeland, his perpetually screaming nerves would find eternal peace.

  "Mother, I..." He tried to lift a finger—to touch that distant coastline. "I will get the ticket home. I promise."

  Unknown time passed. Leo's thoughts fell back to reality.

  Tickets were too expensive. Ten years of saving wasn't enough. He could only fight. Only steal.

  Moreover, he had no choice but to fight now.

  He immediately formulated an action plan.

  Tactile feedback told him he was lying in physiological gel. The humming was the variable-frequency sound of a Type-E circulation pump. Combined with other data, he made his diagnosis: he was inside a "Raphael Type-III" Life Recovery Unit.

  This was personal medical equipment reserved for Red-Ranked Priests. He had written the driver programs for its neural interface ports.

  Haha. You didn't expect this, did you? This device was built by yours truly.

  He blinked immediately, activating the eye-tracking language system designed for temporarily paralyzed patients.

  The engineering interface loaded.

  However, when he read the contents, his professional dignity—as a doctor, as an engineer—suffered a humiliating blow.

  [ SPIRITUAL TREMOR: STABLE ]

  [ SIN CLEANSING CYCLE: 7TH PERIOD ]

  [ GRACE INFUSION RATE: 50ML/MIN ]

  These charlatans in robes.

  His mouth began to twitch.

  These charlatans in robes had actually changed "heart rate" to "Spiritual Tremor"? "Hemodialysis" to "Sin Cleansing"? Expensive "polymer repair fluid" to "Grace"?

  This was like anointing circuit boards with holy oil. Blasphemy against engineering.

  But what was really happening? They wanted to kill me, yet they were saving me?

  He rotated his gaze as much as possible. His brain ran at high speed. Logical chains connected, one by one.

  I was injected with poison. Didn't die. Lying in a top-tier medical unit. Candles around. Holy icons on the walls. A transparent spired skylight above.

  All evidence pointed to one conclusion: I'm inside a Silver Ring sanctuary.

  The owner must be Her Holiness the Fire Keeper, Vivian.

  Yes. It was her claw—that bodyguard in black—who dragged me here.

  They're using a Raphael Type-III to keep me alive. Which means... they changed their minds. They don't intend to kill me immediately.

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  It must be because of the nuclear war secret.

  The previous deduction was confirmed again: the Fire Keeper is a doomsday ark for post-nuclear war. Or perhaps other reasons—gamma-ray bursts, radiation leaks. Regardless, they built a "single-person Noah's Ark." And not just her. All High Priests have this armor layer, including the Pope.

  She's afraid. She didn't kill me because she doesn't know who else I told this secret to. She wants to interrogate me. Confirm if there are other informants.

  He suddenly wanted to laugh. Was Oba captured too? That would serve as evidence of accomplices.

  As for me, I just need to act mysterious. Make her believe this chess game is bigger than she thinks.

  If they don't give me a ticket, this secret will be broadcast across the entire moon. Those Rats will tear the Lower City apart. Let them burn.

  But clearly, the Fire Keeper was not some delicate innocent. She was a ruthless demon lord. Otherwise, I wouldn't be in this situation. I must formulate a viable counterattack plan.

  Leo pulled up the architectural blueprint of the Ring's medical chamber in his mind.

  He had never been to this room. But all "Raphael"-level medical chambers followed the same building codes. Back when he served as Assistant to Priest Morrison, he had personally participated in writing the Sanctuary Medical Security Protocol.

  Back then, he was still a frail youth, frantically absorbing all knowledge to heal himself.

  Driven by an orphan's dark insecurity, he always left a backdoor when writing critical code.

  Not for theft. Just one more card during life-or-death gambles in the laboratory.

  Leo's mouth curved into a smile.

  These arrogant fools only piled gold and gems onto hardware. They never thought to check if a ghost was hidden in the source code.

  Fools. All of them.

  The plan took shape.

  STEP ONE: SHOW WEAKNESS (BAIT).

  That bodyguard—if guessed correctly, one of the Fire Keeper's doctrinal "Guardians"—was modified with super combat prosthetics. Cannot be defeated head-on.

  So I'll pretend to have an allergic reaction. Or a disease episode. No need to fake it. Every second right now, I'm in pain enough to want death. The bodyguard will immediately check the drug system in the adjacent room. That leaves only me and the Fire Keeper.

  I'll twitch like a poisoned stray dog. Roll my eyes. Foam at the mouth. Then blink at the Fire Keeper. Make faces. Like final words before death.

  STEP TWO: ENTER THE TRAP.

  To hear my confession clearly, she will open the pod door. At that moment, I'll reach out. Input the gesture matrix on the external control panel. Activate the biohazard alarm.

  STEP THREE: LOCKDOWN (HOSTAGE).

  Once successful, this room's doors will seal internally within 100 milliseconds. The entire chamber will enter "Bio-Isolation Mode." I'll get out immediately. Take her hostage.

  The deal will be made. Going home is just around the corner.

  Finally.

  Come on, beautiful Fire Keeper Demon Lord. You probably didn't expect that I'm the administrator of this medical pod, did you?

  Bring your torture tools. Bring your arrogance. Let me teach you what true "Grace" really is.

  As the plan formulated, a hot current exploded inside him—residual stimulants and adrenaline in the dialysis fluid making their final sprint.

  He plunged into immense satisfaction.

  But dozens of seconds later, pain rolled back. Like a tsunami.

  Light and color instantly dissolved into void darkness.

  He passed out. Woke up. Then the next cycle began.

  During one moment of clarity, he saw a woman.

  She sat in a wheelchair, wrapped entirely in heavy black robes. Her skin looked like crumpled parchment. Her eyes were cloudy. But sharp.

  She displayed no interpretable expression. All emotions were tightly wrapped inside that layer of parchment.

  Only once, when looking at him, did she show signs of observation—a chief physician's perspective.

  As if he were a freshly excised brain, and she was trying to judge the degree of pathology from surface folds and textures.

  But after that, he never saw this person again.

  Instead, the Fire Keeper Demon Lord appeared frequently.

  She always knelt silently on the cushion beside the pod. Like a white sculpture.

  She never touched any control panels. Seemed completely uninterested in her own medical data.

  This was quite boring.

  He began writing medical examination reports for the Fire Keeper in his mind. Of course, all observational.

  Her breathing: stable. Frequency 10% higher than normal—clearly moderate anxiety.

  That lead-polymer layer: only observable from specific angles. Most of the time, it glowed red. Surface body temperature: chronically elevated. Most likely immune system disorder caused by the polymer. Specific cause: pending investigation.

  Her posture: upright. Bones symmetrical. She must have undergone Earth-gravity training, reinforcing bone density.

  As for her excessively frequent visitation rate, this was psychological deterrence.

  She sat in the same position, maintaining so-called sacred posture, to implant a suggestion:

  "I didn't kill you. I saved you. I am your benefactor. And your master."

  He couldn't help but snort. Oh, really?

  Then tell me—where did I store the encryption key?

  Once bio-mode activates, what will you do?

  Tearfully cry and beg? Or whimper in a low voice?

  Do you know how to write assembly language? I even know a thing or two about how to punch holes in paper tape.

  He even rehearsed several sets of different psychological terminology plans to dismantle her.

  Until a longer moment of clarity arrived.

  He saw the Fire Keeper. Hands clasped tightly. Eyes staring dead at him.

  Her cheeks: flushed. Breathing: abnormal. Sweat seeping from her forehead. Neck: trembling slightly.

  Was she about to interrogate him?

  No. She wasn't carrying electrocution rods. Psychotropic drugs. Analysis or recording instruments.

  Her posture didn't resemble psychological deterrence either. More like... suffering.

  Was she having a medical episode?

  No. She was a top-tier gene-modified individual. Must be immune to almost all lunar diseases.

  Hallucinogenic reaction triggered by religious fanaticism?

  Also no. I'm her prisoner, not her worship idol.

  He thought. And thought. All analytical theories—as if formatted—could not produce a logical answer.

  Until he consolidated all observational phenomena under one term: adolescence.

  Combined with the Silver Church's suppression of desire. The pornographic stories from the sewers. Data matching completed.

  All nodes instantly connected into lines.

  Warnings exploded in his mind. Like virus pop-ups.

  He stared. In shock.

  An explanation more terrifying, more absurd than "doomsday armor"—yet perfect within his logical closed loop—was born.

  His pupils contracted violently.

  She... she... she...

  Could she possibly be trying to conduct some kind of perverted interrogation—through molesting me?!

  He passed out. Again.

  Not due to physical failure. From excessive fright.

  Of course, this was also his last blackout.

  Because the interrogation had truly begun.