Chapter 114: Aerothrax I
The man snapped the laptop shut with a sharp click, his face still blank as a mask, his eyes locked on Devon’s. Without a word, he held out the sleek capsule case, the matte black surface cool and heavy as Devon took it, his fingers brushing the man’s in a moment that sent a chill up his arm.
"You have 24 hours," the man said, his voice flat, like he was stating the weather. He stepped back slightly, his sneer fading into that cold, professional stare, like he’d delivered a package and was done.
He adjusted his suit cuff, a small move that said he didn’t care about the storm he’d just started.
Devon’s face twisted, a bone-chilling glare taking over his eyes burning with a rage that could melt steel. If looks could kill, the man would have dropped dead a dozen times over, his body crumpling right there in the hallway. Devon took a step closer, his breath hot and ragged, his muscles tight under his shirt, the fury boiling inside him like lava ready to erupt.
Every second that passed fueled it more, his mind flashing to the faces on that screen, friends, colleagues, innocent people gasping for air because of this twisted game. He could hear their coughs in his head, see the old patient wheezing in panic.
The man just sneered, a small, cold twist of his lips, like he’d seen this anger before and it meant nothing to him. "Better hurry, Doctor," he said, his tone mocking, like he was enjoying the fire in Devon’s eyes.
"We made Aerothrax, but the cure? We never cracked it. Lost good people trying, scientists who thought they were close, test subjects who begged for mercy before their lungs gave out. Gone in agony, every one. Those folks in Blissville? They might be next on that list. Tick-tock, time’s wasting." He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, like this was just another chat, not a life-or-death bomb he’d dropped.
Devon’s fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white, his nails digging into his palms until they drew tiny drops of blood. He wanted to grab the man by the collar, slam him against the wall, make him beg for mercy like those victims had. Make him feel the fear he’d unleashed on innocent people, the pain of watching lives slip away. His heart pounded, his vision narrowing to just this smug face in front of him, every muscle screaming to act.
But deep down, under the rage, Devon knew this wasn’t the time. Not yet. Punching this guy wouldn’t save anyone. It wouldn’t stop the poison spreading through the hospital vents, wouldn’t help the people choking on their own breath.
He forced a breath, stepping back, his body shaking with held-back fury. Revenge could wait; lives couldn’t. He spun on his heel, shoving the capsule deeper into his pocket, and stormed down the hall, his boots echoing like thunder, each step a promise of payback. The man stood there alone, watching him go, that sneer still lingering like a bad aftertaste, the hallway feeling smaller, colder in his wake.
As Devon pushed through the FHCN’s front doors into the crisp air, the wind hitting his face like a slap, a familiar ding rang in his head, clear and sharp, like a bell only he could hear.
[System Notification]
[Quest Activated: Antidote to Aerothrax]
[Objective: Create a cure for the Aerothrax poison and save Blissville Hospital from total destruction]
[Rewards]
[Pain Transference: Temporarily absorb a patient’s pain into yourself for painless surgery or procedures. You feel it all afterward—every ache, every scream]
[Poison Immunity: Your body becomes resistant to all known poisons, including Aerothrax]
[Failure Penalty: Death]
[Time Limit: 24 hours]
Devon stopped dead on the sidewalk, the words sinking in like cold water. The system had always been straight—no fluff, just quests that tested his limits, rewards that made him better than human but death as the penalty? That was a first, a cold reminder that failure wasn’t an option. He swallowed hard, the capsule in his pocket feeling like a bomb. 24 hours to save hundreds, or die trying. No pressure. He glanced around, the city buzzing unaware, and kept moving, his steps quicker now.
Back at Blissville Hospital, the scene was pure chaos, a mess that had blown up into something out of a disaster movie, drawing crowds like moths to a flame. Media vans packed the parking lot like sardines, their tall antennas reaching for the sky, cameras rolling nonstop, lights turning night into day.
Reporters shouted into mics, their voices mixing with the wind: "Breaking news from Blissville a deadly gas has the hospital on lockdown! Victims inside are dropping, no cure in sight!" one yelled, her hair flying, her face pale under the camera lights, dodging elbows from rival crews.
Security in big suits stood like statues around the doors, their visors steamed up, radios buzzing with quick orders like "Hold the line!" and "No one in or out!" Cops in heavy gear pushed back the growing crowd, families crying, banging on metal fences, yelling for updates.
"My son’s in there, he can’t breathe!" a mom screamed, tears streaming, her hands raw from pounding, her friends holding her back as she lunged forward. Paramedics waited by empty ambulances, masks on, tools ready but useless, stuck outside by quarantine rules, pacing like caged animals.
Teams in white suits hurried around, grabbing air samples, their boots thumping on the ground, faces serious behind clear shields, whispering about tests and timelines.
Through the sealed windows, the inside looked like hell, a slow-motion train wreck that broke hearts. Nurses and doctors who could still stand pressed notes to the glass quick scribbles in marker.
"Can’t breathe,"
"Lungs burning," "
"Blood in coughs, help!" The notes got snapped up outside, sparking frantic searches, people yelling over each other. "It might be a poison!"
"Call experts now!" Phones rang like crazy, social media blew up with videos of the mess, hashtags like #BlissvilleCrisis trending fast, comments pouring in from everywhere, prayers, theories, offers of help.
Families shared stories in huddles, "My grandma was fine this morning, now she’s choking!" a woman sobbed, her group nodding, sharing hugs. Reporters grilled anyone they could grab, "What do you know about this toxin? Any leads?" And through all the noise, one name kept coming up, loud and clear Devon Aldridge.
"Get Dr Aldridge!" a doctor banged on the window, her voice weak but loud, her fist leaving smudges on the glass. "He’s the guy, he can fix this!"
The chant spread like fire, nurses joining from other windows, families shouting it to the cops, even a reporter saying it on air "Hospital staff are calling for Dr Devon Aldridge, the new chief surgeon where is he? Sources say he’s the key to cracking this."
The FHCN offices were a madhouse too, flipped upside down like a kicked anthill. People burst in, angry families with signs their faces red, voices booming over each other.
"You locked up the one man who could help!" a doctor yelled, pointing fingers, his voice cracking from exhaustion.
Agents ran around, phones to ears, dialing like mad, sweat on their brows. "Track Aldridge and less use everything!" one barked into a radio, flipping through files. Lawyers yelled demands, pulling old favors, lighting up networks like a web of fireworks—calls to senators, tips to private eyes, even pings on traffic cams.
"He’s out there, find him before it’s too late!" Desks piled with papers, screens glowing with maps and alerts, the air thick with coffee and stress. But it was all for nothing. Devon had slipped away, gone like smoke in the wind, the most wanted guy in a crisis that had everyone on edge, fingers crossed and prayers whispered.
Meanwhile, Devon the guy everyone chased moved through quiet back streets, his coat up against the wind, dodging main roads and streetlights. He thought about the hospital, the faces twisting in pain, the clock ticking like a bomb in his head.
The capsule burned in his pocket, a reminder of the mess he was in, the weight pulling at him with every step. He replayed the man’s words, the sneer, fueling his resolve, payback would come, but first, the cure. He reached the old building, a forgotten spot tucked between warehouses, slipped through a side door no one noticed, and headed down to the basement.
The stairs creaked under his shoes, the air turning cool and dusty, each step taking him deeper into his world. In his mind, the system screen glowed bright.
[Time Left: 23:42:38]
He took a deep breath, pushing the door open, ready to fight, the familiar hum welcoming him like an old friend.
It was pitch black inside, a dark hole that ate up all sound. "Lights on," Devon said, his voice steady and clear. The room sprang to life, like it had been holding its breath just for him. Soft blue lights bloomed across the space, revealing a lab that was pure magic. a surgeon’s paradise, beautiful and beyond anything in the world.
The place was stunning, a hidden wonder of tech and smarts that took your breath away. Walls glowed with big screens showing 3D bodies that spun slow, lighting up hearts, brains, veins in bright colors, so real you could reach out and feel them beat, the details sharp as a photo.
Robotic arms hung from the ceiling like friendly helpers, their tips super thin and precise, ready to join in practice ops or real ones, moving smooth as silk. Tables sparkled with amazing tools, laser knives that cut bone clean and easy, tiny needles for perfect shots of meds, hologram machines that let him rehearse surgeries in the air, like drawing with light that felt solid.
Shelves were packed with cool stuff, organs grown in labs, thumping soft in clear boxes like they were alive, test drugs in shining tubes that glowed faint with promise, smart scanners that checked health from far away, no need to touch, beeping soft with results.
One corner had a big pod for fake surgeries, with blood that felt real and hearts that beat like true, the smells and sounds pulling you in. Another spot had setups for fixing genes, tools that tweaked DNA quick and safe, screens showing cells dance and change.
The air hummed gentle, clean and fresh, with a light smell of clean metal that made you feel sharp. Lights changed colors, blue to calm your nerves, white to focus your mind making the room feel alive, like it knew what you needed and adjusted just for you. Floors gleamed underfoot, spotless and non-slip, with hidden vents keeping the temp perfect.
A small tree In the center, a massive workbench waited, surrounded by drawers full of rare samples, reexotic herbs, synthetic compounds, tools from around the world. It was Devon’s secret spot, his playground, where he sharpened his skills, tested wild ideas, and cracked tough puzzles that stumped everyone else. As one of the best doctors around, with a brain that knew every surgery trick like the back of his hand, this was his kingdom, beautiful and strong, kept hidden from everyone else, a place where miracles started.
Devon shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud, then pulled his shirt over his head, leaving just his singlet, the thin fabric sticking to his skin from the walk. He stepped forward to the central table, his eyes sharp, his mind locked in. The tools gleamed under the lights, waiting for him, like old friends ready to help.
The clock ticked in his head, but he was in his element now. Failure? Not here, not today. He cracked his knuckles, placed the capsule on the table, and got to work, the blue glow casting shadows on his face as he dove in.