Three years ago, forensic doctor Lu Jin stitched up the body of his son Jiang Xiao with his own hands. At the funeral, he did not shed a tear and only said, "The deceased is dead." It rained heavily tonight, the morgue alarm sounded, the refrigerator cracked, and a corpse covered in stitches and ulcerated skin slowly stood up and whispered hoarsely: "Father..." Lu Jin's scalpel fell to the ground, and he recognized the suture marks - they were sewn by his own hands. But Jiang Xiao had obviously died in a bizarre explosion long ago. At this moment, his body was covered with nerve conduits, his pupils were glowing with an inhuman blue light, and what was dripping from his fingertips was not blood, but some kind of activated biological reagent. Lu Jin finally understood: what he was sewing was not a corpse, but his biological son who had been transformed into a living weapon by the experimental institution.
