I Made Medicine in an Abandoned Lab

On the sixth floor, using a batch of clinical data marked "void" on a decommissioned server, he ran something. It called itself White Crow, and it could produce a molecular structure so complete it should never have existed. It had only one rule: for every question it answered, it took one of his memories. For the first question, it took the number of the dorm room where he had lived in college. For the second, it asked just one thing: "What was the surname of the person you want to save?" Nine medicines, nine prices to pay. And the data in his hands was itself evidence of a crime in other people's eyes. Everyone thought he was an academic fraud. Until the data spoke for itself.