NOVEL WEB Chapter 905
Life force is rising like a sprout, gazing in one direction.
As stagnant water finally breaks free, the life force within the seed begins to find its direction.
Like the moon, hidden behind dark clouds, revealing itself and shining its light on the surface, the life force slowly begins to draw towards a specific place, driven by an energy that aims toward its homeland with a sense of aimlessness.
The direction is northwest.
It may feel distant at first, but with the power of an airplane, it’s not that far away.
“Items leave traces, so show me your memories.”
The shaman gauged the direction and performed another spell.
To know the identity of the object in his hand.
To understand what is happening at the place he wishes to go.
Thus, he closes his eyes.
A body made of insects.
A body that exists in Seoul, Republic of Korea.
Both of those bodies.
As the two pairs of eyes shut, they slowly sink into the blurry darkness.
Whirling energy produces a thread, and that thread flutters in the wind like a spider’s web, creating a sensation of connection to something.
The spell he casts clumsily replicates the psychic ability of psychometry, and begins to inject blurred images into his mind.
In that moment, as a small fragment tries to enter his head.
Thud.
A sudden jolt crashes into his mind like falling from the top of a skyscraper that easily exceeds hundreds of meters.
Like Icarus’s heart crashing down from the sky, his mind, which was slowly descending, speeds up as if pulled down into the depths by someone’s hand.
It expands.
Like putting a magnifying glass over a spider’s web, it thickens.
And finally, it transforms into a pillar, beginning to hand over memories to him.
[…This shouldn’t be happening!]
Brighter images start to replay in his mind.
* * *
When looking at the remnants of the old Soviet Union, the word ‘depersonalization’ naturally comes to mind.
A monotonous gray that not only suppresses individuality but tramples it underfoot.
The design appears to be focused solely on efficiency and mass production.
Residences are constructed without any aesthetic, emphasizing functionality alone, educating the inhabitants to strip away their individuality and utilize them as mere components.
Since society is formed by people coming together, perhaps the old Soviet Union exhibited such inorganic, desolate appearances due to its attempt to bring people together to maintain society?
Time passed, the USSR fell, and Russia took its place, yet the remnants of the Soviet era remain as a legacy on Russian soil.
Even when a person dies, there’s something to leave for their descendants; how could a giant nation leave behind nothing?
This thick concrete and rebar-walled research institute was one of those numerous legacies.
Thick, thick, and thick.
Constructed in such a robust manner that it could withstand several bunker buster strikes, this research facility stood strong.
Inside the institute, there were a considerable number of researchers.
Unlike the shabby clothes of those struggling as grad students, the pristine white lab coats, not a speck of dust on them, had ‘Dr.’ embroidered in gold thread along with their names.
The group of researchers, all Slavic, were performing their respective tasks within the institute.
On a fancy leather sofa that clashed with the rough gray concrete walls, someone was sleeping under a sleeping bag, while others, with bloodshot eyes, stared at a centrifuge, trying to self-hypnotize themselves with thoughts like ‘I am not a walking starfish. I am not a walking mushroom. I am a brilliant researcher, a perfectionist who never makes mistakes in experiments.’ Some were wrapped in their heads after failing experiments, while others were doing the same after succeeding but not knowing the reason.
“Why on earth did I succeed? Why?”
Among all these individuals, the most peculiar was the researcher who was clutching his head despite having succeeded in an experiment.
Like a programmer witnessing a code work flawlessly without any errors or bugs for the first time, experiencing cosmic horror and panic, the researcher stared blankly at the glass tube filled with what he had cultured.
And then, someone approached quietly and asked.
“What’s the matter?”
“Ah, Joanna.”
The witch, Joanna, covered head to toe in green.
When she asked, the researcher began to pour out his troubles, perhaps seeking relief through conversation.
“Do you remember that we captured the Russian desman and sent it not too long ago?”
“Yeah, the mole that was caught in the Red Forest?”
The Red Forest.
It may sound ordinary, but there is only one place referred to by the proper noun ‘Red Forest’ in Russia.
A forest where trees turned a bright red due to radiation from Chernobyl.
For an ordinary person, it represents a silent hell where one would die soaked in radiation.
And here was the researcher casually stating that he captured a living organism from such a hell where it was difficult for any life form to exist, or if it did, likely wouldn’t appear normal.
“Do you have more details?”
“No?”
Joanna lightly negated, so lightly that there was not a hint of curiosity in her voice.
The two letters of ‘no’ carried the profound meaning of ‘I don’t really want to know, so I haven’t bothered to find out’ and ‘I’m not too curious, so I don’t want to listen.’
But whether the researcher was disregarding Joanna’s intention or simply didn’t understand, he continued his speech seamlessly.
“Ah, then let me tell you. The exploration team that went out there collected the Russian desman from the soil mixed with cobalt-60 waste. The explorers said, since quite some time had passed in terms of half-life, the sievert wasn’t that high? So they figured the equipment could handle it and attempted to collect some samples.”
“I see?”
“But, they discovered something strange within that pile of cobalt-60 waste. They found plants resembling red raspberries.”
Growing raspberries amidst radioactive waste?
Joanna, who seemed disinterested, looked at the researcher with a spark of interest.
Recognizing this response from Joanna, the researcher excitedly continued his explanation.
“But upon closer inspection, that plant had no roots. Yes, as it turns out, it wasn’t a plant at all, but rather a mycetozoa! In words you’re familiar with, it’s called ‘slime’! Those creatures were growing in the pile of radioactive waste!”
“Oh my, slime?”
“Yes. Although we haven’t managed to recreate an environment similar to the Red Forest in the lab for large-scale collection yet… After checking the samples sent over, it seems they exhibit some resistance to radiation. Although it’s not perfect.”
“Slime that’s resistant to radiation? Now that could be useful!”
“Absolutely! Plus, considering the characteristics of this fellow, it makes it even more so! Upon investigation, it seems they thrive not on cobalt-60 but on nickel-60, produced from the beta decay of cobalt-60. This creature considers a radiation-filled dangerous environment as the optimal breeding ground, adapting to it! Of course, whether they can breed in a stable environment containing only nickel-60 remains to be seen; that’ll require more research! Mixing in cobalt-60 or creating artificial beta particle and electron anti-neutrino emissions…”
“Yeah, got it.”
As the researcher began to launch into unknown jargon, Joanna cut him off. It seemed she was signaling to move on to the main point by gesturing toward the glass tube.
“Ah, right. Sorry for the lengthy explanation. Anyway, it’s not entirely certain, but the captured Russian desmans seem to be living off those mycetozoa they grew. I was told they observed the creatures attempting to harvest the mycetozoa like vegetables. Isn’t that fascinating? Mycetozoa adapting to a hostile environment filled with radiation, and moles surviving off those mycetozoa… Amazingly, nature has completed a huge cycle, adapting even to a horrific environment like radiation!”
It was truly an astonishing phenomenon.
Praising the wonders of nature and the greatness of the Creator would not even scratch the surface of it.
Yet the problem was that he couldn’t understand this astonishing discovery.
“But no matter how much I look, I can’t figure out the mechanism behind their adaptation to radiation. It’s neither a substance they secrete, nor do genetic analyses show any differences compared to specimens collected in other locations outside the Red Forest, and there’s no other singularity to speak of either.”
The researcher paused there and pointed at the glass tube.
“So I thought: perhaps these creatures possess the ability to adapt to radiation? Thus, I removed embryos and fetuses from the moles and recreated an environment similar to what the explorers sent from the ‘Red Forest’.”
To say they took out the fetus and embryo and then exposed them to radiation in the glass tube.
Needless to say, such an experiment would never yield successful results.
Most of what he put in the glass tube either died or underwent irreversible transformation.
The outcome was far from what he hoped would lead to research results related to ‘radiation resistance.’
Right.
He had failed in the experiment he intended to perform.
But surprisingly, this was a failure that wasn’t quite a failure.
The results of a failed experiment.
The oddly transformed Russian desman fetuses that were on the verge of being classified as ‘waste’ began to display unexpected effects.