Test Subject 23-3: My Favorite Escapist
There are countless escape artists in the world, but my absolute favorite is the Count of Monte Cristo. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say he's the only one I truly love.
A young, talented sailor named Edmond Dantès, falsely accused and thrown into the inescapable Chateau d'If without a proper trial. There, he meets the abbé Faria, the benefactor who teaches him he was framed, and together they plot their escape. Though the abbé, weakened by illness and age, can't join him and passes away, Edmond inherits his will. He finds the treasure on the Isle of Monte Cristo left by the abbé, adopts the title of Count of Monte Cristo, exacts revenge on those who betrayed him, upholds justice, and in the end, sails off on a romantic yacht trip with his lover—the ultimate payoff for an escape artist.
I adore that story.
[Crazy bastard.]
This time, the voice came through the wall crystal clear.
[Be honest. You don't have amnesia, do you?]
"I told you, I don't remember shit from before I got here."
[......]
I could feel the suspicion radiating from her, but instead of proving my amnesia, I got up from my spot and peered into the plate the Frankenstein bot had brought.
"......"
What had looked like a lump from afar was just a haphazardly plated brown rectangular biscuit.
"Padre."
No response, so I tried a more straightforward term.
"Father."
[......]
"Abbé."
[......]
"Papa?"
[...Why.]
The "why" felt like it had "you crazy fuck" omitted from it. Being the bigger man, I ignored it and asked what I'd meant to anyway.
"This is brown, right?"
[......]
"I might be colorblind, y'know. Green biscuits are a no-go."
Green biscuits are unacceptable. Absolutely not.
[It's brown.]
"Good."
Reassured, I shoved the biscuit into my mouth whole. It was so perfectly moisture-free that it sucked every drop of spit straight down my throat the moment I bit in.
[If I'm not colorblind too.]
"Ptui!"
[Kidding. Why the hell even ask that?]
"You can have Soylent Brown, but Soylent Green? Hell no."
Feeling queasy for no reason, I took a swig from the water I'd brought along.
Gulp.
"......"
Did this robot asshole wash his hands in it? The water tasted like heavy bunker oil.
After my unsatisfying meal ended and the Frankenbot cleared the dishes, I finally spoke up.
"Call me if anyone shows up—including the robot."
[......]
"Papa?"
[Why the fuck.]
I couldn't tell if he meant why was a guy like me in the next cell, why call him over, or why "Papa." But grasping the examiner's intent was child's play for someone with my moderately sharp wits, honed enough to master an ascension technique without too much hassle.
"Help me get outta here. Just wake me if you sense anyone in the hall, Pria Padre. Or Papa for short."
[Please... haaah...]
I could sense emotions stirring in the guy. Irritation, annoyance, hysteria—didn't matter. A reaction was a positive sign, so I took it as such.
"Alright, let's roll with it."
[Roll with what...?]
Something sounded off, but I'd already assumed a stance, turning my awareness inward.
Drip...
Drip...
Drip.
In my past life, I'd properly learned martial arts in a grotto beneath a collapsed secret cave.
Back then, after all sorts of hardships, I'd settled down as an escort guard. One day, the chief escort and my fellow guards dragged me along to explore some secret cave. But due to a major misunderstanding between me and the chief, I ended up stabbed and abandoned as the cave collapsed.
Luck wasn't on my side, but I was tough against bad luck—I fell straight into the grotto right below, saving my skin.
Drip. Eyes snapping open at the falling water droplets, I spotted another secret cave there.
The new one was a rectangular space about the size of a generous studio apartment, lit by night-luminescent pearls embedded in the ceiling, revealing its contents clearly.
Directly across from the entrance on the opposite wall lay a mummy sprawled out in a posture as casual as if it were his own living room. Specifically, like a dad lounging on the sofa watching TV.
Spotting an old book in front of him, I approached cautiously and picked it up.
There was no escaping the collapsed cave without the manual right in front of me.
With such a grandiose name, maybe it'd have some way out. Cautiously, I opened the book and began to read.
Disciple, I was once a righteous wanderer called the Thunderclap Lord. Fools blind to truth slander me as the Thunder Demon or Evil Lord of Shaking Heaven, but such is the babble of the ignorant...
Dizzy from the ravings of some lunatic turned mummy, I skipped ahead to the conclusion.
...Thus, disciple, I bequeath this art to you. Should you be righteous, it shall become a supreme righteous technique of an age. Should you be wicked, it shall become a demonic art of an age. I dominated my era regardless, so what path you choose to inherit my ultimate art lies solely in your heart and nature.
'...Crazy bastard.'
I muttered it without thinking at the batshit insane conclusion.
...Hah... this... three [Hey!]
"Tch! Wasn't sleeping! I wasn't sleeping!"
Clank.
My meditative focus shattered, snapping me back from introspection to the Chateau d'If—no, the mad scientist's lab.
Crisis averted. Papa—aka Pria Padre—had saved me. The iron-barred door had swung open, and the Frankenbot lumbered in, yanking my arm to haul me up like a sack of trash.
If I'd been mid-circulation exercise, that could've been disastrous. Of course, as a seasoned martial artist, I'd have snapped alert the instant the door opened...!
"Ow! Ah...! Hey, you little shit! My leg's asleep!"
Screeeeech!
Even the greatest martial master can't escape the agony of a dead leg, and shamefully, a scream ripped from my throat.
But the heartless monster of steel and oil dragged me mercilessly out of the room.
"Hey...! No. 23...!! Thought you were dead...! Called for three days straight, no answer!"
Papa's voice echoed sharply down the hall as I was pulled toward the elevator at the end. Even then, I yelled back to reassure him.
"Papa...! Be back soon...!!"
Clank.
The doors shut.
"......"
The moment they closed, I stood up like nothing happened and stared at the Frankenbot beside me.
Unlike the usual busted-wheeled cart they dragged me on, this one gripped a rifle in one hand, its emotionless glass camera lens fixed straight ahead.
"What an ugly fucking mug."
I'd seen it last time, so I knew where we were headed. About ten seconds later, the doors would open to the mad scientist's lab. Judging by the ceiling structure and floor tiles, no hidden traps.
Weapons limited to the scientist's built-in surgical tools in his hands and the rifle on this bot in front of me.
Pretending to inspect my mechanical leg, I subtly adjusted my distance from it.
'Papa said three days.'
Focusing on my dantian, the internal energy I felt was a pathetic trickle. No clue how thoroughly they'd sealed this underground hell, but the qi was paper-thin. Plus, this body was so frail it might not even cooperate.
Could I manage with this much? Three more days, and I'd hit third-rate warrior level, maybe.
Ding!
Lost in thought, the elevator doors parted, revealing the lab.
"......"
Poke.
Hesitating, something long and hard jabbed my back.
"......"
Annoyed, I glanced behind—its horrific form soured my mood further, so I looked ahead instead.
"I'll buy eyes that didn't see."
He looked even more deranged than before. Maybe because I'd spent time in the gray cell he'd so thoughtfully decorated to torment prisoners and stoke madness.
"How's the mood?"
"Does my mood change what you do?"
He let out a wet, phlegmy chuckle—khuh or keh, who knew.
"Lie down on the table."
"Grateful it's not 'come in here' at least."
"Last experiment was a delight. So I prepared a gift for you."
"......"
At "gift," my arm twitched reflexively—then a red dot lit up my chest.
"No funny business. Think I'd leave you unbound for nothing?"
"......"
The robot prick had me zeroed in with the rifle. Where'd it even come from? Wasn't around last time.
Clap!
While I glared at the bot's misshapen head, he clapped like he wanted my attention.
"Come now, I like you a lot. Especially that you stay sane without anesthesia."
The lunatic said that while hoisting something up.
It was an eyeball linked to the optic nerve, reinterpreted mechanically—a cybernetic optic.
"Supple Optics High-Class III. Top-tier optical gear!"
"......"
"No brain mods needed; the eye itself handles all processing, so even naturals can install it easily. And the best part? I designed it!"
"Hold up, what?"
Click.
Couldn't let that slide—I opened my mouth, and his arm transformed, clamping my head in place.
"Don't move, or it's bad news! Got just the one, but as payment for the fun you gave me—take it!"
"Mmph! Stop! Letgo!! Gaaarghhh!!!"