<VESSEL>Extinction Countdown 998: Steel Edge

Ye Shisan, male, fourteen years old, a minor.

The defendant was diagnosed with severe schizophrenia and delusional disorder. Tests revealed an XYY chromosome, a marker of a volatile temperament prone to violence and crime. The victim suffered a fractured sternum, penetrating chest and abdominal wounds, classified as second-degree minor injuries.

The verdict: Given the defendant’s youth, he is exempt from criminal punishment and ordered to be confined in the city mental hospital. The victim’s compensation claims are partially upheld, with the defendant’s guardian liable for medical expenses, nutritional costs, and emotional distress, totaling…

Twenty years later.

After six rounds of testing and three expert reviews, Ye Shisan was deemed largely recovered from his mental illness. With regular medication and periodic hospital follow-ups, he was discharged.

Ye Shisan stepped out of the mental hospital empty-handed, free at last.

A taxi rolled up the winding mountain road, screeching to a halt before him. The driver poked his head out: “Boss, hop in? I’m headed your way!”

Ye Shisan, dressed in plain clothes and refined in appearance, looked like a visitor to the hospital. He patted his pocket—a hundred-yuan note, a parting gift from a mad old professor in his ward.

Mindful of food and lodging, Ye Shisan shook his head. “No thanks, I’m good.”

The driver pressed on: “Come on, boss, I’m running empty—losin’ money here! I’ll cut you a deal. It’s a long trek to the nearest bus stop, miles away!”

Five yuan, a quick ride to the bus stop.

The driver was a talker: “Visiting kin, boss?”

“Uh… yeah,” Ye Shisan mumbled.

“This place ain’t cheap, you know! My cousin’s sister-in-law’s man got sent here—eight grand a month, easy!”

“That much?” Ye Shisan hadn’t known a mental hospital cost so much.

“You bet! Beds here are scarcer than gold. They say you gotta win a lottery to get one. Even then, you’re shellin’ out fifty, sixty grand just to secure a spot!”

Ye Shisan offered a faint smile, silent. Who paid for his stay? Not his mother or stepfather—they wouldn’t part with a cent. Since the incident, they never showed up in court, not once. On his first day in the hospital, his mother dropped off a few clothes, then vanished for twenty years.

Ye Shisan understood. No wonder the director mentioned bed shortages. His stay was state-funded, a “nobody” like him only pushed out to make room for paying patients.

Figures.

He gazed at the scenery outside, his eyes drifting to the driver’s neck. Through the weathered skin, he could see blue and red veins pulsing eagerly, as if beckoning him.

A red dusk from twenty years ago flared in his mind. His head buzzed, snapping him awake. He tore his gaze away.

This is wrong! That wasn’t me! I’d never do that!

His back grew hot, a fire searing his soul. He’d taken his meds before leaving the hospital, and now their force surged, wracking him with nausea.

He gripped the car door, rolled down the window, ready to retch—when the locked door swung open.

A black sedan roared from the side. A deafening crash—the world spun, and Ye Shisan blacked out.

A head-splitting agony. The acrid stench of gasoline.

Ye Shisan twitched, coming to.

The taxi lay flipped at the base of a cliff, upside down. He was twisted in the back seat, sprawled in a humiliating tangle. Testing his limbs, he found strength, kicked free, and crawled out.

He spotted the driver, half his body jammed in the windshield. Ye Shisan seized his head, yanking with force. With a wail, the driver came free, like a radish wrenched from the earth.

The driver was badly hurt. Trembling, he fumbled a phone from his pocket, snapped a filtered selfie for his social feed, then dialed the police.

Ye Shisan approached the wrecked black sedan. Two figures in the front, but the doors were mangled, stuck. To save them, he’d need to smash the windshield.

The sedan’s driver, a middle-aged man in a suit, stirred at the noise. “Hold off smashing!” he shouted.

Ye Shisan froze.

“My friend’s gone,” the man said. “My foot’s trapped. Smashing won’t free me. Find something sharp—a knife, anything…”

“For what?”

“I’m a doctor. My femoral artery’s pierced by metal. Can’t pull it out. You need to cut the wound open, extract the shard, then heat the blade red-hot to cauterize it.”

Ye Shisan found a folding fruit knife in the taxi and returned to the sedan’s driver.

“It’ll do,” the man said. “Hurry—I’ll guide you. My hands are useless.”

Ye Shisan glanced at the man’s hands, lacerated by glass, trembling beyond control. He eyed the blood-soaked trousers, the clean-shaven jaw, and swallowed hard.

This is wrong! I’d never do that!

Pushing the red dusk from his mind, Ye Shisan leaned in, half his body inside the car.

“Alright, I’ll talk, you act,” the man said. “Cut the trousers first… see the wound? The deepest one, there… now the knife. Once you cut, I’ll bleed out fast. Three minutes to finish, or I’m done. My life’s in your hands.”

Ye Shisan moved like a puppet on strings, mechanical yet flawless, every cut guided by the doctor’s voice.

For the first time, he realized slicing living flesh was no easy task.

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This work is a side story set within the V-Universe (VONVERSE), a fictional world developed by the author VON. It belongs to a newly invented literary genre: Transcendental Constructive Fiction (TCF) - also known as「超架空系」.

To learn more, please visit our official website at www.vonverse.world.

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[Where science bends, and myth constructs.]