Ultimate Evolution: I Became the Master of the World

The night was pitch black and super gloomy.

The big ol' clock on the square facade of that tall building up north showed 8:50 PM. Rush hour was long over, but the streets were still jam-packed. Every now and then, some fearless electric bike rider would zoom out from a red-light intersection. Right behind them, a bunch of folks who seemed to value time more than their lives would follow suit, not willing to wait even a second.

"These idiots, running red lights like they own the place. No wonder people say Veridiania folks have no manners!"

A middle-aged dude with thick black-framed glasses stood by the crosswalk, watching the electric bikes and bicycles weave past him. He angrily muttered in the local Auroravale language. He glanced up at the pedestrian signal flashing red on the other side of the street, then confidently stepped off the curb, forcing a bus that had the green light to stop. He quickly vanished into the crowd on the other side.

Traffic rules? Those are for vehicles. Pedestrians? They do whatever they want.

Suddenly, an ambulance with flashing red and blue lights, marked "Auroravale General Hospital," slowly made its way through the traffic, siren blaring.

This obvious attempt to cut through the rules ticked off a lot of people waiting around. Especially a middle-aged woman on an electric bike hogging the bus lane in front. She turned her head, spat at the ambulance, snorted, and with a smug sense of pride in blocking a steel beast way bigger than her, ignored the blaring horn behind her.

Inside the ambulance, it was way quieter.

"Just my luck. Covering for ten minutes and I get an emergency."

On the side seat, a young male orderly in a white coat grumbled, arms crossed, slowly chewing a piece of gum that had lost its flavor.

"Chill out! Everyone hits a rough patch sometimes."

Opposite him, another young guy in a white coat with a "Duty Doctor" badge on his chest adjusted his slipping glasses and calmly advised.

Compared to the first guy, he was taller, about 5'9". The big white coat made him look kinda skinny, but his hands were muscular and strong. The neon lights outside the window occasionally reflected in his eyes, adding a touch of shyness to his youthful look.

His name was James Smith. He was twenty-two, a fresh-out-of-med-school intern.

It was already time to clock out. Just as he was about to change and leave, he saw the on-duty doctor and nurse from Ambulance No. 3 heading to the restroom. So, he and the orderly, Michael Johnson, decided to cover for a few minutes. Unexpectedly, they got an emergency call and had no choice but to go.

Willowbrook, up in the northern part of the city, was this sketchy "urban village" and the spot where the patient from the call was at.

Thanks to the driver's decent skills, the ambulance finally squeezed out of the traffic mess, struggled through the narrow village roads crowded with illegal buildings, and slowly pulled up in front of a six-story DIY house.

Before the vehicle even stopped, James had already grabbed the medical kit and bolted out of the car, rushing into the house like a madman, following the address from the call.

In emergency care, speed is everything.

A minute earlier or later can mean life or death for the patient.

The building was about 1,000 square feet but shot up six stories high. The unguarded stairs were super dark, and stepping on the wet cement floor felt grossly sticky and slippery. The light hanging from the ceiling was wrapped in dusty cobwebs, barely glowing under the interest of a swarm of mosquitoes.

The door on the left side of the third floor was wide open, reeking of urine. The whitewashed walls were stained with dirty, blackened yellow patches of who-knows-what. Extending into the public area were several kids' drawings, probably random graffiti. There were giant octopuses with dozens of tentacles and weird little figures with big heads and tiny bodies like bean sprouts. Near the stairs, the green-painted wall was scribbled with "I love you" and "I'm your dad" in crooked handwriting.

Taking a few steps up the stairs, James, with one foot already inside the door, felt a bit stunned.

A thin middle-aged dude in a worn blue work suit was staggering towards him, clinging to the bed.

Seeing someone had arrived, the guy quickened his pace. He raised his bony hands high in front of his chest, making sounds, eyes wide open, mouth agape. With murky saliva dripping from his mouth, he lunged towards the open door. But his heavy steps couldn't keep up with his body, and he lost his balance, crashing to the ground, motionless.

"What the hell just happened?"

The sudden incident made James take a few steps back.

He clearly saw a very strange, unfathomable smile in the eyes of the man lying on the ground.

Yeah, he was definitely smiling.

But that smile wasn't any normal human expression of kindness, cunning, or ferocity. The smile on that face was extremely bizarre, full of desire. It was like, like... like he had seen something edible when he was starving.

"Is this guy the patient?"

Suddenly, a panting Michael rushed in. Without a word, he opened the emergency kit, took out a stethoscope, lifted the unconscious man's clothes, and placed the cold round diaphragm on his chest.

Even though he was just an orderly, Michael often went out with the ambulance. When it came to emergency knowledge and skills, he was way more experienced than James, who had just graduated.

"Where is everyone? Who made the emergency call?"

While listening to the pulse, Michael turned around and shouted into the open room.

No response. The room was dimly lit, with an old-fashioned incandescent bulb hanging from the beam, barely twenty watts, casting a yellowish glow that strained the eyes. The simple furniture and the old TV on the cabinet in the north of the room were all shrouded in strange and uncomfortable shadows.

As he lifted the man's shirt, James couldn't help but twitch his eye, his pupils shrinking rapidly.

He clearly saw that the man's abdomen was completely sunken into a concave oval. The ribs, neatly arranged to form the chest cavity, jutted out under the gray-yellow skin, looking like a bizarre skeleton covered in human skin.

"His heartbeat is weak but rhythmic."

Michael put away the stethoscope, lifted the man's half-closed eyelids, and said in surprise, "His eyes are dull with slight hemorrhaging. His eye sockets are deeply sunken, and his lips are cracked. It looks like this guy is suffering from long-term malnutrition-induced collapse. Damn, he looks like one of those dehydrated explorers lost in the desert on the Discovery Channel... Dr. Smith, could you help me lift him onto the stretcher?"

As James grabbed the man's arm and hoisted it over his shoulder, he felt an inexplicable tension. He noticed that the man's arm was very thin, almost devoid of muscle and fat, just bone.

Especially the hand resting on his shoulder, the gaps between the nails and joints had a noticeable dark tint. It didn't look like ordinary dirt but rather a color seeping from deep within the flesh.

Normally, only dead bodies exhibit such characteristics.

The problem was, this man was clearly alive. The moment his head touched the man's body, he could clearly feel the rhythmic heartbeat transmitted through the arm.

As they carried the patient to the ambulance and were about to place him on the stretcher, they realized a crucial issue—where were the patient's family members?

Without resolving this, who would pay for the emergency care and ambulance fees?

The room upstairs was empty. The doors of the neighbors were all locked. On the deserted street, only a few windows 328 feet away were lit. Apart from a few rats scurrying in the dark, there seemed to be no other living beings around.

"Is anyone there? Who made the emergency call? Who is the patient's family?"

Michael, clearly experienced in handling such situations, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted angrily into the empty hallway, "Fuck, if no one comes out, I don't care. I'll just leave this guy by the roadside to die—"

Just then, a trembling voice came from the shadowy corner nearby.

"Don't, please don't leave. I... I made the call. That's my brother. Please, please save him."

A short, chubby middle-aged man with disheveled hair slowly walked into the dim streetlight. He shivered as he pulled out a thick wad of cash from his pocket and handed it over, pleading hesitantly, "Can you... can you take him to the hospital first? I'll pack up and come right away. Use this money for now. If it's not enough, I'll pay the rest later."

In the dim light, James noticed the man's clothes were stained with what looked like dirt from a scuffle. His cheeks and forehead had noticeable abrasions with faint red marks.

The middle-aged man forced a smile, but his body was trembling. His eyes, barely visible in the night, showed a hint of fear.

"Alright! But you need to leave your phone number and ID info."

Michael took out his phone and quickly dialed a series of numbers as the man dictated. This kind of situation was common. As long as some cash was handed over, both the patient's family and the hospital would be more at ease.

Driving out of the dark, narrow alleyways of the urban village, the ambulance with flashing lights began to weave through traffic and crowds at high speed, siren blaring as it quickly made its way back. Inside the rear compartment, James and Michael were busy performing initial emergency care on the patient they had just placed on the stretcher.

A bottle of glucose solution, wrapped in a net, swayed back and forth on the overhead rack. After disinfecting the patient's wrist with alcohol, James took the IV set handed to him by Michael and, aiming at the slightly protruding vein under the skin, firmly inserted the needle.

Suddenly, the ambulance made a sharp left turn. The violent motion caused both men to lose their balance. Amid the screeching of rubber tires against the ground, James felt a sharp pain in his fingertip. Looking up, he saw that the sharp needle had pierced through the patient's vein and was now firmly lodged in his own index finger. Two drops of blood, one from each body, were desperately seeping into each other's bodies in this unexpected encounter.

"Damn it! Can you even drive? Are you blind?"

Outside the window, a crude voice cursed loudly. Through the blurry glass, James saw a fat woman on an electric bike, her large buttocks swaying as she sped past, cursing incessantly. Her short, stubby fingers jabbed in the air, spewing a rapid stream of vulgarities.

Immediately, the driver, drenched in cold sweat, adjusted the direction while sticking his head out to shout back, "Bitch, riding against traffic and acting all tough? You'll get run over one day!"

Ten minutes later, Ambulance No. 3 had already entered the hospital gates. As the nurses carried the patient out of the vehicle, the doctor who was supposed to be on duty came over, apologetically laughing with James, "Sorry! Sorry! Didn't expect to send you out temporarily. James, Michael, I'll treat you to dinner another day!"

James smiled indifferently. Returning to the office, he took off his white coat and slowly walked towards the temporary dormitory behind the hospital cafeteria.

For some reason, he felt very tired, his eyelids heavy, making it extremely difficult to keep them open. He just wanted to have a good sleep.