The screen shifted again.
Back to the rat.
The "man" was losing his mind.
Twisting violently on the narrow metal frame.
Claws scraping against stainless steel—
Skreeeech—
A sound that made teeth ache.
"LET ME OUT!!!"
"WHO ARE YOU?! WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!"
His voice shattered.
Cracked.
Broken.
Out of control.
But the only response—
Was cold machinery.
And silent, unyielding rules.
That vast, calm voice spoke again:
"Proceed with punishment?"
The former rat—
Now wearing Sato's body—
Looked down.
From above.
At the "him" on the table.
He stared.
At that body.
The one that used to be his.
Now perfectly restored by divine power.
Absurd.
Unreal.
He didn't answer.
Not immediately.
He just watched.
Watched that "self."
Watched those eyes—
Learning fear for the first time.
Time stretched.
Long.
Heavy.
As if—
Giving him a choice.
Forgive.
Or—
Repeat.
After a long silence—
He nodded.
"Approved."
His voice was still stiff.
Unfamiliar.
But cold—
Like ancient ice.
Then—
Something shifted.
The air—
Changed.
"LET ME OUT!!!"
The man's voice rose higher. Louder.
"You're criminals!! This is illegal!!"
"I'll sue all of you!! You're all—"
He didn't finish.
Because something moved.
Invisible hands.
Countless.
The tools—
The ones he once polished himself—
Scalpel No.11.
Forceps.
Clamps.
They lifted.
On their own.
Alive.
Under the surgical light, they traced pale arcs.
Cold.
Precise.
No anesthesia.
No hesitation.
The scalpel fell.
Thud—slice.
The sound—
Dull.
Wet.
Broadcast in perfect clarity.
Across the world—
People flinched.
"AAAAAAHHHHH—!!!"
This time—
Not just squeaking.
A man's scream.
Torn apart.
Bleeding from the throat.
Pain—
Cut through the screen.
Straight into every nerve.
The chat—
Exploded.
[This is insane—he's being cut alive!!]
[I can FEEL it… what is this…]
[Look at its eyes!! It's looking at us!!]
[Check the notebook!! He didn't even use anesthesia back then… this is karma!!]
On screen—
"New Sato" held a pen.
A Montblanc.
His grip—
Too tight.
Knuckles pale.
He stood by the table.
And wrote.
Crooked.
Uneven.
"Experiment Log: Subject response… extremely 'active.'"
"Scream frequency… identical to when I was cut open."
He murmured as he wrote.
Calm.
Flat.
Like reading weather data.
But something in it—
Felt dead.
On the table—
The "man" broke.
His body curled.
Trembling.
"Please… stop…"
"I was wrong… I know I was wrong…"
"AAAAAAHHHH—!!!"
The livestream—
Displayed squeaks.
But in every mind—
It was a human scream.
The mismatch—
Crushed something inside people.
The chat spiraled.
[Is this real?!]
[This has to be fake!!]
[No… no actor can scream like that…]
[That language—was that Green Pheasant Country languages?!]
[Wait… I think I've seen that guy before…]
[Look at his writing… that hatred… it's leaking out…]
"New Sato" paused.
His nose twitched.
Unstable.
Still adapting.
He looked at the page.
At the words.
Then continued writing.
"Pain Level: S-Class."
"Consciousness: Fully aware."
"Note: Depth matches my past injuries exactly."
His hand trembled.
Just slightly.
Then steadied.
He had all Sato's memories and knowledge.
He could write.
Think.
Understand.
But the handwriting—
Twisted.
Primitive.
Violent.
Like a beast learning civilization.
On the table—
The "man" lost control.
Urine.
Blood.
Dripping from the metal tray.
Drip. Drip.
"No deviation."
"Please… no… please…"
"I won't do it again…"
"Please stop…"
His voice—
Changed.
From rage—
To begging.
From arrogance—
To collapse.
The "god" of the lab—
Now garbage.
Curled in his own filth.
Outside the screen—
Silence.
People understood.
This wasn't random cruelty.
This—
Was judgment.
Perfect.
Precise.
What he did—
Was being returned.
Exactly.
Every angle.
Every cut.
Every note he once wrote.
Even—
The breath he took while watching.
All of it—
Returned.
Time stretched.
Screams dragged on.
Endless.
Until—
His voice broke.
Gone.
His eyes—
Empty.
Dead.
Even begging—
Stopped.
Then—
The tools halted.
Silence.
The man lay there.
Broken.
Covered in blood.
But there was no relief.
Only—
A wish.
To die.
To end it.
Now.
But—
That wasn't what came.
Instead—
Reset.
Before billions of eyes—
The rat's body—
Moved.
Bones cracked.
Reformed.
Blood—
Evaporated.
Flesh—
Restored.
In a single instant—
A new body.
Perfect.
Whole.
But the eyes—
Still there.
Fear.
Absolute.
The chat froze.
[…The wounds are gone?]
[No… look at the eyes… it's still him…]
[Wait… don't tell me… it's starting again?!]
[Until his sins are repaid… he has to keep repeating?!]
[No… something's different…]
"New Sato" stood there.
Watching.
For a long time.
Then—
A quiet exhale.
"I see…"
He put the notebook down.
Turned away.
He had no interest anymore.
Because what came next—
Didn't need his hatred.
This—
Was no longer his revenge.
It was—
Law.
The Beast God's law.
Not a single punishment—
But carved into fate.
His debt—
As a victim—
Was cleared.
But Sato's sins—
As an abuser—
Had only begun.
The next round started.
Without warning.
Same precision.
Same cruelty.
But Sato realized—
Even as his body healed—
The pain didn't disappear.
It stacked.
Layer by layer.
Phantom pain.
Growing sharper.
People tried to look away.
To close their eyes.
They couldn't.
Something—
Held them.
Forced them to watch.
And a realization—
Formed.
This wasn't a one-time judgment.
This was—
Accumulated karma.
Every life he took—
Every creature he tortured—
He would repay.
One by one.
In that small body.
Again.
And again.
He couldn't escape.
They were waiting.
Those he called "materials."
Lining up—
At the gates of hell.
Off-camera—
"New Sato" gripped the desk.
Fingers digging into the drawer.
He pulled things out.
Cards.
Cash.
A dark red passport.
His movements—
Strange.
Twitchy.
His fingers scratched the paper.
As if confirming prey.
He took everything.
Didn't look back.
But at the door—
He froze.
Something surfaced.
A memory.
Faint.
Fragile.
A biscuit under sunset.
A voice—
Gentle.
Calling his name.
His real name.
"…I need to go back."
He whispered.
To the air.
His voice—
Rough.
But firm.
Outside—
The sky burned red.
Blood-like sunset.
Billions remained frozen.
For an entire day.
Their minds—
At breaking point.
Then—
The screen dimmed.
White text appeared.
Like a tombstone.
[Case 001: Completed]
[Subject: No.11 "Scalpel" (Former Human)]
[Victims: 374]
[Non-research torture: 212]
[Progress: 212 / 212]
[Status: Perfect Replication]
[Next Target: Loading…]
Darkness.
No one screamed.
Not at first.
Because they realized—
Their phones were dead.
Cold.
Computers—
Overheated.
Burning smell.
But no one noticed before.
Then—
It hit.
Hunger.
Thirst.
Filth.
Dizziness.
Like a tidal wave.
People collapsed.
Vomited.
Shook violently.
No one celebrated justice.
Because everyone understood—
This—
Was only the first.
And the list—
Was long.
Under neon lights—
A young woman stood frozen.
Tears soaked her clothes.
She stared at the black screen.
Voice trembling.
"…Was that… Zhizhi?"
No answer.
In the shadows—
A man in a suit walked unsteadily.
His steps—
Wrong.
He scratched his hand.
Paused.
As if thinking—
What to do next.