Arknights: The Prophet of Penguin Logistics — Chapter 99

Chapter 99: Return

Lynn felt as if he were adrift in a dream that stretched out into eternity.

It was a surreal, fragmented existence. Every organ in his body seemed to possess its own independent perspective, as if a thousand tiny eyes had sprouted across his flesh. He dreamed of being carefully dismantled, his internal organs harvested like foundation stones only to be carved and reshaped into something entirely new.

Before this ethereal drift, there had been a brief, agonizing flash of lucidity while submerged in the biting chill of Nutrient Solution. The neurological torment had been so absolute, so blinding, that his only coherent thought was a desperate plea for the hell to end before the darkness claimed him once more. What happened after that was a void. Yet, suspended in this half-awake limbo, an inexplicable certainty washed over him: he had been forced onto an extraordinary, irreversible path.

Despite being submerged in extreme anesthesia and bound by complex Originium Arts, his terrifying intuition remained razor-sharp.

He hovered above himself, watching the sterile theater below. He could sense the doctors debating over his ruined anatomy. Dissatisfied with the fragile state of his organs, they called upon specialists to completely overhaul his internal architecture. Heavy machinery hummed, extracting biological tissues from his open cavity, sending them out to be cultured and refined under a mysterious, pulsing perception.

The sensation was deeply alien. He knew the hours were bleeding away, yet time felt entirely stagnant. It was like observing a morbid symphony from a third-person lens, as if his very cells and spliced genes were broadcasting their status directly into his disembodied consciousness. He didn’t just see the doctors; he felt them. He tasted their frantic eagerness, their grueling effort, their crushing discouragement, and their unyielding determination. He felt the explosive surge of passion when a massive biological hurdle was finally overcome.

Eventually, a consensus was reached. The true reconstruction began.

There was no pain, no panic. Only the cold, detached sensation of his organs being lifted from his chest. They were bathed in glowing Originium Arts, isolated, and then ruthlessly modified using a blend of crude physical trauma and bleeding-edge biotechnology.

A dedicated team of surgeons hovered over his face. Scalpels danced alongside shimmering Arts to weave torn facial nerves back together, followed by the deep burn of strange Originium Potions injected straight into the tissue. His mouth, his teeth, the delicate neural pathways—all were polished and fortified. He could literally feel the bone density of his skull thickening, hardening to a terrifying degree that defied basic human biology. It was, for all intents and purposes, inhuman.

The rest of his body suffered a similar, miraculous violation. Having a portion of his digestive tract excised to fashion a secondary stomach was merely a footnote; he felt the invasive repair and radical enhancement of every vital organ.

It was a miracle of modern medicine that, despite being scattered across different sterile trays, he remained connected to every single piece of himself. Floating in the void, he even found the dark humor to wonder if they were trying to build him into a Gundam.

But the toll of this miracle was heavy. He could feel the crushing weight of the surgery on the medical staff.

Doctors swarmed the operating theater, their hands trembling as they manipulated delicate tools and channeled exhausting Originium Arts. Every so often, a surgeon would simply collapse, their knees buckling from sheer exhaustion, only for another to smoothly step up, take the bloody tools, and continue the work. Hundreds of hours of continuous, desperate battle. Hundreds of hours of agonizing maintenance. They worked in relentless shifts.

Eventually, the strain broke them. Several doctors collapsed into critical exhaustion, ending up in hospital beds themselves. Lynn’s drifting consciousness clocked the passage of nearly a week. They were burning their own lives to drag him back from the abyss. By the time over a dozen doctors had been admitted to the wards—two of them rushed into emergency care—and the remaining staff were hollow-eyed ghosts, Lynn finally felt the pieces coming together.

His organs, now thrumming with the raw power of Terra’s Originium Arts, were slotted back into his hollowed chest. They locked together like the pristine gears of a masterwork clock.

Another full day seemed to drift by in that hazy, ethereal state as his body finally began to synthesize.

His internal structure knit itself shut. With the heavy, rhythmic injection of his own filtered blood and enriched bone marrow, a strange, terrifying vitality flooded his veins. Finally, the last few exhausted surgeons standing at the operating table completed the final, gruesome step, reattaching his head to his reconstructed torso.

The final gears clicked into place. As the blood lubricant surged through his newly forged pathways, Lynn felt his consciousness violently tethered back to reality. The weightless sensation of soaring through the sky shattered. The doctors, their expressions grim and solemn, channeled a final burst of Originium Arts while injecting a vial of Awakening Potion directly into his neck.

It’s time to wake up, he realized.

The moment the thought formed, his eyelids fluttered open, his unfocused gaze locking onto a stark, pure white ceiling.

“Mr. Lynn? Are you alright? Can you tell how many fingers this is?”

A figure leaned over the bed, a gloved hand waving gently in his line of sight.

Lynn stared at the slightly anxious doctor, blinking slowly as he dragged his wandering spirit back into his heavy flesh. After a long, agonizing silence, his vocal cords rasped out a sluggish reply.

“…Two.”

“Basic cognitive function intact. Good.” The doctor’s voice was soft but professional. “Then, do you know who I am?”

“Doctor Shining…” Lynn breathed out, his eyes tracing the familiar silhouette. “It’s hard to forget those horns. Or the hair… A white-haired Sarkaz…”

“Mhm. Thank you for the compliment.” Shining offered a faint, relieved smile. “The patient’s basic consciousness is clear, with no signs of mental confusion. The first stage of this surgery is a success. Next, we must wait three days to monitor for any tissue rejection.”

Seeing the life finally return to Lynn’s eyes, Shining let out a long, shuddering breath. The tension bled from her shoulders, and she looked down at him with a gaze that was almost maternal in its warmth.

“Lynn, I will stay here with you. But as for your companions… you aren’t in any state to see them yet. You’ll only be able to meet them normally in about a month.” She paused, her golden eyes reflecting a mix of sorrow and pride. “Your body was severely injured. We’ve given you a practically brand-new one. Do you want to see it?”

“Let me see…”

“Alright. Project it on the screen.”

It seemed that during his week-long coma, Shining had assumed absolute authority over the ward. She didn’t even look away from Lynn as she gave the order to the assistant doctor hovering nearby.

The assistant tapped a console, and a holographic projection flared to life at the foot of the bed. A rotating, three-dimensional scan of a seemingly flawless human body floated in the sterile air.

“Is this… me?”

Lynn’s eyes widened, the shock piercing through the lingering haze of the anesthesia.

“Yes. This is your current body,” Shining said, her voice heavy with deep, quiet emotion as she looked at the projection. “It has been completely reconstructed and strengthened. It is a body that can finally live freely in this world.”