March 15th.
City Convention Center, Hall A.
Jianbin Biotechnology Co., Ltd.
Second-Generation Gene Editing Product Launch Conference.
Hall A can accommodate 1,500 people; today, it is about 70% full, with the remaining seats empty.
The stage is set up with a giant LED screen, flanked by rows of professional-grade JBL line array speakers on both sides, with a lighting system featuring the latest ROBE moving head lights; the entire stage construction cost nearly 800,000.
Helena sits in the twelfth row of the audience, in an aisle seat.
She is wearing a dark blue shirt, her hair tied in a ponytail, and she is wearing non-prescription glasses.
The seat number in her hand is from an admission ticket bought from a scalper, which cost 300 yuan.
On stage, the host of the launch conference is warming up the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Jianbin Biotechnology 2024 Annual New Product Launch Conference.”
“Today, we are very honored to invite the company founder, a leading figure in the domestic gene editing field, Professor John ferren, to give us a keynote speech.”
Applause.
Helena’s hands are resting on her knees; she does not applaud.
Professor John ferren walks onto the stage from the side curtain.
Today, he is wearing a custom-made dark suit, his hair combed meticulously.
His face carries that smile of someone who navigates effortlessly between academia and the business world.
He walks to the podium and adjusts the height of the microphone.
“Distinguished guests, friends, good afternoon.”
The voice echoes throughout Hall A through the sound system.
Helena’s gaze shifts from Professor John ferren to the sound equipment on both sides of the stage.
Yesterday afternoon, she entered Hall A as a temporary worker for Ruisonic Technology and spent three hours moving equipment and laying cables.
During those three hours, she found an opportunity to access the sound system’s main mixing console.
The Symbiote released an extremely fine acoustic pulse through the tips of her fingers, establishing a resonant link with the mixing console’s circuit board.
Once the link was established, the Symbiote could control the mixing console’s output signal via acoustic frequencies within a certain distance.
In other words, she can now decide what content this sound system plays.
On stage, Professor John ferren is introducing his new product with high spirits.
“After three years of dedicated research and development, our team has successfully developed the second-generation CRISPR-Cas12f precision editing system.”
Helena takes a small wireless Bluetooth audio transmitter out of her pocket.
This is what she installed next to the mixing console yesterday, hidden in the crevices of the equipment cables; it would be impossible to notice if one wasn’t paying attention.
The transmitter stores the audio file she prepared in advance.
The content is a narration she recorded, coordinated with the content that will be switched synchronously on the screen.
Helena’s finger is on her phone screen.
On the phone, there is a control app she wrote herself; after pressing the button, the Symbiote will activate the Bluetooth transmitter via acoustic signals and simultaneously take over the mixing console’s signal channel.
She looks at Professor John ferren on stage.
He is turning to the third page of his speech draft, and the large screen is displaying an exquisite technical roadmap.
The technical roadmap in that diagram, the design logic of every line, the experimental plan for every key node—it was all Helena’s work.
Professor John ferren speaks in a tone full of confidence.
“This technology will completely change the landscape of gene therapy for rare diseases, and we have already entered the pre-clinical stage.”
Applause breaks out below the stage. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
Helena presses the button.
Nothing happens.
Three seconds.
Five seconds.
Then, the large LED screen on stage flickers.
While Professor John ferren is speaking, the image on the large screen behind him switches from the technical roadmap to a financial statement.
A bank transfer record.
Details of 2 million yuan transferred from the Jianbin Biotechnology company account to Professor John ferren’s wife’s personal account.
Professor John ferren does not notice the change on the screen behind him; he is still speaking.
But the audience sees it.
Several media reporters in the first row are the first to react; some raise their phones to start filming.
The screen continues to switch.
The second, third, fourth slides.
Detailed accounts of misappropriated research funds, comparisons of invoices for fake equipment procurement, and a screenshot of the email Professor John ferren sent to the CFO regarding “flexible handling.”
Each slide stays for five seconds, then automatically switches to the next.
People in the audience start whispering.
The sound system also changes.
Professor John ferren’s microphone volume is lowered, replaced by a clear female voiceover.
“The following is the complete record of misappropriated research funds by the company founder, Professor John ferren, since the establishment of Jianbin Biotechnology Co., Ltd. in 2022.”
Professor John ferren finally realizes something is wrong.
He looks back at the large screen behind him, frozen in place as if paralyzed.
“The cumulative amount misappropriated is 4.3 million yuan, of which 2 million yuan was transferred through his wife’s personal account, and the remainder was used for personal consumption and non-official expenses.”
The voiceover echoes throughout Hall A, with over a thousand audience members staring fixedly at the content on the screen.
Professor John ferren’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
He turns abruptly toward the side curtain and gestures to the technicians, “Turn it off! Turn it off!”
The technicians scramble, pressing buttons at the control console, but the system is completely out of control.
The audio channel has been locked by the Symbiote’s acoustic signal.
The screen switches to the last set of content.
It is an academic comparison report.
On the left is the core chart from the paper Professor John ferren published as the first author.
On the right is the raw data image Helena saved during the experiment.
The two are identical, only the axis labels have been changed.
The voiceover continues.
“The following is a comparison between the core chart of the paper Professor John ferren published in Nature Biotechnology in 2022 and the raw experimental data of his former researcher, Helena.”
“The paper lists Professor John ferren as the first author.”
Hall A completely erupts.
Reporters hold up phones and cameras, filming frantically, with camera flashes going off one after another.
People in the audience start standing up, some whispering, others already making phone calls.
Professor John ferren stands in the center of the stage, facing over a thousand pairs of eyes staring at him and the irrefutable evidence on the massive LED screen that cannot be turned off.
His lips are trembling.
The laser pointer in his hand falls to the floor.
“This, this is forged!”
His voice comes through the microphone, and because it has entered the main amplification channel, it echoes with extreme clarity throughout Hall A.
“Someone is framing me!”
The voiceover ignores his defense.
The last page of content switches up.
It is a waveform diagram of an audio file, accompanied by the synchronized audio playing.
Professor John ferren’s own voice comes out of the speakers.
“Xiao Han, this paper is a project from my lab; I applied for the funding, I bought the equipment, and the reagents you used were also from the lab’s budget. Naturally, the first author should be the principal investigator.”
“You’ve only been out of your master’s program for two years; there will be plenty of opportunities to publish papers in the future. Don’t nitpick over such trivial matters.”
This recording plays twice in Hall A.
Professor John ferren’s face turns from red to white, and then from white to an indescribable shade of gray.
He opens his mouth to say something, but his throat feels as if it’s being choked, and no sound comes out.
The staff on both sides of the stage finally find the main power switch and forcibly cut the power.
The screen goes black, and the speakers fall silent.
But over a thousand phone screens in Hall A light up.
Everyone is filming, live-streaming, posting to Moments, and posting on Weibo.
The host tries to take the stage to regain control, picking up the microphone to say, “Please everyone, stay calm,” but the noise in the venue has completely drowned out his voice.
Professor John ferren stands in the center of the stage, surrounded by a chaotic crowd, with flashes and phone lenses aimed at him from every direction.
His legs are shaking.
Then his body begins to sway.
His eyes roll back, his knees buckle, and he collapses, falling onto the stage floor.
Someone shouts to call an ambulance.
In the twelfth row of the audience, on the aisle, Helena stands up, picks up her bag, and walks along the aisle toward the exit.
There is no expression on her face.
It is not indifference; it is that she has already exhausted all her emotions over the past year and four months.
She pushes open the side door of Hall A and walks out of the convention center.
The sun is shining brightly outside, and the March breeze blowing on her face carries a hint of early spring warmth.
Helena walks along the sidewalk for a stretch and buys a bottle of mineral water at a convenience store by the road.
She unscrews the cap and takes a sip.
Deep beneath the city, in the cracks of the rock, Knull savors the emotional feedback coming from the third mental link.
Cold satisfaction.
No roaring, no bloodshed, no violence.
Only a perfect, silent destruction, precise down to the second.