There were obvious signs of alienation on the right arm, the skin displaying a metallic sheen, and sharp claws emerging from the fingertips.
"I am Sarah, responsible for the onboarding process of new employees."
Her voice carried a mechanical monotone, as if emotion had been stripped away by something:
"Lecturer Ralph, you’ve arrived three minutes earlier than expected. Any form of randomness is not welcome here. Please strictly follow the schedule."
This harsh attitude made Ron frown slightly, but he quickly understood the reason behind it.
In an environment where disasters could strike at any moment, any slackness or randomness could lead to fatal consequences.
Strict discipline is not to make things difficult but for survival.
"Identity verification, first step."
Sarah guided them to a room sealed with a heavy metal door.
The room was empty, with only a circular platform about two meters in diameter in the center.
"Please stand in the center of the platform and remain still."
Once the platform activated, Ron felt an unprecedented intensity of scanning.
Countless energy waves of different frequencies penetrated his body, from skin to marrow, muscle to internal organs, even down to the cellular level for inspection.
The most uncomfortable aspect was the spiritual scan, a cold consciousness directly invading his brain, inspecting every inch of thought space.
[Foreign Spiritual Power detected]
["Star Projection" Trait automatically activates protection]
[Intrusion successfully resisted]
The prompt from the Professional Panel slightly reassured Ron, but he maintained a facade of calm.
"Strange..."
The technician behind the console frowned:
"The spiritual scan encountered resistance, unable to fully penetrate."
"The mental structure of the Primordial Wizard is rather unique." Reynolds hurriedly explained, clearly having been forewarned by Uther:
"Their connection to higher-dimensional beings creates a natural protective effect; this is a normal phenomenon."
The technician nodded, making a note on the recording board:
"Identity confirmation complete.
Spiritual Power Scale: 5.5.
Magic Power Structure: Stable.
Bloodline Traits: Composite, containing traces of multiple bloodline fusions."
"Second step, contamination detection."
In another room, a group of creatures Ron had never seen awaited him.
They resembled a specialized version of the "Autophagic Slime Monster," larger in size, with their surfaces covered in complex sensory organs.
"These are ’Deep Sweepers.’" Sarah introduced:
"Modified creatures specifically used for detecting Abyssal contamination. They can sense any trace remnant of Abyssal Energy."
One of the "Sweepers" slowly oozed toward Ron, extending several tentacles to conduct a full-body inspection.
The sensation was eerily strange, neither warm nor cold, but a purely neutral sense of existence, as if being touched by the void itself.
Minutes later, the "Sweeper" emitted a low hum, indicating the detection was complete.
"What are the results?" Sarah inquired.
The technician checked the data on the display:
"Contamination Level: Low. Blood Purity: 91.7%. Spiritual Contamination Index: Low."
She paused, adding somewhat surprised:
"This is one of the cleanest results I’ve seen. Most people, even without direct contact with the Abyss, have considerable background-level contamination."
"You can now be issued protective equipment."
In the equipment depot, Ron saw various protective gear designed specifically for staff at the Observation Station.
Each piece of equipment radiated intense magical power fluctuations, clearly involving significant resource and technology investment.
First came the "Anti-Erosion Cloak," a seemingly lightweight but actually astonishingly heavy black robe.
The cloak’s inner layer was woven with thousands of ultra-fine mithril threads, forming a complex protective network.
Once Ron donned it, he immediately felt an invisible barrier enveloping him.
"This cloak can resist most low-level Abyssal erosion," the equipment manager explained:
"But remember, it’s not foolproof. In the face of high-intensity contamination, other protective measures are still needed."
Next was the "Spiritual Protection Collar," a metal ring embedded with a blue crystal.
After putting it on, Ron felt his thoughts become exceptionally clear, coupled with a sense of isolation from the outside world.
"It can filter out most spiritual contamination, but it will also reduce perceptual sensitivity. It can be temporarily disabled during precise operations."
Finally came the "Emergency Purification Potion," three vials of silver liquid housed in a special container.
"If you find yourself contaminated, take one at once. If symptoms don’t alleviate, take a second vial ten minutes later."
The manager’s expression turned particularly serious:
"If all three don’t work... you’d better prepare a will."
Sarah’s tone was mechanical and procedural:
"There’s also a personal locator, emergency communicator, and self-destruct device."
"Self-destruct device?" Ron examined the small silver button carefully.
"If captured by an Abyssal Apostle or if contamination exceeds critical levels, you can choose... a dignified end."
The manager’s expression showed no fluctuation: "Rather than becoming a monster threatening your companions, it’s a better choice."
This harsh reality made Ron recognize once again the brutality of Abyss research.
Here, death is not the worst; losing humanity is.
"Alright, next is the final step, contract signing."
Ron followed Sarah and Reynolds into a lavishly decorated yet gloomy room, where a law officer in a black robe waited for them.
A thick contract document, packed with various terms and details, lay on the table.
"This is the standard employment contract for the Observation Station," the law officer’s voice was as cold as if from a grave:
"Please carefully read each clause and ensure you fully understand its meaning."
Ron began reading the contract page by page and quickly discovered the stringent conditions exceeded his imagination:
"Clause 17: Any casualties during task execution are considered willingly undertaken occupational risks, and the Observation Station bears no compensation liability..."
"Clause 23: Employees mutated or deceased due to Abyssal contamination will have their remains and personal items treated as research materials..."
"Clause 35: Employees are obligated to report colleagues’ abnormal behavior, and concealing signs of contamination will be treated as complicity..."
Each clause reminded signatories of the kind of hell they were about to enter.
Here, personal dignity, privacy, and even life become expendable items.
"There’s also a confidentiality agreement." The law officer turned to the last part of the document:
"All information about Abyss research is classified as top secret.
Leakage will result in soul interrogation, memory cleansing, or outright execution in severe cases."
Ron noticed a significant portion of these clauses were written in ancient script.
Such script inherently contained binding power, leaving a mark on the signatories’ souls once signed.
"I need some time to consider." Ron expressed.
"No, you don’t have time," the law officer coldly responded:
"Either sign now or leave immediately. The Observation Station does not accept indecisive employees."
As if recalling something, the law officer softened his tone slightly:
"Besides, your contract has been altered under Professor Uther’s assurance.
Others’ contracts include another clause: the Observation Station reserves the right to perform periodic compulsory inspections on employees, including but not limited to physical dissection, spiritual detection, and memory reading..."
Reynolds lightly coughed, hinting at Ron with a meaningful look.
The message was clear, this was the standard procedure of the Observation Station, leaving no room for negotiation.
Ron weighed his options briefly and ultimately signed his name on the contract.
As the ink dried, he felt a subtle energy emanating from the contract, establishing some sort of connection to his soul.
"Welcome to the Abyssal Observation Station, Lecturer Ralph."
The law officer wore a stiff smile:
"I hope your work here is enjoyable... and that you can leave alive."