Transmigrated into Conan, his ability is Rhodes Island

His feet seemed nailed to the ground, unable to move an inch. The ground collapsed, and a cold, viscous, asphalt-like liquid slowly rose above his calves, chilling him to the bone.

Amuro knew in his heart that this was all just an illusion, yet its realism was chilling. Sweat trickled down his forehead, dripping into his eyes and causing a stinging sensation, blurring his vision. He blinked dryly, trying desperately to escape the absurd scene, but the distorted objects stubbornly occupied his field of vision.

The woman was the first to notice Amuro Tooru's unusual behavior. She tried different positions to probe him, but Amuro Tooru stared at her with unfocused eyes, his face covered in cold sweat, and his hand holding the gun frozen in mid-air, motionless.

"Stasis?" the woman muttered in confusion, then tried to avoid his gun barrel and cautiously circle around to approach him.

Then she saw Amuro Tooru stiffly turn the gun towards her.

woman:……

Amuro Tooru gripped the gun tightly in his hand—thankfully, he could still clearly feel its presence, which gave him a small comfort.

The giant doll began to sway, its body rocking unsteadily as it staggered forward. Amuro Tooru could even clearly see the blood-red cotton filling bursting from its eye sockets and the rotting flesh protruding from its wide-open mouth; a stench filled the air.

He took a deep breath, his fingers slightly bent, resting lightly on the trigger, his whole body tense, ready to fire at any moment.

Watching the woman and Amuro Tooru put on their own little act, the man narrowed his eyes as if he had just made a connection to something. After observing them closely for a while, he suddenly realized something and clapped his hands.

"Isn't this the initial sign of brain damage from taking drugs? Hey you, what was the name of the previous test subject again, Kazuhiro Mitsumura, he was like this at first too, experiencing hallucinations, paranoia, and a strong urge to attack."

His shout shattered the already tense atmosphere and startled the highly vigilant Amuro Tooru. Amuro Tooru swiftly turned his gun around, so fast that the two opposite him had no time to react.

"boom--"

"Isn't fahf ahehyee early symptoms ot frying ymg'lloig llll d-drugs?..." The monster, woven from flames and ash, suddenly uttered a string of obscure words, its breath carrying a pungent sulfurous odor. Amuro Tooru tried to understand, but only felt his head grow increasingly dizzy and disoriented.

The tentacles seemed to sense his poor condition, and, casting long shadows, they slowly approached him.

So he decisively pulled the trigger.

The bullet grazed the man's cheek and embedded itself deeply in the trunk of the maple tree behind him.

The man only then realized what was happening, and cold sweat instantly soaked his back.

He looked up in Amuro Tooru's direction, and before he knew it, the tall priest was standing beside him. With a slight nudge, the priest deflected Amuro Tooru's gun, causing the bullet to veer off course; otherwise...

He raised his hand and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

Otherwise, he would already have a bloody hole in his head by now. How could this damned drug-addicted blond bastard hold the gun so steadily in this situation?

The tentacles within the shadowy curtain were faster than he was, wrapping around the muzzle of his gun before he could fire, interfering with his shooting motion.

The tentacles nimbly coiled around his wrists, seemingly soft and boneless, yet possessing astonishing strength. Like a python tightening its grip on its prey, they coiled and constricted again and again.

The gun slipped from his hand and fell to the ground.

The priest disarmed Amuro Tooru, his expression still gentle. His gaze passed over the two men opposite him and landed on the open dormitory door.

The door swayed back and forth in the wind, hitting the wall and bouncing back.

"Where's Hina?" The priest's voice was devoid of any emotion.

The woman's face changed drastically. "Oh no, that brat got away!"

The priest chuckled softly, but his words sent chills down the spines of the two men present. "The organization has always treated traitors and good-for-nothings equally."

The two men's faces turned deathly pale. The man's lips trembled slightly, as if he wanted to say something in his defense, but under the priest's calm gaze, which was as if he were looking at an inanimate object, he ultimately swallowed his words.

He knew the organization's methods well. Once someone was deemed useless or a traitor, the best that awaited them was to be shot dead. Even worse, like the guy in front of him who was hallucinating, they were given the organization's drug D, which was worse than death.

Drug D, short for Dionesium, is a byproduct discovered in current drug research. It appears as a green, transparent liquid at room temperature and pressure. After taking a very small dose (3-5 ml) of "Dionesium," within approximately 10-15 minutes, the drug's components begin to interfere with the brain's visual cortex and the limbic system responsible for emotional processing and memory retrieval, causing the user to fall into realistic hallucinations, which, according to the test subjects, are usually the scenes they fear most.

From a neurobiological perspective, long-term use of dionesium continuously damages the structural integrity of nerve cells, interferes with normal communication between neurons, and leads to atrophy of the cerebral cortex, especially in the frontal and temporal lobes, areas responsible for emotional regulation and social cognition. Users will lose control of their emotions, experiencing alternating episodes of irritability, depression, and anxiety, ultimately exhibiting strong antisocial tendencies.

The man had been in charge of liaising between the orphanage and the laboratory for some time, and had handled no fewer than dozens of "test subjects." After undergoing drug trials for a period of time, these test subjects would usually fall into their own set of logic. He overheard them shouting things like "art," "curtain," and "destroy human tyranny, All Hail Dionysus!" and then they rushed up.

The final result was usually a gruesome death. One test subject danced tirelessly until he finally slit his own throat during a spinning dance, splattering blood all over the wall.

The man shuddered; he didn't want to be killed by his own people before he even had a chance to spend his high salary.

Thinking of this, he couldn't help but shrink his neck, and a layer of cold sweat appeared on his forehead. He hurriedly said, "That little girl can't have gone far. Let's go and catch her now."

As he spoke, he lowered his head, forced a fawning smile, and spoke with utmost sincerity, solemnly pledging his loyalty to the priest.

“Go ahead.” The priest nodded with a gentle smile. As the two walked away, he turned around and looked at Amuro Tooru.

"Now, let's talk, Mr. Amuro Tooru. About your true identity and the purpose of your visit."