Bima didn't blink. He stared at the boiling water in the pot, which surged in rhythm with his heart, now racing like a jet engine. "One nameless pack," he muttered, his voice hoarse, echoing in the empty space that now felt colder than usual. His hand reached out, his fingers still bearing burn scars from the Svalbard laboratory, touched the surface of the plain packaging. Cold. The packaging felt as frigid as ice frozen in the depths of the earth. Without hesitation, he tore the package open. There was none of the usual plastic crinkle he was used to only a faint chime, like the friction of thin metal. The contents were not standard yellow noodles. Inside, the noodles were pale white, nearly transparent, with a texture that looked like strands of compacted fiber-optic cable. "This isn't wheat," Bima whispered, his eyes narrowing as he sa
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