Chapter 62: What Happened in Green Island City? |
"Dr. Sammy, please report to the human resources office."
"I repeat, Dr. Sammy, please report to the human resources office."
The man with his head leaned close to the reading desk casually muted his communicator and plunged back into his research.
Clack, clack, clack...
Footsteps rang out against the metal grating floor, drawing closer until the door slid open with a sharp swoosh and someone barged into the laboratory.
"Sammy, I called you twice on the channel."
"So what?" Sammy replied in his trademark half-dead tone, his eyes still glued to the lenses as he stared at the fragmented ancient documents on the other side of the glass. "I am busy."
"The transfer list for the operation site in Green Island City of the Tenth District has been released."
"So what?" Sammy repeated, this time with a hint of questioning in his voice.
"So wha..." Sammy finally tore his eyes away from the documents. "Am I not from the Theology Research Division?"
"I know, but they want you on-site!"
"What does that have to do with me?"
The human resources director knew it was impossible to reason with a guy who received an average of five complaints from colleagues every month. The transfer order had already been issued anyway, making Sammy's opinion irrelevant. The director simply left the documents on the desk and departed with the same hurried footsteps as when he arrived.
Alone in the room, Sammy picked up the pages and skimmed through them carefully. "Anomalous Entity?" he muttered, before repeating, "What does that have to do with me?"
No matter how deeply Dr. Sammy furrowed his brows, obeying orders from superiors trumped everything else within the Management Authority. Even though he had never participated in any frontline containment training and was purely a behind-the-scenes researcher, he packed his briefcase within ten minutes. He boarded the helicopter waiting for him in the clearing, put on his headset, and ascended into the sky.
"Nice to meet you, Dr. Sammy." The soldier sitting opposite him in the helicopter was quite enthusiastic. "It will take us two hours to fly there. I hope you do not get airsick."
"Why am I on the list?"
"We need containment squad support."
"I am a theologian."
"Oh..." The soldier reached into his helmet to scratch his cheek. "I suppose Command Headquarters definitely has its own considerations."
The radio remained silent for the rest of the journey. Sammy swayed back and forth in the sky with the helicopter for a long time before he finally felt it begin to circle and descend.
Green Island City appeared directly below.
From this altitude, the quarantine zone between the blockaded area established by the Management Authority and the normal sectors appeared as a clear white line. Folding isolation barriers enclosed the terraced houses that were as densely packed as an ant colony. Vehicles and temporary structures on several outward streets had been cleared to establish a second buffer zone where unauthorized personnel were strictly forbidden. An expanse of ten hectares of land had effectively been carved out of Green Island City just like that.
Sammy adjusted his glasses, unable to see anything unusual about the mottledly colored cluster of buildings other than its sheer congestion.
He had prepared a stomach full of questions, waiting to interrogate whoever ordered his transfer once he landed.
Thanks to his arrogant style of doing things, he had never been liked by any of his colleagues.
No matter how dissatisfied outsiders were with him, they had to endure it—he had connections at the top.
However, what Sammy did not expect was that when he lined up with the containment squad's support team, the officer who came to verify the personnel was also entirely bewildered. The man repeatedly compared the photograph of Sammy staring with dead-fish eyes to the actual Sammy staring back with those same dead-fish eyes.
"Did I not ask for a containment squad capable of adapting to complex environments?" the officer asked the person beside him.
Another soldier turned sideways and pressed his headset. "I will ask the Frontline Command Center right away, Sergeant... They said this is exactly the list the Internal Affairs Department gave them."
"So the Internal Affairs Department made a mistake?"
"The Internal Affairs Department said they transferred personnel exactly according to the list."
"What the hell... Alright, Dr. Sammy, it looks like you have Level 3 clearance. Go stand by in the command facility. I am sure they will not mind having an extra Senior Consultant—"
For what felt like the umpteenth time, Sammy repeated, "I am a theologian."
"I doubt there is much of a difference. Just go report in!"
Terrible job, incompetent bureaucrats, stupid soldiers.
Sammy walked with a stiff face toward the large modular building. Through the wide, low observation windows, many figures could be seen moving around inside. After entering, he stood in the corner of the room for a while until someone noticed him, handed him a pass with his name on it, and pointed out where the researchers were supposed to be.
Upon reaching the wall, Sammy found that there was already a chair designated for the Science Advisor.
He casually grabbed another chair, pulled it up next to the first one, and sat hugging his briefcase for a while until that advisor returned.
"Nice to meet you. You are... Dr. Sammy, correct? I thought I was the only researcher serving as an academic advisor for this operation."
Sammy stood up, briefly shook the extended hand, and let go, completely ignoring another staff member nearby who was spinning around like a top looking for his missing chair.
"Do you understand theology?"
"Excuse me?"
"Unorthodox theology."
"Oh, that is not exactly my area of expertise. I specialize in the STEM fields—"
"Then I am the second academic advisor now," Sammy declared, sitting back down.
The roar of a large-displacement engine echoed from outside. Without a moment's hesitation, Sammy shifted his attention to the window. A motorcycle passed through the sentry checkpoint, carrying two soldiers who had arrived somewhat late. The pair presented their documents to the nearest officer and jogged toward the frontline.
"The team members capable of executing special demolition missions have arrived," an officer in the Command Room announced.
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'Why is the residential area locked down?'
'What happened here?'
Agent Kyle handed his helmet to the logistics personnel beside him. Riddled with questions, he jogged to catch up with Agent Vanessa and the Zeta-8 member leading the way. Mobile Task Force members were accustomed to marching with large, purposeful strides; their vigorous and resolute posture contrasted sharply with Kyle, who had maintained a low-profile approach for years.
Vanessa complained, "Giving us operational briefing only after we arrive on-site is entirely too late. When does the mission start?"
"As soon as possible."
An off-road vehicle drove past them, carrying four soldiers in hazmat suits and two D-Class personnel in orange jumpsuits handcuffed behind their backs, heading toward several temporary containment units.
"The containment squads are all on standby. It looks like a tough nut to crack," Vanessa noted, being more familiar with Mobile Task Force operational procedures. "I am guessing the drones and all-terrain vehicles did not survive for more than a few minutes, so now it is our turn?"
The member of the Zeta-8 "Pangolin" Mobile Task Force grunted in agreement. "We need the experts for this kind of thing."
Once the vehicle passed, they entered a much busier section of the frontline base. Weapons, equipment, and armor storage crates were piled up like mountains. Logistics personnel and soldiers responsible for perimeter patrols were everywhere. The air was so tense it felt like it could be ignited by a single spark.
The three of them broke into a full sprint one after another. After undergoing yet another pat-down inspection, they entered a large tent.
"Reporting in! The new team members have arrived!"
Several other members of the "Pangolin" Mobile Task Force were sitting or standing inside the tent. Except for the Commander and the Adjutant, everyone was clad in survival gear with their protective helmets hanging around their necks.
As Kyle saluted, he realized that everyone's eyes were fixed entirely on him.
He steadied his gaze, looking only at the Commander whose back was turned to him, and loudly reported his name.
"Former C-Class Field Agent, Kyle!"
"Former B-Class Eta-2 Mobile Task Force member, Vanessa!"
"So you are Kyle, the lucky bastard who survived an encounter with C-8052? You are one incredibly fortunate guy, and I need people with your kind of luck around here... Oh, finally got it."
The Mobile Task Force Commander stepped aside from the center of the tent.
Only then did Kyle notice a projection screen at the far end of the tent. The Commander having his back turned earlier had not been a show of dominance to intimidate him, but rather because he was adjusting the projector.
"Come on, boys and girls, it is time for the mission briefing. I do not want to put extra pressure on anyone, but having a lucky charm around will not hurt. No one has any objections, right?"
The team members let out a chorus of laughter.
"Alright, enough laughing, time for the combat meeting. Once we are done, we will gear up and head out."
The soldier at the tent entrance lowered the rolled-up fabric flap, and the interior quickly darkened. Vanessa tugged at Kyle's arm, pointing out two empty folding chairs to him.
Amidst the buzzing hum of the cooling fan, all heads turned in unison to stare at the projection screen.
Soon, an image appeared.