Chapter 59: Hospital

Chicago time, 5:32 AM.

South Side, Chicago, North-South Memorial Hospital.

The operating elevator stopped at the fourth floor of the inpatient department. When the doors slid open, Von Schneider stepped out expressionlessly, flanked on either side by a team of men and women clad in black windbreakers.

The third-floor inpatient department of North-South Memorial Hospital, which should have been silent, was as bustling as a boiling pot of water. Footsteps and voices mingled noisily, accompanied by the static of walkie-talkies. Most of the people moving through the corridors wore the uniforms of the Chicago Police Department. The blinding glare of the fluorescent ceiling lights illuminated the entire hallway without leaving a single shadow.

As soon as Schneider stepped out of the elevator, his striking and exaggerated attire immediately caught the attention of an officer, who walked straight over to block his path. "Chicago P.D. This area has been cordoned off. Please move to another floor."

Schneider did not speak; he merely stared at the officer expressionlessly. Meeting that pair of iron-gray, piercing eyes, the officer shivered for no apparent reason, and the police badge he had raised slowly dropped down on its own accord.

"You're the ones who need to move. This area has been taken over by the relevant authorities." Before the officer could issue another warning, the man in the windbreaker to Schneider's left stepped forward. "Notify your superior to come talk to me."

For a moment, the officer was unsure of the background of this cold-faced trio emerging from the elevator. However, having spent a long time in the police department, he had mastered the art of reading people's expressions and shifting responsibility. He would never touch a task that wasn't meant for him. After just a moment of hesitation, he raised the walkie-talkie on his chest to report, "Uh, Deputy Chief, there are three people here claiming to be from the relevant authorities who want to see you."

In less than half a minute, an elderly police officer with graying hair hurried over from the far end of the corridor. On his chest hung a police badge featuring a spread-winged eagle topped with a five-pointed star.

"The higher-ups notified us that someone would come to handle this case, but I didn't expect you to actually show up." The elderly officer was the Deputy Chief of the Chicago P.D. Wiping away sweat, he quietly sized up the bizarre man in front of him wearing an iron mask, noticing even a small cart equipped with oxygen tanks trailing behind him.

"Three minutes," Schneider said in a hoarse voice.

"What?" The deputy chief didn't understand for a moment.

"Our Department Head means that you have three minutes to clear out your men. Personnel from our department will move in and take over the scene shortly," the female windbreaker explained.

"Alright, no problem. We've protected the scene very well; I guarantee it hasn't been disturbed in the slightest, you can rest assured of that." Wiping his sweat, the deputy chief picked up his walkie-talkie and ordered all officers on the floor to evacuate. Without a word, Schneider and his two companions swept past him and walked deeper into the corridor.

Upon receiving the deputy chief's instructions, quite a few officers were initially left in a daze. Many of them stopped midway through their on-site sampling work, looking completely bewildered. They had been woken up in the middle of the night by an emergency assignment and rushed to the scene, only to be ordered to evacuate before they could even finish their work?

When the deputy chief's irritable roar echoed once more, the officers frozen in place snapped back to reality. Looking sullen and aggrieved, they packed up their tools and gear and dashed toward the emergency stairwell.

Standing beside the deputy chief, the officer who had initially tried to block Schneider and his group watched this scene and couldn't help whispering, "Deputy Chief, what's the background of those people? The FBI? We've never seen our department give the FBI that kind of leverage. Surely they aren't CIA, are they? Why would they handle a murder case in a hospital?"

"Don't ask so many questions. Our mission is to cooperate with their operations; this is a strict order passed down from above," the deputy chief scolded the officer sternly, keeping his voice under control.

Chicago P.D. officers, crime scene samplers, and forensic pathologists—everyone in the corridor evacuated through the emergency stairwell without stopping. Wiping away sweat, the deputy chief waited until the very last officer had left, then let out a sigh of relief, glanced at the yellow cordon tape deep in the hallway, and prepared to leave.

Just then, the sound of orderly footsteps suddenly echoed from the emergency stairwell. The deputy chief paused for a moment, wondering if those bastards in the department couldn't understand orders or what—why were they running back again? Furious, he prepared to push open the door and scold his subordinates in the hallway. But before he even reached the door, the doors of the emergency stairwell were shoved violently open.

A flood of identical black windbreakers poured onto the floor. Everyone's attire was chillingly uniform, featuring the badge of a half-decayed world tree pinned to their chests. Their faces were stern, and their entire bodies exuded a murderous aura.

There were roughly twenty to thirty men in black windbreakers pouring into the floor. The moment they entered, they immediately began cordoning off the scene without a single pause. New warning tape was continuously stretched out, camera flashes dazzled the eyes unceasingly, and some individuals carried ultraviolet lamps, meticulously sweeping every inch of the hallway's floor as if searching for the traces of something.

It was evident that the men in black windbreakers were well-trained. Even in silence, they only needed a single glance to swiftly divide their labor. Although the corridor was once again packed with people, there was not a trace of noise; only the sound of footsteps and the rustle of friction against clothing could be heard, punctuated occasionally by hushed, low-voiced discussions.

The deputy chief, still left at the scene, had to admit that the overall quality of this group of 'relevant authorities' sent from above was leagues ahead of the Chicago P.D. officers who had just filled the floor. At the very least, he didn't see anyone in this group eating hot dogs or yawning on the job like his own subordinates.

The work attitude of all the men in black windbreakers was shockingly rigorous. Their faces bore expressions of intense focus and gravity, as if the task they were about to take on was not a hospital murder occurring in the dead of night, but a major crisis concerning global security.

By comparison, the deputy chief standing here in his police uniform felt like a total outsider. Standing around like a fool made him feel that holding a hot dog might actually help ease the awkward atmosphere. He still remembered the instructions given to him by his superiors before the mission: protect the scene, ensure no one destroys the criminal evidence, and wait until the relevant authorities take over.

At the same time, he had been strictly forbidden from having more than ten sentences of conversation with the personnel from the relevant authorities; once his mission was completed, he was to leave immediately and not linger. But lingering here now was proving to be a problem as well. He hadn't stood there for even half a minute before a man in a black windbreaker kindly walked over to ask if he was lost, offering to show him to the working elevator and escort him inside, completely ignoring the fact that his iconic police uniform represented the highest authority in the city.

Yet, for now, the deputy chief could only offer a bitter smile as he was 'invited' into the elevator. Rank has its privileges, and the superior who had directly issued his orders outranked him by far more than just one or two levels.

After clearing out all unrelated personnel, one of the men in black pressed his earpiece and reported, "Department Head Schneider, all unrelated personnel have withdrawn."

Deep in the corridor, Schneider pressed his earpiece and said coldly, "The crime scene investigation team will proceed with evidence sampling immediately. The containment team will secure the stairwell entrances and permit no one to step onto this floor. The environmental control team, if any suspicious individuals are spotted in the vicinity, do not need to request permission—apprehend them immediately. Frigg bullets are authorized; live ammunition may be used under special circumstances. Everyone, operation commence."

Having issued all his orders, the machine known as the 'Kassel College Executioner's Department' began to operate. The entire North-South Memorial Hospital was shrouded beneath the sharp beaks and talons of the black-clad owls. From this moment on, Kassel College officially took over the general hospital located in the South Side of Chicago.

Having finished giving his commands, Schneider lowered the hand holding his earpiece, his gaze growing icy as he looked straight ahead. "Alright, now let's see how you died, Andrei."

In the direction of his gaze, inside the cordoned-off hospital room, a headless corpse lay quietly in a pool of blood. Pinned to the chest of its jacket was a blood-stained school badge of the half-decayed world tree.

Executioner's Department 'C'-rank investigator, Andrei Rooney, declared dead.