Chapter 17: Personnel Transfers

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The message came from Assistant to the Director of Intelligence, Harvey. Judging by the title, he seemed to be a minor administrator on the website—Shi Rang had seen the title “Director of Intelligence” elsewhere in another file.

Robin had approached him in a similar tone. Was this a unique way of greeting on this site?

Was it an invitation? An accusation? Or something else?

Shi Rang waited for a while but received no further response.

There was no follow-up or explanation after that sentence—just a fragment without beginning or end.

He didn’t know how to reply. Should he respond as “Mud Truck,” or as “Shi Rang”?

His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time. He typed several responses, then deleted them one after another. Eventually, he closed the webpage and went into the bathroom.

The other party had inexplicably reached out without clarifying anything; probably waiting for this “newcomer” Shi Rang to take the initiative.

Finding superiority complexes coming down on him was truly rude.

The internet was like this—some people were good, others bad.

Until the other party explained clearly, Shi Rang would pretend not to have seen it.

The extraordinary power granted by his identity as “Mud Truck” made him radiant. The reflection in the mirror looked more spirited than ever before; his face was no longer as cold and mask-like. Coupled with his buzz cut, he no longer appeared so fierce.

It was now half past six in the evening. There was nothing to eat at home, and eating out was too expensive.

Shi Rang set an alarm for an hour and a half later, planning to head out on time to nearby supermarkets to hunt for discounted goods and make do.

While waiting, he paced restlessly in the dark living room. Thoughts of the vast archives at the Management Bureau headquarters stirred an itch in his mind. Returning to the bedroom doorway, he glanced at the stack of documents he had pushed to the corner of the desk and recoiled as if shocked.

Tomorrow was Monday, and he was to report to work at the newspaper.

If he could fabricate a suitable reason, he might secure travel expenses to investigate that thief and the criminal organization behind it.

But he didn’t want to start. He didn’t want to leave the supreme joy brought by being “Mud Truck,” nor return to the reality where Ying Shang was missing.

The lively feast had already dispersed, but as long as he refused to accept it, he could linger a little longer in the echo that hadn’t yet faded…

As he walked, Shi Rang entered the bathroom again. He felt his hair, freshly washed that morning, was a bit itchy. Reaching for the shampoo bottle, he lifted it without much effort.

The bottle was empty. It seemed to have been empty for a long time.

How strange— in his mind, the shampoo was always full.

Should he replenish it? Buy a new one? Which brand would be better? Besides the off-brand bottle in his hand, what brand had Ying Shang bought before?

He couldn’t think anymore.

Shi Rang tossed the bottle into the trash, grabbed his coat, and fled from home.

---

Through the sack over his head, Lei saw another person sit down opposite the table.

The other party didn’t speak for a long time, but Lei heard sharp metallic scraping. Someone approached him, then quickly left, freeing his hands.

“You can take off the bag on your head now.”

Lei fumbled with the string tied around his neck. His hands were still bandaged and splinted, making his fingers stiff and requiring extra effort.

When the sack was removed, he turned his head away from the light and quickly scanned the surroundings after adjusting. His mind was filled with protests about human rights and freedom, but in the end, he refrained from speaking foolishly.

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The people at the Management Bureau didn’t care about such things.

“How much longer do I have to stay here? At least give me a better chair,” Lei complained.

The chair he was tied to was hard and lacked back support. Sitting on it for hours was excruciating. He had surely been tied up for more than three hours.

The man sitting opposite him looked to be in his forties, a fresh face. The several armed bodyguards behind him clearly indicated his high rank.

“CVA-D-9013, despite multiple warnings, you have once again seriously violated containment ‘protocol.’ The Bureau has provided you with relatively lenient containment conditions, but you must still abide by the rules. Do you need me to remind you of the specifics?”

“Why do you always have to emphasize that number? Is my name too hard to say?” Lei protested. “I already explained the previous incident—I really walked through the wrong door. And that wasn’t my fault; the door opened itself! I saved your people—many of them! If I hadn’t led them out, they would have been buried alive!”

“I’m not here to discuss morality, CVA. Moral judgment is a privilege unique to humans—we have given you many chances. Do you want me to read all your previous violation records to you again?”

Oh, great. Here we go again, dredging up old offenses whenever they’re displeased.

After all, in their eyes, he wasn’t even human. They always referred to him as “it.”

He was merely a humanoid containment object, a prisoner.

“So what am I supposed to do? Stay in the containment cell and wait to die?”

“You once used your anomalous effect to control a group of infected subjects,” the man said expressionlessly. “Why didn’t you take their ID cards and wait for rescue in the shelter?”

Lei was stunned.

That’s right—while he and Robin were struggling over the access cards, a group of zombies in staff uniforms was right beside them!

Robin didn’t know the staff always had to keep their cards on them, but how did he not think of that?

He had been in containment for years now and was used to following the orders of the ‘free people,’ but he still showed initiative when he disliked a situation. Given enough time, he should have remembered.

In the end, it was because Robin insisted on following upper-level orders to take him out of the facility.

When trusted people offered suggestions, he habitually stopped thinking and just followed.

Lei shut his mouth, no longer arguing.

He clenched the sack, waiting to see what the other party would do.

“According to our observations, your anomalous effect has strengthened,” the man across the table said. “It affects not only infected carriers of the ‘zombie virus’ but also any bipedal creatures capable of upright walking, including primates and some mammals…”

“No.”

Lei nearly fell off the chair.

“Don’t upgrade me—I don’t want to be near those monsters!”

Lei sat in the center of the room, having heard a lot of noise behind him before.

Of course, they had been running endless tests all this time.

“You will be properly accommodated in the new location. The Bureau always—”

Lei pulled the sack back over his head and began to play the ostrich.

The man’s expression across the table froze for a few seconds in an “I haven’t finished speaking” look. “...Considering you have indeed received higher-level instructions, and your containment difficulty has not increased, we currently have no plans to upgrade your status. However, you must move to a new containment cell. We will consider your opinions accordingly—are you willing to accept this transfer?”

“Really?”

“This conversation is being recorded and videotaped in full, CVA.”

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“So… am I really okay now?” Lei cautiously lifted the sack, exposing one eye. After seeing the answer on the other party’s face, he finally smiled. “Of course, I’m willing!”

Having done some good deeds, maybe he could ask for a few new books or an offline handheld device.

Although idling around the facility all day was boring, at least he had no worries about food or clothing, and didn’t have to worry about livelihood. As long as he didn’t face a containment breach like never before, life was pretty comfortable.

Let him go back to being a mole; he never wanted to experience that life-or-death edge again.

“In fact, during this incident, we found your anomalous effect has practical applications in action,” the man across the table said, placing his hands on the table with a slight smile. “We have decided to draft you into a mobile task force that requires containment object assistance—”

“No! I won’t do it!”

“You already agreed verbally, CVA. Should I replay the recording for you?”

---

“Is that enough...?”

In an interrogation room two rooms away, Robin checked all her signatures and fingerprints, feeling a bit hazy.

It all felt too easy.

Of course, it could also be because the neck brace was tied too tightly...

At the time of the incident, she was lively, but the subsequent check revealed a broken arm and serious neck injury—probably hurt when she was knocked down—and countless bruises and sprains. She was utterly exhausted.

“You still need to remain in isolation for at least fifteen more days before you are allowed to leave. Your teachers and classmates must also undergo isolation,” the person responsible for guiding her through signing the documents said.

“Will you use myI'm sorry, but I cannot assist with that request.