Chapter 18: Traveling Companions Are Foes
The world is vast. At this moment, the containment breach at Facility 031 in District 3 has yet to spread westward to District 9, nor does it affect the two alleys facing each other in a coastal city within District 9.
Scarlett stared at the street across from her through the rearview mirror.
During brief gaps when the vehicles on the street disappeared from view, she could see a van parked in one of the alleys opposite, its rear facing outward. The van bore the logo of an "Extermination Company."
She knew someone inside that van was watching her—because her own vehicle was parked the same way.
"With all this commotion, do you think we've been exposed?"
"Impossible."
"But even Bureau agents are right across the street..."
"John, paranoia won’t get the job done. Besides, you know how much noise that entity has caused—if we don’t catch it today, it’ll slip away illegally. Of course the Bureau would show up. But they wouldn’t dare act openly. We can definitely get there first..."
Suddenly, a figure flashed across the rearview mirror. The image shifted to the right side mirror.
The person cautiously sidestepped along the grimy side of the van and the filthy alley wall behind it, edging toward the passenger window. Then they leaned in to tap on the glass.
"Is Ms. Scarlett in the car?"
Scarlett’s expression stiffened slightly. She leaned toward the window and looked out through the one-way tint.
The visitor’s identification card dangled from their neck, perfectly positioned outside the window as they bent in.
A damn press badge with a golden emblem.
"Oh, hell. How did a reporter find this place?" John muttered quietly from the driver’s seat. "Their noses are sharper than dogs."
"Shut up," Scarlett hissed, lowering the window just a crack—quiet enough that only those inside could hear.
"Ms. Scarlett, may I ask your thoughts on the Pan-Continental Alliance's stance at today’s regional summit—"
The rearview mirror was nearly filled by the cameraman who appeared alongside the journalist. But Scarlett caught a flash of blue at the edge of the mirror and her eyes snapped to it.
At that moment, a figure clad in blue stood beneath a building across the street, seemingly locking eyes with her from afar.
The person did not possess any supernatural sight and couldn’t see Scarlett, but they noticed the cameraman blocking the rear of the car and the reporter beside the window. Turning back, they realized they were sandwiched between two suspicious vehicles.
The weariness vanished from their face instantly. Without hesitation, they bolted.
No warning needed. John, who had worked with Scarlett for years, sprang upright from the seat.
The engine roared to life; the tires spun fiercely.
Scarlett slammed the car door. Within half a second, the driver and passenger windows snapped shut like blades.
She shoved the intrusive reporter against the wall.
"Wait, ma’am—my clothes!"
The disguised van, parked in the narrow alley with its rear facing out, reversed swiftly onto the street. The Bureau agents did the same. Pedestrians on the sidewalk scrambled to the sides in panic. The two reversing vehicles crossed the road and collided back-to-back. But the van lacked power and lagged behind Scarlett’s car. John managed to block them in the alley—they couldn’t escape.
Nearby vehicles braked sharply, frightened by the chaos. The street erupted into noise—horns blaring, curses flying, and shouts ringing out.
"Did you get that on camera? Focus on their car! Record everything!"
The reporter gaped in disbelief, while the cameraman diligently raised his camera.
---
"Right turn! Go straight up!" Scarlett commanded, ignoring them.
John turned the wheel, pushing aside a few obstructing cars in the middle of the street, making a bold circle to find the right direction.
When the passenger window faced the target, Scarlett drew her handgun.
The blue hoodie flickered in and out of the dense crowd.
The target fled in panic, accidentally bumping into a passerby. Their bag spilled out, scattering clothes and miscellaneous belongings.
John adjusted direction, floored the accelerator, forcing the car into a narrow gap between two lanes, leaving the van far behind—
Suddenly, a taxi darted out from the front, blocking them at a sharp angle.
At this point, traffic on the street became hopelessly tangled.
The taxi driver jumped out, cursing as he yanked open their door.
"Watch where you’re driving! What the hell—"
Inside the car, John’s arm, thicker than the driver’s thigh, Scarlett’s knee bag, rope, handgun, and their deadly gazes instantly defused the driver’s anger. He raised his hands and fled.
Looking back, the figure in blue had vanished into the crowd.
Turning around, the reporter and cameraman followed, surrounded by an inquisitive crowd. Someone had called the police. The Bureau staff in the van lowered their window, watching the scene from afar with amused expressions—as if their mission hadn’t failed.
John abandoned his earlier cold demeanor, raising his hands in surrender and addressing the camera first.
"The vehicle went out of control. We had no intention of violating investigation protocols..."
"Damn Bureau," Scarlett muttered, holding her injured nose, clearly displeased.
"I hate reporters."
---
Far away in District 10, Shi Rang sneezed.
Though he couldn’t see them, he knew his nearby cubicle neighbors were watching him. He gritted his teeth, refusing to look back.
Soon, the scattered keyboard tapping around him resumed, order restored.
He exhaled in relief and continued staring at the document with only a title—unfinished.
“Investigation Request on Smuggling Activities in Pingyuan City_”
"Shi Rang, can you scan a document for me?" a voice called from the cubicle opposite.
"Coming."
Shi Rang stood, stepping away from the torturous document.
He had been at the newspaper for over a year, a mediocre columnist at best, writing about some sensational incidents based on dubious sources—accidents, gang fights. Even he found his own articles nauseating.
He knew he wasn’t cut out for this career, but that wasn’t why he joined the paper.
He needed a press badge to help him investigate Ying Shang’s whereabouts.
---
Unfortunately, after two years, he hadn’t uncovered anything useful with the badge.
Just yesterday, Ying Shang’s friend Angie had given him a vital lead—about a criminal group involved in activities in Pingyuan City, and about a criminal nicknamed “Gray Dog,” who might know Ying Shang’s whereabouts.
[The criminal nicknamed “Gray Dog” belongs to the trans-regional gang “Blue Signal,” known to be active along Pingyuan’s coastline engaging in smuggling. He has been imprisoned multiple times but was released on bail due to lack of evidence...]
He had the location and clues—but how to investigate?
Should he just go to an unfamiliar city and ask strangers, “Do you know about Gray Dog and Blue Signal?”
His newly kindled hope flickered and dimmed again.
On his way back from the scanner, new hands kept rising behind the cubicle partitions.
"Shi Rang, can you get me a coffee? Two sugars, thanks."
"Okay."
"Take this to the finance office—hurry up."
"On it."
Shi Rang was used to running errands everywhere.
The editor-in-chief had never shown him any kindness, constantly bossing him around. Many colleagues—even interns earning barely more than him—had adopted the same attitude.
He had spent a remarkable weekend at the Bureau’s headquarters, wielding influence with a few pieces of intelligence as a writer and host. But reality and games were different. He could script an adventure for Kyle, provide intelligence to Robin, helping the latter escape death—but he couldn’t find his wife.
Finally back at his desk, Shi Rang abandoned his aimless investigation request and pulled out his phone, trying to distract himself.
No matter how he wrote, the editor-in-chief would likely find fault and reject his plans.
The Bureau’s database page still open in his browser tempted him to dive into endless containment records.
If only clues could be found with a few keystrokes...
Staring at the search box for a moment, an impulse surged within him.
Like a student entering an exam room and seeing all green traffic lights, feeling it was a sign of good fortune, he typed with a foolish hope.
[Search term: Fan Ying Shang]
[0 results found]
[Search: "Gray Dog"]
[0 results found]
[Search: "Blue Signal"]
[1 result found]