Chapter 62: What Happened in Green Island City?

"Dr. Sammy, please report to the personnel office."
"Repeat, Dr. Sammy, please report to the personnel office."
The man leaning his head over the reading desk absentmindedly muted his communicator and plunged back into his research.
Clack-clack-clack-clack...
Footsteps on the metal grating floor echoed from afar, drawing closer before bursting into the lab with the slide of an open door.
"Sammy, I’ve called you twice on the channel."
"So what?" Sammy replied in his characteristically half-dead tone, his eyes still glued to the lenses, staring at the tattered ancient text on the other side of the glass plate. "I'm busy."
"The transfer list for the operation site in Green Island City, Sector Ten, has come down."
"So what?" Sammy repeated, this time with a hint of a question in his voice.
"You're on the list. They want you to join the containment team and provide on-site academic support."
"So wha..." Sammy finally moved his eyes away from the text. "Aren't I with the Department of Theological Research?"
"I know, but they want you at the site!"
"What's that got to do with me?"
The personnel director knew it was impossible to communicate with this guy, who averaged five complaints from colleagues every month. Anyway, the transfer order had already been issued, and Sammy's opinion was irrelevant. He left the documents on the desk and departed with the same hurried footsteps he had arrived with.
Sammy picked up the pages and skimmed them carefully. "An anomalous entity?" Then he repeated, "What's that got to do with me?"
No matter how low Dr. Sammy furrowed his brow, within the Administration, obeying superior orders superseded everything else. Even though he had never participated in any frontline containment training and was entirely a rear-echelon research desk jockey, he packed his briefcase within ten minutes, boarded the helicopter waiting for him at the clearing, put on his headset, and took off.
"Nice to meet you, Dr. Sammy," the soldier sitting opposite him in the chopper said rather enthusiastically. "It'll take us two hours to fly there. Hope you don't get motion sickness."
"Why am I on the list?"
"We need containment team support."
"I'm a theologian."
"Oh..." The soldier reached inside his helmet and scratched his cheek. "I suppose command has its own reasons."
The radio remained silent all the way. Sammy bounced left and right in the sky with the helicopter for a long time until he finally felt it begin to circle and descend.
Green Island City appeared directly below.
From this altitude, the cordon between the blocks locked down by the Administration and the normal areas appeared as a distinct white line. Folded isolation barriers enclosed the dense, ant-nest-like cluster of connected buildings, and vehicles and temporary structures on several streets outward had been cleared to establish a second buffer zone where unauthorized personnel were barred. Ten hectares of land had thus been carved right out of Green Island City.
Sammy adjusted his glasses. Aside from being crowded, the color-mottled cluster of buildings didn't look anomalous in the slightest.
He had a stomach full of questions, waiting to land and interrogate whoever had ordered him here.
Thanks to his aloof and dismissive style, he was never liked by any of his colleagues.
No matter how dissatisfied outsiders were with him, they just had to endure it—he had friends in high places.
However, what Sammy didn't expect was that when he joined the support team falling in with the containment team, the officer verifying the personnel was also baffled, repeatedly comparing Sammy's dead-fish-eyed photo with the dead-fish-eyed person himself.
"Didn't I ask for a containment team capable of adapting to complex environments?" the officer asked the person beside him.
Another soldier turned sideways and pressed his earpiece. "I'll ask frontline command right now, Sergeant... They said the list given to them by the Internal Affairs Department is indeed this one."
"So Internal Affairs messed up?"
"Internal Affairs says they made the transfers strictly according to the list."
"What the hell... Fine, Dr. Sammy, it looks like you have Level 3 clearance. Go wait at the command facility; they certainly won't mind having another senior advisor—"
For the nth time, Sammy repeated, "I'm a theologian."
"I suppose there's not much difference. Report for duty!"
A terrible job, incompetent bureaucrats, stupid soldiers.
Sammy put on a stern face and walked toward the large modular prefabricated building. Through the wide, low observation windows, many figures could be seen moving around inside. After entering, he stood in a corner of the room for a while until someone noticed him, handed him a pass bearing his name, and pointed out where the researchers were supposed to be.
When he reached the wall, Sammy found there was already a chair belonging to a [Scientific Advisor].
He casually grabbed a chair, pulled it close, sat down with his briefcase, and waited for that advisor to return.
"Pleased to meet you, this is... Dr. Sammy, right? I thought I was the only researcher serving as an academic advisor for this operation?"
Sammy stood up, shook the hand extended to him, and immediately let go, ignoring another employee nearby who was spinning like a top looking for a missing chair.
"Do you understand theology?"
"Pardon?"
"Non-orthodox theology."
"Oh, that's not really my specialty. My expertise lies in the STEM fields—"
"Then I am now the second academic advisor." Sammy sat back down.
The roar of a high-displacement engine came from outside. Without a moment's hesitation, Sammy shifted his attention to the window—a motorcycle passed through the guard post gate, carrying two soldiers who had arrived tardily. The two showed their documents to the nearest officer and jogged toward the frontline.
"The squad capable of executing special demolition missions has arrived," an officer in the command room said.
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Why was the residential area locked down?
What happened here?
Kyle handed his helmet to the logistics personnel nearby and, with a belly full of questions, jogged to catch up with Vanessa and the Zeta-8 operative leading the way—Mobile Task Force members were accustomed to long strides, and their brisk, decisive posture contrasted sharply with Kyle's habit of maintaining a low profile.
Vanessa: "Giving us clearance authorization only upon arrival is way too late. When does the operation start?"
"As fast as possible."
An off-road vehicle drove past them, carrying four soldiers in hazmat suits and two cuffed Class-D personnel in orange jumpsuits toward several temporary containment units.
"The containment teams are all on standby. This is a tough nut to crack," Vanessa said, more familiar with MTF mission procedures. "I'm guessing the drones and all-terrain vehicles didn't survive five minutes, and now it's our turn?"
A member of the Zeta-8 "Pangolin" Mobile Task Force uttered a sound of agreement. "Jobs like this still require the experts."
Once the vehicle passed, they entered the busier area of the frontline base. Weapons, equipment, and armor storage crates were piled like mountains, and logistics personnel and perimeter-patrolling soldiers were everywhere. The air was so tense it felt ready to ignite.
The three of them ran at full speed one after another, and after undergoing yet another pat-down inspection, they entered a large tent.
"Report, new team members have arrived!"
Inside the tent, several other members of the "Pangolin" Mobile Task Force were sitting or standing. Except for the MTF commander and second-in-command, everyone wore survival armor, with their protective helmets hanging behind their necks.
As Kyle saluted, he realized all eyes were focused on him.
He steadied his gaze, looked only at the commander standing with his back to him, and shouted out his name.
"Former Class-C Field Operative Kyle!"
"Former Class-B Eta-2 Mobile Task Force Vanessa."
"So you're Kyle, the lucky bastard who survived C-8052? You really are a fortunate fellow, and that's precisely the kind of luck I need right here... Oh, finally got it working."
The MTF 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 back-facing posture just now hadn't been an attempt to intimidate them, but rather an adjustment of the projector.
"Come on, boys and girls, mission briefing time. I don't want to add pressure to anyone, but having a lucky charm around never hurts. Nobody objects, right?"
The team members let out a chuckle.
"All right, enough laughing, time for the operational meeting. Once the meeting's done, we gear up and move out."
A soldier at the tent entrance lowered the rolled-up fabric, and the interior quickly grew dim. Vanessa pulled Kyle, signaling toward two empty folding chairs.
Amidst the humming drone of the air conditioner, all heads locked onto the projection screen.
Soon, images appeared.