Chapter 65 Spatial Anomaly

The interior of the building was completely without power, and the beams of flashlights swept rhythmically across the corridors on both sides.

Confirming the area was secure, the entire team filed in.

Kyle walked at the rear of the formation, trying his absolute best to project professionalism.

This building was no different from the one he had seen during his initial visit—cluttered with debris, beddings and cardboard boxes scattered on the floor, stains and advertisements plastered across the walls. It was exactly what he envisioned this neighborhood should look like. However, when he glanced down the hallway, the sunlight streaming in from the windows stretched out infinitely into the distance. The various scattered objects showed no signs of repetition, as though they would continue all the way to the edge of the world.

The interior space of the building had become anomalous.

Did this happen after he evacuated that night?

"Signal is normal," the mobile task force commander at the forward base informed them. "I've uploaded a map to the monitors I gave you, but—"

"Don't count on it too much, I get it," the squad leader asked. "Any cognitive hazards below?"

"No relevant reports at the moment. Your helmets should filter out most cognitive hazards, but the best approach is still not to make contact. Report updates in a timely manner."

"Understood, beginning descent. Number 6, swap positions with Number 5, rear guard is yours."

Vanessa: "Copy that."

Kyle silently followed the order.

The team turned left upon entering the building, following the markers left on the wall by the N3 team, and descended into the basement via the stairwell. Everyone in the squad activated their shoulder lamps and the flashlights mounted under their firearms, heading deeper into the subterranean depths. They rounded the stairs down one level, two levels, three levels... and finally arrived at the fifth basement level.

Without Kyle needing to voice it, everyone knew it was impossible for a building to have a basement this deep.

For every few meters they descended, the air grew noticeably warmer and thicker, until moving forward felt almost as though they were wading through water. The stairs connected to a basement that appeared ordinary enough, with glow sticks and signal transmitters strewn across the floor, left behind by the N3 team.

N4-4 tested the light switch on the wall, but it had no effect. N4-3 also discovered that the fire sprinkler on the ceiling was merely for show, snapping right off at a slight pull.

It was as if they had entered a giant dollhouse, where the entity that created this place endlessly performed meaningless imitations of architecture without the slightest intention of innovating anything.

Kyle quickly shook off this strange thought, recalled the operational guidelines, and confirmed to himself that he was still lucid. He had never faced a cognitive hazard before, but the operations manual stated clearly that many anomalies possessed the ability to directly affect human sanity. Some things could permanently disable or even kill a person with just a single glance or sound.

N4-1: "We found the traces left by the N3 team at the bottom of the stairs, preparing to push toward the 'antechamber'."

Command Center: "Signals are completely normal on our end."

The team pushed forward.

The corridor was too narrow to maintain standard formation, so they pressed as close to each other as possible, moving in pairs to maintain speed.

The basement corridor repeated and stretched for fifty meters, then seventy meters, until finally, whatever created this place decided to show a bit of originality. The passage and ceiling began to undulate and twist like a real cave system, jagged and irregular. Tiny black spots emerged on the concrete walls, and only the sound maintained its initial state—aside from the footsteps of the squad members, there was only silence.

Passing through several marked intersections, the squad arrived at the "antechamber," a relatively spacious area connecting to three other exit tunnels.

If one ignored the fact that it was located dozens of meters underground, it would have been a rather pleasant children's playground, complete with a merry-go-round and swings that, though old, still appeared functional.

Everything was proceeding with an unbelievable smoothness.

Reconfirming that the environment was secure, the several members dispersed to inspect the surroundings and established a defensive perimeter in place.

N4-3: "Found the drone. They dragged it back from the depths and tried to repair it, but the chip is destroyed and the backup data cartridge is gone."

"No people, no corpses, only shell casings and bloodstains—they engaged in a firefight here, and then were attacked by some kind of sharp object..." Number 4 aimed his suit-mounted camera at the bloodstains sprayed in a fan pattern, followed the drag marks trailing off toward one of the exit tunnels, where the line of blood abruptly stopped right before the passage. "The 'visitors' probably took them away. The attackers and the 'visitors' are cooperating."

Kyle and Vanessa were paired together.

He searched all the way to the edge of the antechamber, stopped by a seesaw to take a sip of water from his suit, and rummaged through the scattered supplies on the ground—the straw was right by his mouth, making it quite convenient to drink. Unfortunately, the thirst he felt was caused by the stifling heat of his equipment, with the waterproof outer layer pressing tightly against his skin, sweat sliding down the sweat-wicking layer across his entire body before finally disappearing near his legs.

It was scorching hot underground, seemingly attempting to slow-cook everyone inside their suits, but removing the helmet to vent the heat was strictly out of the question.

"You're acting way too uptight," Vanessa swept her light across a scratch on the wall. "Weren't you rumored to be arrogant and completely lawless?"

Kyle glanced toward the direction of his teammates' lights, confirming everyone was still accounted for.

He didn't understand why Vanessa would bring up such a topic in a place like this. "We're still connected on the open channel."

"They don't record literally everything, and you have to talk about something. Missions are always long, and the more nervous you get, the more you need to speak, otherwise your mind will snap."

"･･･Those are just rumors, I'm not that kind of person."

"Oh? Meaning you haven't disposed of a dozen distortion phenomena without prior authorization?"

"Where did you hear that?"

"I'm from the coven, isn't it only natural that I know magic?" Vanessa seemed to be winking at him beneath her faceplate, but Kyle could see nothing other than the outline of the demolition equipment strapped to her back.

"There weren't that many—"

"So exactly how many was it?"

"･･･Not counting the 'visitors', just four. The previous ones all went smoothly," Kyle sighed. "I'm definitely going to be in deep trouble when I get back."

"You've got higher-ups covering for you, Star, live a little dangerously." Vanessa walked past him and picked up an object from the shadows, the light outlining its metallic sheen.

It was a pair of unlocked handcuffs.

"The Class-D prisoner brought down by the containment team has escaped. Looks like he managed to feel around for the keys during the chaos, unlocked the handcuffs, and defected."

The other flashlight beams swung toward Vanessa, aiming at the shackles in her hand.

When the squad re-gathered in the center of the antechamber, Kyle took the initiative to suggest: "I suspect that Class-D is related to the loss of contact with the N3 team. The combat members died while the bait successfully escaped—he definitely didn't just sit around waiting for the visitors to show up."

Squad Leader: "Good analysis. Two weapons are missing. If you spot an orange jumpsuit, prioritize shooting for the legs; we need intelligence."

With that, the squad leader turned toward the corridors leading into the unknown.

"Number 3, do you have any working searchlights left?"

"A whole pocketful, and they were all crushed before I could even set them up. Whatever that thing is, it definitely hates lightbulbs."

"Which means they were attacked before they could finish setting up—form up. Command Center, we are going to attempt to draw them out... Command Center?"

Seconds later, still no response.

"Damn it, connection dropped... One-way transmission is still responding, they can still hear us. Number 5, do you have any messages on your end?"

Kyle glanced at the communicator at his waist. "No."

"Report immediately if you receive anything. Number 6, reset the explosives. Everyone else take your respective positions; once contact is made, blow the tunnel and let a few in so we can see what they look like. Number 5, stay by my side."

The light sources representing the six positions scattered across the spacious antechamber, forming a crossfire to ensure the blockade of all tunnels.

Kyle was positioned in the front-center, closest to the three tunnels where anomalous entities could emerge at any moment.

His actual mission was to act as "bait."

The N3 team had used Class-D personnel, who were former death row and hardened criminals, as bait, while the "Pangolin" mobile task force chose to use Kyle. As a former victim, the "visitors" might hunt him down once again. Had it not been for this, he wouldn't have been qualified to be assigned to the task force.

The terrain ahead was far too narrow; moving in pairs was the most suitable approach. With the current six-man formation, all they could do was attempt to draw out the unknown enemies.

Luring those unknown individuals out of their intricate nests to launch an active assault was safer than sending people rashly deep into the exploration zones.

If he could prevent the loss of numerous lives in exchange for precious intelligence, Kyle was willing to bear this responsibility.

He dropped to one knee in a ready-to-shoot posture, aiming down the corridor ahead.

Beyond the reach of the lights, the darkness seemed to drift and shift.

A prompt popped up on his eyepiece:

[！Hazardous gas detected！]

N4-4: "Poison gas."

The gas detector built into the armor began to sound an alarm. The colorless gas with a pungent scent of fresh grass—the very same gas that had knocked Kyle unconscious—poured into the antechamber, slightly bending the beams of light.

First came the smell of grass, then came the nightmares and the "visitors"...

Kyle placed his finger on the trigger.

Dead silence.

"Does anyone have a visual on the target?"

"Negative."

"The files say the 'visitors' hunt using gas, they should be nearby."

"Stay alert."

Time ticked away amidst the silence and the constant exchange of position checks. The initial tension turned into a rigid stiffness, sweat pouring down in waves.

The N3 team had lost contact within less than ten minutes of entering the antechamber, yet the poison gas had been permeating for a full fifteen minutes, and the N4 team had been here for nearly half an hour without anything appearing.

N4-3: "These things refuse to come out. Looks like we're going to have to go into the caves ourselves, Leader."

N4-4: "Could our conditions be different from the third team's?"

N4-6: "Maybe they think there are too few of us, or perhaps they prefer orange clothes."

N4-2: "Actually, judging by weight, Number 3 counts as two."

N4-3: "Screw you."

The squad leader didn't reply, undoubtedly considering whether to alter the plan or evacuate the underground area to regroup.

Kyle rose from his kneeling posture, not forgetting to report, "I'm standing up to stretch a bit."

Darkness could make one mentally strained, especially in such a stifling, enclosed subterranean space. Just thinking about how far away the surface was made it easy to experience shortness of breath.

No wonder one of the prerequisites for joining the "Pangolin" was "scoring high on stress-tolerance tests."

N4-2: "No need to wait for our permission, we aren't going to eat you. Go ahead and take a few steps."

"I see he's already gotten used to our style." The squad leader's flashlight shifted from behind Kyle to the right, swaying twice. "Number 4, your light is acting up, run a diagnostic."

"Let me check—everything's normal."

"I'm quite sure its brightness is insufficient."

Kyle grabbed his shoulder lamp and followed suit, looking toward the right.

Staring at flashlight beams for too long caused dizziness, leading to a loss of judgment regarding brightness and distance, so experiencing optical illusions was entirely normal.

After readjusting to the dark, he realized that Number 4's light indeed had a problem, leaving behind only a pair of swaying, glittering points of light...

N4-1: "Number 4, are you moving?"

"Negative."

N4-1: "On my end—contact, that's not Number 4!"

The moment the squad leader shouted the warning, those swaying points of light lunged into the illumination range of the shoulder lamps.

Its eyes remained bright in the light, and its sharp, mantis-like forelegs were raised high, striking down in a sweeping cross-slash!