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Chapter 14: Upheaval
Bjorn froze, his movements coming to a halt.
In an instant, his face, flushed red by the setting sun, turned ashen. Then, as the sunlight was blocked, it darkened.
A Mobile Task Force appeared at the top of the slope.
These soldiers, fully armed and equipped with incendiary explosives designed to combat the "Doomsday Seed," had raced to Facility 031 in urgent response. The fading sun cast their elongated shadows over the slope, shrouding Bjorn’s face in darkness.
Kappa-3 “Gardener” had arrived on the scene.
“Active target detected!”
“Likely a facility employee, but infection cannot be ruled out.”
Several red laser dots landed on Bjorn’s face. At that moment, his mind finally snapped into focus.
“I’m Bjorn, the deputy director of this facility!” he shouted, kicking away the suitcase he hadn’t managed to push outside. “The Doomsday Seed is about to enter its second phase—hurry!”
His bloodshot eyes and disheveled appearance did make him look like a devoted, hardworking employee.
That’s right—he was merely guilty of staying alone in the control room against protocol. He hadn’t betrayed the Bureau! He hadn’t defected!
If he could just wait a little longer, until the Doomsday Seed collapsed the entire facility, the suitcase would be destroyed along with everything else. No evidence of his betrayal would remain.
Deep down, Bjorn knew this was nothing more than wishful thinking, but after being pushed to the brink by a cascade of unexpected variables, he clung to the thought like a lifeline.
“Retreat! Move back under the gate and maintain a safe distance!”
Bjorn crawled back into the shadows as instructed.
Impossible! MTF shouldn’t have arrived yet! My calculations were perfect! There was plenty of time left! My plan was flawless! I...
Blood rushed to his eardrums, blurring his vision.
He wasn’t aware of the recent tensions between the Field Department and the Intelligence Department, nor that the former had deliberately delayed their publicly announced operation times by several minutes as a result.
Amid the rumbling of the rising gate, a figure appeared in Bjorn’s bloodshot eyes.
Even as the sunset dimmed, the light from outside illuminated the pitch-black corridor.
Bjorn saw the temp worker—the one who had tried to brace herself against the gate—stumble and fall again due to injuries sustained earlier. She was clearly terrified, too panicked to realize the gate had only opened wide enough for two hands to pass through, far too narrow for anyone to squeeze through.
An idea suddenly sparked in Bjorn’s mind.
Yes, compared to someone like him—a high-ranking member of the Bureau—a temp worker would be a much more plausible scapegoat, wouldn’t she?
As the worker struggled to her feet and took a few shaky steps deeper into the facility, the thought expanded in his mind like lightning.
Of course. A naive student who had only just gained access to the facility was the perfect target for anyone posing as part of a secret organization. They dangled promises of recruitment and a bright future before her, asking only that she stir up a little chaos in return—a small price for entry into their so-called new world…
Bjorn wholeheartedly believed this explanation would clear him of any suspicion.
Seizing the fleeting opportunity before the gate opened wide enough to reveal the interior, he lunged for the suitcase, swinging it like a lead weight and smashing it toward the temp worker.
I didn’t betray anyone! None of this was my doing!
It’s all you! All your fault!
The temp worker, still staring fearfully into the depths of the facility, noticed Bjorn grabbing the suitcase but couldn’t react in time. She raised her arms instinctively to block the blow, only to be knocked backward by the heavy case, stumbling and falling to the ground. Bjorn dragged the suitcase forward and swung it down at her head.
Thud.
The suitcase struck the side of her head—but missed its mark.
In the dying sunlight and amidst the cacophony of noise, two figures grappled fiercely. The suitcase was flung aside during the struggle. Bjorn took a kick to the chest but retaliated with a punch. The weight difference between them gave him the upper hand. The relentless roar of the gate sounded like a death knell, driving him to act with unprecedented malice. He pinned her down, choking her with both hands.
“Stop!”
Someone nearby was shouting—perhaps 9013, though he didn’t interfere.
Perfect.
No one would believe a containment object actively fleeing the scene. Bjorn would be the sole witness.
This was a perfect plan. Everything could still be salvaged. Everything—
A wrench came crashing down on the side of Bjorn’s head, striking his temple with brutal precision.
The blow landed with all the force Robin usually reserved for wrestling with equipment.
The deputy director collapsed to the ground, blood streaming from his nose and mouth, convulsing helplessly.
The wrench she’d carried throughout her journey, intended for use against monsters, had finally found its purpose.
Robin coughed a few times, ignoring the exposed traitor and failing to notice the makeshift jack placed under the gate. Clutching her wrench tightly, she scrambled to her feet, fueled by a surge of adrenaline, and charged deeper into the facility.
“Hold on!”
The “jack” beneath the gate roared to life, forcibly lifting the massive door high enough for a person to pass through.
The chaos within the facility was now laid bare before the soldiers.
The man claiming to be the deputy director lay unconscious on the floor, a tablet and suitcase scattered beside him.
A disheveled woman wielding a wrench sprinted deeper into the facility.
A screaming man wrestled furiously with something, surrounded by writhing shadows.
As the floodlights banished the darkness, a hellish sight unfolded before the soldiers’ eyes.
A horde of unregistered creatures—monstrous, flesh-exposed abominations with tattered clothing clinging to their bodies—surged forth from the depths of the corridor like a writhing tide of meat.
MTF, the elite of the Bureau, immediately assumed combat formation. Guns were raised, each soldier targeting the nearest monster. Some retrieved flamethrowers and explosives, preparing for action.
---
Ray had no idea what these things were. They resembled zombie virus victims, but something about them was different. Before the lights went out, he had glimpsed thick, pulsating veins snaking across their surfaces, twisting and writhing like living serpents.
The noise of the gate had disturbed them. In the blink of an eye, they burst out of offices and filled the corridor.
Ray tried using his ability to influence them, but it was futile. Desperately, he used his body to block the monsters, hoping to buy time for the gate to rise and give Robin a chance to escape...
When the employee attacked Robin, Ray was powerless to intervene. One of the creatures sank its teeth into his arm.
All he could do was scream, pushing it back with all his might.
But then, he felt himself lifted off the ground.
Two claw-like pincers gripped his ribs, hoisting him up with unimaginable strength.
He thrashed wildly, trying to free his other arm, but only intensified the pain. The monster abandoned its focus on him, swarming past on either side toward the exit.
Turning his head, Ray saw Robin and a group of soldiers rushing toward him.
Was this MTF?
Great! Reinforcements had arrived—they were saved—
Wait!!!
From the resolute, headlong charge of everyone around him, Ray sensed a familiar sensation.
Yes, despite his efforts to turn sideways, his back—bloodied yet unmistakably perfect, exuding an aura of comfort and security—was now imprinted on the retinas of every single person bathed in the flashlight beams.
A few members of MTF resisted the “queue effect,” attempting to regroup and suppress the situation. But as their teammates ran unhesitatingly deeper into the facility, disappearing into the monstrous swarm, they were quickly overwhelmed and crushed without heavy firepower support.
“Gardener” Team 2 had come to contain the Doomsday Seed. They had considered the possibility of the zombie virus breaking containment, but this combination of unknown monsters and memetic contamination was entirely outside their operational plans.
Witnessing the carnage, Ray could do nothing but scream.
Robin and the other MTF members lined up behind him with blank expressions, oblivious to the death racing alongside them.
“Wake up! Stop queuing! Run! Grab your guns!”
Knowing it was futile, Ray still tried desperately to rouse them.
He attempted to kick Robin away, but she simply brushed off her sleeve and resumed her position in line.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry!
He was going to get them all killed!
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