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Chapter 17: Personnel Transfers
The sender of the message was [Harvey, Assistant to the Director of Intelligence], a minor administrator on the site—Shi Rang had seen the title [Director of Intelligence] mentioned under another file.
Robin had approached him with a similar tone. Was this the website’s unique way of greeting newcomers?
Was this an invitation? A challenge? Or something else entirely?
Shi Rang waited for a while but received no follow-up.
The message ended abruptly, without explanation or elaboration.
He wasn’t sure how to respond—should he answer as “Mud Truck” or as “Shi Rang”?
His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time. He typed out several responses, only to delete them one by one. Finally, he closed the webpage and headed to the bathroom.
The person had reached out cryptically without offering any clarification, likely expecting Shi Rang, the “newcomer,” to take the initiative.
This sense of entitlement was rude, even by internet standards.
The internet was a mixed bag—some people were kind, others less so.
Until the other party clarified their intentions, Shi Rang decided to pretend he hadn’t seen the message.
The extraordinary power granted by his identity as Mud Truck had rejuvenated him. In the mirror, he looked more vibrant than usual. His face no longer seemed cold and mask-like, and paired with his crew cut, he appeared less intimidating.
It was now 6:30 PM. There was nothing to eat at home, and dining out was too expensive.
Shi Rang set an alarm for an hour and a half, planning to leave just in time to snag discounted items from the nearby supermarket and make do for the evening.
While waiting, he paced restlessly in the dimly lit living room. The vast archives of The Management Bureau beckoned, tempting him back. He returned to his bedroom door and caught sight of the stack of documents he’d pushed to the corner of his desk—but recoiled as if struck by electricity.
Tomorrow was Monday, and he had to go to work at the newspaper office.
If he could fabricate a plausible reason, he might secure funding for a business trip to investigate the thief and the criminal organization behind him.
But he didn’t want to start. He didn’t want to leave the euphoria that “Mud Truck” had bestowed upon him. He didn’t want to return to the harsh reality where Yingshang’s whereabouts remained unknown.
The lively feast had ended, but as long as he refused to accept it, he could linger in its lingering echoes for just a little longer...
Lost in thought, Shi Rang found himself back in the bathroom. He felt an itch on his scalp, which he’d washed just that morning, and instinctively grabbed the shampoo bottle. To his surprise, it came off easily.
The bottle was empty. It had been empty for some time.
How strange. In his mind, the shampoo bottle was always full.
Should he refill it? Buy a new one? Which brand would be better? Aside from this generic brand in his hand, what had Yingshang used to buy?
He couldn’t think anymore.
Shi Rang tossed the bottle into the trash, grabbed his coat, and fled the house like an escapee.
---
Through the cloth sack covering his head, Ray sensed someone sitting down across the table.
The person remained silent, but Ray heard a sharp metallic scrape. Someone approached him, then quickly retreated, and his hands were suddenly free.
“You can remove the sack now.”
Ray fumbled with the drawstring around his neck. His hands were wrapped in bandages and splints, making his fingers stiff. It took him a moment longer than usual.
Once the sack was off, he turned his head away from the light, blinking to adjust. He quickly surveyed his surroundings, his mind brimming with protests about human rights and freedom—but ultimately, he held his tongue.
The Management Bureau didn’t entertain such notions.
“How much longer do I have to stay here? Can’t you at least give me a better chair?”
The chair Ray sat on was hard and backless, excruciatingly uncomfortable after more than three hours of being tied to it.
The person across from him was in their forties, a stranger. The armed guards behind him underscored his high rank.
“CVA-D-9013, despite multiple warnings, you’ve once again committed serious violations of containment protocols. The Management Bureau has provided you with relatively lenient treatment, but you must abide by the rules. Do I need to remind you of the specifics?”
“Why do you always emphasize that number? Is my name too hard to say?” Ray protested. “I already explained—I walked through the wrong door by accident! And it wasn’t even my fault; the door opened on its own! I saved your people—lots of them! If I hadn’t led them out, they’d all have been buried alive!”
“I’m not here to discuss morality with you, CVA. Moral judgment is a privilege reserved for humans—we’ve given you chances, many times. Shall I read aloud your entire history of violations?”
Oh God, here we go again. Every time they’re unhappy, they dredge up the past.
After all, in their eyes, he wasn’t human. He was always referred to as “it.”
He was merely a humanoid containment object—a prisoner.
“So what should I have done—stayed in my cell to die?”
“You controlled a group of infected individuals using your anomalous effect.” The man showed no readable expression. “Why didn’t you take their ID cards and wait for rescue in the shelter?”
Ray froze.
That’s right. While he and Robin had fretted over access cards, a horde of zombies dressed as employees had been right beside them!
Robin hadn’t known about the facility’s strict rule of keeping ID cards on hand at all times—but why hadn’t he thought of it?
It had been years since his containment began, and Ray had grown accustomed to following the instructions of “free people.” But when faced with unpleasant situations, he sometimes took initiative. Given enough time, he probably could have figured it out.
In the end, it was because Robin had insisted on following her superior’s orders to evacuate the facility with him.
When someone he trusted made a suggestion, he habitually stopped thinking and simply followed...
Ray closed his mouth and stopped arguing.
He gripped the cloth sack tightly, waiting to see what fate awaited him.
“Based on our observations, your anomalous effect has strengthened.” The man across the table spoke. “Not only does it affect those infected by the zombie virus, but also any bipedal creatures capable of upright walking, including primates and some mammals…”
“No.”
Ray nearly fell off his chair.
“Don’t upgrade me! I don’t want to be next to those monsters!”
Ray had been seated in the center of the room. Earlier, he’d heard a lot of commotion behind him...
Of course—they’d been conducting tests relentlessly for hours.
“You’ll be properly accommodated in your new location. For containment objects, The Management Bureau has always—”
Ray pulled the sack back over his head, pretending to be an ostrich.
The man’s expression froze for a few seconds on “I’m not done yet…” before continuing, “…given that you were indeed following higher-level orders and your containment difficulty hasn’t increased, we have no immediate plans to upgrade you. However, you’ll need to move to a new containment cell. Of course, we’ll consider your preferences—do you agree to this transfer?”
“For real?”
“We’re recording and videotaping this conversation, CVA.”
“So… am I really okay?” Ray cautiously lifted the hood, revealing one eye. After reading the answer on the man’s face, he finally smiled. “Of course I agree!”
With his recent contributions, perhaps he could even negotiate a few new books or an offline gaming console.
Though life in the facility was boring, at least he didn’t have to worry about food, clothing, or livelihood. As long as he avoided another unprecedented containment breach, he lived quite comfortably.
Let him return to being a hamster. He never wanted to experience that edge-of-death feeling again.
“In fact, during this incident, we discovered practical applications for your anomalous effect in operations.” The man placed his hand on the table, a hint of a smile appearing. “We’ve decided to assign you to a Mobile Task Force that requires assistance from containment objects—”
“No way! I won’t do it!”
“You’ve already verbally agreed, CVA. Shall I replay the recording for you?”
---
“Is this all…?”
In another interrogation room two rooms away, Robin reviewed all her signatures and fingerprints, feeling a vague sense of unreality.
It seemed too easy.
Then again, perhaps it was because the neck brace she wore was too tight…
During the incident, she had been full of energy, but subsequent examinations revealed a broken arm, severe neck injuries—likely sustained when she was knocked down—and countless bruises and sprains. Her entire body felt weak.
“You’ll need to remain in quarantine for at least 15 days before you can leave. Your teachers and classmates will also need to be quarantined.” The person guiding her through the paperwork spoke.
“Will you use my testimony? I was the one who asked Ray to follow me—”
“We’ll take it into consideration.”
“What happened to those infected by the zombie virus?”
“The fatality rate of B-108 is 100%.”
“But… they lined up behind Ray. I thought… I thought…”
Robin handed the pen back, hoping for a comforting answer.
But the person simply gathered the documents and left the room.
Once the room fell silent, she was shocked by her own numbness—perhaps it was the painkillers they’d given her, or maybe she was just too exhausted.
This had been the craziest day of her life.
She hoped never to experience anything like it again.
Staring blankly at the table for a long time, Robin realized they hadn’t given her any further instructions or arrangements.
When another person from The Management Bureau entered the room, the weary female engineer looked up, ready to sign more confidentiality agreements. Instead, she saw a man in a professional suit smiling at her.
“Robin, would you be interested in joining The Management Bureau as a logistics staff member?”
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