Chapter 152: Site-19 Life Experience
The heavy roar of engines filled the air as the convoy of U.S. military vehicles rolled steadily down the long stretch of asphalt. Armored Humvees and troop carriers flanked the lead transport, each one flying the American flag and marked with official insignia. To any outsider, it looked like a standard military operation. But to those inside, the truth was different.
Leonard stirred awake in the back seat of one of the main vehicles, the sudden stop and start of the convoy jostling him slightly. His eyes opened wide, adjusting quickly to his surroundings. Beside him, Graves sat upright with the composure of a stone statue, his sharp gaze scanning every angle of their route. Across from them sat Mei Lin, hands folded neatly on her lap, her focus unwavering as she observed the world passing outside. Next to her, Pyro sat tense and silent, his posture stiff like a soldier awaiting inspection.
For a moment, Leonard simply observed them. The atmosphere inside the vehicle was heavy, tense, disciplined. Then, with a stretch, he let out a small yawn. The sound broke the silence instantly, drawing all three pairs of eyes toward him.
"How much longer until we arrive?" Leonard asked, rubbing the corner of his eye.
Graves answered smoothly, not even needing to check. "Five minutes to Site-19, Boss."
Leonard nodded. Without hesitation, he reached down, pulling out a large metal canteen and four cups. The sound of water pouring echoed softly inside the armored transport as he filled each one. He handed the cups out one by one, first to Mei Lin, then to Graves, then finally to Pyro.
Mei Lin accepted hers with a calm bow of her head, drinking without a word. Graves, equally unshaken, took a gulp and returned his gaze to the outside world. Pyro, however, hesitated. His gloved hand trembled slightly as he stared at the cup. It was only after seeing both Graves and Mei Lin drink that he dared to raise the cup to his lips, sipping cautiously.
Leonard noticed. A smile crept across his face, faint but genuine. He turned toward the sergeant.
"Pyro," he asked, his tone light but probing, "have you studied your mission and your new team properly?"
The sergeant's demeanor changed instantly. The faint uncertainty vanished, replaced by the cold, disciplined mask of a Resh-1 operator. His voice was sharp, his words controlled.
"Yes, Boss."
Leonard leaned back, satisfied. "Good."
But then his gaze shifted out the armored window again. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of a large steel sign standing tall at the side of the road. His brows furrowed.
"Graves… Why are we inside a U.S. military base?"
Graves didn't flinch at the question. His answer came steady and calm, as though he had anticipated it.
"Every Foundation site maintains a front to cover its true purpose. For Site-19, it is Offutt Air Force Base in Nebraska. Officially home to the U.S. Strategic Command."
Leonard blinked, leaning back slightly as the information sank in.
"Oh."
Graves continued, a rare note of reassurance in his tone. "Do not be concerned, Boss. Ninety-nine percent of the personnel stationed here are Foundation operatives. The remaining one percent are merely visitors or official military guests. They are irrelevant."
The vehicle rolled forward again, this time slowing as the convoy reached a heavily fortified checkpoint. Armed soldiers in U.S. uniforms stood guard, all of them were Foundation guards in disguise. The lead Humvee signaled clearance, and one by one, the vehicles passed through.
Minutes later, the convoy entered one of the enormous hangars. The steel behemoth of a structure swallowed them whole, and as soon as the last vehicle was inside, the massive doors slammed shut behind them with a thunderous metallic clang. The sound reverberated through the vast space, sealing the convoy in silence.
Mei Lin moved first. With graceful efficiency, she stepped down from the transport, opening the door for Leonard. He followed, descending calmly, his presence naturally commanding. One by one, the rest of Resh-1 poured out, forming a tight protective formation around him, weapons at the ready, eyes sharp.
The hangar stretched wide, cavernous and empty. No crates. No machinery. Just an endless hollow space, its emptiness amplifying the tension. And in the center of that void stood two figures.
The first was O5-2, her presence unmistakable. She wore a black suit that seemed to drink in the faint light of the hangar. Her posture was flawless, her expression unreadable, her eyes fixed firmly on Leonard the moment he appeared.
Beside her stood a middle-aged woman dressed in a striking red suit. She shifted slightly, betraying nerves. Her breathing was shallow, her hands subtly clenched at her sides. Clearly, she was not accustomed to standing in the presence of the Administrator.
Surrounding the two women was a detachment of Alpha-1 operatives. Their armor gleamed faintly under the hangar's lights, their masks giving them the appearance of faceless statues. Weapons raised and movements sharp, they were the embodiment of silent menace.
Leonard stopped, his eyes meeting O5-2's. The air in the hangar grew heavier, silence pressing down on everyone present.
O5-2 inclined her head with a faint smile.
"Good morning, Boss. It's a pleasure to see you again."
Leonard returned the greeting without hesitation, his expression calm yet carrying the weight of authority.
"Good morning, O5-2. The pleasure is mine."
His gaze shifted to the woman standing beside the Overseer. A small smile tugged at his lips.
"Director Tilda Moose. I've heard much about your work and your many contributions to thaumaturgic research."
The woman adjusted her glasses, her expression composed though her voice carried respect.
"It is an honor to have satisfied you, Administrator."
Leonard's eyes swept the surroundings. His tone was casual, but the question held the weight of command.
"Would you give me a tour of the Site?"
O5-2 nodded immediately.
"Of course, Boss. Shall I initiate a Level 5 lockdown for security during your inspection?"
Leonard raised his hand slightly, shaking his head.
"No. Let's not disturb the entirety of the Site simply for my visit."
"Understood, Boss." O5-2 gestured ahead. "This way, please."
Leonard stepped forward. The operatives of Alpha-1 moved aside, parting the formation to allow Resh-1's operators to close in and form a protective circle. The three, Leonard, O5-2, and Director Moose, were enveloped by a living wall of steel and discipline.
Their footsteps echoed as they approached a reinforced platform built into the wall. O5-2 produced her black clearance card, sliding it into the terminal. The scanner pulsed with light, confirming her identity. A terminal rose from the platform with a mechanical hum, and O5-2 pressed his hand against it.
The platform trembled, then began to descend. Metallic walls slid past them as the elevator shaft carried them deeper into the heart of Site-19.
O5-2's voice resonated in the chamber, carrying the tone of someone proud of what he was about to show.
"As you know, Site-19 is the largest Foundation Site in existence. A fortress of research, containment, and administration, our cornerstone in the war against the anomalous."
The faint vibration of heavy machinery surrounded them. The further they descended, the colder the air became. Red emergency strips glowed faintly along the walls, a reminder that no matter how secure the Site seemed, vigilance was eternal.
Tilda Moose added softly, her eyes glinting in the dim light.
"Here, every corridor holds history. Every chamber is designed to test the limits of our science and our will."
Leonard crossed his arms behind his back, silent for a moment, his sharp eyes fixed ahead as if peering into the Site's soul.
O5-2 continued: "Site-19 is composed of forty-one sectors, each with their own specialties and types, such as residential sectors, office sectors, research sectors, and containment sectors. Each is made of twenty to thirty floors. In addition, there are more than forty sublevels."
"The first sector is a bit special, since it is divided into Sector 1 and 1.5, and they are the only ones on the surface. Sector 1 is ours, with hangars, outer security, and other functions. Sector 1.5 is for the American government, because after all, to the outside world we are only a U.S. military base. This sector contains NASA laboratories, a CIA base, an FBI base, barracks for the U.S. Army, SWAT, and the U.S. Department of Defense. Of course, all of them are Foundation agents."
"We also have a protected sector that contains my own office, the office of the Director here present, the rooms of the Site Directors' Executive Committee of the Whole, and the offices of Internal Security."
They passed by a scientist accompanied by a Class-D and two guards. All of them had their hands raised, blindfolds covering their eyes, and heavy headsets muffling their ears. They stood facing the wall, motionless. Three Alpha-1 operatives were behind them, keeping a close watch.
Leonard asked, "Is this really necessary?"
O5-2 chuckled lightly. "Of course. Your very appearance alone is classified Level 5, not to mention your identity. Director Moose, standing here with us, would be treated the same way if she didn't possess Level 5 clearance."
The woman in the red suit offered a slightly nervous smile.
Leonard suddenly remembered something. "By the way, where is the access gate to Univer'Isle?"
O5-2 replied calmly, "It is located in Sector 39. That sector is dedicated to the study of other worlds. It also serves as the headquarters of Zeta-9, 'Mole Rats.'"
Leonard didn't say a word. The group entered a tunnel where several Foundation vehicles were already waiting.
O5-2 spoke as they approached. "Because of the obvious size of this site, we've established a dedicated vehicle network that links to forty access zones. Of course, use of these transports is restricted to high-ranking personnel and emergency units."
Leonard climbed into one of the vehicles, accompanied by Moose, O5-2 in the front, and Graves at his side.
"Where are we going?" Leonard asked.
O5-2 glanced at Moose. Moose, in turn, looked at Graves. Graves snapped his fingers, and a headset materialized over Moose's ears. She closed her eyes in silence.
O5-2 continued, "I guessed you'd come here regarding Nu-1, 'Wolf Hunters.' So I'm taking you to their headquarters. Sector 41."
Leonard frowned. "Sector 41? If I'm not mistaken, the headquarters for most Mobile Task Forces are usually closer to the surface."
O5-2 nodded slightly. "Well… Sector 41 is a bit… special."
"How so?" Leonard pressed.
"It's where we used to confine SCP-231," O5-2 explained calmly. "This sector served as our primary base of operations for everything tied to combating the… Crimson One."
A chill ran down Leonard's spine at the mention of that name.
"But," O5-2 went on, "since the facilities are now empty, and already equipped with everything necessary to wage war against a supreme Divinity, we decided it was fitting to locate Nu-1 there."
Leonard gave a slow nod. "I understand."
A few minutes later, the group stepped out of the vehicles and entered a tunnel. They passed through multiple concealed passages hidden within the site before finally arriving at the entrance of Sector 41.
The gate was heavily fortified, guarded by several men in black and reinforced with automated turrets. As the group approached, the leader of the guards straightened and called out, "Welcome, Overseer."
Moose stopped in front of the checkpoint. With a faint, apologetic smile, she bowed slightly. "I'm afraid I cannot follow beyond this point."
Leonard simply nodded, and the rest of the group proceeded deeper.
They descended to the third level and were met with a scene bursting with activity. Researchers, MTF operators, and administrative agents filled the large hall, voices overlapping in the organized chaos of a fully operational command center.
Suddenly, a shout tore through the noise.
"Overseer on site!"
Instantly, the entire hall froze. Every head turned, chairs scraped, and one after another, people stood up and saluted in the direction of the group.
O5-2 stepped forward, her voice sharp and commanding.
"To all members of Nu-1 'Wolf Hunters'! Assemble immediately in the briefing hall. Execute!"
At her order, dozens of MTF operatives and white-coated researchers sprinted toward the designated chamber, abandoning everything they had been working on without hesitation.
Leonard's group advanced at a calm, unhurried pace toward the briefing room. As they walked, Leonard noticed the lingering gazes of the few who had not left—their eyes wide with awe, fear, and confusion.
It made him smile. He was used to this by now. After all, who wouldn't be terrified at the sight?
A humanoid shadow of absolute darkness, with only two glowing white eyes piercing through the void, walked at the center. Around it, heavily armored guards in futuristic gear moved with precision, their every step radiating lethal discipline.
Curiosity was inevitable. Fear was natural.
And both emotions followed Leonard wherever he went.
The group entered the briefing hall. Rows of agents, researchers, and operatives sat waiting, the air heavy with anticipation. O5-2 raised her hand slightly, her voice calm yet firm.
"Remain seated."
The tension broke slightly as everyone stayed in place, but their attention never wavered. Leonard and the operatives of Resh-1 moved to the front, the sound of boots echoing in the silence.
A ripple of shock spread through the audience. Several MTF agents' eyes locked on the armbands of the Resh-1 operators. For a moment, their composure cracked. Resh-1 only guarded one person in all of existence. And suddenly, every operative in the room understood who they were looking at.
O5-2 stepped forward, preparing to address the crowd. But before she could speak, Leonard gently placed his hand on her shoulder.
"I'll handle this."
The Overseer stopped, gave a small nod, and stepped back. Leonard walked to the center, the weight of countless stares pressing onto him. The shadow surrounding his form stirred faintly, two white eyes glowing in the void.
Every person in the room froze under that gaze.
"Good afternoon, everyone," Leonard's voice carried through the hall, low but unshakable. "I apologize for disturbing you during your work, but the circumstances demand it."
He let the words settle before continuing.
"First of all, welcome to Mobile Task Force Nu-1, the Wolf Hunters."
Murmurs spread through the room. Leonard paused, scanning the faces before him.
"Have you received a proper explanation or briefing about the purpose of this MTF?"
There were shrugs, a few uneasy shakes of the head. From the crowd, someone muttered a quiet, "No, sir."
Leonard turned to O5-2. She leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper.
"We planned to brief them after the arrival of their commander."
Leonard gave a slight nod, then turned back. His presence pressed heavier now, the silence in the room absolute.
"Then allow me to begin properly," he said. "First… Let me introduce myself."
The shadow flared subtly, a tide of darkness rolling across the walls.
"I am the Administrator, leader of the Foundation."
The hall fell into a dead silence. For a heartbeat, even the air seemed to stop. Chairs creaked as operatives shifted, their faces frozen in shock. Only a handful of individuals, Clef with his crooked grin, Bright with his unbothered smirk, remained calm. Everyone else stared in disbelief.
Leonard's voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"Mobile Task Force Nu-1, the Wolf Hunters, is an elite task force created for one purpose: to protect, capture, and contain abnormal entities or artifacts directly tied to SCP-001, The Black Moon. You will strike its followers before their rituals can succeed. You will dismantle their cult. And you will hunt every single clue leading to it."
His glowing eyes swept across the crowd, leaving no soul untouched.
"This is your mission. This is your purpose. From this day onward, you are the Wolf Hunters."
"I suppose many of you are wondering who SCP-001 truly is."
Léonard's voice cut through the silence, steady and commanding.
"Let me explain. SCP-001 is a Pluripotent Entropic Entity existing outside of our reality. It uses its power by petrifying and killing sentient beings at random within our universe, humans included. Make no mistake, it won't stop with a few isolated victims. Eventually, it could strike humanity on a massive scale. The Foundation has deemed containment impossible. Therefore, neutralization has been ordered.
Your mission is simple in words, but not in execution: investigate, research, and discover the solution to neutralize SCP-001. You will be given access to every necessary resource, and the very latest equipment. Your MTF will operate directly under my command."
A wave of murmurs rippled across the hall.
Then Léonard raised his hand. Pyro stepped forward.
"I present to you your new commander, who will lead Nu-1 in my name," Léonard declared. "His words are my words. His orders are my orders. His will is my will."
The murmurs stopped at once. All eyes turned to the Resh-1 operator, his face hidden, identity unknown.
Pyro's voice was cold, clipped, and devoid of hesitation.
"Greetings. I will be your new commander."
Silence.
Léonard blinked, thinking: That's it?
With a sigh, he turned, resting a hand on Pyro's shoulder, the man was a full head taller than him. He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"I'll be staying on-site for a few days. If you need anything, contact me or Graves directly."
"Yes, boss," Pyro murmured back.
Without another word, Léonard and his group exited the room, leaving the new commander to his unit.
---
The next morning, Léonard woke in a rather simple room. After stretching, he stepped outside, where a squad of Resh-1 operators stood guard.
They immediately saluted.
"Did you bring what I asked for?" Léonard asked.
One of them replied, "Yes, boss," and handed him a box.
Léonard gave it a shake before carrying it back into the room. A few minutes later, he emerged, dressed in the black-version uniform of the Security Department, full tactical gear, and an M4 slung over his shoulder.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"So, what's my cover?"
Before anyone could answer, a voice interrupted.
"Boss, you really want to do this?"
Léonard turned to see Graves approaching, Mei Lin at his side.
"Yes," Léonard replied casually. "I've always been curious about the life of a Foundation guard. Besides, I've had nothing to do lately, not until Nu-1 uncovers a major lead. Might as well try a different kind of life experience."
Graves chuckled. "If Franz heard you say that, he'd probably cough up blood and curse you in his heart."
Léonard tilted his head. "Why's that?"
"Because he's the one handling all your paperwork. Signing your name, pushing through reports, taking care of your duties, on top of his own workload."
Léonard gave a sheepish smile.
"Oof… guess I'll have to get him something later."
Graves adjusted his gloves before speaking.
"Anyway, regarding your cover, officially, you're a special Foundation agent assigned to observe the Security Department's methods at Site-19, so they can be replicated elsewhere. Your rank is Lieutenant, and your name is John Helldiver."
Léonard blinked.
"…"
Graves raised an eyebrow. "Boss?"
Léonard finally said, "Isn't that name a little too… democratic?"
Graves frowned. "???"
"Never mind," Léonard sighed. "Let's move on. When do I start?"
Graves checked his watch.
"In thirty minutes. You'll join a Security team at Sector-6, run a patrol, then attend two tests and handle an SCP escort. Normally, a security team wouldn't get that many tasks in one day, but since you're here… O5-2 pulled a few strings behind the scenes."
---
In the Sector-6 armory, Ethan stepped into the locker room, the faint smell of gun oil and detergent hanging in the air. He raised a hand in greeting toward Mason and Logan, who were already mid-argument about which rugby team could crush the other.
The corporal, Harris, sat silently in his corner, methodically strapping on his gear with the focus of someone who had no interest in pointless chatter. Bjorn gave Ethan a heavy thump on the chest in greeting, his usual wordless way of showing acknowledgment.
Ethan slid into his gear, fastening the tactical vest snug against his chest, adjusting the weight of his helmet before grabbing his rifle from the rack. The metallic click echoed slightly in the room as he chamber-checked it.
The door swung open. Sergeant Bryant entered, coffee in one hand, and beside him walked the humanoid combat robot, Bobby, its footsteps heavier and sharper than any human's.
"Alright, gather up," Bryant said, setting his mug on the nearest bench. The members of Team Zulu pulled in around him, the chatter dying instantly.
Bryant let out a short sigh. "Okay, today's going to be a special day, and a particularly busy one."
"Great…" Mason muttered, dragging out the word with a theatrical groan.
Ignoring him, Bryant continued. "We've got an incoming guest. An agent from another site will be joining us. His job is to observe and learn from how we run security here. He'll be sticking with us the whole day."
Several pairs of eyes flicked to each other.
Bryant's tone sharpened. "What I do know is this, he's officially ranked as a lieutenant. So don't act smart around him. He's above your pay grade."
Mason raised a hand, his face set in an expression of mock misery. "Sarge, do we really have to babysit some outsider?"
"Yes," Bryant snapped back without hesitation. He lowered his voice, his gaze narrowing at Mason. "And let me make something clear. This order came down directly from Commander Odom. If any of you decide to mouth off, or worse, make the guy look bad, then congratulations, you'll have just committed professional suicide."
That shut Mason up. He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "…Yes, Sergeant."
Suddenly, a knock echoed against the metal door. A voice called from outside, steady and clear.
"Is Team Zulu inside?"
Bryant straightened. "Yeah, we're here."
The door swung open, and a guard dressed head-to-toe in black tactical gear, face hidden in a balaclava, stepped in. Ethan's stomach tightened instantly. A chill ran down his spine. He didn't understand why, but every instinct in his body screamed danger.
The man approached with calm steps and gave a sharp salute. "Sergeant Bryant?"
"That's me," Bryant answered evenly.
"Respectfully, Sergeant," the guard said, lowering his hand. "I'm John Helldiver. Pleasure to meet you. You can just call me John."
Bryant nodded, returning the salute. "I'm Sergeant Bryant. You can just stick with Bryant."
John, Leonard under his new cover, let his gaze sweep across the room, then gave a polite salute to the rest of the squad.
"We're Team Zulu," Bryant said, motioning to the group. "A mobile unit specialized in inter-sector patrols and test escorts. I'm the squad lead. This here is my second, Corporal Harris."
Harris gave a brief, respectful nod. "An honor, sir."
Bryant continued down the line. "Logan, Bjorn, and Mason, security agents. And this," he gestured toward the youngest member, "is our new recruit, Cadet Ethan. He joined us a few weeks back."
John's head tilted slightly as his eyes locked on Ethan, studying him with unsettling focus. "A pleasure to meet you," he said, voice smooth, almost too calm.
Ethan shifted in place, feeling as though he was being weighed and dissected under that gaze.
"And this-" Bryant pointed toward the last member, "is Bobby, our combat unit."
John circled the humanoid machine slowly, inspecting every detail from its armored frame to the servos in its joints. "Woah," he murmured under his breath.
Mason leaned closer to Ethan, whispering just loud enough for him to hear. "Don't you think he's… a little small?"
Ethan blinked, glancing back at John. Compared to the rest of the squad—Bryant's broad shoulders, Logan's towering frame, even Harris's lean height, yeah. The so-called lieutenant looked small.
And yet… that gnawing feeling of danger in Ethan's gut only grew stronger.
Bryant cleared his throat, lifting his mug of coffee before setting it aside.
"Alright then, let's continue with the briefing. From 9:00am to 12:00am, we'll be conducting a patrol across Sectors 6 through 10. We'll stay about thirty to forty-five minutes in each sector. After that, we have lunch break until 12:30am."
He paused, checking his notes. "At 01:00pm, we'll be escorting several Class-Ds for a test with s— I mean, with me, the toaster."
The room froze. Everyone wore the same expression of confusion, brows furrowed.
Harris, without missing a beat, spoke calmly. "Ignore it. Normal memetic effect."
No one dared question further.
Bryant continued, as if nothing had happened. "After that, we'll be escorting several SCPs transferred from another jurisdiction into our sector for cross-testing. And finally, we'll escort additional Class-Ds and provide security for the test. Is that clear?"
"Sir, yes sir!" the Zulu team responded in unison.
Satisfied, Bryant turned toward the black-clad figure. "John, as our guest, you'll remain at my side throughout the day. Is that acceptable to you?"
John inclined his head. "Perfectly."
---
The clicking of boots echoed softly against the polished floor as the team of Zulu advanced through Sector-6's security offices. Ethan adjusted his rifle, feeling the weight settle against his chest. The morning air in the site was cold and dry, filled with the familiar smell of steel, recycled oxygen, and disinfectant.
John Helldiver, their guest for the day, walked just behind Sergeant Bryant. His steps were light, almost too quiet for someone in full gear. Unlike the rest of the team, whose eyes swept corners and shadows out of habit, John seemed fascinated by everything, wall signs, locked doors, even the blinking red lights above surveillance cameras. He moved like a tourist, not like a soldier.
Ethan frowned. Something about him felt wrong. It wasn't his stature, nor his calm smile. It was the way his presence pressed down on the room, subtle but undeniable. Ethan's instincts whispered one word: danger.
In the research wing, glass windows revealed sterile laboratories. Researchers in white coats barely looked up as the patrol passed, though a few did double-takes at the sight of John. One woman nearly dropped her clipboard when his eyes met hers.
Ethan noticed. John's gaze lingered on her longer than necessary, polite smile never faltering.
Why is he looking at them like that? Ethan thought, uneasy.
"Keep moving," Bryant muttered, and the squad advanced.
In the eleventh Floor, the air grew colder. Frosty gusts slipped from the server rooms, humming with constant energy. Signs marked RAISA – Authorized Personnel Only in bold red. Ethan's shoulders tensed; this was the kind of place where security mistakes could end careers.
John slowed, tilting his head at the insignia on the doors. His lips moved as if silently repeating the letters.
Harris politely warned. "You shouldn't stare too long, sir. They don't like it when people get curious here."
John only gave a small chuckle and rejoined the group.
In the cafetaria, the smell of reheated meals drifted through. A few janitors and technicians sat hunched at tables, their conversations dying out as the armed patrol entered. Bryant nodded to them; they nodded back nervously.
John, however, walked toward the counter and studied the trays of bland food like it was something exotic. Ethan blinked. It was standard issue Foundation meals: dry meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and overcooked beans. Nothing worth staring at.
Mason leaned toward Ethan and whispered, "Does he look like he's never seen mashed potatoes before?"
Ethan almost laughed, but one glance at John's curious expression killed the humor in his throat.
The transition into Containment always shifted the mood. Armored doors, visible cameras, more guards at every checkpoint. The air felt heavier, like danger lingered just behind the walls.
Floor 9 housed the Department of Occult Containment. Ethan avoided looking directly at the sigils etched on the doors, faintly glowing. John didn't. He stopped mid-step, eyes tracing the carvings like they were old friends. For a second, his calm demeanor cracked, replaced with something sharper, almost nostalgic.
Ethan shivered.
Chemical sterilizers bit at Ethan's nose as they moved into Sector 8. Through one reinforced window, a Class-D sat bound to a chair, electrodes on his skull. His eyes met Ethan's for a split second before the chamber's shutter slammed shut.
Ethan looked away, heart uneasy. John didn't. He lingered, watching the sealed door long after the others passed.
"Interesting," John whispered, voice low, almost reverent. "So this is how they brainwash them."
Ethan's grip tightened on his rifle. He wasn't sure if he had imagined the words.
They continued past the Euclid containment blocks, where guards in heavy armor double-checked their IDs. Bobby's sensors hummed once before falling silent. No incidents, just the constant tension of walking past cages designed for nightmares.
Sector 9, Class-D Cells. This was the part Ethan hated. Behind reinforced glass, rows of prisoners in orange jumpsuits pressed forward, eyes following the patrol. Some sneered, others whispered threats too faint to hear.
Ethan kept his gaze forward. Their stares always burned.
John, however, met each set of eyes, calmly, silently. He looked at them like a man sizing up an audience. Ethan felt his stomach turn.
Later, on Floor 9, they passed the Office of Tactical Theology. Religious icons were fused with Foundation emblems, crosses and wards beside secure-seal logos. Ethan averted his eyes, this was above his clearance.
John didn't. For the first time since arriving, he smiled behind his balaclava.
The final sector of the patrol was the heaviest. Every corner had an armed checkpoint. Every door looked like a bunker entrance. Ethan's skin prickled with cold sweat.
One corridor vibrated faintly, a deep hum seeping through the reinforced walls. A warning sign read: Containment Wing – Do Not Approach Without Clearance.
John's hand brushed lightly against the wall as they passed, fingertips tracing the vibration. His expression was unreadable, but Ethan swore he saw satisfaction flicker in his eyes.
At last, they reached the Sector-11 access point. Bryant called the patrol complete.
Ethan let out a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His nerves were raw, but at least nothing had gone wrong.
He glanced at John one last time. The man stood calm, collected, almost pleased. Like everything he had just seen was exactly what he wanted.
That, more than anything else, unsettled Ethan.
---
The cafeteria buzzed with noise, trays clattering, voices blending into a dull hum, and the faint smell of reheated meat filling the air. Mason rubbed his hands together like a starving man, already eyeing the counter. The squad slung their rifles over their shoulders, moving as one toward an empty table.
Ethan sat down with them, half-focused on the dull hunger in his stomach, half-curious about the stranger who had been shadowing them all morning. He was about to finally see John's face without the helmet, but then it happened.
An administrative agent approached. Not just any, the manager of Sector-10. Ethan's brows furrowed immediately. The man was infamous for his arrogance, for treating even sergeants like disposable pawns. Yet now, he was bowing his head slightly, speaking in a tone Ethan had never heard from him before.
"Sir, please follow me," the manager said, voice clipped but respectful, almost trembling.
Ethan's jaw slackened. What the hell?
John let out a small sigh, as if this was an inconvenience rather than an order. He rose smoothly, giving the squad a polite nod.
"Unfortunately, I won't be able to have lunch with you. We'll meet later."
Without waiting for a response, he followed the manager out of the cafeteria.
Silence lingered for a few moments at the table. The absence of his presence left the space oddly lighter, as if an invisible weight had lifted.
Mason was the first to speak, breaking the tension.
"Okay… someone explain to me how that guy made the most arrogant bastard in Sector-10 act like a scared intern."
Bjorn grunted, already stabbing at his food. "Doesn't matter. He's not normal. I felt it since he walked in."
Logan nodded, voice low. "Yeah. I don't know what it is… but being near him feels like standing next to a loaded gun."
Ethan stayed quiet, pushing food around his tray. His instincts screamed the same thing, but louder. Every glance, every step John had taken during the patrol had triggered something in him, a primal warning.
Bryant finally leaned forward, his voice calm but firm.
"Listen. Whatever rank or cover story he's under, it's above our pay grade. If the Sector Manager himself is bending, that tells you all you need to know. Don't pry. Don't gossip. Just treat him like a ghost."
Mason whistled, shaking his head. "Great. So we're babysitting a ghost with higher clearance than God."
That got a few dry chuckles from the table. Even Ethan smiled faintly, though unease still gnawed at him.
Who exactly is he?