Chapter 183

Chapter 183
"New technician, first day today."

Charlotte tugged at the collar of her work uniform, revealing the line of her collarbone. Her voice carried just the right amount of nervousness and eagerness to please, like a young girl who had just come from a small town to work in the big city.

The two security guards looked her up and down. Charlotte had wiped the blood off her face with snow—it was gone now. The uniform, worn inside out, had a black lining that didn't show wrinkles in the dim streetlight. The wound on her left shoulder was pressed under the fabric; as long as she didn't raise her arm too much, it wouldn't bleed through.

"Which department?"

"Hydrotherapy center." Charlotte lowered her head and blew into her palms, rubbing them together. "The manager said an important guest is requesting extra time tonight, and told me to come in through the back door."

"Where's your ID badge?"

"Haven't had time to get one yet." Charlotte pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket—something she'd written on the motorcycle with her waterproof pen. It contained a made-up employee number and hire date. The paper was torn from a receipt book from Randal's hardware store, with the shop's red stamp still visible on the back.

The thin guard took the paper and looked at it for two seconds. "This doesn't have our store's official seal."

"I don't know either; the manager just gave me this." Charlotte rubbed her hands together and edged closer to the door. "It's freezing out here. I rode my bike all the way from the south side of town, and my hands are numb. Can you let me in first? I'll handle the paperwork tomorrow, okay?"

The thin guard hesitated. Charlotte seized this moment to quickly scan the back door area. Besides the two guards at the entrance, there was a camera at the end of the hallway, angled downward and to the left, covering the area within three meters of the door. Beyond three meters was a blind spot.
"Call your manager and ask." The thin guard pulled out his walkie-talkie.

The walkie-talkie's call signal rang twice with no response. The thin guard frowned and pressed it again.
"The manager's not at his station at this hour." The chubby guard next to him yawned. "Probably up on the third floor playing cards again."

"Forget it." The thin guard clipped the walkie-talkie back on his belt and jerked his chin at Charlotte. "Go on in. Can't use the elevator, take the stairs. Get your paperwork done first thing tomorrow morning, or we'll dock your pay."

Charlotte nodded and bowed her thanks, then quickly slipped through the back door.

The stairwell entrance was at the end of the hallway. The fire safety sign showed the building had six floors total, with the VIP suite area on the top floor. Charlotte took off the hood of her work jacket, retied her hair tightly, pulled out her butterfly knife from her waist, and began climbing the stairs with her back against the wall.

At each floor, she would pause for five seconds at the stairwell landing, listening to identify positions.
All the way to the fifth floor, the smell of disinfectant in the air suddenly grew stronger. Charlotte stopped—this concentration wasn't right. This was laboratory-grade sterilization.

She pushed open the fifth-floor fire door. The hallway was empty, but there were clear cart wheel tracks on the carpet, indicating something heavy had been pushed through. The tracks extended from the elevator all the way to a set of double doors at the end of the hallway, which had a sign hanging on them: "Equipment Maintenance in Progress."

Charlotte crouched down and pulled out a modified hairpin from her hair, inserting it into the gap on the side of the card reader. Three seconds later, the lock cylinder made a soft click.

She slipped sideways through the door, pulling it shut behind her. The room was large—apparently three suites had been knocked through and renovated. All the original beds and furniture had been removed, replaced by four server cabinets, two stainless steel work tables, and an entire wall of printed output.
Charlotte's pupils contracted sharply. The charts on the wall were all physiological data curves.

Heart rate, blood oxygen, body temperature, white blood cell count, and immunoglobulin concentration—frighteningly detailed, and each set of data had a number marked in the upper left corner.

Subject 02's data was placed alone in the center position, taking up a third of the entire wall. The papers were layered several sheets deep, with the earliest date from ten years ago.

Charlotte walked to Subject 02's data wall. Her fingers touched the earliest sheet of paper.

[Subject 02 Initial Data Collection]

[Age: 5 years old]

[Weight: 14.3kg, below standard for age group]

[Special Note: Paternal line carries BRI-7 genetic marker, maternal blood type Rh negative. Comprehensive assessment: optimal carrier.]

Optimal carrier. Charlotte's fingers moved away from the paper, leaving a faint ring of sweat on her fingertips. She retrieved a miniature camera from the inner lining of her underwear—
Standard Barrott intelligence equipment, smaller than a fingernail, but with sufficient pixel clarity.
She began taking photos, page by page, from ten years ago to three days ago.

Subject 02's file was the thickest, with over two hundred pages of printouts alone. Charlotte couldn't possibly read them all in detail, but her eyes caught the keywords—

[Phase 3 injection complete. Carrier tolerance is good.]

[Phase 5 showing rejection reaction. Increase suppressant dosage.]

[Phase 9. Carrier development delayed. Recommend nutritional intervention.]

["Chessboard" directive: Maintain minimum survival standards only, do not waste resources. 2019.3.15]
Chessboard? Charlotte's hand stopped.

She turned to the cover page of that document. It bore an oval stamp with no text, only an abstract chessboard pattern. Below the stamp in the signature field, a line of notes was printed in extremely small font—

[This project is under full supervision of "Chessboard." All subject allocation, fund transfers, and site relocations require "Chessboard" signature confirmation. Logan ("Eagle") is responsible for on-site execution and subject screening.]

Charlotte turned the page. Below was a photocopy of bank transfer records, amounts ranging from fifty thousand to two million dollars, spanning ten years. The recipient was a company called "Genetica Synergy," a medical laboratory under the Bowers family.

She continued flipping. The last document was dated one week ago:

["Chessboard" Directive (Code BQ-0041): Given "Eagle's" death, risk of Phantom Bastion site exposure has escalated. Order: Immediately transfer all data to the Emerald City backup node. Subject 02 has lost utility value; proceed with scheduled disposal. Recoverable residual materials to be transported to Emerald City for final processing. —"Chessboard"]

"Chessboard" was still active in Emerald City. Charlotte photographed the last page and tucked the camera back into her underwear lining.

She looked around the room. The servers were still running, green indicator lights blinking in the darkness. These machines stored data more detailed than the paper files—

But she didn't have time to copy it, nor was she carrying a portable hard drive.

Sounds came from the hallway. Charlotte instantly turned off her flashlight. Footsteps, two people, not fast but steady. Shoe soles make dull friction sounds on the carpet. Someone was talking, the voice muffled into indistinct syllables by the door, but Charlotte caught a few phrases.

"...finished cleaning up yet?"

"Server hard drives aren't formatted yet; give it ten more minutes."

"Hurry up, orders from above say everything must be cleared out before dawn."

The door handle moved.

Charlotte silently retreated to the blind spot behind the door. Her back pressed against the wall, butterfly knife held horizontally across her chest, blade facing outward.