Chapter 184

Chapter 184

["Chessboard" Order (Code BQ-0041): Given that "Eagle" is dead, the exposure risk of Phantom Bastion has escalated. Order: Immediately transfer all data to the Emerald City backup node. Subject 02 has lost utility value; proceed with cleanup as planned. Remaining recyclable materials to be transported to Emerald City for final disposal. —"Chessboard"]

"Chessboard" is still active in Emerald City.

Charlotte photographed the last page and tucked the camera back into the lining of her underwear.

She scanned the room around her. The servers remained operational, their small green lights flashing in the dark. The information held within these computers was far more thorough than what was recorded in the physical documents.


But she had no time to copy them, and she hadn't brought a portable hard drive.

Sounds came from the hallway.

Charlotte instantly switched off her flashlight.

Footsteps. Two people. Not fast, but steady. The soles of their shoes made muffled friction sounds on the carpet.

Someone spoke. The voice was muffled into unclear syllables by the door, but Charlotte caught a few sentences.

"...finished cleaning up yet?"

"Server hard drives aren't formatted yet, another ten minutes."

"Hurry up, orders from above say we have to clear 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 across her chest, blade facing out.

The door opened.

Two men in janitor uniforms walked in. One tall and thin, pushing a garbage cart; one short and stocky, carrying a black toolbox.

The stocky one walked straight to the server cabinet, opened the toolbox, and took out a laptop and a data cable.

The tall one started tearing papers off the wall.

They had their backs to the door. Charlotte's gaze swept across the tall man's neck.

He was dressed in a uniform with a raised collar, yet as he stooped to rip the documents, the rear neckline slipped down by about two centimeters.

Below the most prominent vertebra, there was a tattoo—a claw pattern, three curved talons extending from a circle, tips like hooks.

Eagle claw. This was Barrott's mark.

Charlotte paused mid-breath for a moment. There were still individuals in Barrott who were operating on behalf of "Chessboard."


The tall man's posture while tearing papers shifted his center of gravity forward, completely exposing his neck. The stocky one had his back to the door, attention on the laptop screen.

Charlotte's first step made no sound. The rubber soles of her work boots pressed into the carpet like a cat's paw on snow. On the second step, the flat of her tactical knife struck the back of the tall man's head with precision—enough force to cause brief unconsciousness, but not fatal. She needed someone alive.

The tall man grunted, his knees buckled, and he collapsed into the pile of half-torn data papers.

The stocky man heard the noise and spun around. His reaction speed was faster than Charlotte had anticipated—his right hand was already reaching for his waist, where a silenced pistol was holstered.

Charlotte's tactical knife traced an arc, the blade slicing through the tendons in the stocky man's right wrist, precisely avoiding the radial artery, only severing the tendons controlling finger flexion. The gun slipped from his loosened fingers.

Charlotte kicked the gun away and drove her knee into the stocky man's abdomen. He doubled over like a shrimp and fell beside the server cabinet.

The entire process took less than four seconds.

Charlotte dealt with the tall one first. She flipped him over, pulled the belt from his uniform pocket, tied his hands behind his back, then twisted data papers torn from the wall into rope and stuffed them in his mouth.

The stocky man was rolling on the floor, blood seeping from his right hand wound. He didn't cry out—trained people knew that making noise in this situation would only bring faster death.

Charlotte approached and lowered herself into a crouch, placing the blade of her butterfly knife against the hinge of the heavy man's jaw.


"Open your mouth."

The man clenched his teeth. There was fear in his eyes, but more than that, a stubborn resistance.

Charlotte didn't bother with unnecessary talk. Using her left hand, she seized both of his cheekbones, pressing her thumb and forefinger against the two hinge points of his jaw joint.


This was a standard interrogation technique. The pain of forced joint opening far exceeded that of a fracture.

The man's mouth was forced open. Charlotte took a quick look inside.

Located on the left side, close to the rear molars, there was a slightly discolored artificial tooth that contained a concealed poison capsule within.


She used the tip of her tactical knife to pry out the false tooth and flicked it into the corner. Then she did the same with the unconscious tall man.

Charlotte patted the stocky man's face.

"Let's talk."

"I won't tell you anything."

"You don't have a tattoo on the back of your neck, but he does." Charlotte pointed at the tall man on the floor. "The eagle claw is Barrott's mark. You're not Barrott's man, you're a contractor."

The stocky man's eyes flickered.

"Chessboard."

"Who is he?"

The man tightened his mouth into a thin, straight line. Charlotte shifted the point of her tactical blade to rest against his left little finger.


"Every time you don't answer, I cut one off."

"I really don't know what 'Chessboard' looks like." The stocky man's voice was shaking. "He never shows his face. All orders come through encrypted emails."

"Who's your contact?"

"Logan."

"Who was your contact after Logan died?"

The heavy-set man paused in uncertainty for a couple of seconds. Charlotte pushed her blade downward by one millimeter. The flesh parted, and small droplets of blood began to form.


"Someone named Bowers!" the man cried out. "From the Bowers family! They have a lab in the Emerald City suburbs. All samples and data eventually get shipped there."

"What's the relationship between 'Chessboard' and Logan?"

"Partners." The stocky man was breathing heavily. "Logan was in charge of finding kids, screening suitable test subjects. 'Chessboard' handled the buyers. They've been working together for at least ten years."

"Ten years ago, abducting Subject 02—whose decision was that?"

"'Chessboard' arranged it personally."

Charlotte applied too much pressure with her grip, causing the tip of the blade to slice a cut into the man's little finger. She was unaware of it.


"Why Subject 02?"

"Because of 02's father." The stocky man's words became broken. "His father had a... a patent, something to do with biometric identification. 'Chessboard' needed Seymour Family bloodline for live verification. The carrier had to have specific genetic markers—only direct blood relatives would work."

Charlotte's father, the person who in her recollections was always wearing a soft, kind smile. The things he passed down to her went beyond just a mansion and an inheritance.

, but also a technology that had been coveted for ten years.

And Michael had become a test subject in an iron cage because of this technology.

"'Chessboard's' real identity."

"I don't know, I really don't know." The stocky man started begging. "I was just hired to handle data. But I know he often uses the Bowers family's lab, 'Genetica Synergy.' "That facility is officially designated for medical machinery, yet in reality, all three basement levels have been turned into spaces for conducting experiments."