Toby Evans, Stephen Lewis, Malcolm Reed, Henry Brooks, Ronald Hughes...

Maurice Baker gradually narrowed his eyes.

He had seen this list before.

Just yesterday, Maurice Baker was still carefully reviewing all kinds of materials about the reorganized 81st Division. Among the many documents compiled and printed by computer, there was a page whose text matched this list exactly, not a single word different.

This was the list of remaining personnel sent from Fortress S12 to the Federal Army Headquarters at the final moment of the great battle eighteen years ago. Among them, there were 512 garrison officers, soldiers, and their families, and 32 experts dispatched by the Federal Academy of Sciences, totaling 544 people.

The handwriting on the page was a bit sloppy, but it was clear enough to recognize every name it represented. Without betraying any emotion, Maurice Baker lifted his eyelids and glanced at his wristwatch, silently calculating the time.

To write out 544 names from memory in fifteen minutes requires great familiarity with those names. With reinforced memorization through recitation, this is not difficult—especially for an old intelligence officer like Maurice Baker, who had invested an evolution point in brain domain development; he could do even better.

This list belonged to the Earth Federation’s non-classified public archives. After the fortress battle, all the garrison personnel of the reorganized 81st Division were posthumously recognized as martyrs. In martyrs’ cemeteries across the country and the Capital Military Museum, one could find the same list, as well as biographies and places of origin for all the soldiers and officers. As long as one was willing to spend the time, anyone could use computer search software to obtain the same thing from the official federal military website.

Obviously, this could not serve as evidence, nor did it mean anything.

“I have no interest in playing this boring game with you—”

From the depths of Maurice Baker’s eyes, wrapped in wrinkles, a coldness devoid of any trace of pity slowly emerged. He picked up the carbon ink pen on the table, capped it, and shook his head with a hint of regret, saying, “I originally thought you were young and would be smarter. I didn’t expect you to be just as stupid as those guys who think they’re well disguised—”

Isaac Carter looked at him seriously, his expression still calm.

“Uncle Toby Evans is much younger than he looks. He’s the best mechanic in the base. His interest in machinery is as strong as his addiction to cigarettes, which he can never quit. He’s a heavy drinker, often getting dead drunk. Alcohol seems to have become an indispensable part of his life. Sometimes I even suspect that part of the liquid flowing through his veins is actually strong liquor like ‘Special Red Star Erguotou.’ He often told me stories, bragging about his experiences with the pretty bar girls at the base bar...”

“Uncle Stephen Lewis has a very bad temper. He’s always been proud of his name. During the initial period of being trapped in the underground base, many people were fooled by his name. He hit me twice, both times because I accidentally discovered him secretly sleeping with Aunt Monica...”

“Uncle Malcolm Reed looks like a barbarian from ancient legends. He claims to have Viking blood, often draws, and likes to write poetry. I’m his only reader. Of course, not by choice, but because I was forced. I couldn’t resist. At that time, I was only four years old...”

He recounted each person on the list softly, without flowery or ornate words, his language clear and detailed, as if narrating a series of personal resumes. Although his words were sometimes a bit lengthy, they were not annoying; instead, it was like listening to a familiar person’s rambling stories in a moment of leisure... Every name was a story. Behind each name, Isaac Carter would add a special title like “uncle,” “elder,” or “grandpa.” As if they were all his most familiar and closest family.

He just sat there quietly, speaking calmly. The anger in Captain Maurice Baker’s heart gradually faded, replaced by something between curiosity and disbelief. He began to frown, carefully catching every detail in Isaac Carter’s voice worth noting, no longer simply listening as if it were just a story.

The short, thick hour hand on the watch had unknowingly passed four number marks, while among the hundreds of names Isaac Carter had listed on the paper, he had only just recounted eight.

Captain Maurice Baker was an evolved human with level-two brain domain expansion abilities. He did not interrupt Isaac Carter’s narration, but instead used his portable microcomputer to connect with the Military Archives Administration. Using the name numbers and indexes, he retrieved the relevant classified personnel files he could access, and compared them with the details mentioned in the narration, conducting a preliminary verification of the truthfulness of these statements.

“You were very close to them...”

The interrogation room’s air conditioning was on, but Maurice Baker still felt sticky all over, his military shirt almost glued to his skin. The season was already extremely hot, and combined with his obesity far exceeding normal weight... it was unbearable, but he couldn’t blame anyone.

“The stories are good, very compelling—”