Maurice Baker had absolutely no intention of hiding his thoughts. He stuck out his greasy tongue, licked his lips, and grinned smugly: “You’ll be soaring to success soon, the sole survivor of the Hero Regiment… Just thinking about it is thrilling. Kid, the moment you walk out of this room, you’ll be surrounded by countless reporters and beautiful girls. They’ll suck you dry until there’s nothing left. Tsk tsk tsk tsk… Why don’t I have luck like yours? I don’t expect to get much more out of you. As long as I can get promoted one more rank, turn the badge on my shoulder into a major’s… heh, that’s enough. I’m not a greedy man.”

Swallowing the food in his mouth, picking up his glass and taking a sip, Isaac Carter looked at him calmly and said solemnly, “Thank you—”

“Just because the food’s been good these past few days?”

Maurice Baker curled his lip, unconcerned: “This is the officer’s club’s special meal, after all. Heh… But then again, there are a lot of people who should thank you.”

“You mean, those people I once saved?”

Isaac Carter immediately found the answer.

“Why didn’t you contact us back then? Why wait until now?”

This was a question that had troubled Maurice Baker for a long time.

“Well… I didn’t want to be treated like a monster.”

Isaac Carter shook his head with a bitter smile and said, “More importantly… it’s hard for me to trust others.”

“Others?”

Maurice Baker frowned.

A hint of gravity appeared on Isaac Carter’s face: “Uncle Kusen was the last veteran at Base S12. He died five years ago. If it weren’t for radiation sickness… a lot more people could have survived. At least, survived until now. Other than them… you’re the person I’ve spoken to the most in this world.”

For some reason, Maurice Baker suddenly felt a tightness in his chest. It was as if a powerful force was silently controlling his emotions. He nodded quietly, reached out to pick up the glass next to Isaac Carter, poured out the water inside, and filled it with some brandy from his flask before handing it back across the table. After doing all this, he raised his flask high and said with deep emotion, “Let’s have a drink, for those who have already passed—”

Just as the flask reached his lips, a clear and heavy knock suddenly sounded on the tightly closed door behind them.

“Damn it, who’s out there?”

The captain had no intention of getting up, and just shouted the question at the top of his lungs. He was clearly displeased at being interrupted at this moment.

“Captain Maurice Baker, please open the door. We are military police from the theater command staff. The capital has requested that we escort the target immediately.”

The other party had already identified themselves, so even if he was reluctant, Maurice Baker had no reason to refuse. He stood up, rather annoyed, and disengaged the electronic lock’s code. With a crisp “click,” the heavy titanium-alloy door opened a crack, then swung inward to form a wide enough passage.

Two federal officers in black uniforms strode into the room. One, a slightly thin white major, stood next to Maurice Baker and stared at Isaac Carter for nearly ten seconds. The corners of his tightly pressed lips slowly curled into a strange smile.

Section Seven: The Assassin

“You’re the only survivor of the reorganized 81st Division?”

The major took a few steps forward, standing beside the table littered with dishes. The wide brim of his military cap cast a shadow over his eyes, which locked onto Isaac Carter’s face with a scrutinizing gaze. It was as if he was comparing him to an image in his memory, or perhaps trying to memorize this young, even slightly inexperienced face. The oppressive aura created by his position and silence made Isaac Carter very uncomfortable, and instinctively provoked a faint sense of aversion.

The other federal officer who followed the major into the interrogation room was a tall, burly lieutenant. The bulging muscles beneath his uniform showed that he had invested at least two evolution points in “physique.” He naturally turned around, closed the heavy steel door, and slid the fifteen-centimeter-thick titanium bolt into place. After all this, the lieutenant casually walked to the wall near the door, raised his head, clasped his hands behind his back, and seemed to be silently waiting for something.

“So, you’re taking him away right now?”

Maurice Baker glanced blearily at the major standing to the side, let out a foul-smelling belch, and raised his arm to look at his watch with clear dissatisfaction: “21:37… You sure know how to pick your timing. I didn’t expect those lazy bastards at the staff office to actually work outside of office hours.”

“The capital is pressing us hard.”

The major’s voice was tinged with obvious displeasure and coldness: “The Ministry of Defense has issued a special order—within twenty-four hours, he must be safely delivered to the designated location.”

“You’re military police from the theater command staff? I know those guys well, but why… have I never seen you before?”

Maurice Baker stroked his stubbly chin and asked seriously.

“There’s always turnover everywhere. That’s not unusual.”

The major’s gaze never left Isaac Carter. His speech was unhurried, but his tone was icy cold.