He was no stranger to death—ever since he was born, Isaac Carter had attended every funeral in the S12 underground base, sometimes even serving as the host. But... this was the first time he had watched someone he knew well be killed right before his eyes.

  "Use... use my ID card... hurry... get out..."

  Maurice Baker's voice grew weaker and weaker. He seemed to have more to say, but could no longer utter a single word. Struggling to keep his body upright, he finally went limp, collapsing in Isaac Carter's arms as if all his strength had been drained away.

  Reaching into the pocket of Maurice Baker's shirt, he pulled out a magnetic card stained with faint red blood. A layer of sorrow slowly appeared on Isaac Carter's sharply defined face, only to be quickly replaced by an uncontrollable rage.

  S12 was isolated from the world, yet its computers stored a vast trove of human history. The veterans and experts who had survived countless hardships each had their own unique life experiences. Knowing they could never return to the civilized world, they placed all their hopes in young Isaac Carter, making him the vessel for all their knowledge and skills. Biological sciences, mechanical operation, electronic analysis, strategy, combat... The survivors affectionately called him "our child." Like force-feeding a duck, they crammed a dizzying array of subjects into Isaac Carter's mind through threats, coercion, temptation, and even corporal punishment. To anyone else, it would have been an unbearable ordeal. Yet, even during the most intense lessons and the harshest punishments, Isaac Carter never uttered a word of complaint.

  He understood that these people meant no harm. Radiation from the nuclear explosion had spread throughout the base, and no one knew how much longer they could survive. As the last remnants of the base and the reorganized 81st Division, they all hoped to one day leave alive, return to civilization, and continue creating the miracles that should have been theirs.

  There was care, and deep affection. Although his parents' bodies, like those of the other fallen, were buried in the deepest part of the base's mine, Isaac Carter had never felt alone. He was not by himself—though the words "father" and "mother" were absent from his language and reality, he had five hundred and forty-four "uncles," "aunts," and "elder brothers and sisters."

  He was filled with curiosity about the unknown world outside.

  Isaac Carter had longed for it intensely, and had imagined countless times in his dreams what it would be like to make contact with it. Many people told him he should earn honor, that he should become a hero admired by the entire Federation. Of course, while offering such encouragement, those who had truly experienced the filth and darkness of the civilized world also warned him more than once—"Those people are more despicable, cruel, evil, and cold-blooded than you can imagine."

  Strictly speaking, Maurice Baker couldn't really be called Isaac Carter's friend. But as mentioned before, he was the person Isaac Carter had spent the most time talking to from the outside world. Yet... he died right in front of him.

  Breaking into the interrogation room and shooting an intelligence officer... Clearly, he himself was their target.

  Back in S12, the division's information chief, Uncle Larson, had said before he died: "There are some people who definitely don't want to see any survivors from the reorganized 81st Division. The most effective way to deal with these guys... is to kill them all—"

  Suddenly, Isaac Carter laid down Maurice Baker's corpse and strode over to the major, who had fainted from the pain. He quickly stripped off the unstained uniform, then searched the man's waist for a pistol and a dagger, as well as his ID card, wallet, bullets, keys, and other miscellaneous items... After finishing, he silently watched the still-unconscious major for a few seconds, then grabbed his left wrist, lifted the entire arm, and with a swift, sideways motion, sliced off a palm-sized piece of flesh from under the major's armpit with the dagger.

  The lymph node area was densely packed with nerves, and the intense pain from this new wound jolted the major back to consciousness. His body convulsed violently, and he instinctively tried to scream, but Isaac Carter's knee pressed hard against the base of his neck and shoulder, pinning him down. Though it didn't completely cut off his breathing, it prevented him from making any normal or louder sounds.

  "Who sent you?"

  Against the pale skin of his face, Isaac Carter's lips looked even more blood-red, cruel and cold like a wild carnivore.

  The major stared at him with wide eyes, his mind stretched to the breaking point by the agony. He struggled desperately, trying to wrench himself free from Isaac Carter's iron grip. After a few seconds, he finally gave up, letting out a hoarse, despairing wail.

  Section Eight: Fury

  "Speak! Who wants to kill me?"

  A faint murderous aura emanated from Isaac Carter. His face was expressionless, and even the look in his eyes was wooden. This filled the major with a deep, instinctive fear—anyone who had spent time on the battlefield knew this was the most common expression of someone who had killed too much, lost all interest in everything, and whose mind was left only with madness and brutality, indifference and savagery.

  He... he definitely won't let me go.

  "Let me tell you, I'm as good as dead too..."