The decor in the room was extremely luxurious, with much of the furniture featuring a distinctly postmodern style. As the owner of the room, Oscar Green Major General clearly hadn’t expected anyone to barge in so rudely. He froze in astonishment, staring blankly at Gerald, who strode in through the shattered doorframe. His hands, which hadn’t had time to return to their original position, were still lingering between the legs of his secretary, whose black stockings he had just torn, revealing her fair skin.

She was a tall, blonde female captain. Her experience in handling such emergencies was clearly far greater than that of her superior. She didn’t scream, nor did her face show any embarrassment or shame. Calmly, she pressed her legs together and, from an angle that would escape notice, quickly pulled down her military-issue miniskirt, which had been tugged up to her hips. After doing this, she picked up a few sheets of paper of unknown content from the desk, gave a slight bow to Oscar Green Major General—who still hadn’t figured out what was going on—and said in the steadiest tone, “General, I’ll come back later for your signature on these documents.”

The door, its latch broken, hung askew. It couldn’t even close, only barely serving as a barrier to block most prying eyes.

“You forgot you’re supposed to knock first—”

Oscar Green Major General clenched his fists in anger, glaring forcefully at Gerald standing across the desk. He still hadn’t fully recovered from the shock of a few minutes ago, which made his skin look even paler.

Although, he was already a white man.

Gerald said nothing, simply pulled a stack of photos from his jacket pocket and slammed them heavily onto the desk.

Even though this era already allowed for remote transmission of holographic images, as one of the indispensable methods for preserving evidence, old-fashioned photographs still had their value.

The images appeared to be from a murder scene. Shocking bloodstains and torn flesh were the key elements that couldn’t be ignored in every photo. The three deceased, photographed separately, were all clearly identifiable—besides the intelligence chief Maurice Baker, the other two were Federal officers wearing the insignia of a major and a lieutenant, respectively.

“They’re not from the 179th Division. I checked these two guys—there’s no record of them in the active-duty personnel roster at the information center—”

Gerald leaned forward, both hands braced on the desk, his thick-knuckled fingers pressing hard on a photo that showed, besides Maurice Baker, the other two dead men. His eyes bulged as he glared at Oscar Green, erupting in a thunderous roar: “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. You should consider yourself lucky—there was no sign of that child’s body at the scene. If anything had happened to him, or if he’d met with some accident... I’d make you pay with your life! I’d make the entire Hamilton family pay the price—”

The intense hostility and anger made Oscar Green feel extremely uncomfortable. Regaining his composure after the initial shock, he tossed the photos he’d just looked at onto the desk, interlaced his fingers and laid his hands flat, forcing a few dry laughs as he said, “Respected General Gerald, it seems you’ve come to the wrong place. The Planning and Operations Department doesn’t have the authority to investigate cases. You should take these to the Criminal Investigation Division, or hand them to the Chief of Police. His office is in Room 65, North Wing. It’s not far—just go out, turn left, and then—”

“Bang—”

Before he could finish, Gerald’s fist, like a sledgehammer, came crashing down, smashing into the desk that separated the two men. The five-centimeter-thick wooden desktop was shattered, the entire desk splitting in two, forming an irregular “V” shape covered in splinters and dust.

“Spare me your pointless games. I’m not the kind of fool who can be tricked by wordplay. If you say one more word, I’ll rip out your tongue right now and see just how far it can stretch!”

The muscles on Gerald’s face twitched, the veins on his neck writhing and coiling. He glared at Oscar Green with a ferocious expression, his tone icy as he said, “Let me remind you—keep your filthy claws to yourself. I don’t want to see another incident like this. You’d better start praying for that child right now. Otherwise... you’ll regret ever being born human. Don’t forget, I was once with the reorganized 81st Division—”

……

If “etiquette” were the standard of measurement, humanity would be divided into two completely different groups—“barbaric” and “civilized.”

There was no doubt that Gerald clearly belonged to the former.