Escape

General Simon Gilson's retirement seemed quite comfortable, judging by his residence. His home was situated on a small hill outside the city, a cleverly designed duplex villa enclosed by a pristine white fence, creating a small world filled with birdsong and fragrant flowers. Inside the fence, lush trees were planted, and various colorful flowers bloomed abundantly, suggesting the retired general was quite a sentimental old fellow.

Jay stood before the villa's deep red security door and rang the doorbell. After waiting for a considerable time with no response, he quietly apologized. He then used X-Sight to scan the house, confirming that the old man, clad in a light gold silk robe, was by the living room window, tending to his potted plants. From this distance, it was clear he could not have missed the doorbell, but was deliberately ignoring it.

Jay, therefore, persisted, ringing the doorbell continuously for over a minute.

When the sharp, grating sound of the doorbell finally broke through his tolerance, the old man appeared at the door, utterly exasperated. He roughly pulled the door open, seemingly intending to find any excuse to drive away the persistent visitor. However, the moment he saw Jay's face, he froze in place, his expression solidifying as if turned to ice.

The other party's strange reaction caused Jay to swallow his prepared opening remarks. He tentatively asked, "Uh, General Gilson? Are you alright? You look a bit... pale."

"It's you." General Simon Gilson scrutinized him from head to toe several times. "No mistake, it's you. But... but how is this possible? We all thought you were dead."

"Me?" Jay pointed to himself in surprise. "You know me?"

General Gilson studied him with a complex expression for a long while.

"So, you don't remember anything?"

Jay shook his head. "If you're asking about my own past, I have no recollection at all. My earliest memory is of the end of the Apocalypse Invasion; I don't remember anything before that. It sounds like you know where I came from?"

He could see the old man's breathing becoming erratic, his weak heart accelerating its beat, and a few imperceptible beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead. His eyes flickered several times before he asked, "If you don't remember anything, why did you come here?"

"S.D.E. Project," Jay said. "A friend of mine almost died because of it. It led me here—you're the only one still alive from that project. I want to know what it is."

General Gilson remained silent for a moment, then spoke with his dry, cracked lips, "You know, this is top secret."

"I have to know," Jay stated firmly.

General Gilson involuntarily took half a step back, seemingly caught in an internal struggle. Jay wasn't entirely confident about what he would do if the old man refused to divulge the secret. He didn't really want to use force on the frail old man, and he didn't seem like a bad person. But what Jay didn't know was that his mere presence, his direct gaze, exerted an immense, invisible pressure. Not everyone had the courage to meet the eyes of a Kryptonian, let alone refuse their request.

General Gilson sighed softly, as if finally deciding to concede. "Alright, anyway, I'm the only one left from the old crew involved in this plan..."

He paused slightly and said solemnly, "You want to know what the S.D.E. Project is? The answer is simple—it's you, child."

Jay was stunned.

"Me?" He pointed to himself, bewildered. "What does this have to do with me?"

General Gilson shifted his body, clearing the doorway. "Come in. I'll get you something to drink, and we can talk."

Helena was increasingly realizing the gravity of the secrets she had stumbled upon. After merely attempting to crack the password for the project named "S.D.E. Project," she suddenly found herself treated like a wanted fugitive within the base. More and more agents were flooding the narrow stairwell, trying to block her path. To break free, she had to resort to forceful measures to fight her way out. After kicking three unfortunate individuals down the stairs and breaking seven or eight bones, she finally made it down another floor, only to be met by a flash of silver from a combat knife, spinning towards her from the periphery of her vision at an almost imperceptible speed.

Helena was startled and dodged with a small hop. A few strands of her black hair were severed in mid-air by the sharp silver gleam. The assailant immediately followed up with a kick, whistling through the air. Helena had no time to evade and could only brace herself by raising her arm. The leg struck her arm like a heavy log, jarring her shoulder to the point of near dislocation. She staggered back two steps, barely regaining her balance as her heel touched the edge of a stair behind her.

Before her stood a burly man with a full beard, built like a brown bear. He expertly twirled the gleaming combat knife in his hand, its reflection sending shivers down her spine.

Helena recognized him. Ivan Walkerly, an agent directly under Victor. Though not particularly bright, his combat skills were top-notch. He had won the internal agency fighting tournament—though Helena hadn't participated, finding such events boring and pointless.

However, more than his fighting prowess, what was most dangerous for Helena at the moment was the brute strength of this hulking oaf. She had barely blocked one of his kicks and now could barely feel her left arm.

Ivan let out a low growl as his combat knife slashed down in a gleaming arc. His blade flashed, each strike slicing through the air with a sharp hiss. Helena dodged two blows and used a force-dispersing technique to parry another, but the stairs behind her limited her movement. Finally, on the fourth strike, she slipped up and was cut on the leg, a long bloody gash opening on the fair skin of her inner thigh.

Helena grimaced slightly. Pressing her hands on the stair railing, she leaped into the air, evading his follow-up thrust and landing lightly behind him. She drove her knee forcefully into Ivan's wrist, the one holding the knife, and as his wrist was raised, she precisely grabbed it. With her right foot, she kicked hard into the back of Ivan's knee, forcing him to kneel involuntarily. Simultaneously, she reversed her grip on his wrist and applied sudden force in the opposite direction.

While her strength couldn't match this powerhouse, she possessed first-class combat skills and extensive experience. With a crisp crack, Ivan's elbow dislocated. He couldn't help but let out a muffled groan. Helena seized the opportunity, pressing down on his head and smashing it hard against the stair railing. However, the man was incredibly sturdy; she had to slam his head against it three times before he finally knocked out, even leaving a massive notch in the wooden railing.

It had taken considerable time, but she had dealt with him. Helena dropped the man and cautiously peeked her head down the stairs, only to be met by a hail of gunfire. She had to pull back. The stairwells above and below were now occupied by agents, who were closing in on Helena's position, blocking all her escape routes.

Or rather, almost all of them.

Helena quickly assessed her current situation and took a deep breath. She tossed a flashbang into the central stairwell, hoping the brief blindness would buy her a little time. Then, she shot a rope to secure it high above and threw a smoke grenade down to the very bottom of the stairwell. As thick smoke billowed from its spinning tail, she followed the swirling smoke and leaped down to the lowest level.

The gunfire resumed, and several bullets pierced the layers of smoke, grazing her body as they flew down, but she had no time to pay them any mind. After a moment of freefall, she landed on the ground, safe and sound. She rolled agilely to evade the line of sight from the gunshots above, then got up and sprinted rapidly, disappearing from view within moments at the exit.