A Tentative Alliance with Fletcher

The lights in the corridor were brighter than those in the squad area, but colder too. Lin Xiao's footsteps echoed through the empty passageway like the beat of some countdown. The security post on the third floor of the administrative building was twenty meters ahead. Two soldiers in black combat uniforms stood behind bulletproof glass, their hands resting on the holsters at their waists. Lin Xiao could feel their gazes locked onto him like the red dots of infrared sights. He slowed his pace, adjusted his breathing, and kept his expression calm. The edge of the keycard in his pocket pressed against his thigh, giving him a tangible sense of reality. He needed to get through this checkpoint, see Fletcher, and then—then leave it to fate to roll the dice. But when he was still ten meters from the post, the surveillance camera on the left wall suddenly turned. Its red indicator flashed once, and the lens aimed straight at his face.

Lin Xiao did not break stride.

He walked up to the bulletproof glass window. The soldier behind it stared at him without expression. The glass was one-way, and he could see his own reflection—a young squad leader in the base's standard combat uniform, looking slightly exhausted. Beneath the window was a metal speaking grille, its edges worn to a silvery sheen.

"Name, ID number, purpose." The soldier on the left spoke, his voice carrying a faint electronic distortion through the grille.

"Third Operations Squad, Lin Xiao, ID A-307. Emergency intelligence report. I need to see Officer Fletcher." Lin Xiao's voice was steady, every word crisp.

The soldier on the right lowered his head to check a tablet, swiping across the screen. Lin Xiao could hear the faint friction of fingers against the glass display. A few seconds later, the soldier looked up. "There's no appointment on record."

"Which is why it's an emergency report." Lin Xiao looked him directly in the eye. "You can report it now, or I can take responsibility for delaying intelligence."

The two soldiers exchanged a look. The left soldier lightly tapped his holster twice with his finger—a signal of some kind. Lin Xiao did not know what it meant, but he could feel the tension in the air rising. Cold air blew from the vent overhead, carrying a faint scent of metal and machine oil across the back of his neck.

The soldier on the right picked up an internal communicator and pressed several buttons. Lin Xiao heard indistinct static from it, followed by a brief exchange. The soldier kept his voice too low for him to make out the words, and Lin Xiao could only see his lips moving. Seconds later, the soldier ended the call and pressed a button beside the glass window.

With a click, the heavy metal door slid aside, revealing the passage beyond. The lights inside were even whiter. The walls were coated in pale gray blast-resistant paint, and the floor was laid with dark gray non-slip tiles.

"Go straight to the end, then take the third door on the left," the soldier said. "Do not stop. Do not look around."

Lin Xiao nodded and entered the passage. Behind him, the door slowly shut with a dull closing sound, like some kind of declaration.

The passage was quiet, with only his own footsteps for company. A surveillance camera was mounted on the wall every five meters, their red indicators glowing steadily like a row of silent eyes. He could feel the lenses tracking his movements, shifting angles, recording every action he took. The air smelled of disinfectant mixed with paper and old leather—the distinctive scent of office areas.

At the end, he turned left.

The third office had a dark brown solid-wood door. Its plaque read, "Fletcher Campbell, Administrative Director," in gold lettering that reflected a faint sheen under the lights. The brass handle had been worn smooth, with faint fingerprints visible on its surface.

Lin Xiao raised his hand and knocked three times.

A deep voice came from inside. "Come in."

He pushed open the door.

The office was larger than he had expected, though simply furnished. A broad mahogany desk stood in the center, its surface neatly arranged with several folders, an old-fashioned desk lamp, and a metal pen holder. The lamp had a green shade, casting a soft halo across the desktop. Bookshelves stretched to the ceiling along both walls, crammed with documents and books. Some spines were worn through, exposing the stitching beneath. A potted plant sat in the corner, its leaves yellowing and curling at the edges.

Fletcher sat behind the desk with a fountain pen in hand, signing a document. He looked to be around fifty. His graying hair was combed impeccably, and deep wrinkles marked his face, especially around his eyes and mouth. He wore the base's administrative uniform, two silver stars on his epaulets denoting his rank. He did not look up, merely continued writing as the pen tip scratched softly across the paper.

Lin Xiao closed the door and stood two meters from the desk in a formal military posture.

The room was quiet, broken only by the scratch of the pen and the ticking of the clock on the wall. It was an old mechanical clock, its pendulum swinging steadily and keeping a measured rhythm. Night seeped through the slats of the blinds, casting long shadows across the dark carpet.

Fletcher finished the last word, set down his pen, and closed the folder. Then he looked up at Lin Xiao. His eyes were gray, like a winter sky—calm yet sharp, as though they could see straight through a person.

"Lin Xiao," Fletcher said. His voice was not loud, but every word carried weight. "Captain of the Third Operations Squad. I remember you. You handled the disturbance in the Zone B warehouse last month. Clean and decisive."

"You flatter me, sir," Lin Xiao said.

Fletcher leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands atop the desk. His fingers were long and knuckled. A silver ring sat on the index finger of his right hand, engraved with some kind of insignia, though Lin Xiao could not make out the details.

"An emergency intelligence report," Fletcher repeated Lin Xiao's explanation at the security post. "It is now 11:17 p.m. What kind of intelligence cannot wait until tomorrow morning's routine briefing?"

Lin Xiao took a deep breath. He could smell a faint trace of cigar smoke in the air, mixed with old books and leather. An ashtray sat at the corner of the desk, holding several cigar butts and gray-white ash.

"Sir, the atmosphere at the base has been strange lately," Lin Xiao began, carefully choosing his words. "The men have been talking in private. They say something feels wrong. Patrol routes have been adjusted, supply distribution has been delayed, and strange interference occasionally appears on the communication channels."

Fletcher's expression did not change, but Lin Xiao noticed one of his fingers tap lightly against the desk.

"Go on."

"During routine patrols, my squad discovered some unusual communications activity." Lin Xiao held Fletcher's gaze. "It wasn't on the base's standard frequencies, and the encryption method was unfamiliar. We tried to trace the signal source, but the other side used multiple relay points and anti-tracking protocols. It was highly professional."

He paused, watching Fletcher's reaction.

Fletcher's brow furrowed slightly, but only for an instant before returning to calm. He reached into the pen holder, took out a pencil, and rolled it between his fingers. It was wooden, its body polished smooth with use and warm under the light.

"Who do you suspect?" Fletcher asked, his voice still calm.

"I wouldn't dare make baseless guesses," Lin Xiao said. "But a word has been circulating around the base lately—'purge.' Some say it is meant to remove impure elements from the organization and ensure Hydra's purity."

The pencil stopped between Fletcher's fingers.

The room suddenly fell silent. Even the ticking of the clock seemed unusually clear. The wind outside appeared to have picked up, making the blinds tremble with a faint scraping sound. The halo cast by the desk lamp quivered over the tabletop like ripples on water.

Fletcher set down the pencil and clasped his hands again. His gaze deepened, like two bottomless wells.

"Do you think I haven't noticed?" he said slowly, every word seeming to squeeze through clenched teeth. "Blood Axe has been too quiet lately. Quiet in a way that isn't normal."

Lin Xiao's heart gave a violent jolt.

Blood Axe—that was the codename for the base's radicals, a group of extremist officers who advocated using the harshest methods to "purify" the organization. Their leader was a man named Marcus, whose face bore a scar running from his forehead to his chin. Rumor had it that an enemy blade had cut him during an operation. Marcus rarely appeared in public, but his influence had seeped into every corner of the base.

"They must be planning something," Fletcher continued, lowering his voice further. "But I don't know exactly what, how broad the purge will be, or when it will happen. I only know that several mid-ranking officers have recently been transferred from their posts. Officially, they were sent on 'external assignments,' but none of them ever came back."

He took a document from a drawer and pushed it toward Lin Xiao.

It was an ordinary A4 sheet, printed with several lines of text. There was no heading and no signature. Lin Xiao scanned it—the document was a personnel transfer list with five names, each marked, "Assigned to the Northwest Branch, return date undetermined." But Lin Xiao knew there was no such thing as a Northwest Branch.

"This came in three days ago," Fletcher said. "Through an internal encrypted channel, but the sender concealed their identity. I checked. I couldn't trace the source."

Lin Xiao looked up. "Sir, you think..."

"I think," Fletcher cut him off, "someone is clearing the board in preparation for what comes next. And you and I may both be pieces on that board."

He rose and walked to the window, pulling back one corner of the blinds. The night outside was heavy and dark. The lights of the base flickered in the distance like scattered stars. The training grounds were empty. Searchlight beams swept across the sand, stirring fine dust.

"Lin Xiao," Fletcher said with his back to him, "I appreciate your sharpness. You handled that warehouse incident well last month. You quelled the disturbance without causing unnecessary casualties. That tells me you have more than ability. You have a brain."

He turned around, his gaze settling on Lin Xiao again.

"But I must tell you this: if the purge truly begins, no one will be absolutely safe. The radicals intend to eliminate everyone who is 'insufficiently loyal' or 'insufficiently pure,' and only they know what those standards mean."

Lin Xiao felt cold sweat seep down his back, soaking into the lining of his combat uniform. The air conditioning in the room seemed set too low. Cold air blew from the vent and swept over the back of his neck, sending a chill through him.

"Sir, what do we need to do?" he asked.

Fletcher returned behind his desk and sat down again. He took another document from the drawer. This one was a map—a detailed floor plan of the base, more precise than Lin Xiao's, with far more details marked on it.

"Limited cooperation," Fletcher said, pointing to several locations on the map. "I can grant you certain permissions—temporary access cards that will let you enter some restricted areas in Zones B and C. I can also allocate supplies to your squad, including extra ammunition, medical supplies, and communications equipment."

His finger moved over the map, passing several key points.

"And your squad will serve as a concealed mobile force. Monitor these areas—" His fingertip tapped the armory, the command communications center, and the laboratory building on the map. "Especially at night. If you discover unusual personnel movements or any suspicious activity, report to me immediately. If the situation is urgent, you may take necessary action, but it must be clean and leave no trace."

Lin Xiao looked at the marked locations. The areas Fletcher had chosen were precisely the key nodes he had analyzed before. That meant Fletcher's judgment aligned with his own, and it also meant Fletcher had begun making preparations long ago.

"But," Fletcher's voice suddenly turned stern, "don't expect me to protect all of you completely. If this truly explodes, the big shots above will only look at the results. They don't care about the process. They don't care who was right or wrong. They only care who wins in the end, and who is still alive."

He looked up, his gray eyes like two blades.

"We have to survive on our own," he said, enunciating every word. "And... win."

The room fell silent again. The clock's ticking became unusually clear, like the rhythm of a heartbeat. The desk lamp's glow swayed faintly across the tabletop, outlining the deep wrinkles on Fletcher's face. The wind outside seemed to have stopped. The blinds no longer moved, and the entire room felt frozen in time.

Lin Xiao drew a deep breath. The air held the scent of cigar smoke, old books, and a faint, almost imperceptible anxiety.

"I understand, sir," he said.

Fletcher nodded, took two keycards from the drawer, and pushed them to the edge of the desk. They were black, printed with the base insignia and the words "Temporary Clearance, Class A."

"These cards will open most access points in Zones B and C. They are valid for seventy-two hours," Fletcher said. "I'll have the supplies delivered to your squad's warehouse before eight tomorrow morning. Remember, move quickly and stay hidden. Don't draw anyone's attention."

Lin Xiao picked up the keycards. They were cold, smooth around the edges, and felt strangely weighty in his hand.

"One more thing," Fletcher said, lowering his voice even further. "If... if things really spiral out of control, if you need to evacuate, there's an abandoned gas station three kilometers beyond the eastern perimeter wall. There's a modified off-road vehicle in the basement. The tank is full, and there are spare supplies in the trunk. The key is in a hidden compartment beneath the fuel pump."

Lin Xiao's heart lurched again. Fletcher had even prepared an escape route. That meant he had anticipated the worst-case scenario long ago.

"Thank you, sir," he said.

Fletcher waved a hand. "Don't thank me. I'm making an investment. An investment in someone who might survive—and help me win."

He picked up his fountain pen again, opened a fresh file, and began to write. It was a clear signal that the meeting was over.

Lin Xiao saluted and turned toward the door. Just as his hand reached the handle, Fletcher's voice came from behind him.

"Lin Xiao."

He turned back.

Fletcher did not look up. He was still writing, but his voice carried clearly through the room.

"Be careful of Marcus. The scar on his face wasn't left by an enemy. He carved it himself. He said it was to remember that 'pain is the touchstone of loyalty.'"

A chill rose up Lin Xiao's spine.

He nodded, pulled open the door, and walked out.

The lights in the corridor were still cold, and the red indicators on the surveillance cameras were still glowing. But this time, Lin Xiao walked faster. He passed through the passage and the security post. The two soldiers did not look at him, merely stared at the surveillance screens before them. The metal door slid open. He entered the main corridor of the administrative building, went downstairs, and exited the building.

The night wind hit him head-on, carrying the dry chill unique to the desert. There was no moon, only a few sparse stars appearing and vanishing between thick clouds. The lights of the base stretched through the darkness like a glowing river flowing into the depths of night.

Lin Xiao gripped the keycards in his pocket and hurried toward the squad area. His mind was racing—Fletcher's warning, Marcus's madness, the independent subnet, the external directive, the countdown to the purge... Every clue was like a tightening net.

He needed to get back to the squad as soon as possible, tell everyone what had happened, revise the plan, and assign tasks.

But when he pushed open the door to the squad area, the sight before him stopped him cold.

Nightingale stood in the center of the room, pale as paper. Her fingers gripped a tablet tightly, her knuckles white with strain. Wolf stood beside her, brow deeply furrowed, holding a dismantled communicator whose exposed circuit board glimmered with a faint green light. Su Ying emerged from the inner room with a dagger in hand, its blade reflecting a cold gleam under the lights.

"Lin Xiao," Nightingale said, her voice trembling, "that independent subnet... it just tried to trace several of my relay points in reverse."

She raised the tablet. Complex streams of code and a network topology diagram filled the screen. Red warning symbols flashed like alarm lights.

"The method was extremely sophisticated," Nightingale continued, fear tightly suppressed in her voice. "They used seven layers of proxies, each with a different encryption protocol, and planted a logic trap at the end. I almost got locked onto."

Lin Xiao walked over and took the tablet from her. Code scrolled across the screen. He could see the markers of the attack path, like a venomous snake slithering through the darkness in search of prey.

"And there's more." Nightingale took a deep breath and swiped across the tablet, pulling up another set of data. "I intercepted a fragmented directive sent from outside the base. The signal source is in the direction of New York, and the encryption method matches that of the independent subnet."

She opened an audio file.

A burst of static came from the speaker, followed by several broken words. The voice had been altered, cold and mechanical:

"...ensure Asset K is transferred... highest priority... cleanup operations... may proceed simultaneously..."

The audio cut off abruptly.

The room went utterly silent.

The wind outside suddenly grew stronger, making the window glass vibrate faintly with a low hum. The lights cast swaying shadows against the walls like restless ghosts. The air smelled of dust and the faint scorched odor unique to overheating electronics.

Lin Xiao stared at the tablet screen as those fragmented words echoed through his mind.

Asset K.

Cleanup operations.

May proceed simultaneously.

His fingers tightened. The edge of the tablet dug into his palm, bringing a sharp sting of pain.