A Tentative Alliance with Fletcher

The corridor lights 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 guard post on the third floor of the administrative building lay 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, grounding him with its tangible presence. He needed to get past this checkpoint, see Fletcher, and then—then let fate roll its dice. But when he was still ten meters from the guard post, the surveillance camera on the wall to his left suddenly turned. Its red indicator blinked once, and the lens aimed at his face.

Lin Xiao did not break stride.

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

"Name, identification number, purpose." The soldier on the left spoke, his voice passing through the port with a faint electronic distortion.

"Third Action 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, his fingers gliding over the screen. Lin Xiao could hear the faint friction of fingertips across glass. Several seconds later, the soldier looked up. "There is no appointment on record."

"That is why it is an emergency report." Lin Xiao met his gaze. "You can report it now, or I can take responsibility for delaying intelligence."

The two soldiers exchanged a look. The left soldier lightly tapped the holster at his waist twice—a signal of some kind. Lin Xiao did not know what it meant, but he could feel the tension in the air mounting. 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 a fuzzy crackle from it, followed by a brief conversation. The soldier's voice was too low for him to make out; he could only see his lips moving. A few seconds later, the soldier ended the call and pressed a button beside the window.

With a click, the heavy metal door slid aside, revealing the passage within. The lighting inside was even whiter, the walls coated in pale gray blast-resistant paint, and the floor laid with dark gray nonslip 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. The door behind him slowly shut with a heavy thud, like some kind of declaration.

The passage was quiet, with only his own footsteps for company. A surveillance camera stood every five meters along the walls, each red indicator glowing steadily like a row of silent eyes. He could feel the lenses following his movement, adjusting their angles, recording every action. The air smelled of disinfectant mixed with paper and old leather—the distinctive scent of the office area.

At the end of the passage, 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 gleam beneath the lights. The brass doorknob had been worn smooth, with faint fingerprints visible on its surface.

Lin Xiao raised his hand and knocked three times.

A low voice came from within. "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 of the room, 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 pool of light over the desktop. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined both walls, crammed with documents and books. Some of the spines had worn through, exposing their bindings. A potted plant sat in the corner, its leaves yellowing and curling at the edges.

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

Lin Xiao shut the door and stood two meters from the desk, maintaining a military posture.

The room was quiet, filled only by the scratching pen and the ticking clock on the wall. It was an old mechanical clock, its pendulum swinging in a steady rhythm. Night seeped in through the slats of the blinds, casting long, narrow shadows across the dark carpet.

Fletcher finished the last word, set down his pen, and closed the folder. Then he raised his head, his gaze settling on Lin Xiao. His eyes were gray, like a winter sky—calm yet sharp, as though they could see through a person's heart.

"Lin Xiao," Fletcher said. His voice was not loud, but every word carried weight. "Squad leader of the Third Action Squad. I remember you. You handled the riot in the Area B warehouse last month. Clean and efficient."

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

Fletcher leaned back in his chair, interlacing his fingers on the desk. His fingers were long, his knuckles pronounced. A silver ring sat on his Right Hand's index finger, engraved with some kind of insignia, though Lin Xiao could not make out the details.

"An emergency intelligence report," Fletcher repeated Lin Xiao's words from the guard post. "It is 11:17 p.m. What intelligence could not wait until tomorrow morning's routine briefing?"

Lin Xiao took a deep breath. He could smell the faint scent of cigar smoke mingled with old books and leather. An ashtray sat at the edge of the desk, holding several cigar butts amid gray-white ash.

"Sir, the atmosphere around the base has been strange lately," Lin Xiao began, choosing his words carefully. "The men have been talking in private. They say something is wrong. Patrol routes have changed, 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 looked Fletcher straight in the eye. "It was not on the base's standard frequencies, and the encryption was unfamiliar. We attempted to trace the signal source, but they used multiple relays and anti-tracing protocols. The methods were highly professional."

He paused, watching Fletcher's reaction.

Fletcher's brow furrowed slightly, but only for an instant before smoothing out again. He reached into the pen holder, took out a pencil, and spun it between his fingertips. It was wooden, its shaft polished smooth with use and glowing warmly under the light.

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

"I would not dare make reckless assumptions," Lin Xiao said. "But a term has been circulating around the base lately—'Purge.' Some say it is meant to eliminate impure elements within the organization and ensure Hydra's purity."

The pencil stopped between Fletcher's fingers.

The room suddenly fell silent. Even the ticking clock seemed especially distinct. The wind outside appeared to strengthen, making the blinds tremble faintly with a soft scraping sound. The pool of light from the desk lamp quivered across the tabletop like ripples on water.

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

"You think I cannot sense it?" he said slowly, each word seeming to squeeze through clenched teeth. "Blood Axe has been too quiet lately. Quiet in a way that is not normal."

Lin Xiao's heart jolted.

Blood Axe—that was the codename for the base's Radical Faction. It was made up of several extremist officers who advocated using the harshest measures to "purify" the organization. Their leader was a man named Marcus, with a scar running from his forehead to the chin. It was said 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. "But I do not know exactly what, how broad the purge will be, or when it will begin. I only know that several mid-ranking officers have recently been removed 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 sheet of A4 paper with several printed lines. There was no heading and no signature. Lin Xiao scanned the contents—it 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 hid their identity. I investigated it. I could not trace the source."

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

"I believe," 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 aside one corner of the blinds. The night outside was thick and dark. The base lights flickered in the distance like scattered stars. The training ground was empty, and searchlight beams swept over 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 calmed the riot without causing unnecessary casualties. That shows you have more than capability. You have a brain."

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

"But I have to tell you this: if the purge truly begins, no one is absolutely safe. The Radical Faction intends to eliminate everyone who is 'insufficiently loyal' or 'insufficiently pure,' and only they know their standards."

Lin Xiao felt cold sweat seep down his back, soaking into the lining of his combat uniform. The office air conditioning seemed set too low. Cold air blew from the vent, brushing the back of his neck and 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 out another document, this time a map—a detailed floor plan of the base, more precise than Lin Xiao's and marked with far more details.

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

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

"And your squad will serve as a concealed mobile force. Monitor these areas—" His fingertip tapped the armory, command communications center, and laboratory building on the map. "Especially at night. If you discover abnormal personnel transfers 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 studied the markings on the map. The locations Fletcher had chosen were exactly the critical nodes he had analyzed before. That meant Fletcher's judgment matched his own—and that Fletcher had begun making preparations long ago.

"But," Fletcher's voice suddenly turned stern, "do not expect me to shield you completely. If things truly blow up, the people above will only look at the results. They do not care about the process, who was right, or who was wrong. They only care who wins in the end and who remains alive."

He looked up, his gray eyes like two blades.

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

Silence fell over the room again. The ticking clock became especially clear, like the rhythm of a heartbeat. The desk lamp's glow trembled faintly across the desk, illuminating the deep wrinkles in Fletcher's face. The wind outside seemed to have stopped. The blinds no longer moved, and the whole room felt frozen in time.

Lin Xiao drew a deep breath. The air carried 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 Authorization, Level A."

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

Lin Xiao picked up the cards. They were cold and smooth-edged, with a weighty feel in his hand.

"One more thing," Fletcher said, lowering his voice even further. "If... if the situation truly gets out of control, if you need to evacuate, there is an abandoned gas station three kilometers outside the eastern perimeter wall. There is a modified off-road vehicle in the basement. Its 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 foreseen the worst-case scenario long ago.

"Thank you, sir," he said.

Fletcher waved a hand. "Do not thank me. I am merely making an investment. Investing in someone who might survive—and who can help me win."

He picked up his fountain pen again, opened a new file, and began writing. It was a clear signal of dismissal.

Lin Xiao saluted and turned toward the door. As his hand settled on the doorknob, Fletcher's voice came from behind him.

"Lin Xiao."

He turned back.

Fletcher did not look up. He was still writing, but his voice reached him clearly.

"Be careful of Marcus. The scar on his face was not left by an enemy. He cut 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, opened the door, and walked out.

The corridor lights were still cold, and the red indicators on the surveillance cameras still glowed. But this time, Lin Xiao walked faster. He crossed the passage and passed the guard post. The two soldiers did not look at him; they merely stared at the surveillance screens before them. The metal door slid open, and he entered the administrative building's main corridor before heading downstairs and leaving the building.

The night wind struck his face, carrying the desert's distinctive dryness and chill. There was no moon in the sky, only a few sparse stars appearing and vanishing among thick clouds. The base lights stretched through the darkness like a glowing river flowing into the depths of night.

Lin Xiao clenched the keycards in his pocket and strode toward the squad area. His mind raced—Fletcher's warning, Marcus's madness, the independent subnet, outside orders, the purge countdown... Every clue was like a net drawing tighter and tighter.

He needed to return to the squad as quickly as possible, tell everyone what had happened, adjust the plan, and assign tasks.

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

Nightingale stood in the middle of the room, her face as pale as paper. Her fingers gripped a tablet so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. Wolf stood beside her, brow tightly furrowed, holding a dismantled Communicator with its circuitry exposed beneath the lights and flickering with a faint green glow. Su Ying emerged from the inner room with a dagger in hand, its blade reflecting a cold gleam.

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

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

"The methods were extremely sophisticated," Nightingale continued, fear 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 on."

Lin Xiao walked over and took the tablet from her. Code scrolled across the screen. He could see the markers of the attack route, like a viper slithering through the dark in search of its prey.

"And there is more." Nightingale drew a deep breath, swiped across the tablet, and brought up another piece of data. "I intercepted a fragmentary order sent from outside the base. The signal source is in the direction of New York, and the encryption is identical to the independent subnet's."

She opened an audio file.

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

"...ensure Asset K is transferred... highest priority... the Purge... can proceed simultaneously..."

The audio cut off abruptly.

The room fell dead silent.

The wind outside suddenly picked up, making the windowpanes tremble with a low hum. The lights cast swaying shadows across 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, the fragmented words echoing in his mind.

Asset K.

The Purge.

Can proceed simultaneously.

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