The timing gap behind the withdrawal order, Monk's unauthorized hidden sentry
The huge, rusty exhaust fan overhead was still spinning listlessly.
The captain leading the team shouted, "Retreat to standby line number two," but the military police company's retreating formation remained perfectly intact.
The heavy riot shields rubbed against the concrete, making a dragging, rhythmic sound.
The twelve heavily armed soldiers deliberately adjusted the landing point of their boots with each step they took back.
The stride was compressed to a very small distance, moving only half a foot per second.
They were using human shields to block the view of the passage behind them, while deliberately delaying the handover in this blind spot.
Thirty seconds.
Lynn carried the radiation shielding lead box without pausing for a moment.
"It only takes eight seconds for the captain to retreat twenty meters, but they dawdled for a full twenty-two seconds."
"This is to give people around the corner a window of opportunity to set up their guns and gauge the wind."
Gwen Stacy didn't turn her head; the fingertips of her tactical glove were pressed against the cable trench in the concrete wall.
Extremely fine, transparent Silk spread rapidly along the grooves in the ground, penetrating the damp diesel condensate.
"The result is in."
Gwen Stacy's voice was muffled between her breaths.
"Forty meters directly ahead, above the corner of the gate, is the seventh maintenance step."
"The muzzle is positioned between two load-bearing angle irons, with shock-absorbing rubber pads underneath."
"The wind speed is 3.2 meters per second, blowing in from the exhaust shaft, and the humidity is 87%."
Lynn glanced at the wall on the right side of the passage out of the corner of his eye.
It was a row of abandoned, old-fashioned high-pressure pneumatic transmission channels, originally used by the Seventh Repair Workshop to distribute parts to various workshops.
The galvanized pipe was covered with blackish-yellow sludge, and two fresh metal scratches cut through the rust that had covered it.
The scratches were two millimeters deep, revealing a brand-new, silver-white steel core.
Those were the marks left by a heavy, large-caliber sniper tripod that had gotten stuck in the tube wall.
The sentry under Monk's command was not only a veteran, but also familiar with all the blind spots in the entire underground corridor.
The other party's goal is not deterrence.
If a high-precision armor-piercing incendiary bomb hits the lead box, the recorder and the smuggled card inside will instantly explode and burn, leaving no evidence.
Lynn and Gwen Stacy will be killed on the spot under the pretext of "encountering a smuggled arms explosion".
The box was still four inches from my left chest.
Lynn walked slowly, his boots making a very soft clicking sound as they stepped on the cement scraps.
He's waiting for me to step over the fourth support pillar.
There is no cover behind the pillar; there is a straight firing path between the two points.
Gwen Stacy shifted slightly to the side, the hem of her trench coat obscuring Lynn's right wrist.
"I can just use Silk to sever his gun barrel."
"No."
Lynn's voice was flat.
"Pulling the trigger takes only a fraction of a second, and the sound of the gunfire will trigger a counterattack from the entire military police company."
"As soon as a shot is fired, Monk can be accused of resisting arrest."
Lynn raised his left hand and placed it on an old-fashioned pneumatic valve that was suspended in mid-air at the corner of the passage.
The brass handwheel of the manual valve was already rusted, but the pressure relief safety pin connecting the exhaust gas circuit on the sixth underground floor was still intact.
That was the residual pressure air path left by Ke'er's men when they were forcibly pressurizing the pump room on the sixth basement level to weld the sewage pipes.
The entire pipeline contains at least eight atmospheres of hot, humid exhaust gas.
"Gwen Stacy, give him a fake target."
Lynn gave the order in a low voice.
Gwen Stacy's fingertips, which were resting on her side, twitched very slightly.
The Silk stuck to the ground cable tightened instantly, pulling on a leftover iron wrench that had been left in the previous room.
The wrench slid half an inch across the concrete floor, making a crisp metallic clang.
At the same time, Lynn paused slightly with his left foot as he stepped forward, and the front of his trench coat fluttered in the wind, revealing a glimpse of the reflective side of the lead box.
The faint, pale purple spot of light deep inside the exhaust vent instantly locked onto that tiny area receiving light.
Just a fraction of a second before the sentry pressed down with his index finger and the firing pin was about to strike the primer.
Lynn pressed down hard with his right hand, which was resting on the pneumatic valve.
The hilt of the Obsidian sword slid out of the sleeve and precisely severed the rusty handwheel stop bolt.
The air valve was instantly switched to its maximum venting position.
High-pressure airflow, mixed with months of accumulated turbid condensate and old iron filings, gushed out with a roar from the disconnected pneumatic nozzle.
A white, high-pressure airflow tore a two-meter-wide barrier through the narrow corridor.
This was not an explosion, there was no flash of light, and no whistling of bullets.
However, the heavy, high-pressure airflow rushed straight towards the maintenance treads above the passage at a speed of hundreds of meters per second.
The cold air flowing back into the ventilation shaft was abruptly cut off by this horizontally bursting blast of air.
The air pressure and humidity in the previously stable firing channel were completely disrupted in an instant.
The high-precision sniper rifle mounted on the seventh maintenance pedal was swept by the blast wave, and its heavy barrel shook violently.
The pale purple aiming spot instantly veered off the lead box and slammed into the hard granite foundation.
A very short, muffled groan followed from above the pedal.
That was the sound of high-pressure airflow mixed with rusty debris hitting the sniper's face and eyes as it blasted into the goggles of the sentry's observation device.
Their view was completely taken away.
The trajectory was completely out of control.
The opportunity to fire was completely lost within 0.5 seconds.
The gunman, hidden in the shadows, was extremely skilled and did not blindly pull the trigger when his vision was obstructed.
A slight knocking sound came from above the pedal as the gun detached from the metal angle iron.
This was immediately followed by the rapid vibrations of tactical boots stepping on the aluminum ladder.
The enemy abandoned firing and is hastily evacuating via the pre-installed ventilation duct safety ladder.
Gwen Stacy slightly spread her fingers, and an extremely thin Silk flew out along the ground, heading straight for the maintenance pedal above her head.
No need to chase.
Lynn stepped over the mist dispersed by the gust of wind, steadily carrying the lead box in his right hand.
"Those are suicide squad members from the defense zone; they wouldn't be carrying any identification pointing to Monk."
"We don't have time to interrogate a discarded pawn who bit off a poison sac in the hallway."
Gwen Stacy withdrew her fingers, and a small object brought back by the Silk appeared in her palm.
It was a brass object that had been knocked off by the blast wave from the gap in the upper pedal.
It wasn't Negasonic Teenage Warhead, but a spent cartridge case that had already been ejected and hadn't been taken away by the shooter.
Gwen Stacy handed the items to Lynn.
The cartridge case is about 7.6 centimeters long and its surface is coated with a dark gray special Teflon coating to prevent corrosion in high humidity.
Lynn glanced down at the bottom of the cartridge case.
Two lines of extremely neat abbreviation codes are laser-engraved around the primer.
The top line is the military code name for the defense zone.
The line below is an internal verification mark made with a fine dot matrix.
"LAB-07-SCRAP-44".
The 44th batch of scrapped classified consumables from the Seventh Laboratory of the Department of Technology.
Gwen Stacy's pupils contracted slightly.
"Special armor-piercing shell casings discarded by Seventh Laboratory."
Gwen Stacy held the spent cartridge case between her fingers, her voice turning cold.
"There are always discrepancies in Morris's scrap list."
"Monk not only secretly set up sentries in the defense zone, but the special ammunition he used to cover up his tracks also came directly from the Department of Technology's underground network."
Lynn took the spent cartridge from Gwen Stacy's hand and slipped it into his inner pocket.
The cold metal shell clung tightly to the fabric covering his chest.
"Monk is just a dirty hand reaching out."
Lynn stomped out the last remaining sparks on the ground and walked towards the security gate at the end of the corridor.
"The materials scrapped from the Seventh Laboratory cannot leave the warehouse without Wanda's signature."
"Without Hela's Black Crow Guard escorting them, they can't get into the armory in the defense zone."
"They all got a share of this shady business, yet they were all eager to use my life to burn the ledger clean."
Lynn reached out and pushed open the heavy fireproof iron door.
The door hinges emitted a harsh, screeching sound.
Outside is an abandoned freight ramp that extends diagonally downwards.
The smell of diesel fuel in the air was stronger, faintly mixed with the pungent ammonia odor characteristic of large refrigeration units in operation.
Two fresh tire marks from heavy-duty anti-skid tires remain on the ramp surface.
Those were the tracks left by the troop carrier No. 094, which had just been removed from the repair shop.
The mud along the edges of the tire treads was still damp.
"The troop transport vehicles did not take the main road back to the camp."
Gwen Stacy crouched down and reached out to touch the edge of the deep tire tracks on the ground.
"The vehicle has sagged by at least 1.5 tons."
"They took the batch of SIM card chips that had just had their barcodes modified and drove straight into the cold chain freight center on the seventh basement level."
Lynn carried the lead box and stepped into the shadows of the slope.
"Walk."
"Go and find out which buyer Monk found for this batch of goods."