Metal Debris in the Abandoned Machine Room, the Master Copy Base Was Forcibly

The cement dust that had poured down from the ceiling had not yet settled.

Lynn sheathed the Obsidian sword with a backhand motion and quickly stepped over the broken cable pedal.

Gwen Stacy followed closely behind, the latch on her right tactical holster already open.

"Take the main staircase."

Lynn turned his head and gave orders to the two squad leaders of the guards.

A pungent, burnt smell was rising from the elevator shaft; the mechanical winch was jammed by the self-destructing counterweight.

The commander of the guards, wielding Long Halberd, smashed open the iron gate of the security passage.

The eleven-story spiral steel staircase swayed rhythmically amidst the vibrations.

The group advanced upwards without turning on any lights, relying solely on the dim light displayed on their tactical helmet visors.

The glass of the fire hydrant at the corner of the seventh floor was completely shattered, and more than a dozen empty miniature stun gun casings were scattered on the ground.

The airtight door leading to the main control room on the ninth floor was ajar, with half a cut nylon cable tie stuck in the crack.

The commander of the Imperial Guard kicked the doorknob.

The heavy fire door slammed into the rubber damper behind it with a dull thud.

The air inside the server room was so stuffy it was suffocating.

The pungent smell was a mixture of high concentrations of Ozone and the acrid odor of Carbonization organic matter.

The main fluorescent screen in front of the control panel was shattered into a spider web pattern, and the remaining fluorescent tubes flickered weakly after the circuit board was short-circuited.

In the center of the Control Console, a desiccated corpse sat slumped in a swivel chair.

The body was wearing an old S.H.I.E.L.D.. Level 3 field tactical vest.

The skin was completely dehydrated and shrunken, clinging tightly to the bone structure; the eye sockets were sunken; and the lips were torn into several grayish-white strips of hard skin.

Gwen Stacy stepped forward, lowered the muzzle, and touched the side of the corpse's neck with her tactical glove.

"Body temperature is close to ambient temperature."

"Life force was forcibly drained in an extremely short time."

Gwen Stacy turned to look at the control panel.

"This isn't regular blood loss; the cell membranes are completely ruptured."

Lynn walked to the side of the swivel chair, his gaze sweeping over the corpse's withered fingers.

The corpse's right index finger was broken in the opposite direction, and the nail crevices were filled with gray paint chips from the control panel.

Before his death, the deceased had tried to pull something out of the slot, but was pinned to the operating chair by some external force until all the remaining magic and Bioelectricity in his body were drained away.

"This is the missing Level 2 tester from the Department of Technology's Seventh Laboratory."

Lynn glanced at the embroidered code remaining on the inside of the corpse's collar.

"Code name: E-19."

Two months ago, he was reported missing on official business and included in the asset inventory list.

Hela's commander of the guards stepped forward and reached out to fiddle with the cables on the control panel.

"Don't touch it."

Lynn's voice was flat, yet carried an undeniable weight.

The commander of the guards' hand froze in mid-air, instinctively pulling it back.

Lynn bent down, his gaze level with the metal mounting bracket below the Control Console.

The original four-pack data card slot has been completely cut off.

Four of the six high-strength Titanium Alloy expansion bolts that secured the base were corroded by strong acid, leaving only half-sections of honeycomb-shaped scrap iron.

The other two bolts had clean, shiny breaks, with extremely fine metal burrs curled along their edges.

Portable hydraulic miniature lathe.

Lynn extended two fingers and swiped a pinch of extremely fine, silver-gray metallic shavings from the edge of the base slot.

The crumbs crumbled between my fingertips, releasing the distinctive rapeseed oil smell of machining cutting fluid.

"Hand-cut."

"The incision generated very little heat, and did not trigger the fire alarm temperature sensor in the server room."

Gwen Stacy held up a tactical flashlight, the beam moving downwards along the cable tray at the bottom of the control panel.

There are four standard motherboard mounting slots, and the first three are completely empty.

The fiber optic contacts inside were violently snapped, and the broken glass fibers burst open like a tangled clump of bristles.

The fourth slot is slightly different.

The groove was filled with a large amount of quick-drying epoxy resin, and two spare power supply wires were forcibly soldered to the pins.

Although the retaining claws on the base are broken, half of the cut-off copper heat dissipation pipe remains in the slot.

"Of the four sets of master memory chips, three were taken away."

Gwen Stacy raised her wrist and pulled up the radio frequency peak that the broadcast tower had just intercepted.

"The directional pulses provided by the three sets of master units are enough to tear a gap in the outer defensive Force Field."

Why did they cut a fourth one?

Only the occasional crackling sound of broken circuit boards remained in the server room.

The commander of the Imperial Guards had a grim expression:

"The top floor is locked down by the Guards' floating shields, and you're personally overseeing the underground substation."

"If they took the items, where could they hide them?"

Lynn did not answer immediately.

He straightened up and slowly scanned the messy server room.

The main control room is about 80 square meters in size. Apart from a row of server racks and the Control Console, there are only two large industrial-grade dehumidifiers in the northwest corner.

Above the dehumidifier is a vertical exhaust shaft connected to the main load-bearing axis of the broadcast tower.

A galvanized iron exhaust pipe with a diameter of 1.2 meters runs horizontally through the ceiling of the machine room.

Near the dehumidifier joint, a section of the rubber sealing ring securing the pipe is missing.

Lynn strode over, stepped onto the overturned electrical box, and reached out to touch the outer wall of the galvanized duct.

The metal sheet was cold.

My fingertip brushed against the corner of the lower edge of the pipe and touched a trace of clear liquid.

Lynn withdrew her hand and brought her fingertips to her nose to sniff lightly.

It has an extremely faint odor, with a sweet, fishy smell characteristic of industrial condensers.

The liquid evaporated rapidly at the warmth of Lynn's fingertips, leaving behind a very thin layer of white powder.

"Portable Liquid Nitrogen condenser is leaking."

Lynn jumped down from the electrical box, his boots landing silently.

"After the mother card core is removed from the base, the internal miniature Energy Circuit will heat up rapidly."

"Without external refrigerant to suppress it, the internal contacts of the SIM card will burn out within three minutes of being removed from the base."

Gwen Stacy's eyes lit up:

"The evaporation period of the condenser is very short."

"This drop of refrigerant hasn't completely frosted over yet, meaning it's been in contact with air for no more than four minutes."

Lynn took a lint-free wiping cloth from the inside pocket of her tactical trench coat and wiped the powder off her fingertips.

The person who had the last copy of the original did not go to the top floor.

"The launch pad on the rooftop is just an empty shell with a timed trigger, used to attract everyone's attention."

"The real contact person who was carrying the goods was hiding in a mezzanine in this server room, waiting for us to cut off the substation's bottom line."

Lynn turned around and looked at the vertical access panel behind the dehumidifier, which had been pried open with a small crack.

He went down the pipe.

The commander of the Imperial Guard gripped his Long Halberd tightly and growled:

"I immediately order the Imperial Guards on the perimeter to completely seal off all ground pipeline exits!"

"Too late."

Lynn's expression remained unchanged.

"The vertical maintenance pipe at the base of the broadcasting tower connects to the vacuum rail system for Starport's transshipment cargo on the third underground level."

"Once he crawls into that abandoned pneumatic pipe, he can slide out of the Seventh Defense Zone's perimeter in two minutes."

Gwen Stacy had already drawn her twin pistols from her waist, and the Silk -shooting nozzle on her wrist was slightly adjusted for firing.

"I'll go to the shaft and block him."

"Wait a moment."

Lynn called out to her.

Lynn walked back to the dismantled main control base.

He pulled out the Obsidian sword and used the flat tip to scrape away the layer of charred plastic covering the surface of the fourth slot.

The original nameplate was exposed on the metal base plate, which had been corroded by strong acid.

The nameplate was originally riveted to the Titanium Alloy plate, but now the rivets have been pried off with a sharp blade, and the metal surface is covered with messy and deep scratches.

It is clear that in a very rushed situation, someone forcibly removed the factory markings using a screwdriver or a sharp knife.

However, the other party left in too much of a hurry, and the miniature lathe rotated too fast, leaving a thin, elongated vibration dent on the bottom of the metal plate.

Using the sidelight of his flashlight, Lynn carefully examined the remaining broken metal surfaces.

At the very bottom of the two intersecting scratches, there remains a unique indentation made by a miniature punch.

That's not a generic serial number.

Instead, it's a design resembling an anchor and a wrench crossed, with half a capital letter of English letters remaining below the design:

--L-DEP-CHIEF.

Gwen Stacy leaned closer, her tactical goggles magnifying and focusing on the half-character.

"Logistics Office?"

Gwen Stacy's voice turned somber.

"The Logistics Office under the Starport Materials Dispatch Bureau only uses 'CHIEF' as a suffix for the Director's personal seal."

The commander of the Imperial Guards' expression changed slightly, and he took a half step back, seemingly realizing the immense weight behind those characters.

The Logistics Office at the Starport not only held the power to allocate all war supplies, but was also a trusted confidant of several veteran members of the Joint Conference.

"Not just the director."

Lynn stood up and lightly tapped the metal plate with the tip of his sword.

"The fact that the base number was scratched off indicates that this base was not equipment that the Department of Technology obtained through official channels."

"It's a 'black item' that was directly transferred from the Logistics Office's wartime reserve warehouse through the scrap and loss account."

"The Watchmaker was able to set up a high-frequency transmitter here without anyone noticing; someone had given him permission to use it and even opened a back door for him."

A dull thud suddenly came from deep within the corridor outside the server room.

That was the vibration from the heavy object hitting the steering valve plate as it fell down the metal ventilation duct.

Gwen Stacy turned to look at the vent:

"He went down to the bottom valve."

Lynn held the Obsidian sword in a reverse grip, the hem of his tactical trench coat swaying slightly.

"Notify Hela to withdraw half of the guards from the Seventh Gate and relocate them all to the outer drainage outlet of Starport Anchorage No. 17."

"Since the base bears the Logistics Office's seal, this last master copy will absolutely not be sent to the ground."

Lynn reached out and pulled down the iron gate of the inspection hatch, then slipped into the darkness of the vertical ventilation duct. Chapter 696: Condensate Drips in the Ventilation Shaft, Obsidian Short Sword Captures Hidden Stake

The inner walls of the pipes are covered with slippery grease and condensation.

The vertically descending airflow made Lynn's tactical trench coat flutter loudly.

He spread his feet apart on either side of the galvanized pipe wall, which was only 1.2 meters in diameter, and the anti-slip teeth of his leather boots scraped against the thin sheet metal, producing a dull, muffled sound.

Above their heads, Gwen Stacy had already attached two magnetic pulleys to the shaft maintenance beam.

The high-tension Silk shot vertically down the central axis of the pipe, hanging down at Lynn's waist as a nearly transparent guide rail.

"The bottom valve is in a locked self-test state."

Gwen Stacy's voice was transmitted to her eardrums through bone conduction headphones.

"I switched off the external pneumatic switch of the negative three-layer unloading valve, and the air pressure in the pipeline is now creating a negative pressure vortex."

Lynn gripped the Silk noose with his left hand, and his body sank fifteen meters down.

The sweet, fishy smell of refrigerant in my nasal cavity suddenly intensified.

At a narrow bend in the pipe, white, cloudy droplets were slowly dripping from the hanging metal seam.

Each drop that falls onto the reflux louvers below creates a barely perceptible mist of ice crystals.

The person carrying the goods was inside a right-angled buffer box six meters below.

The other party was carrying a heavy radiation-proof refrigerated pack, weighing over forty kilograms, making it impossible for them to make a rapid turnback in the cramped pipe.

A crisp sound came from the bottom of the pipe as metal fasteners struck the pipe wall.

The escaping agents noticed the unusual airflow overhead and frantically tried to pry open the emergency repair escape door with tools.

Lynn gave him no chance to catch his breath.

He released his grip on the pipe wall and plummeted straight down, clinging to the Silk.

The force of gravity suddenly tightened the Silk less than two meters from the buffer box, dissipating all the downward potential energy.

Lynn used the momentum in mid-air to half-turn, and slashed down diagonally with the Obsidian broken sword in his right hand.

With a soft tearing sound, the silk was torn.

The broken sword sliced through the thin sheet metal on top of the buffer tank as easily as cutting fermented bean curd, and then pressed down with the spine of the sword, directly jamming the rotating gears of the escape door below.

The escape route was completely blocked within half a second.

The agent inside the box turned around in a panic, revealing a pale face covered in black oil stains.

The man was wearing gray overalls from the Starport Maintenance Depot, with no name tag on his collar. He held a large-caliber pneumatic injection gun in his right hand and tightly clutched a portable explosion-proof box sealed with lead sheeting in his left arm.

The moment Lynn landed, a desperate, ferocious glint flashed in the agent's eyes.

He didn't even try to point the gun at Lynn; instead, he held the gun to his own throat with his hand behind his back, his thumb about to pull the trigger.

That was a high-pressure nerve agent used by professional assassins to destroy the brain's memory.

Lynn remained expressionless, her body not even fully touching the ground.

His falling left knee slammed heavily into the agent's chest. With a loud thud, the air in the agent's lungs was instantly squeezed out, and he let out a short, muffled groan.

At the same time, Lynn flipped his right wrist, and the Obsidian broken sword left a trail of afterimages in the extremely cramped space.

The sword's edge precisely pierced the gap in the wrist bone of the agent's right hand.

The pneumatic injection gun flew out of his hand, smashed into the metal base plate, and broke in two. The colorless and clear Venom sizzled and corroded the ground, creating a patch of bubbles.

Lynn grabbed the agent's chin with his other hand, and with his thumb and forefinger simultaneously squeezed inwards, dislocating the man's jaw joint with a snap.

The wax-sealed venom sac hidden inside the molar rolled out and was crushed in the oil by Lynn's boot.

The entire capture took less than two seconds.

Gwen Stacy landed lightly behind Lynn, the beam of her tactical flashlight instantly striking the agent.

Within the flashlight's beam, the sealed lead box was emitting a low, buzzing sound.

All four LEDs on the side of the enclosure are lit up red, and the temperature reading is stable at minus forty degrees Celsius.

Gwen Stacy knelt on the ground, her tactical-gloved fingertips prying open the case, revealing a long, crystal-clear SIM card chip lying quietly inside.

The intricate Magic Circuit etched on the surface of the card core flickered slightly with a breathing-like frequency.

This is the third set of parent stock that was originally scheduled to be transported away.

Contrary to expectations, the other party did not successfully transport all the parent samples to the top floor. Instead, they employed an extremely sophisticated escape tactic, attempting to use the chaos to smuggle out a core sample by a single individual.

Gwen Stacy quickly closed the lead box and re-tightened the sealing valve, cutting off the weak signal leakage.

Lynn pressed one knee down on the agent's mid-spine and completed the body search with one hand.

From a hidden pocket inside his agent's lining, he pulled out an ultra-thin, flexible terminal only three millimeters thick, along with a neatly folded, waterproof Star Map.

Lynn unfolded the Star Map.

That wasn't a defense zone plan inside the Starport, but a one-way heading coordinate map showing detailed jump trajectories.

The route begins at the outermost edge of Starport, at the long-abandoned Deep Space No. 17 Decompression Anchorage, and ends at a stateless outer replenishment Helicarrier codenamed "Styx".

Gwen Stacy leaned closer and lightly touched the back of the flexible terminal with her fingertips, and the screen automatically lit up without a password.

That was an insider list set up for one-way offline synchronization.

The top of the list prominently displayed the code names of the Logistics Office, the Deputy Military Police Officer of the Defense District, and several confidential staff officers.

Deeper into the communication logs, there was a pre-set briefing that had not yet been sent:

"The third mother ship has departed the tower. We are now at No. 17 Anchorage. Please, Ferryman, light the torch."

Gwen Stacy looked up at Lynn:

"Caught red-handed."

"If this list is submitted, half of the senior logistics staff of the Management Committee will be sent to interrogation room number zero by the Stability Maintenance Office."

The agent collapsed to the ground, drool dripping from his dislocated jaw, his eyes fixed on the Star Map in Lynn's hand, a hoarse sound emanating from his throat.

Lynn tucked the terminal back into the lining of his briefcase and casually folded the Star Map in half to put it away.

He's not Watchmaker.

Lynn stood up and patted the rust off the hem of her trench coat.

"He's just a dead dog fed up by the Logistics Office."

"Signal Hela so her people can come down and collect the bodies and people."

Gwen Stacy put away her dual pistols, her gaze falling on the lead box, her expression solemn:

"We've retrieved one set of the original material; the magic drained from the launch pad on the rooftop has been cut off."

"But Wanda and Hela are both up there, so this won't be an easy hurdle to overcome."

Chapter 697: A Dark Red Probe from the Blind Spot of the Server Room, Wanda Remotely Touches an Old Wound

The smoke and dust in the main control room had long been dispersed by the cross breeze.

The Black Crow Honor Guard used their Obsidian Long Halberd to drag the half-dead agent out of the corridor, leaving a winding trail of black oil on the floor.

Hela didn't go down into the shaft. She leaned against the tactical support pillar outside the machine room door, her arms crossed over her chest, the long, black sword resting diagonally against her boot.

Her narrow eyes peered through the broken door frame, coldly surveying the activity inside the server room, a mocking smile playing on her lips.

The innermost part of the server room, a dimly lit dead corner of the server racks.

Wanda stood blocking the narrow passageway, the hem of her lab coat fluttering slightly in the still air, casting a distorted, elongated shadow on the concrete floor in the dim red light.

The humidity in the air suddenly drops, bringing a dry feeling like cracked skin.

"The third set of parent stock."

Wanda's voice was very soft, yet it seemed to whisper in Lynn's ear.

She didn't look at the lead box Lynn handed her; her Scarlet eyes were fixed on Lynn's unbuttoned uniform collar.

Lynn stood in front of the metal cabinet less than half a foot away from her, her back pressed against the cold metal shell.

Wanda slowly raised her ungloved right hand.

A pale finger traced a line in the air, and a thin wisp of dark red magic extended through the air like a living thread, piercing through Lynn's collar and stopping below his left collarbone.

There was an old scar, about two inches long, shaped like a cross.

The wound had healed years ago, but under the stimulation of the intense magic, the subcutaneous nerves still felt a piercing, dull pain.

"The Forty-Second Execution."

Wanda took a half-inch forward, her chest almost touching Lynn's, her breath carrying a faint smell of rust.

"The execution record shows that the presiding judge issued a memory stripping order."

"But why...?"

Wanda's fingertips did not actually touch the skin, but that wisp of magic slowly swirled on the surface of the scar, seeping into the muscle through the pores, causing the muscles to twitch slightly involuntarily.

"Why is my Chaos Primordial Substance etched into your bones?"

Her eyes gradually became filled with an almost pathological obsession.

"Lynn, what exactly did you shield me from on that high platform?"

Hela outside the door shifted her stance, her combat boots striking the metal threshold with a crisp clang.

Hela didn't speak, but looked down at the two people in the shadows, her fingers resting on the hilt of her sword, her knuckles tapping rhythmically.

The eerie green light in her eyes flickered uncertainly, clearly waiting for Lynn's Defense Line to crumble.

The oppressive feeling of the dead corner of the server rack almost solidified into a tangible reality.

Lynn looked down at Wanda's face, which was inches away from his own, his expression remaining completely unchanged.

He did not back down, nor did he attempt to explain the cause and effect of that purge with words.

His right hand fell down naturally, then rose again. Without mobilizing any supernatural energy, he used only pure human physical strength to precisely grip Wanda's wrist, which was suspended in mid-air.

Lynn placed his palm on Wanda's cold pulse point, pressing his thumb inward three millimeters with slight force.

That's a standard dull ache pressure point that an agent uses in close combat to stop an opponent from exerting force.

The pain wasn't intense, but it was enough to bring someone back to their senses from a state of frenzied mental breakdown.

Wanda's long eyelashes trembled violently, and the magical threads wrapped around her fingertips suddenly disintegrated into dust.

"Minister Maximoff."

Lynn's voice was calm and restrained, even carrying a hint of the stiffness and businesslike manner characteristic of office documents.

According to Article 21 of the "Code of Conduct for High-Risk Personnel Handling Classified Matters in Wartime," a safe distance of more than one meter must be maintained when handling unde-sensitized evidence.

"If your mental threshold is irreversibly exceeded, I have the right to request the Internal Affairs Inspection Office to administer emergency sedation procedures to you, in accordance with the National Defense Regulations."

Lynn's hand remained firmly on her wrist, even pressing her arm down into her lab coat.

Wanda stared intently into Lynn's eyes.

Those deep black pupils were like a still pool, reflecting her almost insane image—no fear, no flinching, and no cheap pity.

It was an extreme rationality, a look that only appeared in the eyes of someone who had shielded her from the collapsing debris in the ruins.

The Scarlet in Wanda's eyes slowly faded, replaced by a deeper, darker hue.

She didn't pull her wrist away, letting Lynn hold it, her voice so low it was almost a whisper:

You're always so calm.

"So calm... it makes you want to cut open your chest and see if there's even a beating heart inside."

Lynn released his grip, took a half step back, and widened the distance between them again.

He pulled a blank handover form from the inside pocket of his trench coat, quickly signed his name on the cold cabinet shell, and stuffed it, along with the lead box, into Wanda's arms.

"The parent plant was reviewed by the Department of Technology."

"As for the old wounds on the bones, those are routine marks from being grazed by stray bullets during early fieldwork. If the minister is interested, he can access the medical records of the Level 3 agents."

In the shadows of the hallway outside the door, Hela let out a very low, cold laugh.

Hela lightly stroked the hilt of her sword, her dark green cloak billowing in the wind, her tone full of mockery:

"Director Lynn's heartbeat was a beat slow just now."

"A mortal's body that provokes women it shouldn't will eventually be burned to ashes."

Lynn straightened his collar, which had been bent askew by the wind, and calmly stepped out of the shadows, passing by Hela.

"If Director Hela has too much energy, why don't she go check out the power distribution room?"

Lynn didn't stop; her voice echoed down the corridor.

"The main power supply to the broadcast tower was cut off, but the smell of diesel fuel from the auxiliary building had been wafting through the ventilation vents for a full three minutes."

Chapter 698: The Smell of Kerosene in Front of the Distribution Box; Monk's Attempt to Conceal the Evidence of Arson Was Intercepted.

The broadcast tower has a three-story auxiliary building and a backup high-voltage power distribution room.

The strong smell of industrial diesel fuel mingled with the musty rust odor, and the air was so dry it was practically flammable.

The door hinges were coated with a thick layer of grease, and they opened without making a sound.

Commander Monk stood alone between two rows of gray switch boxes.

The top three metal buttons of his crisp general's uniform were undone, and the single gold thread on his epaulettes gleamed like oil stains under the dim red emergency light.

At Monk's feet were two dark green military-grade explosion-proof diesel drums, their lids already unscrewed, and yellowish-brown heavy oil was spreading down the sloping concrete floor toward the main cable drainage ditch.

His movements were extremely fast, and the muscles around his eyes twitched uncontrollably.

The troop transport vehicle in the Third Defense Zone exploded in front of the Cold Storage, the recordings from the black box fell into Lynn's hands, and the original copy from the Department of Technology was captured alive inside the tower.

All the firewalls collapsed.

Once this fire is lit, completely burning the underlying fiber optic cable connecting the main tower and the outer Starport, creating a data meltdown that appears to be a death, he can use the reserved deep-space engine to forcefully take off.

Monk pulled a box of military-grade windproof matches from his waist.

Those are magnesium powder fuse matches used by special forces; they won't go out when wet and burn at temperatures as high as 2,000 degrees Celsius.

He pulled one out, his rough fingertips pressing against the edge of the red scales.

Snap

A weak spark exploded in the darkness, illuminating his ferocious and twisted face.

Just as the flame was about to touch the oil surface.

The louvers of the ventilation duct three meters above my head suddenly collapsed without warning.

An extremely thin white Silk, like a whip, pierced the air and precisely stuck to the matchstick in Monk's right hand.

A tremendous force suddenly came.

The match was forcibly carried through the air and landed five meters away in an empty metal box that had been prepared beforehand, where it was locked shut with a metal lid with a click.

Monk's expression changed drastically, and he instinctively drew his pulse self-defense pistol from his waist.

"Who?!"

His response was a heavy, resounding slamming of the door.

The double fireproof iron door of the power distribution room was torn off the door frame by two heavy Obsidian Long Halberd.

Four Black Crow Honor Guard, wielding energy shields, stormed into the building, the riot shockwave washing away the diesel fuel on the ground, turning it into a cloud of white foam.

Just as Monk raised his gun, the commander of the guards swept his Long Halberd down with a whooshing Death Energy.

Clang!

The Pulse Pistol was cleaved in two by the halberd blade, and the broken high-voltage battery burst out with a string of blue-white arcs on the concrete ground.

Two heavy energy shields slammed shut from the left and right sides, pressing Monk firmly against the cold, load-bearing concrete wall.

"Let me go!"

Monk struggled desperately, the cuffs of his general's uniform were torn by the edge of the shield, and buttons fell to the ground.

"I am the highest-ranking military officer of the Third Defense Zone of the Management Committee! According to the combat readiness regulations, you have no right to detain me!"

Gwen Stacy landed lightly from the ventilation duct, his leather boots landing on the dry ground that hadn't been soaked by diesel fuel.

A strand of silver Silk dangled from the cuff of her tactical trench coat, her eyes cold.

"Commander Monk, the zone dispatch log shows you were directing the evacuation from the outer perimeter when the Seventh Gate exploded."

"But you showed up at the core equipment room of the broadcast tower with forty liters of heavy oil."

Chapter Three of the "Detailed Rules for the Management of Ordnance and Facilities in Extraordinary Times" states that arson that damages defense nodes during wartime will result in immediate demotion.

Steady footsteps echoed from outside the corridor.

Lynn, carrying a briefcase, stepped into the electrical room, trudging through the broken glass and cable debris scattered on the floor.

Hela followed two steps behind him, her short sword twirling deftly at her fingertips, her eyes filled with disdain.

Wanda stood silently at the threshold, clutching the sealed lead box, a dark red magic swirling around the hem of her skirt, a deathly stillness and oppression.

The three leaders were present at the same time.

The air inside the electrical room instantly dropped to freezing point.

As Monk was pinned against the wall, his pupils contracted to their maximum size as he looked at the scene before him.

He knew he was completely finished.

But the fear on his face quickly turned into a wild, reckless laugh.

"Hahahaha... Lynn! You think you can settle this score just by catching me?!"

Monk's temples bulged with veins, and spittle flew onto the shield in front of him.

"You're too late!"

"The deep-space jump engine on the outer edge of the main port ignited and entered its overload countdown ten minutes ago!"

Even if you obtain all the card cores, the Ghost Ship at No. 17 Anchorage will never be left to the Management Committee!

Chapter 699: Joint Interrogation Under the Three Seals, Monk's Defense Line Pierced by Recording

A metal desk was temporarily moved into the center of the smashed server room.

The desktop bore the charred marks of a fire, and its four corners had been blunted by Obsidian dagger.

Lynn sat on the only intact iron chair behind the table.

To the left of the desk, Wanda stood expressionless, her fingertips beneath her lab coat occasionally flashing a faint red light.

On the right, Hela leaned against the edge of the desk, a pair of long combat boots casually draped over the metal crossbar, and a black-armored longsword stuck in the center of the desk, its blade radiating a chilling aura.

Gwen Stacy stood upright behind Lynn, holding a mobile tactical terminal, and was responsible for recording the entire process.

Monk was forced to sit on a metal folding stool opposite him with his arms bound behind his back by two heavy magnetic handcuffs.

His general's epaulets had been brutally torn off by the Imperial Guard and thrown into the ashes at his feet.

"Monk, Garrison Commander the Third Defense Zone."

Lynn opened his briefcase and pulled out a joint interrogation order bearing the seals of all three parties.

His voice was soft, without anger or the usual roaring of an interrogator; it was as calm as if he were reading a quarterly supplies report.

"Fourteen minutes ago, the troop carrier No. 094 outside the Cold Storage illegally self-destructed and exploded."

"Twelve minutes ago, the power distribution room in the auxiliary building of the broadcasting tower was vandalized by heavy oil dumping."

"Two unopened barrels of military diesel fuel were seized at the scene. The barrel batch number is 'DEF-03-LOG,' and they belong to the combat readiness reserves of your directly subordinate logistics company."

Monk lowered his head, his jaw clenched until it turned white:

"What does that prove?"

"The fire in the electrical distribution room was caused by a spontaneous combustion triggered by a fault in the underlying circuitry. I went to the scene to organize the rescue efforts!"

"As for the diesel fuel, it's a routine dispatch from the military police battalion. Someone's framing me!"

Lynn didn't look up; he simply pulled a miniature black box, which had been salvaged from the wreckage of an troop carrier, from his briefcase.

The surface of the black box was charred and deformed, but the data indicator lights inside still glowed with a faint yellow light.

Lynn extended his index finger and pressed the audio playback button on the side.

Sizzle--

The faint sound of high-frequency electrical telegrams echoed in the deathly silent machine room.

Immediately afterwards, the loudspeaker emitted Monk's highly recognizable deep voice reporting, along with the encrypted intercom from the cleaners inside the Cold Storage:

"... The parent material has been taken away... Commander Monk ordered that the self-destruct mechanism be activated three minutes after Lynn enters the Cold Storage, shifting all blame to the Department of Technology for unauthorized energy extraction..."

Lynn paused the recording after only seven seconds.

"The voiceprint comparison has been approved by the Liaison Office's voiceprint database."

Lynn raised his eyelids and his gaze fell on Monk's face.

"It's not just recording."

Lynn then took out a metal fragment with engravings from his pocket and slammed it onto the table with a soft snap.

"This is an offline engraving machine punch recovered from your military police camp's underground repair shop."

"The wear gap on it is 0.02 millimeters, which perfectly matches the scratches on the counterfeit master's anti-counterfeiting barcode."

"The troop transport vehicle dispatch order bears your personal seal, and the repair shop's delivery slip bears your classified signature."

Lynn leaned forward slightly, placing his hands on the table with his fingers interlaced.

"Commander Monk, in accordance with Section 1 of the ' Management Committee's Law on Treason and Wartime Defense Betrayal'."

"The chain of evidence is now closed. There's no need for Joint Conference hearing. With the signatures of the three top officials present, the Stability Maintenance Office can make a decision on you right here."

Hearing Hela, Hela's smile widened.

She gripped the hilt of the sword on the table, her wrist flicking slightly, and the Obsidian longsword emitted a deep, clear metallic sound.

I'd be happy to do it for you.

Hela's voice sounded just like the cold wind blowing from the depths of the Nordic ice.

"In Asgard, the fate of a traitor is to be hung on a spear and have his entrails eaten by crows for seven days."

Wanda, standing on the left, did not draw her sword, but visible ripples appeared in the air around her.

The metal parts around the server rack began to creak and twist under the pressure of the telekinetic force.

The immense pressure was like an invisible mountain, crashing down on Monk's chest.

Large beads of sweat mixed with oil from his face dripped down Monk's chin and onto the floor.

His prized military rank, connections, and escape routes proved as fragile as paper under the ironclad chain of evidence and the watchful eyes of two powerful figures.

Monk's shoulders finally gave way.

His breathing became heavy and disordered, and the last glimmer of hope in his eyes was completely extinguished.

I said...

A dry, hoarse sound came from Monk's throat.

"But I have one condition... guarantee my family's safe departure from Starport..."

You have no bargaining chips.

Lynn coldly interrupted him.

"If you reveal who was the last person to receive the mother, your case will proceed through a normal military court trial, without implicating your family."

"If you don't tell, Director Hela can rip your soul out and hang it on top of the broadcast tower right now."

Monk shivered, his gaze lingering on Lynn's cold face for three seconds before he finally closed his eyes in despair.

"It's the ' Ferryman '..."

Monk squeezed out the name through gritted teeth.

"I don't know his real name, but he possessed the highest-level access code during the early days of the Management Committee's establishment."

"All the SIM card chips that leave the Department of Technology will eventually end up in his hands, and he will then send them out of the Starport."

Chapter 700: The snake-patterned copper key pulled from the hidden pocket of his collar points directly to the blind spot in deep space of the Starport.

"Ferryman?"

Gwen Stacy paused slightly with her stenographer, then quickly swiped through the high-level access code database within the Management Committee on her tactical terminal.

"No results found. This is an unofficial, underground code."

Gwen Stacy reported in a low voice.

Monk, sitting on the metal folding stool, gave a bitter laugh; his expression was completely numb.

"Of course you can't find it..."

"He was Covert Operatives planted in the lower echelons of Starport by several veterans on the eve of the S.H.I.E.L.D.. purge."

"Aside from the core files of the Joint Conference, no system records his existence."

Lynn showed no surprise whatsoever.

He leaned back in his chair and tapped his knuckles lightly twice on the table:

How did he leave Starport?

"Although the defensive Force Field of the Seventh Star Ring was shaken by the mother structure, the Black Crow Honor Guard Army on the outer perimeter did not withdraw its defenses."

"Conventional ships simply cannot penetrate the interception zone."

Monk coughed violently twice, his chest heaving, and then laboriously moved his handcuffed arms.

"The key... is inside the collar of my inner lining..."

Two Black Crow Honor Guard immediately stepped forward and roughly tore open the collar of Monk's casual clothes.

With a ripping sound.

Inside the innermost layer of the woolen military uniform, near the neck, a tiny, hard object completely encased in lead sheeting was sewn in.

The commander of the guards drew his short blade, cut open the seam, and pulled out a sealed lead box the size of a palm, which he respectfully presented to the desk.

A layer of special anti-tamper wax was welded onto the clasp of the lead box.

Lynn drew his Obsidian sword, carefully removed the wax seal with the tip, and opened the box.

There are no high-tech Chip or micro memory cards inside.

On a black velvet cushion lay a dark, bronze-green, old key.

The key is about ten centimeters long, with an extremely primitive construction, and is made entirely of solid brass.

The handle of the key is engraved with a pattern of two intertwined snakes biting each other's tails.

That's not a symbol of the mainstream forces in the Marvel Universe.

Rather, it was an offline mechanical key used in certain extremely secret bases during the Darkest Hour between Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D.. in the last century.

The moment Wanda's gaze fell upon the bronze key, her pupils contracted sharply.

She seemed to vaguely detect a nauseating, stale odor within the ancient metallic sheen.

Hela raised an eyebrow and reached out to grab the keys:

"Can a piece of scrap metal really be used as proof of escape?"

"Don't touch it."

Lynn reached out and pressed his hand against the edge of the lead box, blocking Hela's hand.

Hela's hand froze in mid-air, her eyes slightly cold.

"Director Lynn, are you guarding against me?"

"The copper spoon is coated with a neurotoxin that inhibits neuroactivity and also contains trace amounts of deep-space radiation."

Lynn's voice was calm as he took out a pair of anti-static rubber gloves from his briefcase and put them on.

"According to the ' Wartime Physical Evidence Cross-Supervision Regulations,' all unknown and dangerous evidence shall be sealed and registered by the highest-ranking administrative official at the crime scene, and may only be circulated after being thoroughly disinfected by the Department of Technology."

"That's the rule, Director Hela."

Hela stared at Lynn's gloved fingers, gave a cold laugh, and finally withdrew her hand:

"The rules you spout might just keep you alive."

Lynn ignored her sarcasm.

He used special tweezers to pick up the double-headed snake-patterned copper spoon, carefully placed it into a thickened lead-glass radiation-proof test tube, and then stuffed it into the bottom of the Director's briefcase.

Sitting opposite him, Monk watched Lynn's fluid movements and instructed in a hoarse voice:

"This is the only physical key to unlock the offline control gate at the Starport Deep Space Anchorage No. 17."

"No. 17 Anchorage was sealed off and abandoned before the Management Committee was established, and it was not connected to the central AI system."

"That's where the old, armed ghost ships are hidden..."

"The Ferryman must light a fire there to force his way through the star ring and leap."

Lynn snapped the clasp on his briefcase shut with a crisp metallic click.

"Gwen Stacy, notify the military police's direct detachment to take Monk back to the First Confinement Zone and keep him under solitary confinement."

Lynn stood up and dusted off her trench coat.

"The signed confirmation from all three parties will be submitted to the Joint Conference shortly."

Chapter 701: The Hidden Tremors at No. 17 Anchorage, Lynn Redraws Jurisdiction Defense Zones

The storm outside the broadcast tower has mostly subsided.

The thick, orange-yellow steam gradually dissipated, revealing the array of black crows hovering in the outer sky.

Two heavy Obsidian troop transport airships landed on the plaza in front of the damaged tower.

Lynn stood at the edge of the slope, holding two newly printed copies of the "Wartime Defense Takeover Order".

Wanda stood three steps to his left, arms crossed over her chest, clutching the lead box containing the third mother copy tightly, radiating a menacing aura that kept strangers at bay.

Hela stood to the right, with the commander of the royal guard bowing behind her, his Long Halberd hanging to the ground.

"The military police company of the Seventh Defense Zone is suspected of a mass mutiny."

Lynn handed the first document to Hela.

"The commander of the defense zone has been executed, but the three armored battalions on the outer perimeter are still acting recklessly."

"The Stability Maintenance Office has taken full control of the Seventh Gate and the outer Defense Line, implementing martial law and thorough investigations. All military officers involved in the case are personally identified and purged by Director Hela."

Hela glanced at the joint signatures of Lynn and the Department of Technology on the official document, a hint of satisfaction flashing in her eyes.

This meant that the entire defense of the Seventh Defense Zone naturally fell into her hands.

"My men are always very efficient at purging traitors."

Hela accepted the official document, gave Lynn a deep look, and then led her guards toward the airship.

After Hela's figure disappeared through the hatch, Lynn turned around and handed the second document to Wanda.

"The third set of parent samples has been recovered. The launch pad has been cut off from power, and external power extraction has been temporarily suspended."

"The main reactor on the fifth basement level of the Department of Technology needs to be injected with this parent material immediately for synchronous frequency suppression."

Lynn looked into Wanda's slightly tired but still cold eyes.

"The seal on Zero Storage Room cannot withstand a fourth Impact; the Minister must personally oversee its re-incineration."

Wanda gripped the lead box in her arms tightly, her knuckles turning white.

She knew Lynn was deliberately trying to get rid of her and prevent her from getting involved in the upcoming deep space manhunt.

But Lynn was right. Zero Storage Room was her lifeline; if it got out of control, the entire Starport would be reduced to nothing.

"Lynn."

Wanda took a step closer, her voice extremely low, even carrying a hint of warning chill:

"Don't lose that brass key."

"And certainly don't die in that rotten tin can where there's no sunlight."

"Otherwise, I will wipe everything you left behind, along with this Starport, completely obliterate it."

As soon as she finished speaking, dark red Chaos Magic suddenly enveloped her entire body.

A rift tore open in the void, and Wanda stepped in, her figure instantly vanishing into thin air.

The two Skyfather-level combat forces were completely separated.

The tense standoff was averted with just two orders from Lynn.

Only Lynn and Gwen Stacy remained in the square.

The cold wind ruffled the strands of hair on Gwen Stacy's forehead.

She quickly walked to the tactical off-road vehicle, opened the passenger door, and turned to look at Lynn:

"Deep Space Anchorage No. 17?"

"Use underground vacuum guide rails."

Lynn got into the driver's seat, fastened his seatbelt, and placed his briefcase securely between his knees.

"We only have ten minutes to retrieve the original structural diagram of No. 17 Anchorage."

The SUV roared and sped into the underground maintenance tunnel with a deep rumble.

Ten minutes later.

The most basic, untouched area of Starport.

The air temperature here has dropped below minus ten degrees Celsius, and the steel walls are covered with a thick layer of white frost.

The heavy iron gate was painted with a huge yellow skull and crossbones symbol in red paint, with the words "Severe Radiation, Extreme Danger" written on it.

There were no guards around, not even a single working surveillance camera.

This is a blind spot completely forgotten by the Management Committee.

Lynn and Gwen Stacy walked through the abandoned disinfection corridor and stopped in front of the giant cast iron gate of Deep Space No. 17 Decompression Chamber.

The surface of the gate was covered with dark red rust, resembling a spider web.

In the very center of the gate is a purely mechanical keyhole without any electronic interface, the edges of which are engraved with a double-headed snake pattern that is exactly the same as that of the copper key.

Lynn took the lead test tube out of his briefcase, uncorked it, and used tweezers to pick out the old brass key.

The key slid into the lock.

The sound of gears meshing echoed jarringly in the empty corridor.

Click.

The heavy latch springs open under the action of internal mechanical linkage.

However, before Lynn could even turn the handle...

Boom!

The iron door of the entire heavy decompression chamber shook violently without warning.

The rubber seal around the door gap burst open instantly.

A stream of dark green, alien corrosive viscous liquid with an extremely pungent, fishy odor gushed out from the door crack like a high-pressure water gun.

The viscous liquid that fell onto the cement floor emitted a hissing, intense white smoke, and within half a second, the hard granite tiles were melted, creating bottomless holes.

Behind the heavy, mountain-like cast iron gate.

A sharp screech rang out, one that was neither human nor even any known carbon-based life form in the Marvel.

Hiss--!

The shrill sound pierced through the iron plate, causing the ventilation ducts throughout the anchorage to shake violently like a sieve.