"Look!" She pointed to another monitor and displayed what was happening there on the main screen.
And again—events I already knew about from my fights with the Crimson Heads. Hmm. From the outside, the way I dodged and then hurled the first one's body out the window looked pretty cool. I'm even a little ashamed to admit that if it hadn't been for the instincts I'd acquired thanks to the virus—and a bit of luck—two living dead would have gone flying out the window. Still, I was proud of myself for the second fight, because that time I acted on my own.
"Hmm, strange. Some kind of new monster? Did the corporation drop someone into the city?" the leader said in surprise, then briefly reported what she'd seen over the radio.
"Delta Team. Your mission parameters have been expanded. Upon encountering the new HiF-05 development, capture the target. Do not divert from the primary objective, but once the object is secured, its delivery becomes a priority. Consider it your ticket home," someone said curtly over the squad's radio.
Oh, I'm screwed! If these guys—who, judging by the 'ticket home' comment, can't extract themselves—knew where the object was (I'll show them 'Object'), I'd already be packed up and tied with a bow on top. A gift, for crying out loud!
"Did everyone hear that?" the squad commander raised her voice. "If we encounter an unusual zombie fighting other infected, restrain it and be careful. I know you fuckers—you'll kill it first and think later. This applies especially to you, Beltway."
"Lupo," so I learned the commander's call sign, "I insist that searching for this object be treated as a priority. The infected who moves albeit awkwardly, but is clearly more intelligent than standard zombies... This is a breakthrough in virology! What if it's intelligent? We need to capture and study it immediately!"
Oh, I really don't like Foue Eyes's tone. But then again, that fanaticism—and the way she framed the question… Is she a scientist? It certainly looks like it. Heh. Luck smiled on me again.
"Stand down. You heard the order yourself. Our mission hasn't changed—it's been supplemented. If you want to dig through corpses, be my guest." Lupo said this while making an inviting gesture toward the three dead special forces soldiers.
Her subordinate snorted in dissatisfaction, accompanied by the snide laughter of the blonde and the Beltway.
***
Christine Yamata. Call sign: Erudite.
They were laughing at me again.
God, I'm so tired of all this! Maybe I should go look for this object myself? No—the odds are too slim. Still, I'm really exhausted by these stupid faces around me.
I should have become a scientist! I have the right background for the corporation—I'm a virologist! But because of my physical abilities and combat training, I was assigned to these brainless mercenaries! I'm sick of it. This is not what I wanted!
But when you have a pedigree like mine—a scientist father and a military mother—they drill you in both disciplines. A pedantic Japanese man for a father, and an impulsive Russian woman for a mother, both celebrated in their own fields. Yes, my mother is Russian. That's how unusual I am as a child. But I inherited my love of science from my father, and no matter how hard my mother tried to instill the same passion for martial arts, weapons, and military doctrine, nothing worked. Because of that, she even had several serious arguments with my father, accusing him of "raising the wrong child."
Eventually, she found a solution. She said that if I could surpass her, then I would be free to choose what I liked and what I wanted to do. Needless to say, the child I was agreed immediately—and out of sheer stubbornness, I never abandoned physical training or military disciplines, showing unprecedented zeal. Perhaps my mother hoped that, over time, dedicating so much effort to self-improvement, I would come to prefer her path, or at least develop the same affection for it that she had. But that never happened.
By the age of seventeen, I defeated my mother in a fair fight, and she kept her word. But my joy was short-lived. My exceptional physical abilities, combined with the reputation I'd already earned "thanks" to my mother, did their job. I was denied a scientific position within the corporation and instead offered a place in the "Wolf Pack."
No, the squad itself isn't that bad. There's mutual support among its members. But this place isn't for me. I want to be there—in a white lab coat—studying new viruses and making great discoveries, not here hunting zombies and soldiers. Until recently, though, these were nothing more than dreams with no chance of becoming reality. But alone, with so little information about the target, my odds are slim.
So how do I convince these stubborn idiots of the importance of this task? Even a fool can see that if Umbrella is willing to extract us—who already screwed up during the G-virus operation—and even consider canceling this mission while it's still in its infancy, then the object must be extremely important.
But no. The rest of the squad are like blind men! How do you deal with that? After all, until now we didn't even know whether we'd be pulled out at all, or how long we'd be cleaning up Umbrella's mess, because even a fool can see that our assignment won't end at City Hall. So I need to steer them toward this idea. And after capturing the target, I need to delay the squad somehow.
After all, if I get the chance to study the object, I'll gain trump cards—and a place on the laboratory staff—almost instantly! As for my teammates… they can be sacrificed once everything is over. Science requires sacrifices, and I am willing to provide them.
Karena LesProux. Call sign: Lupo. Internal communication.
"Vector, keep an eye on Foue Eyes. It seems the latest news has… agitated her a bit too much," the squad leader carefully chose her words, though both interlocutors understood their true meaning. "We don't want her doing anything stupid. Watch her. The life of the squad is more important to me than that of a single member—especially one who is far from the most reliable. One step to the side and… well, you understand."
"Yes, ma'am," the one who was about to be robbed by the object of unrest within the group replied briefly.
"Excellent. Proceed." And the secure communication channel was cut.
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