Chapter 1.5
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The smoke of the street battle hadn't yet cleared when Karl boarded the return transport plane.
Outside the porthole, the small town that had once housed thousands of infected shrank into a blurry black line in the twilight. The touch of the trigger still lingered on his fingertips, the cold metal pressing deep into his knuckles. The girl's eyes were like two shrapnel fragments embedded in her skull—bright, impossible to remove.
"Lieutenant Herman."
The communicator pierced the silence. He removed his goggles, rubbed his temples, and responded with a voice as steady as reciting a supply list.
"Present."
"Arrive at 'Polaris Star' in fifteen minutes. Report directly to the briefing room. New mission in Siberia."
"Roger."
He hung up and lowered his head. The aircraft lurched, the dog tag tapping lightly against his chest, engraved with four words: Solomon Defense Section.
Three years ago, he had his name engraved here. Three years later, he didn't know what that name still represented.
The transport plane landed on the stern deck of the land-based ship. The Polaris Star—Solomon's first-generation mobile base ship, its hull rusted and weathered, resembled an aged behemoth clad in iron armor, its limbs sprawled on the edge of the Siberian permafrost.
Karl walked through the ship's passageways, the metal bulkheads reflecting the stark white light. Some whispered about the previous supply rations, others cleaned weapons, but no one spoke of the small town that had been cleared.
The briefing room door closed behind him, cutting off all sounds unrelated to the mission.
The holographic projection unfolded, red markers spreading like a plague towards Moscow.
The commander didn't look at him, his fingertip pointing to the core of the Calamity Cluster.
"Reach the first line of defense in four hours. Your mission—survive as many as possible, then kill them all."
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