From Titan Corporation to the Empire of Man

Chapter 770 "Never Becoming Numb from Habit"

Night fell like a thick velvet cloth, enveloping the ravaged city.

In stark contrast to the dazzling lights of the sleepless cities on Earth in the main universe, the nights here are "dominated" by a kind of oppressive stillness and sporadic flashing red warning lights.

A strict curfew is in effect.

Through the invisible holographic glasses, Leon and the others could clearly see that the uniformly dressed "soldiers" and another group of "traitor" violent units, whose weapons were slightly inferior but whose behavior was equally brutal, were driving away the few pedestrians on the street.

They shoved the staggering citizens with their gun butts, their shouts echoing through the empty streets, forcing everyone back to their prison-like homes.

"Attention all units: No one is allowed to go out during the curfew!"

Repeat: No one is allowed to leave the premises during curfew! Those who disobey will be treated as resistance fighters!

The cold, mechanically synthesized warning sounds played repeatedly on a loop through loudspeakers set up on street corners and high-rise buildings, like a dirge for this dead city.

“It seems the ‘owner’ here doesn’t like nighttime social activities,” Mike said in a low voice, his tone laced with sarcasm.

“A curfew is beneficial to their control and makes it easier for them to carry out any activities they don’t want the civilians to see,” Lyon calmly analyzed. “We must be more careful in our actions.”

As he watched the distant streets gradually empty out, leaving only the heavy footsteps of the patrol team and the low growl of the armored vehicle engines, Lyon made his decision.

"Mike, control the remaining 'flying insects' and conduct one last high-intensity scan of the surrounding blocks, highlighting patrol changeover points, fixed sentry posts, and blind spots in surveillance. There are still thirty minutes of battery left, so make the most of them."

"clear."

Mike immediately took action, and several miniature drones disguised as insects silently took off, blended into the night, and began to carry out their final mission: to transmit more detailed map data back.

“We need a temporary safe house,” Lyon continued, his gaze sweeping over the outlines of the surrounding buildings. “We can’t stay exposed to the elements indefinitely. We need a base where we can rest, analyze data, and serve as a base for our next move.”

“Agreed,” Maggie succinctly agreed.

The three began using the data transmitted by the drone and their own observations to find a suitable landing spot.

They noticed that although the abandoned urban areas on the outskirts of the city were also included in the curfew, the patrol tracks of those "soldiers" and "traitors" showed that the control there was relatively loose.

However, the patrol teams responsible for that area consisted of highly mobile armored vehicle convoys and low-altitude patrol boats.

“It doesn’t seem like they’re lax in their management because it’s unimportant.” Lyon pointed to the dense patrol routes marked on the map. “On the contrary, it seems like they’re on high alert for something. It looks like there might still be resistance forces active in these ruins that are giving the occupiers a headache.”

This discovery gave them a great boost.

Resistance groups represent potential sources of intelligence and potential allies.

With their objective clear, the three once again transformed into "ghosts" and began their dangerous infiltration through the curfew-bound city.

Their figures moved swiftly among the broken walls and ruins, using every shadow and every pile of rubble as cover.

Infiltration became the only theme at this moment.

As a bio-mechanical patrol boat, trailing a ghostly blue plume of flame, skimmed low overhead, they clung to a recess in the wall, their optical camouflage perfectly synchronized with the concrete of the environment, until the unsettling roar faded into the distance.

A patrol team of four "soldiers" turned out from the street corner with neat, "stiff" steps. They immediately slipped into the interior of a half-collapsed shop, listening to the sound of metal boots striking the pavement as it grew louder and louder.

A heavy armored personnel carrier roared down the main road, its heavy wheels crunching over the gravel, using the noise as cover as it sped across an open square.

On one occasion, they almost ran into a drone that was silently patrolling between buildings, and the three of them quickly took cover in an underground ventilation shaft.

The entire process was thrilling but ultimately safe, thanks to their extensive experience, advanced equipment, and absolute composure.

Ultimately, they successfully infiltrated a typical Eastern European-style apartment building located on the edge of an abandoned urban area.

The building is six stories high, with bullet holes and fire marks all over its exterior walls. Most of the windows are broken, making it look like a huge concrete skeleton.

Upon entering the building, the scars of war became even more shocking.

The corridors and stairwells were riddled with bullet holes, and the walls bore charred marks from the explosion.

In some corners, one can even see the remains of victims, long since reduced to bones.

Some of the skeletons were dressed in ordinary, now rotten and tattered civilian clothes, huddled in a corner;
Others stood with fragments of old-fashioned military uniforms and rusty weapons scattered around them, maintaining their final fighting stances.

Mike crouched down and carefully examined a skeleton leaning against the wall. He ran his finger over the residue on the bone and looked at the marks around the bullet holes.

“These traces of gunfire and the bodies are at least more than ten years old,” he said in a deep voice, his tone certain. “The degree of bone weathering, the type of ammunition remaining, and the dust all indicate that it has been there for quite some time.”

"After all this time, the occupiers haven't even done the most basic cleanup and burial," Maggie said coldly, surveying the battlefield frozen in time.

Lyon stood up and dusted off his hands:
"This shows that the alien forces occupying this place have absolutely no intention of operating or properly managing this planet in the long term."

They don't care about hygiene, history, or even the most basic respect for the deceased.

To them, this place might just be a resource planet to be exploited, and these surviving humans...

He looked out the window at the figures being driven away under the searchlights in the distance, "...they're probably just some kind of consumable biological resources."

"A bunch of damn parasites," Mike muttered under his breath.

“Record the situation here,” Lyon ordered. “This evidence may be useful in the future. For now, prioritize finding a relatively intact and secluded room as our safe house. We need to start data analysis as soon as possible.”

The three began a careful search of the death-filled apartment building, looking for a place where they could catch their breath and carry out their next move.

Outside the window, the sounds of patrol boat engines and mechanical warning broadcasts continued to echo, reminding them that danger was never far away.

Dust drifted slowly in the dim beam of light streaming through the broken window, each breath carrying the scent of decay and decay.

Behind every half-open door, in every dusty corner, lies a life ended by violence.

Broken picture frames, scattered household items, and dark stains solidified on the walls silently tell the story of the building's final moments of chaos and despair.

When the search reached a unit on the east side of the third floor, Lyon pushed open the bedroom door, which was now covered in faded and peeling cartoon stickers.

As dust settled, the scene inside the room caused even the battle-hardened Leon and his two companions to pause in their tracks.

In the center of the floor, several small skeletons were scattered.

Judging from the size of their bones, these people would not have been older than ten years old when they died.

Their tiny skeletons remained frozen in place, curled up or prone in various positions—

Some huddled close to the foot of the bed, as if seeking a sliver of shelter in their final moments;
Some lay face down near the doorway, seemingly having tried to escape in terror;

A smaller skeleton was curled up in the corner, next to a badly faded plush rabbit. Scattered around the skeletons were tattered picture books, broken crayons, and a small rocking horse.

On the cover of a fairy tale book that was mostly burned, the words "The Happy Prince" can still be faintly seen.

These items, which once held laughter and dreams, are now slowly returning to dust in these ruins, along with their young owners.

Those tiny skeletons gleamed a pale white in the dim light, and every rib and finger bone was clearly visible.

They "tell" of the fear and despair of having nowhere to escape when the end of the world comes, and seem to allow people to hear the last cries that are forever frozen in time.

"Damn it," Mike couldn't help but mutter under his breath.

His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white from the force, and the muscles in his arms were as hard as stone.

He turned abruptly around, seemingly unwilling to look at the heartbreaking scene any longer, his voice filled with barely suppressed anger:

"I really want to call the front-line base right now and have the Flame Lizards' Astartes drop down directly, and use molten metal and explosive bombs to plow through these bastards and those alien monsters from head to toe!"
Don’t leave any one behind!”

The blood-stained growl echoed in the empty room, his chest heaving violently, his eyes burning with an almost explosive rage.

But soon, Mike took a deep breath and forced himself to calm his surging emotions.

He raised his hand and wiped his face vigorously, shook his head, and said in a low, helpless tone, "...It was just something I said in anger. I know it won't work."

He knew better than anyone that, with the enemy situation unclear and civilians mixed in, launching a large-scale assault rashly could result in stray bullets from any weapon potentially injuring survivors hiding in buildings, and the shockwaves from explosive bombs causing entire blocks to collapse. Not to mention, a desperate enemy might launch a retaliatory massacre in the civilian area.
The consequences would be unimaginable, and the number of casualties would be astronomical.

Every innocent person who falls in the crossfire will become the price for their failed operation.

"."

Leon patted Mike on the shoulder silently without saying a word.

He, Mike, and Maggie, along with many others, have witnessed far too many children die throughout their long careers.

But every time they see it, the sadness, anger, and helplessness that come from human instinct still strike their hearts hard, never becoming numb from habit.

This is what distinguishes them from the cold-blooded war machine, and it is also one of the driving forces behind their unwavering commitment.

Suppressing the turmoil in their hearts, the three continued their search and finally chose a room at the end of the corridor on the fourth floor of the apartment building as a temporary base.

The room is relatively intact, has a good view, and offers multiple escape routes.

The subsequent division of labor was clear and efficient.

Mike was in charge of organizing the internal affairs, taking stock of and checking his personal equipment and supplies to ensure that weapons were in optimal condition, communication devices had sufficient power, and emergency medical kits were readily available.

Leon and Maggie moved like shadows, setting up defenses at key points throughout the abandoned apartment building.

They silently installed several small man-portable mines at stairwell corners, corridor entrances, and potential vertical rappelling points.

However, these are not traditional trigger-activated explosives.

As most people have commented, "Atelier products are always top-notch," and these smart mines are equipped with advanced biometric and friend-or-foe identification systems.

Leon and Maggie input the armor characteristics of the "soldiers" and "traitors" they detected, as well as the signal patterns of common alien creatures, into the system, and set instructions to exempt civilians and non-hostile creatures, such as small conventional animals, from such creatures.

The possibility of accidental touch has been reduced to theoretically zero.

At the same time, they also installed miniature wide-angle surveillance cameras at strategic points on each floor, with signals directly connected to their contact lenses.

After repeated adjustments, it was ensured that there were almost no blind spots in the monitoring of the main passages of the entire building and the surrounding access routes.

Everything was arranged, and it was nearly midnight.

Although Leon and Michael have undergone genetic modification, giving them physical strength and energy far exceeding that of ordinary people, and Maggie is an "ultimate agent" enhanced by Compound V and various other enhancements, the continuous high-intensity stealth, reconnaissance, and mental strain still take a heavy toll.

They need to conserve their energy, because tomorrow will be the time to truly "enter the tiger's den" and begin the core infiltration mission.

As planned, Mike and Maggie rested first, while Leon took the first shift of watch.

He left the relatively "safe" room in the outpost and went to a similarly abandoned house next door, but with a good view. He hid behind a broken window sill and stood guard like a stone statue.

The city is not completely silent at night.

During the vigil, sporadic, piercing cries, pleas, and harsh shouts could occasionally drift on the night wind from the distant streets, faint yet remarkably clear.

Clearly, the security forces composed of "traitors" continued their "tireless" work at night, arresting so-called "lawbreakers" according to their cruel standards.

Each time such a sound came, Lyon's eyes grew colder.

Soon after, Maggie arrived on time to take over the shift.

His movements were silent; he simply nodded slightly to Lyon.

Leon didn't say much. He returned to his room at the base, found a relatively clean corner, lay down fully clothed, and almost instantly fell into a light sleep.

When Lyon opened his eyes again, the pale light of day outside the window had already dispelled the thick darkness of the night.

Morning comes.

Mike had prepared simple rations and clean water.

The three quickly ate, checked their equipment, and erased any traces of their presence.

"Today's objective," Leon said in a low voice as he tucked the last magazine into his concealed holster under his arm. "Focus on reconnaissance of the outer checkpoints leading into and out of the city, and look for any suspicious individuals."

He looked at his two companions and explained, "If there really is an organized resistance force in this city, it is inevitable that they will infiltrate the city to obtain supplies, transmit information, or carry out sabotage activities."

The primary obstacle, however, is figuring out how to get past those rigorous checkpoints.

“So,” Mike continued, “those checkpoints are definitely the places where resistance members are most active and where they are most likely to expose weaknesses.”

We'll lie in wait there; that's the best way to find and contact them quickly.

“That’s right.” Lyon nodded. “Get ready to go. Stay on high alert. We’re going to have a ‘lively’ day.”

The three of them once again disappeared into the shadows of the abandoned apartment building, like drops of water falling into the ocean, quietly sneaking towards the heavily guarded checkpoints on the edge of the city.

A new day foreshadows deeper dangers and crucial contacts that may disrupt the status quo.
(End of this chapter)