Chapter 55 56

Chapter 55: Hell

"Drip... Drip... Drip..."

That was the sound of thick blood and organs slowly falling, hitting the concrete floor, fully revealed in the beam of the police car's headlights, stabbing into the officers' hearts like a sharp knife, chilling them to the bone and sending uncontrollable shivers through their bodies.

"FUCK!"

"Get down, hands on your head!"

"Don't make me shoot, you bastard!"

This gory scene directly impacted Officers Dickie and Tevin, their blood rushing to their heads, using all their strength to control themselves to resist shooting the freak in front of them.

Yes, a cursed freak! That was their thought.

Mr. Faraday, oblivious to the officers' warnings, casually tossed aside the body in his hand as if it were mere trash, then continued staring at them with his empty gaze.

This action completely provoked Officer Tevin, a fiery young man who, without thinking, fired his gun.

"Bang!"

Mr. Faraday instinctively made a swift dodging move, but he didn't completely avoid the bullet; a small hole appeared on the outer side of his arm, and blood started flowing.

This moment stunned him; he looked down at his right hand, then back at the dark muzzle of the gun, feeling a sudden, intense threat, and once again started making that strange grumbling noise.

"Don't shoot, Tevin! Dammit, get down!"

Dickie was also on the edge, but the unarmed freak in front of them didn't seem to pose a direct threat. According to protocol, they shouldn't fire. He could only loudly remind his partner and continue to issue warnings.

But Dickie immediately regretted it.

As everything blurred before his eyes, the freak used astonishing agility to pounce forward, instantly knocking down Officer Tevin, grabbing him in a bizarre hold, and crashing through the glass window into the fast-food restaurant across the street.

This sudden turn of events left Dickie's mind blank; such strange and fast movements seemed inhuman. Hesitant to fire blindly because his partner was still in the freak's grasp, he could only desperately call for backup and cautiously approached the restaurant with his gun drawn.

Though the fast-food restaurant was still brightly lit, even showing a soap opera on the lobby's TV, under any other circumstances, Dickie would find the atmosphere lively. But now, looking at the deserted diner, it seemed like a monstrous creature was waiting to devour everything, his legs trembling slightly as he clutched his M9 semi-automatic pistol, slowly moving towards the entrance.

"Tevin! Tevin! Answer me!"

Despite his slow pace, Dickie finally reached the restaurant door. From this angle, he couldn't see anything unusual and had to muster the courage to push open the glass door, backing into it and ducking inside.

It was a typical fast-food layout, filled with uniform tables and chairs, but a long divider in the middle, topped with a few potted plants, prevented Dickie from seeing the back half of the space.

However, at this position, he began to faintly hear strange noises, like someone vigorously chewing food. What was more horrifying, he spotted a corpulent corpse—hard to identify in shape—blocked by a sofa.

Dickie felt as if he had been hexed; his steps halted as images of the mutilated body previously discarded by the freak flashed in his mind, causing intense nausea, almost making him vomit.

He was a seasoned officer, used to gruesome scenes, but it had been a long time since he'd felt such revolting stimulation.

"Bang!"

"Dammit! Come out! I swear I'll kill you!"

Cold sweat streamed down his forehead as unspeakable fear and anger seized Dickie's heart, prompting him to fire a shot into the ceiling, hoping to scare the freak out.

The sound of the gunshot was followed quickly by rustling behind the divider. Dickie instinctively stepped back.

But a dark figure, with the sound of wind, swiftly flew from the edge of the divider and crashed into him, forcefully knocking him through the shattered window and out onto the street, tumbling through the air and nearly breaking every bone as he landed.

Though nearly disassembled, Dickie gathered his strength, painfully stood up, and saw his partner Tevin's bloody, vacant eye sockets in front of him, the eyeballs nowhere to be found. The blood-red cavities were more terrifying than hell itself, startling him into staggering, repeatedly bracing himself with his hands before managing to stand up again, only to horrifyingly discover his service weapon was missing.

"Clack."

The freak leaped from the broken window again, covered in blood, and without any need for action, had already terrified Dickie out of his wits, who then frantically ran across the street.

It's over! I'm going to die!

Oh God! Jesus Christ! Save me!

For the first time in his career, Officer Dickie Quick, known for his diligence and bravery, felt regret. If only he hadn't been so eager to respond to calls. He prayed desperately in his heart for a miracle that might allow him to escape this calamity.

Perhaps it was the favor of Lady Luck or maybe God indeed heard his pleas and responded.

As Dickie ran frantically, a burst of gunfire suddenly erupted behind him.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Reinforcements had arrived!!

The usually annoying noise of shouts and sirens was now music to his ears. Dickie felt like he was waking from a never-ending nightmare, looking back with a mix of hope and the joy of finding life in a hopeless situation.

He stumbled.

He saw hell.

The horrifying shadow moved nothing like a human. Its movements were as swift as the wind, leaping meters at a time, each landing spraying blood everywhere. The screams never ceased from the beginning. The arriving officers fired continuously, mostly hitting nothing or occasionally striking the target, but to no effect as they kept falling one by one.

The entire night was stained with a layer of blood—thick, cold, mournful, and terrifying.

Dickie Quick's heart sank to the bottom, his will completely shattered, with no thoughts of stepping forward to help his colleagues. Without looking back, he dashed straight into an electronics store across the street, curling up behind the farthest counter like an ostrich, burying his head deep into the ground.

Next to him, the shop owner was also silently shivering, head covered.

The sound of gunfire outside did not last long, soon falling silent again. The street was as quiet as the dead, and Dickie, ignoring everything, remained motionless, trying to make himself as small as possible.

It was only after more than half an hour that a SWAT team conducting a thorough sweep stumbled upon the shell-shocked Officer Dickie Quick and took him to an ambulance for evaluation.

By then, Ninth Avenue had been completely cordoned off. Officers with police dogs and riot shields were patrolling in formation, and fully armed tactical squads were on high alert, searching every inch as if to unearth hidden secrets.

However, they ultimately found nothing. The monster, which had become a mythic devil in the eyes of the few eyewitnesses, had vanished into thin air.

Chapter 56: Bedrock

Arlington County, Virginia.

Headquarters of the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) in the United States.

Within a building that, from the outside, looks no different from most commercial buildings, are concentrated some of the most obsessed researchers, world-class project managers, and top elite technicians in the United States. They are dedicated to exploring cutting-edge concepts in defense and military technology and serve as the technical management department for major and special technology projects under the U.S. Department of Defense.

A thunderous roar erupted as a man dressed in motorcycle gear rode a sleek, jet-black heavyweight motorcycle at high speed into the underground parking lot. After removing his helmet, the rider revealed graying mid-length hair, surprisingly belonging to an elderly man over sixty, exuding an unconventional coolness.

The elder biker, helmet in hand, skillfully made his way through the parking area, swiped his ID card, and took the elevator up to the 11th floor, heading straight into his office on the right. Upon opening the door, he found someone already sitting in his usual spot, back turned to him.

"What wind blew you in here?"

The elder rider showed no surprise, casually placing his helmet on the rack by the door and unzipping his motorcycle jacket.

"Still as sharp as ever, no surprises for you then?"

The visitor swiveled the chair to face him, revealing a handsome middle-aged man whose charm was undiminished by the years. His short blond hair and penetrating gaze added to his distinguished appearance.

"Marlowe Chaplin. Who else but you, the flashy one, could persuade my dear Lila to open my office door?" the knight said with a wry smile, stepping forward to shake his hand.

"Old friend."

"Attlee."

Marlowe Chaplin, standing over six feet three inches tall, was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, every crease and line in perfect order, yet he exuded an aura starkly different from typical business executives. To anyone meeting him, his presence felt solid—unyielding like granite, seemingly indestructible.

He glanced at Attlee's rugged motorcycle gear and smiled, "Still riding the Bonneville?"

"I sold the '67 model," Attlee said, moving behind his desk to sit down.

"That was a good bike, take me for a ride sometime," Marlowe Chaplin raised an eyebrow, evidently interested.

"Come on, out with it. You're not the type to just visit an old friend," Attlee knew his friend well. Both were military men of a different kind, preferring to spend their free time wooing women and living lavishly—Chaplin being more of a direct action man, while he handled logistical R&D.

"You make me sound so cold-hearted," Marlowe Chaplin shrugged, his expression not betraying any sadness but becoming serious. "There was a series of vicious murders last night in Los Angeles."

Attlee nodded without changing expression, silently urging him to continue, knowing that an ordinary murder case wouldn't merit the attention of the chief commissioner of the Department of Defense's Special Operations Division.

The Special Operations Division, like DARPA, is part of the Department of Defense but operates independently of the military branches, serving the Department directly unlike DARPA, which works with the Army, Navy, and Air Force as clients.

Marlowe Chaplin, hands in his pockets, continued:

"A man apparently suffering from a mental disorder went on a rampage on a commercial street, barehandedly killing more than seven civilians and thirteen armed Los Angeles police officers before mysteriously disappearing."

Attlee finally reacted, frowning in thought:

"Sounds like something only your Special Ops guys could pull off, or did some unwise folks play some tricks and sneak in? Still, I don't see what this has to do with me."

Marlowe Chaplin shook his head seriously in response, "Our people would never harm civilians. First, listen to this witness recording."

He opened his suit jacket, pulled out a black smartphone from an inner pocket, and after a few taps, placed it on the desk. A man's voice soon played from the device.

"It was just after seven in the evening... I was watching TV in the shop... Suddenly, there was a ruckus outside... I didn't pay attention at first... thought it was those drunkards causing trouble again... I saw that strange man bite through a woman's neck... God! I saw the police shoot him... he grabbed that cop and flew across the street... I swear he flew... it must have been a devil... a devil..."

The recording was choppy and the speaker was obviously very agitated, nearly hysterical, and somewhat incoherent, but it was still possible to make out a lot of what was said.

Attlee's expression darkened: "Another one of those monsters that popped up from nowhere?"

As the head of DARPA's Genetic Technology Division, Attlee Hop

son was an authority on genetics. He was also among the first to learn of these elusive monsters. Unfortunately, thus far, no physical specimens had been captured. These creatures seemed to have special methods to evade military detection.

Marlowe Chaplin put away the phone, his movements slow but decisive, shaking his head:

"I'm not sure. I've reviewed all police interrogation records and local CCTV footage; that guy didn't show any abnormal behavior from start to finish. And although these monsters have been equally vicious in the past, they've been very careful, never as brazenly public as this time. But one thing is certain, he wasn't flying, but it was something close; his bizarre mobility is definitely not human. Now, you see why I've come to you?"

DARPA's unique role under the Department of Defense is to 'maintain America's technological lead and prevent potential adversaries from unexpectedly overtaking it.' This means that DARPA does not just meet the current needs of the military but anticipates potential future needs, exploring cutting-edge technologies.