Chapter 22: Promotion and Punishment II

Upon Messimah's command, an imperceptible energy flowed out and enveloped the officer, attempting to infiltrate his body upon contact.

What is this?

The officer's instincts warned him of an invasive force, something that, if successful, could be harmful or even fatal to his body.

Is this one of his abilities? But it doesn't make sense. I'm at a higher level; I should detect any use of his genetic abilities. This feels different. His records show he's of the Psychic class—is there a constitution within that class capable of this?

Unable to confirm whether the energy originated from Messimah, the officer hesitated to accuse him of defying superior authority. With a frown and a grunt, he resisted the foreign energy's infiltration, causing it to retreat swiftly.

Once it withdrew, the officer could no longer sense the energy, as if it only existed when in direct contact with him.

[Extraction of awakened genes failed due to the strength disparity between the carrier and Host. The carrier's resistance exceeds Host's capabilities. Host is advised to target weaker or weakened carriers to avoid penalties.]

[Failure to extract genes incurs a cost. Proceed with caution.]

Beneath his helmet, Messimah frowned, feeling as though he had been tricked.

But you were the one who suggested it.

He silently criticized the Genesis System's opportunistic prompt, realizing he wouldn't have attempted extraction without its suggestion. More accurately, Genesis only notified and presented the option and asked Messimah if he would like to extract the awakened genes.

It never did anything per se to incline toward suggestions, it only alluded to the possibility of doing that.

Messimah could guess the penalty, but he chose to check it later in privacy.

The caped officer sensed something was amiss from her subordinate's grunt, yet she too couldn't detect the energy he had resisted.

For the officer who had attempted to intimidate Messimah, the situation had grown awkward. The moment he resisted the invasive force, the pressure he was projecting onto Messimah dissipated. He realized that if he tried to reassert his dominance, it would make him appear indecisive and unable to control his powers.

"Why are you still standing here?" he demanded, his tone harsh but tinged with awkwardness.

Messimah's mind raced. Should he continue to resist and risk drawing unwanted attention while trying to uncover who had ordered the death sentence on them? Could he even survive long enough to find the right person if a target was painted on him by these two officers? His chances of escaping these two officers seemed slim, and he hated to admit that he wouldn't stand much of a chance against them, even with the suit's help.

Their equipment was likely superior to his.

As he weighed his options, Messimah remained still, silent, and unmoving.

To the officers, it appeared he was paralyzed by fear. His leg was slightly behind him, as though retreating, but he didn't move—a common reaction when someone of lower genetic levels faced intimidation from a superior. They allowed him a few more moments to collect himself.

Do I serve the punishment while also bidding my time and searching for my target?

Messimah began weighing his options and soon came to find out that compliance with what they wanted would be the safest route. Thinking about it, he realized that the Federation as an organization should be well-connected and should have access to a dynamic range of information. Since he was already impersonating an officer of theirs, he thought that he would be able to use this identity to look for his target.

He believed that the information of the person he was looking for would most likely be in the system of the Federation.

It was a safe route, one that seemed a lot less reckless than his initial plan, and for some reason, Messimah didn't like it. But at the same time, his mind told him that it was the most reasonable option he had.

Fine, I'm already in the frying pan; what difference would it make if I jumped directly into the fire?

With this thought solidifying in his mind, Messimah finally broke his silence. "I don't have a way to return to base," he stated, his voice steady and devoid of emotion. The reply felt natural, almost too easy, as if it had been waiting at the edge of his tongue. He made a calculated guess that the base wouldn't be close to Jejity. Traveling to such a distant location, especially from an area as remote as this, wouldn't be a simple task—certainly not one achievable with the limited capabilities of the suit he was currently wearing.

As the words left his mouth, a sudden realization dawned upon the superior officers. They recalled that Messimah—well, Officer 90210—had arrived with the Aetherion Citadel, a colossal construct currently under investigation. This fact meant that, even if he desired to return to base, he couldn't easily do so without external assistance.

The officers found themselves momentarily speechless. The simplicity and truth in Messimah's statement struck them, leading to a brief moment of self-reflection.

Were they being outmaneuvered by a mere subordinate? The idea crossed their minds, and it was slightly humiliating, but they couldn't deny the logic in his words.

"I will send you back, then," The caped officer interjected, breaking the awkward silence. Her tone was authoritative, leaving no room for further discussion.

No sooner had she spoken than a spaceship materialized at the end of the road ahead, as though it had always been there, cloaked in some form of advanced camouflage.

The vessel was impressive, it was about the size of two buses, with an elongated body fashioned from a dark, reflective metal that gleamed subtly in the light. Its surface was sleek and nearly seamless, with faint lines that hinted at hidden panels or compartments.

The ship's aerodynamic silhouette tapered towards the front, where a narrow, angular cockpit window gave it a menacing, almost predatory appearance. Compact but potent thrusters were embedded into its structure, suggesting it was built for both swift and silent movement. The entire design radiated an aura of quiet menace, a testament to the ingenuity behind its creation.

Messimah's eyes widened slightly at the sight. He realized he had made the right decision in complying. Even if he somehow managed to escape the officers, he doubted he could evade the clutches of this technological marvel.

This was a machine, unlike anything he had ever encountered. Before this moment, Messimah had known there were wonders in the world he had yet to see, but his pressing concerns in Jejity—especially his financial struggles—had always dulled that curiosity.

Now, standing before this spaceship, his curiosity reignited, burning with newfound intensity.

His mind raced with questions about its construction and design.

How was such a machine created? What kind of technology powered it?

A deep yearning to learn surged within him, a desire to one day build something of this magnitude himself. Oddly enough, this curiosity hadn't surfaced when he first saw the massive Aetherion Citadel. Perhaps it was because, back then, he had only seen its colossal size and imposing metallic exterior.

Also deep down, he concluded that such a gigantic machine would have to be made collectively. He was not the type to want to work with others.

Due to how he had lived his life in the slums, Messimah had the mentality that what was his was his, it wasn't for another to know how, rather, it sufficed if they knew who. He couldn't stomach the thought of letting strangers know how to make what he had created.

It is a rather selfish notion and way to live, but it has kept him alive.

Now, the intricate details of this spaceship fueled a dormant passion within him, reminding him of the endless possibilities that lay beyond the limits of his current existence.

"This is one of my personal ships. My pilot will take you back to base, Officer 90210. I apologize if we put you in a difficult position, but we cannot rule out all possibilities. As an Officer of the Federation, you should understand what I mean," the caped officer said, her tone firm yet carrying a hint of justification.

Messimah nodded in agreement, though inwardly he was clueless about what she was implying. However, he had no intention of lingering any longer than necessary.

Without further prompting, he began walking toward the spacecraft prepared for him. As he drew closer, his curiosity about the machine intensified, each step fueling his fascination with its design and capabilities.

Suddenly, a deafening clap of thunder roared across the sky, shaking the ground beneath them and sending tremors through the air, as though the sky had been angered.

"They are resisting! Take your positions and prepare to attack!" the male officer shouted, his voice slicing through the chaos. As his command resonated, Messimah's peripheral vision caught the sudden appearance of numerous spacecraft, identical to the one he was approaching. They materialized all around the area, more than two hundred of them, previously concealed by advanced stealth technology.

A chill ran down Messimah's spine, his throat constricting and his palms growing clammy. Relief washed over him as he realized his decision to comply had likely saved his life. Had he chosen otherwise, his capture or worse, death would have been inevitable.