Chapter Forty: National Special Forces?

"Hello, I'm Abel, captain of the GT172 main destroyer from the Nanzhou Port, sub-military district! It's a pleasure to meet you!" Abel took the initiative to walk up to Thomas, and instead of a conventional military salute, he opened his arms warmly.

Thomas responded with a smile, "Thomas, company commander of the Eastern Military District's Headquarters Direct Special Operations Blade Company, reporting to you, sir!"

"Special company?" Abel glanced at the lightly equipped soldiers behind Thomas. Compared to his own men, who stood on guard with rifles and wore bulletproof vests, the visitors—both in presence and sincerity—seemed to overwhelm them completely.

This situation made the straightforward big man feel a bit embarrassed. He rubbed his bald head, patted Thomas on the shoulder, and laughed, "No need for all that 'sir' business. I'm down on my luck these days, just waiting for someone to come save us."

A tough nut... Thomas and his men all had the same thought at once.

"So, are you here to reclaim the city? Where's the main force?"

At this question, Thomas stepped back and saluted solemnly. "Lieutenant Colonel, we are here on a special mission—mainly to escort Professor Wick to Hainan Island to establish a research base!"

"You... you're not here to reclaim the city?" Abel looked a bit stunned.

Thomas's gaze dimmed. "We haven't received any such orders from above."

"The military district's strength hasn't recovered yet? If they can send you all the way out here, what about the forces in the rear?"

"On the first day, we suffered a tremendous blow. But since the military district is far from the city and the infection rate was low, we quelled the chaos by the second day. Some satellite weapons are still unusable, but most modern military facilities are operational."

"Then why aren't you reclaiming the city?" Abel's expression darkened.

"We haven't received any orders to do so," Thomas replied.

Abel stood silent for a long while, his face cold, before letting out a heavy sigh. "I understand."

Thomas could only show his own helplessness. Hadn't he been just as disappointed at first? As fellow soldiers, he could perfectly understand what the other man was feeling.

"Your mission is to establish a research base on Hainan Island?"

"Yes."

"And what about logistics and supplies?" Abel asked, puzzled.

"Air drops," Thomas answered with a straight face, bluffing without a hint of shame.

"What is the research about?"

"Development of a genetic agent for viral immunity."

"Is that so?" A spark of hope appeared on Abel's face, the gloom from earlier lifting somewhat as he spoke excitedly, "How far along is it?"

"We've made significant breakthroughs, but we need to extract certain elements from Hainan Island, which is why we're escorting the expert there."

"That's really good news!" Abel rubbed his hands together and, in a negotiating tone, suggested, "So, do you think we could apply to join your operation? We're quite familiar with Hainan, after all." There was a reason Abel, a lieutenant commander, was practically begging a captain. Their supplies were running low; soon they'd have to risk their lives scavenging for resources in buildings swarming with the infected. Now that he'd heard about a new base with supply lines from the rear, he'd have to be insane not to try to join.

"I'll have to report and ask for instructions," Thomas replied, secretly delighted—so it could be settled peacefully after all, without a fight.

"Can I meet the expert?" Abel asked, rubbing his bald head and smiling.

"Of course." Thomas called Wick over and introduced him, "This is Professor Wick, the man in charge of our genetic agent research."

"Ah, hello!" Abel greeted him with a broad, enthusiastic smile. Apparently a fan of hugs, he bypassed the handshake and went straight for a bear hug.

Old Wick smiled helplessly and finally opened his arms to reciprocate.

But just as the two embraced, Abel's previously warm expression suddenly turned ice-cold. "So, Professor Wick, when did you change careers? Our esteemed Director of the National Tax Bureau!"

The entire scene turned eerily silent at Abel's words. Thomas's previously cordial face hardened; even David, Kelly, and the others behind him quietly lowered their heads, a fleeting purple gleam passing through their eyes.

Guo Lang slapped his own forehead. "Really? Someone actually cares this much about politics? He's just a deputy director of the National Tax Bureau—how often does he even show up in the news? And you still recognized him?"

"No choice," Abel shrugged, one hand restraining Wick, the other holding a pistol. "There's not much entertainment for soldiers by the sea, and we're forced to watch the news for an hour every day. The guys often get together and discuss the big shots on screen. Over time, you start to recognize a lot of faces."

Guo Lang sighed. Logically, nobodies shouldn't care about politics, but he'd forgotten there were types of nobodies. Some are obsessed with military affairs, politics, celebrity gossip, international news, or religion—things utterly unconnected to their own lives—and love to discuss them at length. They're what you call 'onlookers.' This time, he'd really stumbled into trouble.

The soldiers behind Abel quickly caught on and raised their submachine guns.

Guo Lang and his group obediently raised their hands.

"Take them!" Abel commanded coldly, exuding authority. His soldiers responded, advancing cautiously with their weapons. There were only about five or six men on each side, and neither side had come in force.

Thomas's group was wary of the opponents' unknown strength, while Abel had seen the firepower of their armored vehicles and didn't want to escalate. Both sides had come with only a handful of subordinates, signaling sincerity and probing for information, while also keeping the other party at ease.

Now, controlling Wick, Abel was extremely cautious. He couldn't help but wonder—were they really so reckless? No weapons, just coming here to persuade him? So confident?

But he quickly shook off the thought. Better to take control first—their leader was in his hands; whether in negotiation or confrontation, he would have the advantage.

"Turn around, hands on your head, squat down—slowly!" the sailors barked, clearly experienced from dealing with ruthless drug traffickers.

Guo Lang and his group complied, turning, placing their hands on their heads, and slowly squatting down.

Truth be told, these sailors were seasoned fighters. With guns trained on them, even the special forces men didn't dare make a move. These were professionals; unless you had extraordinary speed, they'd react in time.

But unfortunately, this group had been enhanced. Their average attributes were more than three times those of ordinary soldiers—even stronger than the infected, and their evolution was more comprehensive and systematic. As special operations soldiers, their combat effectiveness after enhancement was leagues beyond that of the infected.

"Go!" Guo Lang mouthed the words. Kelly and the others smirked, purple light flashing in their eyes. Crack! The armed sailors only saw a blur before searing pain shot through their arms. In the span of just a few meters, their opponents exploded with such speed that the sailors didn't even see them move before their arms were twisted behind their backs, joints snapping with a sickening crunch. Years of front-line experience told them instantly—their arms were dislocated.

"Holy—!" Abel, who stood at a distance, was dumbfounded. That uniform motion, that explosive speed—were these special forces? More like the Avengers!

"Don't come any closer!" Abel, holding his hostage, backed away several steps to put distance between himself and these monsters, forcing himself to sound calm. "You'd better not try anything!"

Guo Lang and Thomas both smiled, because Abel's gun wasn't pointed at Wick, but at them. Subconsciously, Abel didn't even need both hands to control the old man—but, alas...

Old Wick smiled faintly, a flicker of purple light flashing in his eyes.