My mobile showed three missed calls from one familiar non-saved number, four from my brother’s, and another three from a total stranger number.

3-4-3.

I called my brother. His number was his dorm’s, so I’m not surprised when I heard a woman’s voice picking the call. “Is this Miss Nelson?”

“I am.” Not asking who I wanted to connect with despite being a public number; such an ominous sign. Though my heartbeat speed up, my voice still sounded calm: “What happened to Gavin?”

The other party cleared her throat audibly. “He needed an operation treatment. We need your presence to administer the procedures...”

“Does he need it urgently?”

“At maximum, twelve hours after the injury... it has been only four hours.”

“Then do it.” I found myself clutching the edge of my desk. It’s good I was sitting. My knees had lost its feelings. “You have my verbal agreement now. Send me address—“

“No, we will need you to come and understand the operation procedure before anything can be done. And... we will sent someone to pick you up, Miss.”

So suspicious. “How is his condition?”

“He’s still in a coma.”

“Is it an emergency? Does he needs the operation immediately?”

“It’s not life-threatening. Both doing the operation or not will bring complications, Miss.”

Too suspicious. “Alright. Send your chauffeur to Rayes Corporation’s main office building. I’ll be waiting at the front door. Tell the guard you’re picking someone up.”

“Alright. Thank you for your cooperation.”

The call was closed. My mind had the will to question and think, but all I could see—and feel—was the cold metallic desk, my tight heels, my slow breath. I heard the air conditioning’s whirring, faint typing sounds from the next-door office; mine’s door wasn’t closed tightly.

I exhaled a breath through my mouth. I inhaled. I shook my head, brought up one finger to massage the side of my head.

Finally came the question:

What did he got into?

Previously, all the message he said only suggested a harmless but intensive athletic activities. He got in by his physical ability, so it wasn’t a wonder. However, I knew from the start there was something off with the academy... yet, it wasn’t entirely strange. There has been multiple private-run academic by well-known corporate to cultivate their own batch of workers. The corporation I’m working on was one of them; they set up a polytechnic institute excelling in civil engineering, as the corporate was heavily invested in city construction.

Gavin’s school’s backer was vague. There seems to be steady, stable fund allocated every year, just enough for one large dorm for the students, alumnus, and teacher to live. The canteen’s food, by Gavin’s words, were highly nutritious and so scrumptious that he lose appetite when I cooked. Damn boy.

He’d once sent me pictures of training rooms (there’s gym each for the students, teacher, and alumnus), told one-two stories about his studies, all that which sounds exceptionally expensive. That much of extravagance must’ve needed a large capital.

Consequently, it would be unusual if I, a mere secretary, managed to find the true backer of the school.

On the other hand, with this accident, I could no longer look the other way with their secretiveness.

First, I tidied up my desk and went to my boss’s office. Despite infamous for being a grouchy-pants, he welcomed my unannounced visit with a slightly raised brows. Papers under his hands were left unattended. As I stepped closer to his desk, he stared at my handbag, observed my quick pace, asking, “Something happened?”

“Gavin got into an accident. I want to take permission for an immediate and indefinite leave. After I grasped the situation, I would quickly update you.”

“Gavin?” his gaze moved to my face. “If I remember correctly, your younger brother?”

“Yes.” Honored you remember, I thought. I’m not one to tell stories about personal matters.

“Leave, then. I wish it isn’t serious.”

It’s too late for that wish. “Thank you, Sir.”

The chauffeur sent was driving a tall off-road black car. The windows were barred with extra protection and equipped with non-see-through black glass. The front seat’s window rolled down, exposing a man with a stern expression. He wore a military-patterned cap but a plain shirt, called out with a deep, order-like tone: “Miss Nelson? Please get in.”

At this point, I’m certain the academic wasn’t actually private-run. The listed capital backer for them must’ve been a decoy.

Gavin got into a goddamn secret military school, and now he’s strung up in an accident needing some life-changing operation.

How could I let this slip past me?

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Ah, I remembered how he always put on a sunny smile whenever I asked him about school. He liked the place. I’d let him decide which school he wanted to get into and not even half an hour after, his decision has been made. He got accepted almost instantly. Not long after enrolling, he has gotten a scholarship.

When did they recruited Gavin?

I tried to hide my foul mood by looking out the window, watching my reflection donning a tight expression. Along the way, none of us spoke. Initially, we took main, large roads, on the busiest highway route, then at some point—in the city’s part I’m not familiar with—the car turned and everything around grew quieter.

The car slowed down on a warehouse area. I recognized these parts; to be exact, only the address and what it looks like on the map.

We went into the smaller warehouses, about two to three-story high (the corporation usually used one as tall as a hangar). The car went in an automatically opened garage—without any kind of visible nor audible signs—that lead deep, deep underground. Lighting came only from the car, shining on the narrow road. Sometimes it took a sudden turn and the driver already turned the wheels before the turn was seen; he had clearly remembered the route.

At this point, making peace with the very possible fact the school is managed by military, it didn’t surprise me we didn’t go to the hospital.

The car stopped in a dim area. Judging from the echoes, the size was large. What I could caught with my vision, except a raised floor in front after the car’s headlight shone on it, was nothing.

I came down after the man and followed him somewhere by relying on his blurry figure. My eyes had somewhat adapted. The pattern on his hat became faint. Somewhere in front of us there’s a metal door with some kind of electronic security checks. The man looked into it (a retina scanner?), took a step behind and stood for a few second (face-scanner?) then said a string of number.

Something went click. He pushed the door open and we stepped in.

Hallway behind was whitely illuminated. My eyes hurt instantly. I closed them while walking for a few second, head bowing down to watch the floor, letting my vision adapting.

Suddenly we stopped. I raised my head and saw a lounge with marble floors, reception desk, long sofa, glass coffee table, one minimalism art hung over the sofa, and a receptionist man dressed in leather jacket, three earrings on one ear, and turtleneck-sleeves tattoo. Both of his arms were up the table, one supporting his head, the other holding a pen.

He saw us coming immediately and only twirled the pen. “Miss Nelson?” he straightened calmly. “You are almost identical to Gavin.”

“Yes, we are siblings, if you haven’t heard.”

He smiled nonchalantly as he step out from behind the desk. He wore training pants and boots. I imagined skinny jeans. His tattoo indeed reach to his sleeve. “I’ll be escorting you. Please follow me.”

The lounge has an alley just beside the receptionist desk, couldn’t be seen from my standing point. It’s only an illuminated cold alley with lots of turns. After five turns, the width grew. We reached somewhere with an office’s layout. A handful number of people were passing by, one sitting on a long bench at the corner, holding papers. We passed them all to a metal door with another electronic security device, this one looks similar to a fingerprint-checks with extra devices. Seeing his posture, it was another retina and face-scanning, voice recognition by code.

“From here on someone else would escort you, Miss Nelson.”

“How far is it?” as the door open I saw the said ‘someone else’; an middle-aged woman, part of her hair had turned silver, her standing posture was the standard military resting stance. She wore only a shirt, basic paints, and pair of sandals.

“Not too far from here on.” She was the one answering.

I followed her, and sure, not a thousand steps or some ten turns after, she stopped in front of a heavily guarded door. It has personal identity recognition, some code-solving for the manual pipe and wheel-shaped lock in front of the door. We went in to another new hallway with more people. Something was buzzing; “It’s the network,” said that woman.

Surreal.

We passed through two more doors. After the last door, the hallway greeting looked out of a high-tech research laboratory currently experimenting. Some greeted the woman and took one curious look at me. Some didn’t even turn their head from the glass they’re facing, except I couldn’t see anything through it.

“Can they see past the glass?” I asked.

“They wear special glasses that could do that.”

High-tech.

This cemented my assumption of military. In the whole world, military technology has been upgraded by leaps and bound following the appearance of ‘threat of humanity’ ten, eleven years ago. So-called ‘superheros’ has been popping up as of late; with each and new city or country reconstruction.

That those ‘superheroes’ could hid their identity flawlessly, the government’s surely had a hand. That they can coordinate in sync with the police and military, had professional ethics and methods, all would be thanks to secret training, wouldn’t it?

If Gavin was recruited into such school, I could see how he got into an accident in school.

Treated in a secret underground base with tight security.

Does the superheroes’ family had no right to know of their double identity?

Was this a comic world?

I feel my anger squirming, but the woman in front stopped again. It was another door, a plain one. The room inside was similar to a large control room with the glass seen from the previous hallway.

All eyes were stuck on me.

Ten people; two meddling with the panel, four standing all over the room, other four sitting on the only sofa at the side wall. Three were adults; one that stood nearest another door was a man around my age, the other two on the panel looked around younger than the woman escorting me, and the rest was Gavin’s age.

One of them was a boy almost as tall as Gavin with deep blue hair and silver highlight, two earring on his uppermost ear: Reagan, leaning at the glass’s corner near the sofa. Gavin brought him home once for a sleepover.

“Sadina,” he greeted with a nod as he strode over, rummaging his pocket. He pulled out a glasses. “He’s in there.”

I didn’t took it right-away. My vision was stuck on his face, moved to the other people’s in the room, saw their careful regard. As I reached out I asked, “What am I going to see?”

He looked to the standing adult man, who in return, nodded to the older woman. The latter turned around to face me.

“I will make it concise for now.” Even in her eyes, there’s sympathy. “Gavin has a parasitic injury near his heart, backbone, and right shoulder. The parasitic component can be removed, but the area of his injury would be weakened severely. This means his heart, lung, and muscle on the right shoulder might had frequent, serious problem. It’s not life-threatening, but it will surely limit his daily abilities.”

“Parasitic injury?” I repeated in a hush, a leg wobbled on my heels. Reagan caught my arms and helped me straighten up. I didn’t blink. I’m keenly aware how wide my eyes would be. “How...” my voice was trembling and I loathed it. “How did he...?” but I couldn’t control it-not now.

“Mission’s injury.”

And that’s all you need to know, civilian. I grinded my teeth and put on the glasses.

Surprisingly, I didn’t fall out of shock.

Vantablack gooey-like, adhesive-like thing was stuck diagonally from my little brother’s right shoulder to his chest. Their size, especially around the chest area, was higher than the bed’s head. The top of the goo stretched like bubblegum to the roof, the side stretched to the floor, wall, bed, all over the place like spider’s threads. Any gaps in-between the stretch expand and shrunk in regular motion, like breathing.

Nobody in this world couldn’t recognize what that was.

The Putrid.