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Join the Server“Has his background been verified? Falcon, D-21.”
“It’s done, sir. Here’s the report.”
“Chris Griffin, Army Private, assigned to 3rd Platoon, C Company, 2nd Battalion, 16th Infantry Regiment, 1st Infantry Division.”
“Chris Griffin is an orphan, born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He was taken in by St. Lucia Convent in 2241, then adopted by a federal civil servant in Philadelphia in 2248. High school diploma, excellent grades. Enlisted on June 20, 2256, and underwent military training in the Philadelphia Military District, where his performance was outstanding.”
“We contacted the 16th Infantry Regiment. When the enemy launched their Khe Sanh offensive, our task was Operation Scotland. The Khe Sanh base came under attack, and the 16th was sent in as reinforcements. C Company was assigned to conduct a combat patrol.”
“On the night of March 2, 3rd Platoon was ambushed during that patrol. The entire platoon was wiped out.”
Falcon paused and looked at the young man lying motionless on the hospital bed in front of him.
“He may be the only survivor. Our best guess is that after the attack, he fled southwest into Laos, then fell into the water. Or he fell in first and the current carried him down the Mekong River, all the way to us.”
“That’s a miracle. Several hundred kilometers, and he’s still alive. Lucky kid.”
“Yes. God was watching over him.”
Falcon nodded, then turned to the medic standing nearby.
“He’s alive, but does he have any internal injuries or paralysis?”
“No.”
The medic shook his head.
“Fortunately, apart from some scrapes on his wrist, he barely has a scratch.”
“Mm.”
Falcon nodded again.
“How long until he wakes up?”
“At most a day or two. That’s normal after intense combat.”
“Sir, what do we do with him? He’s physically fine. When the supply convoy arrives, should we send him to another camp and notify the 16th to come pick him up?”
“Yeah, let’s do…”
“Wait!”
At the shout, everyone in the medical room turned to look.
The one who had spoken was Stan Lee, accompanied by Goodman, Erskine, Fury, and Captain Marvel.
Behind them trailed a group of researchers in white coats.
Falcon immediately guessed what Stan Lee and the others were after.
“He’s exceptional talent. We can’t waste him!”
Stan Lee seemed to be holding a report in his hand.
From the top sheet, it was a physical examination report for Chris Griffin.
“He’s outstanding, in every way. Far better than those guys with IQs under seventy. We can’t just let him go. Besides, the whole 3rd Platoon was wiped out. In the army’s records, he’s already dead.”
“Sorry, Stan Lee, but we have to follow procedure…”
Falcon spoke up. He felt a pang of reluctance at the thought of this promising young man becoming a test subject.
“Procedure has been amended. Goodman and I both approved it. And it’s not like we’re some evil scientists out of a comic book. We still have humanity.”
With that, Stan Lee waved a hand.
“He’ll agree. We’ve already brought the consent forms. The Publisher will approve of us acting first and asking forgiveness later.”
Stan Lee smiled and set the revised consent form on the nightstand beside Griffin.
Then he said to the medic nearby, “Prepare the anesthetic. Give him a spinal block.”
Some folks are born made to wave the flag,
ooh, they’re red, white and blue.
And when the band plays “Hail to the Chief”,
ooh, they point the cannon at you, Lord!
‘…That sound again… ugh… so noisy… who’s going to turn it off…’
Still groggy, Ash heard that sound once more. He muttered, waving a hand, trying to shut off the phone alarm…
Wait, what is that?
I should be turning off the stereo or the radio…
Ash’s vision was a blur. He could only rely on the sound to gauge direction.
He tried to lift his arm, only to find it as heavy as if filled with lead. Even his fingertips refused to move.
Damn… What’s going on!
As anxiety surged, Ash’s vision gradually sharpened.
Once those eyelids, heavy as a thousand pounds, finally lifted, consciousness quickly shook off the fog.
His sight cleared.
Out of the vast whiteness emerged a low wooden ceiling, and that inexplicable singing faded away.
Replaced by a steady, rhythmic beeping.
Then a window.
Sunlight streamed in from one side, slanting across the room and painting everything in a wash of gold.
Within that golden glow, the steel bed frame, the ECG monitor, the low wooden cabinet, the tall cabinet with its glass doors materialized as if God had said, “Let there be light,” and the world simply appeared.
“Mmm… mmm… aah…”
‘Is this heaven… Why is there no iron gate? I don’t remember Sister Alexis saying anything about a long walk after reaching heaven.’
Ash worked his dry throat, trying to speak, but couldn’t form a single complete syllable. Only muffled grunts came out, a poor substitute for the thoughts racing in his head.
“Mmm mmm… uh… mmm…”
Slowly, as his mind pulled itself together, Ash realized he hadn’t gone to heaven. He was alive.
‘…That old priest was right. I didn’t die. Hah, guess that’s what a will to survive looks like…’
Ash turned his head, moving his arms just a little, savoring the relief of being alive and taking in the world around him.
The bright sunlight slipped through the window frame, casting dappled shadows on the floor like dancing notes.
A faint scent of disinfectant hung in the air, mixed with some unfamiliar herbal aroma, giving Ash a strange sense of peace.
He glanced at the Stars and Stripes in the corner of the room. So he’d been rescued by friendly forces, it seemed.
“You’re awake?”
A true Southern drawl came from beside him. Ash turned to see a tall medic addressing him.
“Mr. Griffin, don’t move just yet. I’ll go get the doctor.”
With that, the medic hurried out.
About a moment later, a balding man in a white coat walked in.
Through the round glasses perched on his nose, he studied Ash.
“Can you hear me? Can you move your head? Nod or shake if you can.”
He spoke in smooth, non-local English as he stopped beside Ash’s bed.
“…Yes.”
Ash rasped out a reply.
“Good.”
He gave a slight nod.
“I have to tell you something.”
He gestured with his hands as he spoke. “Please listen carefully, and don’t panic.”
(Beep… beep… beep…)
“You’ve been unconscious for a long time… Yes, yes, I understand. You want to know how long. But compared to what I’m about to tell you, that’s not the important part.”
He walked around the bed, from the left side to the right.
“Our examination shows you have no external injuries except for a scrape on your right wrist. No shrapnel inside, no bullets. But… I know this might be hard to hear, but please try to move your limbs… Be brave.”
He spoke slowly, an apologetic look on his face as he regarded the still-confused Ash.
(Beep beep… beep beep… beep beep beep…)
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Read : There Is a Monster in The Imperial Palace
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