Chapter 4 : Hole, stench, covered pit

There was a force in their joined hands.
Up close, Zakar Kairos’s eyes held nothing.
As always.

“He didn’t send this email.”

“I know. Ian wouldn’t say this to me. Even if he had really been betrayed.”

Hannah murmured without erasing her smile.

“That’s one thing the sender of the email doesn’t know. That there are people in the world who love someone that much.”

He was someone who loved her so much that he would want her to live on, even if everyone else died.
I hate to admit it, but Zakar was right.
He was the kind of person who would rather have her hook up with his friend than spend the anniversary of his death locked up in her room alone.
Like an idiot.

“McCoy is in Cyber Security Command.”

Zakar, who had been staring at her with his eyes lowered, finally turned his head and spoke.
He, too, was looking at the security camera.
Hannah’s eyes widened slightly at the familiar name of a fellow cadet.

“McCoy? Trent McCoy?”

“You’re not thinking of turning this into an official investigation, are you? It’s better to ask someone you know to avoid trouble.”

Of course, an official investigation would make things complicated.
It would mean having to report what she was doing at the time the email arrived.
Hannah, who hated troublesome things just as much, readily lowered her phone.

“Alright, if you find out anything from McCoy, let me know.”

“For free?”

“Even you would want to catch the bastard who’s playing a prank using Ian’s name as soon as possible, wouldn’t you?”

“Not really, I’m not interested. It wasn’t an email sent to me, and it doesn’t matter to me whether what happened that night gets out or not.”

The man who had put down the phone put his hands in his pockets and slowly repeated the words she had said earlier.
‘He’s paying me back in kind.’
The thought of what Major Müller had said earlier about them being the ‘same kind’ made me snort.

“…Sometimes he hits the nail on the head so annoyingly.”

“What?”

“It’s not about you, it’s about my direct superior, so mind your own business.”

“Ah,” Zakar exclaimed dismissively, then asked nonchalantly.

“Did you do it with him too?”

Her hand, which had been putting away the phone, froze mid-motion.
For the first time, I was at a loss for words.
I glared at him, wondering if he had really been thinking such a thing when he smiled earlier, and my gaze met his, which was staring right through me.

“Isn’t he your type?”

When I raised my middle finger to the man who tilted his head, Zakar stared at me for a moment, then stretched his long lips into a lazy smile.
Come to think of it, there were so many female cadets who liked that face.
When his cold impression softened after a shower post-training, and he smiled like a tanned boy.
But still…

“I’m going to go investigate the 13th Military Science Research Institute mentioned in the email now. From this point on, all wired communication, including phone and internet, is prohibited. Let’s meet at ‘that’ bar in three days, at 22:00 sharp.”

The moment I briefly reminisced and thought of the other person who used to smile with his arm around his shoulder, I turned away without hesitation.
I could feel his gaze on the back of my head, but I had no more time to argue with Zakar.
Whatever the purpose of the person who dared to use that name, whoever they were, I would kill them when I caught them.

Once upon a time, there were a girl and a boy.
Hannah and Ian.
Two children orphaned in a world-renowned conflict zone, in a broken school where shells flew through the sky, they linked their pinkies and swore an oath.
Like a sword and its hilt, they would not betray each other and would work together to survive, to become the strongest beings they could see, and to change this world.
Faced with the overwhelming violence that threatened them, the two children craved power.

“‘The Military Science Research Institute is responsible for technical and scientific research and testing necessary for weaponry and equipment, and aims for global defense and international security….’”

Reading the contents she had already memorized from the military archives, Hannah reconfirmed the establishment purpose, function, and role of each research institute.
Her finger, which had been scanning down the page from the 1st Research Institute, stopped at 12.
She tapped her index finger on it.

‘It’s not there, as expected.’
It was the same when she checked the records for other years.

“Are you looking for any particular materials?”

“Have you ever heard of a 13th Military Science Research Institute?”

When she showed the screen to the administrative soldier who had approached and asked, he tilted his head and looked puzzled.

“As you know, Captain, there are only up to the 12th Military Science Research Institute.”

“Even before? Are there any plans to build one in the future?”

He took out his own screen and searched for something, then shook his head.

“No records are found.”

A non-existent research institute.
Hole, stench, covered pit.
It’s an unpleasant riddle.
She might be being played for a fool in a simple prank, but her gut told her otherwise.
There’s something.
At the very least, the person who sent the email wants her to know it.
What is it?

“Ah.”

At that moment, the administrative soldier let out a small gasp, then stammered as if he had made a mistake when she turned to look at him.

“Because the number is unlucky, there is a place that is recently being called the 13th institute, like a ghost story…”

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know the specific location. But you should know, Captain. The place where they keep and study the creatures brought from ‘down there’…”

Hannah’s eyes widened slightly.
Hole, stench, covered pit.
Come to think of it, it does sound like a description of down there.
The underground from which monsters crawl out every time a crack forms.
A chilly premonition ran down her spine.

“Thanks, that was helpful information. Don’t go telling anyone I asked about this.”

“Huh? Yes.”

Hannah snapped the folder she was holding shut and handed the screen to the administrative soldier.
For three days, she had investigated the 13th Military Science Research Institute from various angles.
She had visited the archives for the last time in case any records remained, but all she got was a mere rumor.
By the time she left the exit, the sun had already set and it was dark.

She went home, took a quick shower, got on her motorcycle, and while putting on her helmet, she checked the location of the CCTV right in front of her house.
The advantage of living close to a slum was that she could pass through crime-ridden areas where there were no CCTVs in this age of surveillance.

• Recently, with the rapid rise in temperature, the surface temperature of the red sandstone cliffs in the Sarian Plateau United Area of the 21st District has soared to a staggering 90 degrees… This is part of the abnormal climate phenomena occurring in various regions….

Letting the radio news flow in one ear and out the other, she sped over the still-warm asphalt.
She turned into a familiar narrow alley, stopped the motorcycle, and checked the time: 21:59.
When she turned off the rumbling engine, the boisterous sounds from inside the pub could be faintly heard.
The lukewarm night breeze carried a faint mixture of oil and food smells.

Checking her watch as the minute hand turned to 00, Hannah familiarly pulled the handle of the old pub’s door.
As the oak door opened with a jingle, the male owner with a large mole in the middle of his forehead stopped wiping the bar table and pointed to a corner seat.
With an emotionless smile in return, Hannah walked past the groups of people gathered here and there and approached the table where a man with jet-black hair was sitting loosely.

“You found it well. I was worried you wouldn’t understand when I said ‘that’ bar.”

She said as she sat down comfortably with a plop.
It was the bar the three of them used to go to.
Not the one they went to five days ago.
She had deliberately spoken vaguely, conscious of the CCTV.
And the man who had understood and come to the right place spoke without greeting, still watching the TV without turning to look at her.

“McCoy has a tail. There’s a possibility of hacking, from his phone to surveillance cameras.”

‘So he had the same thought after seeing the email,’ she thought.
Hannah wasn’t surprised and asked as she took off her rider jacket.

“So, what about tracing the sender?”

Zakar, who was listlessly watching a soccer game, propped his head on his hand and glanced this way.

“You must have tried to trace it, whether he had a tail or not. I showed you the email in the first place expecting you to use your well-connected family’s influence to do something.”

“Untraceable.”

“What?”

But the answer that came out so readily was different from what she expected.
A lock of hair that had slipped from Hannah’s ear swayed and brushed her chin.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a hassle to explain.”

This is why she hated Zakar Kairos.
When she narrowed her eyes, he lowered the arm he had been resting his head on with an annoyed face and gestured to the dartboard with his eyes.

“Want to play a game for old time’s sake?”

“You want to make a bet?”

“If you want.”

“What makes you think you know what I’ll bet?”

“At best, you’ll ask me to tell you everything I know and help you with all my strength.”

At his dismissive tone regarding her problem, Hannah crossed her arms and replied coolly.

“That’s right. If I win, you’ll cooperate with me until we find the sender of that email.”

“As you wish. But if I win, then.”

Zakar paused for a moment, as if considering what would hit her the hardest.
Then, as a sudden cheer erupted from another table, as if a goal had been scored, he slowly spoke.

“You will delete that email and forget about it completely.”