Re-Awakened :I Ascend as an SSS-Ranked Dragon Summoner - Chapter 552

Capítulo 552: Divergence 2

The conference room’s holographic display flickered with five separate video feeds, each showing a team leader’s face rendered in blue-white light. Sophie stood at the head of the table, Sam beside her with three tablets spread across the surface, fingers moving between screens as he compiled data.

“Alright, everyone’s connected,” Sophie said, her voice carrying the controlled calm she used when situations were developing faster than she liked. “I’ve reviewed your field reports. Before we continue operations, I need clarity on what each of you is seeing.”

She gestured at the display, and the feeds rearranged themselves into a grid. “Team Lila reported unusual scarring patterns on evacuees at Settlement Echo-Seven. Team Lucas flagged tactical awareness in refugee populations that seems inconsistent with civilian profiles. Team Kelvin discovered his research station is running life support systems configured for something requiring significantly more infrastructure than reported.”

Sam pulled up financial data on a secondary screen. “All five contracts processed payment through the same intermediary clearhouse—Meridian Services. Different clients, different locations, but same payment source. That’s not illegal, but it’s unusual enough to warrant attention.”

Diana’s feed showed her sitting in the transport’s cockpit, emergency lighting casting harsh shadows across her features. “Are we aborting?”

“Not yet,” Sophie replied. “I need more information first. Kelvin, start with what you found. Give me specifics.”

Kelvin’s feed showed him in what looked like a maintenance corridor, metal walls reflecting the green glow emanating from his eyes and fingertips—his technopathy active. “The life support system I was hired to repair isn’t failing. It’s overloaded. The station’s official capacity is forty-three personnel, but the environmental controls are configured to support five times that. Temperature regulation, air filtration, waste processing—everything’s scaled for two hundred plus people.”

“Could they be planning expansion?” Sam asked.

“No. The systems are already in use. Power consumption logs show they’ve been running at this capacity for at least eight months.” Kelvin’s fingers twitched, his technopathy pulling more data from the station’s network. “There’s a containment section that’s not on any public schematic. Biological storage, from what I can tell. Whatever they’re keeping in there requires Cat 4 to Cat 5 level environmental controls. That’s not standard research equipment.”

Sophie’s expression tightened. “Cat 4 to 5 containment is for dangerous biological agents or materials that could cause significant harm if released. Why would a civilian research station need that?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Kelvin replied. “Station personnel are polite but they’ve made it clear my contract scope doesn’t include investigating sections beyond the primary life support hub. I fixed what they hired me to fix. Everything else is technically off-limits.”

“Lucas,” Sophie shifted her attention to his feed. “What’s your situation?”

Lucas sat in what appeared to be a security monitoring room aboard the orbital station, screens behind him showing various refugee processing areas. “Refugee transport is proceeding smoothly on paper. We’ve processed maybe sixty percent of the incoming ships. No security incidents, no hostile contacts. But some of these people aren’t refugees.”

“Explain.”

“Movement patterns. Situational awareness. The way certain individuals position themselves in groups.” Lucas leaned forward slightly. “I’ve spent enough time around military personnel to recognize tactical training. Not all of them—most are just normal civilians fleeing whatever they’re fleeing. But scattered throughout? Maybe one in ten shows signs of combat experience or operational awareness that doesn’t fit civilian profiles.”

Sam was already cross-referencing data. “Could be veterans. Frontier settlements attract a lot of former military looking for work.”

“That’s what I thought initially,” Lucas said. “But it’s the consistency that’s bothering me. They’re not random individuals. They’re traveling in specific groups, maintaining visual contact with each other, communicating with minimal verbal language. That’s operational behavior, not coincidence.”

“Lila?” Sophie prompted.

Lila feed showed her standing outside a transport, the settlement visible behind her with smoke still rising from damaged structures. “Evacuation is progressing. No hostile contact with beasts or anything else. The scarring I reported earlier—I’ve seen it on maybe a dozen evacuees now. Surgical marks, mostly on arms and upper torso. Some look recent, others partially healed. When I asked about them, people got defensive or changed the subject.”

“Medical procedures?” Sam suggested.

“Maybe. But why would so many people in one settlement have similar surgical patterns?” Lila shook her head. “It feels coordinated. Like they all went through the same process somewhere.”

Diana’s feed showed her frowning. “My contract has been straightforward. Mining rescue operation, no complications. The miners are grateful to be extracted, no unusual behavior or physical indicators. Should I be looking for something specific?”

“Just stay alert,” Sophie replied. “If anything feels wrong, report it immediately.”

Noah’s feed had been quiet until now. He sat in his transport’s cabin, the rest of his team visible in the background, and something in his expression made Sophie pause. “Noah?”

“We completed delivery thirty minutes ago,” Noah said. His voice carried an edge Sophie had learned to recognize—the tone he used when his instincts were screaming warnings his logic couldn’t yet justify. “Standard medical supply escort. The coordinator signed for everything, payment processed automatically. But something about the whole operation felt off.”

“Off how?”

“The settlement coordinator looked exhausted. Not tired from long hours—exhausted like she’d been dealing with a crisis for days without sleep. The medical facility was isolated from residential areas by about three hundred meters of empty ground. That’s not standard for frontier colonies. They usually keep medical facilities centrally located for accessibility.” Noah paused. “And the cargo weight was wrong. Those crates were labeled as vaccines and diagnostic equipment, but they were heavier than they should have been. When Marcus accidentally bumped one during unloading, the contents shifted wrong. Not liquid sloshing. Something more viscous.”

Sam looked up from his tablets. “Did you inspect the contents?”

“No. The crates were sealed with biohazard symbols and temperature requirements. Opening them without proper protocols would have contaminated the supplies.” Noah’s jaw tightened. “I’m turning around. I need to verify what we actually delivered.”

“Noah, you completed the contract,” Sophie said carefully. “The client signed for receipt. Legally, our obligation is fulfilled.”

“I don’t care about legal obligation right now. I care about what was in those crates.” Noah was already moving, gesturing to his team. “If there’s even a chance we delivered something dangerous, I need to confirm it. We’ll be back at Settlement Gamma-Nine in twenty minutes.”

Sophie started to respond when Sam’s hand shot up, his expression going from concerned to alarmed in the space between heartbeats. “Sophie. I’m getting anomalous readings from all five contract clients.”

“What kind of anomalous?”

“Financial backgrounds. I ran deeper analysis on the companies that filed each contract.” Sam pulled up new data streams, his fingers moving faster. “Frontier Health Solutions—Noah’s client—was incorporated six months ago. Corporate address is a virtual office. Board members are shell identities. New Horizon Excavations, Diana’s client? Same pattern. Humanitarian Relief Network, Settlement Echo-Seven’s government registration, Sigma Research Group—all of them were created within the same eight-month window, all using similar corporate structures to obscure actual ownership.”

The implications settled over the conference room like frost. Sophie felt her chest tighten, the instincts she’d developed serving in the EDF’s Vanguard forces kicking in—pattern recognition, threat assessment, the ability to see when pieces that should be separate were actually connected.

“We’ve been set up,” she said quietly.

“We don’t know that yet,” Sam replied, but his tone suggested he agreed.

“Five contracts. Same payment source. Same timing window. Same pattern of irregularities across all field reports.” Sophie looked at each feed in turn. “This wasn’t five separate jobs. This was one operation with five components, and we walked right into it because they made each piece look legitimate and separate.”

Noah’s feed showed him already moving through his transport, his team responding to his urgency with practiced efficiency. “Watch Command, I’m approaching Settlement Gamma-Nine now. ETA four minutes. Whatever we delivered, I’m going to find out what it actually was.”

“Proceed with caution,” Sophie said. “If this is coordinated, the people at that settlement might not be willing to let you investigate.”

“Then they shouldn’t have hired Eclipse.”

The connection remained active as Noah’s transport descended toward Settlement Gamma-Nine. Sophie could see the medical facility growing larger through the viewport behind him, that three-hundred-meter isolation zone he’d mentioned clearly visible from altitude.

The transport touched down with a hydraulic hiss. Noah was first down the ramp, Marcus and Reyna close behind. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across prefabricated buildings that looked standard for frontier colonies, they were built to withstand local weather patterns but not designed with aesthetics in mind.

The facility coordinator stood near the entrance, the same exhausted woman who’d signed for the delivery thirty minutes earlier. Her expression shifted from tired to wary as Noah approached.

“Mr. Eclipse,” she said, her voice carrying forced politeness. “Was there a problem with the delivery? Everything checked out when we received it.”

“I need to verify the contents,” Noah replied. “Standard post-delivery inspection. Won’t take long.”

“That’s not necessary. We’ve already processed the supplies into our system.”

“Then it should be easy to show me what we delivered.” Noah moved toward the entrance. The coordinator stepped into his path, not threatening but clearly blocking.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Patient confidentiality and medical protocols prevent unauthorized personnel from—”

“Arghhhhh~”

A scream cut through her explanation. It sounded distant and muffled by walls but unmistakable to anyone who’d spent time around genuine suffering.

Noah could hear ultiple voices, high-pitched with pain or fear or both.

Noah’s expression hardened. “What’s happening in there?”

“Treatment complications. Nothing related to your delivery.” The coordinator’s exhaustion cracked slightly, showing something desperate underneath. “Please, Mr. Eclipse. You’ve completed your contract. There’s no reason for you to—”

Noah moved. Not aggressive, just purposeful, stepping around the coordinator and through the entrance before she could physically stop him. Marcus and Reyna followed immediately, their hands moving toward weapons by reflex even though no direct threat had presented itself.

The interior corridor was standard medical facility construction—white walls, fluorescent lighting, the smell of antiseptic mixing with something else. Something organic and wrong. The wailing was louder now, coming from deeper in the facility, joined by other sounds. Crying. Shouting. The mechanical beeping of medical equipment operating at capacity.

“Noah,” Sophie’s voice came through his comm, tinny but clear. “What are you seeing?”

“Corridor access. Signs pointing to treatment wards, isolation units, emergency care.” Noah’s helmet-mounted camera captured everything, transmitting back to Watch Command in real-time. “The coordinator is following us but not trying to stop us anymore. I think she knows she can’t.”

They reached a junction where the corridor opened into a larger space—what looked like a triage area converted into something approximating organized chaos. Medical staff moved between beds and examination tables, their movements quick but not panicked. Professional crisis management from people who’d been doing this for hours or days.

And the patients.

Noah stopped walking.

Forty beds filled the triage area, arranged in rows that maximized efficiency over comfort. Each bed held someone in various stages of medical distress. Some thrashed against restraints, their movements spasmodic and uncontrolled. Others lay still, too still, their breathing shallow and irregular. Most were conscious, their faces twisted with pain or fear.

But what made Noah’s breath catch was the pattern he could see even from twenty meters away.

Their veins were glowing.

Not metaphorically. Not the flush of fever or the visible vasculature of someone with low body fat. Their veins actually glowed with a sickly yellow-green light, visible through their skin in branching patterns that followed circulatory pathways from extremities toward core organs.

A woman in the nearest bed screamed, her back arching, and Noah saw blood begin seeping from her nose. Not flowing—seeping, like the capillaries had suddenly become permeable. Her eyes were squeezed shut, tears mixing with the blood running down her face.

Twenty meters away, a man’s glow intensified, the yellow-green light pulsing brighter. His breathing accelerated, hyperventilating, and then blood appeared. From his nose first, then his ears, then his tear ducts. The medical staff rushed to him with towels and equipment, but Noah could see their expressions. This wasn’t the first time. This was routine.

“Watch Command,” Noah said quietly, his voice steady despite what he was seeing. “I need medical analysis. Emergency priority.”

“Already on it,” Sophie replied. “Seraleth is pulling our healers together now. Describe what you’re seeing in detail.”

Noah moved closer, his camera capturing everything. “Approximately forty patients showing identical symptoms. Luminescent effect in their circulatory system, yellow-green coloration. The glow appears to intensify twenty to thirty minutes before hemorrhaging begins based on our delivery time. Blood is seeping from mucous membranes—nose, ears, eyes, mouth. Some patients are stable, others are actively dying.”

He approached the coordinator who’d followed them in, her face carrying resignation mixed with something that might have been relief. “How many have died?”

“Eighteen,” she said. “Since we administered the treatments,”

“The treatments we delivered.”

“Yes.”

Noah felt ice spreading through his chest. “Cut the livestream,” he said. “Now.”

There was a pause, then Sophie’s voice: “Done. We’re dark. What do you need?”

“Full medical assessment. Sample analysis if possible. Isolation protocols.” Noah looked at the forty beds, at the eighteen corpses that had already been moved to a separate area covered with sheets. “We delivered this. Whatever’s happening here, we caused it.”

“You didn’t know,” Sophie said.

“Doesn’t matter. We delivered it.”