Charlie was right

🎉Congratulations, we've reached 100 Chapters!🎉

As we have reached the first milestone of 100 chapters, (not really this is actually chapter 97 lol) I think it's time to drop my review of what I think of this fic; on that note for those who have stuck around for so long, those lurking like batman in the shadows, feel free to drop your own honest review as well...

Now, let me be clear: from my perspective, this fic isn't a 5-star masterpiece, so there's no need to sugarcoat your thoughts. I'm fine with both commendations and condemnations, though for the latter, please be nice. although... if your condemnations is for things like plot, feel free to be as ruthless as u possibly can, after all... I'm not the author, lol.

back to the story...

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Boom!

A completely unexpected explosion tore through the air, the sound like that of a colossal popcorn machine on overdrive. The shockwave rippled through the aircraft carrier, sending vibrations through its massive frame as though a giant had dropped an iron ball onto the deck. The very steel beneath their feet seemed to tremble as if in fear.

Within seconds, the sharp blare of a siren cut through the chaos, its shrill wail piercing every corner of the mothership, a sound designed to drill into the minds of everyone aboard. It was a sound meant to signal the unthinkable—an attack, an intrusion in what was supposed to be the safest place in the world.

The command room was a flurry of movement, the sudden explosion snapping everyone into action. Alarms blared, screens flashed with urgent warnings, and orders were shouted amidst the confusion. A holographic image of Commander Ross flickered to life on the central screen, his face a mask of controlled intensity. His voice, cold and unwavering, sliced through the noise.

"What's the situation?" he demanded.

"We're under attack," a voice responded from the command pit, the tension palpable. "There's an aircraft on the left wing of the ship— we're under attack!"

The words hung in the air like a bombshell. Even though many aboard had already guessed the truth, hearing it confirmed left a chill in their veins. They were in the most secure location known, with an impenetrable security system— or so they had been led to believe. The idea that someone could breach this fortress was unthinkable. The early warning systems should have detected any threat long before it came close. Yet here they were, caught off guard, the radar silent as if it had simply given up.

Commander Ross's mind raced. How could this have happened? His thoughts briefly drifted to the security chief, the man who had assured him of the mothership's safety. Perhaps he should have that man reassigned to a less critical post— perhaps growing potatoes in some distant frontier. But this was no time for such thoughts. The reality was far more dire: their alarm system had failed, possibly sabotaged.

"The third engine room is on fire!" someone shouted, their voice strained with urgency. "The fire is spreading— the engine might overheat…"

Commander Ross's eyes narrowed into slits of determination. He quickly began issuing orders, his mind focused on the immediate task at hand. Containing the fire and protecting the engine was paramount. If the engine was lost, the consequences would be catastrophic. This was no mere vessel; it was a flying fortress, and a fall from this height would be nothing short of a disaster. The thought of the mothership crashing, its monumental structure plummeting to the ground, was enough to tighten his resolve.

But before he could finish giving orders, another shockwave rocked the ship.

A second explosion reverberated through the hull, the source unclear but the impact undeniable. The entire ship shuddered violently, and the lights flickered ominously before the main screen in the command room went black with a resounding 'pop.'

The holographic image of Commander Ross vanished from the screen, leaving behind a massive, pitch-black monitor that now reflected the frantic scene in the command room like a distorted, chaotic mirror. It was as if the ship itself was mocking them, a silent witness to their desperation.

Then, without warning, the door to the command room exploded inward with a deafening crash. The metal door was blown off its hinges by a force so strong that it sent the twisted panel flying across the room. It smashed into an unfortunate agent, lifting him off his feet and sending him crashing into a console, where he lay motionless.

In the aftermath of the blast, a figure darted into the room. It moved with unnatural speed, landing on all fours in the center of the room. Its limbs twisted at grotesque angles, joints bending in ways that defied human anatomy. The creature, whatever it was, crawled across the floor like a reptile, its movements fluid and unnerving.

An infected.

The realization hit the agents like a bucket of cold water. They had seen the infected before, knew what they were capable of. Without hesitation, one of the agents drew his sidearm and opened fire. The crack of the gunshot echoed in the enclosed space, but the infected was already moving, its body contorting as it dodged the bullet with inhuman reflexes. The shot went wide, sparking against the metal walls of the command room.

More agents responded, drawing their weapons and firing at the intruder. The command room was filled with the sound of gunfire, the flashes of muzzle flare casting eerie shadows on the walls. But the infected was fast—too fast. It weaved between the bullets, evading them with a preternatural grace.

But the agents were not ordinary soldiers. Many of them had undergone enhancements—procedures that had heightened their physical abilities to superhuman levels. With a burst of speed, several agents charged forward, blocking the infected's path and engaging it in hand-to-hand combat. A flurry of punches and kicks followed, the agents' movements a blur as they struck at the creature.

Yet, for every infected they subdued, more poured into the command room through the blasted entrance. The room descended into chaos as agents and infected clashed, the air thick with the sounds of battle.

"Infected have boarded the mothership! Repeat, infected have boarded the mothership…" 

The correspondent's voice was frantic as he issued the alarm through the ship's communication system. But his words were met with silence. No response came from the agents scattered throughout the ship. The only thing that answered was a chilling whisper on the communication channel, a sound that sent a shiver down the spine of anyone who heard it. It was like the rustling of leaves in a haunted forest or the murmur of ghosts in the dark— an eerie, otherworldly sound that made the hair on the back of the neck stand on end.

At the same time, agents across the mothership were desperately trying to contact the command post. They too were met with the same unnerving whisper, the sound filling their headsets with an unnatural quiet that seemed to seep into their very souls.

Agent Felix, who had just completed a routine report, was making his way down one of the long corridors of the mothership, heading to catch a flight back to the surface.

The second explosion struck just as he was nearing the end of the corridor, the impact nearly knocking him off his feet. He stumbled, grabbing onto the wall for support, as the lights overhead flickered and then went out, plunging the corridor into darkness.

Gunfire and the sounds of combat echoed from around the corner ahead, the sudden outbreak of violence a clear sign that something had gone terribly wrong.

A sense of dread settled over Felix as he tried to peer through the darkness, his eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of light. The corridor's outline became faintly visible, but what lay ahead was still shrouded in shadow. He reached up, tapping the communication device in his ear, trying to raise the command room.

All he heard was that same, unsettling whisper.

The sounds of battle abruptly ceased, leaving an oppressive silence in their wake. Felix swallowed hard, trying to calm the growing unease that gnawed at him. He drew his pistol, the weight of the weapon offering little comfort as he flicked off the safety. With cautious steps, he began to move forward, his senses on high alert.

A cold draft seemed to brush the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. The air felt wrong—too cold, too still.

Felix froze, instinctively turning his head to look behind him. What he saw made his blood run cold.

A woman was hanging upside down from the ceiling of the corridor, her long, black hair hanging like a curtain that almost touched the floor. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, and empty, as if life had long since fled from them. From her mouth, a serpentine tongue slithered out, flicking in the air like a snake's. She stared at him with a look that made his heart clench with fear, her presence more ghostly than human.

…

"Over there!" 

A team of agents raced through the narrow hallways, their footsteps echoing off the metal walls as they rushed toward the site of the first explosion.

The blast had torn a gaping hole in the side of the mothership, and through that breach, an unidentified aircraft had approached, depositing its deadly cargo— infected beings, twisted and deformed, who were now running rampant through the ship.

The breach was dangerously close to the power room, where the fire from the explosion was already threatening one of the mothership's massive engines. The engine was still operational for now, but if the fire wasn't contained soon, the consequences could be catastrophic. The agents knew they were racing against time, and every second counted.

As they ran, the agents were on high alert, their senses tuned to detect any threat. They knew the infected had boarded the ship, which meant they were likely to encounter a horde of them before reaching the power room. They steeled themselves for the inevitable battle.

But as the agents approached the breach, what they found was not at all what they had expected.

Instead of a horde of grotesque, distorted infected, there was only one figure standing at the far end of the passage. The figure was shockingly normal in appearance, even elegant.

He was dressed in an immaculate tuxedo, the kind one might wear to a high-society event rather than an invasion. In his hand, he held a polished cane, and a mask painted with a hypnotic spiral covered his face, giving him an air of eerie sophistication.

He moved slowly, unhurriedly, as if he had all the time in the world. The agents, though momentarily taken aback, didn't hesitate. The moment they laid eyes on him, they raised their weapons and opened fire.

The confined space of the corridor amplified the sound of the gunfire, the noise deafening as it reverberated off the walls. The agents were well-armed, with not just pistols, but also high-powered rifles and shotguns, weapons designed to unleash devastating force in close quarters.

But their bullets did nothing.

As they watched in disbelief, the bullets slowed as they approached the masked man, their trajectories bending as if they were being redirected by some unseen force. The projectiles curved away from the man's body, veering off to the sides and embedding themselves harmlessly into the walls. It was as if the bullets were afraid to touch him, as if they knew better than to strike this enigmatic figure.

The masked man paused, seemingly amused by their futile efforts. He twirled his cane with a flick of his wrist, then brought it down sharply against the floor.

In that instant, a powerful shockwave erupted from the point of impact. It was invisible, yet its effects were immediate and devastating. The agents felt the ground beneath them give way as gravity itself seemed to vanish. Their bodies were lifted off the floor, suspended in mid-air as the very fabric of the ship began to tear apart.

The walls and floors around them disintegrated, metal plates peeling away like paper as the corridor collapsed into a chaotic swirl of debris. It was as if the entire section of the mothership was being dismantled by some unseen, omnipotent force, each part reduced to fragments that spun wildly in the air.

The agents could do nothing as they were caught in the vortex, their bodies dragged along with the disintegrating passage. They plummeted toward the earth below, falling through the air alongside the disintegrated remains of the ship, the descent endless and terrifying, like the fall of Lucifer from the heavens.

The masked man, untouched by the destruction he had wrought, continued his unhurried pace, walking through the crumbling passage as if it were a garden path. To him, the mothership was no more than a playground, and he was merely taking a leisurely stroll.

Not long after he left the scene of destruction, Melanie appeared before him, her face set with determination.

"Did you retrieve the item?" the masked man asked, his tone casual, almost bored.

"On the way," Melanie replied, producing a small card from her pocket—Professor Miyazaki's ID card. She waved it in front of him with a satisfied smirk. "It'll take a bit more time to complete the extraction. You should keep them occupied in the meantime."

"Of course," the masked man replied with a light twirl of his cane. "It's no trouble at all."

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