The terminal nut was just a binding piece. On the other side, Rian sat silently in the police station's conference room. In front of him were coffee and all kinds of junk food—just a regular day at the Port Division Crime Scene Unit.
But for the rest of the department, this wasn't an ordinary day at all.
There was no doubt: Rian, the legendary officer of the LAPD, had returned from downstairs—a hero among heroes.
To many, Rian represented the ultimate idolization of individual heroism. He was almost a myth among younger officers. In their eyes, he single-handedly took down entire criminal organizations like they were scenes from an action movie.
And this time, it was no different.
He had just wiped out 156 armed members of the notorious terror organization Prometheus. Out of a total of 160 operatives, 4 had been secretly stationed aboard a vessel known as Unit One, smuggling weapons and gear. The rest? Eliminated.
Rian didn't just outgun them—he shattered their morale. They didn't die from grenades alone. Most were taken out by precise, cold-blooded shots.
Now, gathered around the conference room, even the logistics staff and support personnel couldn't help but sneak peeks through the glass walls, eager to glimpse the man behind the legend.
"He's back! The Marshal's back! He's crushed another mission like a beast!"
At that moment, a group of senior officers entered. Leading them was a weathered man with greying hair and scars on his face—Jonathan Miller, one of the Top Five Directors of the LAPD.
By his side stood Commander Alicia, still clearly fatigued but trying to maintain composure.
"What do we do now? He just dismantled an entire terror cell!" she asked, half-frustrated, half-awed.
Before anyone could answer, the Director received a message and immediately stepped forward to greet someone important.
"Chief wants to see him."
The personnel inside scrambled, and the conference room doors opened.
Jonathan walked in, face full of warmth. "Welcome back, Rian," he said gently, patting Rian on the shoulder.
Even after wiping out a terror cell like he was mowing the lawn, Rian showed no arrogance. He just nodded calmly.
The Director's smile deepened. "DHS wants to assign you to a new division, and I approved it."
[Damn bureaucrats! Want to use me as a weapon and then toss me aside?]
Rian only offered a polite nod. "Thank you for your trust, sir."
They sat across from each other. Jonathan smiled and asked, "Rian, have you thought about your future in the department?"
Rian shrugged. "Thought I'd go into Special Ops. That's more my speed."
[Special Ops might be effective in handling general crime, but they're team-based. I don't work that way.]
Jonathan pushed on. "The other commanders are eager to bring you into Investigations. You'd be leading a team."
[Another medal for bravery? Please. Give that to someone who actually wants it.]
Rian, who was technically still a first-rank officer, already had more accomplishments than most department heads. He didn't need honors—he needed action.
Meanwhile, White Wolf, his clone, had reached the top of a cargo ship at sea. Wearing the invisibility suit, he stood right above the secret weapons container.
From the sky, dozens of black dots approached—it was an incoming wave of tactical teams from various intelligence agencies.
Inside the container, 4 surviving Prometheus operatives stood guard. They knew the moment had come.
White Wolf shook his head.
One tactical squad usually held around 20 operatives. Now, he was looking at the mobilization of roughly 300 elite agents.
4 vs 300?
[Is this a game of galactic conquest?] White Wolf chuckled in silence.
The Department of Homeland Security (DHS) arrived first, having received the initial intelligence leak.
They surrounded the container before anyone else, setting up defenses and monitoring for rival teams to strike.
Eventually, Chen, the DHS lead agent, moved in with a weapons specialist. Inside the large container was a single secure metal box—sealed with biometric locks.
Once opened, a cold gas hissed out. Inside the box was a cylindrical metal capsule, alongside a strange glass tube filled with black liquid.
The weapons expert paled. "This… this isn't just some chemical agent."
Chen's eyes lit up. "Explain."
The expert explained cautiously. "This is… a viral genome weapon. Water-form virus. The stuff of nightmares."
The virus was suspected to have Soviet origins, from a top-secret bioweapons project that was never meant to see daylight. When the USSR collapsed, many of its viral research teams disappeared—and some assets were never recovered.
"This virus could alter genetics… permanently. Think 'The Thing' meets 'Contagion.' You can't just contain this with quarantine," the expert warned.
Chen clenched his fists. His mind raced with possibilities—dark, terrible ones.
[If I unleash this... I could become a god of war.]
His greed-filled eyes locked on the bioweapon.