Tokyo: Proving one's position from behind the scenes

Yokosuka, U.S. Naval Base, Underground Test Range.

The white light from the fluorescent lamps poured down from the ceiling, illuminating the entire testing area without a single shadow. All colors were swallowed up by the white light, leaving only gray and white.

One side of the test site was a wall of one-way glass, behind which was the observation room. Yamazaki stood in front of this glass, with Taniguchi Naoya on his left and Hashimoto on his right. Hashimoto had flown in specifically from Osaka.

Commissioner Smith stood beside them, holding a cup of coffee.

"Director Yamazaki, Department Head Hashimoto." Commissioner Smith took the coffee cup from his lips. "Before we officially begin, I need to confirm one thing with the three of you."

The attendant handed him three sheets of paper, which were three confidentiality agreements. The top of the papers bore the insignia of the U.S. Army Department, and there was a blank space for a signature at the bottom.

"Everything you are about to see is a top U.S. military secret. After you leave this observation room, you are not allowed to record, disseminate, or disclose anything you have seen today in any form. The consequences of violating this agreement are clearly stated in the agreement."

Of course, everyone present knew that this was just a piece of toilet paper.

The three men signed the agreement. Commissioner Smith carefully put away the three copies, then walked to the control panel on the left side of the observation room and pressed a button.

On the other side of the one-way glass, the metal door at the other end of the test field opened.

Twelve men in full tactical gear walked out of the door, dressed exactly like the special forces who had rounded up Nobuko Yoshida in Arakawa Ward that day.

Commissioner Smith did not look at the twelve men; his gaze was fixed on the other end of the testing ground.

The door opened, and a person walked out.

He is about 1.9 meters tall, wearing a black helmet visor with a five-pointed star emblem, dark tactical armor with star decorations, thick and neat shoulder and breastplates, and combat boots. His overall attire is military-style.

He walked to the center of the testing ground and stood opposite the twelve men, his feet shoulder-width apart and his hands hanging naturally at his sides. He did not look at the weapons in the hands of the twelve men, nor at the one-way glass side; his gaze was fixed straight ahead, and his face was expressionless.

Commissioner Smith gave the order to begin the test via microphone to the test range.

Gunfire filled the entire test site in an instant. The one-way glass blocked out most of the sound, but Yamazaki could still feel the bullets spraying from the muzzle, weaving a dense net of fire in the air, converging on the person standing in the center from three directions.

He moved, his whole body lunging forward.

He lowered his body, leaned forward, and as he pushed off with both feet, two shallow indentations appeared on the cushioning material. He was so fast that he left a blurry afterimage under the white light of the fluorescent lamp. The bullet hit the spot where he had just stood, exploding into a fine shard on the cushioning material.

Many bullets hit him, but the bulletproof materials on his body and his enhanced physical condition allowed him to withstand them with ease.

He rushed to the nearest shooter, grabbed the gun barrel with his left hand, and twisted it upwards.

The gun barrel in his hand was like a plastic straw, bent at an impossible angle. The shooter's finger was still on the trigger, but the chamber was deformed, the bullet was stuck inside, and it made a muffled sound. His right hand was pressed on the shooter's chest. With just one press, the adult wearing full tactical gear and weighing at least 80 kilograms flew backward like a bag of flour being thrown, crashing into his teammate behind him. The two of them rolled to the ground together.

The third, the fourth, the fifth...

His movements were completely erratic, like a marble bouncing repeatedly in a confined space. Each turn was accompanied by someone falling down, and each attack left someone incapacitated.

Yamazaki noticed that every move the man made avoided vital areas. Gun barrels were bent, bulletproof plates were shattered, and people were knocked down, knocked down, and thrown to the ground, but no one suffered a fatal injury. He moved among the twelve people as if doing something that required controlling his strength and had been repeated countless times.

The last shooter stood in the corner of the testing ground, his back against the wall, his weapon raised, the muzzle pointed at the person walking towards him.

His finger was on the trigger, but the gun didn't fire; his magazine was empty.

The man reached out and took the gun from the shooter's hand very gently, as if taking a toy from a child that was not suitable for his age. He twirled the gun in his hand, pointed it downwards, and handed it back. The shooter was stunned for a moment, then reached out and took it.

The man turned around and walked back to the center of the test field.

The whole process lasted less than two minutes.

Twelve people in tactical gear lay on the ground at the test site. Some were struggling to get up, some were kneeling and clutching the wounds they had been hit, and some were lying on their backs, panting heavily.

The man stood among them, unharmed, without even a scratch. His breathing was steady, his heartbeat was steady, and his gray-blue pupils remained unchanged under the white light of the fluorescent lamp.

"Soldier Boy, Perfect Awakener!"

Commissioner Smith explained.

In the observation room, Yamazaki's fingers curled slightly along the seam of his trousers.

Commissioner Smith took a sip of his coffee and placed the cup on the console.

"What you three just saw was twelve days after he was injected with Prometheus-3. His strength, speed, reaction, endurance, and resilience have all surpassed the limits of normal humans. At the same time, he has retained his full intelligence, language ability, tactical skills, and judgment."

He paused.

"He demonstrated a clear and stable sense of self during the tests. He was able to independently complete complex tactical commands, make autonomous decisions based on the battlefield situation without external command, and precisely control the force of his attacks during combat to avoid unnecessary casualties."

On the other side of the one-way glass, the soldier boy was helping the twelve people up from the ground one by one. His movements were natural; he would grab the person's arm with one hand, support their shoulder with the other, pull them to a standing position, pat them on the shoulder, and move on to the next. After those he helped up stood up, they would nod at him, and he would nod back in response.

Yamazaki watched this scene and remained silent for a few moments.

"And what about those who are not perfectly awakened?" he said.

Commissioner Smith picked up his coffee cup from the console, took a sip, and pressed another button.

The metal door at the other end of the test site opened again.

Five people wearing gray sleeveless smocks walked out of the door. The smocks were made of thin cotton, the kind used for hospital gowns, with low necklines that exposed their collarbones and chest skin. They were all a size larger than normal, with broad shoulders, thick arms, and bulging trapezius muscles on both sides of their necks. The cuffs of their smocks were stretched so wide that the seams burst open, revealing their bulging forearms with prominent veins.

Their irises were also grayish-blue. But unlike the clean, pure grayish-blue of the soldier boys, the grayish-blue in their eyes was murky, like water mixed with mud, or like the blurry, flocculent layer at the bottom of a glass after some liquid has settled for too long.

Their gait was also different. When the soldier boy walked out, his steps were steady and rhythmic, with each step almost exactly the same length. The five men walked out with a scattered gait; some took large steps, some small steps, and some paused after two steps, as if confirming whether the ground beneath their feet was truly there.

Their gazes were unfocused, and white traces of dried saliva remained at the corners of their mouths. One of them was moving his lips, as if he were repeatedly muttering something, but no sound came out; the other's right hand was constantly clenching and unclenching, clenching and unclenching, the movements as mechanical as a machine with a fixed program.

The five men stood in a row in the center of the test field. It took them almost half a minute to get into position, much slower than the twelve special forces soldiers. Their formation was also not neat; some stood too far forward, some too far back, and some were leaning to one side.

Commissioner Smith's voice came from beside the console.

"Those who are not perfectly awakened. The same medicine, the same dosage, and the same injection administered by Dr. Ryan himself. The survival rate after injection is 100%."

He paused.

"However, their intelligence has been impaired to varying degrees. Of the five, two have completely lost their ability to speak, and three can understand simple instructions but are unable to perform complex tasks. All five are unable to use weapons, coordinate tactical actions, or complete any task requiring more than three steps without supervision."

His tone was calm, as if he were reading a lab report that he had read many times before.

"The situation was even worse in subsequent batches. Starting with the third batch, there were deaths after the injection. The current overall mortality rate is about 30%. Among the survivors, about 60% have moderate to severe intellectual impairment, 30% have mild intellectual impairment, and less than 10% can maintain basically intact cognitive abilities."

He turned around to face Yamazaki, Hashimoto, and Taniguchi.

"Currently, the Yokosuka base has one Perfect Awakener and forty-seven Imperfect Awakeners. The Perfect Awakening rate is approximately two percent."

The observation room was silent for a few seconds.

"Why?" Yamazaki asked.

"We don't know. Dr. Ryan cannot give a definite reason at the moment. The preliminary judgment is that it is related to the individual differences of the injection subjects. Genes, physical condition, psychological state, past medical history, and even mental state at the time of injection may affect the final result. We are conducting whole genome sequencing and comparative analysis of physiological indicators before and after injection on all injection subjects, but we have not yet found the decisive variable."

Yamazaki took his gaze away from the soldier boy.

"And the price? As an ally?"

"Twelve Prometheus-3 missiles, three hundred million dollars each. A friendly price."

"Twelve of them, we'll buy them."