In a villa with warm lighting, a sturdy, unsmiling lieutenant general in his thirties stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
Sam Lane gently swirled the vodka in his glass, his eyes fixed on the night outside.
Vodka, in its purest form, carried no noticeable sll. Its sweetness and fiery passion only erged upon drinking, smooth as water, but as intense as fire.
It was invigorating and sharp, sending a stimulating wave through the senses. For those unaccustod to its strength, it could send shivers down their spine. But to those who savored it, its flavor lingered pleasantly, with a sweetness that grew richer over ti.
Sam took a small sip. The fiery sensation rolling down his throat made his eyes narrow slightly.
He stood upright, his posture the textbook standard of a soldier. His back was straight, his gaze unwavering, and his presence carried the weight of authority.
Sam had a strong physique and a rugged, commanding face. He was the youngest and most promising lieutenant general in the military. His family background, combined with his personal achievents, had catapulted him into the spotlight. He had played a significant role in both the Vietnam War and the Cold War against the Soviet Union, earning accolades and solidifying his reputation.
If not for the lack of a vacancy in the admiral ranks, he would already be in line for promotion. However, military protocol dictated a strict "one out, one in" policy for admiral appointnts, a vacancy had to occur first, followed by a presidential nomination and approval from the Senate. Until then, he would have to bide his ti.
"General Lane! General Vic has secretly deployed elite troops in the suburbs," an adjutant announced as he entered the room. His spine was straight as he saluted and delivered his report.
Sam Lane's narrowed eyes glead faintly. "Target?"
"After confirmation, the target is the leader of the 'Barmulodi' gang in the suicide slum. General Vic's intelligence appears to be accurate, the target matches the description of the biological warrior sample that escaped from the research institute. It is the only successful sample in the program."
The adjutant continued, "The target has not concealed his whereabouts. He established the 'Barmulodi' gang in the tropolitan Suicide Slum and has since unified the gang landscape there. Observations confirm he possesses imnse physical power and is invulnerable.
"Our reconnaissance also indicates that he can leap over forty ters in a single bound and, as reported last week, kicked a helicopter out of the sky.
"Two days ago, at the Tower of Babylon in the suicide slum, his eyes emitted beams of red light. Preliminary analysis suggests these were infrared laser beams, highly concentrated clusters of thermal energy with extre temperatures."
Sam's breathing slowed slightly as he processed the report. His expression remained composed, but his eyes betrayed a trace of shock.
Stronger than expected.
A single leap of forty ters, roughly the height of ten floors, possibly more. An invulnerable body harder than steel. Eyes capable of emitting lasers.
The intel from General Vic hadn't described Bardi's abilities in such extraordinary detail.
Since the missile explosion at the military base, General Vic had provided the military with extensive biological data, describing Bardi as the sole successful result of an experintal super-soldier program. There was no ntion of him being an alien, just a biological warrior developed through classified research.
The military was aware of General Vic's long-standing ambitions to create super-soldiers for the Cold War against the Soviet Union, so an accidental success didn't seem entirely implausible.
But even so…
"Super-soldiers are one thing. But mastering hacking technology to infiltrate military systems? Hacking an entire base, launching missiles, destroying the facility, and diverting reinforcents? Eradicating an underground research institute, wiping out all genetic samples and biological data without leaving a trace?"
Sam Lane frowned deeply.
He knew more about General Vic than most. He had studied the man extensively and had access to classified information. No matter how he looked at it, this didn't align with what he knew of Vic's capabilities.
Even Colonel Willife, General Vic's trusted aide, was rely an alien-chip-based bioweapon developed with imnse resources from Area 51. Could General Vic have created sothing far beyond Willife's abilities on his own?
Sam didn't believe it.
So… where did this creature co from?
This monster—what was its origin?
"Investigate General Vic's movents over the past two years," Sam Lane ordered, his sharp eyes narrowing. "I want to know everywhere he's been and when he started taking a particular interest in that military base."
His mind raced, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place.
This was no ordinary situation.
Sam was one of the most highly regarded officers in the military. If no admiral retired soon, he would remain in his current position until one of them stepped down or aged out.
That process was far too slow.
Now, however, an opportunity presented itself.
Admiral Vic was in trouble. The biological information he provided had only been a temporary asure to placate military officials. However, the reality of the situation was dire: nearly 7,000 soldiers were dead, 3,000 were severely injured or permanently disabled, and countless classified materials had been lost. For now, this catastrophe had been suppressed and overshadowed by the ongoing Cold War with the Soviet Union.
But once the backlash ca, Admiral Vic's position would no longer be secure. Absolutely not.
Arica's youngest general!
Arica's youngest general!
Arica's youngest general!
When the position beca vacant, Sam knew he would rise to fill it. He would soon beco the youngest general in the nation's history. At just thirty-three years old, he would sit at the pinnacle of military power. His na would be etched into history, rembered for generations.
In the future, every Arican, when discussing military generals, would know his na: Sam Lane, the youngest general to ever rise to such a position.
The sheer thought of it was exhilarating, almost intoxicating.
Sam's heart burned with ambition. His desire for power consud him, filling his mind with visions of his future.
And beyond the rank of general was an even greater title: five-star general, the equivalent of a marshal.
That rank was only awarded during warti. And now, amidst the Cold War with the Soviet Union, there was a chance—a slim one, but a chance nonetheless—to achieve it. If he could rise to general, and then to five-star general, and ultimately lead the United States to victory over the Soviet Union, his na would be immortalized.
His legacy would beco a milestone in Arican history.
He could see it now, his portrait printed on the head of a U.S. dollar bill.
"Ha…"
Sam exhaled softly, suppressing the growing flas of his ambition. His eyes returned to their usual calm focus.
He knew it was impossible. Becoming a five-star general, much less having his face on currency, was nothing more than a fantasy.
But becoming an admiral? That was within reach. He just needed to act decisively and stay a few steps ahead.
"Prepare the car. I'm going to see Vic," Sam ordered.
He walked lightly down the villa's grand staircase. As he passed by his daughter's room, he paused. Quietly, he pushed open the door and peeked inside.
His daughter was fast asleep, her small body curled up in bed. Her blanket had slipped off her legs.
Sam stepped into the room, moving with the careful precision of a soldier on reconnaissance. He gently tucked the blanket over her legs and pulled it up to her chin.
Leaning down, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead.
The touch made little Lois scrunch her face in her sleep. With a dissatisfied grumble, she turned over, burying her face in her pillow. Her father's kiss, it seed, had disrupted her dreams.
Sam couldn't help but chuckle, a rare smile lighting up his otherwise serious face. In that mont, he was just a father looking at his daughter, his usual stern deanor lting away.
He stood there for a mont, watching her sleep.
Then, with quiet steps, he tiptoed out of the room.
Carefully, he pulled the door shut.
As soon as it clicked closed, his entire deanor changed.
His back straightened, his shoulders squared, and his face returned to its stoic expression. The warm father was gone, replaced by the unsmiling Lieutenant General Sam Lane.
***
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