Everyone had their own path. They crossed by chance, shared a stretch of the road, then went their separate ways again. … Inside the helicopter, Theresa glanced over at Professor K. "Old man, which department are you from?" Professor K studied her, realizing this wasn't one of their organization's helicopters. The sharp glint in his aging eyes gave him away. "You're not one of us." "I told you already," Theresa said, leaning back like she owned the sky. "I only took you because I need to save my Aunt Tania. Your people bailed on the deal. So be smart—switch sides, and I'll let you live." Professor K just smiled faintly and stayed quiet. "Not gonna talk, huh?" Theresa flicked her eyes toward Tyger. The man cracked his neck, chambered a round with a loud click, and pressed the barrel against the professor's forehead. Professor K didn't even flinch. He just closed his eyes, calm as if daring them to pull the trigger. Age did that to a man—made him stubborn, unafraid, too used to staring down death to care anymore. Theresa's gaze slid to the dog sitting beside him. The dog met her eyes, let out a low whimper, and backed away. Theresa gave a cold little laugh. "Nice dog. Shame it's gonna end up in a pot stew." Professor K's eyes snapped open. In an instant, he threw his arms out, shielding his dog. Tyger slammed a hand down on Professor K's shoulder blade while Kyle grabbed hold of his dog. "Woof! Woof! Woof!""Whine… whine!" The poor thing was trembling, crying out in panic. "Drag him over. We're butchering it now." Professor K's eyes went wide, tears welling up as he cried, "Leave him out of this! Come for me if you must!" Theresa tilted her head, her smile cruel. "Sure. I'll save you a bowl of dog pot stew later." "You…you monster!" Professor K's voice cracked. He stared at her, the veins in his neck standing out, then gritted his teeth. "Fine! You want answers, I'll tell you everything! Just let my dog go!" In the end, he didn't have it in him to fight her. Theresa chuckled. "That's better. Now, old man, which division of the Starborn Order are you from?" "Divine Institute." "Your ID number?" "S089." "Hand me your card." "I…didn't bring it." Theresa flicked her eyes toward Kyle. He grabbed the dog that had just caught its breath and pulled it back again. "It's in my wheelchair!" Professor K blurted. Theresa shot Quentin a look. He stepped forward, rummaged through the wheelchair, and pulled out a sleek black access card wedged between the seat cushions. So, he is indeed an S-Rank employee. And his card isn't quite the same as the one I took from Gabriella before. She's S-Rank too, from the Divine Institute, but hers has a square pattern. Professor K's card has a triangular one. Theresa caught that little detail. "What do the access cards look like at your Production Company?" The moment he heard her say Production Company, Professor K's eyes narrowed again. "How do you even know all this?" "Just answer." "The Production Company uses a round keycard." "What about Legion?" "Legion's symbol is a sword." Theresa gave a slight nod. "One last thing, where are the headquarters for all three?" "How would I know that?" "Dog pot stew." "I really don't know!" Professor K shouted, panicking. "But I do know where the Divine Institute is! The Starborn Order has four divisions. Each runs independently and vertically. At the Divine Institute, we only conduct research. All our results are sent directly to the Production Company. "I don't even know where the Production Company's located, let alone Legion!" Theresa studied him for a moment. "Where's the Divine Institute then?" "Latitude 35°69' north, longitude 131°69' east," Professor K said, finally giving an address. "Woof! Woof! Woof!" The moment the dog was released, it bolted to his side. Professor K's expression softened as he wrapped his arms around the dog, stroking its fur like he was trying to calm it—and himself. … The helicopter touched down in no time at all. Professor K had a sinking feeling he was about to step straight into hell. The zombie virus—they had been the ones who set it off, the Starborn Order. The outside world had long been torn apart by it, shredded into something unrecognizable. He could already picture what human settlements must look like now—miserable, filthy, falling apart. Before they ever began working on the virus, they had built simulations. Models predicting what would happen once the outbreak hit. By day one, a third of the population turned. By day two, it was more than two-thirds. By day three, almost everyone. Two weeks later, ninety-nine percent of the world was gone. Four years into the apocalypse, there was no way human civilization had survived intact. The few who made it must've been barely clinging on, hiding in scattered little camps like clumps of weeds floating on water, scraping by like rats and bugs. After leaving, Firestone didn't feel a sense of freedom. To him, it felt like stepping straight into the pit of hell.