Apocalypse Forecast

The entire Special Affairs Department was eerily quiet.

Everyone seemed to sense that a volcano was about to erupt. As they passed by the director's office, they tiptoed, fearing that even the slightest noise would trigger the bomb inside and drown them in rage.

"You've scared them," Director Fu sighed helplessly, watching the quietly drifting shadows outside the partially open door as he poured tea into the cup of the teenage girl in front of him.

"What's there to be afraid of? Afraid of this cripple?" Ai Qing seemed to be amused, but there was not a trace of laughter on her face or in her pupils. "Rest assured, no matter how deplorable, I would not make a scene at the Special Affairs Department."

"No, I'm trying to advise you to stay calm." Director Fu shook his head. He wanted to smoke, but as if remembering something, he hesitated for a long time, finally rolling up his sleeve to apply another nicotine patch to his arm. "Whether it's the Astronomical Society or the Social Security Bureau, everything must ultimately be done by the book. Since rules are involved, there will undoubtedly be unpleasantness, so you don't need to put too much pressure on yourself."

"Honestly, I'm not worried about Qi Wen," Ai Qing scoffed indifferently. "No matter how much he seems like somebody significant, he's still the same old dog at heart—the moment he gets a couple of bones, he starts showing them off everywhere. If he stays in his own corner, the Yin Family can't do anything to him for now. But he's delusional enough to want to jump into the quagmire of Jinling. He doesn't use his brain. No matter how powerful he is, could he match the prestige of the Huai Family back in the day? In a couple of years, he will be picked clean by those gentry joining hands... By then, he will probably have to thank the Yin Family for sparing his dog's life out of consideration for the past, right? What I'm worried about are The Purified People. In this matter, Qi Wen is not the key. But the problem is, all the clues we could find have been destroyed by that self-righteous jerk Qi Wen!"

She tapped the armrest emotionlessly. "Now, in our hands, apart from a pile of bodies and ruins, all we're left with is a nonsensical prophecy poem. In this situation, if those guys really make a move, we're simply sitting ducks!"

Director Fu didn't speak anymore, just anxiously rolled up his sleeve and applied two more nicotine patches.

For many days, through internal announcements or private communications among colleagues, they had come to understand the surrounding situation and the unprecedented large-scale mobilization by The Purified People in recent years.

Not just Xinhai, but abnormalities were discovered in more than seven or eight cities, almost covering the entire eastern coastal region of Dongxia.

One careless move and another border war could erupt, with untold numbers of people affected.

No one wanted the spark to burst into flame within their own jurisdiction, whether from a sense of duty or for the sake of their professional lives.

But what made Ai Qing uneasy wasn't just that.

There was something else that kept her restless and irate.

It was like the foreboding feeling of leaving home without your keys or forgetting to turn off the faucet – when you know that your deadly instincts are about to kick in again, it's hard for your mood to lift.

Even though many people admired this Talent, few could understand how much Ai Qing herself detested it.

Especially when you don't know when the other shoe is going to drop, you hate it even more.

This anxiety lingered in her mind until, in one moment, she finally pinpointed the source of the abnormality. She abruptly stood up, leaned on her crutch, and returned to the interrogation room doorway, looking around her.

The deserted corridor, the ubiquitous trash cans, and on the ashtray atop one, that small, annoying bottle.

Ai Qing reached out, picking up the thumb-sized bottle that still contained a drop of pale purple liquid.

It had a faint, bitter smell, like some kind of drug.

The test strip she carried turned orange-red.

She was certain it was some kind of Potion from the Border; the orange-red color fell between the red representing stimulants and the yellow representing sedatives.

She looked at Director Fu. "Has anyone else been here just now?"

Director Fu looked baffled and casually called over a subordinate who had just finished compiling reports. The subordinate was just as puzzled.

"You mean Huai Shi?" the subordinate thought for a moment and looked at Ai Qing. "Aren't you two together?"

CRASH!

The bottle smashed on the floor.

Finally...

When the other shoe finally dropped, Ai Qing found herself feeling a mix of shock and astonishment, and to her surprise, a hint of relief.

"What's wrong?" Director Fu asked.

Leaning on her crutch, Ai Qing waved her hand weakly. "Go check your duty roster now. Focus on the armed guards and their weapons."

Clinging to a rare sense of trust and understanding, even though Ai Qing provided no explanation, Director Fu still issued the order as she requested.

Soon, after a brief search and check, the day's attendance and actual presence records were handed over.

Not a single armed guard, ready with live ammunition, was missing.

But there was a discrepancy in the attendance record; someone was missing. Soon enough, the missing person was found in a toilet stall, bound with ropes, his mouth sealed with tape, struggling fiercely.

"Old Wang?" Director Fu was stunned.

Once the tape was torn off, Old Wang ignored his severe coughing and yelled, "It's Huai Shi! It's Huai Shi... he took the keys... the keys to the armory!"

This is just great, isn't it...

In a moment of deathly silence, Ai Qing leaned against a corner, closing her eyes, exhausted.

This son of a bitch.

Does he have any idea what he's done?

Soon, surveillance footage showed the figure of a boy carrying a travel bag emerging from the armory. He strolled casually, as if on a leisurely walk, occasionally waving to acquaintances he passed. He made his way unimpeded out of the Special Affairs Department.

He carried an automatic rifle, six magazines, two pistols, fifty rounds of pistol ammunition, six grenades, two blocks of plastic explosives, and so on...

It was like shopping at a supermarket.

He returned fully loaded.

With a calm smile, he hailed a taxi and silently drifted away.

Director Fu nearly went insane watching this.

Shit, if I had known earlier, I should have just killed this bastard on the spot!

He grabbed the Guard, who was drenched in sweat, and bellowed, "How long has he been gone?"

"T-Twenty minutes..."

"Twenty minutes? Even a dog could sense something wrong in twenty minutes! Are you saying you're worse than dogs?" Director Fu raged, nearly tearing the man apart with his bare hands. Seeing Ai Qing calmly starting to drink tea nearby fueled his irritation. "Why aren't you worried at all?"

"Would worrying be of any use?" Ai Qing set down her teacup, sighing softly. "If we really should start preparing to do something, perhaps we could begin discussing what style to use for Qi Wen's funeral."

Twenty minutes?

Don't joke with me. He'll be long gone by then.

「Twenty minutes earlier, a downpour raged.」

On the elevated highway, a taxi raced through the veil of rain, its interior blaring with disco songs from over a decade ago. As the Buddha pendant on the rearview mirror spun, the driver bobbed his head and hummed along with the music.

In the passenger seat, a young man cradling a massive travel bag gazed blankly at the curtain of rain outside, as if he saw a black Flying Bird flickering in and out of sight in the sky.

"Young man, this won't do," the driver spoke. "You've been in this taxi for a while without giving a destination, just urging me to keep driving. We're about to get on the highway—can you at least tell me where you're headed? How about I find you a spot to switch cabs? I'll charge you twenty bucks less."

The young man remained silent, simply staring out the window as if he hadn't heard. Just as the driver couldn't resist speaking again, the young man finally made a sound.

"No need, Master. Just drop me off here."

"On the overpass? Young man, are you out of your mind?" The driver stared at him in shock. "Stopping here means a penalty!"

"It's fine." The young man took out a foldable raincoat from his travel bag and swiftly put it on. "When the time comes, you can just say I forced you."

As he spoke, he unzipped the travel bag to show the driver the firearms and coppery bullets within.

Suddenly, the driver slammed on the brakes. The taxi screeched to a halt on the busy overpass, nearly causing a rear-end collision and igniting a chorus of angry horn blasts.

The driver's face turned pale, hands raised. "Spare me, young man! I... I have a family to feed... This is all the money I have... If it's not enough, I'll withdraw more..."

The teenager smiled, shook his head, pulled out his phone, scanned for payment, and paid three times the fare.

"Sorry to trouble you." He picked up his bag, pushed open the car door, and bid his farewell politely, "Have a pleasant life. Goodbye."

The car door closed.

In the midst of the storm, the taxi sped away frantically.

Leaving Huai Shi alone on the spot.

The torrential rain seemed to swallow everything. Countless droplets shattered in an instant, kicking up a roar as if the world itself was breaking apart. Beyond that, however, was a palpable silence.

Everything blurred into a rainy mist, with only the traffic lights beneath the overpass glaring a blinding red.

The passing vehicles emerged from the rainy mist and disappeared back into it, like rushing Steel Monsters.

And amidst these numerous Steel Monsters, Huai Shi stood in the middle of the overpass. He bent down, placed the travel bag on the ground, and meticulously attached pistols, magazines, and bullets to the Vest under his raincoat.

Methodically.

These on the left, those on the right, some more in the middle.

He grew gradually heavier.

He grew gradually more equipped.

It was as if he was retrieving his internal organs one by one. As if they too began to throb in his vacant chest, he returned, step by step, to completeness.

His empty shell seemed to welcome back the breath of a Soul.

Until finally, he lifted the heavy automatic rifle and slung it over his shoulder.

In a trance, Huai Shi seemed at last complete.

Yet something still seemed to be missing.

It was not until he finally remembered to plug the earphones dangling from his neckline into his ears that the aggressive drumbeat and bass line tore apart the excessively noisy silence.

"Has he lost his mind? Can he see, or is he blind?"

The young man tapped his finger against the gun, humming softly with the song. "Can he walk at all, or if he moves, will he fall?"

Does he still have his senses?

Is he blind though he sees?

Can he still move ahead?

Or will he collapse with a single step?

In a wait that was either too long or too short, he swayed his head to the rhythm of the drumbeats, wandering in the rain on the overpass like an invisible Soul, as heavy vehicles roared past, barely brushing him.

As if awaiting the distant chime of a bell.

Only when the dark Flying Bird once again shot across the rainy veil did he leisurely raise the gun in his hands. He settled it on his shoulder, flipped off the safety, and, through the rainwater dripping from his hood, stared at the emerging silhouette in the downpour.

The high beams illuminated his eyes.

In that instant, he pulled the trigger.