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A heavy silence on the deck enveloped everyone's hearts.
Only the sea breeze whistled through the ship's steel structure, emitting sharp, then low, mournful cries, as if countless lost souls were wailing in this maritime graveyard.
The stench in the air, a mix of rust, sea salt, and decaying flesh, grew stronger, invading their nostrils and stimulating everyone's nerve endings.
Bruce MacWeen's Adam's apple bobbed. He forced his gaze away from where Noah had just climbed up, tightening his grip on the cold.45 Caliber Pistol in his hand.
The scene on the deck sent a chill down to his bones.
It was too quiet, and too "clean".
There were no signs of struggle, no scattered bullet casings, not even large splatters of blood.
Everything seemed frozen in time, in the last second before the disaster struck.
Leisurely vacationers, elegantly dressed guests, attentive waiters... where had they all gone?
Bruce's mind raced, constructing all sorts of terrifying possibilities.
And the intermittent dragging sound from deep within the ship's cabin became the background noise for all his horrific conjectures, again and again, scraping against the floor, and also against his taut nerves.
He almost subconsciously moved forward, intending to find an advantageous firing position and approach the luxurious double doors leading into the cabin first.
Feng Ling beside him adopted the same tactical stance, her body slightly lowered, muscles tensed, ready to breach at any moment.
"Stop."
A voice devoid of any emotion came from behind the two.
Noah's voice wasn't loud, but it halted the actions they were about to unleash.
Bruce and Feng Ling both froze simultaneously.
They turned around and saw Noah unhurriedly taking out a strangely shaped satellite phone from his tactical waist pack.
The phone was entirely black, without any brand markings, but its screen lit up in the darkness, casting a ghostly blue light that illuminated Noah's calm, unperturbed face.
His fingers quickly tapped on the screen a few times, bringing up two files.
"Before you turn this into your personal show, take a look at this."
Noah turned the screen towards them.
On the screen, two top-level encrypted orders were displayed side by side.
The one on the left, with a vibrant Five-Star Red Flag and a solemn National Emblem in the background, read in the most formal and serious Song typeface: "Comrade Lin Yuan is hereby appointed as the supreme commander of this 'Spencer'Number assault operation. Comrade Feng Ling must unconditionally obey all his orders. By order."
The one on the right, with the Stars and Stripes and the Bald Eagle National Emblem in the background, read in bold English print: "Pursuant to the National Security Emergency Authorization Act, Mr. Noah, BSAA Asia-Pacific Regional Director, is appointed Commander of the 'Spencer'Number Crisis Response Joint Task Force. U.S. operational personnel, Bruce MacWeen, must strictly obey Mr. Noah's command without exception. By order."
Below both orders were bright red, unforgeable electronic seals representing the highest authority of the two nations.
Bruce's expression, from initial bewilderment to shock, and finally to disbelief, was as dramatic as a theatrical performance.
He never dreamed that he, an agent belonging to the U.S. Strategic Command, would one day have to take orders from a Huaxia person.
Moreover, the authorization level of this order was so high that he didn't even have the right to question it.
Feng Ling's reaction was much more direct.
She only needed one glance to understand the immense political weight behind this order, far exceeding a simple military operation.
This operation was never a simple anti-terrorist mission from the start.
It was a probe, a collaboration, an unprecedented joint effort between the two Eastern and Western giants in the face of a global crisis.
And Noah was the one jointly chosen by both sides to wield this sharp blade.
Noah put away his phone, the screen's light extinguished, and his face once again faded into the darkness, only his eyes shining astonishingly bright in the night.
"My superiors want me to bring up some rookies."
His tone was very flat.
"You should have all undergone countless theoretical studies and simulated exercises for anti-biochemical crisis operations. You can probably recite the regulations in the textbooks backward."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over Feng Ling and Bruce in turn.
"Now, it's time to put those theoretical things into practice."
"rookies."
Bruce MacWeen was somewhat unaccustomed to that.
This was a term he had always used to refer to the greenhorns in training camp.
But now, hearing it from this Eastern man, he couldn't find any reason to refute it.
Whether it was his inhumanly terrifying skill, the legends spoken by Leon S. Kennedy, or the two orders representing the world's top authority before him.
Feng Ling didn't hesitate.
She straightened her body, brought her feet together, and rendered an impeccable military salute to Noah.
Her movements were crisp and decisive, her eyes filled with a soldier's absolute obedience to orders.
"Yes, Sir!"
Her voice was clear, echoing on the empty deck.
Bruce watched Feng Ling's actions, then looked at Noah's unfathomable eyes, feeling his pride being crushed bit by bit.
He took a deep breath, suppressing the complex emotions churning within him, and likewise stood at attention, raising his hand in a salute.
While his movements weren't as precise as Feng Ling's, the untamed arrogance in his eyes had been replaced by an unprecedented solemnity.
"YES, Sir!"
Noah returned the salute, accepting their posture.
He wasted no more time and immediately stepped into the role of commander.
His gaze turned to Bruce, asking, "Do you know the Three-Three System tactic?"
Bruce paused, then nodded.
The "Three-Three System" tactical formation is a classic and highly efficient infantry squad tactic of the Eastern army, emphasizing mutual cover and alternating advancement among personnel.
As a top agent, he had naturally studied the tactical systems of major military powers around the world.
"Very good."
Noah nodded.
"Three-Three System tactical formation, prepare to breach."
With that command, the atmosphere instantly turned grim.
The two, who had just been fighting independently, immediately meshed like two precise gears under Noah's command.
Bruce and Feng Ling no longer hesitated. They lowered their bodies, one on the left and one on the right, quickly and silently approaching the tightly closed, massive double wooden doors carved with intricate patterns.
They pressed tightly against the wall next to the door, using the wall for cover, their weapons pointed forward, forming a crossfire.
Noah, meanwhile, retreated a few steps, crouching behind a decorative stone flowerpot.
This position perfectly covered the fan-shaped area of the door entrance, while also providing the most direct fire support for Feng Ling and Bruce.
A standard, textbook-perfect assault triangle formation instantly took shape.
Feng Ling was on the left. She gestured to Bruce on the right, then slowly extended her left hand, clad in a tactical glove, fingers spread, gently placing it on the cold door panel.
Her movements were extremely light, extremely slow, not making the slightest sound.
The door was unlocked.
As her palm pushed, the heavy wooden door let out a faint, grating
A more intense stench of decay, mixed with the scent of expensive perfume, cigars, and moldy food, gushed out from the crack in the door.
Bruce immediately aimed his gun at the crack, cautiously observing the situation behind the door.
Feng Ling continued to exert force, slowly pushing the door open just enough for one person to pass through.
Inside the door was a deep, dark abyss.
Bruce and Feng Ling did not enter immediately.
Maintaining their alert stance, they alternately used the "slicing the pie" method to gradually scan the fan-shaped area behind the door, confirming no immediate threats at the entrance.
A few seconds later, both almost simultaneously gave Noah a tactical hand signal for "clear".
Noah stood up, gun in hand, and with steady steps, was the first to enter the darkness.
Feng Ling and Bruce followed closely, and the three quickly infiltrated the heart of the death cruise ship.
Inside the cabin was an extremely luxurious reception hall.
The floor was covered with thick Persian carpets, and overhead hung a massive crystal chandelier, though now it had lost its luster, like a giant skeleton, silently suspended in mid-air.
All around the hall were various valuable artworks and comfortable sofas.
But at this moment, everything here was shrouded in an eerie atmosphere.
The stench of death hung in the air, and on the expensive carpet were dried and blackened drag marks, extending all the way to the corridor deep within the hall.
And the dragging sound that had lingered in their ears since they boarded the ship became even clearer here.
The sound was like someone dragging a heavy, wet burlap sack across a smooth floor with all their might.
"Zila... Zila..."
The sound came from deep within the gloomy corridor ahead, accompanied by the "drip, drop" of some liquid falling to the ground... Thousands of kilometers away, in Noah's home in Manhattan.
Warm sunlight streamed through the bright floor-to-ceiling windows, filling the entire living room.
Claire, wearing a loose and comfortable maternity yoga outfit, was laying out a soft mat in the center of the living room, doing some gentle stretching exercises.
Her movements were very soft, and her face carried a gentle, contented glow of an expectant mother.
Snowball was curled up sleeping in a soft cotton ball.
On the sofa not far away, Sherry sat cross-legged, holding a deeply modified laptop.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard, producing a rapid series of "clattering" sounds.
On the computer screen, countless complex data streams and molecular structure diagrams scrolled rapidly, at a speed that would make any ordinary person dizzy.
Beside her was a stack of hardcover books piled as high as a small mountain.
"Virology," "Gene Editing and Ethics," "Introduction to Bioinformatics," "Research Report on t-veronica virus Variability"... each one was a cutting-edge, profound work in its field.
The young girl's beautiful, youthful face was now filled with a focus and rigor unsuited to her age.
Her sapphire blue eyes were fixed on the screen, as if the entire world had shrunk to this data ocean composed of zeros and ones.
Suddenly, a crisp "ding-dong" of the doorbell broke the tranquility of the room.
Claire stopped her movements, looking at the door in confusion.
"Oh? Who could that be?"
Sherry pulled herself away from the world of data. She closed her laptop, hopped off the sofa, and, wearing a pair of cute bunny slippers, bounced to the entrance.
"I'll go see!"
She skillfully pressed the visual intercom system on the wall.
The screen flickered, and the scene outside the door clearly appeared.
Sherry's face broke into a smile.
On the screen stood a woman dressed in a well-tailored fiery red qipao.
She was tall, with glossy black short hair, and wore sunglasses that obscured most of her face, but her distinctive red lips and the powerful aura that seemed to control everything around her made Sherry instantly recognize her.