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Chapter 62 – Deterrence
Just as Wu Fan's hand reached toward Amy's waist, the door was suddenly pushed open.
Amy jolted upright as if electrocuted. A blush instantly spread across her face as she hurriedly straightened her collar.
Wu Fan's hand froze midair. He coughed twice and calmly withdrew it. In less than a second, his expression shifted from awkwardness to complete composure.
"I was just checking Amy's back," he said flatly. "There was a spider."
Edwin didn't even react.
Neither did Candice.
Nor Abraham.
The three of them entered in silence. Candice carried a test report, Edwin held a green test tube, and Abraham carried a laptop. On the screen was the final frame of the wildfire virus being neutralized by the serum.
All three wore the same expression—shock, excitement, and barely restrained urgency.
"Boss, this serum—"
Edwin placed the test tube on the desk, still gripping it tightly. "Where did you get it?"
Wu Fan leaned back in his chair, his expression now completely composed.
"Headquarters. I don't know the exact source. They just told us to analyze it and replicate it as quickly as possible."
The three exchanged glances.
Abraham adjusted his glasses. "Headquarters? Which headquarters? We've never heard of—"
"I don't know any more than you do," Wu Fan interrupted calmly. "It's enough that you even got your hands on a sample like this. Do you really think anyone is going to explain where it came from?"
Candice opened her mouth as if to ask more, but Edwin gently stopped her.
He carefully placed the test tube back into its container.
"Understood," he said quietly. "We will analyze it and attempt replication immediately."
The three turned and left.
At the door, Edwin paused and looked back at Wu Fan.
His gaze carried curiosity, understanding, and something deeper that Wu Fan couldn't quite define.
Then the door closed.
Amy peeked out from behind it, her face still slightly flushed.
"Finished talking?"
Wu Fan waved her inside. "Yes. Now we can talk about our business."
Amy closed the door and locked it.
The Next Morning
Wells stood at the edge of the Hive helipad, staring up at the massive circular opening above him, swallowing hard.
Behind him stood four trainees—National Guard soldiers he had brought along. They had driven Humvees and repaired armored vehicles before, but none of them had ever piloted a helicopter.
The elevator platform slowly rose. Morning light poured in from above, illuminating the Puma helicopter's rotor blades with a cold metallic sheen.
"This is…" one trainee whispered, staring at the mounted 30mm cannon. "Is this real?"
Wu Fan leaned out of the cockpit.
"Get in."
The five of them climbed aboard and squeezed onto the metal benches.
Wells sat in the co-pilot seat, his fingers resting lightly on the dashboard. The instruments—dials, switches, and screens—were labeled in abbreviations he barely understood, yet everything was arranged with precise order.
[System ready — stealth mode activated]
The roof panels slid open, letting sunlight flood in.
The elevator lifted the helicopter from underground to the surface. Fresh air rushed into the cabin.
Wu Fan pulled the controls. The helicopter rose smoothly into the sky.
Wells gripped the seat tightly, knuckles whitening.
"Watch carefully," Wu Fan said through the headset.
He pointed at the instruments—altimeter, airspeed indicator, attitude indicator, heading display—and explained them one by one.
Wells tried to memorize everything, sweat forming on his forehead.
The four trainees in the back were already overwhelmed, their eyes darting between the instruments and the city below.
The helicopter hovered above Atlanta.
Below them, a horde of more than a hundred Walkers gathered at an intersection, moving sluggishly like a disturbed nest of insects.
Wu Fan pressed the trigger.
The machine gun roared.
Tat-tat-tat-tat—
A stream of bullets swept across the street. Walkers collapsed in rows like harvested wheat. Heads burst, limbs scattered, bodies flew apart.
The trainees pressed against the windows, eyes wide in disbelief.
Wells kept his hands steady on the controls.
Wu Fan released the stick, letting him take over. The helicopter tilted slightly, then stabilized.
"Don't be afraid," Wu Fan said. "There's no air traffic control anymore. Fly as you want."
Wells nodded and carefully adjusted the controls, raising and lowering altitude.
By the time they returned, it was already afternoon.
Wu Fan stepped out of the cockpit and patted Wells on the shoulder.
"Take them for practice runs. Don't worry if you crash."
Wells: "…"
"Yes, sir!"
He immediately led the trainees toward another reconnaissance helicopter, his steps far more confident than before.
CDC – Third Floor Office
Amy entered with a stack of documents.
"Merle went out," she said.
"I know. I sent him."
"He took a Stryker without reporting. That's against protocol."
Wu Fan smiled faintly. "The mission wasn't exactly honorable. No need for formalities."
"What mission?"
"He went to collect compensation for emotional distress."
Amy gave him a deadpan look.
Highway South of Atlanta
A Stryker armored vehicle rumbled forward, crushing broken glass and dried blood beneath its eight wheels.
Merle sat in the passenger seat, legs crossed, a cigarette dangling from his mouth—the last pack he had taken from Wu Fan's drawer.
"How much farther?" he asked.
"About ten miles," the driver replied.
Inside the vehicle, the team checked weapons in silence. The sound of magazines clicking filled the cabin.
Soon, they arrived.
Woodbury's outer guards spotted them first.
A black armored vehicle emerged from the road like a silent beast, its turret slowly rotating.
"Armored vehicle incoming!" the guard shouted into the radio.
The Stryker stopped at the gate.
Merle stepped out.
He looked at the barricades, sandbags, and armed men behind cover.
Then he flicked his cigarette away.
"Call your boss."
Caesar Martinez stepped forward, his expression dark.
He recognized the vehicle. He had seen it before—at the freight station, on the highway.
Merle smiled.
That smile alone was enough to make Martinez's blood boil.
"You stole our supplies," Merle said casually. "And sent people to follow us."
He lit another cigarette.
"The boss wants compensation."
Martinez frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Merle sighed, turned back to the Stryker, and retrieved a tablet.
He played a video.
Crowley—crying, begging, confessing everything.
The crowd shifted.
"Who is Martinez? Step forward!"
All eyes turned toward him.
Martinez's face went pale.
"…What do you want?"
Merle closed the tablet.
"Simple. Pay double what you took. Deliver it to CDC within three days."
He tapped the vehicle.
"If you don't, we'll come get it ourselves."
The Stryker turned around and left.
Martinez stood frozen as the convoy disappeared into the distance.
CDC – Night
Wu Fan listened to the report in silence.
"Three days," he said.
"If they don't respond in three days, you lead the team."
Merle's eyes lit up. "What equipment should I bring?"
"Everything you can carry."
Wu Fan looked out the window.
"If they refuse," he said calmly, "make an example."
Merle grinned and left.
The office fell silent.
Outside, construction continued under the setting sun. The entire base was bathed in a dark red glow.
Wu Fan studied the map of Woodbury.
Seventy armed men.
Not a large force—but not a weak one either.
He glanced at the system panel.
Armored vehicles. Helicopters. 30mm cannons.
More than enough.
He closed the panel.
"Let's hope they're smart," he muttered.
But deep down, he already knew—
They probably wouldn't be.