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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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“Your father was the head of the syndicate?”
Cassandra shook her head at my question.
“He was one of the founders and a leader, but not the head anymore. He passed away a long time ago.
The death was sudden, and the other founders divided his shares according to his will. Of course, few parents would want their only daughter to inherit the leadership of a criminal organization.
Cassandra didn’t want to become a figurehead in the underworld either. It’s too dark. Instead, my father left me something else: money, debts, and sins.”
I was about to ask what she meant by inheriting “sins,” but Cassandra swerved the car sharply. Cars swerved to avoid us, pedestrians jumped out of the way, and other vehicles screeched to a halt, showering us with expletives. Cassandra paid no heed.
She drove off-road, tearing through the park. The car scraped against the curbs, but she continued, undeterred.
Finally, we reached the main highway. The lead car sped onto the road. Judging by the road signs, I realized where we were headed.
The Hamton outskirts, the hub connecting to the highway. They were planning to escape via the highway.
The 4th District gate was behind us. Urgent news arrived via radio and text messages – all other gates were being sealed off. Traffic was building up on the opposite side of the road, but our lane was relatively clear.
“Come to think of it,” I said, “didn’t you say you were rich and had houses all over the place?”
It was just a casual remark at the time.
“Yes, but that’s unrelated to the syndicate. They are mine, not theirs.”
“Are there no connections to the syndicate?”
“None. I have no stake in the syndicate, no authority, and no obligations. They don’t pay much attention to me either.
They probably feel a sense of debt to me, a kind of gratitude, a longing, a sense of obligation towards my father. That’s all it is.”
So, they reap the benefits but don’t completely neglect her. My father must have been quite influential.
“Then what about the jewelry store employees?”
“They’re different. They were part of the syndicate, but they also served our family for generations. Secretaries, butlers, gardeners.”
Camilla groaned from the backseat.
“Such traditions still exist in Elsa? I thought they had disappeared.”
“They have in Elsa proper. Our family originally belonged to the Roemer nobility. We were exiled to Elsa during my grandfather’s time and tried to re-establish ourselves in my father’s generation, but it failed.”
Loyal servants through generations… I had trouble understanding that concept in a democratic society.
Perhaps it was more about inertia than loyalty – the inertia of generations of power. I wondered how powerful that inertia truly was.
Camilla, as if suddenly remembering something, asked in a sharp voice, “What about Fernando? What’s his connection to you?”
“Fernando? He was a finance manager at my father’s power company. He was young and quite handsome back then.”
“A finance manager at a power company? That’s what he really was?”
“I’m not sure about his exact title, but he was definitely in finance. My father liked him very much.”
“So your father was, like, the CEO of a power company?”
Camilla’s question was sharp.
“Bigger than that,” Cassandra replied.
Camilla seemed shocked.
“You said you didn’t want to become a figurehead in the underworld. But your father…”
“He was a different kind of figurehead,” Cassandra said, shaking her head. “He wanted loyal dogs, not people. Dogs that would obey without question. Dogs that would fiercely protect their own but tear others apart without hesitation. He believed that to be the foundation of a strong organization.
He would say, ‘If a dog bites indiscriminately, simply shoot it.’ He actually did that, you know.
Crime organizations are social entities, and they need a degree of socialization. He believed that family was the basic unit of socialization. You can tell a lot about a man by how he treats his family.
So, he sought out individuals who were fiercely loyal to their families, even if they were ruthless towards others.
Dogs that would bark and bite for their master, but only for their master.”
“Cynical.”
“My father was a cynic.”
Camilla, seemingly overwhelmed by the information, slumped back in her seat. Cassandra, seemingly oblivious, continued.
“So, what’s the problem? I’m just following in my father’s footsteps.”
“You’re talking about yourself in the third person,” Camilla pointed out.
“It’s necessary,” Cassandra replied, shaking her head.
“Why?”
“Because…”
Cassandra trailed off, seemingly lost in thought.
“Because what?”
“Because that’s how it has to be,” she finally said.
‘I,’ ‘me,’ these pronouns felt foreign to her.
“You know,” I said cautiously, “you mentioned research earlier. You said you knew a place. Where is it?”
“Research can be conducted anywhere with electricity and water. The Disease Control Agency’s facilities, universities, corporate research labs, even large hospitals with their own research centers.
However, those places are located near urban areas, making them extremely dangerous.
The place I know is a bit special. It’s quite far from Hamton.”
“Where is it?”
“Samara?”
Samara. The name rang a faint bell. I vaguely recalled something about it. Fields, rivers, more fields. But all I could really picture was the ruins.
“Isn’t Samara just farmland? With large-scale ranches and wind farms? What kind of research can be done there?”
Camilla echoed my thoughts. But Cassandra confidently nodded.
“Yes, that’s the place.”
Samara was essentially worthless.
It was a wasteland, a victim of indiscriminate bombing. Nothing remained – just scorched earth and crumbling buildings. People even joked that it was land reserved for future development.
Yet, according to Cassandra, Samara was not a place of “nothing.” It was a place of “something that used to be.”
“…What kind of research facility was there?” I pressed.
“One of the cultured meat research facilities. It was disguised as a livestock research center, the ‘Elsa Livestock Promotion Center.’ Most people in Elsa favored traditional livestock farming and disliked the idea of artificially grown meat.”
Cultured meat research…
I didn’t know much about the specifics, but I knew that it involved biological research. And if they were conducting research on cultured meat…
“…What were they researching in that facility?”
“They were cultivating cells in a medium,” Cassandra replied calmly. “To be more precise, they were cultivating cells in a medium containing the Cro virus.”
“What?!”
Camilla exclaimed, her voice sharp.
“Calm down,” Cassandra soothed. “It wasn’t the Cro virus itself. It was a modified version, weakened. They were trying to understand its behavior and find ways to control it.”
“Control it? What do you mean?”
“To understand how it infects cells, how it replicates, and how to prevent it from mutating further. To find a way to…neutralize it.”
“By infecting meat?”
“Not exactly. They were trying to understand the viral mechanisms, to identify weaknesses, to develop countermeasures. Think of it as…a kind of controlled experiment.”
“A controlled experiment?” Camilla scoffed. “That’s insane! What if something went wrong? What if the virus mutated further, becoming more dangerous?”
“That’s why it’s important to study it in a controlled environment,” Cassandra argued. “To understand its behavior before it becomes a threat. To anticipate its evolution.”
“But what if…”
Camilla’s voice trailed off. She seemed to be imagining the worst-case scenario.
“What if the containment failed?” I finished her sentence. “What if the virus escaped?”
“That’s why I said it’s important to make sure there was no leakage. If there was no leakage, then there’s no need to worry.”
“Easy for you to say,” Camilla muttered.
“I know,” Cassandra admitted. “But it’s the truth. If there was a leak, the facility would have been quarantined, and all personnel would have been…disposed of.”
“Disposed of?”
“To prevent the spread of the virus.”
Cassandra’s voice was calm, almost indifferent. It sent shivers down my spine.
“So, that’s where we’re going?” I asked, trying to change the subject. “That abandoned research facility?”
“Yes,” Cassandra replied. “It’s the safest place I know. Well, relatively safe.”
“Safe from what?”
“From the military, from the virus, from everything.”
As we drove further into the city, the sirens grew louder.
“We need to lose them,” Cassandra said, her voice grim. “We need to lose them quickly.”
She swerved the car violently, nearly colliding with another vehicle. The pursuing motorcycles were forced to slow down.
“This is how we’re going to do it,” Cassandra said, her voice low and intense. “We’re going to weave through the city, lose them in the chaos, and then head towards Samara.”
The chase had officially begun.
I gripped the seat, feeling a surge of adrenaline. This was no longer a simple escape. It was a desperate gamble, a race against time and against an unseen enemy.
And at the heart of it all was Cassandra, a woman with a mysterious past, a dangerous mission, and a chillingly pragmatic view of the world.
I had a feeling this was just the beginning of a very long and dangerous journey.
The city streets were a chaotic mess. Cars swerved, horns blared, and people screamed. The sound of sirens was deafening, a constant reminder of the pursuit.
Cassandra, with a cold focus, navigated the chaos with a skill that belied her age. She weaved through traffic, narrowly avoiding collisions, and expertly exploited every available opening.
“Hold on tight!” she warned, as she made a sharp U-turn, sending us skidding across the road.
Camilla, pale but determined, gripped the seat with white knuckles. I braced myself, my heart pounding.
We were being chased by a swarm of motorcycles, their engines roaring like angry bees. They were relentless, their riders skilled and determined.
Suddenly, a motorcycle cut in front of us, forcing us to swerve violently. The car fishtailed, almost hitting a lamppost.
“Damn it!” Cassandra cursed, regaining control. “They’re trying to force us off the road.”
“Should we fight back?” Camilla asked, her voice tight.
“Not yet,” Cassandra replied, her eyes fixed on the road. “We need to lose them in the city first. Then we can deal with them.”
She accelerated, pushing the car to its limits. We careened through the streets, narrowly avoiding collisions with other vehicles, pedestrians, and even street vendors.
The city, once a bustling metropolis, had become a battleground.
We passed a burning building, the flames licking at the sky. A group of zombies shambled through the streets, oblivious to the chaos around them.
This was a city on the brink of collapse, a city where the lines between order and chaos were blurring.
We raced through a deserted park, the silence broken only by the roar of our engine and the distant wail of sirens.
“We need to get rid of this tail,” Cassandra muttered, glancing at the rearview mirror.
She spotted a narrow alleyway between two buildings. “Here we go!”
She steered the car into the alleyway, barely clearing the overhanging branches. The alley was dark and narrow, barely wide enough for the car to pass through.
The pursuing motorcycles hesitated, unsure whether to follow. This gave us a brief window of opportunity.
Cassandra slammed on the brakes, sending us skidding to a stop. She quickly shifted into reverse and backed out of the alleyway, maneuvering the car expertly.
The motorcycles, caught off guard, collided with each other, crashing to the ground.
We sped away, leaving the wreckage behind.
“Nice move,” I complimented, impressed.
“Thanks,” Cassandra replied, her voice strained. “But we can’t stop now.”
She continued to drive erratically, weaving through the city streets, always looking for an opportunity to lose our pursuers.
The city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors, reflecting the chaos of the situation.
We were like rats in a maze, desperately trying to find an escape route.
And all the while, the city, once a symbol of human civilization, was slowly crumbling around us.
The apocalypse, it seemed, had truly begun.
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