Chapter 4

"This is an order."

I shook her hand off and did not look back.

Under the stunned, pained, and utterly disbelieving gazes of my teammates, I turned around and walked—step by step—toward the civilians huddled in the shadows, trembling with fear.

From the radio came Noah's voice at once, quivering slightly with excitement.

"Very good."

"Then let's begin, Captain Lewis. I can hardly wait."

Silently, I turned up the volume of the public broadcast channel.

I already knew what would follow.

The people I had risked my life to save would look at me with confusion and contempt.

The comrades who had shared life and death with me would feel shock and humiliation.

My name would be stained beyond redemption, and the dignity I valued more than life itself would be crushed by my own hands.

But at this moment, none of that mattered anymore.

Before one hundred and thirty-one living, breathing lives, any personal honor or disgrace was lighter than dust.

I stopped at the front of the crowd, facing those frightened faces—faces filled with fear, dependence, and uncertainty.

The noise and sobbing gradually faded.

All eyes, confused and uneasy, fixed on me.

"Fellow citizens," my voice rang out through the loudspeaker, unnervingly calm and clear.

"I am the captain of this rescue operation. My name is Ysabelle Lewis."

After a brief pause, I spoke the words that would end my life as I knew it.

"Five years ago, I betrayed my husband."

"At our wedding, in front of all our family and friends, I abandoned him and unilaterally called off the marriage."

"This was entirely my fault. Today, I formally apologized to him."

The moment the words fell, the dead silence shattered.

Gasps and cries of disbelief rippled through the crowd.

I did not lift my head.

I did not look at a single face.

Slowly—yet with unshakable resolve—I bent my knees.

"Bang."

The first kowtow.

My forehead struck the cold, hard ground, the dull sound briefly overpowering the distant gunfire.

"Bang."

The second. Dust smeared my brow, pain blooming dully across my skin.

"Bang."

The third. The fourth. The fifth.

My movements grew faster, yet more mechanical, as if my body had separated from my will, reduced to nothing more than a shell executing a merciless command.

The murmurs gradually disappeared.

Perhaps they were stunned by the sheer finality of this self-destruction.

Perhaps they could not comprehend the madness behind it.

The battlefield was left with only the roar of explosions, the shriek of bullets—and the monotonous, heart-stopping sound of my head striking the ground again and again.

Blood streamed down my forehead, blurring my vision.

Warm liquid seeped into my eyes, carrying the metallic tang of rust.

I did not stop.

Thirty.

Forty.

Fifty.

The world seemed to drain of color and sound, leaving only the vibration of impact echoing through my skull, and the heart in my chest growing colder, more numb with every second.

I didn't know how long time had passed. It felt like a century.

Until, at last, Noah's voice came through the radio again.

It carried a languid satisfaction, the ease of someone fully sated—there was even a trace of unsettling gentleness.

"That's enough."

"Seeing how sincere you are... I'll allow you to retreat."

Soft keystrokes sounded over the channel.

"The extraction point is at E-7. The withdrawal route—Route Three."

Route Three.

The instant she heard the word retreat, Deputy Captain Herrera nearly burst into tears of relief.

"We're saved!"

But I cut her off.

My voice was hoarse—cold. "Route Three is the emergency evacuation route used only when a mission has failed... or when our position has been completely exposed."