บท 199: A Brick Again
Felix awoke suddenly, his eyes snapping open to the darkness of his bedroom. His heart was pounding in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like a distant drum. His entire body was drenched in sweat, as though he'd been pulled from the depths of a nightmare. The sheets clung to him, heavy and damp, like wet clothes after hours of strenuous exercise. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the unpleasant chill of the soaked fabric, and with what little strength he had, pushed the sodden quilt away from his body.
As he sat up, the room swayed around him. Dizzy and disoriented, Felix pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to dispel the fog clouding his mind. His breath came in shallow, uneven bursts. It took a moment before he could muster the energy to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. When his feet touched the cold floor, a shiver ran through him, and for a brief moment, he wasn't sure if he could stand.
"Too much to drink," he muttered to himself, though the words felt hollow. Deep down, he knew this wasn't about alcohol. Something far stranger was happening.
It had started a month ago—strange, unexplainable symptoms. Nights where he'd wake up without any memory of when or how he fell asleep. Sometimes he'd wake up in odd places, places he had no recollection of going to. His memories were fractured, like pieces of a puzzle thrown into disarray. One moment he'd recall something clearly, the next it was as though it had been erased from his mind entirely, leaving only fragmented remnants.
Occasionally, images would return—hazy, disjointed moments with no beginning or end, like watching a movie with chunks of film missing. He'd tried to piece it together, but the harder he thought about it, the more elusive the memories became. It felt like his mind was slowly being erased, as though someone—or something—was deliberately wiping away the moments of his life.
Felix dragged himself to the bathroom, the cold tile floor sending a sharp jolt of reality through him. The harsh fluorescent light buzzed overhead as he splashed water onto his face, hoping to shake off the remnants of the dream—or was it a memory? The more he tried to recall what had happened before he fell asleep, the more vivid the dream became.
Commander Ross.
The name flashed in his mind, bringing with it an onslaught of conflicting emotions. It wasn't just a dream. Felix was certain of that now. It was too real. He remembered it clearly—his first day joining the Ninth Special Service Division, the massive aircraft carrier soaring high above the clouds, and his initial meeting with Commander Ross. The sun had poured in through the panoramic windows of the captain's cabin, casting long, golden shadows across the sleek electronic display table. Ross sat in the sunlight, his posture rigid, his face serious but warm, exuding an air of authority tempered by wisdom.
That moment had been pivotal for Felix. He had always looked up to Ross, admired him for his strength, his leadership, his unwavering commitment to the division's mission. That day, in the bright afternoon light, Felix had been utterly convinced that he was making the right choice—joining the Ninth Division, dedicating himself to a cause that felt larger than life, a purpose that seemed noble and just.
"People change, Felix. The world changes," Ross had said, his deep voice reverberating in the quiet room. The words had stuck with Felix ever since. "We're living in an era of transformation, and it's up to us to steer it. Whether the world becomes better or worse—that's on us. We are the ones who make the choices, the ones who represent humanity in the face of these changes."
Those words had solidified Felix's resolve. He believed in Ross, in the Ninth Division's mission. He had devoted himself completely, trusting that this was the most meaningful thing he could do with his life.
But that trust had been shattered.
Now, Ross was gone. Not just gone—he had betrayed everything they had stood for. The news had rocked the entire division. The man they had followed, the man who had been their leader, their guide, had defected. After the battle in Riverton Square, Ross had disappeared, vanishing into the chaos like a ghost. And worse yet, it was rumored that the terrifying creature unleashed upon the city, the one that had left devastation in its wake before Batman had taken it down, had been set loose by none other than Ross himself.
In the aftermath of the chaos, an investigation had been launched into the Ninth Division. Felix had seen it coming. They all had. The division scrambled to piece together the events, and what they uncovered was damning. The evidence, provided by Agent Ivan Petrov, was irrefutable. It laid bare Ross's betrayal in excruciating detail—his involvement in the division's recent failures, his falsified reports, the arrest orders he had manipulated to target his own agents.
The Ninth Division, once respected and feared, was now in shambles. The mothership had been grounded, its operations suspended. Everyone—every agent, every operative—was under investigation by the Emotional Intelligence Bureau, their integrity called into question.
Felix had recently discovered, to his shock, that his group was under the Emotional Bureau's watchful eye all along. He couldn't believe no one had told him. When he'd asked about it, the smiles he'd received were strange, uncomfortable—like they knew something he didn't.
A sinking feeling had begun to grow in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure what, but something was being kept from him. The people around him, the ones he thought he could trust, seemed to be hiding something. It was becoming increasingly clear that he had been left in the dark.
As Felix brushed his teeth, his mind raced. What if he hadn't chosen this life for himself after all? What if everything he thought was his decision had been influenced, manipulated?
He spat the toothpaste into the sink, wiped his mouth, and looked up at the mirror. His pale face stared back at him, gaunt and hollow-eyed. But then something else caught his attention. In the reflection, just above the toilet, there was a raised brick on the wall. Something small and barely noticeable, but there.
Felix turned slowly, eyes fixed on the bulge in the wall. How had he never noticed it before?
His heart quickened as he lowered the toilet seat and stepped onto it. Stretching up on his toes, he reached for the raised brick. It took some effort, but eventually, he pried it loose, setting the brick down on the toilet's edge. With bated breath, he reached into the hollow space behind it.
His fingers touched something cold and metallic.
A USB drive.
Felix's mind raced. This was something straight out of a spy thriller, the kind of hidden compartment you'd expect to find in a safe house. But this wasn't a covert hideout. This was his home.
Something was very, very wrong.
He carried the USB drive back to his room, staring at it as though it might burn him. His hands shook as he plugged it into his laptop—an encrypted, high-security model issued by the Ninth Division. This laptop had been designed to access only the most classified information.
The moment he plugged the drive in, the screen flickered to life. There was no request for a password, no prompt for any form of identification. Instead, the words "identification in progress" flashed on the screen, followed by a message that made Felix's blood run cold.
Access granted.
A new screen appeared automatically.
The homepage of the Ninth Division.
Felix's eyes darted to the corner of the screen, where his login information was displayed.
His name was there. But next to it, something was different. His access level.
Special privileges.
Felix froze. That level of access was reserved for commanders.
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