boyutpedia Chapter 212: Remnants of the past and future
Chapter 212: Remnants of the past and future
The conference room had been built for certainty.
Rows of polished tables. Large projection screens. Reinforced glass. Enough technology packed into the room to make it feel like humanity still had a future.
Today, it felt more like a funeral.
Voices overlapped one another from every corner of the room.
Scientists.
Researchers.
Military advisors.
People who had spent years convincing themselves they understood the pathogen.
Now they were learning they didn’t.
One scientist tossed a pamphlet onto the center table.
The pages slid across the polished surface.
Photographs.
Reports.
Witness statements.
Recent sightings.
Confirmed encounters.
Behavioral observations.
A woman with graying hair snatched the document up and flipped through it.
Her face steadily paled.
"So there are more of them like this?"
Nobody answered immediately.
Another scientist adjusted his glasses before speaking.
"It appears that way."
The room grew noticeably quieter.
The scientist looked down at the collection of reports.
"And in such a short amount of time too."
That got people talking again.
A dozen conversations erupted at once.
"That’s impossible."
"The mutation rate doesn’t support that."
"It shouldn’t even be replicating this quickly."
"We’re talking about entirely new behaviors."
One man slapped both hands against the table.
"Someone explain to me how the hell this is possible."
Silence followed.
His eyes darted around the room.
"The pathogen wasn’t supposed to evolve."
Nobody had an answer.
Or at least nobody had an answer they liked.
A woman near the back finally looked toward the head of the table.
"Mr. Huxley."
The room shifted.
Attention followed.
The old man remained seated.
Calm.
Quiet.
Fidgeting with a silver pen between his fingers.
"Have you had a single word with that Jennifer woman?" the scientist pressed.
"Maybe she has an explanation for this."
Huxley didn’t react.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t even look up.
The pen rotated slowly between his fingers.
Then finally—
He set it down.
The small click echoed louder than it should have.
"I have not."
The room fell silent.
Nobody seemed particularly pleased with that answer.
Then Huxley folded his hands together.
"However."
That got their attention.
His eyes slowly swept across the room.
"I do know someone who may be able to help."
Murmurs immediately broke out.
Someone exchanged a glance with another researcher.
A military official frowned.
Someone whispered:
"Who?"
Huxley smiled faintly.
"One of the last remaining members of Crucible."
That shut everyone up.
Then came the sound of heels.
Sharp.
Measured.
Approaching.
Every head turned toward the doorway.
The room grew still.
The footsteps continued.
Then a figure emerged from the shadows.
A woman.
Pixie-cut hair cropped short.
Dark.
Neat.
Professional.
Glasses perched carefully on her nose.
A stack of papers hugged tightly against her chest.
She looked nervous.
Not uncertain.
Not incompetent.
Just very aware that every person in this room was staring at her.
Huxley’s smile widened.
"Glad you could make it, Dr. Josephine."
Josephine straightened immediately.
The papers crinkled slightly beneath her grip.
Around the room, several important figures exchanged glances.
Some recognized her.
Others clearly didn’t.
Josephine swallowed.
Then stepped forward.
"W-while Project Crucible covered several areas of research..." she began.
Her voice shook slightly.
"...Veil was one of the most important."
The room remained silent.
Josephine took a breath.
Then continued.
"The infected were never intended to be viewed as a uniform population."
A scientist raised an eyebrow.
Josephine noticed.
Ignored it.
"Even from the beginning, we observed substantial behavioral variation."
She moved toward the screen.
Three categories appeared.
BASELINE.
UNSTABLE.
INTELLIGENT.
"The baseline infected are the most common."
She pointed to the first category.
"They possess virtually no meaningful impulse control."
Photos appeared.
Sprinting infected.
Screaming infected.
Swarming infected.
"They react heavily to sound."
Another image.
Light sources surrounded by corpses.
"And light."
She shifted to the next category.
"The unstable."
The room watched carefully.
"These individuals retain enough neurological integrity to actively resist aspects of the infection."
Several scientists began taking notes.
Josephine continued.
"They experience periods of lucidity."
She paused.
"Brief moments where remnants of their former selves remain."
The room remained silent.
Then she pointed toward the final category.
"The intelligent strain."
That got everyone’s attention.
"These are the most dangerous."
Photos appeared.
Blurry.
Distant.
Several infected standing among survivors unnoticed.
"They can blend into groups."
Another image.
"They can suppress urges."
Another.
"They can remain hidden for days."
The room shifted uncomfortably.
Josephine looked down.
Then quietly added:
"They can think."
Nobody liked hearing that.
She could tell.
Then her mind drifted.
Texas.
The compound.
The laboratory.
Lila.
Adrian.
The others.
The reinforced observation room.
Lila throwing herself against restraints.
Screaming.
Biting.
Clawing.
Not because she was hungry.
Not because she was angry.
Because Adrian wasn’t there.
Josephine remembered the sound.
The sheer desperation.
The way Lila had slowly become less and less functional every day he remained separated from her.
Almost baseline.
Almost feral.
Josephine blinked.
The memory vanished.
She found herself standing in the conference room again.
Huxley was watching her.
Waiting.
Encouraging.
She cleared her throat.
"As we’ve observed through subjects such as Lila, intelligent infected possess emotional anchors."
Several heads tilted.
Josephine continued.
"When those anchors are removed, many begin degrading toward baseline behavior."
That got attention.
Real attention.
People started writing faster.
Questions formed.
Possibilities emerged.
Then Josephine delivered the part nobody wanted to hear.
"The problem is that we’re now observing something new."
The room went still.
"We are seeing evidence of active evolutionary progression."
Nobody spoke.
Josephine looked toward the reports spread across the tables.
"Baseline infected are changing."
Her voice lowered.
"Unstable infected are changing."
She swallowed.
"And increasingly..."
She looked up.
"They are becoming intelligent."
Silence.
Pure silence.
For the first time since the meeting started, nobody interrupted.
Nobody argued.
Nobody questioned her.
Because everybody understood exactly what that meant.
Then Josephine said the part that mattered most.
"Which means finding Adrian has become more important than ever."
She looked around the room.
"The cure is no longer just about ending the infection."
Her voice tightened.
"It may be the only thing preventing whatever comes next."
—
Jennifer sat alone in her cell.
Listening.
The walls were thick.
Not thick enough.
Every word carried through the speaker system.
Every revelation.
Every fear.
Every desperate attempt to understand something humanity had already lost control of.
She leaned her head against the wall.
Closed her eyes.
And smiled.
—
"SHIT! SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!"
"SOMEBODY FUCKING SHOOT HER BEFORE SHE—"
BANG!
The rifle cracked again.
The second tire exploded.
The truck lurched violently.
"FUCK!"
The steering wheel nearly ripped from my hands.
The vehicle tilted.
Everyone screamed at once.
For one horrifying second, I genuinely thought we were about to roll.
"Okay, LOOK!"
Hale’s voice boomed through the chaos.
"Everyone stay fucking calm!"
Easy for him to say.
We were being chased by intelligent infected with military-grade weapons.
"Aubrey, how many bullets do you have?!"
Aubrey yanked her pistol free.
Dropped the magazine.
Checked.
Then her face went white.
"...Five."
Nobody spoke.
Then—
"God DAMN IT, Hale!" Isabella shouted.
"We should’ve stocked up before we left that fucking place!"
Hale looked like he wanted to argue.
Couldn’t.
Because she was right.
We needed ammunition.
Badly.
And the people currently trying to kill us?
They had plenty.
The realization settled heavily in my stomach.
Then something occurred to me.
I looked at Lila.
Everyone else was panicking.
Everyone else was yelling.
Lila wasn’t.
She sat perfectly calm.
Watching.
Patient.
When she noticed me looking, she smiled.
Then quietly reached over and buckled her seatbelt.
Click.
I frowned.
Then suddenly—
I had an idea.
A terrible idea.
The kind that only sounds smart when you’re about to die.
"EVERYONE SADDLE DOWN!"
The truck went quiet.
Confused faces turned toward me.
"What—"
Then I slammed the brakes.
Hard.
Terri screamed.
Bodies flew forward.
Everything inside the truck became a projectile.
And behind us—
SLAM!!
The pursuing vehicle smashed directly into our rear bumper.
Metal shrieked.
Glass cracked.
The entire truck jerked forward.
But I was ready for it.
I held steady.
The infected vehicle wasn’t.
The blonde woman disappeared from view.
Dazed.
At minimum.
Maybe worse.
Perfect.
"Aubrey."
She looked up.
"What?"
"Give me your gun."
"What?!"
"NOW."
She handed it over.
Pure instinct.
No questions.
No hesitation.
I grabbed it.
Opened the door.
And climbed onto the roof.
Wind immediately hit me.
Cold.
Violent.
The two damaged vehicles scraped against one another.
Metal screamed.
The blonde woman slowly sat back up.
Blood trickled from her forehead.
Her eyes opened.
Then she saw me.
And smiled.
I raised the pistol.
Took aim.
Her smile widened.
Then—
Click.
Another gun being cocked.
Not mine.
Not hers.
A third one.
—
Inside the truck, Lila immediately unbuckled herself.
"Lila—"
Aubrey reached out.
Too late.
Lila was already climbing out.
—
"End of the line, soldier boy."
The voice hit me harder than the collision.
Familiar.
Impossible.
Texas.
My breath caught.
I slowly turned.
The man standing on the opposing vehicle held a rifle casually across his shoulder.
Red eyes.
Wide grin.
Confident posture.
The same overwhelming presence I’d remembered.
Except now there was something wrong beneath it.
Something rotten.
Something infected.
Something smiling far too much.
My expression cracked.
My stomach dropped.
No.
No fucking way.
"...Callahan?"
And for the first time since this started—
The blonde woman wasn’t the thing I was afraid of anymore.