Genetical Cleaners - SV7

II

The adept unit consisted of five "fourth graders" and one soldier of higher rank. Unfortunately, after E1N's death, our unit wasn't complete, so there were only four of us. Myself, Samurai, F7D, KK4, and our commander - Sentinel Samuel.

"Attention, adepts!" Sentinel Samuel's voice boomed. "The situation is dire! We've received reports of at least three mutants wreaking havoc throughout the city!"

"Three?" I murmured, disbelief coloring my tone. The severity of the situation sank in. How could three mutants converge in one location? Glancing around, I noticed only Samurai maintained his usual calm demeanor.

"I won't dictate your actions," Samuel continued sternly. "You've spent four years training for this. Suit up and prepare. We rendezvous in the Drone in five minutes!"

Though we drilled emergency scenarios regularly, the reality of facing multiple mutants simultaneously left us stunned. Such occurrences were rare. I'd never encountered a situation like this before, and doubts crept in. Was information being withheld from us deliberately? The command kept secrets, and our access to the internal network was limited. It felt like they were controlling us, using propaganda. And they were. But a perfect soldier couldn't concern himself with every detail of the world. He had to focus on training his mind and body. After completing training, he'd remain in the institute, with a bit more freedom. Living above ground, pursuing a path of his choosing. Higher ranks came with additional perks: passes to venture into the city, or personal caretakers. These women cleaned, cooked, and provided companionship—a form of stress relief. Each caretaker was carefully selected according to the soldier's preferences. There was no upper age limit, but they had to be at least seventeen. Interestingly, most high-ranking soldiers preferred mature women. One thing always puzzled me: how much did it cost to be involved with someone as ruthless as an RMS soldier? We may have been perfect killing machines, but we couldn't be loving husbands.

"Seven! What are you waiting for?" One of the guys nudged me. "Gear up!"

"Right," I replied, jogging to my locker. I wiped my face with a towel, tossing it aside. As I placed my hand on the scanner, the locker door slid open, revealing my suit. It comprised sturdy black tactical boots, matching trousers with a holster strapped to my right thigh and three grenades on the left, a multifunctional belt, a bulletproof vest with extra reinforcements, gloves, a helmet, and accessories like the RMS patch—a caduceus with a bayonet instead of a staff and lightning bolts in place of snakes. Additionally, there was a retractable shoulder-mounted flashlight, knee and elbow guards, a neck brace for protection against edged weapons, all adorned with red accents. Each of us carried a pistol and a rifle of our choice. I favored a modified FN Five-seveN pistol and the original RMS-17 rifle—a hybrid of the legendary Kalashnikov and the AUG. We had limited options for rifles, only two, but plenty of pistols. They were all painted black and red. Even snipers had to sport the eye-catching colors, though they were equipped with prototype camouflage devices, which were only moderately effective at best.

We lined up, each of us ready for action, but one detail caught my attention. F6H stood out slightly with his uniform and equipment. Sacrificing armor thickness for agility, his bulletproof vest consisted of four plates, snugly fitted along his body. In addition to his helmet, he wore a hood, though even the helmet itself was unconventional, adorned with neon lights. Two crossed over his eyes, one elongated over his mouth and nose, and two on each cheek, resembling feline whiskers. His belt was also modified, larger and laden with more gadgets. Instead of grenades, he had a second holster on his left thigh, and instead of a rifle, he carried something best described as a light katana on his back. While not entirely made of plasma-like material, the blade itself glowed fiery, its heat palpable even several meters away. Given that the blade was sheathed, it was presumably relatively safe. I had no idea how dangerous it could be in action, but since it was available and effective, someone in the armament department must have put a lot of effort into it.