The Last Werewolf in History

Chapter 15

Static crackled over the walkie-talkie.

"…Target zone locked. No thermal signature detected. Repeat: no thermal signature."

Qin Lie pressed the mute button with his thumb. The static cut out.

Only the sound of dripping water remained in the abandoned subway tunnel. Droplets seeping through the cracks in the concrete ceiling overhead struck a metal drum: *thump, thump, thump.*

He leaned against a concrete pillar, keeping his breathing barely audible. His werewolf senses picked up a shift in the air. A new scent had mingled with the damp, musty odor: ozone, metal, and the distinct, rank musk of hunting hounds.

The Silver Cross Society's dragnet was tightening.

Just moments ago, on the edge of the industrial district, a patrol squad equipped with thermal imagers had nearly stumbled right into him. Had he not retreated into the underground utility network in the nick of time, he would be completely hemmed in by now. Factory Zone B-7 was a trap—easy to enter, but hell to escape.

He needed eyes on the ground.

His fingers tapped across his phone screen. An encrypted channel. The avatar was a one-eyed crow.

"Old K."

Just two words.

The reply came back instantly. "The Garage. Our usual spot. You've got ten minutes."

Qin Lie pocketed his phone. He rose to his feet.

His movements were utterly soundless. His toes nimbly avoided the shards of broken glass scattered across the floor as his hand glided along the wall to guide his way. His fingertips grazed the rough concrete surface, leaving faint scratch marks in their wake. His healed skin—now harder than before—felt as though it were sheathed in a layer of black armor.

The tunnel exit lay three hundred meters ahead. It connected to the labyrinthine sewers beneath the old city district.

He vanished into the darkness.

…

The garage's roll-up door was raised halfway.

Qin Lie slipped inside sideways. The door clattered shut behind him, sealing out the sound of the rain outside.

The lights inside were off. The only illumination came from the faint blue glow of an old monitor sitting on the workbench. Old K sat in a swivel chair, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, his hands busily tinkering with a disassembled sniper rifle.

"That was fast," Old K remarked without turning around. His fingers worked the rifle bolt; it clicked into place. "Two minutes ahead of schedule."

"The patrols moved up their rounds," Qin Lie replied, walking over to the workbench.

A map of the city was displayed on the screen. A red zone was flashing. It marked the Silver Cross Society's cordon. The old industrial district lay encircled at its very center.

"Look here." Old K tapped the corner of the screen with the barrel of his g*n. "Sector B-7. On the surface, it's a derelict chemical plant; three levels underground, it's a laboratory. The Silver Cross Society's codename for it is 'Ark'."

Qin Lie stared at that specific spot.

"The entrance?"

"There is no fixed entrance." Old K spat out the cigarette butt he'd been chewing on. "They change their routes every day—truck lanes, sewage outlets, even aerial drops. Trying to force your way in is a death wish."

A mouse clicked. The map zoomed in. Several blue lines materialized.

"These are the supply transport routes from the past week. The intersection point is right here." Old K circled a specific location. "The underground sewage hub. At midnight tonight, they'll open the sluice gates to discharge waste fluids. That's the only chance we have to slip inside."

Qin Lie noted down the coordinates.

"Who provided this data?"

Old K paused. His fingers tapped a few keys on the keyboard.

An encrypted window popped up in the bottom-right corner of the screen. A single line of small text flashed across it: 'Su'.

"Someone hacked into their internal communications," Old K shrugged. "Whoever it was, they worked clean. Left absolutely no trace."

Qin Lie gazed at that line of text. Su Hongxiu.

She wasn't safe over at the clinic, yet she still managed to find the energy to meddle with the Silver Cross Society's intranet.

"Understood."

"Don't thank me just yet." Old K stood up and tossed a black headset out of a drawer. "This is a signal jammer. Put it on. The Silver Cross Society's drones are swarming the streets right now, specifically hunting for wireless signals."

Qin Lie caught the headset. The metal felt cold to the touch.

Just as he was about to put it on, a low hum drifted in from outside.

A low-frequency thrum. A vibration.

Old K's expression shifted instantly. "Lights out."

Qin Lie raised his hand and switched off the monitor. The blue glow vanished. The garage plunged into darkness.

The humming grew louder. It was right overhead, just above the roof.

A beam of light sliced ​​through the gaps in the rolling garage door. Dust motes danced within the column of light. "Recon drone," Old K whispered, his hand reaching for the signal jammer at his waist. "It's detected a heat signature."

Qin Lie held his breath. The werewolf's heartbeat slowed; his body temperature dropped.

A beam of light swept across the interior of the garage, coming to rest on a workbench. A computer had sat there moments ago, and the residual heat still lingered.

A low hum hovered in the air, as if the drone were hesitating.

"Three minutes left," Old K said, glancing at his watch. "If it doesn't leave soon, we'll have to shoot it down. But the moment we open fire, the entire block will swarm us."

Qin Lie looked toward a corner where a pile of discarded car parts lay heaped.

"Lure it away."

"How?"

Qin Lie walked over to a wrecked sedan and pressed his palm firmly against the hood.

The metal shrieked in protest as it twisted under the strain. He tore off a jagged sheet of scrap metal and hurled it toward a ventilation shaft on the opposite side of the garage.

The metal sheet clanged against a steel pipe—*clang!*

The humming sound instantly shifted direction; the light beam swiveled to chase the source of the noise.

"Now's our chance," Old K said, yanking open a side door. "Take the back exit. There's a motorcycle waiting in the alley—the key is under the seat."

Qin Lie didn't move.

He kept his eyes fixed on the beam of light. The drone was still hovering, liable to return at any moment.

"You go," Qin Lie said. "I'll cover the retreat."

"Don't be a fool," Old K frowned. "That thing is rigged with a self-destruct charge."

"Precisely why I must stay," Qin Lie replied, stepping toward the door. "If it follows me, it'll end up blowing up the Silver Cross Society's own vehicles."

Old K studied him for a moment, then nodded.

"Five minutes. Five minutes—no matter the outcome—and you *must* pull out. Otherwise, the second wave of drones will be upon us."

Old K slipped out the door.

Only Qin Lie and the drone remained in the garage.

The beam of light swept back across the room, this time locking onto Qin Lie's position.

The drone's hum grew sharper—a high-pitched, warning whine.

Qin Lie stood motionless in the shadows. His fingernails began to elongate, turning a deep, lustrous black—hard as iron.

He made no attempt to hide.

He simply stared back at the light.

The drone hovered three meters overhead, the red indicator light on its camera blinking rhythmically.

It was transmitting data.

Qin Lie began counting the seconds. Three seconds. The data transfer would take three seconds.

One second.

Two seconds.

He abruptly raised his hand—not to strike at the drone, but to grab for the chain of the overhead chandelier.

He yanked hard.

The entire rack of lights crashed down, smashing against the floor.

Sparks flew everywhere.

An electromagnetic pulse erupted instantly.

The drone spiraled out of control, veering wildly before slamming into the wall. *Boom.*

A small explosion. The shockwave swept parts and tools off the workbench.

Qin Lie ducked low as shrapnel whizzed past his ears, slicing his cheek. Beads of blood welled up—then quickly clotted.

Smoke filled the air.

Covering his mouth and nose, he sprinted toward the side exit.

The rain was coming down even harder in the alleyway. A biting wind whipped down his collar.

A motorcycle was parked beside a dumpster—black, and heavily modified.

Qin Lie swung a leg over the seat, inserted the key, and the engine roared to life.

The tires churned through a puddle, sending a spray of water into the air.

Behind him, in the direction of the garage, police sirens began to wail. The Silver Cross Society had reacted even faster than anticipated.

He twisted the throttle, and the bike shot forward.

His phone vibrated.