Pollution has a distance limit; otherwise, the spores couldn't be eliminated. If there were persistent, unlimited-range radioactive contamination, wouldn't that mean the whole world could be polluted?

Megan Carter: "Nancy Clark, let's go together."

Nancy Clark wanted to say she was fine, but Megan Carter made a gesture to her—was this to have Nancy Clark keep an eye on Nathan Thompson?

There weren't many spores left, only about one-fifth remained, and Megan Carter would be fine handling them alone.

Nancy Clark put down her tools and followed Nathan Thompson. They were in a federal sewer; District 103 was originally a garbage dump, and all the federation's trash was sent to District 103.

The sewers were a labyrinth. Nathan Thompson led Nancy Clark deeper inside, with no extra lighting; they relied entirely on their helmets' night vision to see.

Nathan Thompson kept going deeper and deeper. Anyone who didn't know better would think he was luring her away to kill her. Maybe out of caution, he walked a full two kilometers before finally stopping.

Nathan Thompson took off his helmet and took a deep breath. "I was suffocating."

Nathan Thompson's face was deathly pale, his forehead covered in sweat, looking as if he were ill. Nancy Clark hadn't been affected by the contaminated spores, so she didn't take off her helmet. She asked, "Are you okay?"

Nathan Thompson cursed. "Headache."

Nancy Clark had noticed from their first meeting that Nathan Thompson was rather impatient, but now he seemed even more irritable. Was this mental contamination?

Nancy Clark watched Nathan Thompson cautiously and asked, "Maybe you should put your helmet back on?"

The work manual said not to expose your skin, and the training videos also said not to remove your helmet unless absolutely necessary. Nathan Thompson was acting even more like a rookie than she was.

Nathan Thompson: "I can't breathe with it on."

He couldn't just not breathe—he felt like he was suffocating. Why was it that the more he tried to get some air, the harder it was to breathe?

Nathan Thompson's eyes started to redden, as if his eye pressure was high, pressing on the capillaries and causing bloodshot streaks to appear.

But he only seemed to feel a bit of itchiness in his eyes and kept rubbing them furiously. Nancy Clark took half a step back, quietly reaching for the gun at her waist.

She couldn't tell if Nathan Thompson was infected.

"Should I report to the captain?" Nancy Clark recalled the work manual: if any signs of contamination appeared, you must report to your superior immediately and withdraw from the mission if necessary.

Nathan Thompson: "No need, I'll be fine after a bit. There's still work to do later."

He sounded sane, but Nancy Clark didn't let go of her gun. She realized—the only real danger in this job was her own teammates!

Work Manual Rule #2: Always watch your teammates.

So the veterans were right after all. Nancy Clark kept her eyes on Nathan Thompson, debating whether to report.

Suddenly, rustle—

Nancy Clark frowned. What was that sound?

Rustle, rustle, rustle, rustle—

From Nathan Thompson? No, he was rubbing his eyes; the sound was farther away.

Rustle, rustle, rustle, rustle, rustle, rustle—

Something seemed to be moving in the distance.

"Did you hear that?" Nancy Clark asked.

"What?" Nathan Thompson had been rubbing his eyes for ages, looking completely dazed and clueless.

Nancy Clark reacted instantly, drawing her gun and aiming into the darkness.

Nathan Thompson had been in a bad state, but seeing Nancy Clark pull a gun snapped him to attention.

"What are you doing?" Nathan Thompson was startled. "Put the gun down, I'm not contaminated!"

Nathan Thompson immediately realized—did Nancy Clark think he was contaminated and want to get rid of him?

Cleaners had to be wary of teammates going mad. Nancy Clark was wary of Nathan Thompson, and Nathan Thompson was wary of Nancy Clark. Now he was starting to wonder if Nancy Clark was the one contaminated.

"Calm down," Nathan Thompson said. "We don't have authorization."

To prevent cleaners from killing each other, all firearms were locked by authorization. Without orders from above, you couldn't fire at all.

Wait a minute—Nathan Thompson suddenly frowned. Nancy Clark's gun stance was textbook perfect—steady, not a hint of a shake.

Nancy Clark knew how to use a gun? Why would a 19-year-old girl know how to handle a gun? Where did she get that experience? At this point, Nathan Thompson was anything but contaminated—he was wide awake.

"There's something behind you," Nancy Clark said.

Nathan Thompson was stunned, only then realizing Nancy Clark wasn't aiming at him, but at something behind him.

Nathan Thompson turned around. Behind him was a pitch-black sewer, no lights on, and the helmet's night vision only reached so far—beyond that was total darkness.

"What?" Nathan Thompson was more afraid of Nancy Clark than whatever was behind him. He only glanced back, not daring to turn his back on Nancy Clark.

"Can you put the gun down while we talk?"

Nancy Clark stared into the darkness and spoke on the public channel: "Megan Carter Captain, requesting weapon authorization."

There was no reply from Megan Carter on the channel—maybe she hadn't heard, or maybe she was weighing her options. Nathan Thompson heard it too. Why was this girl so reckless? There was no one else in this sewer but the two of them.

Nathan Thompson didn't want her to get into trouble on her first day. "Can you calm down?"

Nancy Clark didn't look at Nathan Thompson, just repeated, "Requesting weapon authorization."

Nancy Clark stared intently into the darkness and turned on the flashlight function on her wrist. With a click, the beam shot out a hundred meters.

Rustle, rustle, rustle, rustle, rustle—