Medical Department Admittance

"Maybe she got into another fight?"

"A fight? Based on my years of medical experience, a fight wouldn't produce that much blood. She probably killed someone."

Someone added, "More than one, probably. Maybe a whole bunch."

A sharp-eyed observer noticed, "One of the two nurses escorting her is Doctor Xu's assistant—high-ranking, someone who can do whatever she wants in the Medical Department. And she's personally attending to her."

The wire-rimmed doctor adjusted his glasses. "Then this must be something big."

He turned to the others. "Have any of you heard about any major incident happening in the Federation lately?"

"A lot of people from our department were transferred out today, and they still haven't come back. Does that count?"

"Some from our department were transferred too."

"Doctor Xu isn't here either. Usually, he'd be on duty this time every week."

The wire-rimmed one said, "Could something really be going on that we don't know about?"

Someone scoffed, "Better spend that time honing your medical skills. Once you reach Doctor Xu's level, there won't be anything the Federation can hide from us."

Another chimed in, "Exactly. The pioneers are probably handling classified Federation missions. If the Federation wanted us to know, they'd tell us. If they're deliberately keeping it secret, there's no way we'd figure it out no matter how much we guess."

"Just curious, that's all." The wire-rimmed one shot them a resentful look, then craned his neck toward the recovery room, hoping to see someone come out so he could ask.

But by the third minute, Zero's voice rang out.

"All Medical Department personnel, please return to your posts immediately. In five minutes, 821 people will arrive at the Medical Department for treatment. Please prepare for admittance."

Zero's cold, mechanical voice repeated the announcement.

"All Medical Department personnel, please return to your posts immediately. In five minutes, 821 people will arrive at the Medical Department for treatment. Please prepare for admittance."

The wire-rimmed doctor gasped, unable to believe the number. "So many? Which train derailed?"

"Who knows? Better hurry back to your departments." His companion urged, and they scattered.

These 821 people were all those detected by instruments as having wounds—more than half of the survivors.

Their injuries varied widely, from minor to severe. Some had indeed been bitten by aberrants but hadn't mutated; some had been scratched; and others had been bumped or scraped during the escape.

Because time was short, the Research Institute hadn't yet found a way to determine whether aberrant viruses were present in the human body.

To prevent the virus from spreading, those with wounds couldn't go home directly; instead, they were sent to the Medical Department.

In previous years, the Medical Department had received generous funding and had expanded several inpatient buildings, so there was enough space to temporarily house these people.

Busloads of survivors were delivered one after another, three to a room, and doctors from all departments of the Medical Department went to treat them.

During the treatment, pioneers and Executive Department guards stood by with guns, supervising the entire process in case someone mutated.

The wire-rimmed doctor and several other young interns had never seen anything like this.

They weren't originally surgeons, but due to the manpower shortage, doctors from other departments had been temporarily reassigned.

No one explained what was happening, and the armed guards and pioneers were more cold-blooded than the next. They didn't dare ask questions and could only diligently treat everyone's wounds.

The whole operation lasted until eight o'clock the next morning.

It was then that Tu Ran, who had been in the nutrient pod, woke up.