The thirteen female cadets were isolated in separate rooms. Each room had been temporarily fitted with micro-surveillance cameras to record their emotional reactions in real-time. Every cadet wore a biometric wristband tracking physiological fluctuations—heart rate, dopamine levels, and more.
Inside their respective rooms, the cadets answered questions displayed on electronic tablets. All responses were automatically fed into the "Janus" Quantum AI for audit.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Half an hour later, Interrogation Room.
The Military Police Colonel stared at the holographic screen, his brow furrowed. "Janus has completed the preliminary analysis."
He pulled up the results. "Out of the thirteen, ten have timelines that can be substantially verified. The remaining three..."
Three names floated on the screen: Big White Rabbit · Yelena Voss, Cadet No. 7 · Kara, Cadet No. 11 · Irene.
"These three cannot provide solid witnesses for the window between 08:00 and 08:20. And..." The Colonel pulled up the biometric data. "Their heart rates, respiration, and galvanic skin responses are stable. Too stable."
"Normal people get nervous during an interrogation, even if they haven't done anything wrong," the detective officer noted. "But these three... almost flatlines."
"Professional training," the Colonel nodded. "Ordinary cadets can't maintain that kind of psychological control."
Fatty leaned back in his chair, looking bored. He hadn't wanted to be part of this, but Leo had insisted on dragging him along: "You know these female cadets best."
He absently scrolled through the surveillance playback, stifling a yawn.
Suddenly, his finger froze.
On the screen, Yelena (Big White Rabbit) walked down a corridor. Timestamp: January 29th, 08:15.
Fatty stared at the screen, narrowing his eyes like a predator spotting interesting prey.
He quickly manipulated the controls, pulling up another feed: January 27th, enrollment day. Yelena was walking down the same corridor carrying a suitcase.
He placed the two clips side-by-side and zoomed in on her feet.
The Colonel leaned in. "What are you looking at?"
Fatty pointed at the footprints on the screen. "Look at her boots."
"Her boots?"
"Look closely," Fatty dropped his playful demeanor. "On the 27th, enrollment day, every time her foot landed, the compression of the tactical boot's heel cushion was about 4 millimeters. But this morning? The compression is only 1 millimeter."
The detective frowned. "What does that prove?"
Fatty let out a cold laugh. "It proves that on the day she enrolled, her actual body weight was at least 20 kilograms heavier than it is now. But the strange thing is, the suitcase in her hand looked light as a feather. The weight was on her."
The electronic tablet in his hand suddenly lit up, and a cool, feminine AI voice spoke: "Detected user engaging in high-precision gait and ergonomic analysis. Based on behavioral patterns, this is usually a precursor to 'mechanical failure diagnosis.' Do you require physics engine assistance?"
"No need. I can do the mental math faster than you," Fatty dismissed the AI prompt.
"Look at her shoulders," Fatty continued pointing at the screen. "On the 27th, her trapezius muscles were in a state of sustained micro-tension—a natural reaction to bearing a load on the torso. Today, however, her entire posture is 'loose'."
The Colonel stood up abruptly. "She was hiding heavy items on her body! And she dumped them this morning!"
He turned to the technicians. "Pull up all surveillance footage of this cadet. Focus the analysis on her posture and center of gravity shifts."
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Ten minutes later.
The technicians brought up a series of analytical data points.
"January 27th, Day 1: Target's torso center of gravity is abnormal, consistent with wearing a high-density weighted vest." "January 28th: Condition persists, movement slightly stiff." "January 29th, prior to 07:00: Target not visible on surveillance." "January 29th, 08:15: Gait is light and natural. Plantar pressure has returned to normal."
Detective: "So between 07:00 and 08:15, she... took off that 'vest'?"
Fatty suddenly sat up straight. "What if... that wasn't a standard weighted training vest, but a soft-pack lithium battery group?"
Everyone looked at him.
"Theoretically," Fatty said, "about 15 kilograms of high-energy pouch cells, shaped into a form-fitting tactical vest and worn under a training uniform... is completely feasible. It would compress the chest cavity and affect breathing, but it wouldn't be visible from the outside."
The MP immediately pulled up Yelena's biometrics. "Look! January 27th to 28th, her respiratory rate was 8% lower than the other cadets, and her heart rate was 12% higher. That matches the profile of sustained physical compression on the chest!"
"But after 08:00 on the 29th," the technician added, "respiration returned to normal, and heart rate dropped to the baseline."
Colonel: "So she removed the... battery vest before 8 AM?"
"Wait," Leo's voice came over the comms. "The standard tactical version of an electromagnetic railgun weighs about 60 kilograms. Even if she hid 15 kilograms of batteries, there are still 45 kilograms of components. Where is that stuff hidden?"
The room fell silent.
The detective stared at the monitor. "In her statement, she said she woke up at 7, showered, and then... went to the fitness center."
"The fitness center?" Fatty raised an eyebrow, a thought striking him.
"She claimed she was working out until she heard the gunshots."
"Did anyone see her?"
"No. Only two female cadets passing by heard music coming from inside."
Fatty stood up suddenly, his gaze sharp. "Search the fitness center. Focus on checking anything that looks like it should be solid."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Twenty minutes later. Female Dormitory Fitness Center.
Fatty stood in the doorway, scanning the room.
Treadmills, rowing machines, squat racks, yoga mats, a rack of dumbbells...
"Nothing," a soldier reported. "We checked the lockers, the ceiling, the vents. No suspicious items found."
The Colonel sighed in disappointment. "Maybe you guessed wrong?"
Fatty didn't speak. He walked slowly into the room.
If you were a master of mechanical modification, where would you hide 45 kilograms of parts? It can't be too obvious. It can't be discovered during daily use. But it has to be easy to retrieve...
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
His gaze landed on the dumbbell rack against the wall. 5kg, 10kg, 15kg, 20kg, 25kg...
He walked over, bent down, and gripped a 25kg dumbbell. He lifted it. The weight... felt normal. He put it down and lifted another 25kg one. Also normal.
Fuck. Did I overthink it?
He stood there, staring at the row of dumbbells. As a top-tier pilot and mechanic, his intuition for the feel of metal was bordering on perverse.
Wait.
He lifted the left 25kg dumbbell again, giving his wrist a slight flick to feel the inertia. Then he lifted the right one and gave it the same flick.
The corner of Fatty's mouth curled into a cold sneer.
"Give me an X-ray scanner," he said suddenly.
The technician paused, then handed him a handheld device.
Fatty aimed it at the left dumbbell and pressed scan. Screen display: Internal structure normal. Solid metal counterweight.
Then he scanned the right one. The screen flickered. Inside... were complex geometric shadows.
"Fuck," Fatty whispered.
The screen revealed that the shell of the dumbbell was real, but the interior had been precision-hollowed. The original cast iron had been replaced by two cylindrical high-tech objects.
"High-energy capacitors," the technician's voice trembled as he read the data. "Military grade. Dual capacitor configuration. 9.2 kilograms each, total weight 18.4 kilograms. To balance the weight, lead blocks were packed around them. Unless you're an expert, you’d never feel the center of gravity deviation."
The Colonel sucked in a breath of cold air. "When did she put them in there?"
"Probably during the academy tour," Leo said over the comms. "There was an open day a week before enrollment. She could have come in as a prospective student and done it while the gym was empty..."
"Advanced preparation," the detective muttered. "She was laying this out at least a week ago."
Fatty turned around and began sketching on the holographic screen. "So, the complete plan was this—"
Phase 1: One week prior to Open Day. "She visits as a prospective cadet, seizing the chance to hide the 18kg dual capacitors inside the gym dumbbells."
Phase 2: Enrollment, January 27th. "She carries the 44kg of components—14kg barrel, 6kg cooling system, 5kg scope, 4kg frame—disassembled and dispersed within the lining of her suitcase, clothes, and toiletries. Individually, no single part triggers the weapon detectors." "At the same time," Fatty continued, "she wears the 15kg soft-pack battery as a weighted vest. Add about 6kg of normal luggage. Total weight: roughly 50kg."
The MP added, "Energy detectors only scan for complete firing mechanisms and active power circuits. Dispersed parts and dormant capacitors wouldn't trigger an alarm. The body-hugging battery vest would be masked by body heat, making it hard to spot on thermal imaging."
Phase 3: January 29th, 05:00-07:00. "Inside the dorm, while her roommates sleep, she removes the 15kg battery vest and hides it in her sports bag."
Phase 4: 07:00 to 08:00. "She goes to the gym, extracts the 18kg capacitors from the dumbbells, takes all the parts from her suitcase, and assembles the complete weapon inside the gym. She plays music to mask the sound."
Phase 5: 08:00. "Assembly complete. Total weight approx 62kg. She hides the weapon in a large sports bag and heads to the training hall roof."
Phase 6: 08:20. "Assassination execution. Dual capacitor system, two shots."
Phase 7: Post-Assassination. "Activate self-destruct mechanism to destroy the main body of the gun. Return to the dorm, pretend to know nothing."
The Colonel looked at the hologram, stunned. "A perfect plan. Distributed concealment, exploiting security blind spots, precise timing..."
"If not for..." He looked at Fatty.
Fatty grinned. "If not for the fact she ran into a mechanic with a nose better than a dog's."
The detective shook his head. "How precise was this planning? Scoping the site beforehand, calculating every ounce of weight distribution..."
"A professional killer," Leo's voice said. "And one trained from childhood."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Interrogation Room.
When Yelena Voss was brought in, her eyes were red and swollen, and she was still sobbing. She sat across the table, hands resting on the surface, body trembling slightly.
Fatty sat opposite her, his expression gentle. "Cadet Yelena, don't be nervous. We just want to confirm a few details."
Yelena nodded through her tears.
"Where were you between 7:00 and 8:20 this morning?" "I... I was in the dorm... woke up at 7, took a shower, then went to the gym..." "The gym?" "Yes... I like to exercise in the morning... quietly, alone..." "Did anyone see you?" Yelena shook her head. "No... everyone was still asleep at that time..."
Fatty nodded, appearing to understand. Then he leaned forward and suddenly asked, "What equipment did you use in the gym?"
"Weightlifting... and the treadmill..." "How heavy were the dumbbells?" Yelena paused for a beat. "15 kilos... and 10 kilos..." "Are you sure?" "Y-yes..."
Fatty smiled and leaned back in his chair, his eyes suddenly turning sharp. "Yelena, your perfume smells very nice. Chanel No. 5, right?"
Yelena froze for a second, then nodded shyly. "Y-yes."
"However," Fatty's tone shifted, becoming cold, "even perfume that strong can't cover up another smell."
He pointed to his own nose. "I fix mechs. I'm more sensitive to the smell of certain industrial chemicals than I am to a woman's fragrance."
Yelena's gaze shifted slightly. "I... I don't understand..."
"Perfluoropolyether. PFPE." Fatty spat out the obscure chemical name. "An extremely expensive, military-grade electronic insulating coolant. Usually only used for cooling the core of high-load electromagnetic weapons."
"Just a little while ago, in the dorm hallway, when I leaned in to 'comfort' you, I took a sniff." Fatty sneered. "That slightly acidic scent, with that hint of metallic corrosion... It’s faint, but to me, it stood out like a lighthouse in the dark."
Yelena's fingers began to tremble slightly.
Fatty continued. "Why would a newly enrolled freshman, who hasn't even been to the maintenance workshop, smell like something you only pick up when disassembling the capacitors of a railgun?"
"Unless... you just disassembled something you shouldn't have in the gym."
Yelena bit her lip, her face turning pale.
Fatty stood up and pulled up the biometric comparison chart. "And this. On January 27th and 28th, your cardiopulmonary data were abnormal, showing sustained physical compression of the chest cavity. But after 8 AM this morning, the data returned to normal."
He stared at her. "You took off that weighted vest hiding 15 kilos of batteries, didn't you?"
"We've already found the dumbbell," Fatty brought up the X-ray image. "And the capacitors you hollowed out of it."
"Your plan was perfect. You calculated the security checks, the blind spots, the human psychology."
Fatty walked up to her, looking down. "But you didn't calculate that there was an instructor in this school who grew up playing with heavy machinery."
The room was silent for a long time.
Finally, Yelena spoke, her voice husky. "How... did you know it was PFPE?"
She stopped crying. She stopped pretending. She lifted her head, her eyes clearing—no longer the timid cadet, but a calm, professional killer.
Fatty shrugged. "Occupational hazard. My nose for hazardous materials is a survival instinct."
"You're very smart. The plan was tight, the execution precise, almost no flaws." "But no flaws," he said, "is the biggest flaw."
"You controlled your heart rate, breathing, micro-expressions... You did it too perfectly," Fatty said. "When the other twelve girls were questioned, they had normal stress reactions. Only you and two others had physiological data that was perfectly flat." "That revealed you had professional training."
"Then," he pointed to his nose again, "there was this damn mechanic's nose."
Yelena was silent for a moment, then gave a bitter smile. "I thought I had considered every variable." "Weapon detection, blind spots, timelines, alibis..." "But I didn't expect..." She looked up, a trace of irony in her eyes. "...to fall into the hands of a 'garbage fixer'."
Fatty scratched his head. "Sometimes, the most basic physical intuition is the most lethal."
The Colonel walked in, his voice stern. "Yelena Voss Vasilyevna, you are under arrest. Charges: Attempted murder, illegal possession of military weaponry, infiltration of a military facility, treason..."
Yelena nodded calmly.
"Do you have anything to say?" the Colonel asked.
Yelena looked at Fatty, silent for a few seconds. "Instructor," she said suddenly. "Can I ask you a question?"
Fatty paused. "What?"
Yelena looked at him, her expression complex. "I heard... you're a coward. A record of 13 escapes."
The atmosphere in the room instantly solidified.
"Are you afraid?" she asked. "Afraid of death? Afraid of war?" "Huh?" She continued, "I heard... you're a deserter."
The air in the room seemed to freeze.
Fatty didn't get angry. He looked at the 18-year-old girl and said softly, "Of course, I'm afraid." "I'm scared to fucking death."
Yelena's eyes grew complicated.
"But you know," Fatty said, "I'm afraid, so I run. I admit that." "What about you?" He looked at her. "Are you not afraid?"
Yelena fell silent.
"You're only eighteen," Fatty said. "You should be studying in a classroom, running on the track, laughing, and messing around with your classmates." "Not here," he pointed at the evidence, "planning a perfect assassination."
The rims of Yelena's eyes turned slightly red.
"I don't know who trained you, who turned you into a killing machine," Fatty said. "But I know this isn't your fault."
"Instructor," Yelena whispered. "Do you know? I actually... kind of admire you." "Not because you solved the case," she said. "But because you... live authentically."
"You're a fat guy who looks like a slob, and you admit it. You're a coward, and you don't deny it." She smiled. "But at least you're real. You know who you are."
"But me..." Her voice trembled. "I've been in a training facility since I was twelve. They taught me how to kill, how to hide, how to control my heartbeat and breathing... but no one ever taught me how to be a real person."
"I don't know who I am." "I don't know what I would be like... without these missions, without this training."
She looked at Fatty, tears glistening in her eyes. "Maybe... getting caught by you... is a kind of release."
Fatty was silent. He didn't know what to say.
The Colonel signaled the soldiers. "Take her away." Two MPs walked over and lifted Yelena up.
As she reached the door, she stopped and looked back at Fatty. "Instructor, thank you."
"For what?" Fatty was stunned. "Thank you... for seeing me as a human being."
Then she turned and walked out the door.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fatty stood in the corridor, watching her retreating back. "Will she talk?" the detective asked. "I don't know," the Colonel said. "Professional killer training includes anti-interrogation techniques. But... maybe she really wants a release."
Jack wasn't in the mood to listen. He walked straight out of the academy to the street outside, looking at the military hover-vehicles parked everywhere and the troops standing guard. He was lost in thought. Just then, the watch on his left wrist began to beep.
Then Leo's anxious voice came through: "Professor Cyril is on the way to the hospital... the medical convoy has been attacked!"
Jack didn't have time to think. He sprinted toward his hover-car, threw open the door, and sped away.
