Arriving outside Erics Peterson's office, Teresa Taylor was stopped by a reasonably attractive secretary.

"In the middle of something as important as violence against the norm, one would inquire and address," Teresa asserted more than questioned.

The secretary, Clara Rivera, eyed Teresa Jealously as she responded, "Sorry, you can't go in without an appointment."

Clara had recognized this newly arrived female ability user right away: strong and beautiful. It simply wasn't fair.

Rumor had it that several well-regarded officers and ability users were marking Teresa Taylor as their next pursuit. Clara seethed. Why did everything good happen to this woman while she was stuck arguing with a geezer like Erics Peterson?

Noticing the glaring hostility, Teresa Taylor decided to remain patient. "Could you at least let him know I'd like to speak with him, please?"

Clara, exuding arrogance, snapped, "Just register here. Director Peterson will decide the appointment time, and I can't promise anything sooner."

Clenching her teeth, Teresa wondered if all this membership in the base was, indeed, a mistake. The base wasn't as she envisioned—a place for unity against external threats. Instead, it had created a definitive social hierarchy.

Teresa uttered, "Fine, where do I write?"

Clara Rivera handed over a visitor's form, smugly detailing the "3 to 7-day" wait period.

The top caste of high-ranking officers, advanced ability users, and high-development personnel led by Erics Peterson.Second, ordinary ability users, soldiers, and standard researchers.At the base, the low-ranking survivors lived in deprived conditions.

Already annoyed, Teresa Taylor resisted the impulse to call it all out. This setup promoted dissension rather than unity against the calamities that had befallen them.

Having reluctantly filled in all the necessary details with a tight-lipped fury, the form was taken by Clara, who cooly placed it in a stack of paperwork.

"Now, go and wait for a reply," Clara said, mockingly.

Angry but contained, Teresa requested, "Can you please expedite my request?"

Clara, feigning innocence, responded, "Oh, Ms. Taylor! You know I don't have the authority for such matters."

Unable to contain herself any longer, Teresa excused herself. She had a new plan—better to wait and catch Peterson on the move than rely on a bureaucratic nightmare.

An hour passed, and a young army officer came to empty office waste into the bin. He greeted her, "Good afternoon, Brigadier General Taylor!"

Teresa, concerned, asked, "Are any of these documents sensitive? Shouldn't they be destroyed?"

The officer, chuckling, said, "Nah, these are just the visitor forms filled by people who won't get to see Peterson. Only those who don't need to fill these ever get seen."

Visitor's application forms!

The blood rushed to Teresa's head. Overcome with rage, she kicked the trash bin and started rifling through its contents.

The officer, wide-eyed, offered, "General, let me help you—"

"No need!" Teresa barked back.

It didn't take long for Teresa to find her discarded form, the discovery turning her face crimson with rage. Her pent-up fury boiled over, and she stormed into the office.

Crash!

She kicked the door in, the noise echoing as it slammed against the wall.

"Ah!" Clara shrieked.

Alarmed, a troop of guards and ability users burst through the adjacent door. "What's going on?" "Raise your hands!"

"Hey, it's Brigadier General Taylor! What the—"

Ignoring them, Teresa slammed the form onto Clara's desk, demanding coldly, "Care to explain this, Secretary Clara?"

Everyone glanced at the paper, quickly guessing that Clara had been harassing Teresa.

In the crossfire between the director's possible lover and a new, well-regarded ability user, no one knew how to act.

They couldn't help but wonder why Clara Rivera would mess with Teresa Taylor, who was known for her sheer power and not-so-secret approval from leadership.

"Insubordination!" shrieked Clara, her voice laced with anger. "Seize her, now! She's rebelling!"

No one moved. The accusations were absurd.

This wasn't rebellion. It was clear harassment on Clara's part.

Had Clara not learned her lesson, they thought? Other complaints aside, this wasn't just anyone she was troubling; it was Teresa Taylor, their new hope for survival in this grim post-world.

Clara saw the situation slipping away and attempted to make a run for it—back to the safety of Peterson's influence.

"Oh no you don't!" Teresa yelled, grabbing a nearby pen and launching it with surgical precision.

In her hands, the pen was as deadly as any throwing knife, embedding itself into Clara's calf with a sickening thud.

"Aaaah!" Clara yelped, going down hard.

Before anyone could react, Peterson himself strode into the chaos, his face a mask of annoyance.

"Enough of this hullabaloo. What ARE you all doing?"