His temperature was burning, and he was shivering—symptoms of a high fever that should have been like an insult to their dignity to tend to as FSG members. Yet, Captain Morgan found himself scratching his head in confusion as he reread the medical reports for what felt like the hundredth time.
Every test they had conducted showed the same results: perfect condition. Not a single anomaly detected.
"What could this be?" Captain Morgan muttered, tapping his foot against the polished white marble floor. The sound echoed throughout the room, coincidentally matching the steady beep of the monitoring equipment connected to the unconscious figure on the bed. "What explanation could this have?"
The medical agent handling Mo Fan—a relatively small woman with striking emerald eyes and hair pulled back in a bun—cleared her throat.
