Two weeks later. Inside the high-security intensive care suite within the safe zone's inner city, a carefully staged holographic interview was happening. Jasmine lay in a hospital bed, the entire left side of her face wrapped in thick bandages. Only one eye was visible, and it burned with venom. Propped weakly against her pillow, she forced out a few tears for the camera. Wade sat nearby in a wheelchair, dressed in a patient gown with an empty right sleeve. His face was pale, but he worked hard to maintain the grim, stoic expression of a 'disabled hero.' "Ms. Cole, tell us—what exactly happened in the high-infection zone? Why did Captain Kane suddenly detonate a concussion grenade?" A reporter in the camp commander's pocket asked the question, delivering the question loudly and exactly as scripted. The instant Jasmine heard my name, she began to shake. A raw, piercing sob tore from her throat, as if she were reliving unspeakable terror and humiliation. "It was Jason... he w
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