The laptop screen displayed over a dozen message windows, yet not a single reply had been received. Tan Meng sat at the bar counter, sent off a final email for help, and then anxiously grabbed his hair, slumping onto the table.
The meeting hall was empty and silent. The omegas who usually gathered here every day to drink tea and chat had all vanished without a trace.
Cang Xiao’er sat in a single armchair, hugging his backpack, quietly staring at Tan Meng. Just as he was about to speak, Tan Meng suddenly flipped the laptop over in anger and took his frustration out on the bottles behind the bar—several bottles of aged red wine shattered on the floor.
“They helped so many people, didn’t they? And now when we need them, every single one of them is backing off, only caring about themselves when it matters most.” Tan Meng gritted his teeth in rage. He had sent countless pleas for assistance, hoping to receive support from the high-level omegas. Yan Yi had been captured by the PBB branch, and as far as he knew, Lu Shangjin was the only one who had gone alone to rescue him.
But those emails asking for help were like stones sinking into the ocean. The few replies he did receive were all apologies—they all had children, families, and lacked the courage to risk everything for an omega they had never even met, even if they had once received Yan Yi’s help.
Tan Meng packed up his things and pulled Cang Xiao’er toward the door urgently. “Let’s go. Lu Shangjin can’t handle this alone.”
Cang Xiao’er shrank back slightly and tucked himself into the armchair again, looking at Tan Meng with difficulty.
Tan Meng froze mid-step and turned back, stunned. Cang Xiao’er shook his head, clearly conflicted.
He had endured so much suffering and torment in the PBB before finally managing to escape. He knew very well how vast the PBB forces were. Even if this was just one branch, its deployment of biological weapons and recovery forces was not something a handful of people could contend with.
“But you’re the only A3 here. None of the rest of us are.” Tan Meng grabbed Cang Xiao’er’s hand, pulling back his sleeve to reveal the blue serial number on his arm—PBB000005—and looked up at him wide-eyed.
Cang Xiao’er gently pulled his hand away and lowered his gaze. “I’m not close with him. Are you?”
This had nothing to do with familiarity. Tan Meng pressed his lips together. The one taken today was Yan Yi; tomorrow more would follow. If high-level omegas continued to be scattered like loose sand, they would always remain prey for alpha domination and possession.
He picked up his backpack and left. At the door, he paused and told Cang Xiao’er that this place was safe for now, and if he didn’t want to be hunted down, he should stay hidden here.
Cang Xiao’er looked like he wanted to say something, but Tan Meng did not look back and pushed the door open.
The moment he stepped outside, he saw Bi Cijing leaning against his car door.
Tan Meng still held a grudge over the “mistress causing trouble for the legal spouse” incident earlier and gave him no good expression. “Here to tell me to go home and take care of the kids?”
Bi Cijing stubbed out the cigarette at his feet. “Your family raised you this big and this is how you repay me?”
“I asked you to raise me?” Tan Meng snapped. “You always think I can’t survive without you.”
As Tan Meng turned to leave, vines from Bi Cijing’s fingers coiled around his waist and pulled him back into an embrace, pinning him down so he could not escape. Tan Meng struggled against the vines, only to hear the alpha’s low voice by his ear: “The child’s already been sent to the grandmother’s house.”
Tan Meng froze slightly. Bi Cijing tilted his chin toward a direction; a helicopter was parked nearby.
The security system of the PBB Huai Ning branch had already been largely destroyed. The entire base’s alarms blared nonstop, and the wanted posters continuously updated Lu Shangjin’s location, yet still did not declare him dead.
Yan Yi sat in the glass containment cage, quietly watching the list of dispatched interception agents, one after another marked “DEAD,” until only the last one remained unconfirmed.
Even though he could not see Lu Shangjin, the anxiety in his heart had strangely eased. It felt as if he could sense his alpha drawing closer.
He inexplicably believed Lu Shangjin would come, just like before—accustomed to waiting for a pair of hands to pull him out of hell. Yan Yi felt uncertain. If his past obsession was merely high-level dependency, then what did his current overwhelming longing mean?
Little Lu Yan had calmed under the omega’s soothing pheromones, nestling quietly in his father’s arms.
Yan Yi reached into his pocket and took out a carefully polished old wedding ring. Clenching it tightly until it was damp with sweat, he slowly and solemnly slipped it onto his ring finger, like a ritual, like a farewell to the past.
His furrowed brows finally relaxed. He gently kissed the baby’s cheek. The innocent child, just born into the world, had not yet been properly cherished, yet was already caught in this calamity. But he believed Lu Yan was deeply loved by both fathers, born into a love he himself had once envied among countless clones.
Hundreds of meters away, in a corner ventilation shaft, blood seeped through the louvers.
Lu Shangjin sat inside the duct, leaning back against the vertical wall, eyes closed as he gasped for breath.
He caught a faint trace of pheromones drifting past—light baby’s-breath scent—but when he tried to track it, it had already vanished. Perhaps it was just an illusion. He no longer had the energy to pursue it.
Blood dripped down his sleeve, staining his right hand red. His forearm rested loosely on his knee as he listened to alarms and his own name being repeatedly broadcast through the wanted system. His chest rose and fell with increasingly difficult breaths as he used these few minutes of rest to recover what little strength remained.
He wondered if his treasures were alright—probably frightened, probably waiting for him.
The wedding ring on his left ring finger was smeared with blood. He wiped it carefully on his clothes, then breathed on it and polished it with his thumb before placing it back on his finger with near reverence.
Not far away, patrol voices came through the intercom. Lu Shangjin pushed himself out of the air duct and slipped into a laboratory stairwell.
The lab door could only be opened inward. There was no way to exit from the inside. With patrol units sweeping the area, he had no choice but to enter.
Inside, there were no lights. Once the hydraulic door closed, everything plunged into darkness.
Lu Shangjin bit onto his flashlight and searched for an exit, when suddenly he heard the scraping sound of claws on the ground.
He turned off the flashlight and relied solely on his vision to scan the surroundings. His right eye, overused to the point of a dim blue film, had weakened night vision, but he could still make out outlines.
Dozens of semi-mechanical dogs implanted with human pheromone glands slowly surrounded him, growling lowly as they circled.
Lu Shangjin narrowed his eyes, pulling a modified shotgun from behind him, hooking onto the edge of a cabinet and leaping upward. With one hand, he fired—the blast shattered the protective casing around the dogs’ glandular units.
“After so many years of research, this is what you’ve produced—trash.” He shot a mocking glance at the surveillance eyes on the mechanical dogs.
The shotgun held eight rounds without reloading. Lu Shangjin did not need to aim—his evolved tracking ability ensured every shot was precise.
The recoil tore at his wounds, but he gritted his teeth and endured the pain, breaking through the encirclement and leaping out, shattering a diffuser with a shot before vaulting out through the steel ceiling structure.
Landing with his weapon drawn, a cold flash of light struck toward him. He dodged sideways. The attacker wore black tactical gear, a green skeletal pattern on his back, and steel claw gauntlets.
An Australian dragonfly alpha, PBB Special Agent No. 000008, M2 level.
Lu Shangjin calmly met his gaze, holstered the shotgun, and drew two curved blades.
Already, he could sense Yan Yi’s pheromones nearby—faint, fading.
Wait for me.
Inside the control room, alarms blared continuously.
Lu Lin sat in his chair, watching the surveillance feeds filled with scorched blood and static. On the dispatch list, one agent after another turned gray with the label “DEAD.” Only one remained.
He calmly tapped the armrest, like a nobleman enjoying a duel in an arena, waiting for the beast he had raised to tear its opponent apart.
Suddenly, alarms sounded outside. Lu Lin frowned, stood, and led his men out.
At that moment, the hydraulic door slowly opened.
Yan Yi stood holding the baby, backing into the glass wall.
Gu Wei slipped through the crack, sat at the console, and began entering override codes.
“I can only help you this far,” Gu Wei said, glancing back at him. “I’ve got my own business.”
Before leaving, he added: “Self-destructing your gland was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Yan Yi clenched his fists against the glass.
“I’ve already regretted it,” he whispered.
Just then, a monstrous presence entered.
A six-meter Komodo giant lizard, enhanced with a human pheromone gland, roared violently, shattering the containment.
Chaos erupted.
Lu Shangjin arrived.
Blood-covered, wings of a falcon tearing through the air, he caught Yan Yi and the baby into his arms.
Behind him, the dragonfly alpha lunged—but his ability failed, collapsing under suppression.
Lu Shangjin spread his wings, shielding them.
A bullet struck his neck.
Blood poured out.
His wings disintegrated.
He smiled faintly.
“Don’t eat too many cold things.”
“Heat the porridge before eating.”
“Don’t forget the baby’s blanket.”
“I wanted to take you to the sea…”
Then the sea swallowed him whole.
Yan Yi screamed his name.
He dragged a heavy machine gun forward, stepping through blood-soaked ground.
PBB000002 burned on his chest.
His eyes burned like a bottomless inferno.
And he moved forward alone.