At the end of a desolate highway, a black motorcycle roared from where the road met the starry sky, like a sleek black panther hunting. It was a North European Goddess 1800—a super-heavyweight, high-powered cruiser made in the U.S., limited to 2,500 units, once one of Yan Yi’s prized vehicles.
The motorcycle leaned sharply, tires screeching across the quiet road, stopping abruptly at the roadside. Bai Chunan removed his helmet, roughly raking his short hair, wearing a black vest over a T-shirt, leather gun holsters strapped tightly to both legs, each carrying a Desert Eagle.
On a whim, he had asked Yan Yi for this bike. He realized he’d never taken a favorite Omega for a ride before. The Alliance had no shortage of passionate, fiery Omega agents—long overdue to finally settle down and pursue a proper relationship.
After several May storms, the weather had become hot and humid. Sweat clung lightly to his skin. Sitting on the ground, smoking, he lifted his T-shirt slightly to fan his waist, revealing a trim, tight midsection. Muscles sculpted from countless extreme missions were sharp and defined, unlike gym-built physiques reliant on machines and protein.
A long scar ran diagonally across his chest to his side. The stitches were faint but unsettling, hinting at the gravity of the wound once endured. Bai Chunan absentmindedly touched it, extinguished his cigarette in the dirt, and sighed.
The Omega was a good kid—endearing when in pain, often curling his small mermaid tail around his waist, blue eyes watery as if on the verge of tears. Bai Chunan had often been reluctant to let him suffer, coaxing and stroking, trying to draw every soothing pheromone from his glands to calm him.
Three years apart—he had probably grown, maybe even more beautiful than before, maybe colder, more detached.
No more thinking.
Bai Chunan checked the GPS. In front of him lay only a vast expanse of ruins.
This patch of suburbia had been a failed amusement park. Poor construction had caused a middle school class accident, halting the project. Rusted, dusty carousels and broken Ferris wheels no longer bore their original colors.
In the southeast corner, a small marine exhibit remained. Its exterior paint, once ocean blue, was chipped and peeling. The entrance, however, was reinforced—thick alloy bulletproof doors, a canopy with two flashing red security cameras scanning 360 degrees.
Inside, the layout had been altered. Pebble corridors and most glass walls were removed. Most display tanks were dried out and abandoned, except the original beluga whale tank, faint LED lights illuminating it.
The tank contained about three meters of murky water, long unrefreshed, emitting a strong fishy odor. Dead coral littered the bottom.
Suddenly, a sound like a whale’s long call reverberated from the crevices among the rocks, and a humanoid silhouette gradually emerged from the display tank.
The strange creature had a man’s long upper body, but a three-meter-long blue fish tail trailing behind like the train of a gown.
His eyes were closed, golden hair drifting with the water, brushing lightly against his snow-white cheeks. Except for the thin, translucent webbing between his fingers, his body resembled that of an ordinary Omega: slender waist, graceful arms, elegant yet restrained.
The merman swam slowly upward from the tank’s depths, followed by a few silver-glimmering jellyfish drifting alongside.
His tail was semi-transparent, allowing a clear view of the neatly arranged fin bones, sharp spines, and some bright red internal organs, with dense veins faintly glowing blue, flickering like wandering electricity in the silent darkness.
When the merman floated about two meters above the tank floor, a collar suddenly clamped around his neck. The other end of the chain was secured to a heavy anchor decoration at the bottom of the tank.
He tried to wrench off the cumbersome collar, but the escape-prevention mechanism automatically discharged a strong electric current. The merman convulsed violently in the water from the shock, writhing in pain until exhaustion overtook him. He sank slowly to the bottom, lying on the dead coral in small spasms.
Outside the tank, an Alpha with half his face scarred climbed the feeding ladder. Using a hook, he dragged up the iron chain from the tank floor, yanking the merman out of the water roughly and holding him up to show a seated boss below.
The merman had endured this countless times and had no strength left to resist. The scarred Alpha forced his head up by the hair, exposing an exquisitely delicate face.
He was nothing like the sweet, fragile Omegas usually seen. His tired, cold expression radiated a clear “keep your distance” aura.
“Look carefully. We did make him suffer a bit, but this valuable face hasn’t been touched,” the scarred Alpha said, rolling up his sleeves to reveal several claw marks on his arms. He smirked darkly. “See? Feisty and spicy. The boss likes it that way.”
The space in front of the tank had been cleared of a performance platform and converted into a makeshift reception room. The air was thick with various Alpha pheromones, mixed with smoke and the heavy scent of coffee.
The buyer finally tore his greedy gaze from the merman’s waist, exhaled smoke over his bloated beer belly, and lifted his chin to address the scarred man seated on a single sofa: “A merman Omega… is indeed a rare commodity. My superiors would never let you down on the price, but just to be safe, I don’t want to conduct the transaction here.”
The scarred Alpha frowned at the remark, tossing the merman back into the tank and spreading his legs on the feeding platform. He picked up a spring knife to scrape dirt from under his nails, completely unconcerned. “Afraid? Outside there are seven or eight infrared monitors. Three bulletproof doors from the entrance to here. Don’t think of us as street-level girl traffickers. This business is big; we’ve got over a hundred brothers watching, five second-stage differentiated beast Alpha mercenaries—all inside. Not a mosquito can get in. Money hits the account, we’ll get you and your merchandise out safely.”
“This isn’t our first deal. Go ask around. My beauties are usually eight to ten thousand apiece. Premium stock draws competition; once you pass this village, there’s no shop like this.”
The beer-bellied boss licked his lips, scrutinizing the merman in the tank. He cast a suspicious glance around and noticed several mercenaries standing behind him. Two close by deliberately emitted high-level pheromones to demonstrate their power—one was an M2-level fierce cat Alpha, the other an M2-level lynx Alpha. Towering and muscular, their chest muscles strained against their camo vests in a curved line.
Most human glands can only undergo first-stage differentiation (J1-level). Only elites can achieve second-stage differentiation (M2-level), exponentially increasing combat ability and differentiation power. Each stage grants a new skill aligned with the Alpha’s inherent gland traits.
With five high-level Alpha mercenaries guarding this hidden, abandoned marine exhibit, the boss finally relaxed and opened his laptop to transfer funds.
Suddenly, the corner monitor, which had been running smoothly, beeped an alert. The scarred Alpha furrowed his brow and glanced at the footage. Eight camera feeds appeared normal. Just as he raised his chin to order a mercenary to report outside, the top-left feed suddenly went static.
“What the—?” The scarred Alpha’s frown deepened. He set down his spring knife, eyes scanning the remaining feeds.
Almost immediately, all eight camera feeds malfunctioned, flickering into chaotic static.
The scarred Alpha leapt to his feet, pressing his communicator to contact each team guarding the marine exhibit.
“A team? Report!”
“F team? What’s going on?”
None of the six outside teams responded.
“Shit!” the scarred Alpha cursed, kicking over an ammo box and dragging out an AK-47. The other high-level Alphas drew their weapons, the enclosed room instantly filling with the oppressive scent of Alpha dominance.
The beer-bellied boss crouched on the steps with his laptop, panicked. “What’s happening? I already sent the money! You promised my safety! Didn’t you say it was secure?” His voice trembled as he tried to mask his fear, muttering to himself, “Is it the police? Three bulletproof doors shouldn’t be that easy to breach… you must have a back exit. Quick! Get me out! If I don’t return on time, my superiors…”
“Shut up.” The scarred Alpha spat, voice cold and final.
No one spoke again. For a full minute, the narrow room was silent—so still that the occasional drop of sweat hitting a gun stock sounded loud.
Everyone in the room sensed it—a strange pheromone approaching steadily, flooding the air with the faint scent of brandy, gradually growing richer, spicier, and accompanied by a suffocating pressure.
This was the scent of an intruder’s dominance pheromone.
The three bulletproof doors were indeed difficult to breach, but the oppressive aura advanced unimpeded toward their location. The scarred Alpha’s hands gripping his gun were slick with sweat.
Beep, beep.
The communicator at his cheek chirped. The mercenaries, tense and alert, all turned their eyes toward it.
Sweat trickled down the scarred Alpha’s neck into his collar. He froze for ten seconds before answering.
A young Alpha’s voice came through the communicator, smooth and teasing:
“Can you hear me?”
Bai Chunan sat in the surveillance room, several unconscious monitoring personnel haphazardly stacked behind him. He tapped the microphone to ensure the connection was clear, then continued:
“The bulletproof doors are thick, and I knocked for a while but no one came. So I came in myself. Don’t be polite.”
“I’m here to retrieve an Omega you’ve likely seen—mermaid from the waist down, human above. Looks Nordic, but actually from Honduras. I’m sure none of you would dare kill something that pretty… but you’re wrong. Beautiful things are usually vicious. Conservatively, he’s responsible for 124 lives, 123 of them second-stage Alphas.”
“There’s a suppressor on his glands. You’ve survived this long entirely because of that. I’m grateful you didn’t get curious and remove it.”
“But in reality, you’ve captured something more dangerous than a leaking nuclear bomb. Understand? He once clawed a twenty-centimeter gash in me, stitched with forty sutures. That day, I saw my intestines spilling onto the floor. Really.”
“My Omega… is strong… Please hand him over for safe processing.”