Chapter 32

The chair Siselen sat in shook slightly, and he shrugged. “It could be a phrase, a person, a scent, an item, or some sensations.”

In the afternoon, the streets were crowded.

Horne had originally planned to head straight back to rest. He walked in silence for a while but felt he couldn’t make no progress at all, so he asked, “Accompany me to sit in a coffee shop?”

Hels hadn’t expected Horne to make such a request on his own initiative and agreed immediately.

It was Horne’s first time truly sitting in a coffee shop. He took in the decor and atmosphere, which were completely opposite to what he liked, but it was hard to find rustic natural beauty in Loch City.

He ordered a special cheese coffee and sat with Hels by the window.

This was a narrow alley. Aside from the silver building across the way, there was no scenery to speak of—only some cold constructs. The only spot with a bit of color was the ice cream shop at the end of the alley opposite them, its lights illuminating the window with various flavors and colors.

The music playing in the coffee shop wasn’t pleasant—uniform AI-generated tunes that failed to convey any story or rhythm.

Hels bought some food, and the two of them ate hastily.

Horne kept staring at that ice cream shop. Hels followed his gaze and asked, “What are you thinking?”

Horne propped his chin on his palms and stared outside so intently that he murmured, “I’m thinking about the question the doctor just asked me.”

“Oh.” Hels tapped the LCD glass tabletop lightly with his fingertip, changing its color with each tap.

He settled on reddish-brown and stopped. Hels said, “Not just Heidegger and Nietzsche—Bergson and Nietzsche, Locke and Hume—their philosophical thoughts on memory all differ, even conflict. The important thing is your own feelings. What do you think?”

Horne pulled his attention back from the end of the street and turned it to Hels, a bit stunned. “Why would you research things from hundreds of years ago?”

Hels chuckled a few times and teased, “Colonel, stereotype much? Do you think someone like me only knows pleasure and killing?”

“That’s not what I meant.” Horne wanted to explain but got stuck. He realized he did have some stereotypes, ones he hadn’t even noticed in himself.

He felt a bit annoyed. The person who made a map of Earth before the alien invasion in the holographic game clearly had an interest in the old planet. When he’d gone to Hels’s room that time, he’d seen dust marks on the table—there had once been many books there, now removed.

He’d heard too many rumors about Hels.

“Sorry.” Horne said. He held his coffee cup and took a few unnatural sips before looking back at the end of the street.

“It’s fine,” Hels tilted his head slightly. “Losing memories isn’t pitiful. What’s pitiful is only having memories.”

As he said this, his tone carried his usual amusement, but Horne detected some other emotion.

Hels continued, “After all, the most tragic abandoned children only have some recollections or illusions left.[5]”

Horne sat up straight. He found it even more unbelievable. He finally realized what emotion lurked in Hels’s smile—it was a kind of desolation. He probed cautiously, “You’re not like the rumors say. Your past, what happened…”

In the end, he didn’t finish the question.

Hels set the straw aside and drank directly instead. After finishing, he lightly licked the residue from the edge of his mouth and smiled. “Rumors are just for listening. If you’re interested, I’ll tell you personally later, but you have to promise not to get mad.”

“I’ve got nothing to get mad about.” Horne’s gaze lingered on Hels’s lips. When he realized what he was looking at, he immediately shifted his eyes away.

It was as if his brain had been addled by the recent rush of events.

To cover it up, Horne hurriedly cleared the table of their leftovers, sorting them meticulously by trash category.

A recon drone flew past the window. Horne’s gaze followed it around the corner until it vanished.

“You…” Horne pulled his eyes back and spoke.

“Hm?” Hels sat much more relaxed, slouched against the seat—unlike Horne’s upright posture.

“What do you usually do?” Horne asked.

Hels raised a brow, intrigued. “Concerned about me?”

Horne: “…”

He was utterly cold. “Not at all.”

Hels smiled and said softly, “If you are, you can just say so.”

Horne felt this man could never answer a question seriously—he always steered the conversation to some distant tangent.

Horne said, “Not that much.”

His coffee reached the bottom. Hels propped his chin on his hand, still smiling, his gaze never leaving Horne. “Is that so? I thought since you asked me out today, you had something unsolvable you wanted to discuss with me.”

Horne’s hand suddenly tightened on his coffee cup. Fortunately, the glass didn’t shatter—only his whitening knuckles betrayed him.

After a moment, Horne relaxed and took a sip of coffee, letting the cheese flavor melt on his tongue. He said slowly, “No, I just wanted to ask.”

“Oh, so you are concerned about me.”

Horne gave up circling with him and let out an “Mm.”

Hels suddenly felt very good and answered, “Most of the time making masks. The rest, at home or wandering around looking. Nothing special.”

The conversation reached that point, and if he kept asking, it’d be too obvious, so Horne just said “Oh.”

“Anything else you want to know?”

“Not for now.”

“Alright.” Hels gestured toward the ice cream shop opposite. “Want some?”

Horne shook his head first, then nodded.

“I’ll buy it for you.” Hels stood. “They have cakes too. Want one? What flavor?”

Horne said without hesitation, “Cheese.”

“Ice cream and cake both cheese?”

“Mm.”

Hels’s gaze shifted to Horne’s coffee. “You really like cheese.”

“Mm.” Horne looked up at the ceiling, uncomfortably adding, “Cheese is power…”

“Pfft!” Hels couldn’t hold it in.

As expected, Horne’s face darkened.

“Sorry, sorry, I swear I wasn’t laughing at you.” Hels laughed, holding up three fingers.

Horne ignored him.

Hels leaned in, dipped his head slightly, and used two fingers to poke the corners of Horne’s mouth upward.

“What are you doing?” Horne was startled and glared at this brazen man.

Hels’s eyes curved with laughter as he said softly, “Why not try smiling?”

His gaze was very gentle. Horne thought of what Wan Ji had said, and his first reaction wasn’t to pull away but a sense of disorientation. Horne swatted his hand away, turned his head to avoid looking at him, and said coolly, “Scram.”

Afraid of truly angering Horne if he continued, Hels withdrew his hand, blinked, and teased again, “Received, Colonel. I’ll go buy ice cream for the Colonel. Hope the Colonel waits here for me.”

That figure turned right out the door and entered the ice cream shop before Horne’s expression returned to icy cold.

Sometimes he wanted to smile, but thinking of that countdown, he couldn’t. He only prayed Hels wouldn’t notice his deliberate closeness and the motives behind it. He’d probably acted convincingly enough just now—maintaining his usual aloofness while revealing some new emotions, making their relationship seem closer.

He chewed on the straw in irregular shapes. Horne glanced at the ice cream shop now and then. It was crowded inside, with a line spilling out.

How exactly was he supposed to pry information from Hels? Where might those “channels” be?

And this gun. He took the silver laser gun from his waist and placed it on the table. His fingertip slowly rubbed the barrel tip—this was one of the guns he’d gotten from You Wenjie last time. He didn’t know if it was coincidence or custom-made, but the barrel head was engraved with tiny letters “Horne.”

As he pondered, a shadow fell directly in front of him, blocking the light. Horne looked up out the window, his hand pausing on the coffee cup.

“Han Ya?”

At the other end of the alley around the corner, Horne leaned against the gray wall and looked calmly at the panting Han Ya. “What’s wrong?”

Han Ya caught his breath with difficulty and immediately lowered his voice to speak quickly. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

Horne nodded, signaling him to go on.

“All the city gates in Loch City are closed. Outside is the Frost Plains. If it’s just the snowfield, why have the aliens never let humans out? Aren’t you curious?” As he spoke, Han Ya frequently scanned the surroundings—no people, no recon drones, just a deep narrow alley.

Horne frowned. He hadn’t expected Han Ya to tell him this, so he said coolly, “You mean there’s something outside.”

Ais had already told him—Hels’s Resident Chip signal had appeared outside. Now Han Ya was bringing it up too.

All the information pointed to those sealed city gates, but the rules forbade leaving the city.

Han Ya nodded and added, “Also, don’t trust Hels. He’s closely tied to the Tower. Don’t you ever wonder?”

Horne neither confirmed nor denied it.

“Horne.” Han Ya gripped his shoulders, fingers tightening, but Horne immediately stepped back, out of reach.

Han Ya was surprised for an instant but didn’t dwell on it. He continued, “People change. You don’t know Hels—a guy who plays both sides between humans and aliens. You have no idea what he really is.”

No sooner had he spoken than laughter came from behind. “Talking bad about someone behind their back isn’t nice, is it?”

Hels rounded the corner into their view. He approached Horne and said softly, “Didn’t I tell you to wait there? I looked for you forever.”

Horne casually took the ice cream and cake. “Just came out for a look.” Besides, he and Han Ya hadn’t spoken much. To be found so quickly was beyond expectations.

Seeing Hels arrive, Han Ya flared up even more. He sneered, “Stabbing someone in the back is even worse, no?”

Hels raised a brow. “Oh? You get hurt easily. How pitiful.”

Han Ya’s anger boiled over. He snarled viciously, “You’re a real lunatic.”

Hels shrugged indifferently. “Heard that one too much. Try a new insult.”

“You!”

Horne tried to interrupt the tense standoff. He didn’t know when Han Ya and Hels had gotten involved. But Han Ya beat him to it, pointing at Hels. “Horne, you absolutely can’t trust him!”

His last word caught in his throat as he froze. Because Horne turned, walked to Hels’s side—positioning himself opposite Han Ya—and said flatly, “I don’t have to trust him absolutely. It’s just that, compared to him, I trust you even less.”

Hels laughed, sounding delighted.

Han Ya’s face was full of shock. “Again with this? What the hell did he feed y—” Realizing he couldn’t keep going like this, Han Ya cut off his irrelevant words, stepped forward, and pulled Horne’s shoulder. Anxiously, he said, “Anyway, be careful of this lunatic. Also, you have to go outside the city. There’s…”

Bang!

A gunshot rang out.

A flock of crows scattered in alarm.

Han Ya’s body fell.

Hels put away his gun, his voice laced with scorn. “Utterly foolish.”

Horne’s mouth opened slightly. “You…”

“It’s fine. Let’s go,” Hels said indifferently. “I’ll call someone to handle it.”

The hole pierced through his chest and the spreading pool of blood were left behind. Horne’s mood didn’t settle the whole way. The ice cream melted in his hand and was eventually tossed in a trash bin.

It wasn’t that he trusted one more than the other. He wasn’t really close to Hels or Han Ya. He just couldn’t afford to stand against Hels right now, but he hadn’t expected Hels to be so ruthlessly decisive.

After walking some distance, Horne stopped.

“Hels.”

“What?”

On the busy street, people brushed past them. The direction Horne faced was north—over Hels’s shoulder, he could see the city gate.

He was very familiar with this view. In that game, he’d walked this street countless times, passing through that gate.

Horne didn’t speak, but Hels knew what he wanted to ask. He stepped back two paces to Horne’s side and said gravely, “Every so often, I go to the Tower to feed the mask models. That’s why the recon drones can quickly and precisely lock onto anyone without a mask. Aside from that, I have no connection to the Tower.”

Horne asked, “Really?”

The ever-present recon drones hurried past two more at that moment.

They reflected in Hels’s peripheral vision. Hels suddenly smiled—a very mocking smile. Though he’d seen Hels’s mocking expressions before, this sarcasm was new. His voice was light. “Does the answer matter? If you don’t believe me, nothing I say will convince you. So what answer are you looking for?”

Although the tone was still mild, Horne felt that Hels was somewhat angry.

Horne lowered his eyelids. “I just think you shouldn’t kill Han Ya so casually.”

Hels said, “You don’t understand him. You don’t even know who he is.”

“Don’t I know who you are?” Horne directly interrupted, raising his voice. He took a step forward, closing in on Hels, and slightly tilted his head up to look straight into his eyes. “You’ve restricted all people associated with the military to the Red Light District. What grudge do you have against them? And me? What’s your purpose with me?”

After asking this, Horne regretted it. He had been too hasty.

The air instantly fell silent, with only the clamor drifting from the streets.

Hels narrowed his eyes at him, making Horne somewhat uneasy. After a long moment, Hels asked, “Before I came, what else did he say to you?”

Horne turned his head to the side. “……Nothing.”

“Oh,” Hels smiled faintly and said casually, “So, it’s the Tower that wants you to get close to me, or perhaps to kill me?”

Horne’s entire body suddenly tensed up.