Chapter 48

A conversation ended hastily.

Horne returned to the command room once, collected some things, and was preparing to head home when Han Ya stopped him. He asked if today’s experiment had succeeded and whether Horne wanted to grab a couple of drinks to celebrate in the evening.

Horne brushed aside Han Ya’s hand and kept walking outward without looking back. “I’m not going.”

“Hey, hey, don’t be so heartless.” Han Ya wanted to say more, but Ben Yian blocked him, and the door closed.

Ben Yian’s voice was clear and crisp, his tone carrying some earnest persuasion. “Don’t ask him about things like that anymore. He won’t go celebrate.”

Han Ya was speechless. He rolled his eyes and flopped onto the sofa, irritably saying, “I know, but I just didn’t want him to be alone. He’d overthink things otherwise.”

It was the year 2102. It had been two years since his happy, warm family had turned into pure solitude.

The military district was not far from home. Horne skirted the training grounds and walked onto the street. He hadn’t gone far when a voice called out to him from behind.

Ben Yian hurried over in a few steps and came up beside Horne. He placed a hand on Horne’s uninjured shoulder and smiled. “I’ll walk you back.”

He didn’t actually need company. Horne said nothing and just nodded.

The human military was still around, and there was the protection of the electromagnetic net. Life for Loch City’s residents wasn’t affluent, but it wasn’t terrible either. As he passed by, people always greeted Horne and saluted him. He responded to each one.

A painting of The Creation of Adam (Michelangelo’s famous fresco depicting God reaching out to Adam) sat by the roadside. It had been there for several years, unsold, but every time Horne passed, he stopped for a few seconds.

The vendor selling paintings spotted Horne through the crowd and asked as usual, “Major! How’s your mood today?”

Horne smiled faintly. “Not bad.” His gaze lingered on the painting for a moment before he moved on.

The two young men’s steps were unhurried as they blended into the crowd of people brushing past and greeting each other in the city.

Ben Yian’s elbow rested on Horne’s shoulder. As usual, he leaned in close and whispered, “Hey, Little Horne, I heard something lately. Interested?”

“What?” Horne turned his head and met Ben Yian’s bright, spirited eyes. Those eyes were always full of boundless energy, the corners slightly upturned—a subtle gleam of aspiration for the future.

Ben Yian chuckled at the thought. He laughed heartily and put on a mysterious air. “I heard someone say that in our squad, Horne is the brains, Han Ya is melee, Wen Yu is ranged, and Ben Yian is logistics support.”

Horne let out a pfft and laughed, his eyes curving into crescents. He thought about it and figured the description wasn’t wrong. He was always the one planning attacks and defenses. If something came up, Han Ya would lead the charge. Wen Yu sniped from the rear, and Ben Yian handled supplies to keep up.

In reality, though, their roles weren’t in the same division. Ben Yian belonged to the city defense district and only handled internal city security. The other three were in the outer district, facing the aliens directly.

It was just that the four of them were close and often hung out together. Plus, aside from Ben Yian, the other three’s names were like thunder piercing the ear to everyone in the military district—household names.

Horne was about to agree with the assessment when Ben Yian leaned in even closer to his ear and whispered, “Actually, they’re all wrong.”

“Hm?”

Ben Yian straightened up, cleared his throat twice, and even took longer strides. He tilted his head back and said solemnly, “Truth is, you’re brains, melee, and ranged. Only I’m irreplaceable, right, Major?” He winked at Horne playfully, blinking faster and faster as if he’d keep going until Horne answered.

Horne was helpless and conceded. “Right, right.”

Ben Yian laughed happily, and his laughter made Horne laugh along. True to his name, he put people at ease, washing away all unpleasantness like wading through a babbling brook.

Horne lived in a two-and-a-half-story house on the edge of a vacant lot in the military district. From there, he could see the north city gate. Usually, he was home alone, but fortunately, the rowdy squad often dropped by, so it wasn’t too lonely.

The aroma of cheese filled the kitchen. Ben Yian was checking the oven settings. He’d originally planned to leave after walking Horne home, but when Horne casually mentioned craving cheesecake, he ran to the market for ingredients and came back to make it.

Horne held a book and sat at the dining table with his legs crossed, completely relaxed. He glanced at Ben Yian’s back and suddenly thought of something. “How’s your sister’s condition?”

Ben Yian’s hand paused as he adjusted the temperature. His fingers curled weakly, and his voice darkened. “Same as always. You know—congenital lipid metabolism disorder. The deterioration is irreversible.” He straightened up, stretched lazily, and let out a long sigh.

Horne thought for a moment and softly suggested, “Why not bring her to live in the military district? Your home is too far. Running back and forth every day to care for her is inconvenient.”

Ben Yian paused, then turned with a smile and shook his head in refusal. “You’ve already done so much for us. I’m truly grateful. I can’t overstep bounds. Besides, bringing in a regular resident to live in the military district goes against the rules.”

“Rules are made to be broken. If worst comes to worst, she can stay at my place. I can help look after her too. Besides, you could keep working as an electronic engineer, but you chose to come to the military district and take on the hardship. I think you’ve done more than enough for it already.” Horne spoke lightly. He leaned back, hand resting on the black book cover, fingers tapping irregularly and producing a knocking sound. Sitting there, he seemed to isolate even the impurities in the air a meter away.

Ben Yian still refused. “No, this was my choice. Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

The topic didn’t continue because Horne received a message on his terminal from the military.

Ben Yian had just set the oven parameters precisely and was about to sit next to Horne when he turned and saw him hurrying to the door.

“What is it?” Ben Yian asked.

Horne frowned, a flash of fatigue in his eyes, but his hands didn’t stop. He changed shoes, opened the door, and said hurriedly, “They’re escorting Matthew to prison, but he ran into the snowfield on the way. I’m going to look for him.”

“Ah?”

The north city gate was always open. Only humans could pass through unharmed. Loch City didn’t restrict residents from coming and going; it just wasn’t wise to venture too far.

Horne didn’t know why Matthew had run off. According to the soldiers, during the escort, they had scared him with threats of punishment, and then he bolted.

For the second time that day, he plunged into the frost plains. The temperature on Horne’s face rapidly faded; it was already getting cold.

The sky was a desaturated blue. The distant orange was sinking, and soon darkness would fall, bringing a sharp drop in temperature. They had to find Matthew before nightfall.

“Split up and search,” Horne said.

Several soldiers took off in snowmobiles along predetermined routes, over undulating snow slopes and one empty depression after another.

Soldiers shouted Matthew’s name in the distance. Han Ya messaged suggesting they let him go—someone who didn’t follow rules, treating the military district like a kindergarten?

Horne closed the terminal and looked around.

The shouts echoed into the eternal pale blue and faded away unanswered. Before long, night fell, and the temperature plummeted.

Horne contacted the distant soldiers via terminal. Still nothing. If Matthew didn’t return by night, the odds of surviving a night in the snowfield were slim.

The snowmobile’s treads went creak creak over the snow, leaving long tracks. The headlights sliced through the darkness as Horne drove far alone.

Ben Yian: [Haven’t found him yet?]

Horne: [No.]

Ben Yian: [I told you we should prioritize upgrading the resident chips. Once two people are bound, they can share locations. Incidents like this should drop.]

Horne: [Mm. None of the missing kids in the city have been found?]

Ben Yian: [No, three or four gone missing lately.]

Ben Yian: [When upgrades are available, let’s go bind ours.]

Horne: [Mm.]

Creak—

The tires scraped across the snow, leaving a skid mark. Horne closed the terminal and gradually braked.

There was nothing more he could do if they couldn’t find him.

He scanned the area one last time with the headlights, turned the vehicle around to head back to the city. But in that instant of reversing, a faint muffled grunt came from the right rear—like a small animal’s stifled whimper.

He slammed on the brakes immediately. The flashlight beam swept across the snow. He got out and walked toward the sound, calling, “Matthew?”

Only the wind answered.

If not for the bloodstains on the ground, Horne would have thought he’d misheard.

A few drops of blood stood out starkly against the pure white.

Horne closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Even after all this time, seeing those fresh red droplets on the white still made his heart race uncontrollably. He could only suppress it.

At the end of the blood trail, a slight mound in the snow. The last drops were hidden inside, next to a bluish arm half-buried in snow, the rest of the body completely covered.

“Matthew?!” Horne’s expression changed. He hurried over, bit the flashlight between his teeth, and plunged both hands into the bone-chilling snow pile.

The frost plains near the city weren’t that dangerous, but one couldn’t be careless. The electromagnetic net didn’t cover the snowfield.

He shoveled snow aside handful by handful. His hands turned red, bones stiff and unbendable. Soon his teeth chattered, and the flashlight nearly fell, but the burial wasn’t deep. He quickly pulled the person out.

“Matthew, hang on.” He anxiously brushed the white crystals from the other’s face and brows, then froze.

It was a child.

Not Matthew.

A stranger.

The child’s face was cyanotic, eyes tightly shut, body devoid of warmth, skin somewhat rigid. He looked frozen to death.

Horne huffed on his fingers and felt the child’s neck for several seconds.

A faint pulse—he was still alive.

Horne scooped him up immediately and rushed back to the vehicle.

Horne: [Han Ya, any word on Matthew? I found a kid in the snowfield. He looks bad. Heading back first. You keep searching.]

Snow began to fall on the snowfield, the night deep and profound.

Wind passed by the window, fogging the glass. Warm light filled the room, the heater cranked to max. Even the fireplace, usually just decorative, was now lit to warm the house further.

The child’s clothes were removed. After wiping him with warm water, he was wrapped in two layers of blankets. A hot towel, wrung out after soaking, was placed over his heart. Not long after, Horne replaced it with a fresh warm one.

“Mid-level hypothermia. Physical rewarming should do it; he might wake in a few hours.” After two hours of work, the doctor gave the child a basic checkup and treatment, ensuring no immediate life threat. He stood, hesitated, then added, “His vital signs are very weak. A bit later, and he definitely wouldn’t have made it. Hypothermia’s only part of it—chronic malnutrition too. The wounds on him, Major, take a look…”