Chapter 50

Ben Yian rubbed his forehead. “Did you give me any choice?”

He devoured the leftover food, cleaned up the messy command room, and paid the bill when they left the restaurant. Though everyone would reimburse him later, as someone who always covered for the group, Ben Yian often felt he had no choice.

But he was willing enough.

He could only try, but this attempt left him complaining endlessly.

The next day, Horne had just finished his long-distance run. He wiped off his sweat with a towel, draped it over his shoulder, and pushed open the door to the command room. There he saw Ben Yian sprawled on the sofa, the boy hiding in the corner—the two almost at opposite ends of the diagonal.

Horne looked at Ben Yian and froze for a moment. Finally, he held back a laugh and said, “What happened to your face?”

Three bloody scratches marred Ben Yian’s face, running vertically from under his eye to his jaw—extremely gruesome.

Ben Yian was known for his gentle temperament, but even he couldn’t hold back his wail. “I really want to hit someone!”

He began to complain about how terrifyingly aggressive this boy was. Too far away, and he might run; too close, and he got attacked. He couldn’t fight back against a child that young, so he could only take the beating unilaterally.

They went to the hospital for a checkup. Because it required drawing blood, the boy refused. When Ben Yian tried to carry him to the lab, he suffered three claw marks.

In the end, a psychologist soothed him for a long time before they barely drew some blood. But he burst a vein, so they had to redraw it with great effort. Afterward, he suddenly screamed, shattering the hospital glass, and they had to go back to rebandage his hand.

“This kid is absolutely super aggressive!” Ben Yian lamented in pain.

Horne laughed. He thought about it—during the days the boy stayed at his place, he hadn’t acted this exaggerated. Though he didn’t speak or let anyone approach, he at least didn’t attack proactively.

He coughed lightly twice to divert Ben Yian’s anger and asked, “What did the doctor say?”

Ben Yian looked like he was about to die. He said weakly, “Severe malnutrition. The scars on his body accumulated over years—clearly abuse. They prescribed scar-removal cream and some nutritional supplements; he needs to recuperate. The psychologist said his reactions are post-traumatic stress from long-term abuse. We need to slowly get him to lower his guard—no rushing. Also, he’s not mute; it’s psychogenic aphasia.”

“Psychogenic aphasia?” Horne didn’t know the condition. He glanced at the boy still hiding in the corner, who happened to look back at him. Their gazes met, so Horne extended a hand and said softly, “Come here?”

The boy didn’t move. His eyes quickly flicked to Ben Yian, who was very close to Horne.

“Brain function normal, intelligence normal. He can understand others, but long-term lack of communication caused the temporary aphasia. It’s also tied to excessive wariness. Talk to him more, and it’ll improve gradually.” Ben Yian explained. It was his first time hearing of it too.

Combined with the abuse scars, it was probably a communication barrier caused by the mistreatment.

But Horne had to be busy that week and couldn’t take the boy back yet. He could only pat Ben Yian’s shoulder and smile. “Thanks for the hard work. Keep him one more week.”

As he spoke, someone knocked on the door. A soldier came in to ask if training would continue that night. Horne nodded, his tone much stricter than when talking to Ben Yian. “Yes. From now on, it’ll be this time every day. Don’t slack off. This month, I’ll draft another offensive plan to clear out the nest those aliens built after breaching the other day.”

“Yes!”

The door closed. Horne’s gaze shifted back to the boy always hiding in the corner.

The wariness in his eyes was blatant.

“Let me stay with him alone for a bit. You go handle your stuff. I’ll drop him off at your place before heading to the control tower tonight,” Horne said.

Night fell, and the large floodlights on the military district’s open ground lit up. The loud shouts outside never stopped.

The command room was relatively quiet. Horne changed out of his dirty clothes on his own, sent a full terminal message to the military district reminding everyone to continue training, then turned back to focus on the boy huddled in the corner.

He felt that for a child with such high wariness, too much attention might backfire. Better to leave him be, ignore him, but give some positive signals to show he could approach anytime.

The boy sat in the sofa corner. Horne pointed to the spot next to him and asked with a smile, “Can I sit beside you?”

The boy stared at him. After a moment, he nodded.

Horne breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t as barbaric as Ben Yian described. Perhaps the brief time together and care from before let the boy know he wouldn’t attack.

Even sitting together, they kept a body’s width between them. Horne asked softly, “Were you scared at the hospital?”

He didn’t speak.

Horne thought for a moment and changed the topic. “Want to tell me about yourself?”

Still no words.

Horne took out the Resident Chip reader from a drawer and said, “If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. This can read your Resident Chip. I want to know your info—if you agree to let me use it.” He waved the device in front of the boy and asked again, “Is that okay?”

Long silence. Horne tentatively moved the reader closer. The boy just watched warily but didn’t resist physically, so Horne slowly reached toward his ear.

Then Horne fell silent.

The boy had no Resident Chip.

No information at all.

Long ago, people had turned identity info into chips implanted behind the ear for easy collection and to avoid losses or reissues. This was done after a full body check at birth, so lacking one was nearly impossible—unless he was an abandoned infant, an undocumented resident.

But how had an undocumented survived to now? Horne felt a headache coming on.

Or perhaps, abandoned after birth, someone picked him up to work off-books in a home factory to dodge age limits, skipping the implant. That could explain the abuse scars and his reluctance to speak.

Horne lowered his lashes slightly, wanting to pat the boy’s hair, but the boy shrank back. Horne immediately withdrew his hand.

Ben Yian had issued a citywide notice through the city defense district, but days passed with no replies. He didn’t speak, was covered in scars, and had no records. Finding his origins wouldn’t be quick.

The clock ticked toward nine at night. Horne checked the training field, then took the boy out for a casual bite before dropping him at Ben Yian’s.

At the door, Horne squatted down and looked up at him. He made a reaching gesture but stopped halfway. The boy didn’t retreat but leaned back slightly, so Horne didn’t push and said softly, “I have to go on duty at the control tower tonight. I won’t be home, and no one else will be there. Stick with this brother, okay? He’ll take care of you.”

Ben Yian stood inside the door, watching Horne too.

Horne was always like this—his every move lacked the wretchedness of this era. It was as if he lived in a peaceful world, not one invaded by aliens at any moment.

Warm light spilled from the door, illuminating his face and making his gaze incredibly gentle.

The boy said nothing. Horne could only stand, feeling a bit guilty toward Ben Yian. “Sorry to trouble you. This is my thing, after all… I’m off to the control tower. I need to keep watch on the snowfield.”

“What are you saying?” Ben Yian smiled. “No trouble between us.”

Horne waved to them both, backing away a few steps. He saw the boy staring at him the whole time, so he gave him a smile.

The control towers stood high, with Loch City’s three corresponding to three directions. Besides serving as signal stations for the electromagnetic net, they were alien detection posts. They rotated weekly among the three sites. Starting today, Horne was on duty at the main control tower.

Another icy night. Since most of Earth’s land had been covered in ice and snow, people lost sense of seasons—as if every day was winter, with endless cold winds and chill.

Horne checked the main control tower’s equipment and signals, confirming no anomalies on the receiver and that everything ran smoothly.

He entered data into the tower log:

[September 28, 2102. Electromagnetic net launch button normal, laser bombardment button normal, emergency defense system running normal, self-destruct system running normal. -Horne]

[Notification sent to Towers 2 and 3: Check your towers, watch for attack info. -Horne]

The electromagnetic net had three launch points managed jointly by the three towers, pulling a massive net over all of Loch City’s skies. The aliens, being flying creatures, would have their particle structures disintegrate if they forced through.

This was the city’s most vital defense line, sufficient for invasions not too massive.

Laser bombardment handled threats outside the city. When aliens gathered, the three towers bombarded from all sides, easing the net’s load.

The emergency defense system saw occasional use. For large-scale breaches attempting to force the net, it activated overdrive.

The self-destruct system, as named, detonated the three towers, radiating massive lasers around to release all energy, destroying itself and the aliens together.

This was humanity’s final resistance button, not used unless desperate. Pressing it erased aerial defense, exposing the city. It was locked, requiring Resident Chip verification.

Checks done, Horne returned to the glass room behind the console.

Heat supplied warmth, a desk lamp glowed. Horne quietly read inside, occasionally glancing at the monitors outside the city gate. The comfy temperature and atmosphere made one drowsy.

This was a small private room with a cot for on-duty rest. Its walls were one-way bulletproof glass with seamless doorframes, accessible only by specific Resident Chip. From inside, one saw the console, monitors, and outside; from out, it was ordinary mirrored glass hiding the interior.

The terminal held many missing persons notices. Over the past two months, several child abductions occurred in the city, but the city defense district had no leads. Thus, the government’s “Resident Chip binding system” was fast-tracked.

Messages abounded, but the blank reply was the boy’s.

After a long while, Horne closed his book and sent the night’s second check to the tower terminals.

Main Control Tower: [Tower monitoring status. -Horne.]

Tower 2: [All normal. -Geng Feng]

Tower 3: [All normal. -Bo Shir]

Horne propped his head, staring blankly at the frost plains in the distance.

He was always like this—alone, and his mind replayed the past, sinking into inescapable worry. But this heaviness didn’t last; a terminal comm pulled him out.

Ben Yian’s voice was anxious, out of breath, sounding like he was running. “Little Horne! The boy ran away! I wasn’t paying attention, and in a blink, he was gone. I contacted the patrol soldiers—they said he ran out of the city! No one’s ever gone out voluntarily at night, so they didn’t react right away.”

Horne’s heart skipped a beat. He shot to his feet, knocking his chair backward.