Chapter 91

Even if he and Hels were indeed strangers, by the time he found the Underground Base, Ais could already predict that he would rebel, so Ais did not give him any options and merely used him as bait. Yet he actually went through with it—something even Hels had not anticipated?

The Aliens did not care about promises, transactions, or morality. Those were human concepts that only backfired on humans. They only wanted to conquer and rule.

His breathing grew labored. Horne bit his lip, trying to calm himself down.

What should they do now? What should humanity do?

“Horne, we’re not the center of the world, nor are we the protagonists of this story. We won’t always win these games,” Wen Yu’s voice sounded from behind him. It was the first time he had seen her since the Holographic Game.

She had not changed much; she was still as calm as ever, almost ruthlessly so.

She said, “All we can do is make decisions, bear the consequences, and never give up.”

“So what? What are the consequences?” Horne asked, his voice ice-cold amid the throbbing in his temples. “Some decisions are wrong, and the consequences are unbearable.”

Not every choice had room for maneuver. Right now, they had nothing left. With only one month until the final descent, where was humanity’s future?

No one answered him. Horne did not want to hear the answer anyway. He sat back on the edge of the sickbed, wanting to lie down. Perhaps because he had been awake for a while, his senses sharpened, and the pain spread out. He could only endure his rapid breathing and maintain his sitting position as he changed the subject: “What about Ains?”

Han Ya answered immediately, “The latest report was that he was locked up in a cell in the Tower District. He’s still alive for now.”

At that moment, the television began playing a music program. The notes, synthesized from data, flowed out coldly, the drumbeats striking the air and vibrating the atmosphere.

The nurse came in again, delivering medicine to Horne and adjusting the frequency of the bone reset device. She instructed him to rest well. Although the wound was healing quickly, it was still best to be careful.

“Still alive.” Horne nodded, confirming the information. He watched the nurse’s retreating back and fell into thought. The Tower had not dealt with this hostage yet. Regardless of the reason, it was at least half good news.

“Mm.” Han Ya sat down beside Horne, his emotions still in the doldrums. “Loch City has been too chaotic lately. The Tower District is completely sealed off; we can’t get in. It was only in the last couple of days that they started restoring the previous state.”

Horne pondered for a moment before saying, “I’ll go find Ais.” In the end, this little girl had suffered because of him. If humanity went extinct in a month, he could at least give her a bit more freedom.

Han Ya rubbed his face with both hands, turning it red. He said irritably, “What for? To negotiate? What bargaining chips do you have? Because you raised it? But it saved you too; it won’t listen to you anyway.” Han Ya spoke hurriedly and added an explanation, “I’m not against saving him; it’s how we save him.”

Wen Yu glanced at Han Ya.

Horne was also mulling over the question, but as he thought, he ended up asking something else: “How do you know Ais saved me?”

Horne had no memory of the incident. It was only when he had been forced to go to the Tower earlier that Ais had told him about it.

“Uh.” Han Ya’s throat caught; his back molars bit his tongue. He did not know how to respond and could only stiffly turn to look at Wen Yu. Wen Yu sighed and explained for him: “It said so itself.”

“Oh.”

The room fell quiet again, the persistent low pressure suffocating everyone. It was noon, yet the sky outside was as gray as dusk. The flashing red dot reflected on the transparent glass window streaked by, finally coming to a stop, barely perceptible.

A flame even weaker than humanity’s fate.

“So, are there any other possible methods?” Horne asked, his voice drifting somewhat. He had awakened after a hundred years and could not accurately judge the current situation. He only hoped to find some turning point from this failure, even a small one.

He was met with silence from the two. Han Ya and Wen Yu exchanged a glance but could offer no reply.

“Fine.” Horne tugged weakly at the corner of his mouth.

The television broadcast grew grating: “The residents of Loch City live happily. The residents of Loch City live happily, happily living, happy! Hahaha!”

This most ordinary broadcast sounded higher and thinner in Horne’s ears, almost distorted, like scraping open a rusty iron window and leaving scratches on his heart, filled with unease.

Horne took slow, deep breaths nonstop to alleviate the pain and the heavy helplessness in his chest.

A few seconds later, the sickroom door was pushed open again. Wind poured in, scattering Horne’s hair and exposing his downturned mouth.

Thinking it was the nurse again, Horne did not turn around until he heard a familiar voice: “What do you two mean by disturbing Horne’s rest here?”

The shrillness from the television returned to normal, like a stone dropping.

Horne turned his head and met that sharp, blade-like gaze. In the instant their eyes locked, the sharpness fully retracted, leaving only a hint of amusement.

He had wanted to see him so badly back then, yet he had forgotten it all, completely. Would being forgotten make him sad?

His fingertips lightly gripped the bedsheet. His breathing unconsciously paused, but Horne did not let any emotion show.

Han Ya chuckled, looked at the newcomer, and quickly rolled his eyes in mockery. “I’m impressed. Aren’t you disturbing his rest by coming here too?”

“Me?” Hels laughed lightly and strode quickly to Horne’s side. Without glancing at Han Ya, he half-squatted down, his pupils reflecting only one person’s shadow. “You don’t think I’m disturbing you, do you?”

In an instant, all eyes fixed on Horne’s face, waiting for his answer. Horne thought yes was not quite right, and no was not either, so he simply closed his eyes, raised his hand, and pointed at the door.

“I want to rest.”

“Alright.” Hels shrugged, stood up, and raised his brows at the two.

All three were chased out. Once the door closed, the sickroom returned to quiet. Horne relaxed his body, slowly sat back on the bed, and half-reclined against the headboard. His gaze lingered on the window for a moment before turning to the closed sickroom door.

They argued a few sentences after leaving, but now there was complete silence.

Two minutes later.

[Horne: Did you leave?]

[Hels: No.]

[Horne: Come in.]

Half the sickroom lights turned off; the ceiling was no longer so glaring. The misty dampness in the air lingered.

Hels dragged a chair to sit by the sickbed. He propped his hands on his head, cradling his chin as he stared at Horne, motionless.

“What are you looking at me for?” Horne asked flatly. After asking, his gaze locked onto Hels’s face.

He had not noticed earlier. Now that they were closer, he saw it. Hels’s complexion was not good—somewhat pale, with obvious dark circles under his eyes. He was thinner than a month ago. Even so, the light in his eyes still burned brightly.

Horne suddenly recalled what the nurse had said: Hels had cared for him day and night.

Horne relaxed his furrowed brow. His fingers twitched lightly. He just raised his hand, extending it halfway between him and Hels, paused for a second, then put it down.

Hels saw Horne’s movement and tilted his head, curling his lips. “Nothing. If you don’t like me looking at you, I can turn away.”

“No need.” Horne spoke calmly. “Your face looks terrible. Were your injuries serious before? Haven’t been resting well lately?”

After asking, Horne regretted it. He was asking pointless questions, the kind with predictable answers. With Hels’s personality, he would probably say something like, “Yeah, I’ve been taking care of you nonstop and haven’t rested well.”

Hels’s answer was unexpectedly normal: “I’m fine.” After saying that, he stood up to pour water for Horne, set it back down, and returned to sit.

Horne avoided direct eye contact with him and turned to look at an empty corner of the room. He had many words he wanted to say, many things he wanted to ask. Emotions welled up from his heart, lodged in his throat, and he swallowed them with difficulty.

It was not the time for that yet. Horne composed himself and turned his head to ask directly, “What next? How do we deal with them?”

Hels did not answer right away. He put down his hand, sat up a bit straighter, found the posture too tiring, and finally leaned back fully against the backrest. He said slowly, “Rest and recover first.”

Not getting an answer, Horne fell silent. After a long while, Hels seemed somewhat helpless. He sighed and said, “Fine, I just think there’s no point thinking about it anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re far removed from peaceful times now. No one who lived through the pre-invasion world remains. For them, humanity under Alien jurisdiction is how the world should be.”

Hels gestured at the television projection, which still interspersed news clips of Loch City’s idyllic scenes. People had always lived like this. To them, there was no comparison. No matter how bad life was, it was normal. They were occasionally curious about the outside world, but curiosity was fleeting; harsh reality was eternal.

What Horne wanted—to return to the past—was not necessarily salvation for them.

Horne furrowed his brow, a breath stifled in his chest. He leaned back a little, and the temperature in his voice dropped sharply: “Is that what you think now?”

Hels shrugged indifferently.

Horne’s fingers clenched. He said gravely, “If your thinking has become like this, then I believe our differences in viewpoint mean we can no longer be friends.”

Hels burst out laughing, finding it amusing. He lightly tapped the bedsheet with his finger and said word by word, “It’s not about what I think. You know what happened and what the result was. The result is that decades of hard work were destroyed, everyone died, and the survivors were hypocritically spared by the Tower. In a month, their kin will descend. So what do you want to do this month? What can you do? Rally an army? Build laser weapons? Or charge into the Tower alone?”

The naked truth hurt like a knife scrape. Hels’s gaze carried helplessness.

“Horne, you should go down and see what Loch City is like now.”

Horne had never imagined Hels would speak to him like this. His mouth tightened. He stared fixedly at Hels, eyes reddening, chest stuffy. It took a long time before he forced out his emotions through gritted teeth: “Why am I the one who survived? I shouldn’t have lived. That way, at least I wouldn’t hear you say things like this, wouldn’t see you like this, and wouldn’t have to know what this world has ultimately become.”

The air, which had held a bit of warmth moments ago, vanished entirely. Hels was stunned for an instant. He suddenly stood up, the chair toppling backward with a screech.

He strode to the window, stood for two seconds, then immediately walked back. He leaned forward directly, one hand bracing the headboard, the other the bed edge, his body closing in on Horne as he pressed his voice: “Is that what you really think?”

Too close—their foreheads nearly touched. The light was completely blocked by shadow, warm breaths puffing on skin. Horne could only lean back, forced to tilt his head up, lips parting slightly: “What?”

Hels’s voice sank like the deep sea. He asked very seriously: “The recon drone is gone. Horne, is that what you really think?”

It seemed he had confirmed it was safe; the red light that had been flickering in the corner had vanished at some point.

So it was already gone. Horne slowly exhaled the breath pent up in his chest and relaxed completely. With that relaxation came his usual iciness: “Did I allow you to get this close to me?”

Hels pulled back and straightened up. He said nothing, waiting for Horne’s answer.

Horne maintained his posture and merely extended his hand toward Hels calmly, holding it suspended in the air as his answer.

Hels was silent for a moment, then sighed helplessly. He pulled back the fallen chair and sat down, gently taking that hand and placing it in his palms. His fingertips traced the skin, as if reverently holding a sacred object.

He said softly, “Don’t just use ellipses. I want a specific answer.”