Chapter 157: A birthday present?

June 1 — Heavy Fog & Thunderclouds

Xander’s detachment had already struck out ahead to repair Sector 3 Energy Station and track down the source of the sabotage.

Before stepping through the airlock, Liam, Astin, and Xander had taken turns lining up for a farewell kiss—a sequential procession that left Bunny suspecting her lips were visibly swollen.

Orion and Illai had stood quietly in the background, their dark pupils overflowing with unconcealed envy.

When would they ever get to claim an official standing in broad daylight?

Their previous attempt at cutting the queue for a spiritual restoration had already reached Xander’s ears. The Vice Captain hadn’t issued a formal penalty, but his warning had been absolute: there would be no next time.

If everyone manipulated her sympathy through pitiable acts, the operational order of the unit would collapse entirely.

Which was precisely why Xander loathed Cyrus—that gloomy, scheming old fox was the root of the rot. When the head is crooked, the body follows, bringing endless devious practices and underhanded methods to achieve his ends.

Meanwhile, Brandon—retained at the base to guard the perimeter—lay sprawled across Bunny’s lap, shamelessly acting like a spoiled pup for a long while. Among all the Sentinels in the squad, he possessed the undisputed gold medal in wheedling and charming women.

Had he not been legally underage, Xander might not have been the first to claim a kiss.

"Bunny, take the pup with you! That way you won’t be lonely on the road."

Chopper was furiously wagging its tail against her boots. Bunny couldn’t help but wonder aloud whether a spiritual manifestation could truly wander so far from its host.

Sunny, currently being rolled back and forth like a soccer ball by Chopper, offered a helpful clarification.

"Guide Bunny, the higher a Sentinel’s genetic tier, the wider their spirit guide’s operational radius. For SSS-tier individuals like them, their spirit guides enjoy near-absolute physical autonomy."

Of all the squad’s spirit guides, Chopper was Bunny’s absolute favorite—her fondness for dogs went back to early childhood.

Sadly, her parents had strictly forbidden pets under the pretext of fur shedding.

Beyond that, Chopper was remarkably sharp and human-like in its reactions.

Bunny ruffled Brandon’s fluffy, cloud-soft hair, privately envying his silky hair quality. What shampoo was he even using to achieve such volume? It certainly wasn’t cheap store-bought stuff.

Brandon embodied the quintessential younger, innocent boy aesthetic—clean, sparkling eyes that dipped slightly at the outer corners, a rounded, youthful jawline, and porcelain-white skin with a delicate, natural flush.

A silver ear-chain dangled against his neck—playful yet subtly sharp—framing a face so ridiculously tender it looked as though it would bleed if pinched.

"Bunny... I’ll turn eighteen at the end of this month."

Brandon lifted his face from her lap, staring up at her with clear, expectant eyes.

Assuming he was hinting at a birthday present, Bunny rested her chin in her hand, idly stroking his soft hair.

"So, what do you want for your birthday?"

Brandon pressed his cheek flat against her thigh, the lake-blue depth of his pupils igniting with a sudden, intense sheen.

A birthday present?

Brandon was the very last member to be integrated into 616 unit, leaving his bond with the rest of the squad relatively distant and fragmented.

Aside from keeping a slightly closer orbit around San, his interaction with the others remained strictly surface-level.

He didn’t click with the other three youngest members either—mostly because Liam and Illai found his innocent demeanor utterly fake and performative.

He had been reassigned to 616 directly from the "Energy Factories" of Terra’s Under-City the moment his Sentinel awakening manifested, marking him as a high-value asset worthy of exploitation.

He could still vividly recall his days as a maintenance worker inside that iron-box factory. Clad in the faded blue jumpsuit that branded the lower classes, he had been trapped inside deafening, humming machinery compartments for twelve agonizing hours every single day.

Afterward, he would stand in an endless queue to receive a cheap, instant-paste meal of unidentifiable raw ingredients—choking it down simply because starvation was the alternative.

With a mere six hours of rest per cycle, workers possessed zero time to call their own. Life to them was nothing more than a stagnant pool of absolute hopeless despair; the harder their numb bodies thrashed, the deeper they sank into the mud.

After all, they were merely mass-produced, expendable labor units—if one expired, the gestation tanks would pump out a fresh replacement in no time.

Because of this, Brandon had actually envied the vagrants drifting along the Terrian streets, even if those homeless wanderers were periodically cleared out by HBL enforcement squads.

Then came a night when he was dragged straight out of his box-like living quarters by the plant supervisor. The reason? He had installed a single incorrect structural component, causing an entire shipment to be flagged as "defective units" and rejected by the military procurement board.

Unable to cover the staggering financial loss, Brandon was subjected to a brutal beating by heavy-set Sentinel security guards that nearly claimed his life.

They tossed his broken body onto the muddy street outside the factory gates. Artificial Terrian rainfall drenched him through to the bone; dirt and grime caked his fingernails, his hair matted with blood and mud, and his broken bones left him curled helplessly in a filthy puddle.

Like a dying, gasping puppy.

The supervisor, holding a sleek black umbrella, looked down at him with profound, arrogant disgust:

"Defective product. Zero justification for further resource expenditure."

A youthful voice calling out "Daddy!" echoed from behind the supervisor. The man’s harsh expression instantly melted into a warm, doting smile as he squatted down to scoop the young boy into his arms:

"Sweetie, why aren’t you asleep yet?"

The lower classes on Terra were denied the right to bear offspring—reproduction remained an exclusive privilege reserved for middle-management and upper elites in an endless cycle of class monopoly.

Though truth be told, for the poor, avoiding birth in such a distorted era was a mercy in itself.

"Daddy, where is my birthday present?"

The supervisor tapped the little boy’s nose affectionately, escorting him home to host a grand birthday celebration.

Brandon was left completely forgotten in the freezing, torrential rain, his chest rising and falling in increasingly faint rasps.

No one would ever know that very day marked his sixteenth birthday as well.

In this world, not every child gets to receive a birthday present.

Brandon stared up at Bunny with sparkling eyes, his lips curling into a soft, subtle arch:

"Hmmm... take a guess."

Bunny figured a boy his age would naturally be obsessed with gaming gear or limited-edition figurines. Though her savings weren’t vast, her monthly stipend from High Command was more than enough to snag the latest VR immersion setup.

She reached out, gently pinching his soft cheek. "Let’s keep it a secret for now, then."

Better to leave a touch of mystery and anticipation.

Brandon attempted to linger a moment longer in her lap, but a chilling, lethal glare from Cyrus forced him to release his grip with deep reluctance.

He watched Bunny’s retreating back as she moved toward the transport deck.

The lake-blue innocence in his eyes vanished without a trace, dissolving into a dark, churning vortex of absolute possession.

Bunny really is silly.

The only gift he wanted... was Bunny herself.