Chapter 35: You like it too

Brandon: "Hey—what the hell? I’m the real hostage! Come save me!"

He was the one who was supposed to be rescued.

Bunny had never played games for anything except winning. "What are you idiots doing dropping your guns? Shoot this green-haired bastard!"

"I don’t care if I die—he has to die with me!"

She struggled violently in Astin’s hold. An angry woman was harder to pin down than a pig during New Year’s slaughter.

"Stay still!"

Bunny seized the chance and grabbed the gun in Astin’s hand. In the struggle, the trigger was accidentally pulled. A sharp crack rang out—the bullet was about to tear straight through her skull.

The sentinels were only playing to keep her happy. A headshot would hurt far more than any of them wanted.

Everyone tensed. Astin’s face changed. He hadn’t expected this crazy woman to go all the way; he had only meant to scare her and vent a little.

"You death-seeking madwoman!"

"You despicable, shameless bastard!"

He yanked her waist hard and jerked the muzzle away at the last second.

A piercing scream still echoed through the room.

It just wasn’t Bunny’s. The bullet struck Brandon, who was still forgotten in the corner, dead center.

Brandon: Sometimes he truly felt abandoned by the entire world.

System: Hostage has died. Infiltrators win.

Collective silence...

The game ended in failure. After Astin’s stunt, Bunny no longer felt like playing. She cut the neural link, tossed out a flat "You guys keep playing. I’m going to sleep," and left.

The remaining "dogs" looked at one another. The guide seemed angry. Should they go comfort her?

Rain, always the most rational, suggested that Astin go apologize to her face-to-face. Anyone could see he had been targeting her the entire game.

Astin’s rebellious face twisted with pure disdain. "Why the hell should I apologize?"

It was just a game. If you couldn’t handle losing, don’t play.

At that moment, Brandon, still recovering from the death experience, slammed a fist straight into Astin’s face.

Bunny wasn’t a sore loser. What she couldn’t understand was why Astin seemed so hostile toward her. They worked in the same tower; they saw each other every day. Was normal communication really that difficult?

And what had Brandon meant earlier when he said, "She isn’t the one who hurt you"?

Who had hurt Astin? Who would dare harm a terrifyingly lethal 3S-level sentinel?

On the way back to her own bedroom, Bunny suddenly heard something that should not have been overheard.

"Nn... ah..."

That low, hoarse voice, thick with searing desire, crashed straight into her ears without any warning.

The sleeping quarters of the base personnel were all concentrated in the eastern corner of the living area, arranged along a slanted cross-shaped corridor. Bunny’s room was at the very end. The closest doors belonged to Orion and Cyrus.

Orion was still in the game room. Which meant that voice...

Her footsteps froze. Embarrassment flooded her. To reach her own bedroom, she would have to pass Cyrus’s door.

She told herself he would have closed it properly and kept walking.

The door was not fully shut.

Warm yellow light spilled through the narrow gap and cast an intimate stripe across the floor.

As if under a spell, Bunny stopped right in front of Cyrus’s room. Then she heard her own name.

"Bunny..."

The low, suppressed panting was heavier and rougher than any tone she had ever heard from him. Her fingertips dug unconsciously into her palms. Her heart slammed against her ribs as if it might break free at any second.

What was he doing?!

In her mind, Cyrus was almost always the cold, expressionless ice mountain—except for that one previous bout of deliberate provocation. Outside of giving orders, he rarely spoke more than a few unnecessary sentences.

He was also the most properly dressed of all the sentinels, every movement refined and out of place among the others, like a pampered young master raised in a powerful family.

Yet right now that same man was using a voice scraped raw by lust to moan her name while he...

Bunny’s breath locked in her throat. Through the narrow crack in the door, she saw Cyrus.

He was bare from the waist up. The hard lines of muscle stood out sharply under a sheen of sweat that slid down the curve of his spine and along the edge of his jaw. The body he usually kept hidden under clothing was finally on full display, and Bunny was seeing it for the first time.

It looked like something sculpted rather than grown—every plane and ridge taut with clean, inviting definition. The sharp cut of his V-line drew the eye downward, casting deep, sensual shadows under the warm light.

Only a body that had passed the most ruthless genetic screening could look like this.

Her gaze dropped lower.

Blood rushed straight to her head.

Clutched tightly in his hand was the white nightgown that had gone missing only a few days after her arrival. Right now, he was using her gown to... pleasure himself.

"Nn..."

A low, magnetic groan escaped his throat. The knuckles of his large hand had gone white from the force of his grip.

She could see the tight flex of his abs, the half-lowered lids, the raw hunger churning in his eyes—naked, frantic, and long suppressed.

Suddenly he tipped his head back. The strong line of his throat stretched taut; his Adam’s apple rolled hard.

Bunny’s temper detonated. He was using her clothes for this?!

Instinct made her step back. Her heel caught on something on the floor and produced a soft scrape.

Cyrus’s hearing caught the sound instantly. His movements stopped.

A terrifying surge of restless mental energy flooded the air. Sensing danger, Bunny spun to run.

The door was ripped open by pure force. In the next second, an iron-hard hand locked around her wrist.

He still wasn’t wearing a shirt. The scorching heat of his bare chest pressed against her back, hot enough to burn.

"Did you see it?"

His voice was hoarse, still thick with unfinished desire.

Rage overrode caution. Seeing that he had zero intention of letting her go, she snapped:

"Cyrus, have you lost your mind? Let me go! You stole my clothes to do that? You disgusting, twisted bastard!"

Cyrus gave a low laugh. There was not a trace of shame or regret on his face for being caught. His lips almost brushed her cheek; his breath scorched her skin.

"If I had truly gone mad..."

He bent and inhaled the scent at the hollow of her neck. Yes—exactly this. The sweet guide pheromones tangled with a woman’s natural fragrance. From the very first day she arrived at the base, both he and his spirit form had locked onto it with feverish excitement.

It was rain falling onto parched earth—the last scrap of hope before death.

"...you wouldn’t still be standing here unharmed."

His shamelessness had already smashed every limit she thought she had. Bunny bit down on her lip and forced her voice to stay steady.

"I’m warning you. Let go of me right now and apologize, and I’ll pretend none of this ever happened."

Cyrus fell silent for a beat. Those long, deep-black eyes were as unreadable as a still pool, filled with emotions she could never quite parse.

Then he brushed the tip of his nose lightly through her hair, the gesture almost like a wounded animal seeking comfort.

"If you really hated me this much..."

Cool fingers threaded through a strand of her hair and trailed it teasingly across her cheek.

"...why did you hide by the door and watch for so long?"

His tone was completely certain. He had known she was standing there from the beginning.

Color flooded her face. "That’s because I—"

She was nowhere near as shameless as he was!

Cyrus’s eyes curved slightly at the outer corners, voice turning playful.

"So... Miss Guide... You actually like it too, don’t you?"