This Omega

020

Annie had assumed that no matter how backward New Thebes was, the orphanage in the City of the Radiant Sun would at least be within the city limits.

It wasn't until Twilight's tracked armored vehicles rolled out through the city gates that she realized something was off.

The soldiers' destination was a gully more than ten kilometers outside the city. The dry, howling wind had carved at the rocky slopes like a dull blade for years, shaping them into narrow stone ridges clinging to the Gobi desert.

Imposing—but treacherous terrain.

The "orphanage" sat at the bottom of this wind-eroded ravine.

When Annie stepped out of the vehicle, what she saw was layer upon layer of cordons and barricades. The dormitories, simple stone huts, looked like relics of an ancient age. These buildings hadn't been constructed for the orphans; the pockmarked bullet scars on the walls and streets testified to their history, silently displaying the marks of war.

On the open ground nearby stood several training targets.

This... was an orphanage?

Annie tilted her head slightly. Her contact lenses silently recorded everything—the positions of gun emplacements, soldiers, and weapons were all marked.

Then she looked up and met Arthur's gaze.

"Come on, move it—box by box. Set up the tents here and hand out the supplies."

Charles Lang slouched out of the vehicle, slinging his assault rifle around his neck while shouting orders to the soldiers.

While the Twilight soldiers were busy hauling cargo, Arthur spoke coldly, his voice low: "Child soldiers."

Annie: "Wh—"

Her eyes widened slightly before she buried the rest of her shock behind her windproof scarf.

What era was this? Child soldiers?!

It wasn't that Annie was being naive—it was that for centuries, the Galactic Empire's greatest threat and enemy had been the equally powerful Interstellar Federation. Wars between great powers were fought with information. Infiltration, espionage, and hacking were their chosen methods of struggle.

Even interstellar battles were rare, let alone ground warfare.

And even when they did happen, both sides would deploy robots rather than waste precious human lives.

Even if a child could hold a gun, how much combat effectiveness could they really have? They wouldn't hand valuable firearms to children. Annie lacked experience, but she wasn't stupid.

Training child soldiers could only mean one thing: suicide attacks.

Madmen.

She cursed inwardly.

No wonder Twilight was developing weapons targeting Omegas.

New Thebes's technology was so backward that while the rest of the galaxy had moved into the era of interstellar jump travel, they were still fighting over population numbers.

Just make sure the people who oppose you never get born.

A simple, crude logic—yet it had birthed a genetic weapon capable of toppling the entire galaxy.

"Little bride, scared stiff?"

Charles Lang directed the soldiers to set up tents and arrange supplies. Soon, a dark, seething crowd of several hundred children surrounded them. The Butcher waved his hand dismissively. "Just a bunch of brats—what harm can they do? Don't worry, I've got soldiers watching over you."

Annie pretended to be demure, lowering her gaze.

Her contact lenses showed roughly two hundred orphans gathered in what had once been a village.

Most of the supplies Twilight's soldiers had brought were water, compressed rations, and medicine. The orphans here, under the supervision of several armed soldiers, barely managed to maintain orderly queues.

Regardless, these children were pitiful.

Under such wartime conditions, most of them wouldn't survive to adulthood. Annie sighed inwardly and dutifully took on the task of distributing supplies.

Most of the children had never seen an Omega before. As they approached the table, their eyes kept darting to Annie. Arthur Kane, meanwhile, was tall and cold—by comparison, the children were far more willing to accept water and compressed rations from Annie's hands.

One portion per person—it was all very orderly.

But the supplies were limited.

The line was still long, and the rations at Annie's side were running dangerously low. Her contact lenses flagged several visibly restless children with red boxes, flashing warnings frantically in her vision.

Annie said nothing aloud.

Finally, the nearest flagged child stepped up to her table.

Only two ration packs remained. Annie handed one to him.

"Eat it slowly and sparingly when you get back," she reminded him kindly. "Compressed rations expand when they touch water. If you eat too much and throw up, it'll be wasted."

The boy nodded absentmindedly.

His dark eyes, however, didn't look at Annie at all. They were fixed unblinkingly on the last ration pack at her side.

Annie handed him the purified water while pressing her hand down on that final pack.

"Don't cause trouble," she warned softly. "This won't be the last food distribution. But if you provoke these people, you know what will happen."

Only then did those dark, shiny eyes turn to her.

He looked about eight or nine years old, and his gaze at Annie held none of the curiosity the other children had shown. After scrutinizing her for a long moment, and confirming he couldn't get an extra ration, he reluctantly looked away.

That's more like it.

Annie handed over the medicine. "Go on."

The nine-year-old turned away grudgingly—

She thought the danger had passed, but Annie had overestimated the nature of humanity in desperate straits.

Seeing the boy about to leave, Annie released her hold on the ration pack.

But she never expected that the boy, who had already taken half a step away, would suddenly whip around.

The red box flared up in her contact lenses again, but she was too late to react.

In one swift motion, the boy snatched the last ration from the table and bolted!

"Wait—"

She didn't need to stop him herself. Someone else did.

There were still more than a dozen people in line, all older than him. When they saw the boy grab the last ration, they erupted.

"Get him!"

"What do you think you're doing, you bastard!"

"Grab the food!"

Annie's contact lenses translated the local New Thebes dialect into Common, relaying it through her earpiece. Three or four teenagers surrounded the boy, shoved him to the ground, and lunged for the food.

The scene descended into chaos in an instant. The soldier standing under the tent cursed impatiently.

Two fully armed soldiers rushed over, yanked the fighting orphans apart, and kicked the boy on the ground. "What the hell do you think you're grabbing?!"

What was this?!

Annie grabbed her robes and started forward, but before she could take a step, Arthur pulled her back.

"Don't," he said flatly. "Going over will only make it worse."

"..."

Annie clenched her fists beneath her robes.

There was no privilege in an orphanage. If she stopped this beating today and the boy who stole food went "unpunished," his life would become even harder tomorrow.

But—

She watched helplessly as the two soldiers savagely beat the boy. Even so, the child curled on the ground clutched both ration packs tightly to his chest.

That only made the Twilight soldiers angrier.

"You little stray. You eat our food, use our supplies, and now you're stealing? Hand it over!"

One soldier hoisted the nine-year-old up with a single hand, pried his arms apart, and snatched the rations away.

In the struggle, a sharp ripping sound tore through the air.

The plastic wrapper split open, and the compressed rations scattered and fell, spilling onto the dirt in front of the tent.

When the other soldier stepped forward to intervene, he stomped right on top of them, crushing the biscuits into fragments that mixed thoroughly with the sand.

In that instant, the boy's eyes went wide.

His entire face flushed red, then purple. Overwhelmed by emotion, tears and screams erupted from him at the same time.

"No, no, no—!"

A heart-wrenching shriek pierced the windswept Gobi desert.

The boy spun around and lunged straight at the soldier who had grabbed him.

"Let go of me!"

His savage, twisted expression made even the terrorist hesitate. The soldier instinctively raised his hand to block, but the boy seized the opening. The nine-year-old grabbed his wrist and bit down viciously.

Skin split, blood sprayed. The soldier cried out in pain and released the boy.

The boy, consumed by rage, hit the ground. Scrambling on all fours like a fully feral young beast, he threw himself at the pile of crushed rations. His childish face buried itself in the sand, and his bloodstained fingers scooped up fistfuls of biscuit-mixed dirt, shoving them frantically into his mouth. He crunched and chewed, strings of blood and saliva dripping down his chin.

"Is this little beast... insane?!"

The other soldier kicked him again. The boy spat out half a mouthful of sand. Like a snarling pup, he whipped his head around and, through sobs and screams, clawed at the soldier's boots and trousers, grabbing at his belt and rifle sling.

The soldier cursed, raising his rifle butt.

A sharp click—a round was chambered. The black muzzle pointed at the boy in his manic frenzy. Just as he was about to pull the trigger—

Soft fingertips pressed down on the cold gun barrel.

The soldier looked up in shock.

Her white robes billowed and snapped in the hot wind. Right before his eyes, Annie crouched down.

She shielded the frantic boy with her own body.

The flash of white entering his field of vision made the agitated child freeze. That was exactly the opening Annie needed. She raised both hands—left showing one finger, right showing seven—and said, utterly calm, "What does this add up to?"

The boy froze, his gaze darting between Annie's two hands.

Good.

Annie didn't need the answer. She needed his eyes to move, to break the intrusive thoughts.

Seizing the moment, she unhooked an ornament from her elegant white robe and pressed it into the boy's palm.

"Breathe with me. In—out. In. You're doing great."

She even patted his shoulder and announced in a remarkably steady voice: "Your chest and mouth feel like they're burning right now, but you're conscious, and you can hear the wind, can't you? You're alive. You're right here, in this moment."

The alarms flashing in her contact lenses finally stopped.

The boy's heart rate slowly eased, his breathing steadied. His clenched jaw loosened as he followed Annie's breathing cues, and the sand in his mouth spilled out.

His rigid body went slack in an instant, and the nine-year-old collapsed onto the yellow earth.

"Don't hit him anymore," Annie said quietly, turning her head toward the soldier. "There are other ways to enforce discipline."

A few paces away, Arthur's gaze shifted to the rear.

Charles Lang was finally making his way over.

He still wore that careless expression, strolling up to Arthur's side with a click of his tongue.

"The youngest daughter of the An family—impressive," the Butcher commented. "Who doesn't take their university first-aid course just to rack up credits? She dropped out early, but she still puts it to good use."

Arthur said nothing.

His blue eyes reflected the vast windblown sand, and also the image of Annie's billowing white robe. The pristine fabric danced in the dust like a bird spreading its wings and preparing to take flight.

The way Annie calmed the orphan was very scientific.

Not many people here could escape post-war PTSD. She had run through a standard emergency protocol: redirecting attention, regulating breathing, checking physical state—all to lower the amygdala's activity.

Calm, objective. Her manner wasn't that of someone caring for and saving a child on the verge of collapse, but of someone repairing a malfunctioning piece of machinery.

Responsible, yet devoid of emotion.

Just like last night, in front of the Prophet, when she... had wrapped her arms around Arthur from behind.

Soft-spoken, concise, precise—all in service of achieving the goal.

To Arthur, that cool tone was utterly infuriating, but—

She was clearly just calming a child in distress.

Yet that identical commanding tone, those decisive and efficient soothing motions, made Arthur's Adam's apple bob involuntarily.

His chest tightened. His heart was pounding inexplicably fast, and an electric shiver ran down his spine, all the way to—

Damn it.

Arthur shifted his stance uncomfortably, feeling his pants grow tight.

Had this Omega slipped him something?!

"Alright, alright."

Arthur could no longer control the pheromones he was leaking, the metallic, burning scent carried away by the wind and sand. But Charles Lang seemed utterly oblivious.

He waved dismissively at the soldier holding the gun. "The little bride handled it perfectly. Just throw him in solitary. All this over a packet of biscuits? Not worth it. Don't worry, we'll be back tomorrow. Those who missed out get priority."

Hearing this, the restless orphans finally settled down.

The Butcher didn't give the child's outburst and breakdown a second thought. He turned and clapped Arthur on the shoulder.

"Now for the main event, Brother Arthur. Follow me—the newly differentiated Alphas are set up at the camp over there. Time to hand out suppressants."

Then Charles Lang looked in another direction. "How many Omegas did we send off these past few days?"

"Reporting, sir. Two."

"Tch. A bit few," Charles said with dissatisfaction. "Let's go."

Sending off Omegas?

The children at the orphanage—the youngest looked no more than five or six, while the oldest were nearly adults. It was perfectly normal for them to undergo differentiation at this age.

Where there were Alphas who differentiated, there would naturally be Omegas.

But Charles Lang had first said they were going to distribute suppressants to the Alphas, then mentioned sending off the Omegas...

It seemed the entire camp held only Alphas and Betas. This was perfectly in line with Twilight's doctrine: Omegas were breeding machines, unfit for the battlefield.

So, where had the newly differentiated Omega children been sent?

Arthur Kane, of course, hadn't forgotten that he was here to investigate the genetic weapon.

Only two had differentiated. They probably wouldn't be sent straight to "breeding"—not worth the fuel for the round trip.

Being sent off specifically meant there was definitely something wrong.

Maybe if he followed this lead, he could trace the path to the genetic weapon.

He silently sorted out his thoughts and began to walk.

Just don't look at Annie.

The dry wind blew Arthur's pheromone scent away. With his back turned to the Omega in her fluttering white robe, he felt he should put some distance between them, to clear his head.

But—

His mind began to settle. Arthur took a few steps, and sure enough, the metallic, burning scent faded.

Then, both Alphas stopped in their tracks at the same time.

Even Charles Lang, who seemed utterly unresponsive to pheromones, turned his head immediately.

The repulsive scent of a fellow Alpha slammed into all of Arthur's senses at once.

The back of his head went numb. His gland, as if pressured, released a warning signal of pure disgust. His blue eyes instantly locked onto the anomaly among the crowd.

Among the dozen or so children, a youth who had clearly just come of age burst out of the line.

"Twilight's lapdogs! Traitors! Die!"

He pulled something from his chest and yanked open the pin—

Arthur Kane's pupils contracted.

Annie, still crouched on the ground, looked up as well.

The instant she saw the safety pin pulled from the pulse grenade, she was already reacting.

But the attacking youth had already reached her.

Annie had just risen to her feet when a powerful force yanked her backward.

She lost her balance, the back of her head slamming into Arthur's chest. The tall Alpha's boot connected squarely with the charging youth, kicking him sprawling into the open ground!

"Watch out!"

Without another word, the Alpha shoved Annie to the ground!

With a thunderous boom, sand and dirt exploded in all directions some four or five meters away.

The attack—it was aimed at them?!

Annie's ears had temporarily gone deaf from the blast, leaving only static buzzing in her head. Shielded beneath Arthur, she struggled to look up.

Calling them traitors—traitors to what?

Given Arthur Kane's origins and his current appearance of having thrown in with Twilight, the only ones who would call him a "traitor" were Twilight's enemies.

Was this the Resistance's doing? Infiltrating an orphanage just to attack this newlywed couple—a pair who had just become political symbols?

They were insane!

She stared in disbelief at the sand-obscured scene before her. No matter what, this was an orphanage! These children were innocent!