Chapter 290

“...Ha. This is fucking brutal.”

No matter how he thought about it, rescuing Siron would not be easy. Even if he did manage to save him, as long as he didn’t offer another omega as a replacement sacrifice to those people, Siron would remain hunted forever. Like Yuri Berec’s body, stored in the underground freezer of the government research lab—unable to escape the laboratory even in death—that horrific fate awaited Siron too.

How many alphas existed in the world? And how many omegas would be needed for them? At minimum, there needed to be enough omegas for Yoon Siron to no longer be pursued by Hybris. But unless someone was completely mad with love, there was no one who would willingly choose to become an omega.

So even if Isaac generously revealed the method to convert betas into omegas to the world, the increase in the omega population would still come not from personal choice, but from coercion and threats by a third party.

Baekgyeong didn’t care. If he could just save Siron, he wouldn’t blink even if the world order collapsed and countless lives were ruined. If he could cut open Isaac’s skull and extract the method of making an omega, he would have smashed Isaac’s head dozens of times over.

No matter what, he had to get Isaac to talk.

Baekgyeong stared at Isaac, unsure whether he was dying or recovering, then lifted the binoculars again. He observed the 20-story office building housing the Hybris Baggers City branch. But the glass exterior reflected the sunlight like a mirror—he couldn’t see inside at all.

“Looks like I’ll have to just break in.”

He reviewed his available firepower. Before the hotel event, Isaac had prepared an arsenal, and Baekgyeong still had it all. A rifle case, a military pack, a trunk full of firearms, even a cheap backpack stuffed with pistols and spare magazines.

It was enough to wage a small urban firefight—but charging in alone, carrying everything, was impossible. And more importantly, Baekgyeong didn’t trust his own shooting. Getting himself killed pointlessly would be worse than doing nothing. He needed a plan, no matter how crude, so long as he could at least predict the outcome.

He clicked open the folder containing the data from Spencer that he still could not interpret.

“CellGuard Research Lab, disappearance of Asian elephant researcher Dr. Dexter Baker.”

Spencer’s documents looked like unrelated fragments at first, scattered like points on a page—but they always converged toward the truth at the center. Yet CellGuard and Dexter Baker’s disappearance did not seem to connect to any center. No link to Hybris. No link to the alpha-omega phenotype.

But:

CellGuard Research Lab.

Founded 2012. Biotechnology industry (code 541714).

Business address registered at the Bronze Mermaid statue in Riverland, Baggers City.

Ranked last among 128 applicants for Helso State Innovation Grant.

Still approved for $10 million in funding.

January 10, 2013.

Biologist Dexter Baker, researching Asian elephant genetics, disappeared.

Worked for endangered species preservation.

Witnesses saw him abducted by large men near his workplace.

Witness reported it. Police never responded.

CellGuard’s industry code was biotechnology—common enough. The problem was that a bottom-ranked, failed research group had still received $10 million in state funds.

And it was no coincidence that Dexter Baker’s name appeared on Spencer’s USB. He studied Asian elephant genetic structures. And “Asian elephant” had been the password key to access Spencer’s encrypted drive.

Baekgyeong exhaled slowly, thinking through the connections between Hybris, CellGuard, and Dexter Baker.

Both biotechnology and endangered species were keywords Hybris fixated on. Without artificial intervention, alphas would eventually disappear due to reproductive limits and short lifespans.

He lined up the pieces: CellGuard, Dr. Baker, the Asian elephant password. The chain was thin—but pointed in one direction.

Hybris must have found clues to sustaining and breeding alphas in the genetic structure of Asian elephants. They abducted Dexter Baker to replicate the results—and placed omegas at the center of the experiment. A conclusion he hated to believe, but nothing else made sense.

To avoid sinking into powerlessness, Baekgyeong quickly opened a browser.

There was no remaining public record of CellGuard. Dexter Baker’s information was slightly better—searching his name with Asian elephants brought up one research paper at the bottom of the results. Only a preview was available—but it didn’t matter. The author’s email was listed.

Searching that email on a research directory returned one line beside his name:

Affiliation: Institute for Large Mammal Conservation.

A research group that studied elephant ecology on African grasslands—something like a collective of idealists.

As Baekgyeong studied the institute’s name more carefully, his eyes widened.

The institute was located in Baggers City, Helso. On the outskirts of downtown, a subsidiary research center of Baggers University.

Anna was genuinely impressed by the expansive imagination and unconditional acceptance found among genre fiction enthusiasts.

Who in their right mind would simply believe a statement like:

“There are beings called alphas and omegas who emit pheromones and go into heat, and there is an evil organization called Hybris exploiting them, and I strongly feel that their headquarters is deep underground.”

“Ah, I see. So Lewis didn’t have a funeral because he became an alpha.”

Rachel, who welcomed Anna warmly that morning, listened to all of her bizarre story without judgment—not only believing her, but tearing up in empathy.

Anna’s gaze kept drifting to the faded pink handkerchief Rachel used to wipe her tears. Rachel had dyed the cloth herself with boiled avocado pits and skins, or something like that.

“You must have suffered a lot, keeping yourself together after saving Lewis, only for him to vanish again.”

Anna stared blankly at Rachel dabbing her eyes—then suddenly jolted upright from the sofa, as if waking from a dream.

“Y-you believe me?”

“Hm? Shouldn’t I?”

“It’s completely unbelievable! You actually believe me?”

“Well... maybe not one hundred percent. But about... ninety-seven percent?”

“That’s the same as believing everything!”

Startled by Anna’s raised voice, Rachel flinched and looked away, her big eyes darting.

“Is there some reason I shouldn’t believe you? ...Anna wouldn’t joke about Lewis.”

Deflated, Rachel picked up her knitting needles again. She sat in the rocking chair before the unlit fireplace, knitting a deep purple drawstring pouch that looked like something Anna’s great-great-grandmother wouldn’t have touched even a century ago.

“I don’t joke about my uncle either. That’s why I believe you.”

Anna was speechless. Rachel was right—they were not the kind of people to joke about losing the people they loved. But reversed, Anna would have assumed Rachel had gone insane from grief over losing her husband, Garrett.

Anna glanced toward Rachel’s bookshelf—lined with classic detective fiction, thrillers, horror, and speculative literature. Someone who read stories of neighbors turning out to be serial killers or vampires, or society collapsing overnight in a zombie outbreak—someone like that might have a looser boundary for what counted as “normal.” WritersResources

“To be honest, I’d been thinking something was strange too,” Rachel admitted.

“When the new trauma recovery program was opened at the psychological center, the number of applicants exploded. Victims of assault and sexual violence have been increasing like crazy. The world is terrifying. I should get a gun too. Anna, can you recommend one? I have bad wrists so if it’s too heavy—”

“So about that, Rachel.”

Anna gently interrupted her rambling, biting her lower lip with a forced sweet expression. The look of someone holding back their temper with great effort.

“Do you have the deep-drainage tunnel schematics? The ones your uncle used to work with?”

“Schematic?”

“Yes. If you have it, give it to me.”

“Schematic... hmm. Let me think.”

Rachel paused her knitting and fell deep into thought. After a while, she said:

“I don’t have it.”

“...Sorry?”

“After my uncle’s funeral, I couldn’t stand being in the house alone. I stayed at a friend’s place for a month. During that time, someone broke in. They stole his car, his laptop, even the box with his personal effects. The copy of the drainage tunnel plans was in there. All gone. I reported it right away, but the police still haven’t said anything.”

Rachel’s expression dimmed, as if just remembering the pain made her chest hurt.