Chapter 140: Records

While tidying up, Bunny discovered a literal mountain of high-grade suppressants tossed into the waste bin of Cyrus’s quarters—specifically formulated to combat runaway Sentinel spiritual seas.

She had performed a complete neuro-cleansing session for him only a short while ago; this level of consumption made zero sense. Was her aptitude really that abysmal?

Driven by sheer curiosity, she accessed the Sentinel Tower’s central requisition terminal to review the periodic supply manifests dispatched to Central Terra. The records revealed that Cyrus consistently consumed double the standard allotment of suppressants.

Even for a Sentinel of his extreme genetic tier, burning through that volume defied all logic.

She recalled her brief foray into his mental landscape, where an intuitive instinct had warned her that something else lurked on the far side of that sprawling black hole.

Yet Chi had abruptly intervened to block her path.

Cyrus refused to speak of it. He was undeniably harboring a heavy secret.

Curiosity leading her further down the manifest, Bunny skimmed through the remaining roster entries, uncovering several amusing quirks about the squad.

San was perpetually ordering lollipops; Arden harbored a fierce devotion to milk chocolate; Orion routinely requested bulk pet feed; while Brandon and Illai—the younger members—favored high-end VR gear, gaming peripherals, and complex mecha model kits.

Rain appeared to collect antique pre-Interstellar era vinyl records. Astin and San shared a parallel obsession with tactical hardware modifications, topping the logs with military-grade components.

The requisition records caught her eye under a strictly classified medication category, plunging her into sudden thought.

Tyr was on a regimen of long-term prescription drugs.

As for Kai, who had only recently reintegrated into the squad, no distinct behavioral anomalies stood out on paper. But when Bunny’s gaze drifted to Liam’s supply profile, her face darkened instantly.

The reason was glaringly obvious: the kid had submitted a requisition order for a massive, bulk carton of condoms!

Did he plan on consuming them like daily snacks?!

Given her anxieties regarding biological incompatibilities between her baseline physiology and Terran genetics, Bunny had strictly insisted that Liam utilize protection.

Initially, he had resisted; the stubborn pup couldn’t grasp why it mattered since pregnancy wasn’t a biological risk in the first place.

He wanted unhindered, absolute, skin-to-skin intimacy with his wife.

Naturally, his resistance was met with a swift physical reprimand.

With his future marital happiness hanging in the balance, the eager puppy had naturally taken it upon himself to ensure every single "tool" was stockpiled and ready for action!

Xander did not appear to harbor any particular personal vices or eccentricities; his requisitions consisted almost exclusively of basic living and combat training supplies, with the recent addition of liquid-absorbent sanitary pads.

Bunny had assumed such personal care products no longer existed in this era, making Xander’s thoughtful foresight all the more surprising.

In truth, modern Terrans rarely had use for such items.

Through centuries of environmental strain and biological adaptation, human reproductive efficiency had severely degraded, resulting in infrequent ovulation or its total cessation among women.

The atrophy of natural ovulatory cycles led to erratic, prolonged intervals—sometimes occurring once every few months or even once a year. Artificial gestators were eventually engineered to intervene and safeguard population continuity.

Xander was simply preparing for all contingencies, knowing full well that a woman’s menstrual phase naturally succeeds ovulation.

Closing the central terminal interface, Bunny glanced down at the physical journal sitting on her desk, penning down her latest observations:

"The creature Cyrus described has a habit of disemboweling its victims—a method that bears a chilling resemblance to the fatal injuries sustained by the third Guide assigned to this post. Note that down for further review.

Rin keeps spacing out lately, even though I haven’t triggered his interactive parameters. Do virtual entities actually possess subjective emotion? If the opportunity arises, I’d like to look into the logs of the software architect who coded him.

Liam and Astin got into another brawl today. If those two can’t figure out how to coexist peacefully, I’ll lock both of them in solitary confinement!"

— Excerpt from Bunny’s Journal

***

Central Terra — Simons Bionics Headquarters: The Neon Spire

Nightfall in Central stretched far longer than its daylight hours, prompting the wealthy elite of the Upper City to install artificial solar skylights to compensate for the lost sunlight.

Natural light remains essential for synthesizing Vitamin D to absorb calcium, and prolonged darkness leaves the body brittle.

By contrast, the impoverished masses in the Lower City spent virtually their entire lives submerged in pitch darkness, crammed into noisy, tin-can-like budget high-rises.

"Commander Alion, right this way."

Clad in a tailored white suit paired with a sleek mermaid skirt, a high-ranking staff member ascended the floating mag-stairs, her heels clicking rhythmically against the glass steps. Her golden hair was swept into a high ponytail, exposing a clean series number stamped behind her ear.

She was part of Simons’s latest generation of clones; nearly all previous legacy models had been decommissioned following the recent violent uprising.

Beneath the warm glow of the simulated sun, rows of minimalist white architectural pillars shifted in height alongside the angle of the artificial light rays.

Enveloped in the warm yellow glare, Commander Alion—clad in his immaculate black dress uniform—followed silently behind her.

This marked his initial entrance into Simons’s corporate headquarters. Access was normally restricted strictly to Tier-A internal executives, with external visitors requiring explicit high-level clearances.

Alion had been personally invited by Simons’s executive board under the guise of an upcoming joint military contract.

He encountered not a single soul along the corridor.

The guide halted outside a sealed chamber, lightly pressing the entrance chime.

Five seconds elapsed before the magnetic lock slid open with a soft hiss.

"Please step inside."

The woman gestured politely before stepping aside to wait outside the door.

The chamber opened into a vast indoor expanse anchored by a deep-blue swimming pool, where submerged spotlights cast shimmering golden ripples across the water.

Beside the pool, a man sat with his back turned, reclining in a plush sofa. Only a pale wrist extended from his silk robe, resting casually along the armrest.

The arched ceiling featured a fogged holographic dome, emitting soft waves of light through its lattice geometric patterns. The ambient nano-textured walls hummed with faint blue light trails whenever brushed by a hand.

Inside the pool swam his pet piranha sharks, their sharp dorsal fins breaking the surface of the water.

"Commander, do take a seat." A deep, gravelly voice echoed through the vast space.