Chapter 141: Abel

Alion shifted his combat boots slightly, taking a seat beside the man. A service droid bustled over almost instantly, presenting him with a cup of freshly brewed hot tea.

"Allow me to introduce myself first: I am Abel, Chairman of the Supreme Board of Directors at Simons Bionics."

The man possessed dark hair and vivid green eyes, with a sharp brow bone, a high-bridged nose, and eye sockets deep as an emerald lake. His hair was slicked back flawlessly, exposing a broad forehead and defined brows.

Yet his intensely aggressive visual presence stood in stark contrast to his surprisingly polite, measured delivery.

Alion slipped off his tactical gloves, exchanging a courteous handshake with him.

"I am well aware your time is valuable, Commander, so I shall forgo unnecessary pleasantries. How are the field results regarding the Third-Generation Cellular Restoration Solution we developed in partnership with the Military?"

Cellular restoration fluid served as the core active component for treating critical trauma, widely refined into high-consumption field injectors. In this sector, the military hierarchy had long maintained a strategic partnership with Simons Bionics.

Alion lifted his eyelids slightly, keeping a calculating, observant gaze fixed on Abel.

"The cellular injectors have pushed the mortality rate from fatal combat trauma down below 30 percent. The operational feedback is undeniably impressive."

After all, deployed strike units out in the wasteland didn’t have the luxury of carrying medical pods to every frontline engagement.

Abel offered a subtle smile, swirling the amber liquor in his crystal glass.

"Clinical evaluations for our restoration fluids have historically been constrained to clone populations. As you are well aware, testing on clones yields parameters no different from testing on lab rodents."

Abel paused for a brief beat. "The genomic database for clones relies entirely on deceased donor profiles, and the High Government explicitly prohibits the replication of Sentinels and Guides."

Because the foundational cloning architecture was fiercely guarded under complete secrecy by Simons Bionics, Terrian high command harbored immense anxiety that an untraceable clone population could spark an existential threat to the Republic’s authority.

Furthermore, individuals capable of awakening as Sentinels or Guides possessed distinct genetic variations. Minor shifts in dominant or recessive gene expressions could produce wildly divergent physiological outcomes.

Particularly when dealing with top-tier Sentinels, the random activation of these genetic sequences remained impossible to reverse-engineer or control—even for the most advanced bio-architects in existence.

Alion’s tone dropped several degrees colder. "Your point being?"

Abel downed his drink in a single sweep. "There is no need for tension, Commander. We simply wish to engineer a cellular solution far better tailored to Sentinel and Guide biology, minimizing unnecessary field casualties and material waste."

Abel’s implicit intent was crystal clear: he wanted the military to grant him access to the genetic repositories of active Sentinels.

In reality, even using a high-tier Sentinel’s DNA to mass-produce clones offered zero guarantee of replicating an equivalent power tier; the overwhelming majority resulted in ordinary baselines, carrying a failure rate exceeding 90 percent.

Simons Bionics had long sought to break through these genetic constraints—surreptitiously, of course, given the government’s absolute prohibition.

Alion naturally had no intention of obliging. "That constitutes a direct violation of federal law."

Abel locked eyes with him, studying Alion in contemplative silence for a prolonged moment. "This is a mutually beneficial endeavor. Mortality rates for Sentinels deployed to Wastelands remain astronomically high. Furthermore... your ranks are severely lacking in Guides, are you not?"

After all, Guides capable of leashing those wild dogs were the exact strategic asset the military hierarchy desperately required.

Alion offered no direct answer, pitching a counter-question instead. "Why choose me for this negotiation?"

"Compared to a fleet commander, wouldn’t the High General of the Military Command prove to be a far more suitable partner?"

Alion crossed his long legs beneath his dress uniform, his ice-blue, cobalt pupils casting a piercing, frosty gaze that seemed capable of dissecting a man’s innermost thoughts.

Abel suddenly erupted into a rich, booming laugh. "Commander Alion, you are far sharper than I anticipated."

"I am genuinely curious: as a clone yourself, how have you managed to navigate and endure the deep-seated prejudice and discrimination from those around you in such an environment?"

Alion responded flatly, "Steer clear of tangents."

"Everyone understands that clones are biologically incapable of reproduction and pose zero actual threat to humanity’s continuity. Yet the inception of anything new is perpetually met with endless friction and hostility."

"Why must humanity insist on casting its own artificial offspring onto the opposing side of the board?"

Abel’s casual query struck a deep, raw nerve within Alion’s core. In truth, it was a question he had never managed to answer himself.

"Leveraging superior genetic material for optimization, engineering flawless restoration solutions, and manufacturing strategic battlefield assets at minimal cost—why resist such obvious progress?"

They all claimed clones possessed no true souls—that they were merely hollow husks draped over the specters of the dead.

A unique clone like Alion successfully awakening as a high-tier Sentinel was an extraordinarily rare anomaly.

It proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that his foundational genetic template was remarkably superior.

"And that is your sole motivation for seeking a partnership with me?"

Alion’s tone remained bone-chillingly distant. Did Abel truly assume that, simply because he was a clone himself, he would harbor some misplaced sense of sympathy or tragic camaraderie to assist them in engineering more advanced strains of his own kind?

Unfortunately, he had never been a benevolent man.

"Then you have approached the wrong individual. I hold zero interest in this endeavor."

Given that military procurements generated astronomical revenue streams, Simons Bionics was hardly in a position to terminate its state contracts over a rejected proposal.

Abel made no effort to detain Alion as he rose, remaining reclined in his seat as he offered a smooth, indifferent reply.

"No matter. I shall grant Commander Alion ample time to reflect."

Alion’s power base within the military apparatus remained far from fully consolidated; what to touch and what to avoid were boundaries he understood better than anyone.

Mikado’s assessment had been entirely spot-on: he was a wolf driven by insatiable ambition.

The moment Alion exited the chamber, the staff woman in the mermaid skirt stepped inside, venting her indignation:

"A legacy unit produced over two decades ago... just because he commands a sliver of military authority, who does he think he is?"

By all accounts, a model that old should have been rounded up and forcibly decommissioned by law enforcement long ago.

Abel closed his eyes, offering a cryptically loaded observation.

"And yet, he is uniquely singular, is he not?"