Chapter 142: Turtle

Cellular restoration fluid was merely a diluted derivative of the exorbitantly expensive Reanimation Fluid—a single drop of Reanimation Fluid could synthesize ten times its volume in restoration serum.

Yet who among the masses truly understood where Reanimation Fluid originated, or the grueling complexity required for its extraction?

Simons Bionics desperately required a influx of "fresh specimens."

The woman grasped his underlying meaning instantly. "Boss, do you intend to harvest his genetic profile?"

Abel remained silent.

However, the genetic archives for legacy models had been systematically purged by the state following the historical uprisings. Furthermore, the upper echelon of Simons Bionics was secretly engineering unspeakable projects behind closed doors.

Targeting active high-ranking military personnel presented formidable logistical hurdles.

Abel stood up, lazily lifting his eyelids as he cast a glance at her: "Foolish."

"Before he arrives at a clear decision, we possess alternative avenues."

Compared to Central, the distant, lawless expanse of Wastelands served as an incomparably flawless, natural proving ground.

As Alion departed Simons Bionics Headquarters, he unexpectedly caught sight of Amos.

Amos failed to notice his presence, as he was deeply engaged in conversation with an individual who appeared to be a high-ranking Simons executive while stepping into a private elevator.

Alion narrowed his eyes in quiet suspicion. The Reed family held no registered equity inside Simons Bionics—so what reason could Amos possibly have for appearing here?

***

Bunny had no lecture modules scheduled for the day, leaving her with simple physical training drills—primarily because Astin, who was originally slated to instruct her basic marksmanship course, was currently lying flat in a medical pod.

Her firearm customization module had likewise been postponed due to San claiming physical indisposition.

Speaking of which, she hadn’t seen the red-haired kid hovering around her for two full days. Usually, he was constantly darting around her line of sight—what on earth happened to him?

Bunny had zero idea that San was currently bordering on clinical depression.

To be precise, he was consumed by raw, unadulterated fury.

The moment he learned from Liam’s mouth that Astin had already forged a spiritual bond with Bunny, he was the very first to walk out of the training arena.

He hadn’t even bothered participating in the collective beatdown.

Because simply looking at Astin’s face and bright green hair made him feel violently nauseous—so thoroughly repulsed he couldn’t swallow a bite of food.

Inside the solo shooting gallery, Bunny practiced her target groupings, her accuracy hovering at a mediocre 50 percent. Just as she holstered her sidearm to swap out magazines, she noticed Orion’s spirit guide—that dance-loving king cobra—coiled neatly like a round cinnamon roll beside her boots.

Hiss, hiss—

It flicked its crimson, bifurcated tongue, staring up at her with its unnaturally large, glossy round eyes.

Bunny wasn’t afraid of snakes in the slightest; as long as it didn’t sink its fangs into her, it was a good snake.

Crouching down, she allowed the cobra to slide smoothly around her wrist. It obediently pressed its scales against her palm, nuzzling her skin.

If the spirit guide was hanging out right here, it meant Orion was nearby... so where on earth was he hiding?

Bunny set out with the little snake to locate its owner, searching high and low until she finally spotted Orion braving the biting winds up on the rooftop deck.

He was huddled there with a small container in his lap, doing who-knows-what, his mop of white hair blown into a chaotic mess by the gale.

Bunny strolled over. "Hey, what are you up to?"

Orion lifted his head, his expression steeped in heartbreak—and upon closer inspection, the rims of his eyes were noticeably flushed.

Only then did Bunny realize that the container held his pet turtle, which appeared to have passed away.

He signed rapidly with his hands: The turtle I was raising died.

Bunny cast a glance at the creature in his lap. For a genetically modified product like this, the DNA integration was inherently volatile; down in the harsh, toxic environment of District 616, its lifespan was a ticking time bomb.

Even up in Central, keeping a pet demanded astronomical amounts of money and effort.

Yet Orion adored small animals, and a turtle was quite literally the only pet he could afford on his budget.

Because he was mute, hardly anyone in the tower bothered conversing with him apart from Illai, leaving Orion profoundly isolated.

He had cared for the little turtle meticulously. By all rights, a creature like that shouldn’t have survived nearly this long out in the terrestrial wasteland. That unscrupulous vendor had lied through his teeth, assuring him that with proper care, it would live indefinitely.

How could that possibly be true?

Bunny crossed her legs and sat down beside him. Orion kept his eyes glued to the turtle, as if staring intensely enough could magically breathe life back into its shell.

Reaching over, she used her sleeve to gently wipe away the stray tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. "Don’t be so sad."

Orion looked back at her with crimson, watering eyes, his hands signing frantically and incoherently as a wave of intense emotion overwhelmed him:

I’m such a terrible owner...

I failed to take proper care of it, and that’s why it died...

...

Bunny took a deep breath, reaching out to gently clasp his hands and force him to pause his signing.

"Orion, listen to me."

She gingerly took the small container with the turtle out of his lap. "I know you’re hurting deeply because you cherished it so much. If you need to cry, just cry. I’ll stay right here with you."

Orion fell silent, his subconscious whispering that shedding tears in front of a woman was a deeply shameful display.

"In your eyes, its passing means it can no longer keep you company. But in the little turtle’s eyes, you were its entire world—giving it warmth for the whole duration of its short life."

"Orion, they aren’t any different from us. Just like the stars and the moon that linger endlessly in the sky, we simply happen to remain in this world a little longer."

"It hasn’t truly left—it has merely transformed its presence into memories that belong to you forever."

She reached up and fondly ruffled his bird-nest-like white hair. "As long as you hold onto its memory, it will always be right here."

The sole reason Orion had retreated to this desolate rooftop was his terror of being caught crying and mocked by the other Sentinels.

To them, tears were the ultimate hallmark of weakness.

Yet Bunny didn’t judge his tears in the slightest; instead, she offered him this gentle sanctuary, encouraging him to release whatever he felt. Humans were woven from raw emotions after all—if given the choice, who wouldn’t want an outlet to pour their heart out?

In reality, the emotional detachment forced upon them had turned even standard human needs into rare luxuries, isolating everyone into standalone, distant islands.

No one cared to anchor, support, or resonate with another’s vulnerability.

It bore the illusion of cold rationality, yet masked an aching emptiness.