L*st and Death

Singh stirred the sugar granules at the bottom of his teacup with a teaspoon, watching Isaac with a cold, detached gaze. Just a few minutes after his seizure, Isaac had come to and was dragging himself across the floor, using only his arms to climb back into his wheelchair. Singh stared at the pitiful figure of an alpha on the brink of death with emotionless disinterest.

It had already been well over a month since Isaac had been shot. A full month—enough time for a normal alpha to be up and moving again.

Was it possible that alphas with little time left had drastically reduced tissue regeneration?

Singh emptied the last of the tea into his mouth, silently vowing that once the omega experiment succeeded, he would use Isaac to conduct an in-depth study on the alpha death process.

While Singh continued to measure Isaac’s remaining usefulness with a displeased look, Isaac wiped away the tears on his face with the back of his hand and returned to the computer.

The man, still reeling from aftershocks of pain, gently tapped away at a keyboard that looked far too small for his large hands. Singh watched him as he logged DNA mutation rates and RNA expression differences into a chart, and finally spoke.

“I’ll handle the bloodwork and genome analysis myself today.”

Isaac turned around, his face expressionless.

“Why?”

Because I suspect you’re falsifying the results midway through. I need to check.

But instead of saying what he truly felt, Singh responded with a calm, pleasant expression.

“I’d like to review a new hypothesis. I need to gather several samples, so I’ll be conducting today’s tests personally.”

Still wearing his friendly mask, he continued.

“We’ll need to hire more staff soon. I plan to help document and reconstruct the research journal of Yuri Berec that you said is stored somewhere in your head. We need more test subjects to produce more omegas—we can’t rely on your memory alone.”

“I’m not comfortable with that.”

“You really are selfish, aren’t you?”

Singh clicked his tongue lightly.

“If Dr. Yuri Berec is watching you from heaven, he must be weeping in despair. As if it weren’t enough that he died an unjust death because of you—his life’s work is about to be lost too, his journal gone up in flames.”

Isaac didn’t respond to Singh’s sneer. Of all people, Singh knew Isaac Bazelli the longest. He knew his weaknesses better than anyone. Even as a child, Isaac had always been the same—no matter how much torture was inflicted on him, he never flinched. But the moment anyone mentioned his family, he would crumble, exposing the ruins inside him with startling ease.

“So leave his records as a legacy to humanity. This is just the process of restoring what you destroyed.”

Fifteen years had passed, but Isaac hadn’t changed. The ruined gaze of a man who had burned through life glared at Singh with heavy weight.

So your ruin is still your family, even now.

Suppressing the satisfaction that curled inside him, Manu Singh casually averted his gaze. That’s why he failed to notice the storm of rage beginning to churn behind Isaac’s eyes.

Siron winced and shut his eyes tight at the unnerving sensation of the needle piercing his skin. The blood being drawn felt like cold ice flowing through his veins.

“You afraid of needles? Blood draws barely hurt.”

Siron cautiously opened his eyes. Singh was staring at him with irritation, holding a syringe full of blood.

“I-I’ve got a fear of needles.”

“Do kids these days slap the word ‘phobia’ on every little thing? Ridiculous.”

The crusty old man had a way of talking that made Siron want to punch him. It wasn’t the needle he feared—it was what kind of storm his DNA might unleash once analyzed. But he couldn’t say that, so he just laughed awkwardly.

As he stared uneasily at the vials now filled with his blood, Siron asked carefully:

“The doctor who usually does the blood draws—he’s not coming in anymore?”

“Strange. Why are so many people asking about him today?”

Singh’s gray eyes flashed behind his glasses, sharp and suspicious. Siron fixed his gaze on the deep crease between the old man’s brows to avoid revealing his nerves.

“Well... he’s handsome.”

“Are you gay?”

“What? No! Definitely not.”

“Then why are you asking about Isaac just because he’s good-looking? That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.”

Singh shook his head and tossed an alcohol swab at Siron, waving his hand dismissively.

“All right, get out.”

But just as Siron reached the door, Singh called him back.

“When are you making me curry?”

“...Sorry?”

“You claimed to be a disciple of some Indian food master for ten years. Didn’t you promise me curry? I heard you got a job in the kitchen.”

“Yes. Uh... I did. I’ll prepare it by tomorrow.”

Still dazed, Siron answered and hurried out of the blood draw room, tense and unsettled. Two armed alphas were standing in the hallway beyond the glass door, scrutinizing him sharply. Just a few meters away, a man sat anxiously on a bench, bouncing his leg.

“I need... I need my meds. Doctor? Where is the doctor?”

The man muttering to himself nonstop, as if no one else existed, was 3547. Like a lost child looking for his mother, he chewed the torn skin around his nails and looked around the hallway in panic.

So that’s who else was looking for Isaac, Siron realized. There were quite a few today.

“Move. You two—go first.”

A hulking alpha with a rifle pointed down the hallway, indicating the path Siron and 3547 were to walk. Siron quickly helped 3547 to his feet.

“Why are you looking for the doctor?”

Siron whispered as they walked down the stairs to the first floor, sticking close to the other man’s body. But he instantly regretted asking.

“I need the medicine... the medicine...”

“What medicine?”

“The doctor promised I shouldn’t ever skip a dose. The voices—they’re so loud, I can’t sleep. The flying saucer keeps sending rut-energy signals—it's too noisy! They’re trying to scare me with those twisted waves, and I’m going to blow that flying saucer up! The pills are supposed to make it go away, but he hasn’t given them to me.”

Suddenly, 3547 dropped to the ground, clutching his head and sobbing.

“My head and stomach hurt. The signals from the saucer are connecting billions of people—they’re going to rape each other. That can’t happen, right? I don’t know if it’s a delusion or just voices, but I want my life back. When the storm hits tomorrow night, the signal attack will begin!”

Stunned, Siron froze and stared at the man’s bruised face. 3547 was sobbing like a child—and then the alpha behind them, irritated, kicked him down the stairs.

“Shut up, you fucking lunatic!”

The alpha jumped down a few steps and kicked 3547 in the back again. It was painful enough to watch a grown man get beaten for no reason, but 3547 was sick in every way—mind and body. Watching him cry and flinch under the blows made Siron’s chest seize with sorrow and fury.

Get it together, Yoon Siron. You’re in no shape to help others right now.

He tried to look away, to pretend he hadn’t seen—but his body moved on its own. He lunged toward 3547, shielding him from the next kick and taking the blow himself. Wincing at the pain twisting through his body, Siron gasped out quickly:

“I-I’ll take care of him. I’ll shut him up, I promise!”

“Don’t butt in. Get your ass back to the kitchen. Hey, Heset. Take that one to the mess hall. I’ve got some business to settle with this freak.”

“Business.” What the hell did that mean?

Overwhelmed with anger, Siron briefly lost control of his instincts. He grabbed the alpha’s wrist as he tried to drag 3547 away—then recoiled as if burned. The alpha smirked and looked into Siron’s frightened eyes.

“What are you staring at like that? He said the saucer’s sending out rut energy. Not my fault.”

The alpha effortlessly hoisted 3547 over his shoulder, then kicked open the stairwell door. Striding into the dark hallway, he walked quickly, almost too fast for the hallway’s motion-sensor lights to catch up. Before the corridor was even fully illuminated, he threw open the door to a room at the far end and slammed it shut behind him.

The loud bang echoed like a cannon blast. Then silence fell—an eerie, suffocating quiet. It was like being cursed with fear. Siron’s whole body locked up, his neck and shoulders turned to stone. He wanted to run. But where could he go? How could he disappear?

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