Chapter 3

Sera Westbrook's POV

The spore snow was denser than it had been at dusk, and it was coming down hard. I had to find somewhere to hide, or I'd very likely run into trouble. I kept walking along the street, and suddenly saw a structure in the distance. When I got closer, I realized it wasn't a building—it was a rig mounted on wide caterpillar tracks, like a mobile safe base.

I stopped ten meters away. The wristband inside my sleeve lit up. I turned it over to look: GCI 95.4%.

Everything normal—of course, to an ordinary person, that was definitely not normal.

Just then, three drones rose into the air and circled around me, as if scanning my body, then flew back to the roof.

Three seconds later, the airlock opened to a hand's width. A man stood inside—black gloves, tactical gear, one hand braced on the doorframe, the deck lights behind him. I looked up and saw his face clearly. It was an extremely familiar face, a face I had spent years searching for. It was Kyle.

The thought flashed past. Years of searching… how many years, exactly? Why couldn't I remember any of it?

But no matter what, I had finally found him.

Actually, I can no longer feel pain or my heartbeat, but when I saw Kyle, when I saw that face I had missed day and night, I inexplicably felt an uncontrollable heartbeat. The wristband was showing an error and kept buzzing—I didn't even need to look down. I knew it must be my heart rate, too high.

But then again, I was the one who'd broken up with him back then. I'd forgotten the reason, but either way, Kyle shouldn't have felt good about it.

The atmosphere had turned a little awkward.

He watched me through the gap. I watched him. Neither of us moved first.

He didn't call my name right away—maybe he was worried about something. Since that was the case, let me take the first step. I happened to need shelter.

"I need a ride," I said. "I have supplies. I can trade them with you. When the snow stops, I'll go."

Kyle looked at me silently. "Your name."

I said, "Sera Westbrook."

Kyle's eyes seemed colder than before. I really didn't know what to say, so I just looked down at the ground. If Kyle wouldn't take me in, I wouldn't argue.

I remembered the conversation between those two men. Kyle was probably the leader of some base now, and he was supposed to ensure his team's safety. My GCI was too high—letting me in so rashly really did carry risks.

Kyle said, "Wristband."

I raised my wrist and aimed it at the hatch. Red lights came on on the steel plates on both sides of the door, and my GCI was exposed.

95%. Very high.

Suddenly, the hatch opened. Several people stood in a row behind Kyle, raising their weapons at me as if facing a powerful enemy.

A very young boy stared at my face for two seconds and said in surprise, "Wait—isn't that the woman from the footage? The really strong one?"

"95%, Captain," a person with a serious expression said. "According to the rules, she's exceeded the specified value. She's dangerous."

I didn't lower my arm, and I didn't step forward.

I was waiting for Kyle's answer.

Kyle kept his eyes on me and spoke unhurriedly. "Her number is indeed very high, but she has remained in a normal state all along. You should see the footage of her fighting enemies—she's very powerful. Stable in combat and exceptionally capable—she may be useful to us. And she won't stay long; once the spore snow stops, she'll leave. If you're still uneasy, you can have Dorian examine her."

The man hesitated. "But…"

A woman laughed. "Oh, it's fine. If she really isn't normal, we'll just kick her out then."

The man looked at her with a complicated expression, hesitated for a long time, then gave in. "Fine."

After some careful consideration, they finally agreed.

The condition was that I had to limit my range of activity, couldn't freely enter key areas, had to accept surveillance, hand over all weapons, and follow their orders in everything. I had no objection. After all, I was the one asking for help first.

On the second deck, my things were laid out flat across a long table: four cases of water capsules, two cases of old-style cans, three cases of nutrient fluid, five compressed ration blocks, a bag of ampoules and magazines, and a case of metal fittings.

The doctor took me to the examination room. He said his name was Dorian. He wore a white coat and gold-rimmed glasses, and he stuck patches all over my body.

Kyle asked, "How's the data?"

Dorian said, "Let me take a look—seems a bit abnormal."

With that, Kyle turned to look at me. I met his gaze, feeling a little guilty, then quietly looked away.

I don't know when it started, but I can't feel any pain or negative emotions—it seems to have been deliberately cut off, but I can't remember either. My memory seems to have been tampered with.

I understood their concern. After all, my readings really weren't normal.

After a long wait, Dorian said with some surprise, "The results are actually all normal. Her wound healing rate is abnormally fast, but the neural feedback pathway has been severed. She is not unharmed. The signals just can't reach the spinal cord—pain, fatigue, hypoxia, toxin reactions, all of it stops at the spinal cord. Simply put, she's like a reactor that's overheated but doesn't know it. Fortunately, her state is very stable, consistently maintained around 95%, so she hasn't completely lost her reason. Still, we need to stay vigilant, keep her from losing control, and keep the reading stable. Other than that, there are no other issues."

Kyle asked, "Can you cure her?"

Dorian shrugged. "I'll do my best. I can repair some of the pathways as much as possible—at least let her know when she's bleeding. If that doesn't work, we'll have to rely on external monitoring. Instruments, manual checks… anything that can detect her physical condition. The most important thing: the inhibitor—force-reduce the dose every day. The catalyst is to be suspended entirely."

With that, Dorian looked at Kyle. "If you're willing, you can use your ability to take over her physiological warning function through neural resonance."

Kyle nodded without hesitation. "Of course."

I was a little surprised and turned to look at Kyle.

I didn't understand why Kyle wanted to help me. By any reasonable standard, our relationship shouldn't have been good enough for that.

And just like that, I was judged safe.

Seeing the mud and spores we'd left going in and out, Dorian looked disgusted. He quickly pushed us out and called for cleaning drones. "Ugh, look at the mess you've made for me—it's all dirty. Don't let me see you again."

We had no choice but to go out into the corridor and look at each other.

I wanted to say something, but the wall speaker in the third-deck corridor rang out just in time—a woman's voice. "Captain, where is she sleeping tonight?"

Kyle looked at me thoughtfully, his eyes a little cold. "She stays with me."

The woman immediately replied, "Understood!"

I twisted my fingers uneasily. "Why?"

Kyle didn't look at me again and led me around to get familiar with the place. "If I put you in a separate room and something happened to you, we wouldn't know in time."

I nodded. "Makes sense."

Kyle glanced at me and didn't say another word.

Kyle and I went back to the fourth deck.

On the fourth deck, the bedroom and the command room were next to each other. I happened to glance at the screen in the command room, and there was only one line of text on it.

"As soon as the snow stops, she leaves."

I saw him turn off the screen, walk to the window, and pour a glass of cold water.

After the snow stops… but I wanted to stay with him a little longer.