Chapter 7

Chapter 7

He curled up deeper inside the sleep pod, the physical comfort making Yor drowsy again. Half-asleep, half-awake, he suddenly recalled the unease from his earlier sleep, and his body reacted before his mind did—he sucked in a deep breath.

A familiar scent drifted into his awareness—not an actual smell in the air, but "pheromone residue" sensed through his mental sea.

His eyes snapped open, and suddenly he knew why he'd been jolted awake.

It was the presence of the pure bugs—especially their lord, the Pure Division Lord who'd stood in that silver-white ship, pointing down at him from on high. His presence was way too close!

Yor sat up, his stomach clenching hard.

The lab's cold lights, the feel of surgical blades slicing through flesh, the sight of his kin dying behind glass partitions—it all came flooding back.

Once his head cleared, he realized the Pure Insect Lord must've come to drop off the Broodmother.

He knew, logically, that in the eyes of that insect perched above the clouds, he was no different from a weed on the roadside. But... his knuckles went white gripping the bedsheet. His body just wouldn't relax.

He flopped back into the sleep pod, burying his head in the blanket. The fabric that had felt soft and comfortable before now just felt dry and scratchy.

He turned over hard, the sleep pod's cushion automatically molding to his position, but the mattress that had once felt supportive now felt wrong no matter how he lay.

Restless and suffocating.

After two days of travel, his body was dead tired—the brief sleep barely counted as rest—but now he just couldn't fall back asleep.

Useless body. Just knowing the Purification Clan existed had it wound up so tight it couldn't sleep.

Yor kicked off the blanket, annoyed, climbed out of the sleep pod, and grabbed a dairy drink from the cold storage cabinet. He filled it with ice, then dumped in two heaping scoops of sugar, ruining a perfectly good sleep drink into a sickeningly sweet, unhealthy mess.

He chugged a big mouthful of the icy, sugary milk, the thick, sweet liquid sliding down his throat, and only then did the irritation in his chest ease up a bit.

He couldn't just cower in the shadows like a gutter rat, trembling in fear.

Yor narrowed his eyes. He needed to do something.

With that thought, inspiration struck. His mental power instinctively reached out, paused at the cabin door, then resolutely descended, probing toward the cargo hold.

Something down there was pulling at him.

His mental power sank slowly and carefully, weaving around the bugs scurrying around the Broodmother, until it reached the ship's lowest level.

Compared to when he'd been here during the day, the place had completely transformed.

Dim, damp, suffocating—the corridors twisted and turned, and just sending his mental power in made the Blue Star human feel like he couldn't breathe.

Yor soon "saw" the Broodmother.

Mental perception wasn't the same as seeing with real eyes—besides appearance, he could sense presence too.

In the world his mental power touched, every creature's pheromone fluctuations, breathing rhythms, and even the faint traces of their thoughts were distinct.

Yor quickly recognized this test subject, even remembering what it had originally looked like. Before the modification, it had been a creature like the centaur clan from Blue Star legends—tall, strong, violent, and fiercely proud.

Yor remembered its four powerful legs and that face—not exactly handsome, but always twisted with rage.

And now?

The creature sprawled limp in the center of the nest—pale, bloated, obese, reeking of filth, like an overfed silkworm that had been beaten down.

Its eyes were clouded, its slack jaw hanging open to reveal layer after layer of short, pointed teeth, constantly snapping at the food shoved to its mouth and gulping it down.

Food scraps were scattered everywhere, and drool that couldn't be swallowed fast enough dripped down its chin into the dirt.

No awareness at all—just open mouth, swallow, open mouth again.

Yor's body trembled. So this was what a "successful" modification looked like.

Thank god he'd gotten out.

His mental power shrank back, almost wanting to dart back into his sea of consciousness. But... deep in the Broodmother's mental sea, there was a very faint fluctuation—truly unremarkable, maybe no bigger than a speck of dust next to the Broodmother's massive body.

But that tiny fluctuation flickered there, dim and unsteady, and to Yor, it was strangely irresistible.

Remembering the Pure Division Lord's indifferent face, Yor stopped his mental power. He couldn't run!

He clenched his fist, then plunged into the Broodmother's mental sea without hesitation!

===========

In the ship's lowest cargo hold, Dexter had been working all night.

According to ancient records, Broodmothers preferred private, dim, damp, underground environments—it made them feel safer and lay eggs more easily.

The War Department bugs never lacked initiative. They immediately cleared out the cargo hold, bought the most advanced materials from the Purification Department, and turned the once-spacious storage area into a complex, winding bug nest.

The innermost chamber, shielded by layers of corridors and worker bug rooms, was the Broodmother's territory—damp moss and soil on the floor, lights dimmed, ventilation shut off.

A wet, sticky nest slowly took shape.

The environment mimicked ancient bug nests, but advanced life support had to keep up too.

Purification Department techs who'd come with Zane bustled in and out of the temporary Broodmother nest, calibrating equipment, refilling nutrient solutions, and checking every interface on the pheromone stabilizer.

To keep things quiet, even the cabins on the floor above the cargo hold—originally assigned to Taste and other war bugs on leave—had been cleared out.

Taste and his buddies were moved to temporary quarters on the upper level.

Not only was Taste not annoyed, he was over the moon. He was now on the same level as Yor's monitoring cabin—he could go see Yor at dawn tomorrow!

As one of the bugs responsible for guarding the Broodmother, Dexter had to oversee the nest's renovation the whole time, only getting relieved at daybreak.

He leaned against the cabin wall and shut his eyes.

His mental sea felt so clear it was almost unfamiliar—no stinging pain, no chaos, like a pane of glass that'd been wiped clean.

But in Dexter's heart, something itched like a bug crawling around: he wanted to see the Broodmother—his Broodmother, Yor.

He wanted to make sure he was eating well, that the monitoring cabin was okay, whether he needed anything, whether he'd gotten the terminal Dexter had applied for...

He wanted to see his Broodmother comfortably nestled in a nest he'd provided...

But he couldn't leave.

After going back and forth with himself, he raised his terminal and messaged Taste: "How's the little Broodmother doing over there?"

Dawn was barely breaking, but Taste—who should've been fast asleep—replied right away: "Why do you even worry? I was just about to go see him."

Dexter frowned without meaning to, his tone turning stern: "Running around on your own is one thing, but don't drag the little Broodmother into your crap!"

If Taste were standing right in front of him, he might have pretended to listen, but since Dexter could only issue orders through his terminal, Taste couldn't care less.

Read and ignored.

Dexter had no choice but to suppress his anxiety and scramble to find someone to swap shifts with.

It was still early, and Taste held himself back as long as he could. When the noise outside started to get louder, he finally couldn't resist—he hurried to the monitoring cabin and knocked on the door.

When Yor opened the door, he saw Taste's beaming face and heard his boisterous voice: "Dexter's on duty and can't come back. Wanna come hang out with me?"

Recalling the creature he had just seen—the so-called Broodmother, who was in truth a pampered, caged hunk of meat that only ate and produced—a chill ran down Yor's spine. He just wanted to stay put and avoid anything connected to the Purification Department.

Before he could think of a way to refuse, Taste was already holding up something in his hand—a brand-new smart terminal.

"For you! Your dependent paperwork went through. You're now officially registered as a War Department bug! Come with me to do a genetic sample, and the terminal will be activated!"

Yor's eyes practically glued to the terminal, and the fingers hanging at his side trembled slightly.

It had been ages since he'd had a communication device of his own. Back on Blue Star, his terminal's wallpaper was still a photo of himself from when he was in the care facility, together with his brother who took care of him...

A new terminal, a new identity—perhaps it was time to leave behind all the awful memories of the laboratory and start a new life?

==========Author's Note:==========

Sorry, I've been pulling overtime these past couple of days and I'm wiped.