In the laboratory, bathed in a cold, white light, a viscous, dark green liquid was slowly transported from transparent tubes in all directions into a glass petri dish. Inside the large petri dish was only a tiny white mouse, no bigger than an adult's palm.
The thin catheter delivers the liquid into its body through the needle hole. At first, the mouse twitches due to rejection, but it quickly recovers and returns to its huddled, white form.
"It's really amazing that this little guy has survived the mutation period until now."
"Easton Experiment No. 35677, initial fusion successful, no rejection reaction."
"We should try using 'volunteers' to go further..."
"Beep—"
A sharp, thin siren suddenly blared over the laboratory, interrupting the researchers' conversation.
The laboratory has been attacked from the outside!
"What's going on?!"
The two researchers quickly exchanged a glance, then hurriedly pulled out the lab data disk, stuffed it into their pockets, and fled towards the emergency exit.
Not long after the two left, the white mouse in the petri dish began to change strangely under the dim light. Its tiny limbs slowly grew larger and longer, and in an instant, it took on the outline of a human figure, gradually becoming clearer and more refined, with delicate and three-dimensional features.
It slowly opened a pair of human eyes, its almond-shaped pupils clear and bright, yet devoid of emotion, staring blankly at the cold glass dome of the petri dish in front of it.
"Bang—"
The laboratory door was forcibly blown open.
The man walking against the light was tall and imposing, fully armed, wearing a gas mask, revealing only a pair of deep, cold black eyes that swept sharply into the laboratory.
As I entered, I happened to meet the bewildered gaze of the naked boy in the petri dish. I calmly looked away and glanced at the English label on the petri dish—"Blerta Easton".
He stepped forward, scanning the cluttered instruments, raised the gun in his hand, and with a "bang!" destroyed the switch. He then lifted the glass cover of the petri dish, extending his hand towards the boy while simultaneously tilting his head slightly to the back of his head, his gaze unwavering.
"Go get a protective suit."
"yes!"
The petri dish was destroyed, and a hint of fear finally appeared on the boy's face. Looking at the hand extended towards him, he carefully reached out and placed his hand on the man's palm.
His subordinate brought over the protective suit, and he gestured to the boy with his eyes: "Put it on."
But the boy blinked and looked down at the protective suit with curiosity, remaining motionless.
The floor inside the laboratory suddenly began to shake.
"Oh no, this is going to collapse!"
Seeing that the boy still hadn't moved, the man frowned and quickly put a protective suit on him. When he looked down, he noticed that the boy's slightly curly blond hair was hidden under the mask, his eyes were slightly deep-set and his nose was high and straight, his skin was very white and his thin lips were bright red.
However, when faced with a group of heavily armed soldiers who suddenly barged in, his reaction seemed a little too calm, like a bewildered child, his timid eyes unable to hide his curiosity.
"Boom—" Another loud noise.
"Colonel! A large number of mutants have broken out in the laboratory!"
"Use incendiary devices to create a barrier and protect the evacuees!" the man commanded in a deep voice.
After saying that, he quickly turned around, grabbed the boy like a chick and lifted him to his side, head behind and feet forward, and charged forward.
The boy, now in human form, opened his eyes wide, watching the surrounding walls collapse one by one, something lurking beneath his feet, relentlessly approaching them. He was tightly held in a strong, powerful arm, and before him lay waves of fire spewing from a burning firecracker, mingled with billowing smoke.
Gravel and debris kept falling from above. As soon as they ran past a spot, a slippery, sticky tentacle burst out of the ground and attacked them.
The boy smelled the familiar scent and watched the food approach with longing eyes. He subconsciously opened his mouth slightly, wanting to take a bite. However, in the next instant, the man beside him swung his arm and flashed a sharp blade, slicing off the sticky tentacle that was so close at hand. It fell, bounced, and rolled away in the dust.
The boy, held in a sling around the waist and thrown into the air, looked down with his innocent, beautiful almond-shaped eyes and saw the ground beneath his feet gradually collapse, and the receding world slowly turned into ruins sinking into the abyss...
Six months later, at Mix Base.
On the wide, flat single bed, a small bulge suddenly appeared at the head of the bed. Upon closer inspection, it was covered only by a thin fleece quilt, with only a small white mouse peeking out from one side, its soft white face pouting.
The alarm clock on the bedside table suddenly rang, startling the little white mouse. Its pair of dark, beady eyes snapped open, and it was momentarily dazed before quickly hopping out of bed. In that instant, its tiny body transformed into a head and long, slender, white limbs, deftly slipping into human clothing.
After clumsily tidying himself up several times, he stood in front of the full-length mirror and carefully straightened the collar of his shirt. The boy in the mirror had a head of golden-brown curly hair parted to the left, revealing a smooth and full forehead and a pair of beautiful eyes.
He took a wool coat from the coat rack and put it on, then put on a deerstalker hat with brims at the front and back and ear flaps on both sides, pressed down his curly hair, changed into his boots, and then hurriedly pulled out his ID card to turn off all the power in the room before closing the door.
The Mix Base residential area is divided into sixteen zones in total, from east to west and north to south. His assigned address was No. 2702, Building 11, Zone 4. There were two apartments per floor. When the elevator the boy was waiting for arrived, it was already full of residents who were getting ready to go to work.
He looked up and saw people of all races—Asian, European, white, yellow, and black—but their faces all wore the same expression of numbness and exhaustion.
The boy opened his mouth slightly, wanting to say hello, but couldn't find a chance to speak. He stood in timidly and was quickly squeezed to the innermost corner, where he stood with difficulty, his body hunched over.
The elevator was made of transparent protective glass. When the boy looked back down and out, he could see most of the Mix base.
In the distance, directly above the center of the base, stands a massive, cone-shaped building that seems to reach straight into the clouds. Its base tapers towards the ground, exuding grandeur and magnificence.
As the elevator descended, the boy saw the base's aerial rails whizzing past and crisscrossing amidst rows of high-rise residential buildings. Just seconds later, his vision shifted to the dilapidated, overcrowded slums in the distance, with a tattered, rickety old news poster on one of the walls, describing a global biological mutation that swept the world in a certain year and month.
With a "ding," the elevator reached the ground floor. The crowded people inside surged out with a clear purpose. The last boy in the corner finally stepped out, wanting to take a deep breath of fresh air, but instead inhaled a mouthful of choking smog.
He coughed twice with difficulty, looked up at the gray winter sky over the base, opened his eyes wide, straightened his back and strode across the path in front of the building toward his destination.
Not long after arriving at the Mix Base Plaza, a crackling sound suddenly came from the global broadcast system overhead. An urgent, deep male voice solemnly announced the obituary of Colonel Klindall, the most outstanding young colonel in the Asian Union's military and political arena, in Mandarin Chinese, simultaneously to the world.
The obituary sadly informs everyone that he heroically sacrificed his life more than a month ago during a rescue operation to protect the people of the base from an alien invasion.
The obituary was then broadcast twice more in the international language commonly used by both the Federation and the Empire.
Bryta looked up and listened intently.
Klindall? That name sounds familiar.
He remembered; it was the man who had rescued him from the laboratory.
But he couldn't quite understand what was being said on the radio.
It was winter, and the Mixi base square was filled with a chilling wind and a desolate atmosphere. Then, a solemn and far-reaching funeral bell rang out from the base, one sound followed by another, and a heavy, oppressive atmosphere lingered in people's hearts.
The boy stopped and saw the people walking around him all stop at once, making a strange gesture in front of them, closing their eyes and bowing their heads, their faces filled with a sadness he couldn't understand, and muttering something under their breath.
You can vaguely hear an old woman saying something like, "May Colonel Clingdale rest in peace."
"Breta! You've finally arrived! Quick, while Colonel Klindall's obituary has just come out, hurry up and go to the street to sell flowers!" A portly middle-aged man shoved a large bouquet of white roses into the boy's arms, his mustache slightly upturned.
Bretta accepted the large bouquet of white roses with a blank expression, then curiously lowered his head to sniff them. They smelled quite nice, and a pleasant smile played on his lips. After a moment's thought, he asked, "What's this obituary? Is it some kind of happy occasion for Mr. Clingdale?"
He knew that humans would celebrate good days.
The middle-aged man sneered, "A good day? To die gloriously in this world as early as possible is indeed a good day."
“…Die?” Bretta, who was inhaling the fragrance of roses, was startled. He knew what “die” meant; it would be very painful, just like when he and other white mice of his kind were injected with various strange liquids and subjected to various experiments. Their internal organs convulsed, and they were in so much pain that they couldn’t even scream, until they mutated and died suddenly, motionless. But he had survived by sheer luck.
Bleta was afraid of pain, but even more afraid of death.
He froze, muttering incredulously, "Mr. Klindall...is he dead?"
The middle-aged man sneered, "Yes, he's dead. Death is the most common thing in the apocalypse. But this guy was lucky to have a proper funeral and an expensive tombstone. You know, not everyone gets a tombstone after they die. Some people just die and that's it."
Seeing his dazed expression, the middle-aged man finally gave him a vicious warning: "Remember! One white rose costs ten donation points. If you're short even one point, you won't get any food today! There are ten of them here, all carefully cultivated in a greenhouse. Be careful!"
Contribution Points are a special circulating virtual currency in the Mixi Base. Base residents acquire Contribution Points by undertaking base missions of varying difficulty and danger levels, which are then used to exchange for food and other necessities.
Two contribution points are enough for Blaita to have a barely filling roasted potato.
Upon hearing this, Blaita carefully protected the pure white flower in her hand.
Bryta, holding flowers, walked toward the square where the mournful tolling still lingered. There were still small groups of people silently mourning there, and some girls couldn't help but sob softly.
“Miss, would you like a white rose?” Bretta asked softly, offering a flower to the girl. His voice was gentle. The girl, her eyes still wet with tears, paused when she heard his voice and saw the flower. Looking up at his handsome face, she felt a warmth in her heart and reached out to take it, saying, “...Thank you.”
"You're welcome, one flower for every ten contribution points."
"..." The girl's hand froze.
Why don't you just rob someone?
"No, no need." The girl quickly withdrew her hand, then stole a regretful glance at him.
Bryta was stunned: "Huh? Why don't you want it anymore..."
Seeing his reaction, the girl bit her lip and said, "It's too, too expensive. Even for Colonel Klindall, I... can't afford it."
"For Colonel Klindall?" Britta asked, puzzled. "Wasn't it bought for myself?"
The girl was saddened to hear this: "Of course it's to mourn the colonel."
Bleta asked blankly, "Isn't he dead?"
The girl looked up in surprise and glared at him angrily: "Even death has the right to a flower!"
But if you die, you won't be able to see it anymore... He didn't understand the girl's grief and cautiously asked, "Do you know Colonel Klindall?"
The girl shook her head upon hearing this, and absentmindedly recalled, "I only caught a glimpse of Colonel Klindall from afar about six months ago."
He was passing through Mix Base on military business, leading a squad of soldiers ready for battle, dressed in the uniforms of the Asian Alliance officers. I had never seen such a handsome person. At that time, all the girls in Mix Base couldn't help but skip work just to catch a glimpse of him..."
"Having served in the military for over a decade, Colonel Klindall repelled countless alien invasions and saved tens of thousands of people from despair. He was like a god, forever so powerful, protecting the flame of humanity..."
The girl's face contorted with pain as she said, "Who could have imagined that he would... that he would..." She choked back tears, staring blankly at the white rose in Bretta's arms. Gritting her teeth, she made up her mind and took out her meager savings, saying:
"Give me one, the best one!"
"Okay." After listening for a while, Bretta quickly opened the virtual payment code on her wrist. After the other party scanned it, ten contribution points were automatically deposited into her account. She now had a balance of twenty contribution points.
The girl chose the most beautiful white rose and walked towards the Mix cemetery.
Blaijiao, Tang Dui, Du Jia, Zheng Laita continued to inquire about each flower on the street, but most of the time he was turned away by the high prices and received a sigh of regret.
Until an elegantly dressed, beautiful and kind lady got out of a black sedan that had driven out of the West End and walked up to the stunned Bretta. She looked down at the pure white roses in his arms and said gently, "Child, please give me three."
Bretta was somewhat taken aback, and quickly and honestly reminded the lady, "One white rose costs ten offering points. Are you sure you want three, madam?"
The beautiful woman looked at him and nodded gently: "Yes, leave some for those who need to mourn Klindall." After a man stepped forward to pay, the lady bent slightly to accept the flowers.
Bretta instinctively asked, "Does Madam also know Colonel Klindall?"
The woman pursed her lips and shook her head slightly. She reached out and gently stroked little Bretta's cheek, then looked up at the gray sky above the base with pity, and whispered, "But he saved so many people, using a mortal body to forge a god among mankind."
Bryta, who seemed to understand but not quite, subconsciously added, "May Colonel Clingdale rest in peace."
The lady concluded, "He was a good man."
It's a pity that good people don't die a good death.
Just then, the death knell tolled once again over the Mix base, its mournful and tragic sound fading into the distance.
A tall man dressed in black camouflage combat uniform and wearing a hat paused when he heard the death knell. He slightly raised his eyes to look at the gray sky above the base, revealing only a pair of deep, cold black eyes.
He quickly looked up and was about to take a step.
Suddenly, a perfectly blooming, flawless white rose appeared in my field of vision.
"Sir, would you like a white rose?" It was a rather obedient voice.
Hearing the voice, he slightly raised his eyes and met a pair of pure and innocent almond-shaped eyes.
After asking her question, Bryta met the man's cold gaze and instinctively felt a chill of fear. The man gave her a cold and distant feeling, and... he seemed very dangerous.
But at that moment, I caught a very tempting smell.
After struggling with doubts and confusion all morning, Bryta decisively and quietly took a step back, but unconsciously swallowed.
The man lowered his eyes and caught a glimpse of the slightly curled blond hair under the boy's hat brim, a feeling of déjà vu washing over him.
"Thank you." He nodded slightly, took the money, and hurriedly walked away from him, disappearing in an instant.
"You're welcome, one flower for ten contribution points..." Bretta, who was habitually reciting her sales lines, turned her head in the direction he walked and was dumbfounded.
"...Where are they?"
Did he... run into someone buying bouncy flowers?
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