The Alpha protests against government agencies and law enforcement lasted much longer than anyone had expected.
The police and the prosecutor’s office had been trying to keep the peace, turning a blind eye to the Alpha disturbances. If things got too out of hand, they would detain a few troublemakers for a day or two before letting them go.
But even that was enough to further enrage the already indignant Alphas. Before long, the scattered disruptions escalated into full-scale demonstrations.
Dozens of tall, muscular Alphas marched past the police station and the prosecutor’s office, waving flags and banners. Their bare torsos were covered in protest graffiti, and they moved in an intimidating procession.
The main streets of the city center were completely blocked by the protests, causing severe traffic disruptions. Worse still, anyone entering or exiting the police station or the prosecutor’s office was immediately surrounded by the furious Alphas—some were shoved and insulted, while others suffered outright beatings.
For several days in a row, the protesters remained outside the office buildings until well past 9 p.m. The prosecutors and police officers inside could only stay upstairs, unable to leave.
Everyone was furious, but the troublemakers weren’t Betas or Omegas. They were Alphas—who enjoyed privilege and preferential policies in every aspect of society. And with orders from the top strictly forbidding violence against them, all they could do was grit their teeth and endure it.
Mainstream media praised the Alphas’ protests, with many news outlets dedicating special columns to glorifying their fight against social injustice and their demand for equal rights. The internet was flooded with support, with countless voices condemning law enforcement for being weak and incompetent, calling for harsher measures against them.
All over Nantes, people were talking about the situation. Strikes broke out, protests spread, and before long, the unrest had reached a point where it had to be addressed.
The prosecutor’s office held several meetings, but Luo Hai—already sidelined—was excluded and had no idea what plans they came up with.
On the day everything came to a head, Luo Hai was still busy cross-checking a list of new prisoners and their sentences. It took him two hours to finish the review before he picked up the files and headed to the Omega prison.
But what he saw was completely unexpected.
The prison, once packed full, was now completely empty.
The iron gates stood open, the cages inside deserted. The only things left were tattered scraps of cloth and filth on the floor. Buckets of food waste had been knocked over, mixing into a foul stench that lingered in the air.
After several long minutes, Xiao Tao came rushing over, bowing repeatedly in apology. “Sir, I wasn’t expecting you to come so suddenly—the place hasn’t been cleaned up yet…”
“What happened here?” Luo Hai asked, pointing at the empty cells. “Where are all the prisoners?”
“They’ve all been transferred.” Xiao Tao lifted his head slightly, cautiously glancing at Luo Hai. “A truck came this morning and took all the prisoners away. I thought you knew about it.”
Luo Hai’s face immediately turned cold.
He didn’t know. No one had told him.
Yesterday, Xiao Tao had only mentioned transferring some prisoners, but he had never heard of an instance where an entire prison’s population was moved all at once.
A prisoner transfer on this scale was unheard of—unless the prison had caught fire or the entire building had been destroyed.
Why the transfer? Where were they taken? He was in charge of managing the Omega prison, so why had no one informed him?
But soon, he understood why.
At around 2 PM that day, the news channel broadcasted a breaking report: The prosecution office had executed all incarcerated Omega prisoners in advance to eliminate any possibility of them communicating with the Lightwing Society.
At the same time, chief prosecutor Doyle personally reassured the public, vowing that the prosecution office would not tolerate crime and would conduct a thorough investigation into the Lightwing Society case, ensuring that those who stole the inhibitors were apprehended and that Nantes would be restored to fairness and stability.
The news exploded instantly.
Many Alpha citizens cheered openly in the streets, as if their lost faith in the city had suddenly been restored. People flooded the internet with videos and comments, expressing satisfaction. Some even uploaded grainy footage taken at the execution site.
The video showed a dense crowd of Omegas, shackled hand and foot, slowly moving forward in a line. At the front stood an Alpha executioner. Each time an Omega stepped up, the executioner loaded his gun and fired a precise shot through their head. Then, an attendant dragged the corpse away, making way for the next.
The short clip spread like wildfire online. Some people turned the executioner’s repeated motion—loading, firing—into an animated loop. Others made memes and cartoons out of it. Soon, phrases like “Deadpan Peashooter” and “Executioner Warning” became viral internet jokes.
With this, the Alphas stopped protesting outside the police station and the prosecution office. They were satisfied with the response and believed that such decisive action from the chief prosecutor would eliminate the Lightwing Society’s threats and bring the reckless Omegas to justice.
Luo Hai remained in his office the entire day, neither leaving nor eating.
Outside, the sun moved from east to west, first casting a golden glow on his desk before shifting, turning red like blood, and finally fading into total darkness.
Eugene had been standing outside his office for an unknown amount of time, saying nothing, making no movement.
He simply watched Luo Hai’s profile in silence, observing how that face—favored by the gods in its beauty—gradually sank into the shadows.
A long while passed. Luo Hai still didn’t move. Eugene reached out and turned on the light, speaking in an even tone. “The building is empty now. The protesters are gone. Don’t you plan on going home?”
Luo Hai said nothing.
“Have you eaten?” Eugene continued. “I barely saw you leave your office all day. Are you planning to survive on air now?”
Luo Hai finally moved. He turned his head to look at Eugene, his expression cold. “What does that have to do with you?”
“Of course, it has to do with me.” Eugene stepped inside. “If you starve to death, who am I supposed to bother every day?”
The casual remark ignited Luo Hai’s anger. He stood up from his chair. “Get out.”
Eugene didn’t move.
“Get out!” Luo Hai raised his voice.
Eugene still didn’t move. He met Luo Hai’s gaze, his eyes burning with intensity. After a moment of silence, he spoke in a low voice. “Tell me, how many prisoners were in the Omega prison?”
Luo Hai felt his patience snap. He strode toward Eugene.
But Eugene didn’t budge. His fiery gaze remained locked onto Luo Hai. “You’ve been handling the prison records lately. No one knows the number better than you.”
“I said—get out!” Luo Hai grabbed Eugene’s arm and shoved him forward. But instead of being pushed away, Eugene countered, seizing Luo Hai’s wrist and pinning him against the doorframe, his expression dark.
“There were 1,362 Omega prisoners in the Nantes Omega prison,” Eugene said. “Some were jailed for resisting Alpha domestic abuse. Some were locked up for refusing to serve Alphas during Offering Days. Some were arrested simply for walking too close to the city’s border.”
His grip on Luo Hai’s wrist tightened, his voice dropping lower.
“1,362 Omegas. No warning, no justification, no reason—slaughtered like playthings. And even now, do you still naively believe in this world? In this government?”
Luo Hai forcefully shook off Eugene’s hand, his eyes burning with anger as he glared at him.
“You think they died because of what? It’s because of you! Because of you and your ridiculous Lightwing Society! Because you spread the news about the lost inhibitors everywhere, causing panic in society, that’s why those Alphas have been parading and causing trouble every day, and the prosecution had to take such drastic measures to appease them! If it weren’t for you and your Lightwing Society, how could so many innocent Omegas have been dragged into this?”
The one who should have died was Eugene Oddis, the leader of the Lightwing Society, not the 1,362 Omegas in the prison.
But the one who should have been executed was standing right in front of him, freely and shamelessly breathing the fresh air.
And the cause of all this was himself.
It was because he hadn’t been able to pull the trigger at the beginning, hadn’t killed the culprit with his own hands, leaving endless trouble in its wake.
“Do you think that without the Lightwing Society, they would have spared the Omegas, given them dignity, and allowed them to live like humans?” Eugene’s voice was laced with anger, each word coming out more forcefully than the last. “It’s clearly the Alphas causing the trouble, protesting, and yet the ones punished aren’t the Alphas, but the Omegas? Today, the prosecution slaughtered an entire prison of Omegas to placate the Alphas—what will happen tomorrow? Do you have to watch every single Omega be killed before you understand?”
“That’s impossible!” Luo Hai’s anger was also ignited. “The Omegas who were thrown into prison broke the law! If they had lived according to the social rules, nothing would have happened!”
Eugene’s pupils dilated slightly. He stared at Luo Hai, disbelief flashing across his face, as if he couldn’t believe these words were coming from him.
His anger reached its peak, and he laughed instead.
“Then, Prosecutor Luo Hai,” he stepped closer, “why don’t you just follow the rules? Why don’t you be a good Omega, participate in the Offering Day every month, serve the Alphas as required, and then get marked for life by any random Alpha on the street? Why don’t you just become a sheep who won’t even resist when slapped across the face?”
