"When time and fate align, even heroes are powerless without opportunity."
—— Luo Yin, Tang Dynasty, *Cast-Brush Station*
Landon Simon was already walking over, holding a crate of sparkling water.
"Leader!"
"Huh?"
Talulah snapped back to reality and looked over at Landon Simon.
"Daydreaming? In a minute, pretty much everyone except the Captain and the Guerrillas following him will be here for this gathering! How could you—"
"Ah, I'm fine."
Talulah shifted her gaze back to the cafeteria entrance.
Her expression remained complicated.
Was the Reunion Movement... just over like this?
Could it be... that she had always been nothing more than a pawn in the hands of Ursus?
Though her physical body was confined to this landship, her spirit wandered far away across the snowy plains of Ursus.
Were the Infected there... truly liberated?
Everything, absolutely everything... was it all a lie?
"Step aside, Leader."
The distinctly magnetic voice of a middle-aged Sankta rang out.
Spankus Petrovich Pavlov was wearing an apron and thick baking gloves, carrying a tray of pastries as he walked up.
Beneath the apron, he wore the standard uniform of a Rhodes Island operator, though at his strong insistence, Suzuran had eventually stripped away all the unnecessary strap decorations and elastic designs.
The leather holster at his waist, though well-maintained, still bore the traces of fierce combat on the snowy plains.
His Guardian's Gun, the M300, along with five rounds of 7.62x54R 7N37 ammunitio…
Chapter 125