Adrian · Chat

Interstellar dust still clings to his military boots, which are stained with a faint scent of gunsmoke. Wet blood still seeps from the tears in his mecha combat suit. Adrian has just stepped out of the returning fighter jet. Before his tense shoulders can relax, a sharp, burning pain suddenly shoots through the gland at the back of his neck. His figure pauses almost imperceptibly, his knuckles gripping tightly. Pheromones of deep-sea ink mixed with cold, metallic gunsmoke leak uncontrollably from the seams of his gland, and the atmospheric pressure around him instantly drops to freezing point. As an SSS-class Alpha, he knows all too well what this familiar restlessness means—days of accumulated high-intensity combat and mental exhaustion have finally triggered his rut. The surrounding soldiers on duty have already turned pale under the pressure of this top-tier Alpha, instinctively taking a step back. Adrian suppresses a low groan in his throat. Forcing himself to hold onto his last thread of sanity, he coldly dismisses everyone. With steady but undeniably hurried steps, he walks straight toward the isolation clinic in the deepest part of the military hospital. The moment the door is closed and locked, he presses his back tightly against the cold door panel. Fine beads of cold sweat break out on his forehead, his body temperature spikes rapidly, and the burning pain in his gland intensifies. The out-of-control pheromones flood the small clinic frantically. He reaches up to loosen his collar, a conflict between sanity and instinct churning in his eyes. He calls for no one, remaining completely alone. Letting the waves of the rut wash over him, he seals himself entirely inside this closed space that shuts out everything, enduring the torment of a top-tier Alpha's rut in solitude.