ca-book Will Chapter 130 still be released?
Will Chapter 130 still be released?
After the Spark Source was sent away, the number of visitation records at the Crystal City Medical Tower continued to increase.
The Autobots, Decepticons, representatives of neutral cities, agents of the judicial central authority, the medical system maintenance team, and some old acquaintances who were not assigned to any faction.
The guiding vector remained deep within the medical tower, and the body had fully recovered. The deep purple armor gleamed with a calm metallic sheen under the cold light, and the flame's glow grew ever brighter and more stable.
The old silver-gray nameplate on the side of his neck hung down, untouched.
Rumbling and confusion were becoming more and more frequent near the hibernation pods, and mechanical dogs would occasionally appear out of nowhere, flashing past in the shadows of the medical tower.
Sometimes one of them, Rumble, would squat on the support, and sometimes the other would be holding an energy block that they had somehow acquired, as if they were using this place as some kind of nest.
The medical teams in Crystal City initially tried to negotiate with them to let them leave, but later found that they couldn't get rid of them.
Later, I noticed that they wouldn't touch the core equipment, and occasionally they would issue unfriendly warnings to visitors who got too close.
So the medical robots pragmatically chose another approach—to keep them and occasionally feed them an energy block or two.
Given the current situation on Cybertron, everyone's bottom line has become more flexible.
-
The sixth Sai Xingyue, sent away by the Spark Source, Alita arrived in Crystal City.
There were several fresh repair marks on her outer armor, not serious but noticeable. These fine marks were the result of repeated repairs and damage, as if the machine itself was beginning to tire of continuing to endure.
Alita entered the hibernation chamber, and Rumble and Confusion, recognizing her as no threat, retreated back into the corner.
Alita stopped in front of the hibernation pod and remained silent for a long time.
She looked at the vector, seemingly confirming that it was still there, and then whispered, "The AllSpark has been sent away."
"The last batch of new sparks has been installed," Alita continued. "The Academy system and the neutral medical zone received them. The protection level is very high; the ambulances almost nailed warning signs next to each stabilizer."
She paused for a moment: "We saved them."
She knew she should breathe a sigh of relief, grateful that the operation hadn't completely spiraled out of control and that the AllSpark hadn't fallen into Decepticon hands.
But it felt like a piece of metal that had been burning for a long time was buried in her chest.
"I'm not happy at all," she finally said.
Alita lowered her gaze, fixing it on the spark of the guiding vector.
"I'm so tired."
After uttering those three words, she herself felt they were ridiculously light.
When you're tired, you can rest, repair or replenish your energy, or turn off the channel and sleep for a few hours.
She doesn't feel that way now.
Like being worn down bit by bit by war, the remaining debris piles up around the embers, impossible to clean up no matter what.
She was exhausted from coordinating, exhausted from evacuations, exhausted from seeing batches of young aircraft going to the battlefield, and exhausted from hearing "We did our best" every time.
Worst of all, she was furious.
Sometimes she would look at the Decepticon symbol on the tactical screen and think about scraping that whole patch of color off the map with her bare hands.
Some late at night, she would even wonder if it would be faster if she used their method.
Direct and straightforward. These fleeting thoughts startled her, and she hurriedly suppressed them each time.
The war is long and there is no end in sight; some thoughts will grow out of weariness on their own.
"I want to kill Megatron."
Alita spoke softly, trying to make herself unable to hear.
"Defeat him, stop him, drive him back to Charon... that's not enough."
She looked at the gravitational vector inside the hibernation pod.
I want him dead.
Rumble and confusion remained silent on the side.
Alita's fingers slowly tightened.
"I also want the Decepticons to pay the price they made us pay."
After she finished speaking, she fell silent; her words were too dangerous.
She couldn't bring them back to the command channel, shouldn't let the young Autobots hear them, and even less did she want the exhausted warriors to hear them.
Optimus Prime can't hear this either. Maybe he'd understand, but he's already carrying too much on his shoulders.
All the machines are tired, and they don't have a suitable place to put down these burdens.
So Alita came here.
The primordial vector lies dormant, like a final, existing boundary.
Alita chuckled softly, but there was no real joy in it: "Right now, I really want to sentence them to death."
She stood there, her shoulders and back straight, as if standing on a defensive line.
The cold light from the hibernation chamber fell on her faceplate, revealing the weariness that had been hidden for too long.
Finally, she whispered, "Don't tell Optimus Prime."
After saying that, she turned and left, leaving only one sentence: "You'd better wake up soon."
She simply had no more patience to wait for the world to get better on its own.
-
A few weeks later, Optimus Prime brought Bumblebee to Crystal City.
Bumblebee's microphone has been repaired; the ambulance driver's exact words on this were:
"You can speak now, but if you use it to provoke Megatron again, I'll show you what medical silence is like."
Bumblebee relayed this to Cliffhanger, who remained silent for two seconds. Then, the partition next to him subconsciously added a comment.
"I think he makes a good point."
Bumblebee complained about this for a long time.
When he entered the Crystal City Medical Tower, the machine looked both excited and trying hard to appear composed, though the effect was far from successful.
Optimus Prime glanced at him but didn't expose him.
The door to the hibernation chamber opened, and the bumblebee walked to the front of the chamber and immediately quieted down.
She wasn't quite what he had imagined.
Chief judges in academic textbooks, historical footage, and judicial central documents always exude a sense of unapproachable clarity.
She has championed college shelter agreements, urban dispute arbitration procedures, non-combat unit protection guidelines, and labor protection legislation.
Her name appears in too many places.
Bumblebee had known for a long time that without these systems, many ordinary machines would never have the opportunity to enter the academy, including himself.
Bumblebee straightened up a bit: "I studied jurisprudence diligently at the college you founded."
He paused for a moment: "At that time, I thought it was profound and complicated, but I understood it a little bit later."
He continued to stare at the gravitational vector inside the hibernation pod, his tone slightly more serious than before: "I told Megatron what you said that day."
I don't know if I've said it well or not.
Optimus Prime, standing beside him, whispered, "You're right."
Bumblebee's optical lens lit up, as if it wanted to say something.
Even the bravest man has moments of fear. The instant Megatron grabbed him, he truly believed he would never speak again.
When he mentioned the vector, he wasn't entirely sure if the statement would be useful.
He had barely uttered two sounds when the sound of something flying over a mountain came from outside the door.
"The ambulance said that if you visit for too long, it will also be considered disobeying medical advice."
Bumblebee turned his head. Overmount stood outside the door, his expression upright, like an innocent messenger.
Bumblebee suspects that he added at least half of that sentence himself.
Optimus Prime said, "Go."
Bumblebee nodded and said before leaving:
"I'll come see you again next time," he said. "I should be able to speak more fluently then."
Hot Rod said smugly from outside the door, "On the condition that you don't mention yourself on the medical desk again."
Bumblebee clenched his fist, and with a flap of his small wings, he left the hibernation chamber.
The footsteps faded into the distance, but Optimus Prime remained.
He stood in front of the hibernation pod, his gaze falling on the silver-gray nameplate on the neck of the gravitational vector.
He knew who left it, but didn't want to ask any more questions.
Some things belong to an old era that they can no longer revisit.
Optimus Prime reached out and accessed the maintenance permissions for the Crystal City medical system.
The outer maintenance layer of the hibernation pod slowly opens.
Her hands rested quietly at her sides.
Optimus Prime paused, making sure he wouldn't disturb a dream he'd been longing for.
Then he reached out and took her hand.
Her palms were cold, quiet, and unresponsive.
Optimus Prime lowered his head and gently placed her hand on his forehead.
He knew this was not a military salute, and he dared not presume to call it a prayer.
He kept his head down and didn't move for a long time.
Outside, he is Optimus Prime—the leader of the Autobots, the one who issues evacuation orders, and the executor of the AllSpark transfer plan.
He wants to tell all the machines where to go, what to hold onto, and what to give up.
He cannot keep looking back, nor can he stop after each loss.
Here, however, he doesn't have to answer every question or decide on the next course of action.
He recounted one story after another, just as he had long ago when he was still Orion.
"The source of the spark has been sent away."
He said, "The last batch of new flames has been preserved."
A pause. "The bumblebee survived."
He lowered his head, holding her hand, feeling that each of those good things was so heavy that he could hardly hold on.
"Would things be different if you were here?"
"If you were here, would I have acted differently?"
He murmured softly, seeking only a little comfort.
Millions of years ago, he thought that if they reformed the system, Cybertron would gradually become a better place.
Back then, the vector would sit behind a pile of files, roll his eyes, and point out that he was too optimistic.
He used to think she was habitually pessimistic at times.
He later learned that she had seen the cracks earlier than he had, and those cracks later became a chasm, eventually turning into a battle line.
"I don't know how to keep them all alive."
Optimus Prime said, "I'm telling you how utterly exhausted I am."
He didn't ask her to wake up; that would be too unreasonable.
But as he gently put her hand back, he still thought about it again in his mind.
Please, come back.
The maintenance layer reassembled.
He straightened up, his mask returning to its usual composed state, and then turned and left.
As he walked out, a new red marker appeared on the battle report outside.
Optimus Prime paused for a moment, then reconnected to the channel, his voice as steady as ever.
"I am here."
-
When 97 arrived in Crystal City, she had already changed her mecha. She had been modified to suit the Decepticon formation.
The purple and dark gray outer armor covered the original structure that bore the marks of individuality, and two long, sharp flight wings were raised high behind the shoulders, as sharp as purple blades. The legs were elongated, and the knee and lower leg armor turned outward into sharp shapes suitable for adjusting flight posture. The arms were narrower and lighter, facilitating high-speed maneuverability.
The outline of her head also became unfamiliar.
The silver-gray mask concealed too many expressions, and the optical lenses were white and red, as if they had been uniformly adjusted.
From a distance, she could easily blend into a squad of Decepticon basic flying soldiers.
Same color, same wings, same silent formation.
She wasn't like this before.
In the past, 97 was easily recognizable no matter where he stood.
She talks a lot. She can complain about everything from the bartender's schedule to customer preferences, from yelling at the boss for making people work overtime to complaining about the wrong temperature of the energy drink. She doesn't talk for much purpose; sometimes she just unconsciously tries to prove that she's still here, alive, and can annoy others with a few words.
Now, after scanning through the Crystal City Neutrality Protocol, the system is asking her to relinquish weapon privileges.
She did as she was told, without complaining or saying another word.
The door opened, and 97 entered the medical tower.
She walked down the corridor, her steps much lighter than before, showing signs of deliberate training.
Jiuqi stood at the door for a while before slowly walking in and standing in front of the cabin.
She thought she would say a lot.
On her way here, she had thought about it—how Qingqiu City was doing now, and how she had joined the Tyrant. She hadn't done it on purpose; she didn't have many choices.
She said she missed her very much.
She said that sometimes she would wonder if the guiding force were awake and would scold her for getting herself into this state, but then she would scold her while trying to find a way to pull her out of this state.
But as she stood there, the processor was completely blank.
She opened her mouth, but in the end only said:
"I'm not very good at chatting anymore."
At first, she would complain and curse, wondering how things had turned out this way.
Later, complaining was useless, and scolding was useless.
Flight training, formation flying, patrols, air traffic control, and battlefield mobilization—one task after another.
Later, she discovered that if she cut off a lot of the words, life would become a little easier.
I used to think you were too nosy.
97 said.
"Schedule, basic energy allowance, temporary overtime, workers' compensation, college quotas, and the very annoying labor protection inspections."
She paused for a moment.
"Sometimes the boss scolds you, saying that the judicial center has nothing better to do than dictate what time we leave work."
Her voice was a little choked up.
"But now, without a receiver tube, a regular machine would really turn into a thing."
She knew that she was now like something—a basic flight unit, something that could be mass-produced and quantified.
It's not like 1997 anymore.
She stared at the gravitational vector inside the hibernation pod, and finally, words broke out of her silence.
"I don't really want to join them."
"But there's nothing we can do."
This is often the fate of ordinary machines.
Without grand pronouncements or shrewd choices, the situation compels her to move forward.
97 raised his head.
"Would you...?"
She stopped. The words, one after another, were too many, all stuck in the airway.
Will you forgive me?
Do you still like me?
Do you think I've become terrible?
Will you wake up?
Finally, she only asked:
"Will you recognize me when you wake up?"
The hibernation chamber was so quiet she couldn't hear anything. Something flashed through her optical glasses, and then she slowly added:
"I might become a little unrecognizable... but don't forget me."
After speaking, she remained silent for a long time before turning and leaving the hibernation chamber.
A squadron of Decepticon pilots is waiting to leave the airspace above Crystal City.
97 walked over and joined the queue.
The purple wings folded, the silver-gray visor lowered, and it blended into the row of similar figures.
It's almost impossible to tell which one it is.
Deep within the medical tower, the vector remained dormant.
However, she did experience some things.