Chapter 103
Chapter 103
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 103
Chapter Title: Chapter 7 Masquerade Ball (19)
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***
“Grrrk! Heuk, ughhh!”
“Damn it all to hell! Hey! Snap out of it! You’re not dead yet, so hang on!”
Ian scooped up Bex’s small frame and rolled hurriedly behind the armored vehicle. The moment Bex saw him, it was as if something inside him had given way—his eyes lost their fire, and he began to crumble.
‘Too late.’
He’d killed countless people, and even more had died by his side. Telling who would live and who would die was simple. Those with tension in their necks, gritting their teeth against the pain and thrashing however they could—they still had fight left in them. But those who went limp, their clear eyes like glass beads trying to convey something to a familiar face...
“S-sorry... I, I...”
“Shut your damn mouth! Save your breath instead of spouting bullshit!”
Pewk! Pew-pew-pew!
As Ian clutched Bex and desperately tried to staunch the hole in his side, enemy bullets rained down behind him. They’d shifted positions during that brief hesitation and zeroed in.
“You fucking bastards...!”
He needed emergency treatment. But not here, where bullets could come flying from anywhere at any time.
Ian dragged Bex into the armored vehicle beside them. Tanks and APCs like this were tough nuts to crack from the outside once you sealed the hatch.
‘Raptor APCs substitute shields with slabs of composite armor. Should buy us some time.’
Tsssh—
He pulled out the hemostatic spray he’d grabbed from the Dome and was about to douse Bex’s side when he felt countless eyes lock onto them.
‘Enemies... no, kids. This is the disposable pilots’ waiting room.’
Tsssh!
Sizzle!
Hemostatic spray. Packed with proteins that foamed up on contact with moisture. It was a stopgap at best, woefully inadequate for Bex’s shredded guts.
“Ooooh. This can’t... no, in the end...!”
An old man at the center of the children rushed to Bex’s side like he was collapsing.
Ian clenched his teeth. The truth he’d been avoiding crashed over him in the form of despair dripping from the old man’s face. Bex was going to die. In minutes. Maybe right now.
“I told you to just go... In a world where the righteous can’t survive! You did enough, but why until it comes to this...!”
Ian quietly approached Bex’s side and knelt on one knee, brushing back the blood- and sweat-matted hair from his forehead.
Seizures wracked him. They’d plugged the external wound, but his insides were a mess. Blood pouring out from within—he must be freezing. Bodies drained of blood got colder than you’d think.
‘Guy who hated the cold.’
---------
‘Anyway, it’ll be warm this time! What about this winter?’
“What kinda nonsense is that, you runt? Winters get longer and harsher every year.”
“Idiot! I lived in a derelict building in Sector 45! Ever smeared yourself in mud to harden it and not freeze to death?”
“You... that broke?”
“Kee-hee! Back then, having too much stuff made me feel guilty! This winter, I’ll hole up in a warm shelter! First Christmas ever, I’ll ask Santa for something different!”
“...What’d you ask for last year?”
“Morning sun! Just one minute earlier!”
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In the end, the guy wouldn’t get his warm winter. He was headed down a long road instead.
‘A world where the righteous struggle to survive.’
A wasteland saying, uttered like a habit. A mantra recited when you had to shave off your conscience to stay alive. Ian could guess why Bex had stayed. The small eyes filling this APC—all but the first moment—had been fixed solely on Bex.
Tremble—
Perhaps sensing his touch, Bex’s eyelids fluttered open with effort.
“...Ri.”
“Bex.”
His timid, foolish, eccentric friend was about to breathe his last.
“Ta... you ta... left the tank...”
“That’s why you should’ve listened. I told you to take the tank and go.”
“Tank’s... too small... can’t fit... everyone...”
Ian gritted his teeth and looked up. Just one more death among the countless that had brushed his life. A death he’d never forget, one that would bury him alive unless he ran on the edge forever.
To save these kids. That’s what Bex had done. Even when it turned hopeless, he hadn’t given up, facing down the closing enemies until he ended up like this.
“...No wonder. Way more shells missed than luck could explain. Fewer hits than the tank count warranted.”
The corpses outside. Infantry, sure, but plenty of tank crew too. Fewer tank operators meant lighter bombardment—only natural.
‘Owe him one. On top of everything else he’s given.’
Ian cupped Bex’s face with one hand and slipped the other into his jacket. The old soldier knew exactly what that meant.
The limping veteran crawled over on his knees and clung to Ian’s clothes.
“S-sir! What are you—!”
“Only two of us left in the world. Gotta give him a proper send-off.”
He’d seen it clearly with his own eyes. The Type-3 variant, lost in memories of grief. Ian had no intention of letting his friend end up like that.
“He’s... he’s still alive! If we can just start this APC and make it to the Dome, there are doctors! You’re from the Dome, right?”
Ian unbuckled the holster pressed right above his heart—the leather pouch holding his wife’s keepsake, which he carried 24/7. A Derringer smaller than his palm. One day, when he couldn’t endure anymore, maybe ending it with this gun still warm from her touch would let him join her.
‘Tell her I’m your friend. She’ll take care of you. Sweet girl like that.’
The guy had lived almost his whole life alone. No way Ian would leave him solitary in death too.
Doctors. If Woojin were here, would it be different? That doctor who’d saved a man with half his face blown off—maybe...
It felt like fire rained from his eyes. He’d send Bex off painlessly. Then shred every piece of trash responsible until even the best undertaker couldn’t patch them up!
The gun, warm as his body heat, slid from his jacket.
In that instant,
Slip—
Perhaps from the frail old man desperately clinging, something tumbled from his holster.
A tiny ampule, two fingers wide. One he’d completely forgotten. Could shatter on the floor...
Snatch!
Hope.
“God almighty...”
God.
A being he’d cursed his whole life. Probably lived forever to soak up every survivor’s hate. Curses extended life, after all. Ian figured he’d contributed plenty.
But apparently, the bastard existed. Miracles like this didn’t happen otherwise.
Ian’s trembling hands fumbled into his jacket unbidden. There. The injector. Stored with the ampule, another forgotten gift from old man Woojin.
“Fuck you, God!”
No thanks given. Too much taken for gratitude.
So this—this had to be God’s payback gift.
In his hand was the treasure Woojin had given them long ago in Sector 43, begging them to save the professor. Said to drag back souls from death’s door.
Revival Kit.
***
“Gods... that’s...! To think it still exists in this world!”
Hearing the old man’s stunned voice, Ian wasted no time jabbing the ampule full of opaque purple fluid right above Bex’s heart.
Pffft!
The injector’s distinctive hiss, and the mystery drug flooded into Bex’s body in an instant.
‘Not guaranteed to save him.’
Called a miracle drug on the battlefield, water from the Pool of Siloam—hyperbole for a manmade concoction. Narcotic painkillers, hematopoietic cells, and a mishmash of cutting-edge biotech. But making someone with guts shredded by a large-caliber round jump up? That was beyond science.
‘Bought us time, though.’
Never used it himself, but he’d heard the rumors. A soldier gut-shot by a 7.62mm through kidney or liver, minutes from death—took one Revival Kit hit and walked back to base under his own power for two hours. Too absurd to dismiss, especially with that guy belting hymns nonstop a month later.
The effects were immediate. The seizure-racked body calmed, breathing steadied, heart pounding like a horse’s, shaking his frame. Narcotics at work. Revival Kit clinging to life. Exact duration unknown, but like that soldier—two hours at least.
“This can’t be... impossible—urk!”
Ian grabbed the old man shaking his head by the collar. No time. Had to get Bex to a doctor while the drug held, even a minute sooner.
“Situation report. Now!”
Instead of rebuking him, the veteran gave a terse summary to the freakish half-metal-faced man.
“Tried to save the kids. Ronnie took the tank up front, I drove the rear APC to escape. But unlike the tank, the APC wouldn’t start. Tried everything I knew—dead as a doornail!”
His eyes scanned the driver’s panel in sequence. Not random; he knew his stuff.
“You. Raptor tanker?”
“Was! I know it. Looks analog, but biometric locks! My old service code, emergency crew shared code—nothing!”
Ian’s face soured at the old man’s machine-gun explanation. Tanks had disposables cycling through, so locks stayed off. APCs were different. That’s why he’d told them to take the tank. But even emergency overrides blocked...
“Noize Pack... Their electronic warfare unit’s on it tight. Someone cut access remotely before you could roll, knowing the vehicles might get captured.”
Bex must’ve tried buying time inside with the kids aboard as enemies closed in, while the old man struggled with startup. Ended up like this.
“...Goddamn it. Nothing’s ever easy in this world.”
No time to hesitate, no intention to. Better to die than rack up more regrets—he’d sworn that.
“Out.”
“No time for this! If that’s the drug I think it is, don’t waste it on this junk heap—take the tank and evac now!”
“Get out!”
Ian shoved the old man aside from the driver’s seat, determined to get Bex to the tank somehow.
Driver’s seat corner. Blinking green cursor screen, biometric scanner for wrist.
Ian pressed his wrist to the scanner without pause.
Beep. Beep-beep—
It read his code, cross-referencing the database.
Normal startup impossible. Noize Pack had locked the system; only their nerd codes could unlock it. No one else could fire it up.
Except one.
Beep!
Red light flashed, verifying him—then green, hard letters greeting his return without a curve.
[Code verified. Welcome, Ian Desmond.]
“Yeah. Good to see you too. Not thrilled about reuniting with an old flame, though.”
Rumble-rumble-rumble—
Groooar!
Hit the starter post-login, and the APC roared to life with powerful engine growls.
The old man watching from behind jolted like struck by lightning at the green light, scrutinized the screen, then collapsed.
“I-I-I-Ian Des-Desmond? The trai—”
“Enough, old timer. Old folks live for reminiscing, but spare a thought for the listener.”
“Th-the real Ashfield? You’re—”
Boom!
“Up front, switch with that kid—Ronnie or Coleman or whatever. To outrun me, you need at least a vet’s skills.”
Ian brusquely cut him off, yanked the levers to rev RPMs, prepped for departure.
Clang!
Scraaaape!
Something hit, rocking the APC—but that was it. Solid from the outside, tracks fully plated. No tank-grade firepower or AT weapons would dent it easy.
‘Tanks everywhere, so they skimped on AT firepower. Exosuits weak to mass impact—more large-cal rounds than explosives. Time before proper anti-APC gear arrives.’
Once they broke formation, shelling like on entry, but he’d handled combat vehicles; APC was cake. He’d manage.
Brief lull waiting for the lead tank to pull out. Head cooling slightly, Ian groped panels amid faint smoke-like memories.
Years passed, rarely drove APCs, but this he remembered clear. Lid under the wheel at knee height—cigarette lighter jack, next an ashtray. Pushed—Raptor scale-pattern cigar box.
Click!
Scraaatch—
Raptor Nest, 80% military, city of nicotine-addicted roughnecks. Made killer smokes.
That long-forgotten harsh tobacco scent.
“Yeah. Goddamn past caught up right under my chin.”
Rooooar!
Watching the tank ahead move, Ian floored the APC’s iron accelerator.
Glancing at Bex, surrounded by kids, gasping—Ian’s eyes filled with something. Rage? Sorrow? Madness? All of it, creeping in.
“You gave me back my old name—now pay the price! You reptile shits!”
Eyes gleaming maniacally as he drove, new text appeared on the peacefully blinking green screen beside him.
[Noize Pack. Admin login attempt detected. Denied. Superior authority request.]
Noize Pack oversaw all Raptor electronic gear—scarce as it was.
Only one group outranked them in Raptor.
In case of Noize Pack betrayal, the five top execs could vote to revoke their electronic access entirely.
Beep-boop—
[Swarm Alpha logging in]
Ian Desmond—devil who fed on ashes, legendary founding member of Raptor—finally emerged after long years in hiding.
***
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