Chapter 143
Chapter 143
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 143
Chapter Title: Chapter 10 Lead and Silver Coins (1)
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‘When was the last time I came out of the connector? Time ratio’s 5:1, so... a week? No, about nine days ago?’
I did log out occasionally while gaming, but Ian was so busy with whatever he was up to that he never showed his face at home. Vex and Cynthia were off running around together having a blast, so they weren’t sticking around the house either. With nothing much to do even if I did come out, I ended up staying logged in for a good long while.
“Heh heh heh... The shelter’s changed quite a bit, hasn’t it?”
“If this is ‘quite a bit,’ I can’t imagine what ‘a lot’ would look like.”
The most eye-catching change: the shelter was bright.
Shelters are usually on the dim side by nature. To save power, we run conservation mode during the day and rely solely on the natural light from the greenhouse protruding from one wall.
But the moment I stepped out of the connector room, everywhere felt wide open and bright.
“The walls... are gone?”
Correction. It wasn’t just the ‘feeling’ of openness—it really was open. The wall right in front of the connector was gone, replaced by a glass corridor. At the end of it was the mid-sized shelter Ian and Vex had been building last time.
“Yup! Originally, Ian and Vex were supposed to live in the new residence, while Cynthia and you stayed in our shelter. But Vex insisted on living here too, so we just connected the two buildings. The side you’re on now is for communal living, and the new one’s used as a warehouse and garage for caravan supplies. The corridor’s made from an ‘N-type greenhouse’ bought off the marketplace—it’s the exact same model as your old one, minus the shape, so it functions perfectly as a greenhouse too. I was thinking of growing potatoes, but the temperature’s starting to drop, so I planted some cabbage and radishes instead.”
“Hmm... Come to think of it, last year we went all-in on high-yield, fast-growing crops relying on the greenhouse performance alone, and it turned into a disaster. Good call. Let’s grow some fall veggies suited to the temperature this time.”
September. Wasteland summer and fall pass by in the blink of an eye, while winter drags on forever, long enough to wear your hands raw from praying for it to end. Spring? Doesn’t exist. The nuclear missiles didn’t just wipe out billions of lives.
Feeling the noticeably cooler air in the shelter, the Professor slipped a spoon into the massive claw the size of an adult’s head, steam rising from within.
Clink, clink.
“Radiation scorpion. Been a while since I’ve had this. I ate all the ones near our place, so they went extinct. You buy it?”
“Oh, Vex and Cynthia caught those far out. Lately, Vex has been putting in a lot of effort to teach the young lady.”
“What kind of lessons is he giving a ten-year-old that end up with a car-sized radiation scorpion as educational byproduct? Don’t kids usually bring home carnations or crayon drawings from school?”
“I don’t know the exact details...”
No good. These guys are hopeless. I’d been relieved Ian wasn’t home, but I didn’t expect Vex to be teaching her something weird.
“Damn it. I’ll check when I get home. For now, hold off. Anything important happen while I was out? Check my messages. There are a few key ones. And bring me the body too, not just the legs. Tastes good since it’s been so long.”
“Yes, sir! Nobody eats them much anyway since they’re so tough, so there’s tons left! Hold on a sec!”
Along with Corduro’s cheerful voice came the sound of the kitchen’s auto-cooker powering up.
“Let’s see... That’s a ton of them.”
The Professor looked at the black flood of messages overwhelming the screen and let out a deep sigh.
Most were probably spam, but there had to be some meant for me in there.
Just sorting through this was going to keep me up all night.
****
“Uwaaa! Done!”
Seven p.m. With Corduro’s help, it finished sooner than expected.
“Why didn’t I think of that? Just filtering for ‘Cult Leader’ / ‘♥’ / ‘Open Recruitment’ wiped out half of them.”
“Looks like you’ve really made it big, sir. This much spam mail.”
“Community folks are always starving for news.”
Clink, clink.
“You’re eating that again?”
“Hm? Gotta have dinner, right?”
“You’ve eaten half a scorpion since breakfast till now. By yourself.”
“Me? Already?”
“Yes! In the afternoon, you said you were craving more and fired up a grill to roast a whole one!”
Did I really eat that much? He wondered, but the pile of scorpion shells next to the drone displaying his personal messages didn’t lie.
“I did eat a lot. Stomach’s not even bloated, though.”
“Maybe... it’s ‘that’? I noticed you were going through more calorie bars than usual while in the connector.”
At Corduro’s words, he casually raised his left hand. An organ utterly unlike a human’s. Terrifying hardness and strength. Output rivaling a hydraulic press—naturally, it’d consume energy to match. And since it’s part of my body, I’d have to supply that energy?
“...Tch. Bring the rest.”
Mulling it over internally, the Professor put the finishing period on the file sorting his personal messages.
======
- Ian: Off to deal with the Dome. Per periodic updates, he’s in the middle of a big deal with ‘Life and Murder’ corp. Return ETA September 5th. It’s 8 p.m. now, so about 34 hours from now.
- Vex: Teaching Cynthia something. Per Corduro’s logs, took a wide variety of firearms from the warehouse and bought a ton more from the Dome on personal funds. Go check and try to stop him if possible.
- Dome / Biotech Dept. & Other Research Depts: 238 messages roughly saying they’re expecting a visit. If I’m heading to the Dome anyway, swing by Biotech. +++ Sudden energy drain? Maintenance cost? Fuel efficiency? Visit ASAP to check. Possible side effect or rejection response.
- Soy Sauce Gaybar / Azel: Long apology re: #1 Room ticket sales. Basically says all proceeds already went into Dome ventures, so no 30% commission cut. Go beat him up and get it back. Also, some Ranker Summit? GG Ranker info exchange & social planned—must attend. Ask there.
- Inspector General: Would appreciate a visit soon. [Attached: Dalmore.jpg] Probably wants booze money. Raccoon bastard.
- Speed Wagon: 40.227.90381. Just that one line. Coordinates? Rendezvous? + Who the hell is this guy?
40th sector’s pretty remote. Gonna meet up.
========
Crunch, smack!
“Hmm, mmm... Think that covers the important stuff.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. Could dig more through the spam, but I’d die if I kept going.”
From ten a.m. to eight p.m., ten hours staring at tiny screen text without moving—his eyeballs felt ready to pop out.
“Eating a whole scorpion in ten hours seems ten times harder, though.”
“Stop highlighting it. Starting to scare me too.”
Even as he wondered internally if this was really okay, his hand kept scraping the last scorpion shell like it was ice cream.
“Hospital first. Gotta figure out why before I can deal with it.”
Gathering the empty shells to toss, the Professor paused, then dumped the rest into the kitchen.
“Sir? What’re you using those for? Radiation scorpion shells are weak, not much use...”
“Deep-fry ’em. Tasty. Breakfast tomorrow.”
He couldn’t explain it himself, but once the food was gone, hunger hit again. Probably needed to sleep early to stop this endless appetite.
****
[05:59]
Tick. Tick. Tick.
[06:00]
Tick—
He bolted up!
Six a.m. Last night, exhaustion like lead eyelids; now, eyes snapped open right on schedule.
[Ughhh, please let me sleep! Can’t you wake up nicely for once? That damn sleep habit of yours woke me up too!]
Hyde’s usual morning scream filling the air. After his entire left arm became Hyde’s domain, the guy slept about as much as he did—being a heavy sleeper, he always griped when the Professor woke early.
“Yawwwn. Yeah, good morning, Hyde. You sleep through gaming sessions too—what’s with the sleepiness? You don’t even move.”
[All my activity without a body is basically brain labor. Hard day’s work tires you out, but all-day reading tires you just as much, got it?]
“That how it works?”
The hazy post-sleep daze, drifting to meaningless thoughts. One of his favorite times. No need to tense up upon waking meant success as a wastelander—and that alone was a small blessing.
Then, amid the crisp morning air, a rustling sound.
‘Light steps, narrow stride. Cynthia? Why’s she up this early?’
Ears perked on the sofa in the dim connector room, he caught sneaky shelter prowling mixed with fabric swish—not soft home cotton, but tough, rugged outdoor gear.
[Heading out? Alone too. No Vex footsteps.]
‘He’s quiet when he wants to be—I might not hear. But if he came home yesterday, he’d know I’m out, and he’s not the type to sneak off without a word... Wait. Did Vex even come home yesterday?’
[Yeah. They came running in all excited, looked for you, saw you sleeping, turned off the lights, and went to bed.]
‘That noisy, and I didn’t wake?’
[Tired, I guess. Slept like the dead—no dreams. Speed Wagon’s right. You need rest.]
‘Hmmm... Gotta confirm at the Dome today for sure.’
[Hey! Talking rest but putting on clothes! Rest, damn it!]
‘Can’t lie in bed till sunrise as a wastelander.’
Slipping on a rough outdoor shirt, lacing boots tight so the walker wouldn’t rattle, the Professor peeked out of the connector room.
Psssh—!
Cynthia, on tiptoes by the shelter exit, startled by the airlock hiss, nearly dropped the huge sack on her back.
Honestly, straight out of a Disney cartoon—kinda cute.
‘No jacket of mine by the airlock... Vex must’ve headed out at dawn too.’
Perfect. If she’d gone with Vex, no amount of stealth would’ve mattered.
“Stealth... Takes me back.”
[Back when? Solo days? Military?]
“Military. Raided other companies’ supply depots whenever ops overlapped—did it at dawn dew too.”
Even taking care, Cynthia couldn’t mask footsteps yet, so tailing her brought back memories.
Slipping through the airlock before it closed, the Professor watched her head not to the main gate but around to the warehouse, grabbing something—and grinned.
[That cart from the warehouse? The big supermarket shopping kind.]
‘One I cut and welded into something several times bigger. There’s smaller ones, but she picked that?’
Huge for a ten-year-old’s frame, but Cynthia dragged the giant cart out the main gate unfazed.
‘Farming run, huh.’
[What else? Kid’s had a hard life—maybe feels responsible for freeloading and playing.]
‘Mmm... Good girl. Gotta follow and give her a reward—’
Grind—!
Eyes wide at the unexpected sight, the Professor forgot to praise her as the manual gate opened, revealing the outside.
‘No way...’
[When’d they gathered this many?]
In the dim dawn light, wastelander folks in practical rags wandered, dismantling old buildings or prying rubble with crowbars.
Clear divide: our shelter’s grimy streets untouched, proswept zones spotless. Circular no-man’s-land around the shelter like an uncrossable line, people beyond it.
‘No way... I said keep safe distance and live your lives, and they settled everywhere except right around us?!’
Clatter, clatter!
While the Professor reeled at the rare 47th sector ‘crowd,’ sweat-drenched Cynthia pushed her huge cart out of the forbidden zone, pulled off her goggles, wiped sweat, and called out brightly.
“Morning, everyone! Good morning!”
Wasteland, scavengers, lively girl.
Odd combo, but contrary to expectations, they greeted back the girl dragging a cart her own height.
“Hey, missy! Good morning!”
“Out helping adults again today? Doing a grown-up’s share at your age!”
“Heh heh heh. Oh, I brought snacks from home today!”
“Snacks?”
“Yeah! Dad said if you have something good, you share!”
“Hot damn! A real stand-up guy still around!”
“Fewer variants than expected too—good call shifting to BDSM territory.”
Warm and friendly. Never thought I’d use that in the wasteland. Dust- and sweat-caked folks cheerfully chatting while munching leftover fried shells.
Of course, the Professor—the supposed creator—was hearing this for the first time.
[Dad? Ain’t you her dad? Wait, Cynthia’s father’s that Luwill colleague of yours, right? Him?]
‘Not me, and definitely not Luwill. He’d hoard good stuff and eat alone—not the sharing type.’
Rustle!
Clueless Cynthia dumped the sack’s contents onto the cart.
“Ta-da! Bet you’re hungry—eat this while you work!”
“Ooo! Thanks!”
“Tell Professor we said thanks for the grub!”
“Ha, well now.”
The Professor fidgeted his knuckles, unsure whether to laugh or rage.
They took the radiation scorpion shell crisps from her sack one by one, then dug into their own bags, adding bits of scrap to her cart.
Rumble—
“That’s... me selling my breakfast?”
Looks like Cynthia had mastered her own survival method.
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