Chapter 165
Chapter 165
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 165
Chapter Title: Chapter 10: Lead and Silver Coins (19)
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After pulling an all-nighter staring wide-eyed into the darkness, the next day.
Feeling like I had to do something, I came down to the first floor and was in the middle of eating.
Everyone was blankly shoveling soup into their mouths when kids outside passed by, shouting at the top of their lungs.
“Extra! Extra! Mass escape from the serf farm! Vanished without leaving a speck of dust! Only 30 shillings—!”
Ian, who had been uncharacteristically jiggling his leg, quickly called out to one of them.
“Hey, kid! I’ll give you a whole loaf of bread if you come over and tell us the details!”
Thud thud thud—
“Not a kid, I’m a newsboy! Sorry, sir, but us Super Newsboys operate on a fixed price. We can’t share the news unless you pay. 30 shillings if you’d like to subscribe!”
“...This is real bread worth over 150 shillings?”
“Oh, tips are always welcome, of course. Add a tip, and I’ll throw in the latest rumors and gossip with the news. Heh heh!”
Ian waved the bread, and the boy swallowed hard, rubbing his hands together.
It seemed like a sort of morning paper, but since paper was expensive, they had the kids memorize the content and deliver it verbally instead. Even in the same Dome, distances and years of isolation had bred different cultures.
I wanted to forget those horrific, indescribable sensations from last night, so without hesitation, I handed the boy scraps worth 30 shillings and a hefty loaf of bread.
He pocketed the money and, glancing at the other kids behind him, shoved the bread into his mouth in one go.
The news that came out amid his chewing was shocking.
“Mm, mmph, thash wha’, mmph, mm—”
“Water here.”
“—Pwah! Thank you, sir! Best to stash the bread in the chow trough before it gets snatched. A-anyway, everyone knows about the weird noises around the Dome last night, right?”
“No one could miss it. The noise was grating enough to wake the dead.”
“Spot on, big sir. Every kid wet themselves that night, and the boss chewed us out for it. Anyway, after that terrifying night passed, they checked, and not only the serfs from the farm but the snipers in the watchtowers, the overseers—everyone was gone. There were marks like giant monsters left behind, traces of rat swarms passing through, oh, mostly human footprints, though.”
With that, the boy pulled out a few roughly sketched drawings from his pocket. A shattered shelter, messy shoeprints, trampled plants and broken greenhouse modules everywhere, and massive claw marks.
The group exchanged glances upon seeing the farm sector sketches.
It was him.
The one who turned all of Zone 40 into a graveyard of distress signals.
The claw variant had joined the nighttime commotion too.
“Anyway, it looked like a brawl broke out, but... for so many victims, there wasn’t much blood, they say. The Surveillance Bureau was raging this morning, announcing it’s ‘terrorism by external forces aiming to eradicate the Dome’s self-sufficiency, and to counter the ongoing terror, they’re forming a [Special Vigilante Squad] and collecting [voluntary donations] for it.’ Oh, outsiders like your caravan might not know, but their [voluntary donations] mean if you don’t pay, you’re choosing to be voluntarily exiled from the Dome. Hand it over or die, basically. Bunch of thugs. No word yet on the terrorists’ identity. Weird, right? So many people vanish without a trace, and no one saw a thing.”
That’s the news, the boy said, leaning closer to the group’s table and whispering so others couldn’t hear.
“This is the tip service. Don’t know who the terrorists are, but we’ve got a rough idea what happened.”
“You figured it out? You kids?”
“Eh, thanks to some bad luck. The boss was pissed from no sleep and yelled, ‘Go find out which bastard’s making that racket!’ So a few of our boys got sent outside the city shield.”
The boy lowered his voice, creating an eerie atmosphere. He really knew how to hook listeners, but suddenly Ian frowned and cut him off.
“...Kid. From what I know, Zone 38’s city shield is maxed out, blocking all physical and chemical entry. Only the main gate with decon works. Dome bans civilian exit at night. Radiation too—how’d you go out?”
“Eh... you know that much? That’s kinda pricey...”
Instead of answering Ian’s doubt, the boy rubbed his hands expectantly. The Professor silently tossed another loaf, and the boy crammed it into his grubby vest before speaking.
“Jeez. This is really not supposed to be said... You won’t tell anyone, right?”
“Want the bread back?”
“Yessir! There’s a rat hole.”
“Rat hole?”
“Don’t ask how it works, seriously. Smugglers layered mini-shields to make it, but they got nabbed, so now it’s free. Anyway, radiation-block goo... y’know, slime from rat-snails or hole-digger roaches. Filthy and dusty, but killer against rads. Slather it on and go out...”
“Gah, you’re killing me! So, you went out?”
“Eek! Truth is, we couldn’t. While we watched, the guy who opened the hole’s mini-shield... just collapsed.”
Two steps. The boy held up fingers.
“Two steps and down. One panicked boy ran over—collapsed too. Big bro realized something wrong, ditched them, shut the hole, and bolted the other way. Watched from a distant rooftop. They started shaking. Foaming at the mouth, screaming, clawing the walls till nails ripped off... Then, they turned. The one past the hole staggered off. The ones inside, after shutting it, ran around till shot dead by someone. That’s it. Boss says maybe elites botched an experiment, or Administration’s screwing Surveillance Bureau since they’re on the outs. That’s all I know. Want more? Pay another newsboy for other scoops!”
With a sloppy salute, the boy dashed out without looking back. Moments later, “Extra~” echoed from the alley.
Silence fell over the group once the boy vanished.
“—Haaaaah.”
The emerging picture made a sigh escape me.
No idea who thought of it, but a fantastic combo.
Probably—W, who can go anywhere without spatial limits.
And the ‘box,’ forcing wide-area mutation on unknown range, though range unknown.
In game terms, a cheat char spamming no-CD teleport and ult. No clue how to counter it.
“...Honestly, I’m scared shitless. Fuck. If it’s a building-sized monster, sure, gun, bomb, chainsaw, whatever. But this ghost bastard? Can’t imagine killing it.”
Ian Desmond, charisma of the Raptor who’d killed four figures directly/indirectly, was spooked.
“Don’t be ashamed, Jo. I was kinda freaked last night too.”
Bex, who soloed a squad of Executioners in an alley with just a knife back in Zone 47, admitted to wetting himself.
“...Shouldn’t we rethink the plan? Small team has limits! This is insane! I’m out!”
Ezel Rayden, Surveillance Bureau elite vet, panicked.
A true monster. Estimated foes: cheat combo of teleport + AoE infection W, and Type 3 claw buddy. Maybe more from Artists’ Union, or adapters from the instant hundreds mutated.
Days of combat fatigue. Tension unrelieved in enemy turf. Impossible foe. Dizzy. Brain mush, no idea what to do, just wanna go home.
[Then go.]
A clear voice pierced my foggy mind.
[What a mess? Been gone a bit, and this much backlog? Ugh, filthy. Organize it, shell. Not like you to panic.]
Voice once hated, now welcomed.
‘Hyde!’
[Oh ho? Glad to see me? Should’ve dipped out sooner.]
Relief hit, then W’s words surfaced.
‘I’m different. My left arm, in a way unlike yours...’
‘Details? Ask the one inside.’
No need to ask. Sharing consciousness, Hyde got it from memory alone.
Pictured him stamping, growling in my head.
[That meddlesome prick. Next time, lecture on privacy.]
‘So his words true? You’re blocking the mutation virus spread?’
[...Dunno. Told you before. Always sleepy. Thought it was more bodies taxing me. Like newborns sleep lots—processing real senses fatigues consciousness.]
Hyde’s left hand grabbed table bread, crumbling it finely. Looked anxious.
[Now... yeah. Definitely blocking something. Like Santiago steering a skiff in storm. Not deliberate. Hmm... dunno. Even now, hard to tell if I’m the mutation virus or it’s me. Anyway, seems I’m a wrench in their mutation gears.]
In that dim space, he gathered something, then flopped down.
[Could discuss. But our problem ain’t solo.]
‘Yeah...’
[Then I’ll clear some fog. Roll that big brain for answers. Virus rampage quieted post-last night oddly. I’ll advise.]
Ssshh, sssh—
Jumbled head info stacked neatly in Hyde’s hands. Tilt thought, highlights glow, web of linked memories flow. Familiar yet alien sensation.
‘...Mental Fragility bonus?’
[Learn it, use it. I don’t forget. Watched you loop it inside, picked it up. Handy? Advice limited—can’t keep up with your skull. Best I got. Disappointed? I’ll cry.]
Disappointed? No way.
Condition tanked to rust levels, brain jammed.
Hyde’s tidy consciousness enabled flexible thinking despite fatigue.
First, core goal. What to aim for?
Thought it, keywords rained bright white.
[Commissioner’s Request], [Caravan-Imports], [World Crisis], [Dana Elisha Hyacinth - Speed Wagon]
Bloated with fat.
‘All junk.’
Commissioner? Dying anyway, no time. Money? Don’t care if it’s all forfeit. World? Fuck off. Why’s this a goal?
Slashed all. Stubborn [Dana] taken by Hyde from shadows.
‘Fun while I was gone.’
[Tsk—focus.]
‘Just FYI. Your head, no lies. Speed Wagon. Debt beyond past favors incoming.’
Fuuu. Focus. Saw Hyde pin Dana’s name prominent with white star, ignored with superhuman will.
‘No lies here.’
Final goal surfaced easy. Top priority from start.
Ssshh—
[Survival]
Bottom depths, cursive script rose. Back to basics.
Survival. Caravan endures.
Flee? Short-term win. Escape to 47, live months, maybe years.
Ssshh—
[Precisely: prolong, protect.]
W chat recalled.
‘Their goal: multiply Type 3s, adapters, recruit. Don’t care dead count.’
[Human? Or mutant?]
[...Remember that silence.]
Correction. Not total apathy.
One night, massacred hundreds in 38 farm outskirts—no hesitation proven. If could, teleport everywhere, blast murder jukebox nonstop.
Why not? Can’t.
Ssshh—
[Distress Signals Logged. Coordinates.... Checkpoints....]
Never mass-slaughtered first. Zone 40 fringes, 2-3 man survivor groups. Repeated tests on smalls despite big scavs nearby.
‘...Tests?’
Ssshh—
Fresh thought sparked. If tests?
‘Administration called [unfinished impossible tech]. Unusable normally. Someone completed it. Zone 40 + last night slaughters. Long gap suggests heavy maintenance post-use.’
Ssshh—
[Handler]
‘Technician completes, maintains mutation device.’
‘Time them? W tours world with perfected box. Comes for me—interested in my [value]. My changed arm screams adapter potential.’
‘Can’t just flee survive. Destroy box, or kill presumed handler.’
Thoughts stacked, goal sharpened.
Goal: [Sustainable Survival via Box/Handler Elimination]
Clarity bred courage. More real than infinite-tele ghost monster.
Next steps quick.
Sssh—
+ Time Attack. Delay = completion. More time, stronger foe. Strike 1 sec faster best.
+ Uses sound, frequency, wavelength-ish. Shields block influence.
+ Dana’s shelter only shielded air-entry spots. Nearby box play? Influence seeps via concrete, lead blocks—
Riiip—!
‘Hey, Hyde! Bug! Weird footnotes keep popping!’
[Hmm hmm~♪ Can’t fool the sky or self~]
‘Th-this!’
Flushed Professor fled to surface. Figured out plan, eager to move.
[Kee hee hee. Funner by minute. Picked good shell... Hm?]
Hyde smirked watching, new branch info popped.
[Survival - Hyde]
[Box influence suppressed Hyde’s sleepiness. Leverage? Block strain, inhibit mutation? Is destroying box only...]
[Whoa!]
Riiip!
Hyde yanked new info, balled shreds, dunked in ‘Unconscious’ bin like pro.
[No brakes on good momentum.]
Looked up: Professor fervently briefing group.
[...Cute.]
Flop!
Hyde crashed on sofa amid dangling info-mobiles in dark.
Ssshh—
[Allies. Must find.]
[Smash box = pissed W kills us]
[47 Zone aid req. Surveillance-held radio tower?]
[Techie. Not civ, real.]
[...Relentless thinker.]
Lounging, Hyde tagged rising thoughts, hung them neatly. Swimming memories nice, but live best.
[Born streamer, streamer.]
Hyde’s cackle echoed in black void.
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