Chapter 169
Chapter 169
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Lead and Silver Coins (23)
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Clunk. Rattle!
“Ugh, it’s hot. My hands are numb. Ezel, you okay? Didn’t get hurt anywhere? It was a rush job, so it didn’t seal completely...”
“Mmph, mmph?”
“Of course I opened it so you can breathe. Don’t let your guard down. There might be enemies outside the steam blast radius who still have their combat ability.”
“Pha!”
At first, Ezel had wondered what the hell they were doing, but the moment he heard the distinctive sound of the plasma grenade followed by dozens of screams erupting at once, he flattened himself to the floor and clamped his mouth shut.
...Gulp.
When he opened his mouth, hot air rushed in. The sprinklers were still spraying from the ceiling, yet the air hadn’t cooled. Ezel shuddered as he vaguely grasped just how much the atmosphere had heated up in an instant.
“That was it, right? The thing from the manual?”
“Yeah. Not sure if it’s the same manual you saw, but probably. One of the absolute no-nos when using plasma weapons.”
He’d seen it back when preparing for the inspector exam, and gotten the training again after passing and joining the Inspection Division.
‘In rain, or environments with water nearby, when using plasma-based high-heat equipment, always! Maintain a safety distance at least ten times the normal hazard radius.’
Along with that lesson, they’d shown real accident footage.
An agent who’d sprayed water to cool an overheated exosuit laser cannon and suffered steam burns.
An agent who’d swung a plasma cutter, sliced into a water cooler, and gone blind from the gushing steam.
An agent who’d tossed a plasma grenade into a puddle and had their skin melt into goo from the blast.
He’d known such things existed, but the idea of using it against enemies had never crossed his mind.
“No way... You set off the fire alarm for this?”
“Nah? Back then, I just thought the turret would shred us if we left it. That thing’s a monster. Fires nearly 8,000 rounds of 7.62mm a minute. If it sweeps over you, it doesn’t just punch holes—it cuts people in half. You gonna come up with a plan with that thing glaring at you?”
“So this is—”
“Improvising. We’re screwed. What do we have? What’s the situation? What’s the environment? Think about those three, and solutions pop up fast.”
Chatting casually like they were out for a stroll, Professor pressed his ear to the wall with sharp eyes. Ezel realized he was pretending to relax to lure any survivors among the fallen enemies.
Dragging his feet to muffle his steps in the water, Professor lifted the sheet metal he’d used to block the heat blast.
Click, click-click.
[Me, secure, you, shoot]
Assigning roles with quick hand signals, Professor confirmed Ezel raising his rifle and thrust himself through the breached bulkhead.
Bang! Rat-tat-tat!
“15 meters, under the bodies! Sweep ‘em!”
The moment bullets ricocheted off the metal, Ezel rolled behind Professor and unleashed his electromagnetic rifle at the enemies writhing on the floor.
Brat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
Pew-pew-pew, thump, pew-pew!
Amid the quiet pops of the electromagnetic rifle—like popping corn—their trembling groans and cries of family names faded into silence one by one.
He spotted an enemy aiming a gun, but Ezel couldn’t release the trigger.
Skin melting, lungs cooking with every breath. All he could think was to put them down.
“Hey, hey, stop, stop!”
Brat-tat-tat—click! Click-click!
“Just confirmation kills! Like the manual, like we trained! They’re the enemy! They could get up and shoot us like before!”
“You...”
Finally emptying the magazine, Ezel slumped against the wall, exhausted.
He opened and closed his mouth, struggling for words, then let tears speak for him.
“...Professor.”
“Yeah.”
“Were these people... really our enemies?”
Dropping the empty rifle, Ezel looked down at his arms, scratched and scarred.
Traces left by the Inspection agent he’d strangled in the auxiliary control room, fighting desperately. As that throbbing life faded from his fingertips, Ezel had glimpsed the name tag.
[Inspection Division – Larry Fossey]
He was an Inspection agent too. Just like Ezel. He must’ve had his own sense of justice. Maybe he believed scraping every credit was truly saving Dome 38, that someone had to do the dirty work.
“Is it right that we... for the sake of resolving this crisis... kill all these people just to make one call?”
“...”
Ezel looked on the verge of breaking. Come to think of it, he’d been off since arriving in District 38. That perpetual crooked smile gone, moods swinging from silent to chatty. He’d killed before. But he’d soothed the guilt with “for justice.” Seeing District 38’s Third Branch operate on clashing ideals had shaken that foundation.
He wasn’t weak; he wouldn’t bail. Just needed reassurance amid the confusion.
“...Right or wrong? We steamed and shot people.”
But instead of the answer he wanted, Professor dumped the burden of the Dome’s collective sins onto him.
“Justice in killing? Think the man upstairs won’t count it if it’s ‘just’? Bullshit. You kill, you’re a murderer. Not about right or wrong—just killed ‘em.”
Ezel’s face twisted in disbelief.
Classic Dome dweller: living in the old city’s comforts, clinging to old values, with the luxury to justify every action.
Wastelanders shed such doubts long ago. Why? They’d cheered while clutching the spoils of their first kill. Those who couldn’t cope died out.
“Th-then why... did they die?”
“They shot at me. Those bastards.”
Professor tried to live decently, but this was clear. Good or evil aside, anyone trying to kill him had to die.
“Sigh. This is why working with Dome kids is exhausting.”
Muttering about bringing him along, Professor leaned beside him. What could he do? Managing party morale was the leader’s job.
Patting his arm, Professor pointed down the corridor littered with corpses. Blood mixed with pooled water, staining everything red.
“How’s it look? Like hell?”
“...”
*Nod*
“No one forced this on us. I steamed ‘em, you finished ‘em. Own it. We’re headline-grabbing psycho killers and mass shooters by old-world standards. But! You’re forgetting a key fact.”
“Forgot... what?”
“When I first burst in here, all I did was charge down the hall like a maniac. How’d they react?”
Professor’s question brought the memory rushing back, feeling ancient despite mere minutes ago. Professor smashing the vent and yelling to run. Ezel following in a daze. Then...
‘Intruder! Kill him!’
‘No mercy! Only one needs to survive!’
The Inspection agents hadn’t hesitated to fire. Despite chances to subdue barehanded.
Crucially, it didn’t feel wrong. If two intruders rushed the chief’s office in District 47’s Inspection HQ?
Ezel himself would draw first.
“See? Not so hard.”
“...Yeah. We shot, so they died.”
“Social contract on how people treat people. Old days: catch intruders, hand to cops. Now: chop the head off anyone invading your turf and mount it on the gate. Saw this in community: [At least in our generation, anyone heaven-bound is already there. The rest are queuing for hell tickets.] No one survives without a kill, so heaven’s sold out for us.”
“...Deep. Who said that?”
“Someone you know. ‘Take a Look.’”
Pfft!
Ezel, blank-faced till now, snorted in shock.
“‘Take a Look’? That guy? The one I know?”
“Yeah, him. Seems like a lazy bum, but every survivor’s wrestled those thoughts.”
“...Damn. Outdone by that idiot. Feels like I got treated like a kid.”
Once he started talking, Ezel reverted to normal. Chuckling amid the hellscape, something clicked.
Seeing his face brighten, Professor felt guilty.
He’d dismissed a young man’s pure ideals and murder guilt with cheap wasteland rationale. Corrupted one of the era’s few truly good souls?
‘But what can you do? At that level, he’s practically an angel in this age—and angels go straight to heaven.’
Whether self-made or not, those clinging to purity all left. Professor wouldn’t let a rare friend go like that.
“Don’t go on mindless killing sprees though. Some guilt-ridden types like you turned killer to cope. Can’t explain it rationally, but... when instinct screams no, at least hesitate.”
“Enough already. People’ll think you’re Mom.”
“Heh heh. Not Mom, but bro? I’m 24. Say it: Professor bro~”
“Argh, fuck! Cut the crap and get up! Think the kids downstairs are fine, slacking like this?”
“Hmm. By my vast experience, we dragged most here and killed ‘em, so those two downstairs might be napping.”
Convinced, Ezel ripped off his name tag, tossed it, and strode through the blood-water, splashing.
No idea what that meant, but his good heart had meshed perfectly with wasteland self-justification.
‘...Father in heaven. Sorry, but you’ve got plenty. Lend us one. If you’re sitting it out, we gotta rebuild ourselves—and we need guys like him.’
Finishing a quiet prayer, Professor hopped over corpses to catch up.
“Brat. Looking cute today. Say bro~”
“Fuck, I’ll shoot! Kill you guilt-free!”
Professor teased with laughs; Ezel spazzed in protest.
“...Bro.”
“Hm? What? Haha, guess 365 extra days make my ears go. Can’t hear shit?”
“@#*(#(*@^!!!”
Thanks, bro...
Odd sentiment mid-enemy base, but Professor swelled with pride. Well done.
Yeah. Simple: do what feels right, skip what doesn’t. Conscience still sharp, apparently.
Ended up counseling the newbie, but it lightened his mood too.
[....So that’s how it happens.]
Hyde, quietly watching from within, neatly packaged the memory, hung it in his dark space, and grinned.
****
Mission accomplished, Ezel’s shattered morale taped up with “Wasteland Life” duct tape. Time to move.
“Hey. Took you long enough? Everything go smooth? Sounded rowdy up there.”
Downstairs, Ian and Bex sheltered under a wooden table from sprinklers, surrounded by neatly decapitated, burst-open corpses—like upstairs.
Ezel stared blankly at the severed necks.
“Still bugging you?”
“...Kinda? Wondering if I overthought it.”
“Hm? Hey, Professor. What’s that mean?”
“Oh, nothing. Our Ezel popped a few upstairs, got all sad about it.”
.
.
.
.
.
Bex gawked like it was unheard of.
Ian’s face twisted in some indescribable absurdity.
Crawling from under the table, they approached Ezel with weird looks...
Pfft!
“Puhahaha! Ack, hah! Cough! Hahahahaha! Oh man! Ezel, for real? Ezel Leyden of the Inspection Division—pro mass-murder machine—seriously?!”
Ian slapped Ezel’s shoulder with his pot-lid hand, howling.
Ezel mumbled in embarrassment amid the tower-shaking laughter, but Ian ignored him, alternating grins at Professor and Ezel.
“Oh man. Yeah, someone’s gotta be the team cherry boy. Professor’s got a mate now, so you’re Cherry- from here on. Better than Homo-zel, right? Cherry-zel! Congrats on the promotion! Cherry—pfft—zel!”
Unable to hold it, Ian twitched his lip and burst again; Bex pounded his arm laughing.
“Least we didn’t come away empty-handed up there. So, Professor. Besides evolving Homo-zel to Cherry-zel, any other wins?”
“Plenty.”
Recalling the chief’s brief chat. Reinforcements: expected given the crisis.
As always, the real message hid behind the words.
‘Shit’s hit the fan. He knew transport stalled when I radioed amid the chaos. Stayed quiet then. But when I said the box was complete and in Happy Blind’s hands, that’s when he said it was fucked. What went off-script? Completion? Or Happy Blind getting it?’
Another red flag: first question on contact.
[Where are you now?]
Asked twice in a short call. With wide-area jamming up, only the radio tower could reach from 38 to 47—yet he asked twice.
‘...Means he’s got other ways to contact besides the tower. Who’s he in bed with?’
Think, brain, think. Almost there. What’s missing?
Benefiting the chief: Orpheus Project box to zealots gains nothing, so assume he planned completion. (How he knew from 47? Whatever, assume.) Waited for it.
Happy Blind off the suspect list: their goal is old humanity’s end, diametrically opposed to Domes.
Final group with the box: Admin pulled incomplete box, Inspection seized it, then wrecked East Wing...
‘Enforcement?’
If they were set to collab with BDSM locally? But he confirmed I contacted via tower solo, not pre-set ally channel?
[....Goddamn. Totally fucked.]
‘There. That’s where the chief’s big picture shattered. Plan was: somehow complete box goes to Enforcement, we grab it, return to 47. But root plan collapsed, Artist Union butts in, chaos five minutes to midnight!’
Chief heard, sent all remaining forces no questions.
Old plan trashed, so seize by force.
“...Let’s bail District 38 fast. If the main Inspection force from the farms returns, won’t be this easy.”
“Where to?”
“36. Link with 47’s troops, smash Happy Blind.”
“....Time’s up for their schemes. I like it.”
Ian grinned, pulled a cig—tossed the soaked thing with a curse.
District 38 crisis’s end in sight, but the dragged-by-strings feeling lingered.
Chief’s plan collapsed. But with events ongoing, who grabbed the wheel of this wreck?
And the justice-obsessed Enforcement ditched the chief—closest to their justice—and went rogue?
‘...We’ll know when we meet the box.’
Groundless hunch, but Professor felt it.
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