Chapter 172
Chapter 172
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Lead and Silver Coins (26)
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October 23rd. AM 06:00 / Administrative Garage Front.
“Uh.... The chassis is wrapped in non-penetrating material used for tank upper plates. The wheels are replaced with soft high-elasticity metal tires to prevent punctures, and the vehicle shields, which used to be mobile shields, have been upgraded to about level 2 performance and built-in, and the automated turret also....”
“....Does this thing even roll?”
“Of course, acceleration and top speed are down by about 30%, but against snipers using titanium-coated ferromagnetic rounds, this level of preparation is....”
“Then, leave the modifications done by the administration as is.... And rip off all the parts that idiot Ian slapped on everywhere.”
“That’s ridiculous! With Type 2s swarming like in a B-grade zombie flick, you want to remove the front crusher? Haven’t you even seen a movie! No way! You’re turning my blood, sweat, and tears masterpiece Devasteitor into a goddamn turtle!”
“That turtle of yours is 20% faster than that post-apoc concept car you made, you bastard! We’re leaving in 30 minutes, so strip it all off by then!”
October 23rd. AM 7:00 / Zone 38 Dome Entrance
“P-Professor.... Th-there, on that mushroom rock. That shiny thing. No way it’s what I think it is, right?”
“Yeah. Looks like scope glare all over. Those bastards have no intention of hiding. The vehicle noise will draw the mutants anyway and block the road, so they’re planning to unilaterally shred our slow-crawling truck like grubs. They’re thinking of dragging it into a sticky war of attrition. When our vehicle batteries run out, we lose. If we minimize power consumption and link up with reinforcements, we win. How many mutants stick to us will decide victory or defeat.”
“Kehehehe. See? Good thing I kept the crusher parts on.”
“Damn your stubborn shit. I wash my hands of it. If the battery dies first because of that, deal with it yourself.”
October 23rd. AM 11:00
Pang—Kwachik!
“Hit! Vehicle 2! It’s leaking fuel! Fuel tank’s hit!”
“Damn tank plating, why’s it piercing so easily! Put on your mask and floor it somehow! We have to make it to the valley in Zone 37! If we lose even one of these two trucks here, our breakthrough power weakens and we’re all dead!”
“Those goddamn sniper bastards....!”
“Don’t go out! Hey, Ian!”
“Wait! Those guys have to avoid mutants too, so their sniper spots are limited! If we just take out that high ground....!”
Shuuuwaaak!
Kuuung! Kurururu...
“Sto-stopped! Got the sniper!”
“Now’s our chance! Shields down, bubble up! Push with the crusher vehicle and gun it full speed!”
“Causing a shitstorm right from the start.... Cover the sides yourself! Go!”
October 25th. PM 2:00
“Graaaah!”
“Gueeeh! Gyaaaahh—Urk!”
“....Don’t even breathe.”
“....So cold. I wanna go home.”
“Me too. Now just seeing something sparkle nearby makes my heart jump out.”
“Stinky bastards. We herded past a hundred Mglers, and they didn’t die—they’re following us alive.”
“Just a bit further. The enforcers won’t chase us too far. It’s different for us hauling truck-load supplies.”
“Damn it. Why are those guys after us? Bounty hunters, and elite enforcer snipers that are several levels more terrifying!”
“I swear, one of us four needs to find a shaman and get some protective ritual. Why does everything go so wrong?”
October 26th. Zone 37. Former Collective Shelter.
“Fuck, what’s that! An elephant?”
“Scatter! Unidentified Type 3 mutant!”
October 27th. Zone 37. Tunnel.
“The echoes feel weird. Like someone’s whispering right in my ear.”
“....What?”
“Mister. Mister’s calling me hehehe—”
“!!!!! Ian! Check your Vex mask now! Cave fern spores got you!”
“Damn it! The back’s torn! Get a spare mask from Vehicle 2, Ezel!”
“Heheheekihihihit. Tiny little rat bastards hehehehehe.”
October 28th. Zone 36. Independence Hall.
“S-survivors! Building-grade shield!”
“You’ve suffered greatly pushing through this brutal wasteland. Terrible times.”
“Ah, yes. Thank you for the welc—”
“But not as terrible as the suffering settlers. Here, I’ll mark it on the map.”
“I told you no how many times, Mr. Preston! No! Just turn on the stealth field and hold out!”
October 29th. Open Plains.
“Snowstorm!!”
“Green blizzard!”
“Facing that head-on will wreck our batteries! Pull out all the plasma grenades! Disrupt the storm’s air layer with plasma’s high heat and slip through!”
“Who’s gonna go throw the grenades in!”
“Ezeeeel! Exosuit launch!”
“Sniff. A mother I’ve never even seen.... Life’s too hard....”
Giuwoong—Clang!
.
.
.
.
.
.
October 30th. AM 3:45 / Zone 35.
Kwadruk!
The sensation of human flesh crumbling in his hand. Now so familiar there was no disgust or anything. Well, ever since the auto-turret’s barrel melted and lost penetration, he couldn’t even dream of using explosives. For three days, he’d been conserving the few remaining silencers or getting down to kill them up close by hand. Over a hundred mutants crushed in his left hand during that time.
Vehicle wrecked. Supplies gone. Physical and mental fatigue at the limit.
Taang!
A sharp gunshot pierced his hazy mind. No way the enforcers followed here.
Even a rough scan showed Horde 2 or 3 within 100 meters radius. Gunfire here? His resolve crumbled.
“No energy to even curse.... You?”
“Rifle’s heavy, left it in the cargo hold.”
“Then you?”
“Do your worst.... Might as well start with Cremoa.”
“Me neither.... Exosuit battery still half a pack left....”
“....Hallucination?”
Taang—
Again. Not far.... Wait. From afar? Not us—someone else firing? Regularly? Single shots only?
Suddenly, like a flash in his broken-computer buzzing head, realization struck.
Not shooting at us, and single shots like that just draw mutants—pointless. No idiot survivor does that.
But if someone’s deliberately firing spaced-out single shots, loud enough for the whole neighborhood....
“That—they’re doing it on purpose....”
“Spell it out.... Professor. My brain’s been on total strike for two days.”
“They’re deliberately using gunfire to lure mutants to them! Ezel, exosuit comms on! Now!”
“Y-yeah!”
Taang—
One more regular shot rang out, along with the exosuit comms static crackling like a small spark in his ear,
[Static— EZ-007. Respond. EZ-007. This is 47-F channel. Confirm if the signal-detected vehicle is BDSM’s. Respond. Static— Repeat. This is 47-F channel, ordered to link with Caravan BDSM. Respond. EZ-007.]
Vex snapping a nearby mutant’s neck, Ian bashing one with a broken rifle stock—both froze at the transmission.
Ezel grabbed the suit’s mic with trembling hands.
“Th-this is EZ-007. Zone 47 Surveillance Agent Ezel Leyden. Support target.... With BDSM.”
Chiiik—
[Voice confirmed. Good work EZ-007. We were debating sending support to Zone 36 due to higher-than-expected mutant numbers, but looks like it was just nerves for the hero team. We’re luring mutants here, so hurry and link up. 47-F out.]
Chiiik—
Comms cut, leaving the group alone again amid wind howls and mutant groans.
“W-we lived....”
“We lived. Through that goddamn Land of the Dead mutant den! Past those snipers who seemed to nail us with scopes like rock climbers!”
“Uwaaaaaah! Kueeeeng! Kraaaaaah!”
Behind the group cheering like drowning men pulled from despair, explosions rang out as Zone 47 reinforcements swept mutants.
Kuaaaang!
“Hey, floor it! Nothing to worry about now!”
“B-back! Back in Zone 47’s arms!!!”
The two trucks, painted damn near blood-red, raced through collapsed building forests. Emerging into a bomb-cratered open field, they faced a field outpost built in Great War style.
October 30th. AM 4:00 / Zone 35 Dome Outpost. BDSM Link-Up Complete.
****
“Professor? You’re up already? Rest more.”
“If I had time to rest, I wouldn’t be rushing like this. So, what do you think now that you’ve seen it?”
“....Not good.”
Three hours after arriving at the outpost. After sleeping like the dead, I headed straight to the command tent. Staring at those Zone 38 morons made the disciplined Zone 47 Dome soldiers stand out—even same Dome, such a difference. 30 combat-modified vehicles. 10 likewise modified trucks loaded with supplies. Constant explosions outside now showed they had supplies to spare, planning to thin mutants near the outpost.
“Happy Blind’s combat power itself isn’t much to worry about. But there’s something irritating around their base. See for yourself.”
The man, support commander yet polite despite his rank—prepped by the Director-General, no doubt. The video he showed played drone footage.
A 5-meter stone wall, spiked pipes, barbed wire defenses. Mounted crossbows lined up, a few manual turrets, but nothing our forces need fret over.
The problem: mutants lined up in front. Jaw grotesquely huge, balloon-swollen, each different, milling before the shoddy defenses.
“As you see, all unidentified specimens. Too like Type 2 for Type 3, but too distinct for Type 2.... If there’s a variable, it’s them.”
“Type 2.5.... Figured they’d secured some, but that many? Commander, how much do you know about this incident’s cause?”
“Enemy forces stole our key tech to make a wide-area contamination weapon. Something bubble shields can block, and warned that soldiers hit might betray.”
Director-General shared some. But this commander, lacking full picture, could misjudge.
“Commander. How much command authority do I have here?”
“Higher than mine. Director-General said to follow your judgment fully upon link-up.”
“....Good. Let’s draw up a battle plan.”
Military holo-tactical map. Drone footage-based 3D hologram, Professor scrawled [Regular Mutants], [Type 2.5], [Zone 38 Enforcers], [Type 3 Mutant ? W, Claws, Unidentified].
Holo-tactical map and military tent. Uniformed people, thick cigarette smoke.
Professor suddenly felt back in special forces six years ago.
‘....Bad.’
Meaning thick blood scent. Ominous premonition of massive deaths. Not logical deduction, but instinct etched in skin from killing and dying.
****
Click. Chachak. Kiririk—
“They’re here.”
Kiririk, kkirik. Geeik.
“Li Xie. Are you listening? Any later and the plan falters.”
“I know, Adapter. Though an old blind man leads the blind, my ears aren’t deaf. The sound of those merciless steel relics from the past smashing the world reaches even here.”
Happy Blind central. Not old-built, but tall temple handcrafted by this era’s people.
No high-tech traces anywhere in Happy Blind, yet oddly, the cult’s temple top floor—‘Eye’s’ leader room—brimmed with gear rivaling Dome labs.
“....Collector. Has she perchance.... seen something about us?”
“Regrettably, she’s a collector, not a seer. She’ll collect the results after this ends.”
“Winning.... will be hard, won’t it?”
“Likely. A bit more time, maybe, but Zone 47’s response was too swift.”
“Yes. Can’t be stopped. Neither us, Raptors, nor anyone. No one can stop those past ghosts....”
An old woman reassembling, suturing, welding a box about a armful. She stroked it with well-deep eyes. Quiet pulse felt. Pulsing new era.
Her fading eyes blazed blue.
“So we must stop them. With Raptors crushed, no force can oppose them for a while. They’ll grow, inherit old knowledge.... Maybe restore past glory somewhat. So, stop them now, before they grow more.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Clutching the box, she spoke to the white-suited man beside her.
“By any means.”
Six years ago, the day colleagues studying Orpheus all exploded—her lingering hesitation vanished.
Rotten, festering, twisted world. With old world mostly burned, now the sole chance to right it. God’s last chance.
Even if washing blood with tears, she was prepared.
“I’ll be with the shepherds. Handle the sheep evacuation and box prep—they’re yours till then.”
“With pleasure. Truth be told.... New brothers are impulsive, hard to rein in.”
Behind W’s coughing laugh, five or six shadows followed.
“Hope today’s worth remembering, brothers.”
****