Chapter 181
Chapter 181
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: The Wizards' Wizard (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
****
Scritch... scritch....
Clink.
Scritch... scritch....
"...Director?"
"Hm. What's up?"
"I was just thinking you've had a bit too much to drink... Maybe call it a night and head home to rest comfortably?"
Young looked down at the glass in his left hand at his aide's words.
Clink.
A heavy whiskey glass. He was sure he'd ordered a fresh one just ten minutes ago, but now only transparent ice cubes rolled around the bottom.
"If I may overstep, your tolerance has risen so sharply lately—"
"That's definitely overstepping. I won't be signing anything sloppy while I'm blackout drunk, so you can head out too. Your wife is pregnant with your second, right? Then you should be home with her, not hanging around with a drunk like me."
"How can I leave when you're still here, sir...?"
"Do I need to make it an order? Do you really want me weighing the organization's hierarchy against a reliable subordinate?"
"...I'll take my leave first, sir. Rest well."
Click.
'...Good thing he's quick on the uptake. Was worried he'd cling annoyingly.'
Young knew it himself. His position as Dome's last remaining top leader and the linchpin of humanity's survival. What chaos would ensue if he, sunk in melancholy, sought a moment's peace in drunken stupor.
The other department heads had probably drilled it into the aide: Don't leave the Director alone, he's humanity's future, all that nonsense. Instead of sticking by him as ordered, the aide had chosen to give him time alone.
Clink.
He opened the hidden door behind the study and pulled a bottle of liquor from the crude glass case inside.
When he'd climbed to this high seat, bribes and favors piled up endlessly, unnoticed. He'd rejected most, but premium liquor? He'd toss the requester into the Underdome and quietly stockpile it. Life's joy for Alexander Young. If the world ever stabilized and peace came, if his biography ever got written in old age, he figured half a book could fill with tales of this panic room turned secret booze cabinet. He'd chuckle to himself about it.
"...Pathetic."
Nearly half gone already. In just two months. Twenty bottles of premium stuff aged over sixty years. All by him. Don't blame his increased tolerance. His drinking buddy had gone first. The booze he had to drink had doubled.
"Mikhail... you idiot."
He'd spent life with a stone face, pretending cold detachment, but Young knew. He just kept emotions buried so deep they never leaked.
He just wanted to make the world right. Without compromise. Without discrimination.
Creeeak—pop!
Glug, glug, glug—
Thud.
He filled the glass with dark brown liquid, sat back down, and turned to the messy stack of documents.
[December Additional Refugee Inflow Survival Zone Candidates List]
[Minutes on Reduced Ammo Recycling Due to Scavenger Decline]
[Station Reduction Leading to Surveillance Area Shrinkage, Resulting Active Response Decline, and Countermeasures]
[*Classified* Adapter Activity Report]
"...I thought the world wouldn't change further in my lifetime."
Two months ago, the catastrophe in Zone 30s.
Young blamed himself, calling it man-made disaster from his own hubris.
He thought he'd grasped everything in his sight, but he'd overlooked those gripped by 'benevolent madness,' those hurling themselves at convictions.
That one misjudgment changed everything. In the worst way.
Click—
As Young savored his solitary bitterness, the door flew open suddenly, hurried footsteps entering the office. The aide who'd just said he was leaving.
"...Sorry to interrupt your rest, Director. Urgent matter."
"Hope it's important enough to disturb my thoughts. I was just praising you inwardly as a sharp, excellent aide."
"...I believe it is. Breaking news from the Executive Data Consciousness Exploration Department. It seems... they've succeeded in locating and awakening 'that person's' consciousness."
Crash!
The expensive solid wood chair toppled, corner shattering, but Young didn't notice. He'd hounded those bespectacled nerds daily, yet they only parroted uncertainty... Success this fast!
"Must go now. Vehicle ready?"
"You mean... right now? I wouldn't recommend it."
"Why? Patient stability issue?"
"...BDSM personnel are already there. As you know, since that day, they've been... rather violent..."
Young gave a wry smile at the aide's concern. True, those guys had lost it. Stealing repair tanks to ram Audit Division barracks demanding accountability, or sneaking into his study to hold a knife to his throat.
"Perfect timing. If their entry logs confirm it, all department heads are in, right? Ralph too?"
"...Yes. That assault shook the entire Audit Division's pride."
"Then invite him along. He has ties to Professor Park too. Won't rush in recklessly to kill."
"...Makes you miss Agent Ezell Raiden."
"...Yeah. No one better suited to handle BDSM than that guy."
Before leaving the office, Young took in the cityscape reflected in the wide rear window.
Snow flurried over the dark city, tiny lights flickering around its edges. Campfires lit by refugees against the cold.
"...Let's go."
Sentiment ends here. Time to return to the ruthless ruler.
****
[p----*&*#(@ Access confirmed. Welcome, 'professor'.]
"...What the fuck. A bug?"
Too long in-game? Head clear like after 40 hours sleep.
Weird. Definitely agreed to wait a day with party at elf village, logged out, connection cut as white light whooshed in...
Why still in access device system?
Just like first time using it ages ago. No community, messages, alerts. Just [GG] icon alone in empty post-login space.
Waited for loading, searched around, tried logout. Nothing worked.
"...Real bug? No devs, if bugged in... stuck forever?"
Flash of community ghost story: 'dried up inside from access device failure.' Damn, should have serviced it when money allowed, with Dome right there! Lazy ass! Get me out! Let me OUT! Somebody! Help...!
Ding-!
"Wahk!"
Yelling into empty void, sudden alert startled him.
[Player access confirmed. Welcome, 'DOOMgay'.]
'DOOMgay? Ian? Wait, I'm logged in, who's this new player?'
Before he could think, light swirled before him, forming a person.
Definitely him. Burly build, metal jaw. In days unseen, beard like applied fertilizer, hobo-thick, eyes hollow like sleepless for three days.
Anyway, familiar face in weird situation eased his mind.
"...Hey! Long time! Nothing happened outside? Was just heading out, but access device fucked up..."
...Crack.
'...Huh?'
Atmosphere off... Hard to explain, but felt like I'd done something terribly wrong despite doing nothing. Especially Ian, more gaunt, fist clenched bone-white, teeth grinding... scary as hell.
Sensing oddity, he backed up, but Ian advanced stiff-faced.
"Long time... yeah, quite... the long time."
Hollow eyes. Staggering steps. Gaunt like flesh melted.
"You bastard..."
Instantly, Professor deduced Ian's state clearly.
"...You're fucking drunk! Drunk and fucked with the access device! Told you multi not supported, parallel terminals won't work no matter—"
"Shut your mouth."
Smack!
Crash!
Ian’s fist flew unconsciously. Dodged pot-lid punch to jaw barely, then heavy boot slammed his chest.
No joke or friendly tap. Grazed jaw bled from sheer force, kicked chest throbbed like cracked ribs.
Bastard meant to beat him for real.
"Cough, kuh... not booze, drugs?"
"Booze and drugs, overdid both. Misjudged you, Professor Park. Thought you had principles, but head full of rotten ideas. Charging bare-handed at that? Into obvious death!"
"Spit! Crash in with broken access device spewing bullshit... the fuck? Want hierarchy sorted proper?"
"You... need beating. As senior, fix that goddamn stupid thinking. Professor Park."
Click, click, whoosh.
Ian lit cigarette from pocket.
Already confused, sudden friend cursing and gut-punching boiled his blood.
"Fine, you damn demo freak. Draw! Know how much shit I've swallowed 'cause big bro, buddy? Payback time, fair and square!"
Suddenly, eerie sensation brushed brain.
Forgot something crucial. Adapted too naturally to bizarre contradiction? Should prioritize bigger question...
Forgot unnaturally quick. Like sand smothering a spark.
Vroom!
"Show why leader's leader!"
With spirited kiai, Big Dream Small Margin Caravan leader's fist flew at burly man.
****
"Huff, huff, cough! Huff, hey, hey!"
"Cough, hack, spit! What, punk."
"Huff, first punch, stamina hit too big. Get it? International rules... foul."
"Huff, huff, still just your... mouth lives..."
"Bex, call him. 2-3 match..."
"Forget it. Can't beat him."
"Huff, huff, fuck..."
Lost. Damn.
Got utterly demolished, dust beaten off. Duh, near two weight classes up, bare-handed rush was moronic. Gun would've won.
"...Calmed down now?"
"...Yeah."
"Damn. Knew you were crazy, but..."
Actually, mid-fight chance to flip. Plan: sprawl since losing, sub for reversal, but...
---------
Drip.... drip....
'Ugh, ugh, damn, dare, try to go alone like that...'
'? ???????'
---------
Suddenly, guy mounting and pounding burst into sobs. Guy who'd shed one tear max over tragic dead wife now wept bitterly, so thought maybe kicked balls unwittingly.
Cheat key used, what could he do? Self-esteem wound from blind assault equal to friend's pain, but guy calmed after emotional outburst, then talked.
Done venting, Ian explained calmly, prepped, shocking 10+ minutes.
"So. The me thinking here... already 4 months backed-up GG memory blob? Not human? Data?"
"Not like that! Listen, you logged out 4 months ago, went Zone 30s on Director's request, tangled in fights, near-death. No, dead! 90% mutated by Type-3 variant, medically deceased!"
"Why... die?"
Tick, tick tick, zing—
Ian displayed image file at question.
"This. Orpheus, or Box, old war weapon modded. Forces living in wide area to mutate. Went to retrieve, but you saw power, solo charged, destroyed it, died."
Ian suppressed resurging emotion recalling it.
"Everyone busy with foes, found you post-cleanup. Zone 38 admin recovered you... whew. Hold on."
Ian turned head. Professor found talk bizarre. Couldn't believe repeated unheard tales of death, recovery.
"Thought fully dead, but heard us yelling? That left hand scratched floor. 'Help' even then. Loaded you in car straight to Zone 47. Zone 38 said couldn't handle severe case. Now think their acts suspicious, damn. I was off too, blind to else."
"Why them?"
"...Whew. They hooked half-smashed 'Box' to radio tower, era's top broadcast array. Your crushed core survived variant tenacity. Output fraction of full, but tower's relay covered."
Click, click,
Ian ditched filter, lit new cig. Waved hand, opened audio file.
Static—static—
=======
Dear survivors, pleased to meet you sincerely.
I'm Karel Belmont, Dome Admin Director of Zone 38.
Living in hard times...
=======
"...Hm? Wait. Earlier you said Karel was..."
"Yeah. Thought useless admin spokesman. Said so himself, seemed it."
Grind!
Ian's teeth gnashed eerily.
=======
...Thus, we've gained chance to leap again.
Research shows low-violence small groups/individuals mostly in shielded safe shelters. Wasteland scavengers, psycho packs, killer raptors lacking tank-covering force live shieldless.
Machine before me: era's peak tech war weapon, kills/changes via powerful waves.
Rest easy. Luck or not, transport accident cut output; personal shield dodges 'Box' effect.
I will press button. Maybe most deaths since fall.
Don't call massacre, horror. Wasteland scavengers/wanderers: monsters eating flesh, squeezing oil. Mutating: turning sly monsters dumb.
Some condemn me, but I believe 1 step back for 2 forward. If sin, humbly accept like Oppenheimer's atom bomb.
For better world, peace.
========
Click.
Audio ended, silence between Ian and him.
"...Planned from start. When all weakened. Duh, research maniacs, no counter for own weapon? Hid from us, waited till Box activated all fucked, swoop! Snatched it."
Queries swirled, but grasped: fierce fight over war weapon. All damaged, unrelated bastard snatched, used worst way.
"Broadcast range... how far...?"
"...27 to 41. Their boasted intercept range. Except shielded residents, all humans inside mutated."
"That many all mutated? Outside now...!"
"Stop! ...Enough headache. Ripples after, raptors raiding 38, our counter-raid, too much. Focus: your state, not outside."
Ian waved like 'look up rest', exhaled, continued seriously.
"Back to it. You're vegetative now. Consciousness gone, Hide desperately clinging, could die anytime. Zone 47 researchers concluded: GG has unsanctioned player action/thought/memory record..."
"Data Soul."
"Yeah... something. Link vegetative you to game, fuse stored memory with consciousness for recovery chance."
"That's me?"
"Yes. Like pre-backed-up memories linked to vegetative brain illegally. Anyway, you're still Professor Park. Just... unstable."
Subtle unease. Something off. Metaljaw not so articulate usually. Hm... something...
"Then, fix instability?"
"Researching, but consensus: clear. You know... no. Culprit Li Xie Dr. was GG lead researcher, human memory specialist; her work accelerated GG studies. Data Souls make NPCs; world clear, system collects, wipes character data, repurposes for next world NPCs. Clear character perk..."
"Next world character history inheritance. Upload current player state to pass collected Data Soul latest assumed version..."
"...In that, perfectly fused Data Soul settles in your cold brain... White-coats spat explaining."
Makes sense. Not expert, but vegetative (not brain-dead) react to familiar music/smells. Overlay full memories stimulates, could wake consciousness.
Experts say so, probably true.
"Then, you accessed while I'm in...?"
"You're not full player now. Half-player linked to stored Data Soul."
"Half-NPC too."
"Maybe. Head hurts, done. Damn needy leader."
Ian rose from slouch, farewell.
"Can't linger with unstable consciousness, other player risky. Leaving. Community linked, but no chat as non-player. Check outside news. Grind hard, get out fast. Visit sometimes."
Ian rushed out after goodbye.
Professor stared, sighed.
"...Idiot. Lies like shit."
Flustered like kid caught stealing candy, dumbass.
Checked gestures, speech, minutiae: real Ian. No duplicates. Brain-in-jar true, no big reaction to outside talk.
"...No recovery method, right? Forever brain-jar?"
Recalled Ian's unstable gaze on clear talk, Professor sank in unease.
****