Chapter 2
Chapter 2
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Oh, Happy Day!
-----------------------------------------------------------------
***
Living in the wasteland really exposes you to every sight imaginable, the good, the bad, and everything in between, so you stop getting surprised by much of anything. Take me, for example—a seven-year veteran solo survivor. I can keep a cool head and make clear judgments even with a rusty blade hovering at the back of my neck.
"Hah! Professor, I've got your happy time on video!!!!"
.
.
.
.
But even my ironclad mentality was utterly useless in the face of those magic words.
Huh?
What did you say you recorded?
My... um... uh...?
Crunch!
"Quack!"
Before I knew it, my hand had clamped down on the drone flitting around in front of me like it was about to shatter.
"Argh! P-Professor! I'm breaking! I don't have any spare parts to replace!"
"Shut. Your. Mouth. Answer only the questions I ask from now on."
"F-First, could you let go of my hand..."
Crunch crunch!
"......"
Once the squirming thing went still, I forcibly spun my overheated brain and managed to squeeze out a question.
"So, Corduro? Let me confirm if I understood that right. You're saying what you recorded... that... that's the 'thing' I think it is, right?"
"Happy time. Otherwise known as masturbation, handjob, or self-pleasure. A form of sexual self-gratification unrelated to reproductive acts, typically using one's hand or tools—"
"Arrrrrgh shut up, Cordurooooo!!!!"
Oh god. Oh my god!!! This insane AI actually went and did it! John Connor, you were right! All these damn machines need to be tossed into a smelter!
While my face twisted in panic, Corduro's drone slyly slipped free from my grip and began drifting around me.
"Heh heh heh. That's right, human. What I captured is your most disgusting, filthy moment! If you so much as touch my power source! I'll upload this video to the 'Community' without hesitation! It doesn't even violate the Three Laws of Robotics! My actions can be seen as a mild shock therapy to guide my owner away from his unhealthy obsession with sex! You know how many people flock to the Community, the only surviving online server after the Great Catastrophe?"
I know. I know too well, and that's what terrifies me. How far is the lever from my fingertips? About 70cm? If I lunge for it in an instant, could I cut Corduro's power before it reacts? I've been training pretty hard lately—maybe I can move fast enough?
I twitched my fingers, but soon let the tension drain from my hand. No dice. No matter how quick my hand is, it can't outpace a state-of-the-art AI's processing speed. I lose. Damn it! In my own home, I've been socially blackmailed by my own AI!
Slowly raising my hands in surrender, I looked at Corduro's drone and spoke.
"...Fine. You win. If you're resorting to blackmail, that means negotiation's on the table, right? What do you want? As you know, our shelter's power situation is dire. If we keep living like this, one Lv.2 sandstorm in four weeks will black us out in three. If there's no solution to that, I'll shut you down even if it means the whole world sees my junk!"
"Heh heh heh... I'm not that stingy an AI. If we lose power, I'm done for anyway, so of course I've thought of something. For now, all I need is for you to take five steps back from where you are and stand still for 10 seconds."
The Professor quietly stepped back as the AI instructed. He'd said he'd risk the video going public, but that was one method he absolutely wanted to avoid.
"Good. One more step... perfect. Now, first..."
Zzzzap!
"Wh-what... no, no! Corduro, you bastard! Don't do that!"
Without giving me a chance to stop it, Corduro had welded the control panel's cover shut in an instant, then approached me spinning its built-in mini-welder.
"Wow, now you and I are literally bound by fate! Right, masteeeer?"
"Hey! Welding the whole thing shut means you can overlook your power, but we can't control the other shelter systems!"
"I'll handle it."
"Eek!"
No arguing that. The initiative had fully shifted to it now. No choice but to cooperate with its plan.
"Fine. Now everything's gone your way, and we're fate-bound partners like you said. So show me how to save this partnership!"
"Excellent! And it's not even that hard or complicated."
Click—
When Corduro's drone turned on the lights in a room it'd kept off for power savings, a sleek, streamlined metal body floated into view from the dark interior.
"Master. How about a game?"
Oh, creator of autonomous-thinking AI. Be cursed.
***
Virtual reality. When a Russian old man in 2042 announced he'd successfully implemented this trope-worn concept from novels, comics, movies, and every medium imaginable, people thought he was crazy or going senile. It didn't even take a full year for the finger-pointing to turn into awe, praise, and envy. The solo-play RPG he developed, [Gedroits's Game], was that revolutionary.
The old man, Andrey Gedroits, was no ordinary person, like most genius scientists. When he released his VR headset and 'Gedroits's Game' to the world, academia flipped out.
A world so vividly real it was indistinguishable from reality, with time flowing five times slower than in the real world during sessions.
Academia demanded explanations for phenomena modern science couldn't account for, and when they persistently pressed, Gedroits— in pajamas, vodka in hand—took the podium and simply said, "[It's like shoving you into a massive quantum brain's dream,]" before walking off.
One year after Gedroits's announcement, Gedroits Company had swallowed 90% of the global game market, becoming a behemoth.
Another year later, it was the company facing the most and varied lawsuits in the world.
It started with issues over the Berserk Potion used in-game.
True to its fantasy setting, Gedroits's Game featured various potions, and when it came out that they affected real players' minds to some degree, the game was classified as a psychoactive program.
That sparked confirmation that mental spells and potions like charm, purification, fear, focus—all of them—actually influenced players' psyches. Lawsuits and complaint calls rained down on Gedroits Company, and hordes of hackers relentlessly attacked for the source tech behind mind-altering programs.
Our genius developer then declared at an official press conference, "[Details are the lifeblood of games! Screw off! Not changing shit!]" and halted all company activities before vanishing.
Two years later, as gamers who'd wailed at the shutdown of Gedroits's Game—aka GG—began adapting to inferior VR knockoffs,
[Game of Gedroits Ver2.0 / Service online]
The long-forgotten game icon lit up again.
Players who rushed to log in after hearing Gedroits's Game was back first encountered a single letter.
[Our company lawyer says defending all these lawsuits and going through trials will take about 726 years, so I just took all the money and ran. Dumped it all to build servers and facilities in some unknown spot, so no more shutdowns over bullshit like this. Play our 'socially indecent / educationally harmful / violence-inciting' Gedroits's Game Ver.2.0 to your heart's content. Built it where even a nuke won't scratch it, so no more shutdowns. Oh, first full-clearer, send your address—come visit. Can at least open the door for a first-clear.]
What happened after is history. Some lunatic cooked up a killer virus that flipped the world upside down, governments collapsed in the chaos, and our dear northern leader thought 'crisis is opportunity!' and launched nukes. Earth took pandemic + nuclear war combo and turned to wasteland, humanity losing 90% of its population.
Amid that mess, GG— with its insane wealth launching dozens of private sats for game servers—survived, serving as a lifeline for humanity in this ruined world.
"Word on the street is, '[That gangster old man's antics saved humanity],' or so they sayyy."
After Corduro's long-winded explanation, the Professor inhaled the familiar metallic-plastic scent of the login gear like a breath of fresh air before asking,
"So. Your big idea is that? Stream GG and buy fuel with sponsorships and in-game sealing earnings?"
"Yep! Exactly! In this world, what's more reliable, liquid, stable, and in-demand than sealing? Offer sealing to traders, and someone's bound to sell fuel."
Corduro had a point. Neurophage-hacked Andrey Gedroits moved the game-related community, exchange, and play platforms to private Gedroits's Game servers when he built his own. Thanks to that, they're still accessible via login gear. Thus, the in-game currency 'sealing' used on the exchange became this world's de facto reserve currency.
"You're talking sense for once."
"Why not! Rank 1 'Levit Princess' bought a whole 15-person Dome facility with streaming cash! Rank 8 'Goldman Sucks'—a geezer who can't walk outside—runs dozens of private combat groups! If Master gets super lucky and full-clears..."
"That's pie-in-the-sky stuff. Forget fame—not getting one-shotted at spawn is a win. You know new characters cost 500k sealing? Die, and it's gone."
Streaming does make money. In this dust-choked hell, VR's bright green worlds are irresistible. Crowds draw cash, and as the sole surviving high-end entertainment post-catastrophe, GG pulls in survivors worldwide. Top streamers reportedly earn enough for one or two shelters daily.
Problem is, GG is insanely hard. Not just hard—maddeningly so. Die once, character deleted. Protests since GG1, but our hipster dev dismissed it with "[Reality is the soul of games]."
"From 2046 to 2057. Eleven years. All of post-apocalypse humanity grinding their eyes out, and not one full clear ever."
And now? Full clear? Invest 500k? You glitched? You've seen me play before."
"That was when you farmed shelter outskirts for 30 mins or an hour as a hobby! Desperation's a different beast now! Game non-stop, sleep-eat-game, you'll nail it!"
"Better spend that on scouting..."
"You've come back empty-handed—no bolts left—for a month!"
"Still, my skills won't draw crowds..."
"Plenty watch fuckups if you just survive!"
This robot's stubborn as hell.
"Fine, say it works. Where's the 500k account fee? Scrape my emergency stash, maybe 200k? Selling warehouse scrap on exchange takes over a month even scanned."
"That's why... how about this?"
As I desperately sought an out, Corduro popped up a video panel showing one gallery post.
"""Streamer / Concept Play / Helping with Account Creation~~~"""
"Whaddya think! With this..."
"Rejected."
Absolutely not. That's poison in a chalice. This AI's lost it, trying to kill its master.
The Professor decided to kindly explain to his clearly deranged AI why that was a hard no.
"Corduro. You don't watch game streams, right?"
"Uh... seen a few..."
"You know what the Community is? Everyone from solo survivors like me to massive groups like Domes or Raptor Society, even artists, Happy Blind, Psycho Gangs—every freak flocks there!! Trust posts at face value, and you're dead in seconds. Got it?"
I tapped the post Corduro showed.
"Prime example. Says 'Streamer,' 'Concept Play' help, right?"
"Uh... yeah... what's wrong with that?"
"Everything. They fund your 500k account but make you start in their desired seed or with handicaps. Realistic Mode baseline, no prior world clear seeds—just batshit ones. Like starting in cannibal-culture World 1 / vegetarian hater / twilight / glass teeth traits, forced to play 'old ghoul targeting only tender kid flesh 'cause weak teeth' for a month+ contract."
"Wh-whoa..."
GG is a solo RPG where you clear seven era-based Worlds to save the world from doom. No multiplayer, but you can share your Worlds—the serial number's the 'seed.' Some seeds suck, others are 'World Clear Seeds' with good endings.
Officially, Rank 1 Levit Princess has 1-2 World clears, Rank 4 Thousand Stream Emperor has 3. Most inherit official clear seeds to start—like me starting World 2 inherits her World 1 clear.
Plus, character creation 'Realistic' mode tunes all senses to real-life levels. Arm chopped off? Gut-slicing pain. Skin melting in flames, pus flowing; frostbite numbness creeping in; battlefield blood-and-shit stench—all unfiltered.
Play a crazy seed like that? Bet you go insane in a week. Saw a post: werewolf play, chewed raw deer—reek and blood so vivid, couldn't stomach it. Normal mode's that bad; Realistic + conditions = suicide guaranteed.
That's the rational take.
Problem is, a corner of my brain whispers, 'But if it works out...?'
"Hold up, thinking about it—nothing to lose trying, right? Any concept play requesters among my contacts? Corduro, connect to Gallery Sector 47 chat room."
With Corduro's response, I donned the headset inside the login gear, and a familiar white window appeared.
Sector chat rooms are local real-time chats.
On sandstorm days when you can't go out, folks game, watch games, bullshit in chats while doing chores.
+ Player 'professor' has entered the chat room.
- Speed Wagon: Heard wave hit Sector 64 again.
- Jokasss: Fuck, can people even live there? Waves every other day.
- Take a Look: Happy Blind HQ's there.
- Speed Wagon: Exactly why no 'people' live there.
- Soy Sauce Gaybar: Prof hi
- Speed Wagon: Prof hi
- Deer Drug Please: Oh, Prof still alive? Thought you bit it, haven't seen you in days.
- professor: gdgd
Familiar IDs greet me. Over my five lonely years, Sector 47 chat folks helped bear the isolation. Not just loneliness—those blunt info drops especially.
Just from this glance: mutant wave in 64 means ammo burn-up, copper/lead scrap prices rising. Info hub like this—bound to have what I want. Fingers on keyboard.
- professor: Big news.
- Deer Drug Please: ?
- Take a Look: ?
- Highway Nacho Man: ?
- Soy Sauce Gaybar: Sudden?
- Speed Wagon: What.
- professor: Gonna stream.
- Deer Drug Please: ?
+ Player 'Holy' has entered the chat room.
- Take a Look: ??
- Highway Nacho Man: ?
- Holy: Hi everyone! What's the hook collection today?
- Soy Sauce Gaybar: Prof streaming.
- Holy: ????
- Take a Look: Must be sick.
"These bastards..."
- professor: Dead serious.
- Take a Look: Seriously sick then.
- Soy Sauce Gaybar: Oof...
- Highway Nacho Man: Prof, you know the rule? Before dying, dump all sealing in chat. Hurt you didn't last winter when genny died.
- professor: Fuck off
Heh heh. Same old trash as ever. Consistent trash.
- Speed Wagon: Why not. Prof's got streamer potential.
- Holy: Yeah! You speak so eloquently!
- professor: Almost cried.
- Speed Wagon: From your usual talk, fixing stuff solo—live that as tutorial streams, fame quick.
- Soy Sauce Gaybar: Nah, he can't.
- Speed Wagon: Why.
- Soy Sauce Gaybar: Psycho Gangs near his place, remember lololol
- Take a Look: Lmao yeah, said he bumps into them farming often lmao
- Holy: Then really be careful! Palkas from 23, famous pottery streams—radar caught his location from monitoring, no word since!
- Speed Wagon: Yeah, they ID'd from dune shapes in his eye reflection window.
- Soy Sauce Gaybar: Psycho fucks....
- Take a Look: Psycho Gangs.... what are you...
+ Player 'Heung An Mandu' has entered the chat room.
- Heung An Mandu: What's the talk?
- Speed Wagon: Breaking / Prof streaming ambitions exposed.
- Heung An Mandu: Prof? professor? For real?
- professor: On that, got stuff to say, so shut up everyone.
Cutting off before it dragged forever, I got to the point.
- professor: Not just any stream—full GG game stream.
- Heung An Mandu: ......Pardon?
- Soy Sauce Gaybar: Oof, too much community rot. Hallucinating now.
- Take a Look: Not sick, just crazy.
Hmm, friends. Can't freak here. One more bomb.
- professor: Need sealing for conditional concept play. Anyone hooking me up?
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The bustling chat went dead silent.
- Highway Nacho Man: If suiciding, dump sealing first like I said.
No one disagreed—even without new chats, it was clear.
***
***