Chapter 21
Chapter 21
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: For That Handful of Silver Coins (4)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
***
Hwoop!
“I’m telling you in advance, khrng! All I want is to cure my illness, nothing more.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“The debt wasn’t mine—it was someone else from the 14th Special Ops Unit, not you.”
“Mm, mm. Got it, got it.”
“So if you try to exploit my unique situation and treat me like a slave—”
“I won’t.”
“Or force me into your group...”
“I won’t. Absolutely not! That’s never gonna happen, so don’t even think about worrying over it! Erase it from your mind!”
When I got home, one of them would be like, “Maaaster~” and who knows what mess they’d cause, while the other’s yelling “14! 14!!!!” and running around lifting the couch. I couldn’t handle that. I’d rather live out here.
The moment I said I forgave him, Bex’s outburst stopped like a lie. After that, well. We had some awkward first-meeting background-check chit-chat. Not stuff like where you live or what you do for a living—mostly where you farm, you bastard, you’re doing this on purpose, how old are you, etc.
“Hey, Bex. It’s great that you’re handling cleanup or whatever on your own, but is it really okay for us to just kill time here like this? Even now, they’re piling up out there in droves.”
“It’s fine. If we wait, an opportunity will come on its own.”
“Oh, so you’ve got something in mind? As expected, competent—”
“Hyung.”
Crackle!
“You little shit-talking bastard—if you call me ‘hyung’ one more time, I’ll rip your skull off, hang it under the shelter turret, and make it rattle every time the mutants come, paying the price for flapping your mouth!”
Calm and cool-headed? That evaporated the instant he met this miracle of nature standing before him.
“With a face like that, how are you younger than me by a year?!”
“The wasteland environment’s a bit rough, y’know?”
“What the hell kind of life turns you out like that? Were you standing there staring at the sky when the nukes hit?”
“You’re going too far with the face comments....”
“Your face value and market value are worlds apart! Even if we call the face ‘aged,’ your speech is ancient too! You!”
“What, should I go around in the wasteland talking all cutesy like ‘~yo, ~yo’ just ‘cause I’m young? That’s a survival tactic too.”
Slumped shoulders.
Petite build.
A wrinkled, withered face full of the traces of time.
Parched lips.
Narrow, slitted eyes.
Twenty-three years old.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, God. Give it a rest.’
Even my game character got called an old kid, but this is ridiculous. He’s no Benjamin Button.
When I first heard Bex’s age, I thought it was that weird speech pattern causing issues again.
‘Twenty-three.’
‘...You’ve had it rough, huh. Alright, let’s try again. How old?’
‘Twenty-three.’
‘No, damn it, that’s not working. Fingers then? Left hand for tens, right for the rest. How old?’
Scribble— [23]
‘You can’t even do numbers?!’
‘Twenty-three! Twenty-three! I look a bit weathered, but I’m early twenties!’
‘Bullshit! Then how old were you when the nukes dropped—’
‘Middle school second year.’
‘You son of a bitch! You lied to my face again, so now I’ll kill you!’
‘No, hyung! Why won’t you believe me?!’
‘Don’t “hyung” me! Believing your words would take a leap of faith!’
.
.
.
.
After that disastrous background check, I firmly drilled into Bex’s head never to call me ‘hyung’ no matter what. Sorry, but it creeps me out. That face scurrying over calling me ‘hyung.’
“Tong—”
Crackle!
“....Hapbun.”
Suuuuuck— Haaaaah. Inner peace, inner peace.
“Anyway, let’s get back to it. So, what happens if we wait?”
“Hmm.... Seeing is faster than explaining.”
Bex went to the window, peered outside, then beckoned me over.
“How many scavenger packs do you figure are out there?”
“Hmm.... Hard to say. Just counting the visible banners.... Seventeen? Eighteen?”
“Those are the ones cocky enough to fly banners. Add in the ones who can’t or don’t need to, and you’ve got about twenty-five packs gathered.”
The Professor narrowed his eyes, scanning each fluttering banner.
‘Ones who don’t need to.... Guess the big players arrived fast because of the scale.’
Whooo~
“Impressive. Has there ever been that many scavengers gathered since the war?”
“Nope. This area’s already scavenger central, so they piled up extra quick.
The key point is those bastards out there were ripping each other apart in the alleys just moments ago. Guys who’d start loading their guns at the mere mention of each other’s names are now all in one spot, glaring daggers and blocking each other from the treasure vault.”
The Professor nodded. If they’d trickled in over time, there might’ve been fights—killing those who went in first or ambushing those coming out. But with mutants swarming inside, they couldn’t rush in and loot quick, and while they hesitated preparing to breach, the scavengers started eyeing each other warily.
“Fair enough. In that standoff, whoever clears the path first just eats the loss.”
“Not just loss. Clear a bloody path, and you’ll get shot in the back at the end, all wiped out.”
The Professor eyed the standoffing scavengers. They’d formed a loose circle around the entrance, muzzles trained on each other, murmuring. No way they’d join hands amicably.
“So a fight’s inevitable.... But those loss-averse scavengers gonna move first?”
“They’ll have to.”
“Why?”
“The direct trigger for the vault opening—Raptor Society claiming ownership and charging in full throttle.”
“Aw, shit. Those guys too?”
The Professor’s head throbbed.
Raptor Society. A massive outfit rivaling the Domes, a highly controlled large-scale raiding group standing in opposition. Mostly ex-military brass at the top meant ironclad discipline, even harsher brutality, and strictest profit shares.
“....How long?”
“Heard they’re bringing the main force, bleeding resources. Latest tomorrow.”
“Twenty-four hours.... Scavenger pals must be shitting bricks.”
“Kee-hee-hee, yep. Asses twitching already.”
If regular scavengers and psycho gangs are dogs and cats rummaging trash, Raptor Society are the wolves eating them.
Scale, combat skill, gear—untouchable. When they arrive, no matter the numbers, scavengers run.
Tap.
Bex’s finger tapped a spot on the map.
“Scavengers know about Raptor Society too.
Half-mad wastelanders, right next to guys they hate with a passion, unable to reach the treasure right in front of them because of it, now with a ticking clock. Fight by tonight, morning latest?”
“Then we slip in during—”
“The chaos. Probably a few others scheming the same, so watch for them?”
The Professor visualized it. Fight breaks out—fact. Combat erupts, everyone goes wild. Chaos. Hide in the madness and enter.
“Plan’s simple enough. Shoot, run. Right?”
“Yep. Won’t avoid detection entirely during infil, but they want some vanguards clearing mutants anyway, so they won’t go full agro. Someone’s gotta handle them.”
“Op limit till Raptors arrive?”
Tok, tok, tok.
Bex stacked pebbles, knocked them down, repeating as he spoke.
“Nah, shorter than that. Happy Blind moved first—before Raptors.”
“What? Those zealots why.... Oh, pre-war relic, got it.”
“Yeah. Happy Blind moves, Artist Union follows suit.”
“....Big event’s a big event. How many heavyweights incoming already.”
Happy Blind, Artist Union. Both light up at pre-war relics. Extremist purists Happy Blind want to burn everything flashy; Artist Union wants to preserve every scrap. Both wasteland powerhouses.
World splintered into shelter clans slowly going mad birthed dozens, hundreds of such weird ideologies.
“At least infil and grab essentials within sixteen hours of entry.”
Bex toppled his perfectly sorted junk pile, dug out a dusty calorie bar, and offered it.
I pulled my rock-hard one from my pocket and shook it.
“Got mine.”
“Cool. Rest up, Hapbun. Once it starts, no breaks.”
“Yeah, sleep when you can. Was tired from the trek anyway. Oh, Bex. Water?”
“None now. Lick the dew off that cracked pillar at dawn—”
“Never mind. Ugh, leaving home’s a grind.”
The Professor leaned against his bag and closed his eyes. As Bex said, rest when you can was key to survival.
***
Bang—!
Clack!
Gunshot jolted the Professor awake; he reflexively yanked his holstered pistol.
‘It’s starting.’
Slung his pack and hit the window—Bex already up, scouting.
“Ah, Hapbun.”
“....Didn’t sleep?”
“Noise woke me early. It’s on.”
KABOOM—!
“....Damn. Flashy signal flare.”
Far off where scavengers clustered, explosions and gunfire erupted.
“Hapbun. Need anything specific? Not much on me, but if there’s something....”
“Bullshit.”
Rustle—
The Professor dumped his bag, spilling non-essentials—not water, food, wire, weapons.
“We don’t bring what we need—we go in and take it. Right?”
Seeing the Professor’s impish grin, Bex smiled too.
***
“Guh, guuuuh!”
“No need to mask noise with gunfire!”
Crack—
“Handy!”
Stab—!
“Gack!”
“Plenty of guys!”
Slash!
“—thinking like us is the issue, though.”
“Could’ve passed quiet, but nah, grab a gun and yap till you die.”
As the Professor snapped the neck of the third scavenger hiding near the entrance building, Bex slit another’s throat beside him.
“Impressive, huh? Real 14th Special Ops. Not knowing the terrain like me, yet matching my pace, spotting and dropping foes faster. What’d you handle in 14th? Stealth? Assault? Sniper? Team lead?”
“Fuckin’.... Nothing like that? Me? Nah, nothing special.”
Rifling the dead scavenger’s pockets, the Professor sighed in disappointment.
“Supply. 14th’s dedicated quartermaster.”
“What? Special ops with a quartermaster? Tac.... whatever, marking enemies—one ally’s precious, wasting on supply? No way.”
“Right? Makes no sense? But military’s where nonsense happens. Later heard some bigwig faked papers to slot his lackey into 14th, filling the vacancy landed me in. My life was a mess then.”
The Professor sighed, reminiscing.
“Most useless in the unit. At first, everyone cursed me out nonstop, but eventually I wasn’t dead weight.”
BOOM!
Rattle—
Professor and Bex flattened prone. Priest-bomb dust rained; crude powder stench hit. Peeking around the wall, explosion haze clouded vision.
Dash—!
No signal needed—they bolted in tandem. Through the smoke, hidden lurkers or opportunists in the fray dashed same direction.
‘Still.... No need to engage. Too many mutants inside for us two.’
The Professor swung his muzzle back up.
“Grraaah—”
“Raaar—”
“Mutants!”
“Legs! Legs first!”
Shouts echoed nearby—scavengers ahead.
“Bex! After entry, hit that jackpot guardroom you mentioned yesterday—regroup in a blind spot first! Okay!”
“Got it.”
“From now, hand signals only—no voices! Remember! Don’t wanna kill ‘em all—can’t get caught, even if it kills us!”
With that, silent, they plunged into pitch darkness.
***
***