Chapter 22
Chapter 22
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: For That Handful of Silver (5)
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***
They slipped safely through the hole in the debris and made it past the hall-like space down to the basement.
“Heave, heave... where the hell are we?”
“Huff, on the way in, we passed some corners and touched some metal structures. They made a hollow sound when I tapped them lightly, so probably trash bins or lockers. Anyway, we’re properly inside. This is the room with those legendary thirty hazmat suits.”
The basement was pitch black, without a single ray of light, so using fire was a risky move. A foul stench and the faint groans of mutants still lingered nearby, and the underground was crawling with scavengers who wouldn’t take kindly to other competitors.
The two crept along, holding even their breaths, until they stumbled upon a door handle by chance, slipped inside, and finally dared to speak. Even then, it was just a whisper right by each other’s ears.
Grope, grope.
‘The air’s cold. The floor’s cold and smooth. Echoes a bit, too.’
It felt familiar—the sensation of tiles, like walking barefoot into the bathroom at home.
“...It’s a bathroom. Good enough spot for a quick regroup.”
No mutant groans echoed in the space, which reverberated decently with sound, and bathrooms were usually built at the edges of buildings. As long as they watched the entrance, it was far safer than open areas where threats could come from all sides.
“Hey, Bex. Got anything for light?”
“Keehee, figured we’d need it underground, but didn’t know it’d be this bad, so I didn’t pack much.”
Bex pulled a crudely made torch from his bag—a rag soaked in oil wrapped around what looked like a broken chair leg. It wouldn’t last fifteen minutes, and there was no easy way to put it out when needed.
“Hand it over.”
Professor took the torch from Bex and immediately disassembled it: the oil-soaked cloth, a bit of wire that had bound it, and a single arm-length piece of wood.
“Hepburn, what the hell! Even I can’t find my way in the dark...”
“Shhh.”
Professor slowly groped along the wall, scanning the bathroom. This was the wall, a protruding fixture—sink, probably. So the one ahead must be a mirror.
He climbed onto the sink and stretched his arm up as high as it would go. Luckily, it was within reach, so the ceiling wasn’t too high. Wobbling precariously as he walked the sink, he groped the ceiling until his fingers sank into a recess.
“...Found it.”
He twisted out the small bulb at the end of the recess and used his knife to tap and pry off the surrounding socket.
“What’s that?”
“A lightbulb.”
“Why a lightbulb? It’s not like it has batteries.”
“Of course I’m not using it for its original purpose. What I wanted was this round glass.”
He unscrewed the base contacts from the bulb, cracked the narrow end slightly, and dug out the innards—power components and filament—with his fingers. Into the now-empty glass shell, he poured a bit of the oil he’d brought, rolled a long strip of cloth and stuffed it inside, reassembled the base, and let just the end of the cloth poke out—
Clink, clink.
A few strikes with the machete’s back produced sparks, and it caught fire.
“Ta-da. Improvised lamp complete.”
“Whoa... looks usable.”
“It’s not just ‘looks’ usable—it is usable. I use this even when heading out from home sometimes. You said it yourself, Bex—this place is a treasure trove. Every tile, every scrap of plastic, even this one bulb—drag it out, and it’s all valuable scrap. No need to haul a ton of gear when you come to a spot like this.”
Finally, Professor arranged the pieces he’d pried from the ceiling around the flame like a dish to shield it, wired it together, and fashioned a head-mounted version.
“They put reflectors around bathroom ceiling lights. This qualifies as a headlamp, I’d say.”
“Is this... the 14th Special Forces...?”
“Couldn’t fight worth a damn and got treated like dead weight—if I wanted to survive in Special Forces, I had to prove useful somehow. They were under-equipped pains in the ass, so supplies sucked. I trailed after them, handling everything outside of combat. Food ran low? I’d forage local ingredients and cook. Needed cover? I’d dig a position. Tools for ops, campsites, weapons... made it all on-site.
That’s how I survived a post without an official role, where they basically sent you to die. At some point, the guys started calling me the quartermaster. ‘The one-man supply line when HQ won’t deliver.’”
Well, tagging along like that got some combat skills to stick eventually, so I joined fights after.
Professor chuckled as he made a second lamp.
Before joining the 14th, I’d lost my whole unit and only survived thanks to my father. No place to go. The brass had ordered retreat, leaving my unit—still with men alive—in a hot zone. I harbored grudges, especially after losing Dad in that op. They found me inconvenient—knew their dirt, held resentment.
So they shipped me to the 14th. Figured a green kid like me, short on experience and years, wouldn’t last.
Creak, creak.
“There, mine’s done too. Won’t last long since it’s makeshift. Wire’s short, so it sits close to the head. Bad luck, and it singes your eyebrows.”
“...”
“Hm? What’s with that look?”
Professor tested the wire harness for fit on his head, only to find Bex staring at him oddly.
“Nah, just... life’s been rough, huh? You’re no ordinary guy either, Hepburn.”
“Spare me the melodrama. Name one survivor without a story.”
With the lamp secured on his head, Professor lit the wick and stood.
“Alright, visibility secured. Time to move. I’d love to strip every scrap here, but that’d mean missing the real prizes deeper down.”
“Fire?”
“Keep ’em lit for now. Just Type 1 mutants, rotted to hell. Five years dead—no way their eyes still work. We’ve killed enough time; other scavengers should be below. Safe till the ones blasting away at the entrance get in.”
Professor lit his lamp, then Bex’s, leaving the awed Bex behind as he slowly opened the bathroom door.
***
Basement Level 1. Security room (presumed) where the hazmat suits were stored.
“Whoaaa...”
“Hooo...”
With light, Bex and Professor properly surveyed the interior—and their jaws dropped.
“These walls—all alloy?”
“Yeah. See that busted spot? Looks like lead plating fist-thick under the alloy.”
“How much is all this worth...”
“Dome bastards would lose their minds.”
To normal eyes, it’d look like an empty, modern locker room. But to wastelanders like Professor and Bex, every bit of wall, ceiling, and floor screamed money. The gouges were probably where machines holding the hazmat suits had been.
Gulp.
“H-Hepburn. W-We don’t need this stuff, right? Should we grab it?”
“Y-Yeah, but... my feet... won’t move. This desk... it’s chrome...”
The scavengers who’d shoved past earlier on their way down had cleared any mutants; no signs nearby.
Tap, tap.
Dazed, admiring the surroundings, Bex tapped Professor’s shoulder and signaled. He’d already doused his lamp.
[Door / Wide space.]
‘Found the way to the next section.’
Professor quickly wetted his finger with spit, rubbed out his wick. Darkness fell instantly.
Grabbing Bex’s collar lightly, he followed to a door that looked like it’d been jimmied open.
Flicker—
‘Light!’
They dropped flat. Far off, three flickering flames moved slowly.
‘Torches. At least three. Could be a fourth without light—assume four to five.’
Bex and Professor crawled low. Cold tiles like before, metal pipes arrayed in rows glimpsed in the flickering light.
‘Showers? ...Ah, decon room.’
Built assuming post-nuke, of course there’d be facilities near the entrance to scrub off outer contamination.
Holding their breath, inching closer, they reached a point where whispers became distinct.
“...So. How long we gotta stay here?”
“Leader said hold position. Kill any rats coming in from outside while they loot the inner areas.”
“Fuck, I wanted in too. Wonder what’s there?”
“I peeked below earlier—hoo, never thought I’d be moved by something like that.”
“What?”
“A sign. Yellow background, big black letters: ‘F-Mart.’ Brought tears to my eyes.”
“...Fuck. Even if we’re late, our share’s safe, right?”
Overhearing the grumbling scavengers, Professor inwardly cheered.
‘Right, they built this connected to the underground mall!’
The group seemed content with the mart—no plans to go further. These ones guarded the entrance... or more like early warning for incoming fighters outside.
Rustle—
Bex tapped Professor’s hand in signal.
[You / Left / Me / Right]
Professor tapped Bex’s shoulder to confirm, then slowly rose.
“Man, just thinking about it fills my belly. Gotta take a piss—BRB.”
“Go ahead. Ugh, sounds heavenly. Booze aisle’s gotta be good. Free seven-year-aged liquor galore! Booze doesn’t expire, right?”
“Food aisle too. Cans don’t expire. Or do they? Heard they last pretty long...”
Tap, tap.
“They say up to seven years max.”
“Oh, yeah! Thanks—mmph!”
Crack—!
“Thanks my ass.”
Professor slipped up from behind and snapped one’s neck. A thud nearby meant Bex had handled the pisser.
Two comrades dropped by hands from the dark—the last scavenger froze in terror, scooting back on his butt.
“Eek! S-Spare me! I-I’m nobody! Just a scrap-picker, dumpster-diver—mmph!”
Professor clamped his mouth before more noise.
“Hey, Bex, c’mere.”
“Hepburn, what’re you—don’t tell me... you’re sparing him?”
“Nah, just been ages since a wasteland mercy call. People don’t expect it.”
Guy hadn’t attacked; Professor had some knightly code, after all.
Professor grinned at Bex, then loosened his armlock on the scavenger’s neck.
“Pwah! Hack!”
“Shhh. Quiet. Our nobody friend—wanna live? Stay quiet.”
“Mmph! Mmph!”
“Good, good. Hold your breath here—gasp all you want outside.”
“Mmph! Mmph!”
“Mm~ Attitude passes. Now, answer my questions nice and honest, and in five minutes, you’ll be breathing thick wasteland air, not this dank basement shit. Got it?”
“Mmph! Mmph!”
“Breathe. Gotta answer.”
“Pwaaah! Th-Thank you.”
Ignoring Bex’s insistent prods signaling ‘what the fuck,’ Professor pressed on.
“First question. Besides your dead pals here, how many inside—”
“Seven! Seven! We’re the Scraping Dogs, ten-man clan—heard big shit here and—”
Crunch—
“Gaaah!!! Agh! Mmph!!!”
“Shhh. Didn’t ask for your life story. What if your buddies hear and come running? I’d be in a bind.”
Professor snapped a finger with his left hand, memorizing ‘7, unnamed crew.’
“Now, armament?”
“L-Leader’s got an AK, his wife a Uzi, rest knives and arrows... oh! One’s got three Molotovs!”
‘Molotovs. Why the fuck so many guns in Korea?’
Even in 2050’s hyper-globalized world—bilingual or illiterate, no foreigner-local divide—Korea had tight gun laws. Must’ve been a flood from the war.
“Good so far. Name?”
“Dalton! Dalton!”
“Right, Dalton. Last question...”
“Y-Yes!”
“What’s that in your pocket? The one you’re slyly reaching for—wanna tell me?”
“Y-You bastard—!”
Twist—!
Neck wrenched, Dalton crumpled. Professor caught the body, slipped a hand into the jacket lining.
“Oho, karambit knife. Nice gear.”
“Scared me, Hepburn. Thought you’d let him go.”
“Crazy? Hey, Bex—check this.”
Professor showed Dalton’s jacket front pocket in torchlight. Rough stitch-marks dotted it.
“Kill marks. Circles for women, X for men. Midway, ran out of space—women only. Nobody my ass. Ugh, fuck—touched filth.”
Bex wryly grinned at Professor’s griping. Definitely a good guy, but no fool.
“Bex, take these torches. All three.”
“...To fool ’em?”
“Yeah. Better armed than thought. Figured ragtags, but AKs, Uzis—not handmade shit. Dunno ammo count, but no upside to fighting. Molotovs too—fire here, we all choke.
They’ll watch the mart path hardest. Pose as these guys with torches, hang ’em visible, slip down quiet.”
If like the mart he knew, the deeper path wasn’t far.
Boom—
Explosions and gunfire sporadically echoed—above or below?
Professor shook the torches at wistful, mart-gazing Bex.
“Don’t sweat the small stuff. Goal’s the shelter.”
Anti-nuke bunker complex. Built for this exact world—gotta have one thing.
“Generators! Emergency ones for sure!”
“Fit in that bag?”
“Depends on size! Too big, I’ll hump it out!”
Professor steeled himself thinking of his 2.4 million sil debt. Generators that can’t not sell—top-shelf 2050 models from a rich-man’s shelter.
‘One of those, and life’s reversed!’
Professor’s eyes blazed with resolve.
***
Meanwhile, on the surface, the near-stalemate scavenger battle entered a new phase.
“Ptoo! Fuck, at this rate, we’ll barely break even on whatever they haul out.”
“B-Big bro!”
“What!”
“Th-That black thing over there—ain’t that them?”
“Hm? How’d you know if I—...!”
Pitch-black vehicles. All-black geared crew parked two blocks down an alley.
“W-When’d those get there?”
“Glanced earlier, thought I was wrong...”
“Why the fuck tell me now, asshole!!!!”
Wanderer clan leader Dain’s eyes filled with dread. If that was who he thought, they’d prep their opener.
Whiiiine—
“...We’re fucked.”
“W-What’s that sound?”
“Mortar! Incoming! Scatter! Into buildings!”
KABOOOM!!!
Shells from who-knows-where wiped the near-dead scavengers. Amid the chaos, ragged-uniformed troops pushed in.
“Gack!”
“Urk! Fuck... this bullshit!!”
Bang—
Wounded and runners alike—nearby scavengers annihilated in seconds. Corpses littered the ground as a coated man strolled in.
Static—
“Raptor 2. Reached box entrance.”
“Static—Nest. Enemy remnants?”
“Raptor 2. No visible movers.”
Static—
“Excellent. Raptor 2, time’s short. Spotted Dome recovery traces ahead. Cancel current op—secure old box now. Lead your unit, loot it. Grab valuables, RTB, link with main force.”
“Raptor 2 copies. If Dome arrives first?”
“Static—business as usual.”
“Raptor 2. Copy.”
Click—
Handing the radio to his comms guy, the man unstrapped his wristwatch, stowed it deep in his coat.
“Main force whining like that? Means those rats had better intel.”
Incompetents. Lucky he was ops nearby, or they’d beat Dome’s rats again.
Stroking his gun irritably with white-gloved hand, he addressed his waiting troops.
“Enemies.”
“Resisters KIA. Wounded and surrenders as POWs.”
“Kill them all. Need to load heavy.”
Crisp!
Troops saluted, fell back. Moments later, burp-gun bursts and screams echoed.
“Grab flamethrowers. What we can carry—burn the rest.”
Crisp!
No reply—just crisp salutes and obedient action.
“Pray for another fruitful day, gentlemen.”
A predatory smile curled his lips as he led them inside.
***