Chapter 233
Chapter 233
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Hunter, Cleaner, and Swordsman (1)
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A dark, cramped secret room. An eerie tension hung in the air, so thick it stifled even their breathing.
Hoo— hoo—
“...Budlam. Calm your excitement. You're being loud.”
A group of men, all caked in blood and dust, stared intently at one spot, holding their breaths.
Zzzt— zzzt—
What could make these highly trained veterans, hardened by countless battles, hold so still?
It was....
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“...Live well, Astrad.”
Flutter flutter flutter!
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[Rec. Professor's Game Life Game Death (Real Death)] Broadcast Preparing—
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“Kyaa!”
“Whoa....”
“So this is how it ends.”
“Whooo—! Man, that was suffocating! The Boss Man's got some real feels. Right?”
Not an assassination target or enemy stronghold, but the screen of a half-broken drone.
On the outskirts of Sector 47, in a remote four-person shelter where a lone survivor had lived with a housing AI after the apocalypse, twelve burly men were huddled together.
“Ughhh—! I thought my nose was rotting. What kind of person smells like they're decomposing alive? You're not a mackerel.”
“Heh heh heh. Looks like someone's proud of their hygiene. Weren't you all kicked out of the barracks by Bex for being filthy?”
“Dust is one thing. You need 24-hour chemical decon, Budlam. Ugh, seriously. Why don't you wash?”
“Try living as a scavenger in Sector 40. Water doesn't flow as well as in 47. And sweat? What's wrong with it? Proof of a lively metabolism. The scent of life itself. Here, take a deep whiff of my daily essence. It'll wake you right up.”
Whoosh—!
“Ughhh!”
“Blech, urp!”
“Toss that bastard in a well!”
“You do it! I don't wanna touch him!”
“You fucking #@(*&*)#!!!!”
Budlam flung open his muscular arms like a black stork spreading its wings, and his comrades recoiled in horror. Toughened by wasteland life, they had long worn down any sense of cleanliness, but Budlam's stench—that 'black biochemical bomb'—hit the eyes and skin as much as the nose.
And one other person was just as displeased with the situation.
[Sudden air pollution over 30%! What the hell did you vermin drag in this time—!]
The housing AI's activity drone gleamed with its sleek, latest-model alloy body.
Corduro screamed at the drone tucked under the black man's arm, the source of the chaos.
[Aaah! My old body!]
“Hey, Corduro! Perfect timing. The screen's glitching a bit—”
[Don't call me out of nowhere! You illegal squatters! You barbarians! Bet you smashed it with those pot-lid hands when the stream lagged! What appliance from the late 21st century gets fixed by hitting?! And what'd you bring this time to foul the air like this! I told you before! Raw rad-scorpion lasts a day! Cooked, three days max before it rots fast!]
Flap flap flap!
[If you think of pulling that damn Sector 30s traditional fermented crap again, I'll use it as kindling this time! I warned you how many times! You think running the purifier's a joke? Huh? Dorian, it's you again! You goddamn BDSM bare-assed fuck!!!]
The enraged AI's shrill curses echoed through the sealed shelter, and the rough battlefield men they targeted...
Grinned warmly, chuckling as they savored the tirade.
“Aaah. So nostalgic. The nagging just gets better every time. Hey Corduro, smack my back once? Feels like my dead mom's back.”
“Same here, bro?”
“Keep listening, and I get why the Boss Man lived with that trash-talking drone. Full-bodied audio. Nothing more vital for a loner.”
“Heh heh heh. Exactly. Hey, Corduro! I'll snag you a premium adult doll body, so live with me! I'll treat you right!”
[Kyaaak! Electronic personality rights violation, you trash!]
The drone zipped around furiously, turbine roaring. As they'd called it, this was the autonomous learning housing AI, Corduro, who'd lived in the shelter with the Professor.
There was a deep, complicated story to why Corduro, waiting for the Professor who never returned, was stuck with these losers...
Slurp—!
[Aaah! My old body! You scum, Budlam! How dare you to my body, the cherished drone full of Master's warm illegal mods!!!]
In short: the shelter, nearly wiped by a mutant wave, was saved by the new Master and the BDSM caravan crew, who used it as a base when passing nearby.
'Aaah, Master. I miss you.... Are you well? I.... as the housing AI managing this shelter, am enduring years of humiliation....'
Corduro, who'd finally upgraded to the latest drone body he'd bought but never used due to lack of techs to link it during his time with the Professor, gazed mournfully at his battered old shell and thought of the Professor.
He couldn't chase out these dust-and-blood-covered intruders—they fell under the 'full autonomy' settings the Professor had made for his 'guest' Ian and Bex. Only the Professor, as owner, could authorize rough treatment.
Long explanation short: as a normal human-bound robot under the Three Laws, he couldn't touch them. Not intruders he could shoot, either—just humans beyond his reach.
[Oh Master, what kinda dogshit is this? You said you'd be back soon, but a month's gone since you headed up north, no word. No Master comes when called, just these hulks tracking mud in, demanding food and booze. A celibate AI with no release clings to empty promises, lubing through sleepless nights—]
“Bear with it, Corduro. These guys are the Professor's underlings too.”
[New Master!]
Just as Corduro, limited to nagging, began his daily lament medley prepared for today, Ian entered the shelter right on cue, putting the ever-evolving AI lament literature to bed after its preface.
“Why do you assholes always fuck up the Professor's shelter? What's it this time? Dorian make snail-slug kimchi again?”
[Oh nooo! Don't even ask! Those humans are 2.5-stage lifeforms! How can breathing people pollute a shelter's full-purity air by 30%?! Please do something! Or at least bunk here with clean, intellectual types! BDSM's got some! Like that tech who fixed the shelter last time, or the programmer who swapped my body!]
“Whitey Busker won't come 'cause you're stalking him nonstop for fixes, Swan says you freak him out demanding hacks and CCTV breaks to see the Professor. Case hates noise anyway. Tolman hates shelters 'cause he's a Happy Blind exile. The 'sane and quiet' ones you wanted? You chased 'em all off. Your own fault, Corduro.”
Indeed, the clean, smart techs, snipers, and support team bunked in the barracks on the yard Bex kept spotless.
[Th-then, from now on, every time you come, it'll be these guys....?]
“They'll crash here. I'll handle washing 'em, but after that, you're on it. You're the house AI. Work, Corduro.”
“Heard that? Don't tail the ones you hate—hang with us, the ones you like.”
“Heh heh heh. Hold on, Corduro. If the bonuses keep rolling like this week, I can get you a pre-war primo adult bot in three months. Way better than that RPG pet body.”
[I-I'm asexual! Or closer to male, having learned from Professor's personality data!]
“Ambiguous male? Even better! You're the best, Corduro!”
“U-uaaaang! I'll tell Bex!”
“Kuhahaha! Run away!”
“Budlam takes 3-win lead!”
“Heh heh. No joke. I really like that AI. Might confess to the Boss Man it's based on if I meet him.”
[Waaaan! Bex!! Bexxxx----]
Click.
Corduro zipped out, turbine wailing like a cry. Ian muttered quietly to bald Budlam as he watched.
“Don't mention that around Bex. You'll die, punk.”
“Heh, I know, Boss. Bex bro don't play. Sit? Still some booze left.”
“Nah, light.”
Plop.
Flick. Flick. Whooo....
Crew sprawled haphazardly on the shelter floor. But even they left the worn sofa where Ian sat empty. A mark of respect for the absent one.
Ian felt the spacious sofa—tight for three—and exhaled bitterness with the smoke.
“Bleh. Let's see. Assault team's all here.... Wait. Why all here? Dorian, you fuck, why're you here? You and Tolman on watch since 1930. Out, now!”
“FUUUUUCK!!!!”
Dorian's scowl and curses belied his speed: combat gear on, into the airlock in seconds.
Ian surveyed the mess of an assault squad—best of the best gone to shit—and inhaled deep.
Suuuuuck—
Whooo....
“...Fuck. First time leading in ages, body ain't fitting right. Was easy with the Professor around.”
“You mean the Boss Man?”
“Yeah. With him, I could vent all my gripes, and weirdly, he'd fix it all. Turn the board our way, even.”
“Tch. Thought it was nostalgia bias from all your praise, but nah, can't deny now.”
“Exactly. Half as good as him inside, and he'd dine with Chief Gray. So, visitation's on?”
“Yeah. Word is the Professor's improving. Nearly died once when Hyde and him mixed up bad, but sped recovery after. Stable from monster state now—outsiders can visit.”
At 'visitation,' the assault team sprang up like meerkats from the floor.
“O. Admin ward access?”
“Dana 'Lady' there too?”
“Real deal.... Dana 'Lady' in the flesh....”
“Like a soul cleanser dipped in mutant blood....”
“Fuckin' animals.”
Smack!
“Ow!”
Ian smacked Budlam's bald head to refocus them and continued.
“Anyway, Chief's orders incoming soon. Stay sharp. Remember? Audit team's been dumping boring security gigs lately.”
“Agu.... Everyone knows unless retarded. No orders, Bex won't rest.”
“Hey, Boss, didn't you and Case plot to break Bex's legs in secret? Guy'll overwork to death. Chief Gray saved us. To snag one of Bex's legs, Case or I'd die for sure even if you didn't.”
Ian recalled Bex's eyes flashing murder at Budlam's words. Now improved by therapy—watching the Professor's over-the-top lively streams—but his severe obsession lingered. Worse when idle.
Today, he'd taken his relay out to watch the other shelter side. Ian's gut twisted picturing him grinning at the tiny Professor screen in the sandstorm.
“...Fuck. One Professor barely keeps the facade. When's that guy snapping out? Anyway, back to real work soon. Hole punched in 45 Sector expansion base defense. UnID Type 3.”
“Shit. Sealed it two weeks back.”
“Whatever. Loosen up, but update wills with Busker if needed. No incidents with refugee sluts stripping and clinging. Especially Kal, Budlam, Jimmy. Told you last time. Cross paths in audit cells again, I'll ventilate your forehead and temples that day.”
“Tch! Always on me. That bad?”
“Yeah.... Obviously.”
Smack!
“Ow! For real!”
“'Cause you're in every fuckup report, Budlam. Spread word to on-duty. Dismissed! Bedtime.”
“Yessir!”
“Roger!”
Loose in talk, sharp salutes on exit. Ian left the idiots behind, stepped out, took a deep breath, and bellowed toward where Bex might be.
『Get in and sleep, asshole!!!! All of it!!!!!』
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“...Fuck.”
Huuuuup—
『Oversleep and you're left behind!!! No visitation!!!!』
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Blink. Blink.
Finally spotting the distant return signal, Ian sighed like an old man.
“45 Sector.... Been a while. Fuck, how'd I end up babysitting this retard squad....”
Missing the Professor extra today, Ian stubbed out smokes and headed to his barracks.
Bex vaulting the fence sounded behind him.
****
Thud.... Thud!
Wobble—
“Uwaaaah!”
Thump.
In a quiet forest cottage yard, Dana set down the axe she'd nearly impaled her knee with after stumbling backward—not even splitting wood—and sighed softly.
“Haaa. Nothing's easy.”
GG. Gedroits's Game. As an info broker, she knew it best, packed with guides and easy-play tips.
Never played due to weak heart disliking strong emotions/shocks, but thought she'd excel if she did.
Actual GG play? Beyond 'hyper-realistic'—a whole other world.
“Never really used my body properly before. How does that man wield his so freely?”
Blistered hands stung from swinging the heavy axe; splinters in delicate palms pricked tears.
Watching the Professor shred himself—original even left?—made her vision blur.
Outside. Inside. Burning life brighter than anyone she knew, for good cause.
'My man' flashed in her chest, flushing her face red, but only birds saw the lone cottage dweller.
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Three Simp Places: Heeeek!
eijoxh2772: Cuuugh! C-can't... breathe. Ambulance, ambulance!
Pediatrics Tutor 30 Years: Sorry, but looks like acute heart-flutter syndrome, trending lately. No cure.
Heung An Mandu: Euheuhuk! Thanks, Professor! Levit Princess! Thanks for guiding Speed Wagon to a brighter world! Euheuhuk!
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...Except these guys.
Dana felt brief embarrassment at the chat exploding over her every move, but knew shyness there would worsen it. Better deep breaths than fluster.
“St....atus window.”
Ding—!
Awkward command brought up translucent text before her eyes.
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Log/info
Name: Dana Elisha Hyacinth
Job: Undecided
Race: [Human]
Gender: [Female]
Origin: [Youngest Daughter of a Reclusive Noble]
Age: [Mature (25)]
+Traits: [Insight], [Noble Birth], [Realm-Toppling Beauty], [Moon's Song], [Clumsy Hands], [Dwarf Candle]
+Log
+Item: ㅁ / Worn Axe / ㅁ
Realistic + Personal Sync Mode ON
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Status window. Shows target's status plain.
No play experience, but GG lore mastery rivaled Nerd Union—knew her specs well.
Objectively, her character was outstanding.
Which made her blush again.
Realistic + Personal Sync Mode. For similar environment to Professor, despite viewer backlash—her selfish add-on.
Aka self-insert mode, ~300k cel added; mirrors player's real state in-game. Minor mode, penalized despite pay.
Scans player, projects to char.
Obviously penalized. If player's a battle-hardened hero?
Reflex+, Aim+, slight STR+ start.
But archer job gives that; STR half adult orc max. No origin traits, gets battlefield PTSD, explosion phobia, etc.
Even best-case. GG binge + canned slop shut-in? Dull, slow, diseased trash char. GG fairly stamps [Heavy Build], [Plain Looks].
Self-insert: pointless in fantasy where hotties cleave mountains/seas. Only pervy geezers wanting true 19+ platonic play used it.
Dana agonized before. Here for work env improvement, not fun.
Still.
She wanted this world raw.
Heart issues?
Many died before her.
Hard char?
Wanted lush world in her body.
Climb hills.
Tend yard.
Cook fresh river fish.
Realize hospital dreams in virtual world.
As pure Dana Elisha Hyacinth.
Result.... decent. Maybe very.
[Youngest Daughter of a Reclusive Noble]: paid origin. War-weary nobles settle remote village.... Parents dead at start, rich inheritance, older bros gone to city, no contact.
Perfect quiet info-work origin. Pricey.
Levit's flashy card made her doubts moot.
Other traits: via login gear, community/chat logs, GG system's take on 'Dana Elisha Hyacinth'.
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Darby: Always OP char. First time knowing self-insert can roll 3 rares.
NOmarcy72: Fr real, that's protagonist energy....
Pao Chai Chai: How many hero units have [Realm-Toppling Beauty]? Six? Seven?
GOM Destroyer: World 3 confirmed five. One Levit house, Empire 2nd princess, count's daughter rescued end black mage tower quest, 7th-circle illegal mage Sidney Flameskirt. Forgot last.
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Yeah, that was the issue.
[Realm-Toppling Beauty]
Beauty to topple kingdoms.
Why such infamous trait on her? No makeup skills like Levit, lifetime hospital gowns—baggy plain clothes still.
Slap.
“...Focus, Dana. Drag this, skip dinner on fruit again.”
No more viewer sway or nothing done. Pushed status/chat aside, hugged firewood from yard pile.
Wanted to herself, but village youths piled winter's worth.
Warm fire. Bubbling clumsy fish soup. Flower tea dessert.
“Whooo.”
Worse than refugee rations, but Dana undaunted. Just starting. Didn't want to seem helpless when/if Professor returned to her.
Clink.
Cleared bowls, lit lantern against encroaching forest night.
Rest over. Work time.
“...BDSM crew back today. Gotta hurry.”
Scratch scratch scratch—
Quiet cottage. Under flickering candle, Dana's pen—hair pinned with twig—filled the space.
Recalling the two pounding chests as Professor's blood brothers, a small smile graced her lips.
****