Chapter 385
Chapter 385
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 385
Chapter Title: Travel Preparations (8)
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“Let’s check that place out.”
“Galle’s Everything Store? It’s just full of cheap junk. They sell stuff that wouldn’t even pass inspection inside.”
“Yeah? How about that one then? I didn’t bring any weapons with me anyway…”
“Hmm? You came out without even a pistol? Wow~ So even the legendary HIV turns into a young master after marinating like a pickle for a few months?”
“…Wanna go a round without guns? See who wins?”
“Joking, joking. Anyway, that place isn’t great either. So many people die out here that there’s tons of orphaned guns around, and that shop picks them up and sells them. They pull out the good parts and reassemble, so the quality isn’t total crap, but it’s still used junk that rolled in the mud.”
“Then how about—”
“Tastes awful.”
“That one over there—”
“Wanna smoke a cigar mixed with black powder?”
Ezel, our guide, led us two curiosity-driven wanderers onward without hesitation.
“The market’s way bigger than it looks from outside. If you waste time at the ‘surface’ shops, you won’t even finish by dinner. Dana would get tired from all the walking too. Let’s hit the best spots first, then come back alone later for the rest, nice and slow.”
“If the expert says so.”
It hadn’t been long following Ezel when we noticed the market thinning out from the initial crush where you had to shove through crowds.
Unlike the bright entrance lights, the glow here was softer, and instead of outsiders’ bustle, the customers and merchants were armed with caution.
“Different vibe, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“We’ve left the ‘surface’ market and gone into the valley. This used to be the black market back in the day, so the layout’s complicated and the goods get riskier from here.”
“Definitely feels that way. But I keep hearing ‘surface’ this, ‘valley’ that. It’s not just locations, right? What’s the real difference?”
Ezel and the pitch boys at the entrance had been yelling stuff like ‘We’re on the surface, but you’ve got the skills to head into the valley!’ or ‘Our shop’s in the valley!’
“Oh, that? No big deal. In Zeus Valley, the better the shop, the deeper in the valley they are. Kinda like a ranking system?”
Ezel pulled a knife from his pocket and started scratching a rough diagram on the nearby wall—not a full sketch, more like a cross-section.
“The deepest part of the market has merchants who’ve held it down since black market days. Some are assholes you wouldn’t wanna deal with. They were tough already, but after the 38 District mess, they absorbed all sorts of scavengers, raiders, and even regular caravans. Now some are groups too big for the Inspection Bureau to touch. That’s the ‘valley bottom’—militarized shops. The big names? ‘Moby-Dick,’ ‘Let Human,’ ‘Snailra Company’—those three.”
“Next are the valley walls. Guys who handled black market relays grew into this. They’ve got the know-how, connections, and skills from being old-timers. When the bottom crews expanded and pushed them out, they dug caves into the walls and set up shop. Dug so many the valley nearly collapsed, so ‘Moby-Dick’ is cracking down on new digs now. You’ve got famous beauty salons that draw crowds from Upper Dome, super hip tattoo and piercing artists, even the bar that makes that famous ‘Moon Glow’—all valley wall merchants.”
“The surface is where people set up after Zeus Valley got big enough. Fun fact: 70% of surface shops are tied to Marketplace. Marketplace is scrambling since they’re losing their monopoly, but the valley shops have their positions locked down tight. Makes infiltration tough. Get it?”
“Yeah. More sophisticated than I thought.”
“Right? Especially how position depends on quality. Bottom folks don’t wanna move up, obviously. But high-end shops getting chances to go down means some group controlling all Zeus Valley has the power to force it. Like separating luxury from off-the-rack.”
“Exactly. Bottom’s where randos get skinned alive quick. This setup lets them filter for big spenders.”
It clicked instantly.
Surface: general goods, like a wasteland flea market.
Valley interior, walls, upper parts: real dealers with proper stuff.
Bottom, depths: shops evolved into gangs with their own funds and manpower. Competing for Zeus Valley turf, enforcing valley law.
“…What do the bottom merchants handle?”
“Anything. They’ve got specialties, but together? You name it, they’ve got it down here.”
“Really?”
Found it.
I thought, glancing sideways—Dana nodded, thinking the same.
‘Anything’ for sale. Anything.
Camilla said she’d get ‘hunted.’ They kill or kidnap folks suffering 38 District aftermath and sell them.
If Dome’s got human trafficking, no better spot than Zeus Valley, out of Inspection Bureau’s easy reach.
Proving it, as we delved into darkening valley, watching eyes started appearing one by one.
‘…Two in that alley. One—no, three—in the wall cave. Camo ponchos in material I don’t recognize. Ah, that shopkeeper who just passed isn’t a shopkeeper.’
Non-reflective weapons in alleys, some camo so good even I missed it. Merchant-looking guy’s arms had vet-soldier muscle, and some ‘merchants’ had loaded guns for sale.
A fortress. With valley terrain blocking tanks or heavies, they could take on Dome regulars.
…And the boss just lets this sit? Right in their front yard?
“Ezel. Safe enough to bring Dana, right?”
“…They’re hiding, but you see them? How many?”
“There, there. Goat-beard in the shop ahead, kid girl buying the necklace. And that on the wall? Looks just like a real rock?”
“Damn. After all that in GG, you really came back a superhuman? Safety’s no issue. Safer than anywhere else in 47.”
We’d arrived—Ezel’s nonstop steps halted. Dust around his feet looked unnaturally piled.
Clang clang—!
He tapped the ground with his toe; movement stirred below.
“Molar.”
“Egg sac~”
Ezel replied casually in code. Then,
Grrrrrind—
Stone slab beside him opened; a man’s head popped up.
“Stop popping in and out! You know how heavy this is! Ezel!”
“Kamroy~ If you’re pissed, don’t do shit that gets you punished! How many days left?”
“12. Doping or not, 80 days gate duty solo? Too harsh! Unlike outside, it’s a fucking sauna in here!”
“You doped in cage fights for betting money. Gramps didn’t block it, you’d be hanged. Be grateful it’s just 80 days labor.”
“Shit. Get in already. Can’t leave it open long or security bitches out.”
Ezel bantered familiarly, no respect.
But my eyes were fixed past him, on the glowing sign below the stairs.
[Moby-Dick (Dick)]
One of Zeus Valley’s underworld bottom gangs.
[Woojin Urology Branch 2]
Big letters below, a name I’d buried in memory, and,
Creak creak creak creak—
“Damn assholes, making the entrance a ramp with no handicap access, like inconsiderate punks.”
“Gramps said security first, right? Updraft keeps gas from pooling.”
“Give the old man a break, jawboy!”
“You bitched when I called you old before.”
Below: familiar bulk, sunglasses, metal jaw.
Pushing his wheelchair: an old man.
“Ian…?”
“Damn moron. You’re here, so it’s open today.”
“And, Gramps? You… no, that form…”
Elder Woojin. Back in solo survivor days, the 46 District quack doc I hit up constantly for meds. Urologist who handled eyes, internals, ortho, psych—everything.
Thought-dead Woojin, on Ian’s wheelchair. With empty leg space.
“As you see, dwarf shit-sack now—say 60% survival. Why so shocked! You saw me at Admin! Came specially!”
Kinda remembered seeing it hazy on waking. Blurry wheelchair old man silhouette.
But after 46 fell to Raptors, last word was ‘stayed at hospital to the end.’ No way he’d be here now, recovering.
Old man = Ottoman first, so I figured hallucination from near-death.
“Of course, uh, thought it was a hallucination! Coulda said hi! Woke up sane, you were gone!”
“You lovebirds vanished for ‘alone time.’ I’m busy! Saw your face, done! Wanted tears reunion?”
No way. Real. That raspy voice, custom dentures gleaming—pure Woojin.
I floundered, speechless; Ian kicked the wheelchair back.
“Can’t talk nice, Gramps? You love it inside but always curse. How’d you doctor with that edge?”
“That’s why trash like you survived. Shut up, pay the bet. Told ya Professor’s got mental ED issues—won’t happen today.”
“Ptoo! Shouldn’t bet on that cherry boy.”
“I’m a urologist, punk.”
Ignoring me, they bickered; gestured me in quick.
Grrrrrind—
We three descended; gate guy cranked, sweating.
Downstairs, face-to-face.
“Told ya daytime: congrats on return. Dickless.”
“Welcome to Moby-Dick (Dick), Woojin Urology Branch 2, newbie.”
“Bex?”
“Out buying doll—niece due today. Shoulda seen that guy’s ‘I own the world’ face when you ruled it.”
“…”
“Not blaming sis-in-law. She tried. Met Deer separate, learned stuff, secret techniques whatever. We owe her big.”
Huh? Wait.
“Dana. Learned what… from who?”
“…There’s. That kind of thing.”
That kind? What? Deer teaching Dana? Top person never to teach anyone, ‘Deer Drug Please,’ contacts Dana? She blushed, turned away.
****
“Like heaven, right?”
“Piling up murder tech essence and calling it heaven. God’ll sue you.”
“So, whaddya think?”
“…Fucking awesome. New, right? Production line?”
“Not factory. Organized artisan-level around techs. Post-38, Dome flooded with survivors—lots useful.”
Gun shop. Not reloaded junk or Frankenstein franken-guns—proper parts machined one-by-one(!) into firearms.
Near 8 wasteland years, first real ‘new’ guns. Best before were pre-war crate queens; here, crafting precision firearms…
“That real?”
“Ripped off mission. Owner’s obsessed; figured he’d buy. Sold for half-year BDSM budget. Says unusable yet, but fixing hard—fingers crossed.”
Even 76mm ship cannon on display. Owner happy here, but caught buying black market uranium bits for mad science, jailed. Claims satisfied now.
“This is the cafeteria.”
“They do food too?”
“Not really business—too many staff, like company canteen.”
Food alley too. Mystery soup with potato-corn preserves, wok flames roaring, rice and veg flying, bright blue meat.
Not mistaken—meat shape, but paint-blue vivid.
“…Mutant?”
“Looks weird, tastes good. Meat texture, crab flavor. Rare breeding mutant. Plentiful, slow, easy catch.”
Then, past bizarre shops…
“Here’s mutant byproduct zone.”
Unlike dim prior spots, arrived at bright white-walled area.
“Land gore next, land gore. Sniper kill, flawless hide, brain and one eye damaged, rest pristine—BDSM’s Keshia Highland delivered this morning~ Starts at 5 mil.”
“500”
“600”
“680”
“700!”
Auctioneer rapid-fire; numbered-hat bidders.
Behind him, 5m giant mutant chained thick.
“BDSM ops mostly funded here. Auction catch, next door techs process for fee: usable, unusable, research-needed. Byproduct makers turn into wild shit.”
Like dawn wholesale fish market—except product’s big/small mutants. Routine here, no weirdness buying/selling.
“Roughly that. Want specifics, I’ll guide. Gramps, time ok?”
“Gotta go soon. You know—kids get anxious if house empty long.”
“Ah, that. Better?”
“Meh, same. No biggie. Old age hobby, actually like it.”
Me and Dana dazed gawking; Ian and Gramps traded cryptic talk.
“Professor.”
“Yes?”
“Busy, heading out. Call when all together later. Have fun. Jawboy guides better. Getting old, out time’s rough…”
“Ah, yes. Go rest. I’ll visit often anyway.”
“Yeah. Oh, if… hard-to-ask medical help needed, anytime. Know my specialty?”
“Bullshit more, fuck off. Please.”
“Heh heh heh heh. Yeah. Good seeing ya after ages, punk. Later.”
Creak creak creak creak—
Woojin grinned, wheeled reverse. Nearby merchant soon pushed.
“…He’s respected.”
“Yeah. Moby-Dick black market boss.”
“Right… Elder Woojin…”
.
.
.
.
Awkward silence hung.
Tap tap—
“Hey, Professor? Sorry, legs hurt now…”
“Hm? Oh, my bad—no consideration. Yeah, lots walked. Let’s head back, I’ll carry.”
“Yeah.”
Dana’s fatigue signaled date’s end.
“Piggyback?”
“…Please.”
Round trip same distance, she didn’t refuse.
Cool night streets, our breaths only sounds between us.
Leaving refugee zone to Dome proper, Dana spoke.
“Elder Woojin’s precious to you?”
“…Kinda.”
“You held back well. If you’d snapped there, he’d be sad.”
“…Sorry. Ruined date mood. Obvious?”
“Smile held, but from side, lip twitched.”
“Ah, that. Thought facial tic.”
Benefactor, yeah. Normally, he’d demand ‘Who fucked me up! Cut their throats for my leg, repay!’ pre-ask.
That tough guy, so deflated. Memory he dodges mentioning.
Faked nonchalance to avoid dredging bad recall; Dana saw through.
So, end early, give space before talk deepens—danger with her around.
“Feels too good for me. You.”
“…Dunno.”
Dana quietly nuzzled my shoulder. Steps to Dome core slowed to turtle.
30min for 5min walk; reached Admin building.
Smack—
“Huh?”
“…Learned it.”
Back-ridden Dana nipped my neck mark-like, hopped off, fled inside.
“See ya tomorrow!”
“…”
Greeted, but she’d vanished.
That deflated my boiling heart.
…Yeah. Rage right if raging. Wasting on innocents ain’t it.
“Raptor.”
Pre-exit with Dana, Ian’s subtle signal.
[Ally / Main Enemy]
Woojin’s leg-takers: them.
“Just one more personal reason to kill must-dies.”
Pure motivation boost. Yeah. That’s it. For now.
So thinking, strode down fast what took slow up.
Return quicker; Ian and Bex waited at byproduct corner where he’d been.
“Booze?”
“Sure.”
Caught tossed bottle.
“Look like you got stuff to say. Say first or hear?”
“…Hear first.”
“Then I need a drink.”
Ian uncorked, downed whole bottle on my say-first.
“Not inside. Bad if overheard.”
Then Ian spilled Elder Woojin’s tale.
Dana cooled my rage to reason, but.
Hearing it, I needed booze too. Lots. Tons.
****