Chapter 488
Chapter 488
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: Gedroits's Heir, Deul (3)
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*Tick... tick... tick...*
*Ding-!*
『System Notice: Due to a major update, this board has been temporarily offline. All functions have now been restored.』
The screen, which had been blinking [OFFLINE] in white text on a black background, flickered back to life.
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*Free Board*
1. OOOOOOOOOO!!!!! [798]
↳ palace: Oh, check out post #1 on the board. It's been reset.
↳ gigiguegue: Even in this historic moment, they're pulling this crap.
2. Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou [257]
↳ BabyPig3Servings: GG is.... still alive, right?!
↳ GloomySunday: I knew this bullshit would end someday, but seeing that black screen made my breath catch....
↳ Volvo808: I slit my wrists like Suba said, but no styptic in the house. Am I dying?
.
.
.
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Dome cheered. No, every shelter with survivors erupted in joyous roars!
Sure, from a pre-apocalypse perspective, who'd make a fuss over an online community being down for two hours? But that's just a pre-apocalypse view.
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81. Hey, check the death toll on your main boards.
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In the post-apocalypse wasteland, the GG board going dark was a life-or-death event.
Life for survivors inside Dome's territory was simple: Do the tasks Dome assigned. Get food and supplies as pay. If no side gigs, return to your designated shelter and minimize calorie burn. In other words, sleep.
That's the life of a "civilian"—the average survivor leeching off Dome's domain.
Outside Dome? Even simpler.
Regular wake-up, shelter check, repairs, inventory stock, cleaning, tending a three-pyeong greenhouse. Once maintenance was done, minimize calorie burn. Sleep again.
Dome survivors had a set routine. Out here, it was just self-imposed drudgery. Without major issues, the day's work wrapped before noon. If something big hit—like Park's generator crapping out long ago—you either fixed it or died. Standard sequence.
Boring, monotonous, no hope for the future.
In that wasteland, the [GG board]—the one link to other people—was like rain in drought, sunlight piercing depression like weeds, the spark filling your days with something worth sharing.
So when GG blinked out for two whole hours without warning or notice—and Gedroits's Game, the twin pillar of wasteland leisure, crashed and booted every player—users who'd quietly feared "What if the GG satellites fail someday?" despaired: "It's here!", "Today's doomsday!"
Just as that despair boiled into "What even hope now?" and mobs marched on Upper Dome...
Gedroits's Game and GG returned as abruptly as they'd left.
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★Top Admin ‘professor’ Announcement☆
- professor: Hello, dear survivors.
This is Professor Park.
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Amid the black-and-white waves celebrating the return, one post gleamed in rainbow colors.
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↳vibbidubbi: ????
↳Bulls-oneShit: What the hell
↳ChurchofLightWastelandBranchRecruitment28: Latura!
↳迫心: They do this if you're loaded?
↳Jokass: What the fuck is that guy doing here
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Naturally, the post sticking out like a sore thumb in the festival drew excitement, welcomes, and envy all at once.
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★Top Admin ‘professor’ Announcement☆
- professor: Uh, anyway.
Starting now, GG is mine.
I can buy and sell as I please.
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He dropped a bomb right in the cluster of attention.
Confusion, distrust, shock, then acceptance.
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↳Tortiyal: Well, if it's Professor Park, sure.
↳NeugeumMaYeotoTensei: If Professor Park's running it, fine.
↳UWU: Professor Park! Sir! Is he your friend?!
↳NeugeumMaYeotoTensei: Yeah, I'm Neighborhood Survivor #1~ No one can find me~
↳IN and OUT: Anyway, dodged the worst. If GG was designed for someone to own it, Professor Park owning it—based on his track record—is the ideal outcome.
↳Jokass: What bullshit. The ideal is me owning it. Not that prick. Ugh, my stomach hurts, fuck.
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Thanks to his steadily built rep, opinion wasn't bad. No, it went beyond—not just not bad, but dreaming of a brighter future than old GG.
Folks talked of easing GG's "psycho-factory" difficulty, posting custom world settings for tastes, even spinning tales of "true off-wasteland" life and "normie brain life" via online features.
The board boiled with Professor Park praise. The Church of Light Wasteland Branch tent-dwellers in Dome's corner got flooded with PMs and join requests. Professor Park's inbox—blasting a bomb sans consult—exploded with calls from Chief Oh, Elder Woojin, Levit Princess, and other bigwigs.
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★Top Admin ‘professor’ Announcement☆
- professor: Sorry to interrupt the happiness.
But I'm here today to announce the end of GG services you've loved.
Sorry. Tried to go nice, ended up smashing it all.
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Professor Park dropped another bomb in the cheers. First was a piñata; this was biochemical weapons.
Cheers turned to screams, praise to curses. People fetched ropes from drawers, prepping nooses.
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★Top Admin ‘professor’ Announcement☆
- professor: But I wrapped it up clean before smashing.
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Snickering at survivors grinding teeth to kill him, he posted the main point.
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- professor: Server room, found.
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Silence crashed everywhere.
Dana, body and soul worn out, still slept in his login pod.
The outer cheers, screams, agents pounding the locked lab door—all vanished like lies. Only Dana's soft snores tickled his ears.
*Tap, tap, tap*
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- professor: Got coords, security codes, route, transport—all secured.
Haven't confirmed what's exactly there yet.
But Andrey Gedroits's own video says post-nuke tech for rebuilding the ruined world sleeps there.
Can't disclose for security, but given the vicious, intricate, bullshit authority grabs I endured... credibility's high.
You think I'd pull that crap for a bluff? From a guy like Gedroits?
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Even in safe Zone 40s, risky 30s and 50s, shelters, scavengers plotting kills—everyone crowded screens.
Last shock was for GG addicts. This was for all wasteland survivors—humanity entire.
After eternal seconds, a rainbow post topped the thread.
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- professor: Summers cooler, winters warmer. Dome's rad-decon outpost at Zone 31 entrance moved to 30s—rads dropped that much.
The world rushes our pathetic lives to end. Yet we cling because hope hides somewhere.
Sky's dust-shrouded, but beyond waits what we've desperately sought.
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Info-packed post. Sharp ones get the hint. Obviously, Chief Oh and most brass would stop, criticize this.
So he got Chief drunk—breath-on-fire drunk—then straight back to post.
Fake messiah who'd saved the world twice knew best how to use what he had.
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Our paradise, Gedroits's Game, is irreparably damaged.
No more cool blue seas, fresh green forests, fun virtual denizens, mystic adventures.
Fake paradise gone, but I believe you won't quit life over it.
Because our aimless lives now have a clear signpost.
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Just surviving. For those pouring spare time into escaping grim reality, it replaces lost fake paradise.
Hope. To those ditching the blind future, looping in place—offers server room, clearest "change chance."
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Server room. I'll head out, grab it quick.
Dear survivors. Depression's our gen's infamous reaper and plague. We're each other's cure, crutch. Don't forget.
Live long. Out.
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Reminded the stagnant of life's worth. That their actions could change things. From dazed players fleeing reality, waiting death—to last humans enduring the age.
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- professor: Oh, one more.
New powers include GG drone control. ‘NeugeumMaYeotoTensei’, I know where you live. If transport drones swarm beeping with loads, it's me—die quietly.
↳NeugeumMaYeotoTensei: M-mercy....
↳PiloPilo77: Holy shit
↳Jokass: Come to our side.... Please. Quick. Begging.
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*Tap!*
"Hmm, that should do."
If wasteland pop's 100, 90 rely hardcore on Gedroits's Game fun or broadcast vicarious thrills.
"GG servers shutting down—" and 90% dive into brutal boredom.
Boredom sounds minor, but in sealed spaces, no future hope, chewing bland food for bare survival, death/violence looming—piles of empty time.
Bet: Sudden GG wipe triggers mass depression, apathy.
So he leaked server room intel—top secret.
What moves people: Expectation for tomorrow. Urban legend etched as "last hope" in survivor brains: tech keeping us alive—shelters, drones, Gedroits's Game, sats, auction house—from Andrey Gedroits. Longing for "server room" magic fix.
*Bang bang bang!*
"Pro....fessor! Open....the door! This, urk! Major issue, server room....existence, no consult.... urk!"
"Drunk Chief."
"Chief's drunk."
"No way. Chief's.... drunk!"
"Am I dying today? Seeing sober Chief stumbling drunk!"
Chief's bellows at the dented door, agents staring like ghosts.
*Bang bang bang!*
"Excess excitement.... poison to groups....! In hours.... every survivor storms admin building! This needs.... phased rollout to public... urk!"
Mm. Classic Chief. Focuses future over past. Yeah, I know. Joy total's like million-fold a perennial loser soccer fan seeing Prem win.
Even now, excited citizens swarm windows outside. Screeching. Spraying SMGs airward. Smashing that corner cult building—wait, life-size my billboard? Uh, okay. Whatever.
"From there's your job. I just did mine~!"
Blithely blew off the chaos outside.
Curses, "Beam-cut the door!", "Special reinforced for berserk mutant Professor" excuses, agent collapsing from Chief's breath.
"Hoo. Hah. Then at least.... tell me your 'job.' If you knew your words/actions sway so much!"
Puked Chief, voice clearer, asked through door.
*Tap, tap. Tap!*
"My job? It's set."
Cheery typing, board blacks out. Huge screen shows my account status.
Player name, play record, Professor, chat rooms etc.—under familiar text, new list.
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[Downloaded Content/Server Stored]
1. Evelyn Riga's personality data
2. Avril Quill's personality data
3. Enbrice Marquilt's personality data
4. ...
.
.
.
.
Taz25. Jen Brnau's personality
Taz26. Jade Oslow's personality
Taz27. Jo Sung-hwan's personality
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"...Saint. Messiah. Savior. Whatever—might as well try."
Endless list filling screen.
Before names of those I saved, I said:
As the Completer you, they made, I'm here.
Unlike past—power, authority, info all in hand now.
What I could do then incomparable;
Reach now incomparable wider.
Wanted to. Not swept along—first time wanting this bad myself.
"World. Wanna save my world with my hands."
*Crash!*
*Rat-tat-tat-tat! Boom! Boom!*
『Zone 47 Dome Enforcement Security Unit! Disperse now, return to assigned tasks—』
"Outta way! Enlisting at admin!"
"BDSM HQ's empty! Where'd you hide 'em!"
"Tell us our jobs!"
"Got hidden food! Where to donate?!"
"Let us see Professor Park!"
『Calm down and leave! Closer and tear gas—』
*Screech—crunch!*
Waaaaaah!!!!
*Boom—boom—!*
*Cough cough! Hack!*
Waaaaaagh!
Puuuush!
Thus, the saint's birth—who'd set his own will after countless ordeals—was grandly adorned: excited crowds roaring, marching; raging masses, fiercer soldiers; tear gas stench mingling hot air. Fitting his launch.
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As hope's page turned in one world corner.
Another forgotten corner spun its tale.
『Grooooooowl----』
*Boom!*
....*Hiss-*
[Hunting Pack, Pack Leader. Target silenced.]
*Hiss-*
[Wolf Pack. Leader dead, succession. Report losses, done. No friendlies left.]
*Hiss-*
[Pack Leader, Wolf Head here. Survivors reform packs around my designated beacons. Move 'prey' to nest. Swiftly.]
*Hiss-*
[Confirmed]
*Hiss-*
[Confirmed. Processing unusable allies, joining.]
*Hiss-*
Military receiver static capped the comms. The self-dubbed Wolf Head grimaced at horrors beyond his gas mask.
"Gruesome carnage."
"Carnage, eh. Yeah. Carnage. How many dead?"
"Eighty-nine pack units including Pack Leader. Thirty-two cyborg heavies. Swarm Alpha Red Cadillac's guard, Noise Pack, elite legions—most dead or irradiated."
"Tsk tsk tsk. Red bastard, such a talker. Always overzealous. Even craving my seat..."
"Guessing you leaked prey intel on purpose, sir."
"Oh? Busted? Noise Pack under you's sharp, huh. How many heads to lop under me now."
No optic weapon traces—miracle of modern war absent—like Great War hellscape.
Shell-scarred earth glowed red, molten. Thick fallout mixed in flowing heat, gas—hunting more victims.
Hell's heart: barely "creature" colossal corpse smoldered flesh-stink thick.
"Makes me hungry. You skipped dinner commanding? Lunch with me. New chef nails steaks."
"Before.... may I ask one thing, sir?"
*-Clack.*
Mirror-polish shoes halted on steel fortress. He pondered:
Does this guy warrant pausing my invite, delaying his duties, questioning me? Worth keeping alive?
"...Sure."
Gustav al-Harb—Raptor—deemed him worthy.
"No efficiency freak like you asks pointless shit. If it stops me, gotta hear."
"As said, op's results horrific—loathesome to eye."
Wolf Head's "horrific" skipped body counts, rad-death near reactor core.
"I grant prey's value, but.... does it fit Raptor Society's future gains? I question why you take such losses."
"Understand, wanna be second Raptor?"
"Just aligning my actions more efficiently to your will."
*Heh heh heh heh.*
Raptor laughed, metal face—neck, shoulders half-replaced—shaking at sincere respect, loyalty.
"Aah, duh. Said it myself, forgot your type. Very you."
"Efficiency. Yes. Pure efficiency? Op's trash. But unavoidable. Most fits what you call 'Raptor Society goal.'"
"That direction?"
"Sorry, secret I tell only closest 'friend.'"
Gustav al-Harb Raptor touched metal replacing Kesselring's flesh, watching displeasure flicker.
That guy would've spilled all by now. His life's sole envy, idol. Only vividly human-seeming, ended biting his neck, exploding—best friend.... Might've confessed dreams to that stoic face.
"Swarm Alpha Fedor 'Raptor' Kesselring. You're not there yet."
"Swarm Alpha.... you mean."
"Yeah. Red's slot empty—fill it. Enough talk, chow time. Stomach growling enough to just shoot you and eat."
"Leading the way."
Kesselring followed without pushback.
Rad-soaked earth. "No-entry" triple-digit Zone 6.
Zone 38 Dome's central powerhouse sparked visible shields fierce. Gargantuan mobile fortress swallowed the two Raptor heads.
[Ashfield, we're building an armed force together!]
[In this war-poured world, strongest military of aimless war maniacs!]
Raptor chewed bloody memory-flesh, vivid past.
[....For what.]
[Battlefields. You need battlefields—only that! Guarantee: My world, war nonstop till end.]
Sole heartfelt talk with cherished—no, enviable—sole friend.
[And make what.]
Uncharacteristic question from Ashfield, Ian. Raptor answered:
[Obviously, better world!]
"....Better world, sure."
Raptor—Gustav al-Harb—savored battlefield air thick with shell-heat, powder, cordite.
Perfect—beyond Gedroits old man's dreams, peak perfect world.
Feeling it near, Raptor joyfully raised his glass.
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