Chapter 61
Chapter 61
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 61
Chapter Title: Inside Out (8)
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***
Despite the Professor's desperate prayers, the situation unfolded exactly as he had feared.
"How about just sticking with HIV? We've already built some reputation with that name anyway. No reason not to use it."
"Ian, like I said before, while we were operating under that name, we wiped out the unit Dome dispatched..."
"Aren't you overthinking it? Look, there were no survivors from Dome's side in that underground bunker. We confirmed it ourselves, so that's solid fact, right? So from Dome's perspective, would they think their elites got taken out by a trio of wasteland scavengers, or by those pitch-black Raptor buddies who charged in with flamethrowers blazing?"
"Hmm..."
"Obviously, they'd assume it was the Raptors. The Raptors get to flex their muscle, and they've got no reason to correct that story. That way, even if Dome finds out we're HIV, to them we're just scavengers who stumbled into a fight between two major factions and lucked out with some loot. Nothing risky about it."
"Habib, reputation actually matters a ton in the wasteland. Hell, even a caravan you never heard of shows up at your door saying 'got goods to sell,' even the most upstanding group will act defensively first. And 'defensive' around here means pumping lead into them until they stop twitching. That's where HIV works in our favor—it's known as a force strong enough to tangle with Raptor legions and Dome elites, so at least we won't get jumped on sight."
This was bad. Both of them were already treating HIV as the settled name for our caravan. But... but I didn't want that! I had dreams too! I'd scraped by day to day just trying to survive solo, and now that I finally had a proper gig, having our company name be 'AIDS Virus Caravan'? My parents up in heaven would take one look with 'How's our boy doing~' and faint dead away!
I needed some counterargument. Their points were already logically sound, so whining that I just didn't like it wouldn't make them budge.
'Think, think...! I'm Professor Park, the guy who navigated this brutal wasteland solo with nothing but wits...! There has to be a way, a surefire way to dodge this crisis...!'
"Hey, Professor. No objections? Then majority vote again, like last time?"
Ian's face lit up with smug triumph. Hold on. Majority vote? Majority vote!!!
"Wait a seeecond!!!"
The Professor shot his hand up right before Ian could call the vote, halting him in his tracks.
"What? Got a counterproposal?"
"Majority vote... majority vote sounds perfect! Funny you mention it—I'm a broadcaster, so I've got some pull in the Zone 47 chat room packed with folks. We're not a huge caravan, so Zone 47 will be our main customer base. Wouldn't it look better to poll them? We can spread the word that we're HIV while we're at it, solving the rep issue too."
At the Professor's frantic pitch, Ian and Bex's resolve began to waver.
"Hmm... yeah, fair point. Zone 47's straight-up Dome territory, so Raptors showing their face anywhere nearby sparks a war. Spreading HIV's name there is risk-free..."
"Exactly! And from Dome's angle, we basically saved one of their facilities from getting looted by pre-emptively clearing it out. The more we advertise, the better we look to them! Wider our positive image spreads, the more room we have to operate under their radar!"
Truth be told, he hadn't thought it through much. Just figured that if it dodged the 'HIV Caravan' nightmare, any other name was fine.
.
.
.
.
.
Should've just settled for HIV. Human greed knows no bounds, and we always repeat the same mistakes.
- Soy Sauce Gaybar: Lmaooooooo
- Jokasss: Splendid, utterly splendid! Our Professor's got that streamer clout to pull off events like this. Too perfect?
- Soy Sauce Gaybar: Damn, they scouted a naming genius lolololol
He regretted it for sure. It hadn't even been a month since he'd sworn never to trust those idiots again with decisions, so why had he gone and leaned on them once more!
- Honest Clown: Whoa~ So Zone 47's getting its own caravan now?
- Take a Look: Makes sense—Zone 47's big enough that no caravan feels right.
- Speed Wagon: Blame the Marketplace. Caravans can't ignore intra-zone trade volume, and Dome runs Zone 47. Most stuff gets dumped en masse on their exchanges, no need for caravan shipping fees.
- Enden: True. But some goods you can only snag via caravan. Delivery over two zones spikes drone loss rates. Log in to [Customer, your package was hijacked in transit. Sorry.] and it boils your blood.
- Resignation Account: Caravan? Sell whatever. Zone 30's Happy Blind masks. Can't get 'em here easy.
- Number Three: Don't sell those lunatics' crap, seriously.
The crowd had ballooned. Seemed like every soul in Zone 47 had piled in. Not all tuned into his stream, but his broadcast blowing up had turned the Zone 47 chat into meeting central.
More people was good. Wider name spread meant better business for a new outfit. More voters, higher odds of solid names.
.
.
.
-Curse myself for thinking that! If he could rewind a few minutes, he'd beat Professor Park senseless to stop this mess!
- Soy Sauce Gaybar: Alright, time to announce results! So many great suggestions from friends! Professor belongs in grad school, not uni, so [Graduate School]. That infamous spice lord's joining, vanishing scavenger packs wherever he passes, so [Psycho Robbers]. For some reason, seems like a mutant-friendly corp, [Umbrella]. LGBT, cannibals, etc... Too many gems, but!
One name crushed the vote...
The Professor's face drained of color, cold sweat pouring like rain as he watched the live chat scroll.
No, please no! He'd seen the whole thing. One name dominated the chatter, but anything but that, anything but...!
- Soy Sauce Gaybar: Introducing! Over 70% of votes, overwhelming popularity! Unlike the joke names, this one's got real caravan meaning! Congrats! Our dear Professor's new caravan: Big Dream Small Margin! Massive dreams supplied on razor-thin margins—such a brilliant concept! BDSM it is!
- vargr: Haha. Embarrassing. I just named it wishing Professor's biz booms, didn't expect wasteland-wide resonance.
- Holy: *clap clap clap clap*
- Deer Drug Please: Omedeto, Professor-kun!
- Heung An Mandu: Congrats, Professor. You're not just a survivor anymore—you're wasteland proper. Fits right in, one with the dust.
- Take a Look: Democratically voted name. Don't use? Commie.
- Jokasss: Don't use? Raptor.
Why hadn't it hit him? Crowds or not, this was a community—proper names were never on the table!
"Puhahaha! Masterpiece! Zone with crowds has its perks!"
"Habib... broadcasting in front of these people... what kinda fights have we been through..."
"No way! Dream! My job! First job BDSM?!"
Big Dream Small Margin. Meaning was gold. But shortened? Bondage, Discipline, Sadism, Masochism!
What now? Back out? Too late—half of Zone 47 was here. Wreck public opinion that bad and still do business?
- Jokasss: Didn't someone say we got Dome residents here? Snitch to 'em. New group in Zone 47. Gotta schmooze Dome for caravan anyway, sooner better.
Hold up. Heart not ready yet...
Ding-
[Player `Dome-sec47` requests voice connect.]
Damn! Fast when it counts!
The Professor froze, then hit accept anyway.
Bleeep-
[Hello. I'm Delmar, Dome-Zone 47 Environmental Management. You're `professor`, resident of Zone 47?]
Urk!
Nausea surged unbidden. Chatting with a Dome official through the connector, old memories overlapped.
[Whoa whoa, easy, shell. Don't waste premium rage on randos. Got that bastard's full name from the file memorized, right? Etched huge on your skull.]
'I know. Just... reflex.'
The Professor steadied his breath, then replied.
[Yes. I'm `professor`.]
[Confirmed. Recently settled in Zone 47? Doesn't look like solo survivor. Mind sharing your group's affiliation and name?]
That condescending tone, mouthing our info before we even spoke. Classic Dome worker move—subtly signaling they hold the intel to steer the convo.
Planned leak or not, it grated.
[Yes. Thinking of doing some business.]
[Business...]
[Caravan. Three members. Plan to roam zones, specializing in Marketplace-hard-to-get goods.]
[Caravan! Perfect. Long-haul traders earn respect these days. So, what do we call you folks?]
.
.
.
.
[...Big Dream.]
[Big Dream? Big Dream Caravan correct?]
[Yes. That'll do.]
Rattle rattle!
Bex and Ian, giggling beside him, lunged and shook his connector pod wildly at the answer.
"Hey, Professor! What gives! Back half's gone! Big Dream! Small Margin! Fix it now!"
[Nope! Done! Registered as 'Big Dream Caravan' in Dome survivor list. Inspector visit soon...]
[Problem outside—catch you later!]
Bleeep-
Ian shook the pod like he meant to smash it, forcing the Professor to cut and bail out.
Pssh-
Rumble-
Both wore sour mugs—clearly loved that name.
"Hey! Professor! Why'd you bail! Fix it!"
"Can't! Won't! Not letting Dome pricks think we're freaks!"
"What's wrong with BDSM! Chat voted it—changing now tanks our rep!"
"Yeah! Habib! Don't ego-sabotage the biz!"
"Forget it! Who said bunk here anyway!"
"You prick, words ain't sinking in—"
Dash!
"Whoa, he's bolting! Bex, grab him!"
Vrooom-
Crash!
"Argh! Tiny guy's too damn quick!"
"Don't lose him! Whip him till he corrects it!"
"Screw off! Twist my chicken neck, dawn still breaks—rip my legs first before Dome calls us—GYAAAH!"
Three grown men sprinting in the cramped shelter kicked up a choking dust cloud instantly.
Whirr-
Corduro's drone wiped its lens with a robot arm, swiveling the security cam to record it all. Per his database, logging joyful memories slashed depression risks big-time.
"Shelter vibe this lively... new owners are gems...!"
Clang!
"Yo! Found two prime pipes in storage!"
"Good grab, brother! C'mon, Professor! Fix our name to BDSM pronto!"
"A, a man's word is bond—no take-backs!"
"Then we'll make you a dame!"
"UWAAAAH! Corduro! Help!"
"Whoa, pipe down. Draws mutants."
"Heh heh heh... lively owners. Too cute... heh heh heh..."
In the silent wasteland shelter heart.
The Professor groaned under brute grips, weeping patriot tears. But registered normal—not HIV, not BDSM. That was enough. Enough... right.
***
[Problem outside—catch you later!]
Bleeep-
"Hmm. New spot got heavy mutant traffic?"
Delmar jotted [Big Dream: Somewhat hazardous area] on his notepad at the abrupt hang-up, then stretched.
"Fuuuuh! Stiff. All today's checks done—time to clock out—"
"O! Senior Delmar! Not off yet?"
"Wah! Scare ya! Kid! Knock first, told ya!"
"Hehe, sorry."
Delmar turned to his perpetual space-cadet junior scratching his head.
"You not clocking out?"
"Aw, don't ask. Thought Inspectorate meant cute secretaries and easy paydays climbing from the grind. Dying here. Not why I busted ass up here."
Junior griped on cue, toting two coffees. Annoying but lovable.
"Fine. I'm out—finish yours. Stayed for a tip just before quittin' time."
"Tip? This late?"
"Yeah. New caravan in Zone 47. Marketplace logs show too much for solo. Source solid."
"Gotcha. Name... Big Dream? Right?"
Delmar flicked the doubting junior's forehead at his notes.
"Ow!"
"Think I botch records, rookie? Straight from their mouth—not thirdhand. Solid."
"No, no, your logs are gold, senior. Just... shorter than I know. Comms glitch?"
"Comms glitch?"
"Yeah! Why wastelanders ditch voice? Sandstorms cut out nonstop! We use for player voiceprint collection, but it's a pain, admit it."
"Hmm. Voice did slur on the name."
"Bet. I know zone intel cold—that's truncated. Big Dream, Small Margin. BDSM."
Delmar's face soured at junior's cocky certainty.
"Group name's that? For real?"
"Lightweight or not, I don't fib on records! Swear! They're BDSM Caravan!"
"BDSM... Didn't vibe that on call, but wasteland's got another nutter."
Delmar tilted his head, then updated the Inspectorate DB: 'Big Dream' to 'BDSM (Big Dream Small Margin)'.
"Better?"
"Yessir! Thanks!"
"Psh. You off now? Let's grab one—I'm heading out."
"Hahaha! Tempting, but next time. Stuff at home."
"Always 'stuff.' Fine, kid. Tomorrow."
"Yup! G'night!"
Delmar vanished into an alley after parting at Inspectorate entrance. His angular-hatted junior ambled opposite, hat crooked.
Step, step.
White smile crept across the man's lips on the quiet, lamplit street.
"Nope, can't let ya slip, Professor pal. As Dome rep of justice and democracy, can't ignore vote-tampering."
Grinning, the inspector melted into city shadows, small screen in hand.
Input-proof but screen-mirroring mini-display corner blazed [Zone 47 Chat - 'Soy Sauce Gaybar'] bright.
***