Chapter 85
Chapter 85
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: Masquerade (1)
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***
The next morning.
Watching the two of them gather their things in the shelter to head out, the Professor let out a heavy sigh.
“...Sorry.”
“Tch. What kind of situation is this where the one who should be receiving the apology is the one giving it? Don’t worry. It’s my mess, so even if I die, I’ll take responsibility for it.”
“No, no, I’m not being sarcastic—this is a real apology. Have I been living alone too long? I must’ve been thinking wrong. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been so busy, ignoring the most obvious things. Stuff that’s second nature to me might be brand-new knowledge to you two.”
“Whatever the case, it’s our mistake while you were away. The responsibility’s on us—more precisely, on me for firing first and provoking the bastard. There’s a letter on that table with a few drops of my blood, the biometric code, and the password. In case something goes wrong with me this time...”
“Oh, that. I burned it the moment I saw it this morning.”
“What? Why!”
“Why do you think? Why’d you go and write a damn suicide note like you’re about to off yourself? Bad omen.”
“Didn’t you say yesterday you were going to take responsibility for provoking that monster? You’re not going to hunt it down?”
“Hunt it? Old Picture? With what? The thing survived a dozen anti-tank missiles point-blank. We can’t kill it, and we don’t need to. The board says Dome’s handling it, so they’ve probably set the stage by now. We just go there and calm the bastard down.”
“Uh... Hepburn? No matter how I think about it, calming that monster seems harder than killing it... How the hell are you gonna do that?”
The Professor tossed a box he’d pulled from the corner of the shelter’s storage last night to the puzzled Vex and Ian as he explained.
“Easy. We play along with its delusions for a bit.”
Inside the box the Professor threw was a pile of dusty old-era clothes.
***
As they stripped off their usual gear and changed into the old-era outfits, the Professor—who’d heard the full story from Vex—had to admit he was largely at fault here.
For starters, the two had read the Zone 47 living guidelines he’d given them. The problem was that the guide, crammed onto a palm-sized sheet in tiny print, was barely legible.
‘It’s because I started making that guide back when I first settled in Zone 47, just for myself.’
Things had gotten a lot better in recent months, but the Professor hadn’t exactly lived in luxury. There was a ton to remember, so a ton to write down—and in this godforsaken wasteland, even a single clean sheet of paper wasn’t easy to come by.
As years passed and wasteland life became routine, the guide grew thicker and thicker. Thinking ‘it’s just for me anyway,’ he’d stopped using fresh paper and instead scribbled additions in the margins between the neat, tidy lines.
‘The info on Type 3 mutants? I wrote that over the third time I rewrote the section. Scribbles jammed between clean text—who’d think that was important and remember it? That’d be weirder.’
Squeeeze—
“Ugh, Professor, sorry, but got nothing bigger than this for pants?”
“That’s the biggest old-era stuff I’ve got at home. No choice—suck it up and wear ’em. How’s yours, Vex? Good fit?”
“Mine’s fine. Anyway, really sorry, Hepburn. I thought I’d read and understood everything you wrote a bunch of times, but once I actually faced it...”
“No need to apologize. Anyone meeting Old Picture for the first time would do the same.”
Even so, Vex had apparently read every last scribble meticulously. The guy knew how crucial info was. With his meticulous nature, he wouldn’t miss a thing, no matter how small.
‘The issue is, you can’t just learn about absurd shit like Type 3 mutants from words on paper and have it stick. I was a shut-in survivor munching on scraps at home, so I used the community a lot. But Ian’s busy traveling for trade, and Vex was a Scavenger without even an access rig. Compared to me, they had way less knowledge on mutants. So when I just told them ‘don’t provoke it, act like an old-timer and you’re safe,’ they figured it was no big deal.’
The hype around Zone 47 as the safest spot probably loosened their guard too.
But surprise—the quiet monster neighborhood has a nightmare that’d make Satan cry and run?
“...What’d you ride in on when you first met Old Picture?”
“Hmm... Just poking around, so I took the fuel-sipper buggy.”
“Knew it. That’d catch its eye.”
Old Picture’s appearance? Cosmic horror monster straight out of a nightmare.
A massive pink flesh blob like baby skin, covered in all sorts of shoes rippling like scales as it squelches along on that shoe-studded meatball. Front and center: three eerily lifelike dolls waving limbs like real people from afar, topped with lidless round eyes and lipless mouths gleaming.
Who stays sane with that chasing you? And Old Picture even emits some psychic vibe that amps up anxiety nearby.
In an unfamiliar place, facing a first-time monster that looks like it crawled out of hell heading your way?
From Vex and Ian’s perspective, buying “Old Picture’s safe” was a hard sell. The guide said it plain as day. But what if it was in a pissy mood today? Their lives on the gambling scale opposite that bet?
Survival’s instinct in the wasteland. Old Picture looked too vicious to trust a single “safe”—so for two who’d learned to ventilate mutants on sight post-apocalypse, flipping to survival mode the instant they met it was natural.
“Let’s see... How’s this? Look old-era enough?”
“You’re good, but Vex needs a change.”
“Why? I’m fine. Don’t you need to switch, though? You look pervy with those bulges here and there.”
The Professor nodded at Ian in tight leather pants and plaid shirt, Vex in blue jacket and jeans. Passable. Weird, but like weird old-era folk.
With practiced hands, he pulled ripped jeans, a shirt, and leather jacket from the box, dressed, then clapped the uncomfortable pair on the shoulders and shoved them toward the entrance.
“Alright, ready? Let’s go. A day’s passed, so we’ve got time, but unknowns could pop up.”
“Uh... No armor? I get we’re doing something weird, but heading out naked without a gun feels off...”
“No holsters—just stuff ’em by the seat.”
“What’re we taking?”
After Ian’s question, the Professor snapped his fingers like a good idea hit.
“That armored truck—wasn’t it loaded with promo crap?”
“Yeah? Oh, right. Still like that from when that Ezell guy inspected.”
“Perfect. We’ll take it. It’ll come in handy. I’ll explain the rest en route.”
The Professor handed them the smallest masks he had, then herded the grumbling duo into the truck, thinking: Time to drill Zone 47’s rules into them for good.
***
Vroooom—
“Left here. See that alley with the red flag? Pull in and park for a sec.”
“Hm? Thought we were heading central?”
“We’ve got time, and since we’re dressed up, let’s learn some Zone 47 basics first.”
Screeech—
The Professor parked, pointed at the flapping red flag, and spoke.
“Like I’ve said a million times, Zone 47’s the safest around. My place is outskirts, so less so, but central? Rivals inside Dome.”
“Yeah, read that in your guide.”
“Good. Think about it. Safe zone means Zone 47 folks outlive outsiders, right?”
“Sure.”
“In this shit world, do long-livers see more good or more bad?”
“Uh... More bad? Probably?”
The Professor snapped his fingers at Vex’s answer from the back.
“Bingo. Long life in the wasteland ain’t blessed. Some like us get lucky, but most writhe in loneliness and pain day by day. By 40, they off themselves or go full psycho gang. That’s why Zone 47’s crawling with ’em compared to elsewhere.”
Safety plus wasteland quirks—a side effect. Safer Zone 47 means longer average lifespans. Unlike other zones where you get killed before madness, here psychos survive to become end-stage psycho gangs.
“That red flag marks a psycho gang ahead.”
“What? You just mark ’em and leave alive? Super strong? Too tough for Dome-managed Zone 47?”
“Nah, heard he fights decent, but not that much. I’ll show you why they spare [Cannibal Chef Cook] ahead—just stick tight behind me, do NOTHING. No talking, no aggressive moves no matter what. Leave the guns.”
“Pistol okay? I can hide it.”
“You’re itching to shoot! Drop it NOW!”
Swoosh—
“Vex, knife too. All weapons—leave ’em.”
“The psycho gangs I saw treated people like meat...”
“This one’s similarly nuts, but twisted different. Shut up from now on, eyes only. Trouble? Flash this.”
The Professor gave them each a small, glossy green paper scrap, then headed into the red-flagged alley. At the gloomy end: one building with a lit sign, glass front showing busy movement inside—out of place vibe.
[Chef Cook’s Pizza House]
“Pizza... House?”
“Yeah. From now on, we’re not wasteland survivors—we’re customers buying pizza. Practice run before Old Picture’s turf.”
“Uh... Metaphor? Like slicing people pizza-style, tomato sauce as splattered blood?”
“Nah? It’s a real pizza joint. Famous one—even Dome elites can’t always get in. Only quirk: run by a psycho gang.”
“Pizza joint... in this dead world? Looking all normal?”
“That’s why he’s nuts. See for yourself, then I’ll explain.”
Leading the tense duo through the eerie alley, the Professor cheerfully flung open the half-crooked door to the pizza house.
***