Chapter 89
Chapter 89
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 89
Chapter Title: Chapter 7 Masked Ball (5)
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***
Noon. Briefing starts at 1205.
“All right, props team, stage team! Are you done?”
“Props team! All clear!”
“Stage team! Still got bullet marks to do in Sector C!”
“No time left, so live ammo authorized! Use silencers and wrap it up in five minutes!”
That Jack guy was nowhere in sight, so he must’ve really just played messenger and bailed.
“Hey, over there! Actors! If you’re ready, come on over!”
At the center of the commotion, a scruffy-looking man was barking orders while clutching a megaphone like they were actually shooting a movie.
“Nice to meet you! I’m Director Lee Sang-guk, in charge of directing this play!”
The man thrust out his hand as if for a handshake, all excited. But when Professor and the others just stared at him stone-faced without responding, he awkwardly pulled it back.
“Haha, my bad. The play’s right around the corner, so you actors need time to get into character. I shouldn’t have interrupted. You’re playing resistance fighters rescuing Old Picture from the enemy, right? That stoic, cool demeanor—perfect! True pros! Planning a play for the history books with actors as talented as you all... I’m truly honored!”
‘This guy doesn’t know a thing?’
Ever since hearing Jack’s true intentions, they’d treated this as enemy territory. But the director’s reaction made him seem like he was only thinking about the play involving Old Picture.
Tap tap.
[Rear / Three / Flanks / Two each / Armed]
Bex signaling the situation around them to Ian and me, using the hand signs from Area 45.
‘Three in the rear, two on each flank. Seven total... That’s just what’s visible, so there’s probably double that watching from hidden spots. They’re not just watching us—they’re spread out monitoring everyone here. Most of the director and production crew must be civilians.’
Of course. To fool Old Picture’s sensitive senses and build a stage like this took real skill. Even if Dome’s enforcers had all sorts of talents, there weren’t that many who could handle set design and directing.
“Yeah. A play for the history books... We came without much briefing, so how exactly is it historic?”
“Hahaha! You’re from outside, so you’re a bit behind on the news? Dome’s already buzzing about this. That massive monster—the pride of Area 47—is officially coming under Dome’s control! Kicking out those Raptor Society plunderers and killers will be a huge boost to rebuilding old civilization! I’ve always said it: someday, even this blood-soaked land will bloom with culture, healing the hearts of the despairing! To think I, Lee Sang-guk, get to break ground on that grand project—it’s beyond words—”
The director answered the casual probe without hesitation. Professor ignored him as he rambled on self-praise, lost in his own world, and focused on piecing together the situation.
‘So that’s how Dome’s spinning it.’
Dome’s leaders had leaked only the shiny parts of the project. If the play succeeds, Old Picture submits to humanity’s control. Dome’s forces grow stronger! Something like that.
‘Makes sense. It’s been years since they sealed Old Picture in central Area 47. Even back then, Dome clamped down hard on the media, so not many know the truth. Those who do probably keep their mouths shut under Dome’s watchful eye.’
Most of Dome’s login gear was cheap knockoffs of Gedroits Company’s, so backdoors for media control wouldn’t be surprising. Smart folks who knew the truth would get the message from Dome’s big propaganda push and play dumb.
‘A tightly controlled group, fed only curated outside info, drifting far from wasteland common sense. That’s Dome’s reality.’
In this mad world, people trading freedom and intellect for an alien “peace.”
That was the reality for most Dome civilians, living as cogs in the machine.
In short, the director and the props and production crew here had no idea the monster approaching had slaughtered over three digits worth of people.
“Rendezvous in 20 minutes!”
“Whoops! Look at me! Sorry, I got carried away with my lifelong dream coming true. Here! Take the scripts first!”
“Scripts? You’re handing them out 20 minutes before showtime and expect us to memorize them?”
“Technically not full scripts—just situation outlines! Improv based on the scenario. You can handle it, right? Pros!”
Wink!
The director winked with what he thought was a fun expression.
Professor seriously considered decking that scruffy-bearded mouth.
‘Did I misjudge? Is this civilian director actually an enforcer spy sent to kill us? Dragged us here for war improv, no lines, just wing it from the situation? This guy really a director?’
One or the other. Either this so-called director was a total idiot, or they’d prepped so thoroughly that stalling in front of Old Picture would let things unfold naturally no matter what they did. Dome folks weren’t that sloppy anyway, and with all the used cement bags and tools piled up back there, the latter seemed likely.
“Um... Director Lee?”
“Yes, actor?”
“Could you at least explain the basics? Even for improv, we need to know how you’ll move.”
“Hmm, it’s all in the script, but sure. Communication between actor and director is key to great films too!”
Still buzzing with excitement, Director Lee Sang-guk opened the script.
“All right! Here’s the rundown! Act 1, [Encounter]!”
.
.
.
.
***
#1. Encounter.
Characters: Hepburn, Bex, Ian.
(Noon. Bright lights. The three resistance fighters run across the stage. Hiding in a narrow alley to evade enemies, they encounter refugees who haven’t grasped the situation.)
“Huff, huff! Bex, how many minutes left!”
“Four! Hepburn, we’ve got plenty of time—why are we running?”
“You guys can’t act as well as me. Better to lightly pant than fake exhaustion awkwardly. Past the smashed convenience store, third alley—one, two... Here.”
Splash!
Arriving at the alley marked in the script, the three caught their breath and observed the massive flesh monster in the distance, its body covered in colorful shoes like scales.
“Last rundown. Old Picture was born from the host’s memory of thinking he’d died. Exact cause unknown even to Dome, but likely shock. It collects shoes like you see. Fine until the illusion cracks, then it strips them off first. Stay still and it’ll take your ankle with them. Ian, you lost a shoe fleeing back then, right?”
“Huh? Oh yeah, kicking tentacles off the buggy, my foot got stuck and the shoe came off.”
“Lucky. It pauses to inspect new shoes. Bought time to bomb the building down.”
“What if it hadn’t come off...”
“Its squishy flesh hardens on demand. Would’ve sucked you in like cement or swung a rigid tentacle to smash your leg and take the shoe.”
Squelch, squelch.
Ziiing-!
“Urgh! What the hell makes it ring like this?”
“Close your eyes, focus on the headache.”
“H-Hepburn! Something flashed and vanished!”
“Good eye. Old Picture’s periodic psychic waves are the host’s memories.”
[I saw it too. A man holding his wife and son’s hands, passing the convenience store. Like a freshly developed analog photo?]
‘Yeah. Why it’s called Old Picture.’
Professor hadn’t focused, but he knew roughly. As usual, the host walking past the convenience store holding his family’s hands.
Squelch, squelch.
Old Picture had closed to two blocks away.
“See the three mannequins dangling before its main body?”
“Yeah... Hold on. Those mannequins match the ones from the monster’s memory...”
“Exact match. Surveillance Division gifted them when tethering it here. Old Picture lives to complete the memory of ‘me, wife, son walking this street.’ Those dolls embody the host, wife, and son at the memory’s core. Physically, the shoe-clump flesh is its body, but it cherishes those three mannequins most.”
“Wait. If Dome gifted them... what did it use before? Old Picture existed here pre-taming, right? Patrolling’s its mission, per you.”
“Right. Pre-model garden, it was brutal. Used people instead of dolls.”
Good eyesight and sharp. Decent distance, memory flashes brief like a shutter snap. Spotting that quick.
“People?”
“Yeah. Kidnapped folks resembling the memory three, shattered joints, walked the street with them like dolls till they died. Once rotten and no longer matching, discarded for new. Near-disaster, but Area 47 was chaotic then—fresh corpses aplenty. Surveillance fed new ones timed to decay, stopping random kills.”
First arriving in Area 47, Mom showed the zone saying I had to know: hellish if it existed. Shattered buildings pulled together by flesh and membrane, war-ruined streets restored identically by its body—a living, breathing street. Seeing the [GX 25] convenience store sign pulsing like a heartbeat from gathered tendons... puked on the spot.
Sharing brief impressions of its unmanaged state crumpled the group’s forced calm faces further.
“So we’re clowning before that thing?”
“Y-Yeah...?”
“Khuhuhu, that’s rich. Hey, mind if I smoke?”
“Sure? You’ve got that war movie soldier vibe, Ian. Suits you better smoking. Light up, and wear those shades you always carry.”
“We’re playing routed soldiers? Won’t it look off?”
“Host was a civilian—what’s it matter. More familiar with movie tropes. Key: never fear it, treat it rough. Act violent short of harming dolls. Like soldiers finding dumb civilians strolling a battlefield.”
Monstrous form aside, in Old Picture’s memory, it was just a normal family man. Fear or cowering breaks the illusion, triggers rampage.
“But if it follows host memory, we’re unknowns—won’t it freak immediately?”
“Other Area 47 folks pass central fine, so memory’s not pixel-perfect. Human recall edits itself. Fuzzy dead man’s memory. Seems to accept logical fits.”
“Even lifelong-unseen war?”
“...That’s why I said ‘seems.’ Not certain.”
My biggest worry too. Strangers passing family? Normal. Don’t know every face on the street.
Armed passersby? Odd. But calm persuasion might slide. Community tales: wasteland gear passed as cosplay. If Ian/Bex buggy drew interest, talking over shooting might’ve worked.
But war crumbling the core memory street. No confidence its mind accepts that.
‘It’ll work somehow. Memory can’t be detailed. Excluding conscious acts, it’s all hazy. Last play’s finale I saw—if real...’
Ziiing-
“Urgh! Hey Professor! I saw it! Three at the convenience store table!”
“Showtime! Remember! Act brash like real soldiers, but never hurt the dolls!”
Squelch- squelch-
Clack clack clack clack.
Heavy wet shifting and light footsteps on sidewalk blocks. Dolls heading to convenience store per usual memory.
Stage start here.
Gulp.
“Hey, when I go out, cover me good!”
“Got it!”
“Damn. First time this tense with blank rounds only.”
Dash!
Professor burst from the alley tense-faced, scanned nimbly, spotted Old Picture’s mannequins, feigned shock.
“No way... Civilians? Hey! What’re you doing here?”
Zing- ziiing-!
“Guh!”
Old Picture’s psychic wave slammed in instantly. Family heading to store overlaid with uniformed man! Hesitate here and it blows!
[Who... are you? Training?]
Middle-aged male mannequin glancing around, mouth flapping like assessing.
‘Good, it’s buying in! Now, keep [no way] out of its head no matter what!’
Professor alone yapping wouldn’t cut it.
Professor glanced skyward, signaled. Bex swiftly flashed wristwatch from alley.
Static- static-
Sudden broadcast echoing alley-wide from somewhere.
[Citizens. This is National Safety Ministry, Civil Defense Alert Center. Issuing real air raid warning. Current time, air raid warning nationwide.]
Weee-ooh-weee-ooh-! Weee-ooh-weee-ooh-!
Not cop sirens—old radio disaster drill tones. Warning blared street-wide, visibly rattling Old Picture’s body and mannequins.
=====
1230.
#2 Civilians and Resistance Stranded Amid War
(Ear-piercing sirens, crisp mortar blasts. Protagonist ambushes unaware civilian family on street, drags them from bombardment.)
=====
‘Can’t implant new memories. They’re its body. Fill gaps in hazy recall with details to craft scenario! Never stray from core memory!’
Sirens. Uniforms. Fits scenario but not memory. Get it back on rails first.
- Fwooo!
[Shops, stadiums, terminals, department stores—suspend operations, evacuate customers.]
Boom!
‘Perfect timing!’
Mortar hit nearby building right on cue, debris raining.
“Damn it! Civilians! Under that table! Debris incoming!”
Professor roughly grabbed female and short mannequin arms, yanked under table.
“What’re you waiting for! Get in!”
Bang!
Shoved two under, Professor popped parasol.
“Uh, uh...”
Male mannequin hesitated, then sat under table, hugged other two. Old Picture’s bubbling body calmed visibly.
‘First hurdle cleared. Memory: walk street with family. Enough remains—keep actions on track, inject plausible scenario.’
First checkpoint cleared: ‘Sit at convenience store table front, rest with family.’
Professor signaled Ian and Bex in alley. They advanced crisply like spec ops, took cover at store planters, scanned quadrants.
[What’s happening? Sudden air raid—war?]
“H-Honey!”
“Waaah! Daddy! Scary!”
Voices from Old Picture: adult man, woman, child. Proof it was immersed, filling memory blanks.
“Damn idiots. Lived under a rock? No news?”
“N-News?”
“Yeah, news! Chaos since yesterday! North Korea nuked! War’s on!”
Old Picture’s massive body flinched at Professor’s words.
“Come to think... rumors of weird illness spreading, bad situation...”
‘Host memory. Fitting it in.’
“Captain! No time! Miss evac point, enemies encircle and we’re trapped!”
“Got it! Hey, civilians—hear that? No mercy for stragglers. Want to live? Follow us.”
“Wh-where to?”
Professor pointed straight down its usual path.
“That way. We’ll cover—you keep family tight. Hold hands, don’t lose ’em.”
(Protagonist shakes hands with civilian family man. Trust in soldier sparks in man’s head, strong will to protect family blooms.)
Recalling script, Professor extended hand.
“Hepburn, Republic of Korea Army Sergeant.”
[Republic of Korea Army Sergeant... Hepburn?]
Old Picture froze—click!
‘Crap! Name clash! Should’ve stuck with Professor Park!’
Professor tensed legs, ready to bolt if [no way] came. Turn and run like hell...
Mannequin tilted head awhile, then Old Picture calmed, gripped Professor’s hand.
“Well, 70% residents foreign citizens, so military changes make sense. I’m Kim Do-jin, wife and son. Please.”
Professor sweated inwardly, flashed reliable smile outwardly.
“We help each other. To survive.”
Play barely started, but Professor already wanted to cry.
***
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1230시.
#2 전쟁의 한 가운데에 고립된 민간인과 대항군
(귓가에 날카롭게 들리는 사이렌 소리와 선명하게 들리는 박격포