Chapter 92
Chapter 92
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 92
Chapter Title: Chapter 7 Masked Ball (8)
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***
“No, no! Nooo!!!’
Clang!
Bex emerged from the alley, covered in blood. His legs gave out beneath him, so he leaned on the short greatsword in his hand to drag himself forward. When he spotted Ian and the Professor slung over Ian’s back, he wailed like a madman and crawled over, clinging to Ian’s pants.
“I thought I was seeing things, that it had to be a hallucination from my psychosis! Hapbun-i, Hapbun-i!!!”
‘This guy’s not fully snapped out of it yet. He’s still half in a hallucination.’
Ian could tell Bex’s condition at a glance. That monster’s scream triggered trauma in people. In his own case, it dredged up memories of his lost wife and child. For Bex...
‘He must’ve seen the Professor dying or something.’
First things first, he needed to snap the guy out of it. In a narrow alley like this, Bex—skilled in close-quarters combat—would be more useful than Ian, who excelled in firefights.
“Lost another one. Again, just like that! Same as six years ago!!!”
Slap!
“Ow?!”
“Sorry. In a rush. Bex, lend me your hand.”
Ian slapped the flailing, delirious Bex across the cheek, then yanked his hand over to hold it under the Professor’s nose.
Whoosh. Haah.
A faint breath brushed against the blood-crusted hand.
“How’s it feel? He’s breathing, right?”
“Huh, what?”
Proof of life touching skin—more effective than a hundred words.
Focus returned to Bex’s dazed eyes in an instant. Some folks woke up to their dead wives nagging from beyond the grave, but this simpleton had it easy.
“He’s alive. Just knocked out from taking that shockwave point-blank.”
“Alive...?”
“Yeah, man. I’m feeling a bit hurt here. Your hallucination shows the Professor dying but not me? Why’s the first thing you look for when you snap out the Professor?”
“Huh... what? Prof? You’re alive? But you got crushed under that tank...”
“Damn, you died real specifically too. Get up quick. No time for your sleep-talk—”
[Ooooooh—Uaaaaaaaah!!!!!!]
Screeeeech—!
“Guhhh! For that!”
The giant—its upper body resembling a massive larva—screamed again. Not as powerful as the first one, but still enough to churn guts and blank the mind.
Ian had braced his mind, but a few more of those and he wasn’t sure he’d stay on his feet.
Bex, now seemingly fully alert, beamed back and forth between them—until the psychic wave hit, snapping his head toward the Professor. His face sharpened, and he started moving.
“This way, hurry! If that thing made the Professor pass out, we can’t leave him here!”
“Finally talking sense. By the way, how much did you clear? I’m in rough shape, can’t be much firepower right now...”
Ian followed Bex into the alley and lost his words at the carnage inside. Two enemies hiding right at the entrance. Four corpses sprawled across the window on the staircase about 1.5 stories up, left and right combined. Deeper in, a leg protruded from a pool of blood at the next intersection.
Obvious who did it. The blood-soaked guy who crawled out of there was this short old codger right in front of him.
“This... all you? With that blunt greatsword?”
“Think of it as a dull awl, not a sword. Jab hard into the eyeball, and it pierces the thin part of the skull. Six by ambush, four with looted guns.”
Bex—prepared ahead—tossed Ian an enemy rifle leaning against the inner wall and pointed deeper.
“Wiped the squad guarding this way. Let’s move. Out this alley, and we’re right at our truck.”
Ian couldn’t help a wry chuckle at Bex’s shaky headshake and urging.
Every wall, window, and pipe in the alley bore red bootprints and handprints, telling exactly how he’d moved.
“The Professor sure knows how to pick ’em, dragging home a freak like that...”
“Huh? What?”
“Khkhkh, talking to myself. Lead on!”
Whatever. Good news either way. Escape this alley to the truck, and they’d shake the slow-moving bastard.
Dome? Raptor? The election? A monster that could flip District 47 on its head?
‘Not my problem. If the Professor doesn’t wake, hit the shelter for food and water, then bail on 47.’
Living in the wasteland meant stacking up losses with every hour.
“Just stay alive, Professor! Stay alive! We’ll get you to a doc soon!”
That’s why Ian knew better than anyone what mattered most in moments like this.
***
Thud—Bang!
“Hey! Close it easy! Shock’s poison to head injuries! I helped lay him down gentle!”
“H-Hapbun-i’s head hurt? Bad? How’s he doing? Can he wake up?!”
“Ow, back off! How the hell should I know? I ain’t Old Man Woojin!”
“What happened when he passed out? Hit his head hard? Did the monster do something to the Professor...”
Rumble rumble—
Ian fired up the engine, figuring this’d drag forever otherwise. The alley mouth—his worried stage—turned out peaceful as could be. No blood, gunpowder, corpses, or people. Just empty old-world streets. They crossed them, leaving red bootprints, and reached their armed truck safe.
“What if the Professor doesn’t wake?”
“Shelter for a week’s rations, then out. Head to 45. Underground bunkers are chaos, but nearby’s thinned out on scavs, quieter. You lived there, right? You know the lay—your call.”
“What if he doesn’t wake even after we run? I saw it too, that bastard’s hallucination. It shows your worst memory. Passing out means he couldn’t take it. Maybe the Professor never comes back...”
“Fuck! You wanna jinx it? Then what, if he never wakes? We ditch him?!”
“I didn’t mean it like that!!”
“Uh...”
Crunch!
Ian grabbed Bex’s collar in a surge of anger, then let go in his own shock.
‘Can’t keep my cool.’
Battle high, Old Picture’s psychic waves—emotions raw on the surface. Plus their exposed situation, no plan, time critical. The Professor’s scheme had unleashed the monster just ahead of the Executors’ plan. His head must’ve had a follow-up for the rampaging beast.
But the Professor slept, and cool-headed Ian was as lost and antsy as Bex.
“Over...”
“Fuck. I’m a trader and fighter, not a strategist. I know running means we eat this mess, but wedged between that monster, Dome, Raptor... no clue how to—”
“There!”
“What?! Why you keep calling—”
Ian snapped his head at the persistent voice—then froze.
‘Hold up. Bex is right in front of me. So... who?’
Ian’s face whipped to the back seat.
Bex wore a Mary-witnessing-Jesus face right now, so it had to be...
“Oh. Metal Joe. Bex. Fresh... well, not-so-fresh outside air. Nice seeing you all!”
The Professor. Wiping nosebleed with his hand, grinning like an idiot—awake who-knows-when.
***
“Proooffessor!!!”
Ian surged forward, bottled emotions bursting toward him.
Smoosh!
“Damn, damn! You lucky bastard! You pulled through the short straw after all!”
“Wow! Hugged like you mean it! Thanks! I like you too!”
Ian buried his nose in the somewhat vacant Professor’s neck, sniffling—then felt something off. Normally, he’d get “Eww, gross! Dirty! Get off me, you lumps!” But here he was, hugged back tight, even rubbing cheeks on Ian’s stubbly face!
“Pro...fessor?”
“Khkhkh. Dense? Or just in denial? Metal Joe, Ian?”
Ian recoiled, chills racing—catching Bex’s face shift from joy to pallor in a blink. Instinct told him too.
This wasn’t the Professor.
“You, you you... who the hell are you?”
“Guess? Questions are for learning unknowns, right? But your faces say... this ain’t one.”
“Damn it... what happened to the Professor?”
“Customer’s unavailable. Connecting to voicemail—when you hear the beep, leave a message with Hide!”
Hyde wedged his face between them, finger-gun popping, grinning like it was Christmas.
“Beeeeep—”
.
.
.
.
“You... rotten fuck...!”
Ian’s temple vein throbbed—no need to say it.
***
Crunch!
Ian hooked his arm around the outstretched—not-Professor, Hyde’s—neck and squeezed hard.
“Gack! Guh, is this that rough skinship bonding between friendly specimens, ‘play’? Pretty shocking... Cough! Hey, let go. Let go! Hek!”
Thump thump thump!
“Guhhh, memory says patting the arm... tapping makes you let go...”
“You. The psychosis parasite in the Professor’s head.”
“Hek, let, let go! I’ll die—”
Ian tightened his forearm, thinking. If the Professor blacked out and this thing popped out, blasting this one’s mind might bring him back?
Between foot-stomping Bex and Ian, Hyde—choking—suddenly giggled.
“Hek, kihihik... Metal Joe, I get why, but... if I pass out too, shell really dies?”
“...Fuck.”
Ian released. No way to know if Hyde lied, but the Professor’s life hung on it.
“Kehok, kehok! Ow, throat. Asphyxiation, huh? Not what I expected? Shell seemed to love choking... Nah, hated water at first too? Get used to it? Hey, Metal Joe. One more?”
“Cut the crap, finish what you started. What’s with the Professor? You pass out, he dies—what’s that mean?”
Kihihihi!
Hyde soaked up their hostile glares, delirious with joy. They hated him, sure—but that hate stemmed from love for the sleeping shell. Hyde basked in both affection and rage.
‘Aaaah, bliss! Negative and positive emotions at once! Hey, shell! Setting this up? Too luxurious!’
“Really... can’t hate ya...”
“Huh?”
“Helping out. Shell asked, and outside getting tough means less fun anyway. Driver! Punch it!”
“Punch it? Sorry, no reason to follow you, parasite.”
“Pfft!”
“Laughing?”
Hyde waved off Ian’s growl.
“Nah, sorry. Not mocking, but you say that all confident... knowing you’ll follow? Hilarious... Oops, guess that is mocking.”
“Speak. Clear. Or I torture you till the Professor’s back. Plenty of ways without big scars.”
Bex sidled up, pressing his thumbnail under Hyde’s. That icy face said one wrong word, and that blunt thumb’d dig in. Hurt? Hell yeah. Looked like his specialty.
“Tsk tsk tsk. Outsiders’ problem—act before think. Shell thinks two, three times per second. Hm, picked a good one.”
Ignoring the threat, Hyde finally gave them what they wanted.
Wag wag.
His finger pointed at Old Picture, visible between distant buildings.
“Share memories with shell. Saw his ‘next step’ plan before he blacked out.”
“Next... plan?”
“Yeah. Subdue that big crybaby, fend off rampaging Executors and tire-burning Raptors. So,”
Smack smack!
“All right! Friends. Time’s short!”
Ian and Bex’s faces crumpled further at the cheerful back-slaps.
“Damn. Every bullshit thing happens...”
“Wahahahaha! Born absurd, so every mess I touch turns absurd!”
“...”
“Little friend, loosen up! Promise to use nice and return! Can’t keep forever! Shell wakes, baton passes natural!”
Vroom—!
Ian gripped the wheel toward Hyde’s direction—no choice. Back to Old Picture, where he’d just desperately fled.
Unlike anxious Bex and grumpy Ian,
“What a Day! What a Lovely DAY!!!”
Hyde’s face brimmed with joy, who-knows-why.
***