Chapter 96
Chapter 96
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 96
Chapter Title: Chapter 7 Masquerade Ball (12)
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The Enforcement Division's desperate show of force.
It had always ranked high on the Inspection Division's list of worst-case scenarios, and they'd prepared accordingly, so it wasn't all that shocking.
But things changed if the Raptors got involved. The category shifted entirely from "internal power struggle" to "war."
The Inspection, Enforcement, and Administrative Divisions, who bickered like cats and dogs, had an unspoken rule: once Raptor activity was detected, they cooperated fully without exception—and it had never been broken.
[The Enforcement Division... allied with the Raptors to overthrow the Dome in Sector 47?]
[The second the election ends, every division head will be purged, if not the Chief Prosecutors themselves. They've probably prepped for it already. Desperate to survive, they've found their own way out. The Enforcement Chief is either cooperating, being coerced, or already dead by now. Corpses work fine for biometric scans. And faking comms with voiceprints from a longtime colleague? They could do it in their sleep.]
[Evidence?]
[Uh... circumstantial?]
[Hey, Professor! Do you have any idea how serious—]
[More than enough. So many even an idiot could connect the dots.]
Professor's assessment poured out like a clear stream, detailing everything he'd pieced together.
The Raptors, cornered around the Sector 45 bunker and facing expulsion unless they struck the Dome now.
The Enforcement executives, facing certain death without action.
The Enforcement team's clumsy theater plot, pushed through despite obvious failure and massive losses.
Their bizarre behavior, observed firsthand by someone who'd participated in the play.
No hard proof, but assume "Enforcement allied with Raptors to topple the Dome," and every puzzle piece fit perfectly. It all spilled out over the comms to the Inspection team.
[...Insane. If the Dome falls into ruin, even the surviving Enforcement bastards would have nowhere—]
[They do. Sector 45.]
[Better the tail of a dragon than the head of a snake?]
[The Raptors won't make traitors their leaders... More like ranch hands herding livestock.]
The Inspection Chief, as expected. He grasped it perfectly from a rough rundown.
The explanation dragged, but the decision was swift.
[1st Platoon. Where are you now?]
[On the green roof. We see you, sir.]
[The rest?]
[2nd Platoon. Near Point 3. Model Garden outskirts in sight.]
[3rd Platoon still transporting supply battery packs—haven't gone far from the hangar!]
Rapid, precise orders fired like machine-gun rounds over the comms.
[Good. 3rd Platoon, drop those and deploy inside the Dome immediately. Secure the central generator at all costs! If Enforcement is central to this, they might already be moving!]
[Moving out!]
[2nd Platoon, return at once. Grab the battery packs on the way and prep for combat. Delmar, latest sighted Raptor nest sector?]
[Uh... exact position hard to pin with jamming, but we tracked the full nest migration path. Near Sector 43.]
[Then 2nd Platoon grabs batteries and sets defenses toward 43. 1st Platoon, return with me—]
[Aaah, hold up. Send the others if it's urgent, but you need to stick around, boss.]
[What now, you punk! Wanna cut comms?!]
[I get you're in a rush, but finish the job first. Check the Model Garden now.]
At Professor's words, Monclar looked up. No need to look closely. Smoke rising everywhere, streets cratered by mortars, buildings smashed by Old Picture's rampage.
[You of all people know this thing won't die that easily, Ralph. You faced it yourself. It'll wake soon, and it won't just calm down and go home like last time. Central sector looks like this when it opens its eyes? Its reset body will go berserk again from flooding memories.]
[...Right. Last time, we blew off its torso and zapped it with batteries for over 30 hours till the street was fixed. But we can't now! Raptors' main force marching on the Dome, plus internal Enforcement sabotage! No troops to babysit while fixing this wasteland! Best we can do is pray it doesn't head Dome-ward and hold the line!]
Professor recalled Ralph from long ago—the one who'd approached him first, back when he handled Enforcement's dirty work and brooded over his sick mother. Back then, he was pure-hearted, bold, kind—nothing like his looks.
'Changed a lot in a few years. The division head gig, maybe. Calculating even in crisis.'
Bittersweet, but he's human. Had to see the big picture. Professor muttered inwardly.
[We have options. You and I saw the Old Picture play through. We know a way to shut it down for good, right?]
[.....]
Comms went silent after Professor's words, then crackled back clearer. Yellow light on Monclar and Azel's channels. Private line.
[What? Embarrassed? Having to calculate even now?]
[Professor, you know how many lives we've sunk into settling and maintaining Old Picture here? Triple digits easy. The second we abandon it, those lives mean nothing. It's not that simple!]
Oh ho. Not simple, huh? So you've weighed the complex angles? Figures. Chaos like this, he'd have to.
[Circumstances changed. From controllable monster to one our enemies might control. Old Picture plan's already failed. And you wanna leave it and pray it goes elsewhere? Bet 90% chance it crawls straight to Dome center. Then we fight Raptors without city defenses. Exosuits block Raptor wings, stabilized armor-piercing rounds? Tank shells one-handed?]
[.....]
[Not a choice—mandatory. Only city-killer weapons can erase it, and we can't use those now. Leave it, it'll regenerate soon, rampage, and doom the Dome. Gotta scrap it. Be real. You brought it, right?]
[...Talk in person.]
Static!
Private comm cut after Monclar's agonized reply.
"Professor. What's all this? Raptors? War? Enforcement betrayed us?"
"Oh, right. Good comm use, Azel. We'll brief when Ralph gets here. Hate repeating myself. He'll be quick—prep to move meanwhile? Vex! Grab all remaining arms and head here! Last cleanup, then we roll in this!"
"Room for four? All of us?"
"Passenger seats meant for battery packs, medevac style. Cram two up front, Ian in there, you hang on the frame. Should work."
Professor hopped from the driver's seat, approaching Ian—who'd freed himself magnetically and scavenged intact weapons from the exploded truck.
"Hey, you heard?"
"Don't talk to me, you bastard. That truck... was my comrade."
"Know that. Hyde did it, but I released him. I'm sorry. That's why I said it loud enough for you."
[...Ptooey!]
"So you're prepping to move instead of freaking out. Heard? Raptors coming. Not small raid packs—main force. Combat vehicles, armed trucks galore, tanks and APCs from the nest rolling in... Whew! Mouth-watering, right? Old Picture fails, we just smash those Dome-charging idiots! New ride time!"
"Kh, khem! Yeah. Old armed truck was falling apart anyway."
Knew it. Guy drops the hysterics the second he hears Raptors—already eyeing loot.
Rustle, rustle-rustle!
Amid the bustle of prepping, the motionless Old Picture on the hill stirred slowly, like slo-mo.
"Eek, Professor! Park Professor! It's moving! No head, but moving! Coming our way!"
"No worry. Preserving core, shedding useless outer flesh while heading to safety."
Professor answered Azel's shriek without looking.
The giant's shattered upper body crumbled upward bit by bit.
[Grrrraaah... aaahhh...]
Weaker echo than initial rampage. No prior shockwave, but enough to beam memories to those nearby.
Desperate to reach us amid disintegration, Old Picture beamed memories endlessly.
"Why's this thing... blasting psy-waves so hard? Hate us that much?"
"Wrong think, Azel. It's a Type 3 variant. No Type 1 or 2 urge to attack humans for parts. Zero aggression intent."
Ziiing—
Chest slammed onto overlook at last, crumbling giant. From wreckage: shoe-crusted flesh pile, three pristine mannequins amid chaos. Then, the memory.
==========
WEE-OO-WEE-OO-WEE-OO!
[Citizens. This is National Safety Agency, Civil Defense Alert Center. Actual air raid alert issued. Current time...]
Sudden siren. People bursting from shops, homes everywhere, fleeing wildly. Wife and son, frozen in terror.
'Shouldn't have come out.'
Wife's antidepressants gone ages ago. She tried, but kid's whining for fun, snacks triggered her outbursts, then guilt-fueled depression. So just one day. One Sunday family stroll like old times.
========
"Any headaches?"
"Nah. Feels like... watching a vivid movie."
"Obviously. That's why it emits psy-waves."
Type 3 variant. Monster shaped by host's final memories. No attack intent from start. Just emotional surges overwhelming control, broadcasting footage and despair so intensely nearby folks got shocked, some depressed. One goal from beginning.
Quiet whispers in calm state.
Frightened chatter when street changes startled it.
Screaming pleas during rampage, confronting unwanted reality.
Volume differed by output only. Old Picture had spoken to people for years in the "language" of its memories.
"How'd you know so well, Professor?"
"Saw it. No need to subdue—even after smooth play end, it'd return to core, murmuring host's final memory softly."
Trickle—
Shoe pile from giant quivered precariously, shedding again one by one, peeling like shells, following deep memories.
=========
"War! War's broken out!"
"North Korea nuked the US!"
"Kyaaah!"
Asura field. True hellish chaos.
War without declaration. Rumor alone emptied stores. Then sudden air raid.
Terrified crowds flooded streets with cars, people.
"Get out of Seoul! Seoul!"
"Move! Quit blocking!"
"Let go! My stuff! Touch it and die!"
"Mommy! Can't see Mommy!"
Crisis turns selfish. In human flood, thieves snatching, owners raging, frail ones torn apart, mingled.
"H-Honey!"
"Waaah! Daddy!"
Dojin gripped wife and son's hands tight.
Fragile wife, young son. Protect them. I must stay sharp...!
Shoooo—
"W-What's that?"
Whoooosh—
"Something dot-like flying..."
Whoooosh—!
"Missile! Artillery!"
"Eeek!"
"Kyaaa!"
"Daddy! Daddyyy!"
"Grip tight, son! Honey, this way quick! Alley no—"
Whiiiistle!
.
.
.
.
.
Beeeeeeep—
=========
Clank—
Thud!
"Ralph."
[...Park Professor. You're really alive.]
"Then the comm just now was a ghost?"
"Wondered if psy-waves gave me hallucinations on the way."
Monclar parked beside Azel's exosuit.
"You really forced it into that state. How?"
"Not the priority. You brought it, right? Old Picture rampaging—had to prep for contingencies."
[...Is that really the only way? Abandoning it like this...]
"Already exploited by enemies once. Not abandon—dispose. Scrap the compromised project."
[...Damn. Word gets out I released Old Picture, no number of reports'll save me. Bulletproof vest life for a while.]
"This ends with Enforcement purged. What's to worry?"
"Chief's a crack shot. Carries a loaded revolver 24/7."
Sighing deeply, Monclar pulled a sealed box from behind his exosuit.
=========
Hot.
Hit by a car. Truck maybe.
No, cars weren't moving. Traffic jam.
Am I... alive?
Burning pain yanked foggy mind alert. Hurts. Too agonizing for clear thought. What was I doing? Last thing...
'Son!'
No strength. Hard to turn head. But warm rise in chest. Hot, stinging hand—but holding firm. Small hand in my grip.
'Scared stiff, huh. Comfort him. Daddy fine, just rest a bit, you and Mom go first... Grandma's house. Stay at Grandma's...'
Throat like stone. Slowly, tasting mouth full of metallic blood, turned toward son. Tears or burned eyes? Blurry corner showed small blue sneaker. Son's. Birthday gift, saved for outings, robot-printed.
"Eeeeh, ahhaaaah. Ah. Ahaaaah..."
Opening mouth felt like spewing fire. Lung hit? Must speak. Speak...
Bit by bit. Clock hands turning, gaze to son.
Shoe there. Definitely son's. One I bought. Calf bone above, penguin band-aid—son's for sure! My son's foot!!
Why.
Why no son atop it.
"Aaaah, eaah, aaaah."
Impossible. Gripped tight through hell, pain be damned! Still... in this hand...!
Dojin's head finally turned fully. Senses true. Last instant, dove alley full force to shield from blast.
But only son's small right hand in his right, left foot. Rest never made it—gone somewhere.
"Eaaah, aaah, adeeeeh, adeeeeh!!"
Hugged son's melted-to-ankle body. Dream. Must be dream! Eyes bad, hallucinating! Sung-jin lost shoe. Yes! Wife went looking! Loved it so, he followed Mom! Has to be!!
"Seojiieee... sibeuaaaaiii... aaaah..."
Candle-wax-melted man's body moved. Find it. Lost other half. All illusion. Find shoe, son and wife return. Nightmare ends.
=========
"Common tragedy on the wasteland birthed a rare monster."
Click.
Professor opened the box from Monclar.
Small blue robot-printed sneaker.
Replica flawless—match for the lost half Old Picture, Kim Dojin, desperately sought in memory.
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