Chapter 97
Chapter 97
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 97
Chapter Title: Masked Ball (13)
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***
Professor pulled a single small shoe from the box.
A blue-and-white sneaker. From the robot drawings to the little stains and worn patches, it was a perfect match for the sneakers worn by the boy in his memories.
“Impressively well-made.”
“It has to be, to take down the monster we let loose in Dome’s courtyard. We connected the agents who witnessed its final memory to GG, then used a projection scroll to turn Old Picture’s transmitted memory into footage. As a strategic weapon, it’s only right we make the key properly.”
[Grrrrr.... Urrr.... Aaaah.....]
Surrounded by shoes of every kind, its body melted away, revealing Old Picture’s true form hidden within—the horrific burns on an adult man, exactly as in that final memory.
“Been a while. First time seeing its true body since that play last time.”
“Even this isn’t quite its true body. All three forms are just shapes built from memories.”
The everyday pile of shoes carrying a doll. The half-giant in rampage mode. And now, the grotesque, melting form of Kim Do-jin’s final moments. Plenty of 3rd-form mutants shifted shapes based on abilities, but none changed so dramatically. A host’s final memory—the form seen in the moment of death—couldn’t vary that much.
There was one reason Old Picture had become such an unstable 3rd-form mutant, its shape never fixed.
“Trauma-induced dissociation... or something like that. Kim Do-jin’s memories shattered in that final instant.”
The undeniable truth he’d witnessed with his own eyes. The deaths of his son and wife.
The shock splintered Kim Do-jin’s mind into three: one denying and rejecting reality; one desperate to escape into delusion; and one frozen in that moment, clutching his son’s severed wrist and foot, howling in grief.
Three memories coexisting in a single instant. That’s why Old Picture took such unstable forms. Yet it persisted as one entity because, despite their fractured ways of coping, all three shared the same deep-seated desire without deviation.
Tsssk, tsss—
Fwooo—
In the bitter silence, only Ian’s lighter echoed calmly.
“That’s why I hate old stories. Nine times out of ten, tales from the Wasteland are either sad or brutal.”
Ian spoke, gazing at Old Picture’s third form—Kim Do-jin—struggling to rise from the concrete floor like a near-corpse.
“I thought it was a monster. Turns out it was just a crazy dad. Same as the ones you see in refugee camps.”
“Exactly. That’s why it’s been pulsing the same psychic wave from this spot for years.”
[Aah, aaaah.... Waaa.... Son.... Uuuu.... Moooother....]
Even in its weakened state, the faint memories drilled into their minds. A little boy beaming while holding his father’s hand, then static noise zooming in on the boy’s shoe.
[Shoooeees.... Shoooeees.... U.... Sh.... Shooooeees.... Brrr....]
Crawling toward them on a body oozing pus and discharge, Old Picture held up the shoe it cradled like treasure.
“Hapban. No way that’s...”
“Yeah. That’s it. ‘Please find my son. He looks like this, about this tall, wearing blue shoes just like this one in my hand. Help me.’ Kim Do-jin’s final memory from the burned-out ruins. No matter how much he denied it, the moment he hit the breaking point, that memory yanked him from his happy dream back to reality.”
For years, the monster’s psychic waves echoing through Sector 47 were nothing more than a voiceless father’s cry for his son—no malice, no goodwill.
“Hyung-nim. The Old Picture plan was always about this, right? Not to calm it down, but...”
“...Yeah. We made it mistake its delusion—the shoe-hunting monster memory—for reality. Before the model garden, Old Picture spent most of its time as the giant. The enforcers originally planned to kill it outright, but during the fight, someone who’s now Chief—back then just on the op—saw its memories and changed his mind. Clear goal from the thing. Occasional odd behavior picking up new shoes. Low aggression despite the power. Figured we could control it.”
“Makes sense. If we’d just left it alone, it would’ve...”
“Eventually accepted one memory as real? Probably the son’s death at first. But the big trauma-based one was uncontrollable, so Dome amplified the delusion memory instead. Results speak for themselves: peaceful Sector 47 so far. Built the street, showed it pre-war folks passing by like nothing happened, gave it lifelike mannequins walking as a family just like in its memory. What? Why the faces?”
“Mong Bu-jang-nim, that’s... kinda shitty?”
“Yeah. Real assholes. Couldn’t tell the poor ‘where’s my son?’ dad the truth, so they went with ‘keep looking, he’s around here somewhere~.’ Typical Dome bullshit.”
Moved by the moment, Ezel and Ian reacted emotionally. But Professor could somewhat understand the inspectors’ side.
“What choice did they have? I hate Dome, but tricking Old Picture back then saved more lives in the end. One dead-turned-monster man versus improved Sector 47 security. Any ruler knows which weighs more.”
The so-called ‘greater good,’ sacrifice for the bigger picture. A solid choice for this world, but...
‘One hell of a shitty solid choice.’
Professor had always hated that twisted logic. The ones who injected his mother with poison probably spouted the same crap.
‘Leashing it to kill more enemies contributes to Dome’s peace, saving lives, so it’s righteous...’
What bullshit. In a world where good and evil already blur, that spin makes everything ‘good.’
If your actions hurt someone, it’s bad. You might not feel guilt, but at least own that it’s wrong. That was Professor’s creed.
Through that lens, what Dome did to Old Picture was deeply wrong. He’d overlooked it before since it benefited him too, but...
“Now let’s set it free. It’s slaved day and night for Sector 47.”
Passing by used to feel awkward anyway.
He placed the matching shoe—the opposite one—in the melting man’s hand.
[...]
No cheers, no wails. No sound at all. The endless groans stopped, and it simply stared at the now-paired blue sneakers with the eyes of a blind man seeing the world for the first time.
Old Picture—Kim Do-jin—cradled his long-craved son’s shoes and shuffled toward the scattered mannequins with slow but certain steps.
The sneakers—one old, one new—slipped onto the mannequin’s feet, sized and shaped to match the boy in his memory.
At last, the one scene he’d yearned for over years: son’s hand reclaimed, holding wife’s hand too. Old Picture took one step forward.
The wife and son mannequins—linked only by hands—toppled limply. Old Picture, if melting flesh could show expression, wore a bittersweet, wistful look as it collapsed too.
Clack!
Rattle!
Splat!
Like a promise kept, three dolls fell gazing at the setting sun.
Old Picture’s body crumbled like ash in the wind, starting to shatter and vanish. Embracing the son and wife mannequins.
Urgent as the situation was, the group couldn’t look away from the solemn, futile sight.
“...Happy Blind in Sector 38—those cultists—don’t call 3rd-form mutants ‘mutants.’”
“Ahem, hmm! So what do they call ’em?”
“Wronged Ghosts.”
“Fits perfectly.”
Kim Do-jin clutching the mannequin, the giant wailing at reality’s memory, the flesh linking countless shoes in delusion—all turned to ash and faded.
After a gust of wind, only leftover shoes remained, plus the adult-male-sized mannequin that had played Kim Do-jin’s role.
“3rd-form mutants live to complete the host’s final desired scene. For Old Picture—Kim Do-jin—that moment he craved so desperately arrived, so everything built from that memory crumbled away.”
“This one’s special. Others build bodies from completed memories. Enforcer researchers said Old Picture’s unstable memory meant when the goal finished, the virus—now goalless—would seek a new host. It built a body from past memories, but no consciousness. That’s why it vanished.”
“Nah, hyung-nim. It didn’t vanish completely. Look, it’s going.”
“Hm? What? See nothing.”
“Bu-jang-nim who left Dome must be too pure to see. I see it. Over there. Three of them holding hands, walking.”
“Ahem! Hmph! Damn it! Ash, ash in my eyes. Stings, so... ack!”
“Waaaah! Bye, bye! Dad! Thanks for all your hard... work!”
Professor’s group, Ezel, and Ralph offered a brief moment of silence, praying Old Picture found its way. Wastelanders knew a tragedy like that man’s could be theirs tomorrow. Felt too real.
***
“...Alright! Wrap-up done! Let’s move!”
“Yeah. No time for sentiment. We freed Old Picture to clear rear threats—if we’re late to the fight, we’ve botched priorities.”
Sad is sad, busy is busy. Sniffling now means more tears later.
“Waaah, anyone, anyone got tissue?”
“Just spit in your hand, wipe it rough, and move. No dawdling.”
Pewwwwng!
“Park Professor, you bastard...”
“You’re too damn sensitive, Ezel.”
Professor smacked his old internet buddy’s head—smack!—then turned to the rest.
“Someone gimme water, water. Something’s still in my eye—ack!—keeps tearing up...”
Sheesh. This one’s worse. Like a faucet left on.
“You too, Ian, you bastard. Looks tough but cries like a baby... Menopause?”
“Gah, get married and have kids first, asshole! Anyone who’s had ’em can’t watch that without tearing up! Feels too damn personal!”
Ian yelled, scrubbing tears with his uniform sleeve. Professor froze at the meaningful slip.
“Had...? Jo, you don’t mean...”
“Hey, Bex!”
“...Oops!”
Bex innocently prodded Ian.
Luckily, Ian replied calmly, either numb or resolved.
“Nah, forget it. Ancient history. Had a daughter, wife too. All gone now. Later for stories—take these.”
Whish—
Thwack!
“This is...”
“AK-47. One of the few intact from the truck blast. One mag loaded. Use till we loot better.”
Ian tossed the scorched rifles to Professor and Bex like no big deal. Watching, Inspector Chief Ralph Mongclair stared incredulously.
“Hold up. So you’re joining the war against Raptor Society? With just one half-wrecked rifle?”
“What’s so weird? Mong-hyung, we gonna sit this out?”
“No, just... Old Picture’s handled, city defenses are up, so unless Nest rolls in full-force, we can defend fine ourselves. BDSM’s done plenty—Dome’ll treat you right without fighting...”
“Oh please, spare the bullshit and let’s go. ‘Treat right’? Already feels stingy. Everyone knows Dome can hold off a dozen Raptor legions easy. Sure, if Swarm Alpha king rolls with guards—”
“Cough! Hack!”
“—might be dicey, but those are too bulky for ambushes. Ian, why again?”
“Choked. No biggie, ignore.”
“...Weird. Anyway, Raptors burning rubber here? Sitting ducks.”
“Hmm. So Professor, you’re saying... Dead meat, so let us in on the spoils?”
“BDSM’s results earn us a seat, right? Without us, you’d be fighting Old Picture tooth-and-nail right now. Without us, you’d be clueless about the enforcer-Raptor plot and get smashed flat. Merit share’s a given, plus looting rights in battle.”
Vrrr—clank!
Exosuits rose, splitting to carry the five.
“You, Professor... Where’d the gloomy versatile killer go? Now you’re all merchant.”
“Hyung-nim’s full politician now. Don’t sneak off without us.”
“Not that, asshole! Worried you’d get hurt! With you joining, we thank you!”
Kiiiiing—!
Exosuit batteries hummed, blue shields flickering as mechanical shells came alive.
“Fine, deal! Worrying over truck-3rd-mutants? I’m the idiot. Armory’s open—grab what you need and hit the field. You’re in.”
“Ooooh! Mong-hyung! Promise! Whatever we grab’s ours!”
“...Within reason. One Old Picture’s enough paperwork to build the Great Wall.”
Professor’s ears glossed over the rest. Permission granted. Not from some lowbie like Ezel, but the Inspector Chief himself: ‘looting rights vs. Raptor Society.’ Huge! Fair trade for bagging a 3rd-mutant and saving the city!
“Heh heh heh. Hey, Ian. Hear that? Official green light on Raptor vehicles outside Dome.”
“Keh heh heh. Loud and clear. Dome armory, Raptor rides... Yeah. Invested my prime asset—gotta balance the books.”
“Kee hee hee! Dome! Hoard of pre-war civ and loot! Every scavenger’s dream raid! War... Nothing more chaotic... A few treasures vanishing... Kee hee!”
Clank, clank, clank, clank!
“Uh... Mong Bu-jang-nim? You sure it’s fine?”
“Hm?”
“Well...”
Ezel couldn’t hide his unease, glancing at grinning Professor and crew behind him.
Looting Leadflow Mage Tower bare, giggling in stolen loot in-game. That image looped in Ezel’s head.
“Reason... Within reason... Sure, hyung-nim, totally reasonable... Heh heh heh!”
‘Think you messed up...’
Gauging these Old Picture-slayers’ sense of ‘reason,’ Ezel sighed deeply.
***
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