Chapter 23
Chapter 23
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: Bargain at the Mannequin Factory
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Thick fog enveloped the truck.
Even with a driver's license, it looked like I couldn't have made it here alone.
Next to me, the mannequin clattered as it drove.
"How much farther do we have to go?"
"...We're almost there."
As the mannequin said, the shape of a building began to flicker beyond the fog.
Two cones protruded from a massive gray concrete rectangle, spewing fog into the air.
It was the factory's exhaust smoke—the source of the fog.
The truck soon pulled into the factory and parked in a cramped lot.
"Then... may I go now?"
The moment I nodded, the mannequin bolted away like it was possessed.
Inside the factory, mannequins dressed in all sorts of clothes were diligently at work.
Most wore standard factory garb, while a few sported outfits that looked downright fancy.
"So you're saying there's a chance my salary might go up this year?"
"Ugh, this job's killing me. Maybe I should quit..."
"What're you thinking for dinner tonight?"
"Quit yapping and finish the work fast!"
"My wife, she said..."
Their chatter echoed through the factory amid the roar of machinery.
The utterly mundane topics clashed oddly with the grim atmosphere.
But there was no need to fret over the unease.
I turned my head to keep them out of my sight.
Thud—
> Thud—
The conversations cut off instantly. Only footsteps heading my way rippled through the air.
As the sounds grew louder and an unpleasant presence prickled my back, I whipped around to face them.
Thud—
A mannequin halted right in front of me.
Like a frozen snapshot, the mannequins returned to their stations and resumed chatting like ordinary workers.
"Work here's brutal."
"No! You can't grip it like that."
"Caught my wife with another guy last night."
Just going by the words, they sounded human enough.
But as I'd seen moments ago, they were neither safe nor friendly.
Regular horror games slapped gimmicks like this onto straight-up deadly monsters. But [Saving the World from Tales of Terror] opted to tuck it into a quirky tale instead.
I strode deeper into the factory.
Unfamiliar machines belched destruction noises nonstop as they ran, shuttling familiar items along conveyor belts.
Mannequins hustled in sync, packaging goods or hauling them around.
The ones that spotted me charged to block my path—but they couldn't touch me while I had eyes on them.
"Faster! Work harder!"
A mannequin in luxurious clothes bellowed.
Whirr—
> Boom—!
The voice spurred the mannequins to redouble their efforts.
And as if rewarding them, even more fog billowed from the factory chimneys, flooding the interior.
No mannequins left in my line of sight.
Which meant they could attack me freely now.
"Hoo..."
Time to trust my memory and instincts completely.
Smashing the machines would stop the fog production, sure—but it'd torpedo my real goal.
Harming the mannequins was off-limits too.
So what I needed to hunt down was...
Thud—
The emergency stop button, hidden somewhere in here.
Buttons spawned randomly in multiple spots the instant fog filled the factory. But one always appeared in a fixed location.
Swoosh—
An arm whistled past, ten centimeters from my face.
No standing still anymore.
I bolted straight ahead.
A call based on my pre-fog position scouting.
This wasn't a game where mashing 'w' sent you forward true. My sense of direction was skewing bit by bit.
Sure enough, the machine dead ahead confirmed I'd veered right a touch.
But only a touch.
I tweaked my course and lunged toward the fancy-dressed mannequin from before.
Swoosh—
> Thwack!
The authoritarian vibe was gone. Pure destructive instinct drove the arm hurtling at me.
Pak!
I tentacle-blocked a kick slamming toward my waist, then snatched the button from the mannequin's back pocket in a flash.
Beep—!
It glowed red and blinked. Machines ground to a halt one after another.
The fog, with no fresh supply, cleared in under a minute.
"What the? Why'd the machines stop?"
"Heh heh. Perfect time to play the stock market... Found a hot item."
"Hey, you know the guy who was with my wife?"
All clear now.
I stared them down slow and steady, then slipped through the back door.
Up the stairs, down the hall. Just as the factory's drab concrete walls were wearing thin, a room screaming "VIP" appeared.
Knock knock—
"Come in."
A rich, resonant voice drifted from inside.
"Pardon the intrusion."
A mannequin in a high-end suit sat with one leg crossed.
Posture screaming "I'm above you."
"You're the Factory Owner, right?"
"That's me. What brings you storming into my factory like this?"
"I'm truly sorry for the commotion earlier. But I had no choice—for this factory's sake."
"My factory's sake?"
"Ah... Embarrassing to put it this way, but do you know Fine Dying Restaurant?"
"Of course. Longtime client."
"It's about them. How much do you charge for Infinite Pig's Flesh there?"
"Two fingers for five chunks."
"Just as I thought! And Eyeball Candy?"
"One eyeball for an egg... But what're you getting at?"
"I was right! That restaurant's scamming you!"
I poured every ounce of conviction into my voice.
"They're hawking Infinite Pig's Flesh—barely grilled—for one measly rib!"
"What? They've promised two fingers a chunk for ages. No way that's true!"
I whipped out the menu I'd swiped from the restaurant on the sly.
The Factory Owner's form sagged limply at the sight.
"This... this can't be..."
"Factory Owner... I know your dream. You want to share this factory's goods with the world. That's why you keep prices low."
"H-how do you know?"
It was in the game settings.
"Because I'm the same as you!"
The Factory Owner gazed up at me from his slumped chair.
"To make a long story short: I'm a humble shopkeep in the neighborhood too. My place isn't on your level scale-wise, but as merchants, we both live to share our wares with everyone! That pride? Mine holds up to yours."
The Factory Owner's face—such as it was—betrayed shock.
Well, mannequins don't have expressions, but it sure felt that way.
"Shameful to admit, but I recently scored some Infinite Pig's Flesh and Eyeball Candy to sell."
"Ah... our products."
I fixed big, sparkling eyes on him.
"Mind-blowing. Quality, function, usefulness—leagues beyond the hundreds of items I've stocked before."
Of course, I'd never touched hundreds of items, and these weren't exceptionally great.
But hey.
Flattery's the buyer's best tool in a deal.
"My products impress you that much..."
The Factory Owner seemed genuinely chuffed.
Praise dances whales; a tale like him? He'd be tap-dancing with joy.
Time for the pitch.
"So, could I get regular shipments from your factory?"
"How could I say no? Realizing that restaurant's scam led me straight to you!"
The Factory Owner was hyped—his smooth face nearly cracking with emotion.
He really took a shine to me.
"Ah, but first..."
His voice dropped abruptly.
What now?
"Uh... how much?"
Ah.
Money talks.
"All goods at one finger for every two items."
Light-years fairer than Fine Dying Restaurant's rates.
"So... conscientious. Makes me blush for ever dealing with that place! Your sincerity rings true—no deceit. Let's do business."
The Factory Owner paused, then eyed me fondly.
"Nearly forgot the important bit in the thrill. Can't let Fine Dying Restaurant slide after duping me. Fellow dreamer-merchant, lend a hand?"
'No thanks, not into your utopia. Just the trade.'
"Naturally! Can't let scum ruin the joy of sharing goods with all!"