2195 Apartheid (10)
Something of a non sequitur, maybe, but I was the type who empathized deeply with fictional stories—yet absolutely hated those frustrating scenes in movies, anime, or game cutscenes. Oh, I wasn't just bitching mindlessly...? I only grumbled when a character holding the key to turning the tables—or with the means to do so—just spaced out... or failed to stop some blatantly obvious atrocity about to happen.
But now, witnessing a battlefield where superhumans clashed with an aura that made casual interference impossible, I kinda got it. Separate from what's right or rational, humans are just weak against the magic that numbs reason.
“Hmph! As if this is enough...!!”
Boom!! With one strike from the giant, the enemies charging down the corridor like scattering bowling pins exploded into the air, shattered to pieces.
...A wise David might beat Goliath. But in this future world, there were foes no mere slingshot could topple, so with the enemy reinforcements wiped out, we could call it done.
“......Cough!!”
The acrid gunpowder stench hit my nose hard, triggering an involuntary cough. I shifted my gaze back inside the room.
It had been hard to tell if this was the organization's core manufacturing lab or the boss Dusk's personal quarters—but now it looked like a total pigsty.
...Naturally, the pig hadn't escaped.
“Kill him!! Kill him, I said...! Fuck, why the hell can't you kill him?! These gutter trash mercs with their tags think they can match guard robots?!”
The mangled head of the guard droid, shoved into a corner, droned its canned message in a monotonous loop before powering down.
......If that had been a Carebot head part, it might've triggered some seriously bad memories.
One of the initial droids had already paid dearly for its clumsy attack. In a panic, Dusk had unleashed two more hidden guard robots from the inner walls, putting Horatio and Domino at a three-to-two numerical disadvantage.
Of course... it was just numbers. The battle tide wasn't turning against them at all.
Boom!!Crunch...!Clang!Klang!!
Green sparks danced through Daredevil's hair-cum-wiring as he dodged a rear ambush like he had eyes in the back of his head. From perception to reaction, his speed—thanks to risky implants right next to his brain—rivaled even Enama's Seekers.
“Dusk, you old fuck...!! Better pull out any more toys you've got!!”
He roared, ripping off a chainsaw arm and reverse-thrusting it into the droid's power core. He blocked what he could, retreated fast from danger, and savaged any openings with hands, feet, or weapons like a beast on pure instinct.
Domino's engagements, by contrast, blended precision and grace... evoking a Nocturne.
“...Mind worrying a bit about the guy who has to sync with your wild ass every time?”
Bullets from his outstretched arm or leg scraped the floor tiles hit true. Death's trajectory veered off; spider legs designed for any terrain toppled. His drug-dilated, bloodshot eyes trembled, but this gunman never shirked his role.
Click...!Klang!!
The empty pistol mag flew at Dusk behind the ragged sofa; the guard droid blocked per protocol. In that window, Domino fluidly flicked a fresh mag from his belt, reloaded his dual pistols, and fired—striking joints on separate bots.
Blades or fire? Bulled down. Sweeping arms? Gun bodies as shields to parry.
“Fucking... insane...?”
I'd bet my life—if that was possible in the game, pistol users would've multiplied tenfold.
Crunch...!! Horatio stomped the last spider legs with both feet, dismantling the final guard droid. Light faded from its wrecked chest and head.
With the protectee stupidly nearby, they couldn't unleash built-in heavy weapons. No final overload self-destruct either.
“Ughhh... stiff as hell. Sis Asha! You good?”
“......Yeah.”
Lights, tiles, lab gear—all smashed. Yet the doorframe I'd stood by was intact. As the stifling heat ebbed and afterimages cleared, wounds became visible.
Clothes shredded, skin gashed with red lines. Blood trickling over swollen flesh sobered my adrenaline high.
Omen even returned clutching his gut.
I felt like an idiot for vaguely assuming we'd overwhelm them.
“...Just ran out of nutrients mid-fight.”
Omen gently pushed away my approaching check-up. No, I felt guilty you got hurt worse because of me—let me see...!
“Haha! Us types gotta give and take to eat well, sis!”
“...I know that much!”
Horatio forced a grin past his near-corpse pallor, yelling. As body enhancement wore off, his mohawk drooped pathetically like its owner. Domino was busy wiping endless blood from burst vessels in his eyes.
Too cruel to resent... modern folks sell time for creds too. Rich buy others' time. But this direct trade—selling now and future for creds to buy tomorrow...
“Haaa...”
Even if environment pushed extremes, these kids' ideas were dangerously naive.
...After this, gotta push cell regen surgery costs on them.
“?! D-don't... come closer...!!”
“...Or what if I don't?”
Dusk freaked as I pulled the memory card from Paradise—via broker—and approached the sofa. His trembling hand groped the floor, clutching glass shards, then aimed at me... before veering at Domino's aimed pistol.
“If... if I die, the formulas and data in my head vanish!! You want that?! Huh?!”
“!! What a sniveling way to go!”
“...Jesus.”
I scoffed at the flustered kids. Implants/hardware needed host death to wipe/reset; glass shards wouldn't instant-kill. At my hack speed, I could've extracted even if he tried.
Maybe explain logically and wrap up... but nah, this small-time villain deserved despair fitting his unrepentant crimes.
“Stab.”
“...What?”
“Fucking stab, asshole.”
I loomed over Dusk pressing sharp glass to his sweat-soaked throat.
...Only Mary'd been shorter till now, but this guy had forgotten how to stand human...
No. That's insulting to Mary.
...Apologize next call.
“But... before you croak, remember this.”
“...?”
I locked eyes with the dazed fuck.
“...As long as I'm around, even in death, no salvation for you. That precious drug, data—hell, your whole life. I'll scrape it clean and sell every bit. So... live to watch, or die quick.”
“......”
Crash! Glass slipped from his hand, shattering. His deflated face—head of a Yellow Sector crime org—looked pathetic.
“...Daredevil, learn from that shit...”
“Sis Asha!! You're the best---!!”
“......Pretend you didn't hear.”
...One's stuffing data into his taped-up head; outfield's too loud—glared to shut 'em up.
...Silence.
Paradise command gave a satisfying reply. Faint grumbles from other mercs drifted over... but what choice? Dump it and move.
“...Thought it'd be fulfilling revenge after dreaming so long, but it's just hollow now.”
Unlike the two who saw no value left, Domino—whose drug hell started with Dusk's prototype—personally ended the Yellow Sector tumor post-extraction.
“Childhood nightmares stick scarier.”
“Guh...! Ngh.”
Omen laughed through gut-shot agony, clutching the bullet still lodged. Patted his thigh instead of back—too high.
...Not 'hurry up'! Patient, move slow...!!
We retraced, dodging sporadic corridor gunfire. Up stairs, out hatch.
Hand the card to broker or handler at control line—done. Smoother than feared, real relief...
“...What, even almighty Omen bleeds red?”
“...Hmph! Just a graze. Move.”
“Uh...?”
Suppression team—diverted to 7th Street—blocked basement stairs. Not here to assist; deeper underground still raged battle. And their vibe... plus the big crate at their feet... bad news.
......Ominous. Dire.
Public gig, so not Paradise silencing. This was...!
“Good thing you're the one I worried most about.”
Boom---!!
“?!”
Cannon-loud gunshot echoed; unflinching Omen staggered back... knees hitting cold floor.
“You... fucking dogs...!!”
“...Blame stingy-ass Paradise.”
Lightning Horatio lunged, grabbing Omen's clothes. Pistol drawn, trigger pulled.
But the blatant shotgun—pre-aimed—fired mercilessly again...
And Omen's head snapped back.