Chapter 163: Dancing with Machines (RED)
Chapter 163: Dancing with Machines (RED)
For the first time in a long while, it was a flight without a single incident or accident. The plane didn’t fall out of the sky, monsters didn’t cling to the fuselage, we weren’t hijacked, the engines didn’t fail, and we didn’t make an emergency landing in some unknown world.
With this, the law stating that any vehicle I board must be destroyed has finally been debunked.
Of course, there have been a few times when my transport didn't break, but as far as airplanes go, this was likely a first.
Mhm. Mhm.
Based on the evidence, it has been proven that the Management Bureau ought to provide me with a private light aircraft.
After all, hasn't that terrifying era of bad luck finally come to an end?
Sure, I don't actually know how to fly one, but I’m perfectly capable of crashing it into things if needed.
“Why are you blocking the way with such a self-satisfied look on your face?”
Even the mechanical voice drifting from behind only served to amplify my current joy.
“You’ve flown with me several times, haven't you?”
“I have. When we went to support the US, during the Atlantic operation, during the Phoenix incident…”
Hmm. Quite a few times, indeed.
Anyway, I couldn't just keep blocking the path.
“Every single time, something went wrong with the plane. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve stepped onto solid ground with such peace of mind.”
As I descended the stairs of the plane, I poured out my feelings of delight toward my close friend.
“Ah… I once read a thesis related to that. It claimed that Heroes, even setting aside their 'stories,' are more prone to getting caught up in extraordinary incidents than ordinary humans.”
Oh? There was such a thing?
I was about to nod in admiration of this new knowledge—that my hardships had a scientific basis—when he continued.
“I believe… Lee Ha-ram’s name was mentioned there as well. You were cited as a specific comparative control group, where an accident occurs approximately 90% of the time when a certain number of people board a vehicle and travel a certain distance…”
Say what, you punk?
Wait, more importantly, my personal information is just out there in some shady thesis?
“No, does that even make sense? You’re saying statistical data related to us is just floating around?”
Shouldn't that be classified?
“I uploaded it. Data is power, after all. Oh, don't worry, I censored all the problematic parts.”
It was you! You were the problem!
The reason all my vehicle licenses were suspended, the reason getting plane tickets became such a hassle, and the reason I keep getting collection notices from rental car companies because I had to ditch a car in the forests of North Korea—it was all because of you!
Fueled by that rage, I twisted my body to grab that damn jerk of a friend by the scruff of his neck.
Creeeeak.
An ominous sound echoed from beneath my feet.
“Ah, do be careful. The aging of this structure is quite severe…”
Along with my friend’s flat voice, my body plummeted.
Thud. Crash. Bang. Clang. Clang.
The sound of metal plates raining down on my head; the sound of a wobbling pillar striking me as I stood there in dazed absurdity.
“Hmm. This confirms that the deterioration of Soviet public facilities is indeed serious. And we have an interesting result: the anomalous phenomena regarding Lee Ha-ram’s vehicles apply even after disembarking…”
Stop analyzing me, you crazy scientist!
Clang!
As if in agreement, a clear, resonant sound rang out against my skull.
* * *
Fortunately, the destruction of the passenger bridge wasn't blamed on me.
The Soviet bureaucrats are notoriously prickly. They investigate down to the last ten-won coin, make you write an apology letter if you so much as chip a paving stone, and send warning letters to the Management Bureau if those apologies pile up. They’re shameless enough to arrest you if something seems suspicious—and if it isn't, they'll make something up. They are the pinnacle of gloominess, summoning you months later for a "witness interview" just because they feel like it. Their system is so hopeless that you end up being called in by the Soviet government, then the KGB, and then the Soviet branch of the Management Bureau separately because they can't communicate with each other. Yet, even they didn't hold me responsible.
Of course, that damn bureaucrat’s habit of shooting into the air was just getting started.
“…Damn red tape-loving bastards.”
I muttered with resentment toward the ordeal ahead.
“'Commie' is a biased term, so I would appreciate it if you refrained from using it.”
Our capitalist STEM student sure has sharp ears.
They’re supposed to be enemies; I don't know why he’s making a fuss.
“…Damn desk-warmers.”
“Now that is a term I quite like.”
My mood lifted slightly since someone was playing along.
Thus, I continued to grumble as I walked.
“Damn Management Bureau parasites.”
“They do receive a hell of a lot of subsidies.”
Well, they do cover the largest Contaminated Zone, so I guess they earned it.
Even so…
Thud.
As I stepped onto the carpet, a strange sensation accompanied a puff of dust.
It was as if they didn't even bother cleaning their own national airport.
“Ugh, damn contribution-fee thieves. Look at that janitor over there. Tell him to clean this up instead of sucking on a cigarette.”
“I believe it might be his break time.”
Right, and here I am seriously wondering if this rising dust is actually cigarette ash.
“Damn Communists. I hate Communists.”
Hmm. I feel like I’ve heard that phrase somewhere before…
“It’s not necessarily an ideological issue. Poland and other Eastern European countries are operating just fine. This is simply a Soviet problem.”
Just let me curse, man.
My stress is only going to pile up from here, so I need to vent while I can.
The other passengers had already passed. Only the Librarian and I remained, walking through the dusty hallway filled with nothing but my grumbling.
Finally, the ultimate boss appeared.
The place that caused the biggest headache every time I entered the Soviet Union.
The Hero-exclusive Immigration Desk.
Perhaps to separate us from ordinary passengers, we were guided to a secluded corner. The staff member sitting there didn't look like he had any intention of working; he was openly watching television and laughing.
Because he looked so relaxed and sloppy, one might think it would be easy to pass through, like the Hero desks in other countries. But that is a grave misconception.
“Damn Bureaucratic Lu Bu.”
“What’s a Lu Bu?”
Ah, I guess they don't know that in America.
“Oh. Uh… there’s a guy in Eastern history who’s similar to the Lord of Infinite Castles.”
“I see. I shall look him up later.”
I felt like I’d done something wrong, but they’re roughly similar, so it shouldn't matter.
Now that I’d spat out my last complaint… from here on…
Sigh.
I let out a long breath.
I steeled my heart.
Step.
My heavy footsteps echoed throughout the empty immigration area.
I wondered what kind of questions he’d use to torment me today.
Step.
Another stride.
Perhaps he heard the sound, as the staff member’s gaze shifted from the television toward me.
Step.
The staff member’s expression changed.
The facade of laughing at the TV vanished, replaced by a pale, emotionless face.
They treat foreign Heroes like this while showering their own with privileges.
Tsk.
Clicking my tongue, I pulled my credentials from my coat and held them out.
Entry permit.
Hero Certificate.
Mission details.
Companion verification.
Accepting them with mechanical movements, the staff member quietly leafed through the documents.
I braced myself.
Where would he try to find a flaw today?
First, the basics had been checked multiple times by the Librarian; there shouldn't be a single error.
Not a single common typo, and since the Librarian—who is basically a human printer—wrote them for me, he couldn't even complain about bad handwriting.
Of course, even if the paperwork was flawless, there were still the interviews and countless other hurdles.
“There seem to be no issues with the documents.”
Phew.
At least we won't be bickering over paperwork for twenty minutes.
“The purpose of entry is listed as operational support for a companion Hero. Does this apply at all times? Or will there be times when you act independently?”
Here it comes.
The utterly emotionless interview.
The important thing here is never to say "I don't know yet" or "I don't have a plan."
The moment I say that, he’ll reject me and tell me to start the paperwork all over again.
But choosing one or the other doesn't work either.
If I say "at all times," he’ll grill me on exactly what that means. If I say "independently," he’ll pry into every possible scenario.
The Key is to give an answer he can't find a flaw in.
An answer that gets me through this interview, even if it doesn't perfectly reflect reality.
In other words.
“Regarding that, we will basically be acting togeth—”
Just as I began to recite the perfect answer I had memorized.
“Yes, thank you. Please proceed.”
The staff member cut me off and stamped the documents.
…Huh?
“Wait a minute. Is that it?”
“Yes, that is all. I wish you success on your mission.”
Hey, at least give me a smile. Saying that with a blank face is just creepy.
Ah. It’s a trap.
“You’re planning to drag me to a holding cell after this, aren't you? You think I’ll fall for that again? Do you know who I am and what I have on me right now? Huh?”
I even brought the emergency transit documents stamped with Hyun-seok’s Branch Manager seal just for this occasion.
Haha, go ahead, try to take me somewhere. I’ll show you all.
“…There is no such plan, so I ask that you move along quickly. Your companion is waiting.”
“Ah, I see. You’re going to separate us? You think I don't know? Fine. Let’s see what happens. I’m not holding back today. You hear me?”
Those bastards. So this is how they’re playing it?
They must have realized that exhausting me at the immigration desk was getting old, so they changed their pattern.
Fuming with rage, I stomped my way toward the lobby.
My only luggage was the backpack on my waist, so there was no need to wait for bags, and customs and item inspections had long since been bypassed by Hero privilege.
All that was left was for someone—the KGB, the Soviet branch of the Bureau, the airport’s secret police, someone—to approach me.
So, I sat on a lobby chair with every nerve on edge, waiting for them to come.
* * *
“…”
What gives?
Why is nothing happening?
I waited for several minutes, but nothing occurred.
Well, to be precise, someone did come.
A security guard wandering the airport noticed my foul mood and asked, “Is there something bothering you?”
When I yelled at him, he scurried away. It felt like I’d harassed an innocent man, but it was all the damn Soviets' fault.
Seriously, what is this?
Why is no one coming?
Just as my irritation was peaking and I started picking at the skin on my lips.
“…Why are you radiating bloodlust in every direction? The citizens are avoiding this area because of you.”
“Huh? You got out fast.”
The Librarian had come to find me sooner than expected.
“I thought I was a bit late because retrieving the luggage took some time…”
The Librarian tapped his suitcase as he spoke.
I couldn't sense any annoyance in his actions.
Something was definitely wrong.
“Did the immigration desk give you any trouble?”
“They were blunt, but I passed through normally.”
Suspicious. Beyond suspicious.
How is that possible?
Those Soviet bureaucrats?
It’s fishy. It’s way too fishy.
“Librarian. Battle stations.”
“What? All of a sudden? Did you pick up on something strange? My radar isn't detecting anything.”
“Looking at the situation, it’s clear the Soviets are plotting something. We should strike first before they get us…”
I’ve always wanted to smash those cylindrical towers of the Kremlin anyway; this is a perfect excuse.
“Are you perhaps annoyed because the Soviets aren't bothering you?”
Spot on. As expected of the Librarian.
“Of course! This is the Soviet Union. If they’re being this cooperative, they must be planning—”
“I believe it is simply because the Soviet factions have been purged and replaced.”
Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?
“From your expression, it seems you didn't know. A large number of high-ranking officials in the Soviet branch of the Management Bureau and the Red Army have been forcibly retired. Some scandal broke out, apparently.”
“…Really?”
“Yes, really. It’s been a hot topic for the past few weeks. The television has been buzzing about it. Something about a 'Radical Faction' taking over the Soviet branch.”
Wait, what happened while I was away at Mobilization Training?
In just over ten days, the world turned upside down?
“What’s this 'Radical Faction'?”
“Ah, you know, that trend lately. The idea that Heroes must build their strength and all that. It seems that ideology really appealed to the people in the Soviet branch.”
Hearing that, I couldn't help but be flustered.
The plan had progressed tremendously while I wasn't looking.
What on earth was going on?