The Automaton Encore
"What? Can you read that?"
Aiman, standing beside Jin-cheol, caught his whisper and shot back in astonishment.
Jin-cheol shook his head. English was his Achilles' heel. It felt like only yesterday he'd been fumbling through broken Konglish to talk with the allied forces. No reason that should've changed now.
In truth, the remnants on the sign were just faint traces, and he'd only guessed at familiar shapes to mouth a few words.
"...So what did it say?"
"Just... recited some words from my tribe, my people. Out of curiosity."
Aiman watched him quietly, clearly sensing the dodge, but nodded as if to say he wouldn't press. Someday he'd lay it all out for this floppy-eared swordsman. Just not right here, right now.
Their eyes were stolen, if only for a moment, by the massive waterfall cascading down the wall and the mystical underground world sprawling below. Then Jin-cheol snatched up the radio.
"Lead vehicle, keep advancing."
The tank, paused just a moment, rumbled back to life with a deep engine growl and pressed on. Jin-cheol's truck followed suit, and the group soon crossed the stone bridge into a new passage.
It resembled the first tunnel they'd entered—similar yet different. Unlike the near-natural cave of before, this one bore clear signs of human intervention: the floor leveled for easy passage.
As Jin-cheol eyed those traces, Aiman spoke up.
"Recent marks mixed with ancient ones. Looks like the special forces made it this far, no doubt."
Rahiman, who'd been huddled in the truck bed's corner with ears drooped since entering the depths, lifted his head at that. He peeked timidly outside, a flicker of hope in his eyes.
As Aiman said, old maintenance scars blended with fresh wheel ruts from trucks. Those tracks stretched along the gently sloping passage.
Then the radio crackled.
"There's a slope—take it slow."
The lead tank slowed. Haeta poked her head from the hatch, scanning around before spotting Jin-cheol and Aiman in the rear truck. She beamed and waved.
Aiman gestured frantically for her to get back inside—dangerous.
They descended the gentle slope a ways. No incidents, just like the first tunnel. No white beasts, no underground bugs or critters.
"Roger."
They emerged into an open expanse—no bridge this time, just a vast floor. The waterfall's roar echoed nearby. Sheer cliffs and deep chasms loomed. Scanning around, Jin-cheol spotted the stone bridge high above.
"These passages and bridges weave this underworld into a maze. Fits a lost empire's ruins."
"Different from Siol's depths."
Aiman nodded at Jin-cheol's words. Siol's underground was cramped corridors, rooms, occasional plazas—like an ant colony. This was immense, vast. Ceiling lost in shadow, chasms plunging into blackness. Giant stalactites riddled with honeycomb holes, linked by stone bridges.
"Ruins vary wildly. But nothing this grand and open. Ceiling so high it's like staring at the night sky, eh?"
"Dunno. No stars."
"Is that so? Night sky needs stars? More romantic than I figured."
As they bantered idly, the lead tank's lights caught something. Jin-cheol grabbed the radio.
"Halt."
The group stopped, staring blankly ahead. A colossal city sprawled there—like some surface metropolis yanked into a massive cavern and abandoned.
Towering high-rises, vast gray walls like fortifications. Half-collapsed towers, empty lakes. After millennia without light, the concrete trembled under the beams, or so it seemed. The city that once bewitched humans with light and noise now stood silent, hollow—a barren ruin, its own corpse as gravestone.
"...Advance."
Jin-cheol answered over the radio but couldn't tear his eyes from the ancient city. Natural enough—it was his era's world to him, not some relic.
Entering the city, roads littered with debris stretched ahead. Pavement intact enough for tanks and trucks, cracks notwithstanding. But clumps of wreckage—shattered glass, melted plastic, twisted metal scraps like car frames—were strewn about.
The scouts crept through the silent streets. Nothing barred them; just echoes of faded glory. Like traversing a corpse.
Jin-cheol felt again like an outsider in this age. He should've died with this city, buried in its epoch.
"..."
"Hm? You alright?"
Aiman noticed his pallor. Jin-cheol nodded it off, but Aiman's gaze fixed on the truck rail crumpled in his grip. Jin-cheol caught it, managed a wry smirk.
Following the special forces' trail a bit longer, they saw it led to one building—huge, coiled like a ring. Stalactites stabbed down like swords from an unseen ceiling. Broad stairs fronted it, lined with familiar trucks: Uraata's.
They dismounted, checked quickly—no Lavito left. Just scattered shell casings.
"Where the hell did these bastards go?"
"..."
Rahiman, dragged out by Jin-cheol's hand, looked up as if to say why ask me?
Jin-cheol shook his nape. "You got zero clue where we are?"
"...No idea. The, the emissary didn't explain that stuff..."
Jin-cheol turned back to the building. If this was buried Las Vegas from his time, this was ten millennia old. Yet intact—skeleton and walls barely scratched, though windows gaped empty.
Muksaang House's 'America Arsenal'? Nah—looked every bit the Vegas hotel, not some superweapon vault. What the hell?
"What now?"
Aiman approached; everyone awaited his call—even Lamien. You're the nominal commander, right? She just scanned worriedly, hunting her lover's traces. Tough to defer to someone like that.
Jin-cheol shouldered his machine gun and belts. "Just me and Aiman scout inside quick. Rest keep engines hot, ready to bolt if shit hits."
"Mm. Same thought. Who knows what's in these ruins."
Haeta raised her hand. "Yo-sul users are essential in ancient sites! I go too!"
"Fine. Gear up."
Turning, Jin-cheol saw another hand: Snow.
"...You too?"
"..."
Her silent stare got a reluctant nod. Fair enough—she wouldn't slow them. Hell, against foes she'd half-flown; should've recruited her.
Haeta hopped down and trotted to Jin-cheol, reaching to clamber onto his back.
Jin-cheol flinched back. "What?"
"...My legs are slow."
"So? Piggyback?"
"Yes. Like last time."
Last time—fleeing Siol's depths from that beam-spamming spider tank.
"That was emergency."
"Not now?"
"Eh? Doesn't seem like I'll need to run carrying you."
"...So you will if it's urgent?"
"That how it parses? Fine, whatever."
Haeta nodded, satisfied. Jin-cheol tilted his head, sensing a trap—then spotted Aiman's amused grin and Snow's icy blankness. He averted his eyes, changed tack.
"Let's move. You lot stay ready to evac."
"Go worry-free. Safety here's on me."
"You're the biggest worry."
Dol Jumeok piped up from silence; Jin-cheol snapped back. Unfazed, the brute herded Lamien and the Lavito soldiers to the tank.
Jin-cheol snagged Rahiman slinking away. The guy squeaked, dragged along.
"Trying to bail?"
"I-I'm useless in there..."
"I'll judge that. Come on."
"...Sniff."
Jin-cheol and Rahiman led toward the building, Aiman, Haeta, Snow trailing.
Up the stairs: cracked marble, shattered statues in a lobby.
Haeta pulled a small stone from her pouch, shone it ahead—an artifact flashlight, once used to project Harmen’s face.
Front doors: concrete frame only.
Inside felt more hotel than arsenal—vast space, check-in desk, ornate decorations.
"Incredible. So well-preserved."
As Aiman said, interior beat the exterior. Even lobby sofas survived. Jin-cheol touched one—crumbled to dust.
"...Eyes only."
"Hah."
Jin-cheol chuckled dryly, pressed on. Even sans artifact, his eyes tracked fresh footprints deeper.
Beyond lobby: corridor of 21st-century Vegas tack—Egyptian black jackal statues (Aiman eyed closely), improbably pristine plate armor (Snow inspected).
End: recently smashed door—special forces' work.
Through it: vast indoor plaza, building's curve like walls around a central garden.
Jin-cheol felt an eerie vibe. Debris everywhere—smashed furniture, burn marks, rags that were once clothes. Uniforms: early British redcoats, WWII German, 21st-century US. All child-sized for humans—perfect for Lavito.
Haeta tapped her temple.
"...There! Something!"
She led to the plaza's heart: round stage. Theater, to Jin-cheol.
"There..."
Her finger pointed to a small console on the platform.
Up close: instrument panel, dimly lit.
Jin-cheol reached—
"Wait, don't touch recklessly, who knows the da—" Aiman started, too late.
His hand met it; lights flared. The plaza hummed wooooom, then bang-bang bursts lit everything.
As they startled, something rose slowly from under the stage. Jin-cheol first thought people—but lights revealed clockwork puppets, hydraulic joints. Guitars and basses in their hands.
"...What the fuck?"
Jin-cheol muttered blankly as the mechanical dolls struck up. Blasting heavy metal echoed through the plaza. Lights strobed, songs and recordings blared.
Then a voice from the console:
"...Wooooaaahhh—hoo hoo! First guests in foreverrr! Vocal! Crank it up nooow!"
The mic-wielding puppet thrashed its head, belting like a real singer. A puppet master's wail poured forth.