Hell's Diagram (4)
"Wh-what do you mean, attack? We're surrounded by now—aren't you talking about switching from defense to offense? Are you insane?"
Cheol-woo gave a firm reply as he smacked the empty magazine out of his rifle and slotted it into his plate carrier. No matter how she looked at it, that guy's face screamed he was planning to head outside. Mutants were swarming out there, and on top of that, there were people too? Han Si-yeon could understand charging into an open field for clear sightlines against flying drones, but she couldn't wrap her head around why anyone would step out into a firefight with humans instead of using the building for cover.
"There's that saying: the best defense is a good offense. We have to hit them now."
Defense only had the advantage over offense when counterattacks were on the table. It was beneficial because you could hunker down when disadvantaged and strike back when the odds shifted. But if you just kept defending without ever countering, what was the difference from some punching bag getting wailed on? You had to launch that counter when the chance arose to truly capitalize on defense's edge.
"This building isn't as sturdy as it looks. One self-destruct drone or rocket hits, and it'll crumble fast. If the enemy closes in, digs in, and pours fire on us, we won't be able to get out even if we want to. Buried alive for sure. So we need to head out now while the mutants are swarming and things are chaotic—scatter them once."
Blasting those drones had probably been meant to draw the mutants in too. But with them piling in like that, even the enemy had to find it annoying. They'd called the mutants to trap us, but it was messing with their positioning to hammer this building. So strike first, claim the angles, and counterattack before they settled in. That was the rough plan.
"And there are multiple enemy groups converging."
"Doesn't that make it even more dangerous?"
He tweaked the frequency, and the radio crackled to life with chatter. English, Spanish, Cantonese... transmissions in every language blasted from all sides. At least three packs of hyenas drawn by the scent. Three language groups meant way more than that. And yet, no gunfire outside. It meant those diverse groups had actually pulled off a we-are-the-world alliance.
"Looks like they've allied up, but you think groups that can't even communicate will coordinate well? Sure, we're surrounded, but it's not that dire."
"..."
They'd been brawling yesterday, but now that the 'key' had shown up, they'd hastily joined hands. No trust there. Even if five groups of ten each tried to encircle the building, effective combat power topped out around thirty, Cheol-woo explained. Han Si-yeon was left stunned. Even if that was true, the idea of charging out solo against thirty? That mindset alone was incomprehensible. You're probably the only one in the world who could even think that up.
"I'll be back. You and your employee stay put here—don't even breathe loud. No ground floor either; missiles could hit."
"Uh. Okay? What about me?"
"Sis, you're with me."
"...!"
Yuri's face drained of color.
***
"What!?"
Not doing aimed shots? Then maybe it had a ballistic computer for trajectory correction? Given all the experimental freaks popping up, a super soldier with one built-in wouldn't be surprising. Regular ballistic computers ballooned in size and weight when paired with long-range optics. Nothing visible on the outside meant maybe contact lenses feeding data to an onboard processor? Oriental tech at that level? Impressive, but just that—impressive. A computer was still a computer. Carrying one hampered mobility, and dead batteries made it junk. A hundred rookies with ballistic computers were worth less than one battle-hardened vet.
"Houndmaster here. Everyone hold your positions. We've claimed the angles on the entrance—don't give 'em up."
"Shoot if you have to. They should be grateful we even cooperated."
They'd seized the superior positions from the start; teaming up was us extending goodwill. Crawling up anyway? Might as well wipe the trash and grab the key—we had the chops for it. We'd held back to save ammo and manpower, but too many were begging to die.
Fuck. So many scavengers smelling cash.
Who'd predicted Hong Kong would turn into this hotspot? If he'd known, he never would've come. Figured it'd be faking policy research, poking washed-up debris on the coast, whoring it up in downtime. Then some maniacs spiked the water supply. City turned monster den overnight, earthquake piled on, Hong Kong Island straight to hell. Supplies cut, no backup news, HQ silent. Could've bailed on the mission for a safe zone. But no. Ammo plentiful, lives expendable. Wouldn't leave without results.
"Boss. Facial recognition results."
"In the database?"
"Yes. Han Si-yeon, president of Oriental Shipping."
"The other two?"
"No hits."
His portable terminal held most corp presidents, execs, gang brass. No match meant bottom-rung or post-cutoff updates. So what? Still scrubs. Gear-heads good for long-range potshots at best.
"Houndmaster here. Female target confirmed. Short-haired Chinese is Han Si-yeon. Capture her alive; others at discretion."
Houndmaster exhaled in relief. Word got out Hong Kong was hot, bugs swarmed. Local gov declared everything outside safe zones lawless ages ago—staying meant gambling your life on bullets or monsters. Common sense said deploy vets. But the Chinese kept shoving cannon fodder downtown, replacing wipes endlessly. They'd killed more humans than mutants here. Country with endless manpower? Mind-boggling.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
"What? Where?"
Hit mutants? Still blasting with loud guns? Weeks into Hong Kong's shitshow, and they didn't know quiet kills? His expression soured as he clocked something off. Frantic Chinese chatter cut dead. Silent after all that yapping?
"Chinese are in contact."
"Houndmaster here. All units, rally to base. Switch to fire base defense."
"Bad feeling. Everyone to base."
Countless Chinese, all chatter dead. Radio silence pact? Unlikely—different factions, no coordination. Far simpler: all Chinese dead. Swamped by mutants, alien critters, whatever—something was wrong.
"Hound 1. Why so slow?"
Bang-bang-bang!
Close shots snapped his head around. .308? Not their caliber. Not Chinese either—who besides US snipers ran that relic ammo?
"Hound 1. Respond."
"Don't, fuck!"
Bang! Bang-bang-bang!
9mm pistol now? They ran .45s. Hound 3's radio died mid-rescue.
"Flare! 3 o'clock!"
Pheew... The flare arced up, lighting the dark streets. Houndmaster snatched his sniper, tracking predicted paths. Hound 1 bought it there. Hound 3's old spot meant, factoring stride...
Shit.
Eye contact. Guy aiming pistol at Hound 3's head. Coincidence? Just glancing far off? Aimed center mass, squeezed calm. Target casually tilted head—Hound 3's skull filled the spot, exploded.
"What the...?"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Follow-ups, but he weaved side-to-side, dodging easy. What the fuck? Possible? 1200 meters—muzzle flash to impact over a second; reacting visually wasn't impossible. But this was precise evasion, knowing bullet paths. He leisurely reloaded, shouldered rifle—barrel locked on them. Spotless, no optics, like Hound 1 said.
"You motherfuc—!"
Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!!!
Houndmaster dove; rapid semi-auto shredded the room. MG nest suppression too late—he'd ghosted.
"What the hell was that guy...?"
Nothing on his back. No ballistic computer. Naked-eye sniping at range? Jaw-dropping. Oriental brought a monster.
"Cease fire! Cease fire, fuck! Stop shooting, idiots!"
"We kill that bastard today. Lure him inside. Hide all MGs till he approaches—don't let him gauge our firepower!"
Pristine fire base, platoon stronghold. Over ten MGs for seamless kill zones any direction, mortars ready. Anything in range was mulch. Come on. Come on. Come on. Come get it, you monster fuck!
***
What the hell are these guys?
Cheol-woo dragged the headless corpse, rummaging. Chinese were sloppy overall, but these whites weren't. Ragged exteriors hid gleaming gear. Weapons no joke. Chinese mostly ran Chinese AKs; these AR-15 platforms. Not 5.56—6.8mm, the 277 Fury. US Army's new adoption.
Real-world testing here?
Hong Kong gov abandoned it to lawless; perfect live-fire range. Proved on ranges; now human data needed. Mutant skull penetration key too. Hong Kong: playground for masked spec ops new toys.
"This is fucked."
Others maybe not, but these screamed pro training. Americans likely, twenty-plus. Storm that, come out alive? Stepping forward, chill prickled skin. No go. Sniped scouts instant, lead storm on exposure—sharp. Encirclement shattered; no need risk more. They poked holes, countered—no push.
Whoosh—he melted into shadows.
Then, thudding steps: NewTontonMan lumbering up.
"Huff... huff! Cheol-woo!"
"What? Told you block the exit—why come?"
"They kept provoking, so I went in and chopped 'em all."
"...?"
Sis got building entrance duty—Chinese with tools lurking, dark cramped mess obvious. Too hairy for guns, so parked TontonMan to block. And she... cleared it?
"Why? Why look like that? Wasn't I supposed to kill 'em?"
"No... good job..."
Sis adapted fast. Reassuring.