Civil War (10)
"Our manpower is woefully inadequate. We'll provide sniper and electronic warfare support, but you'll essentially have to handle the actual assault solo."
"Doesn't matter to me."
Even as Jason delivered the mission briefing, he broke out in a cold sweat, wondering if this was really the plan. David Min sat there, barely seeming to listen, shoveling food into his mouth like it was his last meal. Entrusting the Prime Minister's office cleanup to this sharp-featured Asian guy? Handing Australia's fate over to a single man? Jason got that there were no better options, but it was still damn hard to swallow.
"Prepare me a pair of bulletproof gloves."
"Tactical gloves, got it."
"No. Bulletproof gloves. Even if it's just the palms, something that can stop pistol rounds would be ideal."
"What the hell do you plan to do with those?"
"Block bullets."
"···."
"···."
Their eyes met, and silence hung in the air for a moment. Was it really that hard to source Level 2 bulletproof gloves? His sister's gloves alone could stop rifle rounds, so ones rated for pistols would be pretty thin by comparison.
I think I could block pistol rounds if I see them coming.
It would've been unthinkable before, but with his senses sharpening lately, catching and blocking bullets didn't seem entirely impossible. In a one-against-many fight, cover wouldn't always be available. He'd have to take hits eventually, and if they aimed for unprotected vitals, maybe he could slap them away with gloved hands. Better to try something than die without a fight. He had to prepare for every contingency.
Of course, he didn't forget to pocket a small dose of the blue drug as well.
"And make sure your snipers don't have a line of fire on me."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I don't like guns aimed at the back of my head. Don't want to reflexively drop your sniper by accident."
"Ah, right···. Since you're entering through the front gate, we'll position the snipers on the rear."
He was always the one getting sniped, never the one with sniper cover. Nothing felt as prickly as a scope's gaze from afar—especially sweeping the back of his skull. In Seoul or Hong Kong, feeling that stare meant shooting first or dying, so his reflexes weren't just talk; they could turn real fast.
"Show me the satellite photos and blueprints."
"Here you go. Take your time."
Once he'd handed over all the intel, Jason let out a deep sigh. Regardless of whether David Min could actually storm the Prime Minister's office solo and wipe it clean, Jason couldn't help wondering why the guy was taking on such insane risk. What the hell had they offered him?
"What's the payoff they're dangling?"
"Ah··· the payoff···."
Jason let out a hollow chuckle, his face speaking volumes of complications.
···He decided not to pry further.
Australia, Canberra, Prime Minister's Residence.
The Prime Minister and his ministers crammed into the cramped office, locked in heated debate.
"It has to be today, sir. We need to start dispersing the blue drug today."
"Didn't you say the last shipment just left Darwin yesterday?"
"Even if the quantity's short, we have to begin immediately. The Secret Intelligence Agency's movements are suspicious."
"The Agency? Why?"
"The director was visible up until the day before yesterday, but now he's gone dark, and reports from our black agents have cut off completely. The deputy director's coup is highly suspect."
"And that could interfere with the dispersal plan?"
"The odds are low, but who knows as time drags on. If the Agency catches wind and interferes, it could get dicey."
The Secret Intelligence Agency? Could those bastards really cause trouble? The Prime Minister tilted his head skeptically. The Agency had the most extensive overseas intel network, making it the highest risk for sniffing out "us." That's why they'd prioritized infiltrating it from day one of landing in Australia, eventually infecting over 70% of its staff. For all intents and purposes, the Agency was a dead organization now—a zombie intel outfit churning out meaningless false reports up the chain.
And that was a threat?
"Because of those Asians who came from Hong Kong?"
"Yes. Can't rule it out."
He almost dismissed it as nonsense, but the Prime Minister stroked his chin beard and grunted thoughtfully. Those Asians with their flimsy yacht-arrived citizenships from Hong Kong. No telling what they'd seen or heard, but if they knew about "us," they qualified as high-risk elements. With the government and Agency already compromised, civilians probably couldn't do much—but any potential wrinkle in the plan deserved consideration.
"Sorry I'm late—"
"What the fuck? Why are you here?"
Thud—the door swung open, revealing a portly man. Hostile glares pinned him instantly; he swallowed hard.
"I heard everyone was gathering for a cabinet meeting. No idea why Energy wasn't notified, but I'm here now, even if late···."
"No one called you, so no notification! Get out!"
The Prime Minister bellowed, and the Energy Minister meekly shut the door behind him. With voices lowered, the meeting resumed.
"Feels a bit rushed, doesn't it···? All dispersal methods and personnel are in place, right?"
"Yes, sir. Dispersal assets and teams are meticulously positioned down to the village level."
"Good. We didn't secure the full planned amount, but we start now. Convene a press conference this afternoon. I'll give the attack signal via my address."
"Understood."
With consensus reached, the Prime Minister and ministers rose, shaking hands. It was human custom, but after mimicking it so long, it felt natural even among "us." Lacking their own culture, inheriting others' wasn't so bad.
As the ministers pulled out phones to tap out orders, their faces soured—no signal.
"What the hell? Internet's down."
"Phone lines too."
"Sir, what about landlines?"
"Dead. What's going on?"
Ministers fiddled frantically before surging out en masse. Outside, the guards were just as baffled. All wired and wireless comms were jammed.
"Sir, looks like an electronic warfare attack. We need to evacuate."
"Electronic warfare? Who's cap— Ah!?"
Few organizations in the capital could jam the Prime Minister's residence. Security Agency or Secret Intelligence. Or both···?
The thought hit just as a guard heading to the rear parking lot for evac took a round through the leg, blood spraying.
"Argh! Aaaagh! Get down from the windows, sir!"
"Damn···!"
Guards hustled the Prime Minister and ministers inside, dropping the blinds. They were under attack. But if the blackout lasted over 30 minutes, police would notice and swarm. Just hold out that long. Just that long. Survive 30 minutes of the onslaught···.
"One at the front gate! Approaching!"
"Everyone to defense positions··· What? One?"
One? Had they misheard? Bewilderment rippled across the guards' faces.
···
Thirty men, huh? Way more than expected.
Intel said around 30 guards max, but the killing intent radiating from inside suggested at least 50. He'd been scammed. Cheol-woo clicked his tongue, grabbing the MGL grenade launcher.
"Hands up and down on the ground, arghhh! Grenade launcher!"
Thung-thung—the launcher barked, smoke grenades punching through windows. The residence choked in thick haze.
Good enough. Cheol-woo donned his gas mask and strode boldly through the front gate.
"Cough, cough! What the··· Aaaagh!"
A silhouette flickered in the smoke; bang-bang—one to the leg, one to the gun hand. The guard shrieked like a girl, collapsing. Cheol-woo pried his eyes open: tears and snot streaming. Human—for now.
Confirmation complete, his hackles exploded upright.
"Shit—"
Rat-tat-tat—volley from the smoke. Cheol-woo rolled, snagging the guard's collar and yanking him up as a shield. Thunk-thud-blood sprayed with dull impacts. Couldn't pierce the gut? Submachine gun with pistol rounds, then. Firepower edge to him.
He shouldered the HK-417 from his back. Visibility zero in the smoke, but he could roughly track enemies: building layout, muzzle flashes, human psychology. Few spots to hunker down.
Bang! Bang! Bang! The rifle roared, hosing predicted positions. .308 rounds chewed through doors, wood, even body armor endlessly.
A muffled death rattle; Cheol-woo felt the telltale buzz in his hands. Five down?
Front line's broken.
Push now. He ghosted forward pistol-ready, silent and swift down the hall.
"He's closing in!"
"Right on top of us!"
Cheol-woo kicked a guard scavenging a subgun, then double-tapped his head. No time for limbs; headshots only. Parasite or human, it didn't matter—collateral would sort later.
"Hoo."
He dove between guards, spraying. Deafening blasts tore eardrums amid acrid smoke and cordite stench; chaos reigned. Muzzle reports and screams erupted beside them, guards firing blindly at shadows.
"Aaaah! Fuck, why're you shooting me!"
"Where is he! Where?!"
Savoring the screams and shouts, Cheol-woo grinned. Blind rounds? Human shield. Closers? Trip and headshot. Fresh shields respawned with every advance—never short on meat.
One by one, screams faded; the hall quieted.
Almost done?
"Ngh?"
Ping—a stray round grazed his ear. Too sharp for luck. Then—
Insane.
Another straight for his brow. Reflex snapped his left hand up; ping—the bullet ricocheted off the glove. Numb pain bloomed across his palm as he stared through the smoke at the silhouette.
Not a regular.
A few exchanges, and he clocked it. That one was his kind.