Why Is That a Regulation? (1)
"We could look for even cheaper candidate sites."
"No need. We've decided on this one. We'll scrape together the payment somehow, so make sure it doesn't get sold to anyone else."
"Very well. The Secret Intelligence Agency will secure it in advance, so just pay 10 percent upfront."
"Got it. Separately from the underground expansion, I'd like you to start remodeling the surface structures right away."
"Of course. We'll draw up the estimate first."
There was no turning back now. The abandoned radar base was already in the hands of the Secret Intelligence Agency, and they'd paid the 10 percent deposit. With remodeling already underway, Cheol-woo was backed into a corner—he had to fill the funding gap and buy the site no matter what.
Jason finished drawing up the contract, hiding a satisfied smile as he turned away.
Huh—this real estate game's no joke. Cheol-woo clicked his tongue in admiration.
If he hadn't seen the place, he might've settled for something within budget. But after laying eyes on this top-tier bunker site, there was no going back—his standards had skyrocketed.
Money's always short no matter how much you make. Now that billions were flying around like pocket change, his sense of economy felt utterly shattered.
After handling the Myott freighter docking request at Darwin Harbor, Cheol-woo's group left Newcastle.
Looking down at the nighttime city through the airplane window, the outskirts strangely seemed brighter than the downtown core.
It used to be an industrial hub until manufacturing tanked and the economy shifted. Now, factories were restarting one by one, giving off vibes of a return to its industrial roots.
With trade in ruins, self-sufficiency was the only option, right? Either way, having the bunker near an industrial city wasn't bad. In times like these, even a midsize industrial hub would be the nation's final stronghold, defended to the last.
Sydney's Costco might crumble, but Newcastle's would endure as long as Australia stood.
Something's off about the vibe around here.
On the drive from the airstrip to the motel, Cheol-woo felt an uneasy itch. The quiet rural town felt oddly bustling. More parked cars, more people heading to the pub. A festival or show could explain it, but seeing more young folks than elders was weird.
"How many Secret Intelligence Agency agents are in the area right now?"
"Five total, guarding the motel."
"Thanks for watching it while we were gone. Once we're there, pull them back. It's making me uncomfortable."
"Understood. Consider it done."
Cheol-woo glanced silently at Yuri. She caught his look and gave a small nod.
The car soon pulled up to the motel. Mi-young, who had been squatting by the door waiting, lit up and rushed over.
Waiting up this late? Cheol-woo could almost swear he saw a tail wagging behind her.
"Y-you're back! I made food. Bathwater's hot too—what do you want first?"
"Mi-young, get in the bulletproof carrier for a bit."
"Y-yes, sir...!"
She sensed the tension and bolted into the armored case with a clatter.
The black-suited escorts loaded up and drove off with a low rumble.
Once the car cleared the village, the crowd at the pub tossed their cigarettes and scattered in all directions.
"Shot dead?"
"Yes, sir. Confirmed at the morgue. The sheriff too—all of 'em took rounds to the skull."
"Eyes bloodshot?"
"Red as hell."
So they were awakened at the time of death? With bullets through their heads? That didn't add up.
The man perched on the bar stool darkened.
A shootout at the diner—no way it was rifles or shotguns. Probably pistols at most. Penetrating a superhuman's hardened skull? 4.6mm? Or 5.7? Neither was easy to get. No ordinary thug.
Wasteful, but gotta kill all the government's dogs.
Pity wasting talented ability users, but no choice. Escorted by intel agents? Government lapdogs for sure. Before war erupted between the government and ability users, thin their ranks.
"Witnesses say one male ability user. Rest civilians. Snag one of the women as hostage, it's over."
"Don't get cocky. Sheriff bought it. His pistol was fully loaded—never even pulled the trigger before his hand got severed. Freakish speed, strong in close quarters too, not just shooting."
"No worries. We got 'Tank'."
"..."
A thumb jerked back. There, a hulking figure dwarfing the chair chugged beer.
Of course—with that beast, what was there to fear? Unless a lucky shot hit the eyes, unkillable. Russian ballistic helmet sealed even that. Tank perfected.
"Man and wife just arrived. Whoa—agents pulling out."
"Already? Kick off the op. Have that guy kneeling before me in 30."
Prepared for a week-long stakeout, but they bailed early? Sweet.
Alright, gear up—
As he stood, a subordinate spun from the window, yelling.
"Boss! That truck's peeling out of the lot!"
"What? This late? Vehicles, now! Hurry!"
Just arrived and already leaving? Does the guy not sleep?
The pub erupted in chaos at the curveball. Burly men snorted bags of powder.
The stunned barkeep gawked as they stormed out, leaving the place deserted.
"Heading out of town."
"If they pick a remote spot, works for us..."
Sniff—exhale. Eyes bloodshot in seconds, the man peered into the dark road.
Landscape turning wasteland, no other cars. Midnight highway: just them and that truck.
"Time to start."
[Roger.]
A drone whirred up from the rear vehicle, rocketing after the truck.
Truck's fast? Whatever—about to ram—
A pistol popped from the truck, aiming.
No way—
Bang! Propeller hit, drone wobbled and plummeted.
"Hey! It's coming our way!"
"Huh?"
Whirr—boom!
Explosion lit the desolate road. Lead car engulfed in flames, followers piled up unable to brake. Airbag smashed the man's face, followed by crunches of crumpling metal in a chain reaction.
"Fuckin' shithead!"
He tore the bag away, raging.
Chase failed? Then—screech—the truck drifted to a halt amid the inferno.
What the—crazy bastard?
Blocked the road and stops instead of fleeing?
"Ha... psycho fuck! Crawl out and shoot the tires!"
This guy's hilarious. The man barked a hollow laugh.
Sane folks would bolt pride be damned, but this?
Fear center fried? Dopamine junkie?
"Ah?"
Truck bed yawned open. Inside: air-cooled black barrel unseen in Aussie backwoods.
Oh shit—
"Machine gun! Down, fuck!"
Rat-tat-tat—deafening roar with muzzle flash.
Guys drawing pistols for tires? Upper bodies exploded. Heads, arms, torsos shredded on impact, bits flying.
Beams pierced cars like paper, ripping hidden crouchers beyond.
What the fuck—thought exotic pistol rounds at worst. Never dreamed heavy MG.
"Tank! Crush 'em!"
"Huff... huff..."
Crash—bloodied giant staggered out, bullet holes dripping but unfazed. Snarling, donned helmet, shoved wrecks aside, charged the truck.
Never guessed a .50 cal blocker? Even I didn't believe at first. Fat layers like Kevlar? Tough fucker anyway.
Truck cannon needed to drop him—
Snicker—then Tank tumbled mid-rush to flip it.
"Why'd he trip?"
"Not tripped. Ankle severed."
"...What?"
Blood spurted from the stump; Tank blinked in confusion.
Whoosh—rocket whoomped; body shredded, chunks flying.
Thud—roll—RPG clattered on road. Man's face drained white.
Didn't see that coming.