Precision Non-Lethal Takedown
Stripping off clothes and choking necks... Huh? ............ A 0.003-millimeter-thick purple slime detached from the glass surface. It took 0.002 seconds for it to regain its human shape. Next up—launch. A ballistic missile's speed is Mach 24. That's twenty-four times the speed of sound. The time it took me to kick off the glass and reach the deck was even shorter.
Boom—!! I landed smack in the middle of the deck. The moment my small, pale bare feet touched the reinforced alloy, a shockwave exploded outward like a bomb, circular and devastating. Even Will Bates' underlings, who had been showing off their overwhelming strength, had to crouch low to avoid getting blown away by the gale.
In that split-second gap, my hair lashed out like a whip, slicing through the air. The pen-shaped syringe that had been inches from Han Min-seo's neck was snatched away, wrapped in my strands.
Ugh. Up close, it's even worse. Just looking at it, I can tell it tastes like nothing. My thoughts analyzed the molecular structure of the drug evaporating faintly from the coated needle in real time, and the more I did, the more disgusted I got. A drug that erases emotions? That's an insult to fine dining.
Zap zap. I whipped my hair and flung the syringe away. It arced through the night sky and vanished into the clouds.
"O-Outer...!"
"...She really came."
Surprise and relief radiated from Han Min-seo and Yeom Hana, pinned to the deck. Rubbing their cheeks against the floor like that, but their faces lit up anyway. Good call coming to the rescue.
"The bug has finally appeared."
Will Bates' voice cut across the deck. He stood a short distance away, frozen in the exact same pose. No change in expression or emotion.
"—Eliminate."
At his command, the eleven underlings scattered across the deck snapped their heads toward me in unison. Like gears in a machine meshing perfectly, twenty-two eyes locked on, turning at the precise same angle and speed.
Hm? These suit guys just got a whole lot scarier. The most obvious change was their pupils. The blue rectangles overlaying their irises vanished, replaced by a vivid crimson flooding the centers.
Red Screen.
The next instant, the carotid arteries bulging under their suit collars writhed like earthworms. Pulsing started from clenched jaws, raced down collarbones into both arms, and muscles swelled beneath sleeve cuffs.
> Whoa, whoa whoa...! Their muscle fiber density is reorganizing in real time! Three times baseline—no, still climbing!
> And unidentified hormones flooding from the adrenals—
> These aren't natural compounds! Fully synthetic catalysts! Which means—!
Which means... they weren't even at 100% before. My earlier assessment of Yeom Hana at 60% must've been their normal mode. This is limiter release. Wonder how strong they really are. Could one take Yeom Hana in a fair fight?
................
I'd dealt with something like this before. Back at the Threat Management Agency isolation facility, escapees charged me. I diced them into 3-centimeter cubes with a hair net then. Similar setup—multiple foes rushing me at once.
The key difference? These ones are definitely human. Even if they're puppets.
I asked the fierce-eyed thought.
Can you handle it?
In my inner world, the fierce-eyed thought's eyes went wide.
> Me!? Whip hair at over Mach 24 without so much as scratching skin!? That's impossible!
Fair enough. For a human, it'd be like threading a needle between an ant's legs. But—please. I poured my sincerity into the intent, dead serious.
The fierce-eyed thought swallowed hard, clenched a fist.
> ...I'll... I'll try!
Good. Here we go.
Will Bates' underlings charged, crimson eyes blazing. No fear, no hostility—just blank red screens. My hair shot out like whips toward them.
Hypersonic. Beyond Mach 24, purple lashes cleaved the air.
> Target 3, entering left sleeve seam! Now!
> Target 7, right arm rising! Adjust 0.4 degrees! You're only 1mm from skin!
> Aaah! That path hits! Friction heat'll char human skin black on contact!
My inner world was chaos. Thousands of tiny thoughts swarmed around the fierce-eyed one, correcting trajectories live. Each calculated paths for their assigned strands, shouting adjustments.
Outside, it lasted under 0.1 seconds. Inside, it felt eternal. Tiny thoughts dashed with data packets; the fierce-eyed one fine-tuned trajectories down to micrometers.
One millimeter off: flesh grazed. One centimeter: human cubed.
Threading needles on a knife-edge, my hair slipped between suits and skin. Finally—
Eleven suits disintegrated simultaneously. Fabric scraps fluttered down like snowflakes onto the deck.
Success.
I heard somewhere that virtue's harder than vice. If I didn't care about their lives, I'd have cubed them without the hassle. But I want to avoid that.
The moment I start killing and eating indiscriminately, I edge closer to becoming Mom. First things first: interrogation. Why this mess? Why erase emotions so thoroughly? I'm dying to know.
> We... we did it!
I high-fived the fierce-eyed thought with my palm. Smack.
> Success!
> Amazing!
> Clothes went boom like fireworks!
Tiny thoughts cheered and jumped. The doctor-coated and glasses-wearing ones averted their eyes slightly.
> Th-the pinnacle of Homo sapiens biotech. Perfect physiques.
Hm, true. Male underlings like Hercules statues. Females like Venus after heavy lifting. Unnecessarily gorgeous.
Anyway, suddenly naked outdoors—they'll feel shame and stop now. That's the Outer God girl's consideration. Hee hee.
But.
Will Bates' underlings didn't stop. Stark naked, they reset to combat stances like nothing happened. Crimson pupils showed zero ripples of shame—or any emotion.
Ah. They don't feel embarrassment either.
Thinking of Han Min-seo: I'd sneak into changing rooms when bored, pop out—face turns ketchup-red, screaming. Pink undies top and bottom. Yeom Hana chased me out, begging no more pranks. Fun times.
Yeom Hana on deck gaped at the nudes, then whipped her head away. Cable-tied Han Min-seo forced hands up to cover eyes.
See? That's normal.
> H-honestly, puppets without shame makes sense...
> Think before acting next time...
What're you saying, glasses thought? I did think. Hypothesized shame would halt them, executed perfectly. Plan B it is.
I extended multiple hair bundles in all directions. Writhing like tentacles, they sliced air and coiled precisely around leaping underlings' necks.
Tricky stuff. Human necks are fragile—a slip, and it's irreversible crunch.
Like knocking out ants without killing. Precision beyond my human days.
> Target 4 carotid confirmed! Shift left 0.3 milli!
> Target 9, squeeze more! Bloodflow still active!
> Target 11 danger! Airway shifting! Release, reset!
Thoughts desperately modulated force. Choke eleven carotids simultaneously, blackout together.
First underling's red pupils dilated, eyelids drooped, arms went limp. Second, third. By the sixth knockout, ninth's cervical made a close creak. Eased 0.1 Newton.
Tenth, eleventh. 3 seconds to all heads lolling.
Whew.
Even in my inner world, hair-duty thoughts sprawled exhausted. Fierce-eyed one flat on back panting; tinies leaned on each other, wiping sweat.
Thoughts sweating? Means max focus. Tiring work. Good job, everyone.
If it were Mom, she'd chomp without a thought. That's how she devoured her universe. But I'm not Mom.
I lined up the eleven naked underlings neatly on deck. Wait—naked at this altitude? Guaranteed colds. Gotta wrap this up.
I turned to the man standing rigidly mid-deck.
Will Bates.
Despite all underlings down, he hadn't budged. No flight, no weapon draw—just hands in pockets, exact spot, exact pose.
Tasteless. Wind scattering suit scraps, eleven guards sprawled nude at his feet—no emotional ripple from this guy at all.