My Pet Human's Sacrifice
……………
With every footstep the Mohican thug takes closer, Karen's heartbeat quickens beside me where she's crouched. They're decked out in power suits, packing large-caliber wrist guns, heavy machine guns, and even chainsaws. The moment a civilian catches their eye, death is pretty much guaranteed.
Karen knows it too. That's why she's trembling like a leaf right now.
But then.
The shaking stops abruptly.
A split-second silence.
Karen's fear-dilated pupils focus on one spot.
And just like that, the terror drains from her eyes.
What fills the void instead—courage.
Even so, tears still brim in her eyes.
Her face drained pale, she inches closer to me and extends her hand.
"I'll lure them away."
She whispers it, her breath warm.
"You run during that time. There's a bunker entrance at the end of that alley."
Sacrificing herself here to save the orphan girl, huh.
Back when she was under Will Bates's drug control, she never would've made that choice.
That drug turns humans into efficient little gears.
It blocks out unhappiness, forces optimal decisions, maximizes productivity.
By that drug's logic, Karen's clear course of action is obvious: shove the kid toward the killers and crawl away unnoticed on her own.
After all, Karen's a far more valuable gear to society than some kid who'd cost resources to raise.
The valuable lawyer lives; the worthless orphan dies.
That's efficiency. That's rationality.
But the current Karen is free from the drug's grip.
I removed everything except the antidepressant components from her body.
And so, with her pure, unaltered will, Karen's conclusion is—to lure away the power suit-wearing murderers bare-handed.
A suicidal act with a zero percent survival rate. The most irrational choice possible.
But that's precisely why.
I think the decision she just made is the most human thing ever.
The emotions of a human resolved to face death and sacrifice.
Delicious.
So delicious.
But I can't get lost in the flavor this time.
Last time, Terrachad was a good guy, so no one died. But these opponents are murderer Mohicans.
I don't want to repeat the same mistake as an Outer God Girl.
"I'll count to three, then run. One."
Karen chambers a round in her pistol and shoves my back.
"Two."
She crouches low, like a sprinter at the starting line.
"Three—run!!"
Karen shoves me deep into the alley, then springs up and bolts the opposite way.
As she runs, she wildly aims her gun at the Mohican and fires blindly.
Bang, bang, bang.
The 9mm rounds don't even graze him properly.
"What the— the brat's got a mom?"
The Mohican spots Karen and snorts.
"Sorry, lady, but I'm not into rotten coops—"
His right arm rises, the wrist gun on his forearm locking onto her.
Danger! That's a 15mm caliber!
It's firing anti-materiel sniper rounds in full auto! One hit and Karen's body gets pulverized!
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!!
The wrist gun spews fire.
Flashes erupt in bursts, tracer rounds streaking straight for Karen.
15mm rounds.
Caliber meant for armored vehicles, not infantry.
If those hit flesh and bone, the shockwave alone rips surrounding tissue apart.
Karen's body would shred to pieces.
No way in hell.
I shed the girl's shell and morph into purple slime form.
A tidal wave of violet mucus surges behind Karen, forming a massive barrier.
The 15mm heavy rounds slam into the slime wall's surface.
They sink deep into the mucus, losing all momentum.
Like dropping marbles into a tar pit.
Catching bullets with my body isn't new.
Soldiers hit me with railgun rifles before; same deal.
"Wh-what the fuck?!"
The Mohican firing the wrist gun stumbles back in panic.
"Die—!!"
He mashes the trigger, emptying his magazine, but the result's the same.
Rounds vanish into the purple goo; not even a ripple on the slime's surface.
Meanwhile, Karen—propelled and enveloped by my slime barrier—freezes, eyes wide as saucers.
Shock and horror.
Classic reaction: brain circuits halting before the surreal sight.
Can't blame her.
The little girl who'd been tagging trustingly along just moments ago turned into a mystery slime devouring bullets.
In that time, the other Mohicans swarm in, responding to their buddy's screams and curses.
"Fuck, what is that thing? No one said shit about entities!"
"Dusk hid it on purpose?!"
"Shut up and fire!"
All six heavy weapons blaze at once.
Machine guns, grenade launchers, wrist guns—you name it.
A storm of bullets rains down.
Rat-tat-tat, boom-boom-boom, bang! Kaboom!
All show, no substance.
As thousands of rounds stack up inside the slime, I casually sculpt a slime-girl figure at the center.
In slime-girl form, I flash Karen a sly smile and a thumbs-up.
Don't worry. I'll protect you.
"Uh, uhhh…."
But against my intent, Karen's face goes even paler.
> Thumbs-up doesn't calm panicked humans!
> Never has!
> Not this time either!
The little brains poke my side with their fingers.
Damn, really?
Anyway, thumbs-up fails.
Meanwhile, the Mohicans keep gleefully blasting the slime wall.
"Fuck, why won't it die!"
"Fry it with the flamethrower!"
"Can't you see we're already using it?!"
Pretty noisy and annoying bunch.
Six Mohicans.
High-tech killers rattling in their ragged power suits, guns blazing.
Sorry, but.
You're already dead.
……………
"Huh…?"
The lead Mohican, hosing everything with his autocannon, suddenly freezes.
His hand slips from the grip, fumbling at his temple.
"My, my head… feels weird. What, what—"
He doesn't finish.
"Hidebut—!!"
Boom.
The Mohican's head explodes from the inside like a balloon.
Pink mist billows from the power suit's shoulders.
Skull fragments scatter; the headless body crumples from the knees.
"H-heek—!?"
"Fuck what was that!!"
"What the—just now—gack!!"
That sparks it: the remaining five Mohicans' heads detonate in unison, bodies flopping to the ground.
All in under a second.
The white-coated brain drags out a chalkboard, beaming with pride.
A cross-section of a skull appears on the chalkboard.
Nice. A perfect post-apocalyptic attack tech.
I retract the slime barrier; purple mucus gathers, reverting to Outer God Girl form.
I brush off my dress hem and turn to Karen.
It's over now. You're safe.
"Y-you—"
Karen's eyes dart wildly, torn between fear of the monster and gratitude to her savior.
As she starts to back away, she suddenly lunges, hugging me tight.
Warm arms wrap my shoulders; disheveled blonde hair brushes my cheek.
"—You really were an experiment subject."
Hmm, anger, pity, sadness all at once.
She's a bit off-base.
Does she think I got turned into slime from Microgenics human experiments?
Maybe projecting her own trailer park past—dragged off, forcibly injected.
A stretch from reality, but.
No need to correct her. Can't anyway.
Bunker first.
The bunker was one block past our original direction.
The entrance itself was a mundane concrete staircase down.
But at the bottom, the vibe shifts dramatically.
A massive blast door, gears meshing like a cogwheel.
Over a meter thick.
Microgenics blue logo etched on the surface, with fine print below: [Titanium-Tungsten composite armor, nuclear war grade].
Titanium-Tungsten composite armor, nuclear war grade
> Level 2 civilization defense facility!
> Mohicans could blast cannons at it for a year straight—no scratch. Now I get why Karen called it safe.
Hmm, impressive defenses.
Guaranteeing that much safety for society's gears, huh.
Inside the bunker, another scene unfolds.
A spacious underground area.
Bunks stacked two high on one side; opposite, water dispensers and emergency rations.
Center: a huge screen dominating one wall.
Dozens of citizens huddled before it, staring intently.
What's on?
Holding Karen's hand, I trot up to the screen.
The old White House site.
Massive firefight in Washington's heart.
Sleek-suited infantry advancing across the square.
Ah, seen that somewhere.
Same type Chairman Ma Hyuk-su wore.
> Real Nikola elites. Mohicans were just bait to draw eyes and sow chaos in the city.
> Phase 1: Orbital assault troops create chaos everywhere. Max kills, max damage, max loot. Disperses enemy resources.
> Phase 2: Real elites strike key targets. Those in nanomachine suits.
Aha, Mohicans were disposable decoys.
That's why they rampaged killing and ripping everywhere.
Succeeded in drawing eyes, but horrific for civilians.
On the other side, Microgenics agents fight back.
Suit-wearing guards.
Weapons: phase-disruption swords in hand, monomolecular wires from fingertips.
Same breed as Will Bates's men from the airship.
Artificially enhanced gene warriors.
The two forces clash in Microgenics HQ plaza.
Staring blankly at the screen-spanning battle, munching popcorn with the little brains in my mental world.
Then, familiar faces catch my eye in one corner.
Huh?
Thought I mis-saw at first.
Never expected these faces in America's heartland.
But no mistake, even zooming in.
Leading the charge: Yeom Hana in her rippling red haze Neutromium suit.
Trailing: Han Min-seo scattering pink glow, deploying light barriers.
Beside them: a sleek woman in black power suit tackling a gene-enhanced guard into the dirt.
That's Lee Se-hee.
Way stronger than when I gave her the immortal genes.
Others I've only seen on TV: Mask Warrior Yellow and Black—masks hide faces, but S-rank awakeners from Korean news.
And a girl trailing the rear.
Dinosaur Shaman, was it? Name slips my mind.
Whoa.
They scraped together every S-rank awakener Korea's got.
> Korea's homeland defenses must be wide open now.
> Korean VIPs must be dead serious.
Yeah.
Considering Korean VIPs nearly got kidnapped by Will Bates and dosed with puppet vaccine, grudge makes sense.
Anyway.
This Korean top-tier party is bulldozing straight for Microgenics HQ's front gate.
Missing out on this epic event via screen? No way.
Gotta go. Right now.