Mercy in the Slaughterhouse
Allen accepted Vito's proposal, and in just one year, he became an assistant at an unprecedented speed. Vito, who had initially despaired, soon accepted reality and began actively engaging with Allen.
Lying in bed, Allen replayed yesterday's discussion with Vito in his mind when he heard footsteps and opened his eyes.
"Allen-nim, here's this month's schedule."
"Good work. There's still time left, so use it freely."
"Understood."
Allen ended his mana training and carefully scanned the terminal handed over by the worker. A packed schedule without a single day off awaited him.
Allen tapped the newly added item on the schedule with his finger, grabbed his toiletries, and left the room. Just as he was about to enter the washroom, a hulking figure with dark skin blocked his path.
"EBI-less punk."
"Yeah, no EBI here."
Unlike the bulk, whose body was replaced with artificial eyes and golem prosthetic arms, Allen's body remained completely natural. He hadn't even received an EBI, which assistants got one by one.
It was on Nobak's orders—he wanted to observe how the body and mana circuits changed due to mana excess syndrome. Even as an assistant, Allen retained his status as an experimental subject, so the bomb collar stayed on too.
"But aren't you in the same boat?"
"I chose this. Different from you."
"I heard you were sold here..."
"..."
Allen deliberately scratched lightly at the skin near the collar's mark.
"Anyway, I'm busy. Mind getting out of the way? Time is money, after all."
"Annoying little shit."
People who showed far superior abilities naturally bred envy, and the bulk revealed his petty nature outright.
Still, fearing Nobak, he just growled like a leashed beast. His shoulders trembled as he turned away.
"Toy like you..."
"Have a good morning."
Allen waved cheerfully at the retreating bulk. Types like that were easier to deal with than those who approached with feigned nonchalance.
There was a reason even the usually indifferent assistants were suddenly showing hostility. The decisive clue was the "Basement Level 2" entry on the schedule.
Basement Level 2 was a workshop where they dissected corpses, cleaned and repaired the extracted magitechwear, and sold it. It was such a horrific place that even calling it a slaughterhouse felt too kind—but everyone wanted to work there.
Handling magitechwear so often would sharpen their skills steeply, and most assistants saw it as an opportunity.
Allen's view differed, but it was Nobak's command, so he had to go down. He'd suffered enough torture from the collar's electric shocks.
After preparations, Allen assigned the workers to other tasks and descended the stairs alone.
Even after just one step, his stomach churned with nausea and an unpleasant pressure—like the space itself was crushing his flesh.
Still, to keep on schedule, he reached for the wall to steady himself when—
"Hm..."
He nearly stumbled. This time, it wasn't his inherently weak body; his left eye was the culprit.
Covering each eye in turn with his palm revealed a stark difference in vision. It wasn't a defect from mana excess syndrome.
'Nobak...'
It was from the liquids injected into his eyes every time he was summoned.
'Why keep shoving in samples or catalysts? Must mean there's a reason to investigate the eye's mana circuit structure or changes...'
Allen shook his head. He'd already reached the door. Stepping inside, the disinfection chamber greeted him.
Psssh!
Allen reflexively shut his eyes and covered his mouth. He couldn't block it entirely, and a sharp, pungent scent stabbed at his nostrils.
After a moment, the air vented, and the opposite door slid open. Passing through the air curtain, the smell of disinfectant mingled inescapably with a vile stench.
As Allen eyed the worktables shrouded in opaque vinyl curtains, Vito, already there, spoke up.
"Were you frowning just now? I thought you were always expressionless—turns out you have facial muscles after all. Had me convinced your whole face was rebuilt with magitechwear and artificial skin."
As Vito said, touching his face revealed a slightly furrowed brow. Rubbing it gently made it vanish quickly.
"Adapted to this place okay?"
"Was nauseating at first, but after a few months, it's tolerable. Oh, I suggested to the boss we be on the same team. Grateful, right?"
"..."
"Not impressed? So stoic. Let's head that way—left from here, curtain marked '3' is our station."
Vito, with his sharp eyes keeping the other assistants at bay, grew unusually chatty whenever Allen was nearby. Proof he saw him as a collaborator, not a rival.
Pulling back the curtain revealed a sturdy stainless steel worktable. Beside it sat surgical tools and the Hippocrates, a precision prosthetic arm for operations.
"You know what that arm is, right?"
"Yes. They've prepared it in exoskeleton form so anyone can wear it without issue."
What an irony. An arm named after the ancient healer famed for his oath, used in a place like this.
Allen admired the sharpness of the scalpel and rotary bone saw on Hippocrates' fingers, then shifted his gaze. There was a small elevator.
As if waiting for Allen's approval, the doors opened, revealing today's "item" in a supine position.
"Hey, it's fine. I won't say anything—just watch for now."
Sensing Allen's discomfort, Vito pressed a button to lift the item onto the table. Allen observed its pallor before glancing upward.
"Camera, huh."
"Ah, that? Ignore it. Boss is just watching if we're doing good or not. Now focus."
Allen gave a wry smile. He knew, and Vito knew too. Why else call it a surveillance camera?
Meanwhile, Vito pulled out a scanner and checked the item's condition from head to toe, meticulously.
"Magitechwear is just the right hand and a magic stick. Lucky us. Artificial organs would've taken forever."
"Magic stick?"
"Ah, bookworm—you didn't know the slang. Y'know, the thing on a guy's lower half. That ring any bells?"
Donning surgical glasses and a mask, Vito swiftly detached the two magitechwear pieces from the body, dunked them in disinfectant, and when bubbles formed, tonged them out.
"Send the corpse up the elevator... already done. Eyeballs?"
"Got 'em. I know the basic procedures. But do you know why they collect the eyes?"
"Too busy just following orders... Anyway, got some time—wanna check the magitechwear?"
Vito pointed to the hand first.
"Simple prosthetic: metal and artificial skin. Cheap skin, so obvious it's fake at a glance. Basic design like this, but they tweak internals or functions based on user needs."
"Those thin cables must be neural connections."
With his magnifying surgical glasses on, Allen could see the cables enlarged. Soaked in disinfectant, they trailed long from the wrist.
"Spot on. Connects to real nerves, controlled by brain signals or muscle twitches. Got recoil control too. Probably cartel muscle—or their enemy."
"Ah, that explains the gunshot."
Allen recalled the round hole near the heart. If there'd been artificial organs under the skin, the insides would've been a nightmare.
The biggest drug cartel in harbor city Aroma was Nobak's main client. Birds of a feather flocked together in the darkest dealings.
After that, Allen learned equipment usage and repair methods unique to each magitechwear from Vito.
He picked it up fast, and his skills improved noticeably. Desperate to finish quotas quicker, that drive accelerated his learning.
After about a month, Vito announced his probation was over.
"Knew you'd learn quick. You can handle almost all basic repairs now. Makes sense—touching 'items' daily, skills have to grow."
"How do you repair integrated circuits?"
"No clue. Boss could, but he doesn't share that kinda knowledge. We just swap parts if available or fix simple circuits. As you know, it works fine anyway."
Regrettable, but knowledge was money and power. Truly valuable knowledge belonged to the powerful; the twisted, processed info floating around online or markets just misled the blind.
Allen sighed but kept his hands moving mechanically. His quota processing speed steadily increased. He even numbed his emotions with self-hypnosis, trying to forget it was a corpse.
But one day, upon inspecting the item, Allen couldn't proceed as usual.
"Hnnngh..."
It wasn't an item—a person was clinging to faint breaths.
Unconsciously, Allen stroked his inherited black-brown hair. The woman on the table had hair the exact same shade. Even the hairstyle resembled his mother's.
That day was still vivid in his memory: the boat rising on waves, and before it shattered, his mother's barely transmitted words.
'I love you.'
After closing his eyes for a long moment, Allen equipped Hippocrates on his arm. He'd already scanned the internals. His hand automatically moved to extract the bullet lodged in the artificial lung.
Just then, Vito pulled back the vinyl curtain and whispered firmly, glancing around.
"You're crazy? You can't do this. Boss finds out, we're done for."
"I'll take responsibility. Get out."
"This'll get you in deep shit. Forgot the surveillance camera?"
Allen's cool judgment screamed to stop, but his hands moved on their own. The bullet was already clamped in forceps, emerging from the hole.
Clink.
The bullet dropped onto the table with a loud clatter. At the same moment, a thick voice rang out.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Even as Nobak spoke, Allen's hands continued suturing the wound. Deep furrows etched into Nobak's already wrinkled brow.
"Pamper you, and you forget your place."
Snap!
The clinic owner snapped his fingers. Allen's body shuddered violently before collapsing sideways. Electricity from the collar had stiffened his muscles.
"Tch!"
With Nobak's tongue click, Allen lost consciousness.
When he opened his eyes again, his vision was dark. Faint light seeped through a gap somewhere, dimly illuminating the interior.
"Where..."
Trying to look around, he turned and knocked something that fell with a crash. A prosthetic arm, riddled with holes and ruined.
His eyes, adjusted to the dark, fed more info to his brain. Broken magitechwear littered the surroundings.
"Trash dump, huh."
Allen knew the place—he'd visited a few times. A warehouse for completely busted magitechwear and magic tools.
Pulling the door handle yielded a rattling chain. Then came the voice of a worker from below.
"Allen-nim. Boss's orders: reflect for a week. I'll bring meals on time."
"Thanks."
"Here's lunch."
A gap opened slightly, and a plastic bag with a single rice ball was proffered. Allen took it and sat on a ragged washing machine.
As the worker's footsteps faded, silence fell. Allen shoved rice into his mouth while surveying the area. A small vent and scattered magic tools came into view.
'A week.'
Any other assistant would've been locked up a month or more—or disposed of. Of course, Nobak's mercy stemmed from it being Allen.
'Even considering the experimental subject's health. How kind.'
Squeak!
Allen's pupils tracked a small creature. Rats scurried fearlessly despite his presence. Some even eyed the rice ball crumbs.