Crucible of Solitude (18)
There were nine Black Sea Party bases selected as targets for tonight's assault. One I'd found myself, four pinpointed through data mining of the dim sum shop owner's communication records, and another four tracked via transmitters we'd planted on their vehicles. Three of these fell outside Guangzhou's administrative boundaries, narrowing our hunting grounds to six. Of those, I planned to raid two personally. The rest—low on profitability—were handed off to the Public Security Bureau and the remnants of the People's Liberation Army. There'd be significant casualties at each site, no doubt. But what could be done? The bank run crisis and the deputy mayor's resignation from his Public Security chief post had forced our hand.
Once victory was secured, we'd find ways to replenish Gao Xusen's depleted security forces. After cleaning up the industrial complex and another site, I arrived at the final battlefield of the night at 3:27 a.m. With the long nights of the season, sunrise was still two and a half hours away. The moon, somewhere between its upper string and full, tilted westward, heralding the darkest hour of the day. Finish this one, and I could finally sleep. I suppressed the urge to pop an awakener pill. My inverted sleep schedule lately had fatigue building steadily.
"Breach."
At my word, assaults launched from five directions. In the deepened darkness from the power cut, Kyung-tae and the hounds—night-vision goggles on—plunged fearlessly into the cramped alleys ahead. Their trust rested, naturally, on me and my eyes.
Filthy. That was my impression of this slum where the Black Sea Party had holed up. A street of people who rarely bathed. Shared water taps, shared toilets—the hygiene rivaled infamous Indian back alleys. Walls and floors bore stark shit and piss stains, traces of lazy residents too bothered to walk far before dumping chamber pots out windows. A domain of the uncivilized, ignorant of manners. For ultimate survival, what was stepping in shit to fight?
I issued terse commands as I entered the shade reeking of stench. Wastewater sloshed underfoot, reeking of piss amid floating filth. Sidewalks laid decades ago had sunk in spots, pooling sewage to rot. Boom! A directional bomb inside a house detonated. A powerful projectile streaked past, punching through the opposite wall. Shrapnel pattered harmlessly off my telekinesis-coated combat suit. Hidden enemies panicked, yelling.
"You missed! Why the fuck detonate early?!"
"I didn't trigger it!"
"You pussy-ass bitch! Then the bomb just went off by itself? No tripwire even!"
Regrettably, it had detonated on its own. Precisely, my magic had triggered the fuze. For bombs within a dozen meters, no vast mana field was needed. Booby traps meant nothing to me. I twirled a finger, and half my close escorts smashed through walls bodily. Three flimsy partitions down, and we'd flank the cornered foes. Cowering residents screamed in terror.
"Fuck, run!"
Enemies bolted at the crashing walls and civilian shrieks, sensing pincer doom. Unaware of our numbers, retreat was wise. Sharp ones raced for dead ends—but true dead ends didn't exist for able Awakened above a certain level. Lighter ones wall-ran alternately to high windows, diving through; heavier ones, like my crew, bulldozed straight ahead. They'd preset rally points post-scatter. A systematic defense plan with real effort...
But.
"Follow."
I carved a straight path to their destination. More civilian screams joined the chorus. Strength begat speed; I outpaced their rally. The nimblest runner gaped in shock—then dropped dead. No way I'd miss a shot I foresaw. My men's guns all had suppressors; muffled reports drowned in wall-crashing thunder. Most enemies burst out unprepared, becoming mass targets. Only a few spotted corpses first and fled elsewhere.
"Team 3, two heading your way. 1 o'clock, 45 meters from current path."
I fed positions steadily, plunging deep into enemy lines. Rear insecurity dooms defenses. My advance crumbled their flanks rapidly. Normally a perilous role—but these night-raided foes, despite preparations, couldn't touch me or my escorts.
Endless rear strikes, shattering rallies before formation. After ten minutes, neutralizing all traps en route, I reached the central bomb depot. Basements of adjacent homes packed with directional explosives. Reasons they hadn't blown the base: shattered command from swift breach, life-clinging instinct, faint hope or stubbornness, decision lag. But the biggest shackle? Massive cash and gold stored amid the bombs—half the bombs' volume in bullion and bills. Too much to evac fast. Destroying it with the bombs? Unthinkable for Chinese.
In capitalism, money is life, class, dignity. Their "revolution"? Survival struggle of the capital-starved. Long poverty and scorn bred gold-thirst like starved gluttony—a mental illness, impulse beyond will.
"Block them! Buy time!"
The boss-like ones screamed within earshot. They'd centralized loot distrusting underlings' theft risk. Now, their Awakened repaid that faith—grabbing gold pouches mid-panic and fleeing.
"Cowardly bastards! Come back! You think you'll survive?!"
Bosses slunk back too, seeking exits. But my eyes preempted every escape. I let the self-collapsing group scatter. Why stop prey dispersing itself?
Fitting for ones who've only ambushed. Military and Public Security moves were always exposed to eyes. Black Sea Party hid in half the city's area. They dictated fights unilaterally—info asymmetry, their tactical edge for ascent. Now evaporated locally.
Leaving cleanup to Kyung-tae and crew, I entered the building with people and drugs over the gold vault. Few windows made the interior stifling, thick with a stench beyond street sewage—a deeper reek.
"Who's there? Who?!"
A prisoner, hands nailed to the table, whimpered at my footsteps.
"I heard... sounds. Black Sea Party demons fleeing... Rescue? Finally?!"
The captive: a Communist noble grabbed alive yesterday by assault team. One day of torture ravaged his naked body—no inch unscathed. Whipped, sliced, diced, branded. Fingers chopped joint by joint—fifteen phalanges gone. Miraculous he lived.
"I'm from Section Chief Gao's breaker."
"Gao... Section Chief?"
At my words, the feverish prisoner shuddered, drooling thick spit.
"No, please. Don't kill. My fault. Huge mistake to him. If I leave alive, swear I'll serve with horse-leather exhaustion. Yes. Call. Let me talk to him. Apologize sincerely for sins. Please, please..."
Quick judgment despite infection fever. I dialed Gao Xusen as requested. Phone glow faintly pierced dark; noble stared, unblinking. Connected before second ring.
「Oh, Vice President! Mission success?」
"Nearly done."
「Good, excellent. We'll wrap before dawn too.」
"Casualties?"
「Hmm, not worst-case. Despite your intel and chopper assaults, underlings disappoint.」
Deep grudge against subordinates.
「Anyway, why call before finish?」
"One whose fate you decide before I leave."
「What? Explain.」
"Talk directly."
I held the phone to his ear. He blurted identity.
"Section Chief! Hu Sugwang here!"
「Deputy Director Hu? My god, you're alive.」
Gao's voice held surprise via speaker. I'd seen the name in Suyeon's report: city Public Security legal chief, fire chief, waterfront subchief. "Deputy" from party committee rank. But pre-farmer artillery fire. Fail to prove use to Gao, he'd die here—ruled Black Sea killed.
Political vows traded between nobles. Gao, after five minutes' haggling, decided.
「Bring alive for now. More talk needed, but useful for business if played right.」
"Understood. Other requests?"
「That's it. Good work tonight. Signing off.」
Call ended; firefight soon after. Kyung-tae restored power via control center; pitch black lit abruptly with flickering pale fluorescents. Noble, squinting painfully, gazed at his hands and wept miserably.
"Ugh... ugh... Look at me... How can humans be so cruel... Black Sea aren't even human..."
Ridiculous. Unfit for a Party cadre. My view: such cruelty epitomized humanity. Possible because human. People's "human" ideal overly romanticized—species narcissism.
"Escort politely. Potential friend ahead."
Handing noble to men, I opened basement door. Dank air worsened stench; prior whiff mere leak. Dim stairs led to bloodier cruelty than noble's whimpers. Crusted gore answered: How'd Black Sea stifle snitches? Overwhelming cash? No, insufficient—greedy take both sides' bribes. Drug addiction? Good—snitch, no more supply. But incomplete. Ideology? Helps, revolutionary staple, yet insufficient. Answer filling gaps: retaliation terror.
Mao said power from gun barrel. Primordial power sways lives; violence rules people before struggles. No rule, no struggle. Ho Chi Minh massacred civilians aplenty. Untrustworthy state, low education—residents bowed to nearby blades. Mix false reports: perfect.
Mao heirs faithfully followed revered founder's teachings.