Echoes Rippling Through the Void (Part 2)
With that, we successfully eliminated all of Petrovsky's grotesque creatures and gathered as much information as we could from the underground lab.
"Men, these human experimentation devices look real enough. Neutralizing our psionic abilities seems to have been their goal from the start."
"Does that mean he treated us like lab rats too? He threw these thoroughly verified specimens at us and handed over the lab without a fight."
"Exactly. He might have even modified his own body to easily neutralize our psionics."
"So what do we do now..."
It was right then.
Ku-gu-gu-gu-gu-gu-gu
"Damn bastard. Trying to take us out like this."
"Yeah. My guess was spot on. The experiment succeeded long ago, so he planned to bury us along with anything that could interfere."
"Or it means there are tons of other labs besides this one."
"What's the point of finding out? We're done for..."
"Snap out of it. Max out the hardening level on your nanomachines. Our bodies might not hold up, but if we don't, we're 100% crushed."
"Yes, sir!"
He didn't predict the hardening capability of our nanomachines. That agent's panic when he lost his psionics made him blurt it out... But it might mess with the emotional and consciousness control functions.
And so, we endured the collapsing building debris pounding down on us for a while.
Thud
Thud
Thud
Thud
Thud
Thud
My whole body vibrated from the shockwaves, but the nanomachines' property of hardening against external impacts meant not even a scratch on my skin.
If I survive this, I should ask the Minister to add a function that absorbs energy from nearby machines to recharge. Even if psionics—no, ethereal energy—is blocked like this time, I could absorb from other devices and go full melee anytime.
But right then.
Vrooooom
Bang
Bang
Bang
"Shall I burn them for you folks?"
A shotgun blast echoed, shoving aside the massive falling debris.
"Ermy Faust? And your crew?"
"Ah, we met back then, right?"
"Yeah. Anyway, how'd you know to come here?"
"The Minister requested backup. Anyway, get out of there quick."
"Got it. Seeing you all geared up like this really drives home how screwed this world is. At least you're not holding teddy bears with guns."
"We know that much."
"My sister, my friends, and my sister's friends are all motorcycle nuts originally. Stuff like this comes in handy at times like these, right?"
"Yeah, fair enough. Let's head back for now. Just be careful. If even one member dies or gets injured and we have to replace them, people's joy turns to despair and screams in an instant."
"If we just play it too safe, folks will bitch about that too. So don't complain about it."
"Fine."
And so we headed back to the Mephauric camp with the Deadly Blonde Outlaws.
Jeracle Side — Mephauric Office
I listened to reports from Ansoloc White and Vesper Faust.
"Psionic-neutralizing entities, huh."
"Yes, sir."
"No weapons?"
"No, sir. They just charged at me and my soldiers bare-handed."
"And notably, their ears were extremely pointed and long."
"That means their weapon systems are something they can't safely acquire right now. Aside from the ears, no other differences from humans?"
"No. But... there was this intensely hollow disgust. Like my flesh was melting off."
"Hmm... I see. They prepared countermeasures like that. Best to turn it against them. Do you have samples with enough genetic material, like their scent or skin scraps?"
"Ah, yes. I figured you'd ask, so I collected some intact arms and legs."
"Good. Intestines would be ideal, but in that melee, no way they'd survive intact. Considering the antimatter bombs hidden in sub-spaces of the non-material realm by the warring nations, our top priority is seizing those sub-spaces and luring them into a hasty attack on Mephauric while unprepared. No reason to hunt them if they hide. Make them come out."
"Understood. So now we focus solely on alert duties against Russian nationalists until Christmas?"
"Exactly. Regular soldiers can handle antimatter bomb recovery if done right. Urgent tasks left are frontline mediation requests to me and processing incoming refugees. We've placed one burden aside, so you two have little left. I've got plenty, though. Oh, and 'ethereal'? Stick to psionics. No need for new terms."
"Ah, got it."
After sending them off, I reviewed my documents again.
The Strange Zombies have gone quiet since the last airstrike. Since blindly expanding the camp strains infrastructure, I can't force those people here. I'll stockpile strength, wait for war nations to swarm here with supplies in desperation, smash them utterly, then counter-invade and conquer everything. Defense first for now. Tax collection and currency circulation formulas predict three more years at this rate. I'll accept that and subsume the entire battlefield under my influence by then. Chasing Ivan Reofle Petrovsky openly now would put me on the time clock—that's foolish. He needs revenge motive plus a vision for followers. Touch him rashly, and he doesn't even need to prove it; it fizzles out. Focus on enhanced nanomachines for my family's direct mercenaries as Ansoloc requested. And call psionics whatever he wants. Without the Strange Zombies' mantra energy source, escaping 18 years of control is impossible anyway. But that choice leads to the same half-baked path as North Korea's Juche ideology... obvious.
For now, nations still aren't resisting U.S. aid of weapons, gear, and blueprints from space and Cleas. They're expanding territories, fighting Strange Zombies, clashing over claims, and my mercenaries corral refugees with mysterious dread. No big changes. Phineas Maxwell Angelique handles Zombie sweeps well, so status quo is best. Prevent enemies from buying time.
Above all, whenever boredom creeps in, Joint Chiefs Chairman Ernest Robe, Army Chief Kenneth McNairy, Navy Chief Quincy Ivory, Air Force Chief Macbeth Bradley bombard me nonstop over refugees, aid, war supplies. A normal person would've cracked from stress, but for me—moving zettabytes with a finger—it's just smooth cognition flow.
Finishing today's work, I headed to see Michelle Merin again. Some appreciate stability, but many crave novelty. More importantly, my reasoning traced the Strange Zombies' mantra origin. She's the only one trustworthy with this secret.
Waskiba Nievo, 30 minutes later
Step.
Step.
Creeak.
"Hello, Michelle."
"Ah, you're back."
"Checked the enlistment list. Sylverin and Howard volunteered."
"Yes."
"Really their choice? I've seen too many living off blind loyalty and fanaticism lately. Makes me lose faith."
"Like sloth's temptation during rest?"
"Yeah. Those fighting monsters must avoid becoming one, but birthing dancing stars requires inner chaos. If they want no freedom, just rigid order, give them worse—or they whine later."
"One man's fanaticism is murder; the masses' is prison. Seeing them kill dissenters, jerking off to their 'smart adaptation'—makes me puke. To them, it's ideal rationality."
"Right... no reason to see it positively. Why don't they cheer if I give freedom-lovers exactly zero seconds? After all, they scream at others daily that solos can't do shit."
"Individualism and democracy link—yet they swoon over 'ignore the majority will' bullshit. Human life."
"Eh, that's humans. Some deserve death, others must live—fanaticism we all have. Can't not believe you're absolute good. But Minister, why not kill worthless hindrances or ignore deaths?"
"Even rabid mobs wielding majority tyranny can't enact it. Jews prove it. Infamous usurers before, but Hitler-level genocide? Unimaginable. Better let Nazi-like superiority complexes prove credibility by preaching it, allocating resources cleanly—more effective than self-advertising 'good social skills.'"
"Humanity's karmic thinking trap? Explains why Strange Zombies call their energy mantra. Time to pay sins...?"
"Yes. They feed on the sinful essence of two human types now plaguing the world. No reflection erases past crimes. Ask where hell is—no better place."
"At least this is heaven."
"Yeah. Knew they used mantra, but not the source—till recently. You take it without shock. Others would've denied 'our good deeds fuel zombies,' polluting non-material emotions more."
"If it's my fate, I won't refuse."
"Good. Anyway, buy this today."
"Ah, yes. Thank you. $75."
"Right."
I paid and left the shop.
Christmas season soon. Deadly Blonde Outlaws' pop culture debut hit well—should be smooth. Now, shall I control human consciousnesses becoming mantra?