Clearing the Game at the End of the World
Game 156: [Chapter 10] Lead and Silver Coins (10)

****

There were two dissected cyborg soldiers.

They were equipped with different types of gear than those I had seen in the main power room of Dome in Area 47.

"Regardless of anything else, I wondered how they solved the power issue…"

"This isn't progress in technology; it's more akin to regression, with a hefty dose of human dignity and morals trampled and buried deep."

As I had heard before, cyborgization is a defunct technology. Far from simple prosthetics, the variety of reactive electrodes and mechanical devices connected even to the spinal cord and deeper caused severe rejection reactions, leading users to death. To generate sufficient output for their original purpose, the technology was flawed, requiring the user to carry a power source, including fuel.

The Raptor Society's technicians had a very simple solution to this problem.

"Remove what's unnecessary, fill in what's needed."

The dissected cyborg's stomach provided by the manager had no stomach or kidneys, and most of the small intestine was removed, replaced by a cold, gloomy power unit.

"Ugh, I feel like throwing up."

"Go ahead. Since the manager said he'd send this to Dome, you can read it in the Investigation Bureau if you need to."

Ignoring the pale-faced Ezel, I focused on reading the documents.

Records showed that five types of narcotic painkillers were detected at near-lethal levels, and a substance resembling finely ground starch, which wouldn't even need digesting, was found in the remaining 15% of the small intestine.

So, these creatures weren't enhanced with some advanced technology out of a sci-fi novel that replaced internal organs with high-functioning mechanical parts; they simply had everything that could be removed taken out. They were fed a porridge-like substance for the rest of their lives, so the majority of the stomach and small intestine were removed. Since they needed regular maintenance anyway, the waste that the kidneys couldn't filter was removed through dialysis, and the space created was used to insert the power unit needed to move the mechanical limbs.

"Ugh… What I don't understand is, how does a group maintain itself if it treats its own members so harshly? If someone told me to ‘live a life soaked in painkillers, eating only porridge for the rest of my life, carrying around a urine bag, and undergoing daily blood dialysis,' I'd start a Rambo showdown right there."

"If it was forced, maybe. But personally, I think these cyborg soldiers all volunteered for the procedure."

Ian continued, looking seriously at Ezel, who seemed to have returned from vomiting, looking even worse.

"Raptor isn't like the groups you're thinking of. Even though it's a collective of people, in some ways, it's more primal than living in the wasteland. It's a place where the logic of power rules everything. The lowest class of labor resources, who couldn't even become the lowest-ranking soldier in Dome. To them, eating daily meals of crushed bugs and food waste sticks is normal, so living on porridge for the rest of their lives might be considered a reward. If the procedure succeeds, they're elevated from the lowest strata, akin to kidnapped enemy labor resources, to important special forces in one go. They can have any woman they want, wield unlimited power over civilians within the Nest, and their military rank would be just below the pack leader, incredibly high. In fact, we don't even need to make these complicated assumptions because…"

Tap, tap.

Ian tapped on the section about the five types of narcotics.

"Raptor is full of drug addicts. There are those who became addicted on their own and those who were forcibly addicted by having drugs sneakily added to their supply cigarettes. Most of the kidnapped civilians are addicts. If they're given drugs, they'd do anything."

"….So they were enticed into the procedure with drugs as bait."

"Right. If the painkillers were truly for managing rejection reactions, at most one or two types would have been detected. But having five or six types of drugs detected in just two subjects means they were using high-potency painkillers mixed for pleasure, not just as medication. ‘Undergo mechanization, and you'll be provided with unlimited drugs for free!'. Wow- Drug addicts who'd sell their own children for a fix couldn't resist this. The survival rate for mechanization procedures managed by Dome was 30%, right?"

Nods all around.

"Given the state of things, the success rate of Raptor's enhanced mechanization procedure seems to be less than 10%. Yet, the fact that Raptor's cyborg soldiers roam the wasteland so freely shows just how many volunteers they must have."

"…."

"Steel yourself, my homo friend. Your main enemy is a psycho group that defies human reason."

Ezel swallowed hard, examining the dissected cyborg soldier after Ian's words.

"Phew. Alright. So, these guys are roaming around near Area 42, huh?"

"Yes. They might be several times more numerous and ferocious than last year's Mugglers, possibly related to them. How far is it from Area 43 here?"

"Let's see… Straight-line distance is much further than from Area 47 here, but considering the distance around that mutated tree barrier, it seems the travel distance isn't much different."

Exactly. If they wanted, this place could easily fall within the guerrilla operation range of those stationed in Area 43.

Their equipment was peculiar too. Not the intuitive combat gear like chainsaws or hydraulic pistons, but at the end of their mechanical arms was that… rammer? Something used in construction sites to compact the ground, a spring-mounted metal plate that resembled it.

‘At least it's clear these weren't made for combat but for a special purpose. Dome has already started construction on the underground bunker in Area 45. It's clear Raptor, weakened as it is, is planning something…'

Whirring-

Seeing no further pertinent information coming to mind, I turned off the projection device.

"Let's stop speculating here. Moving based on uncertain information can lead to disastrous outcomes if that information proves false. We've confirmed three things from the manager's documents: The aggression and numbers of mutants in this area have increased not because of the season or the transport team causing a commotion, but it started suddenly before that. Raptor is indeed a bunch of mad bastards, and these madmen's super-drugged soldiers are scheming something around here."

"Was there any information on the transport team that went ahead?"

"Nothing except a brief communication as they passed through. The transport team was fully equipped with exosuits for their main operation, so in terms of breakthrough power or firepower, they would be superior to us. It means they didn't feel the need for resupply at least up to here."

With information gathered and supplies replenished, there's nothing left for us here.

"Let's move on. If Raptor is planning something, it's better for us to move quickly."

With those words, the four of us rose to leave.

****

Having replenished supplies and obtained the necessary information, feeling no need to linger at the station, the group ignored the manager's invitation to rest further and the quartermaster's cries of despair as they were thoroughly plundered, driving northward. Fortunately, unlike the southern side of the Working Kane barrier, the north was somewhat organized thanks to the efforts of various stations and nearby scavengers. The group passed by mountains of butchered Muggler corpses, finally arriving where their first customer awaited.

"Thanks for selling good stuff. These days, caravans lack guts; they pack up at the slightest danger. You've given us some breathing room."

In Area 41, the largest scavenger base in the area, "Hydra."

One of the three leaders of Hydra, Diego Alejandro Peña González… a man with an unmemorable name, couldn't hide his admiration as he looked at the six guncases neatly spread on the wooden table.

"When I heard some valuable information had come in, I paid up thinking I was being duped. But when it turned out to be about Dome's relaxation of technology leak restrictions, do you know what I thought?"

"….It's an opportunity to dramatically boost Hydra's firepower?"

"No, no, no, no… no, dealer."

The man, whose face bore more scars than unmarred skin and had one eye missing, lifted a sniping coil gun from within the gun case. Satisfaction bloomed on his face as he aimed with his remaining eye.

"I thought that informant was about to make a big score and leave my side, especially since I had tried to catch him before. I thought he was trying to tie me with goods leaked from Dome to bring Hydra down at the hands of those dreadful Dome Metal Giants. Hmm, this really is something."

Click!

As Alejandro carefully examined each piece of transitional equipment in the gun case, comparing it with his prosthetic hand cannon and his hand that only had two fingers left, he twisted the scars at the corner of his mouth into a smile.

"Even the person responsible for the trade turned out to be a newly formed caravan, unheard of before. It was information I paid for, so I placed an order out of reluctance, but I hadn't imagined you folks would actually make it here. Truly… it was unexpected. I'm impressed, dealer. You've moved me."

"For the second head of Hydra to be moved by such a trivial matter… So, you do know how to show gratitude to a merchant, right?"

"Of course."

Snap!

At the scarred man's signal, scavengers standing behind him in green hoods placed a large box in front of Ian.

"Planning to settle with actual goods?"

"We don't assign value to intangibles. Even when I ran a farm before the war, I always dealt in gold for payment. Open it."

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Following his command, scavengers eagerly pried the box open with a crowbar and lifted the lid.

"I love our family's traditions, but I'm not foolish enough to prepare something as useless as gold in the name of preserving tradition."

"La emme. This time, you've impressed me."

"An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. I've merely returned what I received."

What was inside the box was the solar generator that the professor's group had been desperately searching for.

"Found in a residential area of Area 37 six months ago. The guy who brought it died of radiation poisoning, but it's far too good for what his life was worth. So, is this satisfactory, dealer?"

"Enjoy asking questions to which the answer is already known, do you?"

"Hahahaha! I'm pleased… very pleased."

With similar smiles, the two men exchanged a handshake that signified a successful deal and rose from their seats. Ian inwardly sighed in relief that the risky trade had concluded safely, hoping that no mischief would occur until the very end.

"Well… next time, I'd like to see that cowardly leader who doesn't have the guts to come this far. To think a man like you is confined within such a small frame. It's a pity."

"Tch."

Click!

Click! Click! Click! Click!

At Alejandro's last word, a large revolver sprang from Ian's grasp, and the guns of the surrounding scavengers pointed at Ian's head.

"….Did I speak wrongly, dealer?"

"You spoke foolishly, la emme."

In a tense standoff, Ian, with his gun's muzzle pressed against Alejandro's forehead, did not hesitate to pull the trigger.

Click!

Startled!

The sound of the hammer hitting an empty chamber broke the silence, and the guns aimed at Ian's head slowly lifted. Bringing a weapon but leaving the chamber empty was a sign of respect, given that they had honored their long-standing tradition first. Until the leader commanded otherwise, they were to show him respect.

Rising from his seat, Ian left Alejandro's ornate room behind, stating,

"The reason I'm here is because someone of your caliber doesn't deserve to meet him."

"Deserve…? Alejandro of Hydra, who wields the greatest influence across three Areas from 40 to 42?"

"Yes."

Whoosh-

As he opened the door and felt the draft come in, Ian finally took off the skin mask he had worn even while being offered drinks and during conversation, and lit a cigarette.

"If you wish to meet our caravan's leader, gather all three heads of your snake and then request it. Drop such petty tricks."

"Isn't that a bit too arrogant?"

"Not arrogance, but service to a valuable customer. If sparing a potential regular customer's life with a single warning turns a profit, it's worth it."

Hoo-

Ian walked out, frowning at the peculiar lingering scent in the air.

A small incense burner was lit in one corner of Alejandro's room.

"….A dirty customer who pays well… It won't be easy."

If his memory served right, that was a kind of narcotic, a stimulant often used in Raptor's brothels.

****

Crackle-

"So. You sold all 6 pieces of transitional equipment for a third of the regular firearms' value?"

Listening to Ian's story through the radio communication between the vehicles, I was amazed to see the trailer reflected in the rearview mirror looking so slender.

When Ian, dressed in a coat, vest, and hat straight out of the truck, said he would go alone, I thought it was madness. Eventually, after not being able to convince him otherwise, we let him go. When he didn't return for a while, we spent two hours trying to dissuade Vex, who wanted to sneak in to investigate, along with Ezel.

Ian, returning with a scavenger carrying a large box and his coat fluttering in the wind, urged us to leave quickly as soon as the scavengers who had loaded the cargo left, gasping for breath. He said there was no more business to see to, as he had received the payment. If unlucky, the scavengers, armed with ‘voluntary loyalty,' could attack on their own accord.

"Right. He said he bought much more than the ordered quantity. Owning a territory in the midst of this chaos, they must have needed many weapons."

"….What about the possibility of it all going to the Raptors?"

"I don't see it happening. Hydras are like bats. They ally with anyone if it benefits them, and betray for the same reason. Right now, they are somewhat cooperative with Dome, so it's not easy for them to just switch sides. Well, unless they're offered ‘too much money to refuse.' But we don't need to worry about that. Dome had already accounted for some of it falling into their hands."

After hastily leaving Hydra's main camp and heading north for an hour, feeling we were far enough from their attack range, I slammed on the brakes and jumped into the trunk to check the payment Ian mentioned.

"A generator, and not just any small one but a medium-sized one in such good condition…."

"That's why I told you to leave the business to me. These carnivorous clients often need to be approached by touching their emotional rather than rational side, which is difficult for those who are unaware of their traditions or culture."

Ian, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his hand, smirked.

"Even so, for just one generator…. Didn't we make too much profit?"

"Khkhkhk. They're guys who only do profitable business. This isn't just a sign of gratitude. It's a deal considering the payback."

Bang! Bang!

Despite appearing relaxed, Ian, perhaps quite tense, took a swig from the hip flask he had in his pocket and knocked on the clean generator that had finished decontamination.

"They immediately mentioned a cash deal when we said we'd go deeper inside. According to them, they've cleaned up their area, but they still consider the high possibility of us dying as we go further in. If we die, they plan to swoop in and take the goods left behind. If it was in shillings, that wouldn't work, so they offered this sturdy generator, which seems like it could survive a few rolls of the truck. They must be performing a ritual hoping we'd die along the way. Such transparent bastards."

"Really…. What's out there that makes them think everyone's going to die…."

"As always, business thrives on risk for maximized profits. Already, one medium generator. If we sell everything we brought inside and then sell what we bought here in Area 47, we might be able to acquire most of the materials the village needs in just this one trip."

Rattle! Rattle Rattle!

As we drove and talked, the armored truck began to shake as the road surface became rougher.

Living in the wasteland, one naturally becomes adept at spotting the slightest human traces. Such as a piece of stone slightly buried in the sand from being stepped on, rough traces of something being dug out or torn away, small bloodstains, and such.

From when the road began to get rough, those traces started to gradually disappear. Not a silence that can be heard, but a perceptual silence.

Without anyone saying it, the three vehicles slowly reduced their speed, as if knowing not to break this silence.

"Check the bubble. Never take off the mask. As we discussed earlier, from now on, try to avoid engagement as much as possible. Regardless of victory or defeat, consider engagement as a critical loss. If the lead Hummer spots anything, signal immediately. Especially Vex."

Crackle-

"Understood."

"Ezel, from now until we reach Area 38, consider all expendable batteries as fair game. Turn on the sonar radar. Also, set the signal detector to its maximum output. If the transport team ahead of us ran into trouble, they would have activated a distress signal. We'll focus on checking for distress signals on our way to Area 38. The panel is connected to the driver's seat, right?"

Crackle-

"Confirmed. If we make it back, we'll be living off radiation decontamination for the rest of our lives."

Ezel, making jokes even in this situation.

A bit of static mixed into the vehicle-to-vehicle radio before Ezel's voice came through again.

Crackle-

Beep-…… Beep-…..

"Connection established. Do you hear that? There's one picking up directly in the direction we're heading. Seems like we're on the right path-"

Beep-. Beep-. Beep-. Beep-.

"Uh…."

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Faster and faster. What seemed almost like digital death throes, distress signals began popping up one after another, quickly filling Ezel's vehicle with beeping sounds.

"What, what is this…."

Crackle-

"….Turn down the volume, Ezel. Unless you want one of those signals to mark our spot here."

Professor bit his lip amidst the cacophony of electronic tones.

Grind, grind, grind, grgrgrind, grgrgrind, grgrgrind.

The needle of the Geiger counter received from the station was frantically trembling, making its characteristic scratching noise.

The edge of Area 41. The beginning of the real radioactive area.

***

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