Ch.20Chapter 4. Lambert Drive (5)

The woman with seagull insignia on her shoulders looks at us with contemptuous eyes. With a red neck scarf and deputy sheriff badge, she appears to be a superior officer.

During the commotion, I snatched the Osberg. I didn’t hand over the OZ shotgun either. I took it, but he’ll be the one taking all the blame.

“You! I told you to keep watch and you’re just sitting here cracking peanuts? Follow me right now! Princess Bag, you too! And all you scarecrows on the roof, get down here!”

The Disease Crisis Management Bureau jacket is too small. If it were bigger, it would have covered the bag more adequately.

The “scarecrows” on the roof shouted:

“What’s going on that you need all of us?”

“We’re welcoming guests! Those gang bastards have more people than they reported and they’re well-armed! So we should show our sincerity too, right?”

The men on the roof disappeared behind with complaints. The retreating donkey pointed at me with his saliva-slicked fingers.

“Wait, wait a minute. This guy looks strange. I’ve never seen him before. Did we get a new recruit without me knowing?”

The woman glares at the donkey with murderous intent.

“Are you going to keep wasting time like this? I said we’re busy!”

“I really haven’t seen this guy before! He might be a spy from another gang!”

Seagull Insignia comes toward me and yanks off my mask. She stares blankly for a moment, then steps back with a start.

“Ahem. Hmm.”

…I’m not sure why she’s suddenly embarrassed.

“Um, well. Where did you come from? I don’t recognize you.”

While the donkey keeps babbling, the woman has become extremely polite. She even seems a bit shy.

“Is that important?”

“Of course it is. We don’t have anyone as handsome as you among us.”

When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t notice much change. My face isn’t attractive enough to warrant such comments just because some asymmetry was fixed.

Or am I secretly good-looking?

“So tell me where you’re from if you don’t want to die. Which unit are you with?”

…She’s toying with me.

I thrust my face toward her. The startled woman takes a step back.

“You just said I was handsome.”

“Is this guy crazy?”

“Were you lying to me just now?”

Another reason to kill her.

The woman places her hand on the gun at her waist with an incredulous look. She’s trying to draw her weapon. But she can’t stop my OZ shotgun from pointing at her head.

I fire.

The woman’s body falters. She seems to stagger, searching for the head that was there a moment ago, then collapses.

“Wh-what?” “Hey, what’s happening!”

The donkey guy is wearing decent armor. I circle behind him. Three men running down the stairs open fire. The donkey, now a human shield, screams pitifully.

“You’ll have to go next, buddy.”

I fire the OZ shotgun over his shoulder. One man falls. I discard the OZ and draw my pistol, aiming for heads. One shot. Missed. Another shot. Hit the guy on the other side.

The donkey’s body ripples from the last man’s return fire. I tilt my head to avoid the shower of blood, then put two shots in the head and one in the chest.

“Guh. Grrgh…huuugh…”

The man who fell from the shotgun blast struggles desperately. Even in that state, he tries to raise his gun to shoot me. I finish him with the pistol.

“Huk. Huk. Huk. Hak. Huuuk. Huuu. Huh. Hiiik…”

The donkey falls to his knees, gasping as if he’d just sprinted a hundred meters.

“P-please… spare me… please…”

“This one’s for my nephew.”

“You don’t have a nephew, you bastard…!”

“That’s right. I don’t. And soon, you won’t exist either.”

I pulled the trigger. He collapsed with a thud. I grabbed a handful of shotgun shells from his vest.

Click. I reload the Osberg. I hear commotion. Hurried footsteps too. I let out a long sigh.

“Well. Let’s turn this place upside down.”

Time to kill them all.

* * * * *

On the opposite side, in the factory district.

We’ve almost reached the target point.

Of course, the message still hasn’t been delivered. The fact that messages aren’t going through means there’s no bag with a small base station nearby.

If not for the order to ‘visually confirm and take photos with a mobile phone,’ I would have withdrawn long ago. But orders are orders. Even if I don’t like it, I have to follow them.

Suppressing her discontent, the leader, Camilla, stopped everyone. She pointed to her ear, signaling them to focus on the sounds. Though distant, it was clearly gunfire. And not just any gunfire—a complex mixture of different sounds.

‘A firefight?’

The situation had changed. They could hear the factory guards exchanging urgent radio messages. Men who had been resting inside came streaming out.

– Factory, Factory 3! Respond!

The radio of the man they had just strangled crackles.

– Damn it. Are you sleeping again? It’s an emergency! Emergency!

Camilla rhythmically tapped the radio microphone with her finger.

– What’s wrong? Is your radio broken? Tap once if you can hear me! Tap twice if your situation is bad too!

Tap.

– Good, listen carefully! There’s a firefight in the village. We can’t assess the situation yet, so stay alert! If things go south, abandon the factory and gather at the village! The human auction will proceed as scheduled, so keep that in mind!

Tap.

The radio went silent. The Liberation members lowered their voices.

“What should we do, Sister Camilla?”

The village is quite far. They could just check for the bag and leave without any problems. But the words transmitted through the radio had caught Camilla and her members by the ankles.

“…Did he just say ‘human auction’?”

“He did.”

Camilla’s lips twisted in disgust. The other Liberation members didn’t look comfortable either.

“Over there. Dust cloud. It’s impressive. Looks like nearby motor gangs are converging.”

The horizon kicked up noisy, frivolous dust as if throwing a tantrum. This scale was almost at the level of a gang war. The chaos would only grow, never diminish.

“…People treating other people like livestock. This should never happen. For us, who need to expand our influence among civilians in human non-protected zones, this is particularly something we cannot overlook.”

After all, they are Elza’s people. The beloved Elza should not be like this. The filth must be washed away.

“But let’s find the bag first. That’s our mission.”

The Liberation members’ eyes drooped. Though hidden by balaclavas, Camilla found their expressions endearing.

“Instead, let’s move quickly to make some extra time. If our mission succeeds, we can joyfully dive into the task of saving the people. If we fail…”

“If we fail?”

“Was anyone happy to come here? I wasn’t.”

Everyone shook their heads. Camilla showed a cruel smile.

“Then, shall we vent our frustrations before leaving? How about… slowly… crushing those who have defiled Elza?”

“I like that idea.”

Thinking they were such easy-to-understand, good children, Camilla picked up the radio and stood up.

“Pioneer!”

* * * * *

I dashed into a nearby general store. I placed a long plank on a shelf, putting a heavy brick on one end and a sandbag on the other. I poked a hole in the sandbag with my hunting knife, then slipped out the back door and hid behind a trash can in the alley.

The brick falls with a thud. The three men searching for me all turn their guns at once. I fire my rifle. One takes a headshot, another clutches his neck and falls. The last one turns his gun too late—my shot is faster.

“Kekh, kaak! I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you! Aaagh!”

I see men running from the other side. I raise both arms and shout:

“Over there! The general store with the red sign! He’s hiding in there! Hurry!”

“Kuaaah, that, that fucking bastard!”

No one cares about the fallen man’s cries. I shoot the legs of the men rushing past, forcing them to their knees, then shoot them in the back of the head.

I run.

Even while running, I never lose track of the map in my head.

Pulling my mask up higher, I run up the stairs of the adjacent building. I lie flat at the corner. I set up the pink bag as a shield and reload my rifle and pistol. Spare magazines would be nice, but it doesn’t matter much if I don’t have them.

I can just pick up any gun, spray bullets, and discard it. Sometimes that’s easier and faster than reloading. I am one; they are many. Forget about zeroing—spray enough bullets and someone will get hit.

I put the bag back on and wait until two men pass under the roof before shooting with my rifle. One dies instantly, but I miss the other. He hides around the corner and shoots at me. Pipik, pat! Cement fragments fly up where the bullets hit.

I recall the thousands of deaths I’ve experienced during gameplay. I remember watching streamer tutorial videos in my spare time.

When you’re ‘trapped’ in an enemy’s firing angle, the best thing is to throw a grenade to force them to move. Then you can shoot them as they flee from the fragments. But if you have nothing to throw, you shouldn’t stay prone. You need to back up and flank.

As my heartbeat pounds in my ears, my mind actually becomes calmer.

I crawl backward, then suddenly stand up. I leap to the roof of the adjacent building about 1m away. I crouch and walk along the edge of the roof, circling around. I can see the man hiding at the corner. He’s glancing sideways, thinking I’m still where I was before, when our eyes meet.

I give him a wink and shoot. Blood splatters against the wall like paintball.

“Haa.”

There’s no one in sight for now. I hear shouts, screams, and calls for retreat. Even from a distance, I can recognize that distinctive accent.

However, I need to change my strategy a bit now.

The men I’ve encountered so far had ‘zombie-fighting’ armaments. That’s why shotguns and pistols were their main weapons.

Of course, some used slug rounds instead of small pellets—heavy metal balls that could deliver a powerful blow even at medium range—but while powerful, they lacked rate of fire, which gave me the advantage in prolonged engagements.

But now I have to face opponents armed to fight ‘people.’ My comparative advantage is significantly reduced. Their weapons will be similar to or better than mine.

So I need confusion.

More confusion. Even more confusion.

I need to hide within their chaos, pretending to be one of them, and pick them off one by one.

‘…The slaves in the apple warehouse. It would be good to free them.’

What frightens a master more than an escaping slave?