Ch.231The Seventh Entanglement – Variations on a Blind Revolution (1)

The number of terminals has decreased even more than when the first 10 people initially proposed Idealism. The Hive Mind willingly looked at the reality it didn’t want to acknowledge. If this is reality, then this is reality.

He had only three terminals left. Two were guarding outside the building, and one that he had managed to transform into a Blingkerton detective who could blink away to escape. At least he had salvaged one useful terminal.

A sense of despair overwhelmed him—everything had collapsed. The other terminals must have already fallen into the hands of that spirit contractor. He never imagined they would attack head-on. Moreover, the building was clearly outside the factory district.

Is the Industrial Spirit King expanding? No, that’s not it. Then how did that contractor borrow the Industrial Spirit King’s power even outside the factory district? The Hive Mind couldn’t find an answer.

He might have to call terminals from outside New York into the city, but this infection—this usurpation—could spread beyond New York. Even if the New York branch were to fall, he had to prevent that at all costs.

So… I have to solve this with just three terminals. What can I do with just three people? The Hive Mind had always overwhelmed with numbers. It was either teach an old dog new tricks or die.

The mental fatigue was overwhelming. The moment he relaxed his mind even slightly, he would fall asleep. The bodies of the terminals needed rest too. He had to reach the safe house. The Hive Mind continued running through the sewers.

The most sensitive elf terminal detected the smell of ozone. The Hive Mind immediately made the Blingkerton terminal draw his gun. A terminal blinked into view before them. This wasn’t one sharing the Blingkerton terminal’s function.

“Are you declaring war on us, contractor? Do you think you’ve gained the whole world just by stealing terminals in New York? You usurper, oppressor, and reactionary—are you trying to steal our brilliance? We’ll pour terminals from across America into this struggle against you. We’ll show you those who move with one will, one thought, one action…”

The smoothly aligned voices of The Idealists were good for bluffing. He hoped the other would fall for it, but the terminal standing before him merely snorted in derision.

Outside was noisy. What was happening? With so many terminals stolen, they must be doing something… but there was no time to worry about that now.

There was still hope. The detective had said he was working with Blingkerton’s reactionaries. If they lived up to their name as detectives, it wouldn’t be difficult for them to discover that this person was a usurper.

Though he spoke with many voices, they were uneven. He still couldn’t properly control the terminals. The Hive Mind’s capabilities were superior, but the magician’s abilities were far greater.

“What can you do with three terminals? Without even that pitiful magic you’ve lost, you’re just a ghost wandering New York…”

The Blingkerton terminal pulled the trigger. A black hole appeared where one eye of the contractor’s terminal had been. Terminal control worked through the brain and spine. The usurper’s terminal collapsed.

Though he knew the other was trying to buy time and capture him through conversation, the Idealist Hive Mind couldn’t resist the mockery. Even if he were to be defeated, he couldn’t let his beliefs be defeated.

“While it takes just one individual to start an ideology, one being with three terminals is more than enough to rebuild it. We are Idealism. Ideas weather but are never destroyed.”

It wouldn’t be long before terminals flooded into the sewers. He didn’t know how many terminals the other side had. If he counted all the ones he had in New York… no, there were also those who had been abducted.

It must be over a thousand. He had been careful about public attention, so he never grabbed passersby to make them terminals. But this usurper might do anything.

What’s the goal? Is he really doing this for the Industrial Spirit King who preaches apocalyptic ideology? No, that’s not it. The Hive Mind revised his opinion as a person would shake their head.

The Industrial Spirit King is not the capitalist class but merely a means of production. Even the Hive Mind had no way of knowing if the Industrial Spirit King possessed human qualities.

Then the contractor’s purpose is… yes, that must be it. He believes we’re going to kill the Industrial Spirit King, so he’s trying to destroy us. He plans to put all the terminals through a meat grinder.

Sadly, there was an even simpler method than a meat grinder. It would be enough to make the stolen terminals preach violent revolution and cause riots in the city center.

People would gladly destroy the terminals and track down and destroy any remaining ones. He placed the Blingkerton terminal’s hand on the newly constructed sewer wall. He made the other two terminals embrace that terminal.

He made mana flow through the Blingkerton terminal’s body. The destination was 15 feet straight ahead. Since there were terminals inside, he safely adjusted it by another foot. He used the sidewalk size of the sewer for calculation measurements.

He blinked. He headed into the safe house—a burrow dug out with a space created inside, sealed except for a ventilation duct. It was a safe house created hoping it would never be needed.

Now his mind had completely reached its limit. Having lost most terminals and fleeing to preserve the remaining ones, he allowed his exhausted mind to rest for exactly one hour. He didn’t sleep any longer than that.

After the short nap, it was time to move again. He removed the Blingkerton terminal’s work clothes and dressed him in a repaired trench coat and fedora that he had originally worn. He needed to assess the outside situation.

Since there was no exit except through the Blingkerton terminal’s teleportation, he dressed the other terminals as well. He didn’t want to meet his end in this burrow if something happened to the Blingkerton terminal outside.

He teleported out of the safe house again, threw the two terminals among vagrants, and put them in dormant mode. He made them move only according to survival instinct, without the Hive Mind’s commands.

This too he had learned from him. Don’t worry too much about all terminals. Just worry about the ones you can manage. Without this teaching, the Hive Mind would have been consumed along with the terminals being infiltrated.

Now he needed to prepare to go out. He overlaid his consciousness onto the only terminal still connected to his mind. He grabbed his throat and tried to speak. One mind in one body. It had been a long time since he experienced this.

“Ah, ah. Blingker, Blingkerton detective. We, no, I… Yes, this should do.”

Since this terminal’s vocal cords had never been used for speaking, the voice needed more adjustment. After carefully adjusting to prevent pitch deviations, instead of blinking outside, he found stairs leading out from the subway.

Most of the terminals would die, but that would be the extent of it. The enemy’s goal seemed to be destroying The Idealists themselves, so there was no reason to create more terminals. He grabbed a gun.

But the sounds from outside were strange. People were pouring into the subway, which was also strange. We weren’t that numerous. We were many, but not compared to the people of New York.

He climbed up to the surface, pushing through the crowd on the stairs. People didn’t stop someone willingly trying to go outside in this situation. They wouldn’t have stopped anyone going out in their place.

But something was mixed in among the crowd. A terminal. One terminal was trying to hide, pretending to be human.

Though he had stolen the Hive Mind’s web, he couldn’t steal the spider’s ability to sense the web.

Anxiety overwhelmed him. If the goal was to destroy us, why not make them charge at the angels…

The Hive Mind drew the gun from the terminal’s waist. He grabbed the shoulder of the terminal connected by the web-like magic and shouted. He tried to make his voice sound natural.

“Move aside! That blonde there is a terminal! I’m a Blingkerton detective, you can trust me!”

The conversation was somewhat awkward, but the words “Blingkerton detective” and “terminal” were effective.

Especially since the man—no, the terminal—being held at gunpoint didn’t even think to react and reached for the back of the head of the woman in front of him.

The Hive Mind pulled the trigger. A bullet hole appeared in the terminal’s head as it collapsed forward. He picked up the soulless, dead terminal and threw it aside to let people descend.

The situation outside was even more hellish. Angels were flying. They were sweeping the streets, pouring bullets into the charging terminals. Storefronts with windows facing the street were shattered and in chaos.

This is not revolution. If everyone cannot dance together, no matter how grand the dance floor, it cannot be called a revolution. It’s fortunate that Yemma doesn’t see this.

Seeing a man running toward him without screaming despite bleeding from glass cuts, he could tell it was another terminal. The Hive Mind raised the Blingkerton detective’s fist and struck him. He stopped.

There were many terminals connected by magic, but not many with shaved heads and work clothes. They were all following the will of the other Hive Mind, their souls consumed by the collective consciousness magic.

He wanted to shout that the magic wasn’t created for such purposes. That magic wasn’t meant to create soulless monsters. That magic was meant to liberate freed minds from labor!

What was the purpose? While seeming to hate us enough to want to destroy us, they weren’t simply trying to kill us. They were increasing their numbers using our magic.

Were they trying to show people how dangerous collective consciousness magic is, to eradicate it completely? If so, there was no need to push the entire city into chaos.

He had taken out insurance with the remaining two terminals. And there was still one person in this city who would believe him. He needed to find the detective. He had to move before that contractor found him.

His hands were trembling. Even for this terminal made into a detective, moving this vigorously was too much after so long. It had been a long time since the Hive Mind directly controlled a human body.

Only then did he realize the terminal was gasping for breath. As he took out the M1911 pistol for reloading, the magazine fell from his trembling hands, but an unexpected hand caught it.

An angel. Instinctively, his body tensed. Angels were the greatest enemies of himself, of the Hive Mind. It was routine for these angels to sweep away strikes after mercenaries had been dealt with.

But this time, this angel wasn’t an enemy. Rather, the angel with slightly dimmer flame in his left eye raised both hands reassuringly, showing he meant no harm. He handed over the magazine.

“See the wings? Fear not, child of man. Nice work, detective sir. But haven’t you been doing desk work for too long?”

“Yes. It seems so. I’ve always been in a position to command from behind…”

The angel spread both arms and wings. His perfectly sculpted, statue-like muscular body stood in stark contrast to the smoke, gunfire, and blood smell behind him.

“Then in the name of my God-President… welcome to New York! Come to the police station if you can lend a hand. See you!”

Seeing even a low-ranking angel this relaxed, violent uprising was clearly not the answer. The angel lightly bent his knees, then jumped up as if taking flight with folded wings. He began to fly, flapping his wings.

If he could find the detective first, he might be able to end this before all terminals died. First, he should head to the police station. He gripped the magazine with renewed strength.

He inserted the magazine. He closed the chamber. The detective looked through the window at the city turning into a battlefield with just thousands of terminals.

They were using the magic that the Hive Mind used to merge minds to turn people into terminals. But The Idealists were not the ones who started all this.

What he met in that building called the detective himself “Michael.” That meant they knew his name, but apparently didn’t know that The Idealists thoroughly called him “detective.”

Moreover, they used “I” instead of “we” for first person. Someone was merely imitating them crudely. Even if these were just loose ends, they didn’t know what The Idealists already knew.

The detective had already revealed to The Idealists that he was working with the Blingkerton detectives, and The Idealists had acknowledged that they needed help from reactionaries now.

In their right mind, they wouldn’t spout nonsense as if they’d just realized he had come with Blingkerton detectives. If this chaos had been planned, they wouldn’t have forgotten such things.

Still, he had to hunt. The terminals were a threat. The journalist would probably be fine with the demons, but there was no telling what would happen to Levi, who had no fighting ability but was in a busy area.

Sarah always had trolls with her. And in just a few more hours, the sun would set. There wouldn’t be many terminals going to 14th Street, and if they did, they would encounter the nighttime Sarah.

Even if I were that unknown Hive Mind, I’d rather face crossfire here than go there. The air around was acrid with the smell of gunpowder and blood. Terminals bleed too.

If it bleeds, it can be killed. At the same time, anything that bleeds was once alive. A bitterness lingered, just like the aftertaste of tobacco.

There was no need to find the real Idealist Hive Mind. He didn’t know if the real one was still alive, and if his guess was correct, they still believed the Industrial Spirit King’s contractor was the culprit.

They might only be wrong about it being a human contractor. Correcting the error. After cleaning up the city, it would be better to somehow find other contractors. The situation was urgent, so urgent methods might be necessary.

With his loaded rifle aimed, he kicked open the door to the factory owner’s office, filled with dead terminals. Something seemed to be leaning against it from inside, but it didn’t resist at all and fell backward.

The angel leading the detective himself and two Blingkerton operatives entered through the door the detective had flung open. He waved to the factory owner, showing his golden hand.

“Inspector Senoy from the New York Police Department. We’re here to rescue you. Please come with us.”

A young factory owner staggered out from inside. Though dressed like the demons, he was an ogre male in his early thirties. His first factory had been brutally trampled like this.

The dazed factory owner walked toward the angel. He barely managed to speak.

“Th-those guys hadn’t shown their faces for days, so I was about to complain when they sent different guys today… but suddenly they started turning the workers next to them into terminals, into terminals…”

The one acting as the second Hive Mind was also acting intelligently. Planning to alert people to the danger of The Idealists, and kill all living terminals to eradicate them? It makes sense.

The detective and the Idealist Hive Mind thought the same thing. This is not the original composition. It’s a variation with very malicious modifications. The difference came after this.

The Hive Mind wanted to reclaim the revolutionary ideal that had become like a blind beast, rampaging like a circus lion in fear. The detective wanted to stop the music, whether by shooting the conductor or killing all the musicians.