Ch.295Work Record No. 041 – What I Don’t Want to Refuse (8)

The Witch of the Wasteland feared, dreaded, and hated El Sueño, yet without the will to oppose him, she led him forward, staking everything she had built on his goodwill.

She believed El Sueño was one of the gods from before that war. No, she couldn’t believe it. Yet simultaneously, she did. No, that’s wrong. They had all surely died. Realizing their own powerlessness, consumed by humanity, they had taken their own lives.

It wasn’t for some grand reason like wanting to end the extinction war. They simply couldn’t end the war with everything they had, so rather than accept a stalemate, they overturned the chessboard.

They simply couldn’t accept their own finitude. Those timid, terrible, worthless… fearsome beings. The Witch of the Wasteland was terrified even at the thought of that era.

People who created life, judged like gods, and received both love and hatred like his only begotten son. But his only begotten son was hated by non-believers, and they were hated by the weak.

The Canadian government believed they could communicate with them. They said they could establish a stronger alliance system than annexation, and the answer was orbital bombardment using the Phaethon Station.

The Witch of the Wasteland didn’t know the exact reason. She could only guess that they needed to test Phaethon Station’s power, or they took offense at someone talking back to them.

Knowing about the Phaethon Station, she always woke at dawn. Only by seeing the sun rise could she believe that the fiery orb above her head was the sun, not a loaded Phaethon Station.

This too was an irrational fear. The warring nations had similar technology levels. Eleven of the twelve Phaethon Stations were definitely destroyed. The last one… was unknown.

The allied forces had captured a Phaethon Station and… what happened next was unknown. She had escaped from the Kativik Research Facility before the operation’s outcome was known. She was just trying to survive somehow.

Anyway, when they weren’t angry, they were merciful like the current El Sueño. While inwardly treating others like insects, they spoke kindly to everyone and freely shared their technological blessings.

It stemmed from arrogance. It was merely their nature to confirm their superiority by sharing their abundance with others. Nevertheless, mercy was mercy.

She survived the experiment because one of those pre-war gods who visited the facility just before the substandard test subjects were to be disposed of said he didn’t want to smell people dying.

He arbitrarily declared he would lower the practical standard for abilities by 20%, and gladly donated several years’ worth of the resulting costs… then never returned. He did it simply because he could.

Someone too frightening to hate, yet who bestowed mercy when one bowed their head, forcing one to swallow their cowardice and bow. That was who El Sueño was to the Witch of the Wasteland.

Therefore, he must be one of the gods from before that war. Therefore, he couldn’t possibly be one of the gods from before that war. That arrogant era had ended, and this fearful, fragile era had been reborn.

The Witch of the Wasteland opened the bunker door hidden in the wall from the extinction war era, leading El Sueño and his servants, or toys, or perhaps both, inside. The interior was perfectly preserved.

The people from before that war had built several such bunkers, but few were actually used. With the Phaethon Stations, they couldn’t even conceive of their mainland being attacked.

The price of arrogance had been paid in full, and now all that remained were these desolate shelters. There was no one left to complain if the Witch of the Wasteland used one of them.

Nevertheless, she still had nightmares. Nightmares of waking up one day to find the gods from before that war had returned. The extinction war was truly traumatic for everyone.

The interior of the bunker that the Witch of the Wasteland opened… was peaceful. No gunfire echoed, and the fresh air leaking out gave it a paradisiacal atmosphere. Someone came running from inside.

He had neon skull tattoos like El Pastor, but his expression seemed much more relaxed. Carrying a child with a slight deformity—a large lump on the left forehead—he appeared immersed in peacefulness.

As he was about to report something about the child, he paused upon seeing La Roca and El Pastor standing behind the invisible El Sueño. He tried to step back, but someone emerged from thin air.

Not someone—El Sueño revealed himself, removing his optical camouflage. Though the man had once been a member of Los Soñadores and had heard stories about El Sueño, this was his first time seeing him.

The overwhelming figure looking down at him made his knees weak, but El Sueño kindly knelt on one knee and looked at the child. Ignoring the lump, he stroked the child and asked:

“What is the child’s name?”

“Uh, Eleanor… but who are you…?”

“I’m not here to talk about myself. The child is loved. You’ve learned how to give love. Do you find caring for children enjoyable and fulfilling? Can you savor it?”

He didn’t understand why El Sueño was asking such things. If Grandma Elicia had brought him, he wouldn’t be hostile, but he expected to be questioned about his betrayal. El Sueño did no such thing.

“Well, here we can survive without killing people. There’s work to do, and caring for children… there are many pitiful children which is sad, but it’s generally enjoyable…”

“Do the other dreamers here feel the same way?”

El Sueño’s voice was gentle. It resembled the voice of Elicia Hawkins, who despite her grand title as the Witch of the Wasteland, seemed only interested in enjoying a pastoral life here.

The former member of Los Soñadores nodded, trembling slightly. As his slight nod continued, El Sueño disappeared again. He soon reappeared.

This time he materialized right in front of the Witch of the Wasteland. Seeing El Sueño appear silently before her, she barely restrained the urge to kneel.

El Sueño exuded the essence of that ancient, arrogant era. He placed his hand on Elicia’s head and spoke as if baptizing her. Someone hoped El Pastor would record this in scripture.

“I have come to bring joy to those who have forgotten it. You too have given joy and things to savor to those who had forgotten joy. Los Soñadores will not oppose the Witch of the Wasteland. Let us return.”

Even this generous mercy resembled that arrogant era. Elicia both feared and longed for El Sueño.

She feared him because hidden in that mercy was the implication that if she had been keeping slaves, he would have gladly torn everything apart himself and taken those who should have been his followers.

At the same time… paradoxically, she longed for the reassurance that people capable of tearing her life apart were using that power to help her instead. It was regressive. The Witch of the Wasteland muttered only to herself.

The time before that war was no paradise. It was a terrible era where fascists so arrogant they believed themselves gods ruled the world, where life held little value. She repeated this to herself.

Yet contrary to all these thoughts, when El Sueño activated his optical camouflage to leave her presence, she instinctively reached out her hand. Naturally, she couldn’t catch El Sueño.

Comically, she held El Sueño back with her words. Receiving help was far better than just being acknowledged and declared untouchable.

Someone who was both absent and present had anticipated this to some extent. For those who had experienced the extinction war, the essence of that war was both fear and aspiration. In a word, awe.

“You believe you can leave with just those words? The possibility that I’m controlling that man with my ability…”

El Sueño appeared behind the Witch of the Wasteland. As he materialized—or deactivated his optical camouflage—with his hand on her shoulder, La Roca shuddered as if disgusted.

His voice now reached only the Witch of the Wasteland. It was highly directional sound, but to others, it seemed El Sueño was making his voice audible only to those he chose.

“The lab rat from Kativik puts on airs that won’t work. That man is not being controlled.”

“How, how do you…”

“How do I know?”

El Sueño lightly echoed her question, but the Witch of the Wasteland felt suffocated. The repeated phrase “lab rat from Kativik” was choking her.

He looked like a master coming to collect his entrusted talents. And she was someone who had merely buried the talent she received. That’s why she feared the master’s return.

Someone wanted to play god but didn’t want to act like the gods from before that war. So they naturally spoke to the Witch of the Wasteland. Right now, being human was far better than being a god like El Sueño.

“Show me to your room. I have something to show you, little witch of the wasteland.”

Only the person inside El Sueño knew that the suffocating feeling wouldn’t last long. The Witch of the Wasteland nodded briefly. El Sueño spoke with satisfaction.

“You two should be guided through the interior. Don’t draw weapons unless attacked first, and if people are living happily, don’t try to bring them back. We came to rescue those who were kidnapped, didn’t we?”

La Roca didn’t like those words, but El Pastor, who looked at El Sueño as if gazing at a god and stars, responded with “How merciful!”

A miracle worker may turn believers into fanatics, but won’t turn non-believers into believers. To convert non-believers, one must do something substantial.

That was the job of someone who wasn’t here yet but would be soon, not El Pastor and La Roca’s job. The former Los Soñadores member led them deeper into the bunker.

El Sueño and the Witch of the Wasteland headed to a small room on the top floor of the bunker with an observation window. It was a place where one could see the sky, but otherwise showed no signs of being the witch’s quarters.

She faced El Sueño. She faced her ancient fear that was present but invisible. Starting from the face where her gaze fell, El Sueño’s form gradually revealed itself.

And then… his head began to open from behind. Not just his head. His entire body was opening. And from inside that powered armor… a man wearing some kind of mask on his face walked out.

It was a toy. Just an object with some kind of fluid that created a vague human face. It was something that existed even before that war, so the Witch of the Wasteland vaguely recognized it.

However, the person who stepped out of the powered suit appeared quite… young to the Witch of the Wasteland. No, he was young by anyone’s standards. He was clearly a young man just past twenty.

Is he a second generation? The Witch of the Wasteland made a fairly reasonable inference, but… a casual voice, completely different from the voice of the gods from the extinction war era that she had been hearing, responded.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m from the Corporate Government, not a child of those who started that war. I’m… hmm, yes. Let’s just say I’m an agent.”

No matter how casually he introduced himself, he was someone who could use the phrase “lab rat from Kativik.” The Witch of the Wasteland glared at the man whose face alone remained blurred and snapped:

“A Corporate Government agent wouldn’t know about Kativik. And an agent wouldn’t be here either. Just who the hell are you?”

“The Corporate Government has better intelligence than you think. And, a murder contract came in. Not for you… but for the Las Vegas Strip.”

The Witch of the Wasteland knew very well that everyone hated the Las Vegas Strip. Could she understand that the Corporate Government sent… one agent to deal with them? To some extent, yes.

After all, wasteland gangs only need one focal point. To handle business without revealing themselves, sending minimal personnel was rational. But something still felt off.

She looked up at El Sueño’s body… then back at the man before her. El Sueño was a god, but his core was human. Human, all too human.

“Why pretend to be a god? If you’re an agent, wouldn’t it be more natural to take on the role of a gang leader? How did you resist the abilities…”

“Resisting abilities is a product of training. And I told you, right? People make mistakes, gods forgive. If I had been a gang boss, do you think I could have resolved this issue without firing a single shot here?”

The Witch of the Wasteland knew that her activities involved kidnapping members of other gangs. If a gang boss had tried to show her mercy, the two who accompanied him would have objected.

But what follower would refuse when a god bestows mercy? True to his words, the two didn’t question anything El Sueño, or rather El Sueño’s voice actor and performer, had said.

Still, resentment lingered. If he really was a Corporate Government agent, he had deliberately probed her wounds. As she was about to say this… the “agent” bowed his head.

“I could have kept deceiving you, but this is about the extinction war, of all things. I didn’t want to probe deeper into your pain, even if I couldn’t find a way to ease it. I’m sorry.”

The Witch of the Wasteland, who had been swayed by awe and illusion until now, was inclined to doubt every word from this agent… but this apology sounded absurdly sincere.

He could have continued deceiving her easily. If he had continued playing god with her, she would have been completely fooled, but he chose to remove his disguise and apologize.

In that case… he was at least somewhat better than the gods of that war era. Instead of being unable to face his wrongdoings and committing suicide, he could humbly bow his head.