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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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Trapped.
Gangs and a tide of zombies surged towards me.
Twelve helicopters circled overhead.
Vehicles blocked my escape route, and buildings hemmed me in on both sides.
It was a no-win situation.
Defy the order and face the miniguns or be swallowed by the approaching zombie horde.
My M4 and rifle were useless against such overwhelming odds.
I scanned the buildings, desperate for an escape route.
No luck.
I could maybe crash through a plate glass window, but the walls behind them were impenetrable.
I spotted a cage lying on the pavement.
A zombie inside was thrashing wildly, its gnashing teeth inches from the cowering human trapped beneath it.
The human trembled, unable to even scream.
Wow.
Helicopters.
The most creative thing I had ever done with a vehicle was drag a zombie around with a tow truck hook.
This aerial herding tactic was impressive.
Luring zombies into cages, then obliterating them with miniguns and rockets… why were they having all the fun?
It seemed a bit unfair.
“Fifteen seconds remaining. Black van and fire truck, disembark your vehicles or we will open fire.”
I glanced at the side mirror.
The Disease Crisis Management Agency personnel were disembarking from the vehicles behind the fire truck.
Some had managed to remove their handcuffs, but most were still restrained.
They lined up along the roadside and knelt, their training kicking in even in this chaotic situation.
Cassandra was lying on a stretcher, her arms and legs secured with handcuffs.
She wouldn’t have gone willingly.
At least her shoulder and back were bandaged.
The fire truck, however, remained motionless.
I checked the doors, but they seemed to be functioning properly.
The bulletproof windows, reinforced with metal plating, were opaque, obscuring the occupants from view.
I had no idea what they were thinking.
…And why was the fire truck flashing its headlights?
Was it trying to provoke me? T
hat leaky, water-spewing hunk of junk.
I considered my options.
Driving to Hampton City would be the safest route.
But what awaited me there?
Would those doctors… experiment on me?
Maybe becoming Cassandra’s pet human wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
She was a bit crazy, but she had those amazing breasts… and… well… amazing breasts.
That had to count for something, right?
But could I trust those helicopter people?
“Five seconds remaining!”
I opened the van door, sliding the M4 and the rifle from the passenger seat onto the driver’s seat as I stepped out.
I would grab them and fire if necessary.
“Black van with the pink backpack, step away from the vehicle! Fire truck, we’re not waiting any longer!”
I raised my hands and slowly backed away from the van.
But I wasn’t going to surrender without a fight.
I scuffed my feet against the pavement, drawing a large V on the ground.
Then, I looked at the fire truck and started waving my arms frantically.
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Leticia and the soldiers watched their commander, their eyes filled with anticipation. Virginia’s right hand was raised.
When it dropped, they would open fire.
But she didn’t.
She shook her head, her hand still raised, signaling them to wait.
Is she smiling?
The corners of her lips curled upwards, a predatory smile. Leticia followed her gaze.
The V etched into the pavement was unmistakable.
“…V. Caught in an unexpected trap.”
But then, she leaned back, her interest fading.
“An Elza intelligence loyalist… I expected something more entertaining. Leticia, what do you think? An Elza offering himself up as a slave, not a master. Is he worthy of our pity?”
Leticia looked down at her fellow countryman, his arms waving frantically.
From this angle, he looked pathetic, begging for his life.
“Pleading for one’s life is a natural instinct. It’s understandable,” she replied.
“Then we shall grant him a merciful death, preserving some semblance of dignity. Prepare to fire. Target the black van and the fire truck, but conserve enough firepower to eliminate the remaining zombies…”
Just then, V started banging on the van’s roof.
The fire truck, its headlights flashing, suddenly lurched forward, slamming into the back of the van.
“What’s going on?”
V had already disappeared inside the van.
Virginia leaned out of the helicopter, her eyes narrowed.
The minigunners adjusted their aim, and the Gendarmerie soldiers tightened their grips on their rifles.
Bang!
The helicopter tilted sharply.
The soldiers, caught off guard, scrambled to maintain their balance, their weapons clattering against the floor.
Thankfully, their training kicked in, and none of them had their fingers on the triggers.
Virginia ducked as a bullet whizzed past her head, embedding itself in the ceiling of the helicopter.
“Commander!”
Strands of her silver-blonde hair, severed by the bullet, floated in the air.
Virginia straightened up, brushing her hair back from her face.
“Ha…”
Her violet eyes blazed with a strange intensity, her cheeks flushed.
Her lips, painted a deep shade of black, twitched.
It was the expression of a gourmand savoring a delectable treat.
“Minigun! What are you waiting for? Fire…!”
“No. It’s useless. The angle is wrong. Throw a grenade!”
A soldier tossed a grenade, its safety pin already pulled.
A moment later, the helicopter shuddered violently.
They heard a series of thuds as something struck the underside of the aircraft.
The soldiers, thrown off balance by the sudden maneuver, slammed their heads against the ceiling.
“What’s happening?”
“Something exploded beneath us! Do they have anti-aircraft weapons?”
The Squadron Leader and the co-pilot struggled to regain control of the helicopter.
It wasn’t a critical hit, but it had severely hampered their maneuverability.
“No, according to our intel…”
“He shot down the grenade.”
The calm voice sent a chill down their spines.
“…What did you say, Commander?”
“He shot down the grenade. Our soldier threw it, and the man in the van shot it out of the air.”
“…How?”
“He’s lying down in the van, firing his weapon. His legs are wrapped around the passenger seat, his head is resting on the driver’s seat, and he’s using the window frame as a makeshift rifle rest. The fire truck is pushing him forward, so he doesn’t even need to steer.”
“It must be a fluke. There’s no way…”
“It’s not a fluke, Intelligence Officer.”
Virginia opened the long bag she had insisted on carrying herself.
“Squadron Leader, if you please, adjust the minigun’s angle. Leticia, inform the other helicopters to proceed with the identification and escort mission. But Angels 4 and 5 will focus on the fire truck and the van. Conserve the miniguns and rockets for ‘zombie cleanup.’ Utilize the riflemen.”
As Leticia relayed the orders, the Squadron Leader asked, “Commander, the van is one thing, but the fire truck’s armor is incredibly thick. Our rifles won’t penetrate it.”
“Then I’ll take care of it.”
She opened the bag.
The Gendarmerie soldiers gasped.
It was shaped like a revolver, but far too large to be a handgun.
It was long, heavy, and undeniably elegant.
A weapon forged from solid steel, its purpose unclear.
Was it a firearm?
A grenade launcher?
They had never seen anything like it: a revolver with a 10-inch barrel. Its practicality was questionable, but its craftsmanship was undeniable.
A serpent was engraved on the barrel.
Virginia loaded the cylinder.
One.
Two.
Three… seven.
They could see rifle rounds pinging off the sides of the fire truck and the van.
Then, a plume of fire erupted from Angel 4’s left rocket pod.
“Angel 4, hit! Angel 4 hit! Left launcher disabled!”
“That crazy bastard shot it! Did you see that? He shot down our rocket! We’re pulling out!”
Ignoring the panicked chatter over the radio, Virginia extended her arm, her aim steady.
And then, she fired.
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Inside the fire truck…
“That guy is insane,” the rifleman muttered, his eyes wide with admiration.
The driver of the cash transport van had stepped out of his vehicle and was dancing.
He was spinning, his wrists flicking back and forth, his movements so erratic that they thought he had finally lost his mind.
But then they realized…
“That’s… V, isn’t it?”
Camilla nodded.
It had to be him.
No one else would think to draw a symbol on the ground in this situation.
“He must be on our side. A Western spy wouldn’t want to be captured here.”
“I guess so.”
“This is… unprecedented.”
“I’ll flash the headlights, Camilla.”
Blink.
Blink.
The rifleman signaled towards the fire truck, his fist pounding against his open palm, pointing at the van and the fire truck in turn.
“…Is he asking us to ram him?”
“We have to hit the van to get past it anyway. We have no choice. We don’t want to be captured, do we?”
“…I’m sorry, everyone.”
Camilla lowered her head, her voice filled with regret.
“I didn’t expect things to turn out like this. I should have been more decisive.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Camilla. We were the ones who asked you to decide.”
“It’s true.”
“Anyone would have done the same, Camilla. The hostages were free. We had to come. It’s what our comrades would have done. So…”
But the Liberation Front operative’s voice choked with emotion.
Camilla reached out, her hands grasping theirs.
They held hands, their fingers intertwined.
“…For Elza.”
“For Elza.”
V was ready.
The rifleman slammed his foot on the accelerator.
The fire truck nudged the van from behind, then accelerated, pushing it forward.
The timing was perfect.
V, back inside the van, leaned out the driver’s side window, his rifle extended, and fired.
“…What is he doing? How is he even getting that angle?”
“He’s lying down.”
Camilla was impressed.
The rifleman, confused, asked, “Excuse me?” Camilla’s face lit up with excitement.
“He’s lying down! We’re pushing him! He doesn’t even need to steer!”
“But how can he take down a helicopter with a rifle…”
A deafening explosion ripped through the air.
Black smoke billowed from the underside of one of the helicopters.
It wasn’t a direct hit on the fuel tank, but the shrapnel had done enough damage to force it to withdraw.
“…What did he do?”
“I don’t know, but focus! Provide covering fire if you can!”
“Helicopter on the right!”
Rat-a-tat-tat!
The bulletproof glass rippled as a hail of bullets struck the fire truck.
It was like someone was trying to punch through steel with their bare hands. But the glass held.
“Can we do this? Can we actually make it?”
An M4 rifle emerged from the passenger side window of the van.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
Short, controlled bursts.
Flames erupted from the landing skids of the helicopter approaching from the right.
Its rocket launcher had been hit.
“…How is he doing that?”
Camilla muttered, her voice filled with disbelief.
She considered herself a skilled marksman, but the man in the van was operating on a different level.
“He’s not as good as you, Camilla,” the rifleman chuckled.
Camilla was about to tell him to stop trying to boost her morale. It was sweet, but…
That’s when she saw it. A flash of silver in the driver’s side window of the van.
The reflection of a sniper rifle scope.
She screamed, her voice a strangled cry.
Crack.
The bulletproof glass shattered, a single, precise shot piercing the armor plating.
“Oh.”
Crack.
The rifleman jerked, a neat hole appearing in his forehead.
Blood splattered across Camilla’s face.
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bro’s got that god-like aim