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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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I explained my plan to Camilla.
She listened intently, her expression unreadable.
Then, after a long silence, she finally reacted.
She looked at me, then at the map, then back at me.
“…It’s Lambert all over again.”
She was right.
I was planning to load the van with LPG canisters, attach a zombie corpse to the back, and drive it towards the Country Club’s perimeter fence.
I would lure as many zombies as possible, then detonate the van near the fence.
The explosion would create chaos, drawing the attention of both the zombies and the gang members inside the resort.
I would wait for one side to gain the upper hand, then infiltrate during the confusion.
“Remember those houses we raided? The ones with multiple gang symbols on their doors? They were marking their territory.
But this resort only has one symbol. It’s been controlled by the courthouse-city hall alliance since the beginning. They’ve never lost it. Which means their defenses are strong. We can’t just waltz in there. It’s not about skill. It’s about strategy.”
“So you’re going to ‘borrow’ some troops? By using the zombies.”
She understood.
“Exactly. We don’t know how many zombies will show up. But when those two forces clash, one of two things will happen. Either the gang will hold their ground, or they’ll retreat.”
“Retreat?”
She seemed surprised.
“I would have a backup plan, if I were them. They lost a lot of men in Lambert. They’re probably short-staffed. This place is too big for them to defend effectively. They’ll probably relocate to a smaller, more secure location. They might even have an evacuation plan in place.”
“And what will we do?”
“We’ll observe from a safe distance. If they hold their ground, we’ll wait for them to weaken, then strike. We’ll have a better understanding of their defenses, their traps. And they’ll be at their most vulnerable, psychologically.
If they retreat, we’ll be ready. You saw how they fortified their entrances. It will take them time to clear a path for their vehicles. We’ll move to a strategic location, like here, here, or here, and pick them off as they try to escape. Then we’ll steal their vehicles and disappear.”
I pointed to several locations on the map. Sniper nests, known only to experienced players. Locations that provided a clear view of the surrounding area while remaining concealed.
“…How do you know all this?”
She shook her head, her expression a mixture of awe and disbelief.
I had an explanation ready.
“It’s on the map.”
“I guess, for someone like you…”
She trailed off, her eyes narrowed.
I decided not to press the issue.
“Anyway, that’s my plan. I can’t guarantee it will work. We don’t know what will happen. But the advantage is that no one gets hurt, and the risk is minimal. The worst-case scenario is that we lose the van, but that’s a small price to pay.”
“That’s true.”
“Camilla, what do you want to do?”
She looked at me, her expression unreadable.
Her golden eyes, calm and serene, reminded me of the ocean at sunset.
Beautiful, but with a hint of melancholy, a premonition of the approaching darkness.
It was a fitting color for her red hair.
“You can participate, or you can sit this one out. You’ve already helped me a lot by transporting those LPG canisters. I didn’t tell you about my plan because I didn’t want to burden you.
That was our agreement, wasn’t it? We work together, but we live separately. No pressure, no obligations. And if we decide that working together is no longer beneficial, we part ways.”
I could handle this alone.
Camilla’s presence would make things easier, but I wouldn’t force her to participate.
I didn’t want to be forced into anything, so I wouldn’t force her.
“…You don’t have to remind me. It’s only been a few days.”
Her voice was tinged with sadness.
She bit her lip, then nodded.
“I have a question. According to your plan, we’ll infiltrate after everything is over, right?”
“Yes. It’s safer that way.”
“What if we go in earlier? Would that interfere with your plan?”
She pointed at the resort on the map.
“Why would we do that?”
“To rescue the slaves.”
Now it was my turn to stare at her, my expression a mixture of confusion and disbelief.
She continued, her voice firm, her eyes unwavering.
“They have slaves. Why else would they have participated in the Lambert slave auction?”
“But we didn’t see any slaves.”
To be precise, we hadn’t seen any guards either, even though the smoke rising from the chimneys suggested the buildings were occupied.
“That’s because they keep them hidden. They don’t gather them in one place. They’re probably distributed among the gang members, used as… personal supplies.”
“Personal supplies?”
“Slaves are treated like disposable commodities. You know how everyone is hungry in the human unprotected zones, both masters and slaves? And they don’t know how to cope with it.
The gangs enforce strict food rationing. They know this hunger is abnormal, that there’s no easy solution. But they can’t stop their members from complaining.
So they give them slaves to vent their frustrations on. Like dolls they can abuse without consequence.”
I remembered the couple in the warehouse in Lambert Village, pretending to have sex while they stole food.
They had said that sexual gratification was tolerated, but stealing food was a “grave offense,” even by outlaw standards.
“Johan, one of the Central Liberation Front’s main tasks was rescuing slaves. It was partly for propaganda, but… when you see those people, trapped, abused… you can’t just leave them behind.”
“But Camilla, not all slaves are innocent. Some of them might be former gang members, defeated rivals forced into servitude. What about them…?”
“They deserve it, is that what you’re saying?”
She tapped her fingers on the table, her eyes thoughtful.
I waited for her to continue.
“Johan, I don’t believe that every slave is innocent. They might betray us the moment we rescue them. They might be so broken, physically and mentally, that death or zombification would be a mercy. I’ve seen enough of that.”
“And yet, you still want to rescue them?”
“Yes. I do… no. It’s not that noble. I just can’t stand the thought of Elsa people enslaving their own kind.
Johan, I honestly don’t care if these gang members turn into zombies or something worse. I wouldn’t hesitate to shoot them. The slaves? They might have been terrible people before they were enslaved. But that doesn’t matter. I hate the system. Not the people.”
Her eyes were bright, her voice firm.
She knew what she was talking about. She was filled with conviction.
“But I don’t want to jeopardize your plan. So, tell me, would it be a problem if I went in there?”
If I said yes, she wouldn’t go.
But that would be a lie.
A blatant lie.
She had managed to track me down without any clues.
Her tracking skills, her persistence, her situational awareness – they might even be superior to mine.
It was better to be honest.
“It’s fine. My goal is to eliminate both the zombies and the gang.”
“Then I’m going in. You don’t have to come. That was our agreement, wasn’t it? ‘Do what you want, don’t do what you don’t want. No pressure, no obligations.’ You do your thing. I’ll do mine.”
She was throwing my own words back at me.
I wasn’t offended.
I was just curious.
I asked her why, and she told me.
Evening had arrived.
We gathered our equipment and prepared to part ways.
“Let’s meet here tomorrow morning. Alive.”
“Stay in touch.”
She smiled, waving the walkie-talkie.
I waved back.
We might work together, but we lived separately.
That was our rule.
I didn’t know where she slept.
She didn’t know where I slept. It was safer that way.
I had found a fire lookout tower, a sturdy metal structure with a narrow staircase.
I climbed carefully, placing my feet on the edges of the steps to minimize the noise.
The top of the tower was enclosed by a flimsy metal roof and a few windows, providing minimal protection from the elements.
But the nights were warm, so it was a comfortable place to sleep, with a blanket spread out on the floor.
Of course, I didn’t just lie down and go to sleep.
While there was still daylight, I disassembled my weapons and cleaned them meticulously.
The M4 carbine was still functioning properly, but even with regular maintenance, the barrel would eventually need to be replaced.
I cleaned my hands and ate the cold stew from my mess tin.
It was surprisingly good.
I considered heating it up with a solid fuel tablet, but decided against it. It was important to conserve resources.
It was 7 PM.
Time to sleep.
Zombies and wild animals were more active at night.
Predators rested during the day, hunting under the cover of darkness.
I couldn’t sleep.
I tossed and turned, my mind replaying Camilla’s story.
The developers of Eruptor Protocol hadn’t been interested in storytelling.
And the players hadn’t complained about the lack of a narrative.
Why would they?
You had zombies to kill, hostile players to outwit, and a double-barreled shotgun in your hands.
Who needed a story?
But the developers hadn’t completely abandoned the narrative.
They had sprinkled bits and pieces of information throughout the game, in item descriptions, mini-map tooltips, and loading screens.
Like “advertising model Camilla” and “Kibele Food Corporation.”
My knowledge was fragmented, incomplete.
I didn’t know what the human unprotected zones were, why civil servants, police officers, and firefighters had become gangsters, or what the Gendarmerie and the Liberation Front were really fighting for.
And I didn’t really care.
Things to kill, things to avoid, things I could kill with a gun, things I couldn’t.
My worldview was simple.
Secure enough loot to reach the bunker. That was my only concern.
Until I met Camilla.
Until I realized that this world was far more twisted than I had imagined.
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