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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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Inside the fire truck, the Liberation Front operatives watched in awe.
“Incredible. How are they doing that?”
The cash transport van leading the way was moving erratically, swerving and dodging like a drunkard behind the wheel.
Yet, it somehow managed to avoid every incoming RPG.
It wasn’t following any logical path, its movements unpredictable and chaotic.
It even rammed into other vehicles occasionally, its occupants firing back with their own weapons.
It was a frustrating, infuriating display of skill, the kind that made you want to chase it down and put an end to its reckless dance.
And it was providing excellent cover for the fire truck.
“Keep firing!”
The Liberation Front operatives weren’t just passengers.
They were responsible for protecting the flanks and rear.
They fired through the gun ports, sometimes even hanging out the side door, their bodies exposed, their weapons blazing.
The Disease Crisis Management Agency vehicles behind them had also joined the fight.
They had somehow managed to free themselves from their handcuffs and were now returning fire, occasionally opening their doors, grabbing discarded weapons, and taking potshots at the pursuing gang members.
The tide was turning in their favor.
The atmosphere had shifted.
They could taste victory.
It has to be the Western spy.
A highly trained operative.
No one else could be V.
We would have known about someone like this.
Camilla recalled Hans’s analysis.
He might have been impulsive and reckless, but his tactical instincts were sharp.
Even she had to admit, the person driving that van was incredibly skilled.
Bold, aggressive, fearless, and undeniably brave.
And the profile, even partially obscured by the red bandana, was quite attractive.
And he had kidnapped a woman.
Is he a villain?
A hero?
No, he’s a spy.
Such distinctions are meaningless.
He’s a Westerner.
And he kidnapped a Disease Crisis Management Agency employee.
A woman with breasts that large would be easy to identify.
Hmm… a kidnapper, but a brave spy?
No. A brave kidnapper?
No, no, no.
What am I even thinking…
Kidnapping was unacceptable, no matter the circumstances.
The woman seemed petite, but the way he had effortlessly lifted her suggested considerable strength…
Get a grip, Camilla.
What are you doing?
You’re losing focus.
She clenched her fists, trying to regain control of her chaotic thoughts.
But he’s drawing all the fire, protecting us.
A complete stranger, risking his life for us.
He could have just used the fire truck as a shield.
Why… why is he doing this?
And if he was V, why had he abandoned the briefcase in such a strange location?
Was he against the briefcase bombing plan?
Was he a good person, despite being a kidnapper?
…I want to ask him.
She was filled with questions, with a burning desire to understand.
She wanted to jump out of the truck, tap on the van’s window, and demand answers.
Ugh, this balaclava.
My face must be a mess.
I probably look like a frog princess.
I wish I had worn something more flattering…
“Camilla! Camilla!”
“Huh? What?”
“…Do you feel it?”
“Wh-what? What are you talking about?”
“The vibrations.”
The rifleman pointed at the floor.
Camilla, startled, calmed herself and focused.
She could feel it now, a subtle tremor that she hadn’t noticed before.
“…Is it the tear gas tank leaking?”
“No. It’s different. Look, the buildings and windows are shaking slightly. It wasn’t like this before.”
“And the gang members are disappearing.”
He was right.
The gunfire was fading, replaced by a low, rhythmic rumble.
The dust clouds, however, were growing thicker, as if a sandstorm was approaching.
“…Do you hear that?”
The operative manning the levers whispered.
They all cupped their hands over their ears.
“…I hear it.”
It was faint, like the buzzing of a mosquito, but unmistakable.
Music.
A familiar melody.
A tune they had all heard countless times in commercials, a tune so recognizable that they could hum along without hesitation.
Ride of the Valkyries.
“Camilla, what do we do? We’re running low on ammo. We’re still a long way from the city limits. That man in the van is doing a great job, but… if the gangs set up a perimeter outside the village, we might not make it.”
The gangs had probably realized they couldn’t win a direct confrontation within the village.
They would likely try to flank them once they reached the outskirts.
“…Let’s focus on getting out of here. The vehicles behind us are armed now. We have to do what we can. We can only hope this truck holds up. And we all knew the risks, didn’t we?”
“Of course.”
“Absolutely, Camilla.”
“You’re the best, Camilla.”
She forced a smile, pushing down the fear and uncertainty.
She couldn’t tell them that she didn’t want to be here, that she was terrified.
But for some reason, she had a feeling that everything would be alright as long as they followed that swerving van.
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“What is the Eruptor Protocol?”
I knew it was the name of the game, but it seemed to have a different meaning in this world.
Cassandra hesitated.
“I’m sorry.”
Then, she started unbuttoning her shirt, one button at a time.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Cassandra can’t tell you. This is your reward. Look. Cassandra’s bare skin. Just for you…”
“Hey, I don’t want to crash into a wall because I’m distracted by your breasts. Dying with my face buried in your cleavage might be a good way to go, but I’m not ready to die yet. So button up.”
My harsh words seemed to hurt her.
She sniffled, but instead of buttoning her shirt, she simply zipped up her jumper.
“Oh my, so assertive.”
…It was even more distracting now.
The jumper accentuated her cleavage.
I had to be firm.
“And either tell me or don’t. Don’t leave me hanging.”
“I’m scared.”
I swerved the van sharply, narrowly avoiding another RPG.
Where were they even coming from?
Was this some kind of magic show?
I fired the M4 out the window, the recoil jarring my shoulder.
This time, I hit my target.
“Scared of what?”
Cassandra pulled me close, her arms wrapping around me, her cheek pressed against mine.
The pressure of her breasts against my chest was intense, but the pressure of her thighs on my lap was even more distracting.
At least I could still see the road.
“If I say it out loud, if I write it down, it will become real.
I’ll have to acknowledge it.
I’m afraid of turning a hypothesis into a proven fact. I’m afraid of the truth.”
The scent of shampoo.
A teacher’s embrace.
An unfamiliar feeling of loneliness.
A photograph lying face down on a desk.
The memories flooded my senses.
I remembered the question that had haunted me, the question that had left me paralyzed, unable to move or speak until a wave of warmth had spread through my body.
Cassandra pressed closer, her body seeking comfort, her voice a low murmur in my ear.
“Cassandra has to find a counterexample. She has to prove that the Eruptor Protocol is flawed, that its fundamental premise is wrong. She has to prove that Cassandra is a liar, that her theories are wrong, that things won’t unfold according to her predictions.
But she had to leave the lab to do that. She needed more data. So she applied for a field position, but it’s the same. It’s suffocating. It’s closing in on her. She’ll break if she stays here. That’s why Cassandra needs you.”
“…Why me?”
“Because you talk about the apocalypse. No one else does that. They’re afraid. They avoid the subject. You’re not afraid. Are you?”
Another strange question.
Her body pressed against mine, seeking comfort, even though I hadn’t offered any.
Now that I looked at her more closely, she wasn’t that tall.
Her breasts had created an illusion of size. Her body was actually quite petite.
That explained how she could maintain this awkward position.
Even in a spacious van, it wasn’t easy to cuddle in the driver’s seat.
“Are you? Or aren’t you?”
This time, she didn’t wait for a verbal response.
Her hand slid up my thigh, her fingers tracing circles on my inner thigh.
“S-stop that.”
“If you don’t answer Cassandra’s question, things will get worse. You know this is the trigger, don’t you? Tell me. Are you afraid of the apocalypse?”
“No, I’m not afraid! Are you happy now? I’ve spent so much of my life playing this game…!”
I had slipped up.
But Cassandra’s reaction was strange.
Her green eyes swirled, her cheeks flushed, her lips plumped.
Her gaze was intense, almost predatory.
Had I triggered something?
“Ahhh… yessss… we’re perfect for each other.”
An RPG exploded nearby.
I swerved the van, narrowly avoiding the blast.
Cassandra moaned, her breath hitching.
“See? Even the world approves of our union.”
“That was a high-explosive round! We’ll die if we get hit! Are you even listening to me?”
“I stopped listening after you said, ‘I’m not afraid.’ That was all I needed to hear. Cassandra knew it. You’re the one. We understand each other.”
“Two people talking to themselves doesn’t constitute a conversation. And I have no intention of traveling with you, so get out of the car when we reach the city.”
My curt responses were a desperate attempt to maintain some semblance of control.
Damn those corrupt Lambert officials.
Why hadn’t they bothered to pave the roads properly?
Every bump and swerve sent Cassandra’s body pressing against mine.
“No. We’re destined to be together. Even the Goddess of Hunger can’t separate us.”
“Then let’s break up here.”
“Cassandra… is being dumped?”
“You’re just realizing that now?”
“It’s okay. Cassandra has dumped a lot of people. No, she’s dumped everyone. This is karma. We have to accept it. It’s the only way to balance the scales. Now, let’s spin the wheel of fate once more. Johan, you…”
I had to stop talking to her.
I was getting sucked into her madness.
“Look, this isn’t the time for jokes. You’re a busy woman. I’m a busy man. What do busy people do when they meet? They focus on their own tasks. Don’t you have work to do?”
“I am working.”
“Grinding against that guy you just met?”
“No. I’m trying to stop things from breaking beyond repair, before we reach the point of no return.”
She stared at me, her green eyes intense, her voice a low murmur.
I averted my gaze, firing the M4 out the window.
It was a nervous gesture, but someone screamed as the bullets found their mark. Idiot.
“Cassandra knows. Some things, once broken, can never be fixed. You know that too, Johan.”
“What do you know about me? We haven’t even known each other for 24 hours.”
“I can see it in your eyes. They’re beautiful, bright, wide, and empty. But most of all, they’re hungry. Hungrier than any zombie.”
“…That’s a bit personal, don’t you think?”
She shook her head.
“No, you’re the one crossing the line. Don’t lie to me. Cassandra has seen too many eyes. She’s had to record their final moments, replay them, analyze them.
So don’t lie to Cassandra with your eyes. She won’t be fooled. You have an old, familiar hunger. It’s become so commonplace that you take it for granted, but it hurts, doesn’t it?”
Her slender hand caressed my cheek, her touch surprisingly gentle.
I felt a strange sense of shame.
“I don’t see it when I look in the mirror.”
“Mirrors are too honest. They reflect your lies back at you. You’ve been lying to yourself. Cassandra can see your vulnerability. Because she… she was the same.”
“Shut up. Stop talking about me. What do you want?”
“To stop the world from breaking like Johan and Cassandra. To hold it together before it reaches the point of no return.”
Something felt off.
“…Are you… are you saying I’m broken?”
She looked at me as if I were an idiot.
“You’re just realizing that now? What kind of sane man offers his chest to a woman he just met?”
“You touched it.”
“Cassandra is not at fault. You’re the one who tempted her with your delicious scent and your beautiful body. And now you keep telling her to go away. Oh, poor Cassandra. The grapes are right there, but she can’t have them. What a strange day. So much good fortune, and yet…”
Her expression remained unchanged, a mask of innocence.
The hypocrisy was astounding.
She was a terrible person, blaming everyone else for her own mistakes.
The kind of person you should avoid at all costs.
“I’m definitely ditching you later.”
“That’s impossible. Inconceivable. Because Johan needs Cassandra. Cassandra can give you so much. If you want…”
Her hand slid down my stomach, her fingers tracing circles around my navel.
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Stranger danger…
…she can fix me.