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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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“D-down… get down…”
Camilla mumbled, her voice hollow, her body stiffening like a broken doll.
The rifleman slumped forward, his lifeless hands still clutching the steering wheel, his foot pressing down on the accelerator, the horn blaring incessantly.
“No! No! No!”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The fire truck lurched violently, throwing its occupants against the walls.
The tires, the front left and both rear tires, exploded in rapid succession.
The truck tilted precariously, the water sloshing inside the tank, threatening to topple it over.
Camilla’s world spun, a dizzying, nauseating blur of pain and disorientation.
Something struck her head.
A blinding pain, but bearable.
She screamed, begging for it to end, for the pain to stop.
Her plea was answered.
Another blow to the head, this one far more forceful, but painless.
Her eyelids fluttered closed, and the world faded to black.
One shot.
It wasn’t the sharp crack of a pistol. It was a deep, booming roar, the kind of sound you would expect from a cannon.
But Virginia remained unfazed, her hand steady as she fired the massive weapon, as if it were a child’s toy.
A miss?
That’s what they all thought at first.
Or maybe even that monstrous revolver couldn’t penetrate the fire truck’s armor plating and bulletproof glass in a single shot.
Two shots.
Crimson blood splattered across the windshield.
They could see the driver’s head, a mangled mess, disappear in a spray of gore.
But the fire truck, its engine roaring defiantly, continued to move forward.
Three shots.
Four shots.
Five shots.
Even the fire truck’s tires were protected by armor plating, only a quarter of their surface exposed.
It was a difficult target, even at this range, especially from a moving helicopter.
But Virginia didn’t miss. Each shot found its mark, puncturing the tires like a needle piercing a balloon.
The fire truck, its left tires shredded, lurched violently, skidding sideways.
It missed the van.
By the time the first shot had connected, the van had already sped away.
A quick thinker.
“V is heading into the heart of the gang.”
He was doing something reckless, driving against the flow of the fleeing gang members. There was nothing beyond them but the zombie horde.
It was a suicide mission.
The gang members were beyond reason, their eyes glazed over with fear and madness.
They didn’t even look up at the helicopters anymore.
They were firing their weapons indiscriminately, their bullets finding only their own comrades, or crashing into each other in their desperate attempts to escape.
The black van weaved through the chaos, its movements almost mocking.
It was as if the gang members were being drawn into its path, their escape routes blocked by its erratic maneuvers.
“That damn bastard…”
But whenever they got close, rifle rounds would send them scattering.
He had been shooting from a prone position before, so that was understandable. But this level of accuracy, while driving, was uncanny.
Crack! Crack!
“Damn it! That son of a bitch!”
The co-pilot’s canopy shattered, a bullet embedding itself in the metal frame near his ankle.
It wasn’t a fatal wound, but it was a clear message.
Leticia fired her rifle at the van’s roof, but the bullets ricocheted harmlessly.
The words “Emergency Cash Transport” mocked her.
“Wait a minute.”
Before she could respond, Virginia’s massive revolver swung past her face, its barrel inches from her nose.
The engraved serpent, its head crowned, sent a shiver down her spine.
It was written in Römerian.
Leticia, despite being an Elsa, could read it fluently.
She had always aspired to be a Römer, and their language had become her own.
Thud.
A hole appeared in the roof of the van,
directly above the driver’s seat. It seemed to have the desired effect.
The van braked sharply. Six shots.
The van slowed, then spun 180 degrees, its tires screeching. It didn’t overturn, though.
“Did we get him?”
Leticia had a feeling the Commander had just jinxed them.
She tried to push the thought away, but it was too late.
The van wasn’t stopping.
It was reversing, its headlights glaring defiantly.
“That stubborn bastard.”
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“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! That crazy bitch!”
I hadn’t expected a bullet to pierce my groin.
And it wasn’t just any bullet.
It was a special round, the kind reserved for high-ranking gang members,
a pistol round with the stopping power of a sniper rifle.
“…Is that silver-haired woman the boss?”
She was ruthless.
Incredibly ruthless.
I had been surprised by the helicopters, but the grenades were a new level of crazy.
I would have been toast if I hadn’t managed to shoot them down.
At least they weren’t using the miniguns.
Even this armored van wouldn’t have survived that.
And the rockets were equally terrifying.
“This isn’t good.”
The gang members were scattering, their vehicles swerving erratically.
I didn’t care about them.
They were already gone.
The problem was the zombies.
Even without a windshield, the wind was whipping through the van, carrying the stench of decay.
If I hit a zombie at this speed… it would be like driving through a meat grinder.
“…This is so impractical.”
I had once been so moved by a movie about a hitman who went on a rampage after losing his dog and his house that I had driven in reverse for a week.
In Eruptor Protocol, of course.
In real life, I was a clumsy pedestrian who couldn’t walk backwards for more than three steps without stumbling.
But with a keyboard and mouse in hand, I was a virtual racing god.
“Here goes nothing… whoa, whoa, whoa!”
I turned the steering wheel, but the van tilted precariously.
I shifted my weight, leaning into the turn, desperately trying to maintain my balance.
If we flipped, we were dead.
Dead!
…Thump!
Whew.
That was close.
The boxes I had loaded into the cargo area had shifted, their weight counteracting the van’s tilt.
I remembered Cassandra’s breasts jiggling as she helped me load the boxes.
Maybe I should have just become her pet human and enjoyed the view.
Idiot.
“…Well, maybe we’ll meet again. If I survive this.”
The van groaned, its engine protesting, but it obeyed my commands, reversing smoothly.
I couldn’t keep this up forever.
Hitting zombies would slow me down, and if I got stuck, I would be zombie chow.
I weaved through the obstacles, my speed controlled, my movements unpredictable.
One shot. One kill. I picked off the zombies one by one, maintaining a safe distance.
As expected, the zombies weren’t just mindlessly charging forward.
They were drawn to the fallen bodies, clustering around them like iron filings attracted to a magnet.
I retreated slowly, firing carefully, creating a barrier of flesh and bone.
A wall of undead, their gnashing teeth and grasping claws holding back the tide.
The zombies who hadn’t been caught in the bottleneck continued to charge forward, their movements relentless.
But the pressure on the flanks was easing, creating a gap in their encirclement.
I shifted into drive and slammed my foot on the accelerator.
Virginia watched the van’s movements, her violet eyes narrowed, her expression unreadable.
She had one bullet left in the seven-round cylinder of her massive revolver.
The barrel tracked the van’s trajectory, then stopped, the weapon locked onto its target. Leticia had no doubt that this shot would connect as well.
“…He’s out of ammo.”
But Virginia lowered the weapon.
Didn’t she have one bullet left?
The other Gendarmerie soldiers seemed to share her confusion, but none of them dared to question their commander.
“Intelligence Officer, what do you make of his strategy?”
“…He’s handling the zombies quite skillfully. He’s not just firing randomly. He’s deliberately clustering them together, creating a defensive barrier. And… he’s breaking through. But he’s still within minigun and rocket range.”
The minigunners had their targets locked. They were ready to fire on command. But Virginia, instead of giving the order, asked another question.
“Squadron Leader, what’s our status? Can we pursue him?”
“Negative. We have a fuel leak. We’re already pushing it, considering we still have to eliminate the remaining zombies and escort the Disease Crisis Management Agency personnel to Hampton City.”
“Firepower?”
“Angel 4 lost a rocket pod, so we’re a bit light.”
“Then we’ll abandon the pursuit. Proceed with the original mission. White Knight to Angels, proceed with the original mission. Escort the Disease Crisis Management Agency personnel to Hampton City and eliminate the remaining zombies. Angel 11, focus on the stragglers in the wasteland. Over.”
The miniguns roared to life, their barrels spewing a torrent of lead.
The riflemen calmly aimed for the heads, their shots precise and deadly.
Grenades and rockets rained down on the denser clusters of zombies.
The rockets, fired in rapid succession, created a fiery whip, tearing through the zombie horde, incinerating everything in their path.
The zombies didn’t even try to flee.
They continued to claw and bite, their bodies mangled and burning, their hunger insatiable.
Even as she fired her rifle, Leticia couldn’t help but glance at her commander.
Virginia was still watching the retreating van, her lips twitching.
It was difficult to tell if she was suppressing a smile or struggling to contain her anger.
But her eyes, they were alive, burning with an intensity Leticia had never seen before.
“Leticia.”
“Yes, Commander.”
“I was wrong.”
“…What do you mean?”
“I need to revise my assessment of the Elza people. They’re not all weak-willed fools. Some of them, despite their cowardice and their penchant for trickery, are quite resourceful. Oh, I wasn’t referring to you, of course. You’re a Römer.”
“…Thank you for your consideration. You were referring to V, weren’t you?”
“If he returns, I’ll need to learn more about the Elza moderates. We need to investigate them further. The Elza intelligence moderates, who supposedly went underground… if V is representative of their capabilities…”
Virginia smiled, a genuine smile that transformed her face.
“This might be more entertaining than I anticipated.”
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The helicopters were gone.
The sounds of miniguns and rockets faded in the distance.
They had decided to conserve their firepower for the main event, not waste it on me.
“I survived. Holy shit.”
The last time I had checked, my playtime had exceeded 1,100 hours.
I had often felt a pang of regret, wondering if I had wasted my life.
But not now.
If it weren’t for those countless hours spent honing my skills, I wouldn’t have been able to shoot down those grenades, or navigate that zombie horde.
“…This is actually doable.”
The tactics I had learned, the strategies I had memorized, they worked.
Surviving in the wasteland wouldn’t be easy, but it was possible.
The hunger was a concern, but maybe Cassandra’s advice would help.
The real challenge was the unknown.
The other half of the world, the half that hadn’t been completely destroyed.
I needed to find people, to sell the gems I had stashed in my backpack.
I needed a computer or a laptop to access the data on the USB drives.
There was so much to do, so many people to meet.
It would have been easier if the world had been completely destroyed, if the post-apocalyptic network was already established.
I knew how to navigate that world.
But this was different.
I had to learn, to adapt.
There was so much I didn’t know… and I definitely needed a new vehicle.
Driving with a shattered windshield was a pain.
The boxes of weapons, ammo, and food in the back of the van rattled in agreement.
Even the Barbie doll on the discarded backpack seemed to be cheering me on.
I had a long road ahead of me.
So much to do, so much to see.
But there was no need to rush.
I whistled cheerfully as I drove the van, its windows missing, its engine sputtering, through the wasteland.
I spotted a lone zombie shuffling towards me in the distance.
It seemed to be waving. I smiled and raised my M4 in greeting.
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“Name.”
“Römer scum. Ugh!”
“Again. Name.”
“R-Römer… scum! Gah…”
“Name!”
“Aghhhh!”
Camilla jolted awake, her body convulsing.
She retched violently, her stomach churning.
She was drenched in sweat, the air thick with a foul stench that made her gag.
Tear gas.
“Ugh… ugh…”
She hadn’t been able to look at a swimming pool since her waterboarding experience in a tear gas-filled pool.
The sound of running water sent shivers down her spine.
Swimming had once been a source of freedom, a way to escape the confines of gravity.
Now, it felt like drowning.
Römer, and its puppet state, Elza, had stolen her life. Her past. Her present. And her future.
“Get up.”
And now, they had taken her comrades as well.
“Get up! Get up, please! Open your eyes… open your eyes…”
No one moved.
“…It’s my fault. I… I wasn’t honest. If I had just said, ‘Screw the hostages, let’s go back’… then… then you wouldn’t be dead…”
More tear gas-laced water seeped into the overturned fire truck.
Panic surged through her, and she scrambled to her feet.
She instinctively grabbed her rifle, raised her arms above her head, and pushed the passenger door open.
“Ugh!”
She crawled out of the wreckage, the world greeting her with a scene of utter devastation.
The air was thick with the stench of burning flesh.
Charred and mangled zombie corpses littered the ground.
“Aghhhh!”
Even the sun seemed to be bleeding, sinking below the horizon in a fiery death throes.
“Aghhhhhhh!”
Camilla screamed at the sky, her voice raw with grief and rage.
“…Camilla?”
A weak, raspy voice.
Camilla looked down.
She saw a cage, its metal bars twisted and bent, lying amidst the carnage, its contents still moving.
“…Camilla.”
She had managed to free herself from the wreckage of the fire truck.
She reloaded her rifle and pistol.
There were a few zombies still twitching nearby, but they posed no threat.
She approached the cage cautiously.
“Grrr… grrrr…”
A zombie was thrashing inside the cage, its body mangled by minigun fire, the cage itself barely holding together.
But it was still trying to reach the naked man trapped on the other side.
Its teeth were broken, its gums bleeding, its jaw contorted in a grotesque snarl.
“Hoot.”
Hoot’s condition was unbearable to witness.
“…Camilla… gah…”
“Why… why did you betray us, Hoot?”
“Gah… betray? Heh… heh heh… the real traitor… is Hans… Camilla…”
“What?”
“…Bomb… bomb… gah…”
The zombification process was taking hold.
His eyes were bloodshot, his teeth chattering.
His stomach swelled and deflated like a balloon.
He was losing his mind.
“You were too scared to carry the bomb, and now you’re talking about betrayal?”
“Heh… heh heh heh… that bomb… it contained the virus… you thought it was just a bomb… heh… heh heh…”
“What are you talking about?”
Hoot shook his head, his face contorted in pain.
Camilla wanted to pull him out of the cage, to shake him, to demand answers.
“What are you talking about?!”
“…I told you… I told you everything… the safe house… the hideout… how Hans tricked us… Camilla… Camilla… Camilla…”
“…Tell me.”
“Kill me.”
He was crying.
“Please… I don’t want to live as a zombie… Camilla… please kill me… I know… I’m an idiot… I spilled everything under torture… but… but I couldn’t let him release the virus in the city… I couldn’t…”
“You’re lying. Hans said it was just a bomb. A targeted assassination…”
“…Do you really think Hans wanted that? No… cough… cough! You… you don’t believe me? There’s… there’s proof… on my phone… the video… when I saw it… I knew… I knew… oh, Goddess of Hunger… why… aghhhh!”
His lips were parched, cracked.
He bit at the metal bars, his teeth scraping against the cold steel.
But his eyes, filled with tears, remained fixed on Camilla.
She raised her pistol.
The silencer did its job. Hoot smiled as he breathed his last.
Camilla slumped to the ground, her body trembling.
She looked at Hoot’s lifeless body, at the twitching zombie, at the overturned fire truck.
Grrrr…
A zombie crawled towards her, its lower body missing, its entrails dragging behind it.
It drooled, its eyes fixed on Camilla, as if she were a delectable treat.
Her pistol barked.
Thud.
The zombie collapsed.
Camilla ripped off her blood-soaked balaclava, her red hair, the color of the setting sun, cascading down her shoulders.
Where should she go?
She spotted a motorcycle, standing upright amidst the carnage, its chrome gleaming in the fading light.
It was a beacon of hope, a symbol of defiance in a world gone mad.
Like a gift from the heavens, a challenge from the devil.
Come and get me.
She raised her rifle, scanning the surroundings through the scope.
Beyond the sea of corpses, she saw tire tracks leading into the wasteland, a straight, unwavering path in a world of chaos.
On impulse, she climbed onto the motorcycle.
The key was already in the ignition.
The motorcycle accepted its new owner without complaint.
“Harbinger of War,” the inscription on the gas tank read.
A ridiculous name.
She would scratch it off later.
The motorcycle roared to life, its engine a powerful rumble.
The phone.
V had Hoot’s phone.
And if she followed these tire tracks, she would find him.
She had so many questions for him.
Who was he?
What kind of life had he led?
How had he managed to survive this chaos?
And maybe… just maybe… he could show her the way.
The motorcycle, silhouetted against the setting sun, sped into the wasteland, disappearing into the vast, unforgiving darkness.
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Crazy, yet exciting.
the author… the author is cooking, so damn hard fr!!