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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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Hans had been convinced that the man was a spy from Minsk, the Western nation.
He envisioned him as a typical Minskian agent: shrewd, calculating, self-serving, trusting nothing but contracts, and always ready to pull a dirty trick to get ahead.
Camilla hadn’t expected much from the man in terms of character.
She had focused solely on his skills.
He had not only escaped the hell of Lambert Village but had also attempted to kidnap a Disease Crisis Management Agency doctor amidst the chaos.
Although the kidnapping had failed, it demonstrated his resourcefulness.
With him, I might actually survive this.
Her head spun, the chaos overwhelming her senses, but she fought to maintain her composure.
That is, if he doesn’t shoot me first, or if my blood pressure doesn’t spike and I collapse.
He had a knack for getting under people’s skin, for pushing their buttons.
How many people has he manipulated like this?
How many has he used and discarded?
She couldn’t even imagine.
One thing was certain: he was a formidable opponent, both physically and mentally.
She was thirsty, hungry, and exhausted.
She had pushed herself to the limit, maneuvering the motorcycle through the chaotic streets, narrowly avoiding collisions.
Her body ached, her vision blurred.
…Should I have just shot him back then?
When she had finally caught up to him, he had been surrounded by zombies.
She had seen him climbing onto the roof of his van.
It had been a brief moment, but long enough to take aim.
But she had chosen to shoot the zombies instead.
Why do I always make the wrong decisions?
No. This wasn’t the time to dwell on her fallen comrades.
She had come this far.
She had to see this through.
She dramatically tossed her rifle and pistol to the ground, kicking them away from the van, but not too far. She didn’t want them to be out of reach.
Then, she removed her helmet and body armor.
A wave of nausea washed over her, a familiar sensation that accompanied exhaustion and stress.
Her vision blurred further.
She pounded on the van’s side, but her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.
“See? I’m unarmed. I’m stepping into your line of fire in five seconds. Shoot me if you want. But at least hear me out.”
She took ten steps back.
One more step to the side, and she would be in his sights.
She remembered her first diving lesson.
The water below had seemed like a solid surface, a vast, unyielding expanse.
She could have turned back, returned to the safety of the pool’s edge.
But she hadn’t.
She had taken a step forward, then another, and another.
Until that fateful day, she had been free, happy, at peace in the water.
…If I’m destined to make the wrong decisions, then let’s make another one.
Maybe two wrongs will make a right.
She took a step forward, then another.
She turned, facing the van.
The barrel of the M4 carbine gleamed in the sunlight, its cold metal seeming to pierce through her eyes, burrowing into her brain. She stumbled, her legs giving way.
“Over-Armor?”
“…What?”
She didn’t understand. The man repeated his question.
“Is that an Over-Armor brand vest?”
He was pointing at her body armor.
“Oh. Uh, yeah. I think so.”
“Nice vest.”
“You can have it, if you want.”
“Thanks.”
“Just saying…”
She collapsed.
“Cough. Cough.”
“Should I put you out of your misery if you’ve been bitten?”
She scrambled to her feet.
“N-no. No, I’m fine. I haven’t been bitten.”
“You look like you’re about to die, but you’re suddenly full of energy. You’ve definitely been bitten. Hold on, I need to borrow your pistol. The one with the silencer. Hey! Hey! Stop! What are you doing? Put your arm down!”
She lowered her arm, but her shirt, which had ridden up during the struggle, remained bunched around her waist, exposing her bruised abdomen and slender waist.
She blushed, feeling self-conscious.
“…I told you, I haven’t been bitten. I’ll take off my clothes and you can check, if you want.”
“And what if you’re hiding something under your clothes? Nice try. Step back. Further. Good. Now, what do you want?”
She lowered her shirt as she retreated.
She took a deep breath and spoke, the words she had rehearsed during her motorcycle ride finally escaping her lips.
“Let me join you.”
“No.”
She had expected that response, but it still stung. Her legs buckled, and she sank to the ground.
“…Why? I’m a good shot. I can drive. I’m not a burden. I can pull my own weight. I saved your life back there. Remember?”
“I remember. You followed me on your motorcycle, shot out my tires, and then took out that zombie when you didn’t have to.”
“You’re making this difficult.”
She stood up, her movements fueled by anger and frustration.
The man, his expression a mixture of amusement and annoyance, tightened his grip on the M4, but he didn’t aim it at her.
He was just watching.
“You owe me your life. You were in that fire truck back in Lambert, weren’t you? We were the ones who followed your instructions. I’ll admit, your shooting skills are impressive. But do you think you could have pulled that off without our help?”
But the man seemed unimpressed.
“I don’t know. You didn’t get out of the van when the 8th Gendarmerie told you to. You’re on the run too, aren’t you?”
“Yes, we are. Just like you. That’s why we should work together. You can’t survive out here alone. I can help you.”
The man seemed to be considering her offer.
He sighed.
“There are MREs in the back of the van. Take two. And a bottle of water. If that’s not enough to repay your life debt, I’ll throw in a can of food. And some ammo. 5.56, right?”
“What do you mean, ‘repay my life debt’?”
“I believe in fair trade. Take it and go. What? Not enough?”
Fair trade?
Camilla’s head spun.
It was a typical response from a stingy Westerner.
“…I’m not angry. But that’s not what I want. I want something else. I want to travel with you.”
“You want to be friends?”
His casual tone infuriated her.
“Look, can you please stop saying that? I’m about to cry. You don’t want to see that, do you? Neither do I.”
The man nodded, his expression infuriatingly smug.
“I crossed a line. Sorry. I don’t have many friends either. I wasn’t trying to make fun of you.”
That’s not the point.
Something felt off.
But she could understand his perspective.
Why would a Western spy need friends in this world?
If he had any, it would be for deception or exploitation.
He would avoid unnecessary relationships, cutting ties with anyone who wasn’t valuable to him.
“I’ll be honest. I’m a member of the Elza Liberation Front. Hans sent me and my team to retrieve the briefcase.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, his grip on the M4 tightening.
But Camilla didn’t care anymore.
She had cheated death. She didn’t want to have any regrets.
“The mission failed. My team is dead. They were good people. I made a mistake.
You wouldn’t know this, but we had a traitor in our ranks. He was turning, so I had to put him down. But before he died, he told me something. He said Hans had tricked us. He said the briefcase you have… it contains the virus.”
“What?”
The man’s eyes widened in shock.
Camilla was glad they were finally on the same page.
“You don’t believe it, do you? Neither did I. But the traitor said he had revealed the location of our safe house and our base. I heard on the radio that they’ve already been attacked. I don’t know where they’ve relocated. Hans only shares information on a need-to-know basis, to prevent leaks.”
“So you’re going to shoot me and take the briefcase back to your comrades?”
His question was sharp, but understandable.
Camilla shook her head.
“No. I don’t want to go back. Not yet. Not until I know what Hans is really planning. The briefcase? If it’s really a virus bomb, it’s better to destroy it. I don’t agree with that kind of tactic.”
The man seemed to be thinking.
He lowered the M4 slightly, but he didn’t release his grip.
The sunlight, reflecting off the metal, made Camilla dizzy.
“I have no more secrets. Nothing to hide. Ask me anything. I’ll tell you everything. Use me. Use me as bait, as a shield. Just don’t touch me, and don’t sell me to the Römer scum or their puppets. That’s all I ask.”
“That’s not a good enough reason for me to let you tag along.”
“…What?”
He lowered the rifle completely.
Or at least, she thought he did.
Her vision was blurry.
“I don’t need you. I don’t know what you mean by ‘use value,’ but I can handle myself. I understand your situation, but it’s not my problem.
And what? You want to be my shield? I’ve seen countless comrades turn on each other, shooting each other in the back, stealing everything and running away.
There’s no such thing as lasting trust. I acknowledge your skills, but I’m skilled too. So take what you need and go. I’ll handle the van. What a ridiculous request.”
“…Sorry. I misjudged you.”
Camilla stood up, her legs wobbling.
She opened the back of the van, her ears ringing. She grabbed whatever she could see.
Her throat was parched, so she ripped open a bottle of water.
Her lips, cracked and dry, stung as the water touched them, but she tilted her head back and gulped it down.
She grabbed a handful of MREs, not bothering to count them.
The water had upset her stomach.
She stumbled away from the van.
“You’re a coward, you know that?”
She shouted at the man, her voice slurred.
“You act tough, like you don’t need anyone. But you’re just afraid of being betrayed. How many people in this world haven’t been betrayed? You’re not the only one who’s lost something! We’re all in the same boat!”
She felt drunk, even though she hadn’t had any alcohol.
It must be the sun, she thought.
She saw black spots dancing in front of her eyes.
She was definitely drunk.
No.
She was talking to herself.
She was using the man as a mirror, projecting her own fears and insecurities onto him.
It was a cruel thing to do, to burden a stranger with her emotional baggage.
“You’re not the only one who has nowhere to go!”
She heard footsteps behind her.
The man was running towards her.
He grabbed a discarded gun from the ground and struck her on the back.
She collapsed, the air knocked out of her lungs.
His arm wrapped around her waist, but she was too weak to resist.
…Another wrong decision.
A black wave was approaching from the distance.
The asphalt beneath her was hot, and she curled up, her body trembling.
She thought she was a piece of meat sizzling on a grill, and she laughed.
Whoosh.
Whoosh.
The sound of rifle fire lulled her into unconsciousness.
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The woman stirred, her eyelids fluttering. She was waking up. I pressed the silenced pistol against her forehead, my voice a low hiss.
“Quiet. Zombies outside.”
Thankfully, she was the type who listened to reason, even when threatened with a gun.
I lowered the weapon, and she flexed her wrists and ankles, testing the restraints.
She looked at me questioningly, so I explained.
“You were shaking. This space is cramped. You could have injured yourself. I didn’t tie you up too tightly.”
“…Can I talk? You said there are zombies.”
Her voice, despite being a whisper, was clear and strong.
I glanced out the small window.
“It’s fine. They’re a bit far away. Distracted by a dog.”
About a hundred meters away, a group of human zombies were feasting on the carcass of a zombie dog.
There were four of them.
One had a severe stomach wound.
It was destined to starve, no matter how much it ate.
“What happened to me? Where are we?”
She was fully awake now, her eyes scanning the surroundings.
“You collapsed after grabbing the MREs. There was a pack of zombie dogs heading this way. I borrowed your pistol. I didn’t want to attract more zombies with gunfire, so I dragged you in here.”
She frowned.
“Sorry. My neck hurts.”
Of course it hurt.
I had knocked her out.
But that was her fault for walking towards the zombie dogs.
I had tried to stop her, but she was delirious, either from exhaustion or dehydration.
I had no choice but to knock her unconscious.
I had been worried she might be turning, but there were no bite marks.
“I used some clothes as a pillow, but I guess it wasn’t high enough. Some stretching should help.”
“…Thanks. Cough. Cough.”
“Want some water? Hold on, I’ll untie one of your wrists.”
“No. It’s fine.”
That was unexpected.
“You like being tied up?”
“…I’m not falling for your tricks anymore.”
“That’s a shame. Your reactions were quite entertaining.”
“Hey, what did you just say?”
There it was.
The spark of defiance.
She sighed, her shoulders slumping in resignation.
“…You know, excluding the Römer scum, because they’re not even human, you’re the first person who’s ever treated me like this.”
“How would I know?”
“I really hate you.”
She bit her lip, then chuckled.
She shook her head, her long, red hair swaying gently.
Her blue eyes, wide and bright, met mine.
Her long eyelashes were mesmerizing.
“…But thanks for saving my life. I would have died out there.”
“Consider it payment for taking out that zombie.”
“You said it wasn’t necessary.”
“I’m feeling generous.”
“Wow. You’re practically begging me to bow down and worship you.”
I chuckled and glanced out the window.
The zombie with the stomach wound had finally collapsed.
The other zombies, who had been watching patiently, lunged at the fresh corpse, their manners nonexistent.
The woman coughed again. I offered to untie her wrists, but she refused.
“You’re just going to point that gun at me if you untie me.”
“Of course.”
“Then I’d rather stay like this. Cough, cough!”
Her coughing was making me nervous.
I set the pistol down and gently helped her sit up.
I held the water bottle to her lips, and she drank greedily, her throat working convulsively.
She even choked a little.
“You’re confusing. Are you a good guy or a bad guy? Make up your mind.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. If you choke and make a noise, we’re both dead. And that coughing isn’t helping either.”
She fell silent.
The sun was setting, painting the world in hues of gold and crimson.
Even the zombies, their faces buried in the flesh of their fallen comrade, seemed to be bathed in a sacred light, their grotesque feast transformed into a solemn ritual of mourning.
“Do I… smell bad?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the sky through the small window.
“We both do. Are you uncomfortable?”
“No. I was just worried about you.”
“You being here is uncomfortable enough. I don’t care about the smell.”
She tilted her head, her blue eyes studying me intently.
The silence was unsettling, and I snapped at her.
“What? What is it?”
She continued to stare, a smile playing on her lips.
It was an unnerving smile, a mixture of amusement and something else, something I couldn’t quite decipher.
“Want me to hit you?”
My threat didn’t faze her.
“You’re really afraid of people, aren’t you?”
She smiled wider, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You’re the ridiculous one. I’m not a saint. I could have left you out there to die. But I didn’t. I tied you up, took your weapons.
You said taking out that zombie wasn’t necessary, but you’re the type who can’t stand being indebted to anyone, aren’t you? Just like everyone else.”
“I believe in fair trade.”
“I understand. I would probably feel the same way if I were in your shoes. Anyone would be on edge if they were stranded in a hostile environment, surrounded by enemies. But you don’t have to be so guarded. You might find unexpected allies.”
What was she talking about?
Had I hit her too hard?
Was she delirious?
“What do you know about my situation?”
It wasn’t a particularly funny question, but she laughed, her smile widening.
“I know enough. But you wouldn’t believe me, would you? It would be pointless to explain. You’re from the West… no. Never mind.
What I’m trying to say is… I think we could work well together. You need to survive in this world, avoid being captured, and gather information.
I’m the same. I want to survive, and I don’t want to be captured. And I have access to a lot of information. As long as it doesn’t harm Elza.
I can be a valuable asset. Like I said, I’m a good shot, and I’m quite resourceful. I won’t be a burden.”
“No.”
She seemed pleased by my rejection.
“I knew you’d say that. I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to follow you.”
“…What?”
“Kill me if you want. Shoot me. But I’ll never betray you, report you, or hinder you in any way. I’ll just follow you. And I’ll keep helping you, whether you want it or not.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to earn your trust. I won’t ask you to believe me. Just accept what I offer, and repay me however you see fit.”
“I told you, I don’t need your help.”
“I need you.”
Her smile faltered, cracks appearing on its surface like a dried-up cake.
“…I need this. I have nowhere to go. And I don’t want to go back, not yet. I know the Elza Central Liberation Front is on the wrong path, but I can’t follow them.”
“You already told me that. And you said you don’t know where they’ve relocated their base.”
“I could find out, if I really wanted to. But I don’t want to go back. Not yet. I need time to think.”
“You said you were popular, that you had a lot of friends. Go to them.”
“Most of them are members of the Front. And I’m a wanted woman. I don’t want to burden innocent people.”
“Then find a quiet place and lay low. You said you were skilled with weapons, resourceful. And you’re clearly good at following people.”
“…I hate being alone.”
Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper.
“I’ve always hated being alone. It’s gotten worse since the outbreak. I’ll be honest. It doesn’t have to be you. You were just… the first person I saw.
But… everything I believed in, everything I relied on… it’s all so… unfamiliar now. I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t know what went wrong.”
I hated this.
Understanding her.
Seeing her pain.
“When I’m feeling better, I’ll leave. I won’t be a burden. But… for now, just let me stay with you. Let me feel like I’m not alone in this world. That’s all I ask. That’s all I need.”
I looked out the window.
The zombies were getting up, their movements slow and deliberate.
They were walking back towards the hill, their bodies forming a single file line, like commuters heading home after a long day.
I watched them go.
“What I said earlier… I should have been talking to myself. Did I offend you? I’m sorry.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What I said when you were grabbing the MREs.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t hear anything. You collapsed before you could take anything.”
She hesitated, her eyes downcast.
“Did I…?”
Let’s just say she did.
For now.
She turned away from me.
“I’ve said everything I wanted to say. Kill me or let me live. It doesn’t really matter anymore.”
I set the pistol down and used my knee to pin her to the ground as I untied her ankles.
She didn’t resist.
I untied her wrists as well, then stepped back, picking up the pistol again.
She sat up, rubbing her wrists and ankles, her back against a box.
She might have given up, but there was still a flicker of hope in her eyes.
It was understandable.
“…Let’s find a radio.”
“Huh?”
“We need a radio. You take care of your own supplies. I’ll take care of mine. We’ll stay at least fifty meters apart, unless absolutely necessary.
No saving each other.
Our own survival is our top priority. Don’t get in my line of fire. I won’t hesitate to shoot. You do the same.
We’re responsible for our own safety. Don’t assume I’ll come to your rescue. I won’t. Understand?”
“I heard you.”
She started to smile, then turned away, hiding her face.
I didn’t understand why she was trying to hide her smile.
She forced her expression into a neutral mask and looked at me.
“Why fifty meters?”
“That’s far enough to find cover if I have to shoot you.”
“What? You’re going to shoot me?”
“You’ll shoot me too.”
“Fair enough.”
“I told you, I believe in fair trade.”
“Really? Then how about this?”
She suddenly pulled off her combat jacket.
“Hey! Hey!”
I had already seen her without the jacket. I knew she was wearing a tank top underneath. But there was no need to suddenly undress like that.
“Let’s play a game.”
She smiled, then rolled up her jacket and used it as a pillow, lying down on the floor.
“I’m tired. I’m going to sleep now. A deep, dreamless sleep. I’m feeling very generous, so you can shoot me or do whatever you want while I’m asleep. But don’t underestimate me.”
“…That’s your idea of a game?”
“No. Hear me out. When it’s time to switch shifts, wake me up. Then, you have a choice. You can either trust me completely and let me sleep soundly, or you can stay awake, suspicious, trapped in a state of perpetual anxiety.
“What kind of game is that?”
“It’s a simple game. Choose between self-doubt and trust. Is it really that difficult? I’ll give you a hint: I’m going to trust you completely. I’ve made my choice. Now it’s your turn.”
“Aren’t you going to get up?”
“Didn’t you say there were zombies outside?”
“Oh, right.”
She laughed, tears welling up in her eyes.
“I’m Camilla.”
“Johan.”
“Nice to meet you, Johan.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss Camilla Rose.”
“What?”
She sat up abruptly, her face a mask of shock.
“How… how did you know that?”
How did I know?
I had seen her abs when I was checking for bite marks.
She wasn’t lying about being a model.
I had seen her face on billboards all over the cities in Eruptor Protocol.
Beautiful, glamorous, her image used to sell everything from luxury clothing to washing machines.
The hairstyles, the outfits, the settings were all different, but the face was the same.
People had speculated that the developers had simply reused the same model.
But one of the players who had datamined the game had discovered that it was all the same person: Camilla Rose.
Her real name is Camilla Rose, but only her family knows that, the hidden note had read.
There were countless ads.
High-end clothing. Designer bags. Luxury apartments. Washing machines. Lingerie. Swimsuits.
She had done it all, her chameleon-like ability to transform herself making her almost unrecognizable.
But her most famous ad was the Elza Liberation Front’s propaganda poster: “To the Battlefield!” It featured her holding a rifle, her expression fierce, her body a weapon.
I had suspected it was her real name, but her reaction confirmed it.
“Want to play another game?”
I leaned against the van, mirroring her posture.
“Should I report you? Or should I let you go?”
“…Go ahead. Report me. I’ll report you too.”
She leaned against the van, her back to mine.
“That woke you up, didn’t it?”
“How did you know my name? Who are you? No one… no one knows that. It’s a secret. Only my family knows. Stop laughing and tell me! How did you know?!”
I held out the pistol, offering it to her.
She hesitated, her hand hovering over the weapon.
“I’m betting you won’t shoot me or touch me. And since I revealed your secret, I’ll tell you one of mine. That’s fair, right? I like fair trade.”
“…What is it?”
“I’m not from this world. That’s how I know your real name.”
She didn’t believe me, of course. She just glared at me, as if I were a thief.
“I know one thing for sure.”
“What?”
“Johan, you’re a real villain. Or maybe a monster.”
“You’re the one who wanted to join the villain, or the monster.”
“…Why do I always make the wrong decisions?”
I let her wallow in self-pity as I leaned against the van, my eyes scanning the horizon, observing the zombies’ movements.
I remembered a line from a novel I had read: A person without secrets is as poor and empty as a person without possessions.
Today was the same as yesterday, and tomorrow would be the same as today.
A life devoid of secrets, of mystery.
A monotonous existence, a slow, steady erosion of the soul, until you were nothing but an empty shell.
Maybe a few well-placed secrets, a touch of mystery, a dash of intrigue, wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
I had a feeling I would sleep well tonight.
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