“…A single Pigeon missile wiped out twelve targets, and X-16 mopped up eleven more, in under a minute… If you can help me collect enough AI cores, I could even build you an android army—under a million silver coins a head. Think it over?”
Atop the Great Wall.
Ibers, looking down over the slums, wore the grin of a man who loved a good mess and prattled on with his commentary.
Before, all he could do was stand up here and watch those organics shoot it out from a distance, at most selling them a few guns they could afford.
Now, at last, he could step onto the field himself.
He was thoroughly pleased with this new shareholder. Turning a profit for Boulder Military Industries and watching organics find creative ways to get themselves killed were two of his few pleasures—and the meaning of his existence.
He had none of humanity’s tangled heap of desires anyway, and he cared even less for consumption, reproduction, art, philosophy—all those ways humans had of relieving their loneliness.
In the crumbling, cluttered alleys, clusters of dark figures began falling back. The gangsters had been scared witless by X-16’s sudden descent onto the battlefield.
A few Drone assault rifles were the heaviest firepower they had, at best a couple of cheap RPG launchers. Most of the gangsters had nothing but pistols and pipe rifles; they were no match for X-16 at all.
Nor had they ever imagined they would end up facing Boulder Military Industries androids.
In most gangsters’ memory, the towering Great Wall had never lifted a finger against rats in the gutters like them, because there was no profit in it.
They could not for the life of them work out what they had done to deserve a missile dropping out of the sky on their heads, and still less why the esteemed Mr. Ibers would throw expensive androids into a place like this.
Their lives put together weren’t worth as much as one of those things!
A human life is far too short.
So short that people take the usual state of things for granted.
Almost no one remembered that a century ago, Boulder City had struck them with an iron fist.
“The little mice are retreating…” Watching the ground below the Great Wall, Ibers grinned wide enough to pull the corners of his mouth back. “Speaking of which—how’s your consideration coming along?”
No answer.
Left hanging for a good while, Ibers glanced back and found the man already gone. He blinked, then shook his head with a laugh.
“Tsk, tsk. Impatient fellow.”
…
[Hidden Quest: Discover and destroy the gang stronghold (Completed)]
[Brief: A welfare home disguised as an abandoned building was in fact a den where gang members kept and sold slaves.]
[Reward: 300 contribution points, 1,000 regional reputation, 599 silver coins]
[New quest alert: Investigate the welfare home’s basement and wait for Alliance troops to arrive (In progress)]
A dark, damp, cold basement.
Along both sides of the narrow passage stood rows of crooked cells.
At the sound of the door opening and footsteps from the entrance, rustling rose from the cells, and faces pressed up against the bars to peer out curiously.
There were boys and girls alike; the oldest were sixteen or seventeen, already adults by wasteland reckoning, and the youngest six or seven—children anywhere.
It was a different picture entirely from a marauder den’s dungeon.
So that their “merchandise” would fetch a good price, the gangsters generally did not mistreat them.
According to Horaka’s confession, most were orphans; some had been sold here by their families, and some had been rounded up by the likes of Miles.
Most people in the slums knew such a place existed, but nobody did anything about it. Even if the trouble sat right under their noses, not everyone would run into it—and without those “order-keeping” gangsters, the slums might well be worse off.
This was the wasteland, after all.
Compared with starving or dying of disease, the handful who got sold off hardly counted for anything. And often prostitutes needed a place like this to deal with the trouble that came of accidents… Of course, that was just the excuse the NPC named Horaka had offered to defend herself.
She put her weapon away.
Feng Qing walked on down the narrow passage and caught in the corner of her eye a small, childish face staring at her with big round eyes.
The little girl looked about eleven or twelve, a length of grayish-blue linen wrapped around her as a dress.
Stopping at the bars, Feng Qing bent down with her hands on her knees and gave the round-eyed girl a friendly smile.
“What’s your name?”
Perhaps because she looked kind, the girl was not frightened of her at all, and answered in a clear, sweet voice.
“Ganju!”
“Ganju… that’s a lovely name.”
Little Ganju lifted the corners of her mouth smugly.
“Mm-hmm, Sister Horaka gave it to me!”
“Sister Horaka… is that the sister outside with the freckles beside her nose?”
“Yes!” Little Ganju nodded happily. “I heard there used to be a Ganju too, a big Ganju, but a kind person adopted her and took her away, so the name got left to me.”
It was clear she loved the name, did not dislike the woman outside at all, and even thought of her as a mother.
Feng Qing felt a pang in her chest.
Maybe because the NPCs here seemed more human than humans did, this game always turned painfully real in the strangest places.
“How long have you all been living down here?”
“A month… maybe?”
Ganju tilted her head. She was not too sure how long she had been here—after all, no one usually lived down here.
Maybe?
Ganju went on in a low voice, trying to remember.
“We used to live upstairs, and only kids who’d done something wrong got brought down here… Then Sister Horaka said the bad men from the Alliance had come, and they were going to grab us all and eat us. But she told us not to be scared. She said she’d protect us, and we should hide down here for a while and not make too much noise.”
Listening to that childish voice, Feng Qing did not know whether to laugh or cry.
Bad men, huh…
Then again, it made sense.
The wasteland had nothing as convenient as the internet.
For all anyone knew, far to the south, or in the lands west of the Great Desert, the Alliance might well be the symbol of evil.
Seeing that the older girl said nothing, Ganju ventured on quietly.
“It’s so stuffy in the basement, and who knows when the Alliance will leave… Sister, are you going to take me with you?”
She thought this sister seemed pretty nice.
She was pretty, and her clothes were nice too.
“Do you want to come with me?”
“Yes! Sister Horaka said everyone gets adopted, and the sooner the better, because it’s trouble if you’re late, so when outsiders come you have to be good.” Seeing that someone was willing to adopt her, Ganju’s eyes lit up. She held up her small hand and seriously counted off on her fingers. “I can sweep, mop, and wash windows, and I can wipe tables too…”
Watching her count on her fingers, Feng Qing felt her heart tighten, but she kept a smile on her face and offered a gentle word of praise.
“That’s wonderful. Not like me—all I can do is recite poetry.”
“Poetry?” Ganju tilted her head.
“Mm-hm!” Feng Qing stroked her head lightly. “I’ll teach you once we’re out of here.”
She knew plenty of poems—not only the few lines she had carved on her plane to amuse herself.
Back at the basement entrance.
Glancing at Horaka, tied up beside the cage, Feng Qing sighed.
“You know, maybe you’d better go down and do your repenting after all.”
Horaka’s face was pale as she pleaded.
“Don’t—don’t kill me… I told you everything. I was forced into it. If I hadn’t worked for Mr. West, I’d have been sold to the marauders.”
“Save that argument for the judge.”
Feng Qing glanced out the corridor window.
Two wheeled armored vehicles stood at the courtyard gate nearby, the 20mm heavy machine guns on their roofs giving off a grim, cold gleam. Well-trained soldiers had swiftly secured the whole area, and with support from small drones they moved in four-man teams, searching building by building for armed men.
The vehicles bore the insignia of the First Corps.
Quite a few of them had come, too—a full century, by the look of it.
Although their operations in Sunset Province were mainly about keeping order in the occupied zones, they had also gone to the front and fought in several battles when the players could not handle things alone.
An NPC force that had only one life to lose fought more like a regular army.
For a handful of gangs to challenge the Alliance’s war machine—they had to have a death wish.
“…The way things are shaping up, there might be a big event for New Year’s Eve after all.” Excitement crept into Feng Qing’s eyes.
A squad of soldiers in exoskeletons came through the main gate. Catching Feng Qing’s eye, they walked over.
The soldier in the lead flipped up his helmet’s visor, struck his right fist against his left chest, and said crisply.
“The 21st Century of the First Corps has been ordered to take over this area. We’ll handle it from here.”
As he spoke, a line of pale blue text updated on her VM.
[Quest: Investigate the welfare home’s basement and wait for Alliance troops to arrive (Completed)]
Mimicking the NPC’s gesture, Feng Qing put her right fist to her chest and returned the salute, then smiled politely.
“Right! They’re all yours.”
The captain beckoned. One squad headed for the basement, two more went upstairs to search, and the rest waited on standby in the hall.
Watching the fully armed soldiers, Horaka, slumped on the floor, went ashen.
She had no doubt at all that the Dagger Gang, which had once ruled the slums, was likely finished this time…
The children locked in the cells were soon brought out.
What Feng Qing had not expected was that the dungeon, which had not looked especially roomy, had held ninety-seven of them.
Since the surface was far colder than the basement and there were no clothes on the vehicles that would fit them, the Alliance soldiers could only wrap them in quilts found in the building for now, to be handed over to the professionals once they reached the Refugee Home.
The rescued children clutched their quilts and stared blankly at the soldiers in exoskeletons, their faces full of terror, yet they did not dare make a sound.
Some of the older girls had guessed something, but their faces were just as full of bewilderment about the future.
Spotting Feng Qing by the door, Little Ganju stopped and spoke in a small voice.
“Sister… are you with the Alliance?”
She was not the cleverest, but seeing the look on Sister Horaka’s face, she had figured out a thing or two.
The soldier escorting her to the vehicle did not hurry her along; he simply stopped beside her.
Feng Qing crouched down to her level, stroked her head, and comforted her gently.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going to eat you.”
Ganju asked quietly.
“Then… where will they take us?”
Feng Qing thought for a moment and tried to describe it.
“Mm… a place warmer than this one, where people will teach you to read and write and do arithmetic.”
Ganju’s expression fell a little.
“Won’t anyone adopt us anymore?”
Feng Qing did not know how to answer that, but seeing the forlorn look on the little girl’s face, she had a sudden idea and smiled.
“But I can come and play with you.”
Ganju’s eyes lit up at once.
“Really?!”
“Mm-hm!” Feng Qing nodded firmly, looked her in the eye, and held out her little finger. “Pinky swear.”
She did not know what the gesture meant, but after their fingers hooked together and swung back and forth, the little girl felt warm inside.
Suddenly the Alliance did not seem so frightening after all.
Maybe Sister Horaka had remembered it wrong?
With a happy thank-you, Little Ganju waved hard in farewell and obediently followed the soldier to the armored vehicle outside the courtyard gate.
Watching the vehicle drive off, Feng Qing waved gently, wearing an auntie-like smile.
So cute…
Could I keep one?
Suddenly realizing her smile had gotten out of hand, Feng Qing flushed red and hastily shook her head to drive the strange thought away.
“Right… spices. I need to buy some spices and bring them back.” Muttering to herself, she hurried out of the courtyard toward the market at the Great Wall’s main gate.
She had nearly forgotten what she came for!
It was almost dark.
Going now, who knew whether she would make it in time…
…As it turned out, she was already too late.
A sentry post stood at the slums’ main entrance, with barbed wire and barricades strung along the perimeter, and troops in large numbers were passing through the checkpoint into the slums.
Without papers, you could go in but not come out.
Loudspeakers mounted on wooden poles kept announcing into the slums, ordering uninvolved residents to stay in their homes and avoid stray bullets.
The storm had come suddenly and swiftly, without the slightest warning, as if it had been prepared long in advance.
The slums were not the only thing sealed off; the First Corps had also cordoned off the market before the Great Wall gate and shut it down completely.
A crowd of traders and mercenaries gathered at the market entrance, shouting angrily at the First Corps soldiers.
“What do you think you’re doing?!”
“We’re here to do business! We’re not your residents!”
“Are you bandits or what?!”
“Enough! I’ll drop the whole deal if it comes to that—just let me leave—”
In a sense, the Alliance’s move broke a convention Boulder City had kept for over a century, reaching its hand beyond the Great Wall.
Most of these people were armed, and the atmosphere on the spot was on a hair trigger.
Just as the crowd was cursing and shouting, a loud voice cut through the noise of the market before the gate.
“Quiet!”
Sweeping his eyes over the furious crowd, Wrench raised his voice and went on.
“We’ve received word that a pack of criminal gangs is running rampant on the outskirts of the Great Wall. These near-kin of the marauders are beyond arrogant—not only do they commit murders and other crimes right under our noses, they even dared to kidnap our citizens on our own territory. The Administrator has ordered a thorough investigation!”
“Rest assured, we won’t let a single villain slip through, and we won’t wrongly accuse a single innocent.”
Before he had even finished, the crowd grew loud again. Clearly some people were stirring them up, whipping the wastelanders’ feelings into a frenzy.
“What’s that got to do with us?! We’re not the ones who kidnapped your people!”
“This is outside your settlement—we haven’t even set foot in your house. You’re overstepping!”
“Where exactly are the Alliance’s borders, anyway? Everywhere you look it’s your turf—”
“Bang—!”
The ear-splitting gunshot brought every voice to a halt.
Looking coldly over the noisy wastelanders, Wrench, gun still raised toward the sky, went on in an icy voice.
“I wasn’t finished talking.”
The machine guns atop the armored vehicles swung to point their way from a distance, and the black, grim muzzles sent a chill down countless spines.
Faced with those murderous stares, even the most vicious wastelanders had to remember the old truth: live to fight another day.
It was not just fully armed soldiers surrounding them; there were the vault residents as well.
Aside from a few who looked none too bright with their bizarre cybernetic implants, many of them gave off the unmistakable air of the Awakened.
The gangsters mixed in with the crowd broke out in cold sweat. Seeing a show of force that meant business, they felt a faint, ominous premonition.
Seeing the crowd fall dead silent, Wrench holstered his pistol without changing expression and went on, brief and to the point.
“Wherever our bullets fly, that’s where our authority reaches.”
“Everything within range is our territory.”
A large column of armored vehicles came down from the north, along with No. 1 tanks fresh from the front line. Those murderous-looking machines of armor chilled countless people to the bone.
Just then a centurion in heavy exoskeleton walked up to Wrench and saluted.
“The slums are fully sealed off!”
Wrench nodded.
“Prepare to execute phase two.”
“Yes, sir!”
The centurion snapped to attention, saluted, and jogged to the roadside, signaling the armored vehicles to start up and leading his men toward the checkpoint.
The militia chiliarch, whose forces were taking part in the operation, glanced toward the checkpoint and then at Wrench.
“Weren’t we moving after the New Year?”
“Someone tried to kidnap vault residents. The operation’s been moved up.”
They were more or less ready anyway, and a few days one way or the other made little difference. To keep those people from slipping away into the wasteland, the Administrator had ordered them to move early.
At Wrench’s answer, the chiliarch’s face showed surprise.
Kidnap vault residents?
Did those people have a death wish?
“Is she all right?”
Wrench answered offhandedly.
“If you mean the people who kidnapped her, they’re probably all dead by now.”
Chiliarch: “…”
After getting the wastelanders in the market under control, the First Corps did not immediately comb through the gangsters hiding among them. They merely left a window for turning themselves in, then shifted the focus of the operation to the slums next door.
The cameras on the Great Wall and Boulder Military Industries’ drones had long since locked onto the residences of the major gang bosses, and the Pigeon missiles and 155mm howitzers deployed on the wall stood ready to carry out a surgical cleanup at any moment.
One after another, the armored vehicles, with infantry in support, drove straight into the slums, heading right for the gangs’ strongholds.
As the Administrator put it: catch the biggest fish first—the ones making the most noise—then kill off a batch of the middle-sized ones, and the small fry would quiet down on their own.
The First Corps was not the only one carrying out the mission; the Burning Corps stationed in Boulder City joined in as well.
The moment they heard there was a “big job” ordered by the Administrator himself, the players who had been busy preparing New Year’s Eve festivities dropped what they were doing, grabbed their gear, and rushed to the assembly point.
How could fighting mutants compare with the thrill of beating on marauders?
The last team battle felt like ages ago!
Within moments, the Burning Corps had assembled more than five hundred members.
In the snow-white expanse, Lao Bai, in power armor with a rifle over his shoulder, walked to the front of the formation, switched on his loudspeaker, and bellowed.
“The wanted list has been updated in the quest log! One million silver coins in bounties to split!”
“Full price alive, half price dead!”
At such rich rewards, every last one of the players, geared up and ready, had eyes turning green.
As if what hid in the slums were not gangsters but walking gold coins—bounties that breathed!
Noticing a power-armored figure walking up beside him, Jieyan in the ranks blinked, then recognized the guy as Ye Shi and blurted out.
“Holy crap! Ye Shi, you’re a Perception-type—how’d you end up in power armor too?!”
He flipped up his helmet’s visor.
Ye Shi, in an OD-10 “Dragoon” power armor, glanced down at Jieyan, who was a full head shorter, and grinned.
“Heh, my contribution points hit Knight level a while ago. Why shouldn’t I wear it? Want me to lend you some?”
Jieyan: “Damn it!”
The idea was tempting—Ye Shi probably wouldn’t push him to pay it back—but after thinking it over, Jieyan dropped the notion.
A suit of power armor cost a million silver coins. If he had only been a little short, he would have borrowed it, but sadly he was more than a little short.
Better to wait until his contribution points climbed to Knight rank and save up to buy one himself.
Looking at his noisy comrades, Lao Bai cleared his throat and shouted.
“None of you are rookies, so I’ll skip the nonsense.”
“Check your gear. Prepare to move out!”
The answer was a chorus of loud, excited cheers.
“Wooooo!”
Though they were close to the slums, they were not the least bit worried about being overheard. The locals were hardly trained functional NPCs; they could not understand the “dialect” spoken in the vaults at all.
On top of that, from the very start of the operation the Alliance had launched electronic warfare against the slum gangs, jamming the radio frequencies the major gangs commonly used.
By now the gangs’ leadership had completely lost control of their rank and file. Their eyes and ears planted throughout the slums had all become useless; they could only pass word by mouth in the chaos, or fight on their own.
The Guards Corps had begun collecting and monitoring the gangsters’ comms channels long ago, a task carried out alongside the infiltration and investigation of the slums.
The Alliance’s electronic warfare did not work so well against the Legion and was sometimes even suppressed by it, but bullying these small-timers was all too easy.
Most of the gangsters were barely capable of working a walkie-talkie, and a civilian model bought at the market at that.
Against the Alliance’s well-trained regulars and wolf-hungry players, these scattered fighters in the slums were quickly cut off, surrounded, and picked off one by one.
The crack of gunfire rang out like firecrackers set off early; orange muzzle flashes and tracer rounds streaked freely through the narrow alleys.
In the space of a single hour, countless gangsters in the slums were killed or wounded. On one street alone, over a hundred bodies lay sprawled at all angles, and those trapped in the alleys were beyond counting; the mud soaked with snowmelt was steeped dark red with blood.
This could no longer be called a war.
It was a one-sided slaughter!
Standing in the doorway of the West Willow Tavern and staring at the two armored vehicles pulled up at the roadside, West’s face was a mask of shock and terror, his eyes glaring blood red.
He had anticipated that the Alliance might move against them, but not this fast—so fast he had no time to prepare at all.
Seeing the troops who had sealed off the place completely, West knew resistance meant certain death, and immediately roared at the enforcers inside the bar.
“Put your guns down, all of you! Are you insane? You think these toys can take on power armor and tanks out there?!”
His men were stunned into silence, not knowing what to do.
West gritted his teeth, made up his mind, picked up a briefcase, and strode out, shouting at the soldiers aiming at him.
“Don’t shoot! Wait! Don’t shoot!”
Killing Dagger, planted there on two enormous fists, looked at him and grinned.
“What? Got some last words to say?”
Glancing timidly at those fists the size of iron pots, West swallowed, gave an uneasy smile, and opened the briefcase.
Inside lay bundle after bundle of colorful banknotes!
Some were Cr, some were silver-coin notes, and the rest were pale brown bills of unknown origin—worth a fair amount, whatever they were.
“Sir… I beg you to be merciful and let me go. Consider this money a token of my respect for you and your men.”
Before Killing Dagger could speak, Shendoushi, who had nothing left of him but a head and four limbs, glared and tightened his grip on his weapon.
“Don’t be stupid! If I shoot you dead, the money’s still mine!”
Hao Gou was startled and quickly held him back.
“Hold on—this guy’s on the wanted list. Full price alive, half price dead!”
Shendoushi paused, then chuckled.
“Right! Take him alive! Cuff him!”
A few players stepped up at once, shoved the man with the briefcase face-down onto the ground, and paid no attention to his squawking.
His arms pinned behind his back, choking on muddy water, West’s face was a picture of humiliation, regret, and despair.
These people had no sense of honor at all!
If he had known, he would have fled by the back paths…
From the tavern behind him came a burst of dense gunfire, which did not last long before the last flickering flame was snuffed out.
He did not have to wait long before he saw another squad of soldiers marching Jeff—who had fled to the safe house earlier—toward him.
And not only them.
Caught along with them were the boss of the Dean Gang, the Poison Gang’s second-in-command…
Looking at those familiar faces, West’s heart sank to the very bottom.
Only now did he understand.
The Alliance had been watching them for a long time—and had probably marked on a map the very routes they would use to run.
Jeff, covered in dirt, was hauled along by a suit of power armor and forced to kneel beside West.
The soldiers seemed to be sorting them into categories.
Unable to struggle free, Jeff’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He looked at the power armor standing beside him and spoke in a hoarse voice.
“Even if you kill me, other gangs will take our place. That solves nothing.”
“Let me see your leader… the esteemed Administrator. We can cooperate. I’ll do the dirty work you can’t be seen doing. Just give me a chance!”
Lao Bai, standing nearby, glanced at this babbling fellow and suddenly smiled.
“Cooperate? You flatter yourselves.”
He had actually seen these people before.
It had been a long time ago.
The Alliance had posted no quest to wipe these people out back then, but he had known that one day the Administrator would deal with them.
Jeff froze.
The man’s next words dropped him into an ice pit.
“You’re not worth recycling. We’re better off with you dead.”
“As for the others who turn out like you—”
“I’ll send them to keep you company.”
Chapter 552