Fighting Poison with Poison

On an open lot near the wilderness on the northern outskirts of Evernight Port, two trucks were parked. The tailgates hung open, revealing rows of gleaming, polished black assault rifles stowed inside. The Hyena Gang members gathered before the trucks stared with wide, fixated eyes. In particular, York, the cleft across his burly chest bare, gazed hungrily at a large-caliber shotgun, his greedy eyes practically glowing green. All of these were standard-issue Legion firearms. Beyond the familiar "Blade" assault rifles, there was even a 7mm "Ripper" light machine gun! The Ripper was a newly designed firearm from the Southern Legion Equipment Manufacturing Bureau, created to meet front-line combat requirements in the Brahma Province theater. Production had only just commenced, and the very first batch had recently been delivered to the warehouses of Evernight Port. Curiously enough, this suppressing light machine gun had not yet reached the troops at the front lines, but the gang members of Blackwater Lane were now reaping the benefits first. Four Enlightenment Society "initiates" stood beside the two trucks, keeping a vigilant watch on the thugs. Of course, they were not real Enlightenment Society disciples, but operatives from the garrison's intelligence section. Down to their bones, they detested these scoundrels. Yet for the sake of higher interests, they had no choice but to swallow their pride and cooperate with them. Kant felt the same way. He looked down on these filthy hyenas from the bottom of his heart, but having reached this point, he could only grit his teeth and push forward. Glancing toward Talan, who was standing to one side, Kant pinched out his cigarette, tossed the butt to the ground, and crushed it beneath his boot. "...I must remind you, if these arms leak out into the civilian population, the repercussions for us will be severe." Talan chuckled, thinking to himself that it was none of his business, though he put on an earnest show of reassurance. "I know, but no matter what, they're far less dangerous than those narcotics, aren't they? Just let that social garbage slaughter each other. Can they really flip the sky upside down? No matter how capable they are, can they outgun a 902mm cannon?" These words put Kant somewhat at ease. Meanwhile, Morse finished tallying the equipment and returned to Talan and Kant with a radiant smile. His demeanor was noticeably more respectful than before, like an attack dog that had recognized its master. If he had harbored any doubts about the Enlightenment Society's capabilities earlier, now only admiration remained. Two truckloads of military arms. Without high-level connections in the garrison, pulling this off would be unthinkable! "Are these weapons enough?" Talan asked with a smile, looking at the tamed hyena. "Enough, far more than enough!" Morse replied with a delighted grin, bowing respectfully. "Give me half a day, and I guarantee you'll be satisfied with the result." Two whole truckloads of weapons! It was enough to equip two centuries! Never mind a nobody like Tony—he even felt confident enough to march to the front lines and wipe out a whole regiment! "You'd better deliver." Kant gave him a meaningful look, then turned and walked back to the sedan parked nearby. Talan patted Morse on the shoulder with a look of approval. "Do well. Consider this your pledge of loyalty to the Society!" Suppressing his surging joy, Morse bowed and accepted the order. "Yes, sir!" ... At that moment, Tony had no idea that before the garrison had even set its sights on his operation, a deranged mad dog had already fixed its eyes on him through a bizarre twist of fate. In the southwestern corner of Blackwater Lane, nestled in the heart of the crowded slums, stood a cannery. Its doors and windows were heavily veiled by thick cloth curtains, making it look at first glance like nothing more than an abandoned factory that had failed under poor management. Yet pulling back the curtains and stepping inside revealed a scene of bustling industry. Fully armed gang members guarded the factory entrance. Beyond their checkpoint stretched long tables in orderly rows, functioning like a non-stop assembly line. A crew of laborers from Brahma Province was busily at work along the tables. They ground tranquilizers issued by the logistics depot for wounded soldiers into powder, separated the compounds inside extraction flasks, and then handed them over to several specialists in chemical protection suits, who refined the valuable ingredients into dark green crystals. Despite the harsh working conditions and the complete lack of necessary safety gear, the laborers from Brahma Province worked diligently and uncomplainingly. After all, the hourly wage here was triple what they could earn back home. A single day of busting their backs here matched a full week of labor in their homeland. Hardships that the natives of the Great Desert could not endure, they bore without a single grumble, even feeling they had landed an incredible deal. The gang members supervising the production stood aside smoking cigarettes, reluctant to venture too close to the "workshop." The purification process required many chemical reagents, many of which were highly volatile and hazardous. Most of the Brahma laborers had long lost their sense of smell, but to the guards, the fumes were overwhelmingly pungent. Up on the second floor beside a storage container, a burly man was thumbing through a cargo manifest. Behind him stood two lackeys with PU-9 submachine guns slung at their hips, while the factory manager stood before him. The fawning smile on the manager's face made the difference in their status abundantly clear. Indeed, the burly man was Tony's top enforcer, known as "Skull Crusher" Raggu. He had once been a wrestler in the underground rings. After breaking his legs for winning a match he was supposed to throw, Tony took him in, fitted him with military-grade cybernetics, and brought him into the Iron Hand Gang. Though his knotty muscles gave him the appearance of a brute, the reality was quite the opposite. Because of his meticulous attention to detail, his ability to balance coarseness with finesse, and his unwavering loyalty, Tony had soon entrusted him with running the Iron Hand Gang's most lucrative racket. Flipping through the inventory sheet, Raggu asked the manager, "How is production going on the new batch?" With an eager smile, the manager hastily reported, "We've already produced fifty kilograms! These workers from Brahma Province are getting more and more proficient. Output efficiency has doubled since they first arrived—our raw material deliveries can barely keep up with their pace." "Good." Raggu nodded approvingly, but then shifted the topic. "Once this batch of raw materials runs out, give the workers two days off and halt production for now." "Halt?" The manager froze, concerned. "But the boss—" "This is the boss's order." Sensing the manager's hesitation, Raggu offered a faint smile and explained, "Reclaiming little pills from those frontline grunts is far too inefficient. The purification costs are high, and secrecy is an issue. The boss managed to secure a deal with a primary supplier, so in the future, we can produce snake oil directly from snake grass." The manager shuddered with excitement, his face instantly lighting up. "Really?! That's... fantastic! If we can produce snake oil directly from raw plants, our capacity could increase fivefold—no, maybe even tenfold!" Raggu clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. "Good that you understand. I need you to redesign an assembly line to produce the old product with the new materials." The manager puffed out his chest, beaming with enthusiasm. "That's easy as pie. Leave it to me—" Before he could finish, a deafening explosion shattered the air outside the factory. The booming blast rooted everyone to the spot. Even the Brahma laborers standing before the long tables went pale in unison. They turned to their fellow countrymen, trading terrified glances. "What happened?" "An explosion?" "Damn it... is there a war here too?!" As their panicked cries rose, a gunshot suddenly cracked inside the factory. *Bang—!* "Shut up!" Raggu roared at the ceiling, pistol raised, his booming voice instantly silencing the chaotic floor. "...Move the flammables and explosives into the storeroom, then get down by the wall with your hands on your heads and stay put! Don't you fucking dare run around and catch a stray bullet! I'm not reimbursing you for your heads!" "Security, grab your guns! Time to earn your keep! Get ready to charge with me!" With that, he reached down, hoisted the cowering manager to his feet, and shoved the coward toward the stairs. "And you! Go notify the boss! Get moving, damn it!" "Y-yes, right away!" the manager squawked, his voice cracking. He had never witnessed such madness. Scrambling downstairs, he barged into the security office, snatched up the telephone, and reported the situation to the boss. Outside, crackling gunfire had already erupted as the attackers engaged the perimeter guards. Inside the plant, Raggu lit a cigarette for himself, strolled over to a window, and pulled back the curtain to peer out. The opposing firepower was ferociously intense. Every single one of them carried an automatic rifle, suppressing his submachine-gun-wielding men until they couldn't even raise their heads. Who the hell were these guys?! Fearing rebellion from other races, the Southern Legion had always maintained strict weapons control over them. Unless an outsider managed to rise to the rank of centurion or higher in the regular army, it was virtually impossible to legally obtain regular military weaponry, and even if they got hold of some, they could never openly carry it. Raggu wracked his brain, but couldn't think of any ruthless outfit in Blackwater Lane capable of securing military assault rifles—let alone so many at once. His boss had paid a heavy price back then just to get a batch of PU-9 submachine guns for show! Still, that didn't mean he was afraid of them! Watching the muzzle flashes draw nearer outside the factory yard, Raggu remained exceptionally calm, devoid of panic. Others might not know about his boss's ties to the military, but he knew very well. If this were an operation run by the military or the garrison, they couldn't have remained completely in the dark. That left only one possibility: these attackers were either their bitter enemies or rivals eyeing their business! At that thought, Raggu's expression turned frigid. He signaled to his underlings and hauled out a twin-barrel anti-aircraft autocannon stored in the warehouse. This monster was 30mm in caliber; a single round could tear a man in two. The boss had strictly instructed him never to use it unless absolutely necessary, as firing it would cause immense trouble. But since the other side was playing for keeps, they had no one to blame but themselves! "Drag it to the window! Fast!" Raggu barked a low order, prodding his men to mount it on the windowsill. Then, with an agile hop, he sat into the seat and slammed the curved magazine into the feeding slot with a crisp click. Two thick, dark barrels poked out the window. Raggu cranked the traversal wheel hard, aligning the sight on several thugs taking cover behind an obstacle and shooting into the yard. A vicious grin spread across his face, and without hesitation, he squeezed the trigger. *Thump-thump-thump—!!!* A string of deafening thuds echoed through the courtyard as thick tracer rounds streaked out like arrows from a bow! Against a 30mm autocannon, the half-height brick wall tore apart like paper. Four gang members were blasted to shreds along with their cover in an instant, mangled flesh and shattered stone raining down together. Seeing the twin barrels swing his way, a youth clutching an assault rifle lost his wits completely. He scrambled desperately on hands and knees, but the sweeping cannon shells caught him anyway, grinding him into a pulverized paste of blood and gore. The gruesome carnage stunned the fighting gang members on both sides. Whether Iron Hand men or scarf-wearing Hyenas, every one of them froze in place, chills running down their spines, momentarily forgetting to fire. They were not regular soldiers after all. Skirmishing on the streets was one thing, but who had ever seen such terrifying hardware?! It wasn't just the street toughs who were paralyzed with shock; even Kant, standing not far behind them, was startled. As an intelligence officer, this was the first he had heard of such a monstrous piece of weaponry lurking in Blackwater Lane! Who on earth sold this to them?! Was that seller out of his mind?! Looking at the mangled corpses strewn before the factory gates, Raggu had completely seen red. The numbing vibration through his arms made him feel as though he were chopping those fragmented chunks of flesh apart with his bare hands. Having emptied the magazine, he slapped in a fresh one, brought the thick barrels to bear on the perimeter wall, and watched the fleeing underlings with a hearty roar of laughter. "Hahaha! Die, you bastards!" The pounding roar of the cannon rang out across the courtyard once more, sending the besieging Hyena Gang members into a rout. Watching his men suffer mounting casualties, Morse's eyes turned bloodshot. He snatched a Panzerfaust rocket launcher straight from the hands of a subordinate beside him. "Motherfucker! I'll take you down with me!" When it came to madness, no one in Blackwater Lane could outmatch him. Howling, he charged forward. Taking advantage of the autocannon's distraction, he squeezed the trigger from two hundred meters away. A thick tongue of fire erupted from the slender metal tube, propelling a bulbous rocket toward the window. Seeing the rocket shrieking toward him, Raggu's eyes bulged, and he threw himself aside on pure instinct. The explosive shaped-charge jet punctured the gun shield instantly, reducing the receiver mechanism to scrap metal. Secondary explosions sent ammunition flying like fireworks, whistling randomly through the factory; one round nearly landed in the storeroom holding flammables and explosives. Raggu broke out in a cold sweat, his heart hammering in shock. Poking his head out the window, he caught sight of Morse's hated face and that maniacal laughter. "Hahahaha! Tony, you sly bastard, you kept this buried deep! Who would've thought you had such a big toy hidden in your pants! Must've cost a fortune!" Staring at the spent launcher tube on Morse's shoulder, Raggu bellowed in fury and shock, "Morse, have you lost your fucking mind?! Do you have any idea what you're doing?" "Tch, just a small fry." Seeing the head poking from the window, Morse clicked his tongue, suddenly losing interest in showing off. He tossed the scorching launcher tube to a nearby lackey. "Boys, storm the place! Show no mercy to anyone who resists—just keep a few obedient ones alive!" Seeing that the enemy's heavy weapon was silenced, the Hyenas, who had been on the verge of breaking, rallied their spirits and charged forward with feral howls. Morse glanced back toward Talan and Kant, winked at the latter, and then hoisted his rifle to lead the charge himself, storming into the building with his pack of thugs. A flurry of crackling gunfire echoed from inside. Before long, the clatter of submachine guns died down, leaving only the rhythm of automatic rifles. Though a fuming Raggu fought back tooth and nail, he was ultimately overwhelmed. Taking three rounds to the chest, he collapsed to the floor with bulging eyes. Seeing their leader fall, the remaining Iron Hand underlings dropped to their knees with hands clasped behind their heads. Listening to the clamor of gunfire, Talan felt his blood pumping, eager to jump into the fray and show off his skills. Taking a deep breath to rein in his excitement, Talan turned to his assistant with a beaming face and said in a slightly boastful tone, "These guys are pretty handy, aren't they? If we used our own men, we might have taken serious casualties." Kant gave a stiff nod, keeping his mouth clamped shut without uttering a word. "..." Seeing his silence, Talan clapped his shoulder. "Come on, let's go inspect our spoils." Leaving those words behind, Talan didn't wait for Kant's answer. He took the lead and strode toward the factory where the gunfire had ceased. As he reached the entrance, the stench of blood hit him squarely in the face. Fanning the air before his nose, he watched as a blood-drenched Morse descended the stairs carrying a severed head. Spotting Talan at the doorway, Morse gave a sinister grin and dropped the head onto the ground. "Skull Crusher Raggu, Tony's right-hand man. Shame the big boss wasn't here himself." The head looked as though it had been hacked off with a fire axe, with blunt trauma evident around the neck. Talan clicked his tongue softly, devoid of any pity, and glanced up into the interior. "Did you find the snake oil?" Morse curled his lip into a smirk and let out a whistle. "Caught red-handed. We've got production and inventory logs, plus the Brahma laborers who manufactured the stuff... Wonder if those workers prove a link to the Alliance." Talan coughed lightly. "That's a bit of a stretch. Brahma laborers are everywhere; that alone proves nothing... We need more clues, preferably something pointing directly to the Alliance." "Tch, what a pain." Scratching the back of his head with a bloodstained hand, Morse turned toward the factory floor and barked at the underlings who had secured the premises, "York, keep some men here to guard the place! The rest of you, search every corner!" A chorus of energized shouts echoed from inside. "Yes, boss!" Around thirty gang members leaped into action, tearing the place apart as they searched. Before long, their ransacking turned up a new lead. Following a lackey's directions, Talan, Morse, and their entourage soon arrived at a secluded storage room. This seemed to be where waste materials were discarded. Several waist-high plastic bins were crammed with empty medicine vials and foil blister packs. Kant picked up an empty vial from the floor. His brow knitted tightly, and his pupils shrank slightly. "...Sharon." Hearing the unfamiliar word spill from his lips, Talan cast an inquiring glance. "What?" Kant's Adam's apple bobbed as he forced words past his teeth. "...It's Sharon. A sedative specially developed by the logistics depot to treat psychological trauma in wounded soldiers." Without a doubt. This was the raw material used to manufacture snake oil! Yet why were prescription drugs issued by the logistics depot showing up here—and in such staggering quantities?! In truth, Kant had felt a bad premonition ever since he laid eyes on that anti-aircraft cannon. Now, seeing these empty vials, that foreboding feeling grew overwhelming. This racket catering to Wilante veterans likely had military backing behind it... If that was the case, neither his superior Daniel nor Daniel's superior's superior—Garrison Commander Myriarch Willoughby—might be able to cover it up. Kant felt his heart freeze. Yet beyond terror, confusion flooded his mind. Why? Why was the poison poured down their throats not coming from the Alliance, but from the very people who claimed to care about them most? His Adam's apple bobbed up and down, and his shoulders began to tremble. "...What's wrong, pal?" Talan rested a hand on his shoulder, frowning in puzzlement. Morse said nothing, because just then, one of his lackeys sprinted over and reported frantically, "There's someone alive hiding in the security room! It's the factory manager!" Morse seized him by the collar and yanked him close. "Where is he?" The lackey babbled nervously, "He locked himself inside! The door is too sturdy; we can't break through!" "Fucking useless!" Morse spat a curse. He wanted to call for the rocket launcher, but then remembered he only had one rocket, and an awkward look crossed his face. Just then, however, a certain Enlightenment Society big shot resolved his predicament. "Use this." Tapping a bag of baking soda with the tip of his boot, Talan broke into a sly grin. This place had nitric acid, sulfuric acid, and glycerin... A little work with a glass boiling flask, and he could brew up something wicked. It might be tricky for an ordinary person, but for an experienced player like him, it was child's play. Though Morse had no idea what Talan was talking about, after watching him work for a bit, he caught on immediately and gave a thumbs-up in heartfelt admiration. A person with knowledge was revered everywhere, even in a hole like Blackwater Lane. Pouring the prepared concoction into two glass jars, Talan carried them straight to the security room door and personally inserted blasting caps into both. Backing away to a safe distance, Talan wasted no breath and pressed the detonator. With a thunderous *boom*, a ball of fire blasted down the entire wall of the security room, leaving only a lone blast door lying intact on the floor. The explosive yield matched Talan's expectations perfectly—perhaps even exceeding them slightly. The howling shockwave not only knocked back the onlookers standing outside the "safe distance," but also coated everyone in a cloud of dust. The manager inside the security room was dead as a doornail, and the people scattered across the abandoned factory were knocked sprawling. Struggling out of the rubble, Kant cursed under his breath as he pushed himself up. He sniffed, and his expression warped in an instant. "It's toxic! Damn it—" His warning came a beat too late. Everyone, including Morse and Talan, had reflexively inhaled. The next moment, their awareness felt as though coated in a translucent film, and everything before their eyes blurred into illusion. Talan vaguely realized what was happening, but before he could react, his consciousness plunged into darkness, followed by the tactile sensation of something wrapping around his head. Bewildered, he pulled off his gaming helmet, looked around at the familiar furnishings of his room, and couldn't help but blurt out a curse: "Holy shit!"