Chapter 4 — The finer achievements of civilization.
"Hey, are ya' deaf or something?" A voice cut through the air.
No. I just don't like being pointed with weapons at me, is all. The thought flickered through my mind as I remained to enjoy my drink.
Ignoring their growing agitation, I calmly reached out for another bottle. The simple act of grasping it felt like a brief escape from the mounting tension pressing against me.
The weight of their stares bore into my back, but I focused on the glass in my hand, using it as a momentary distraction from the storm brewing behind me.
The kids' voices grew louder, more insistent on their threats.
Instead of turning to face them, my hand wrapped around the cool glass for another drink. Don't these kids know about respect?
"I said, turn around and face-!" The leader's command was cut short as I spun around, my arm extended in a fluid motion. The contents of my glass arced through the air, splashing across her face. The shock of my sudden offer for a drink leads her to stumble backward as she blindly fires her rifle.
"Argh, you bastard! Get him, get him! Argh!" the girl screamed. Until not a moment passed and she realized. "Oh, wait. It doesn't hurt at all."
I lowered myself from the gunfire and threw my glass at her.
Now that should really hurt.
Soon, her friends joined, and the bar erupted into chaos. Several gunshots rang out, punctuated by yells and the shattering of glass. I turn and vaulted over the bartender's counter, my body moving overtime as bullets whizzed overhead.
Shards of broken bottles and glasses rained down around me, spilled alcohol. I was being rained by alcohol. What a dream this is.
Alcohol raining from above.
I was almost close to stick my tongue out and take a drop for myself. But the shards of glass made me reconsider not to. Rather unfortunate.
My eyes darted around. No way in hell would find myself having to shoot kids.
What kind of person would I be If I did? A bastard, that is. But I need another approach. Of course, not inflict too much pain, but enough for them to feel it.
With the abundance of beer surrounding me, it was hard not to get my hand on.
Aha! An Alcohol Rain!
Well, only the first half of the plan I could work with at least… Won't need to light up a fire.
Crouched behind the bar, I reached for the lower shelf, grabbing bottles down. My hands worked quickly, gathering as many as possible. Staying low, I positioned myself in a crouch, ready to spring back up.
The gunfire continued overhead as I waited patiently for that crucial moment when the last bullet would fall silent, signaling my chance to act. As soon as the magazines hit the floor and people started mentioning about reloading, the time was right.
I hurled the bottles into the air, aiming not at the kids, but above them.
Their eyes widened in confusion as they watched the bottles soar. They likely expected of me to throw directly at them not above.
But I had something else in mind.
In one motion, I drew my revolver and took aim, shot after shot. I was aiming up towards for the bottles, shattering them into a cascade of glass shards. The shards rained down on the kids, who instinctively covered their heads, trying to protect themselves. More importantly, the alcohol within the bottles splattered all over them, soaking their clothes and the floor beneath them.
I look around the table and found a nearby bucket filled with ice cubes and hurled it toward them. The bucket spun through the air before tipping, sending a shower of ice cascading over the kids. One particularly got unlucky and caught a direct hit on the head, dropping to the ground with a dazed expression as the cold seeped into their skin.
As for the rest of them?
I reloaded my revolver, the chamber clicking shut with that satisfying sound.
I pulled the trigger, sending bullets into the ground near their feet. Each shot kicked up a spray of dirt and water, mixing with the already slick puddles of alcohol and melting ice cubes.
"Dance, Elijah, dance!" I shouted, a dumb grin spreading across my face as I watched them scramble.
The kids had no choice but to move, jumping and stumbling, their feet slipping on the wet surface. The chaotic dance they were forced into had nothing to do with rhythm, and everything to do with avoiding the ricocheting bullets that zipped dangerously close. The puddles beneath them, slick with booze, became their biggest enemy as they struggled to keep their footing.
They couldn't run—not really. Not with the ground beneath them working against them at every turn. One wrong step, and they'd be down, and they knew it. Their movements grew more frantic, but the ice and alcohol made their every attempt to escape futile.
Good.
Without hesitation, my body surged forward, adrenaline coursing through me. I closed the distance between us in an instant, my fists already clenched and ready. I launched myself into a sprint, knowing they wouldn't be able to get away from me this time.
…
It's over.
To be honest, there wasn't much resistance. If not at all, a few clumsy attempts at a punch here and there. They were swinging all over the place, easily predictable with how they wind their arms back to know where they would head.
But are they really breathing? They should be. Of course they're still breathing, I thought to myself, but I needed to be sure. I observed them for a few more moments, noting the rise and fall of their chests. Good, I thought, a grim satisfaction settling over me. They're disoriented, but alive. The job was done, and I had achieved my objective without crossing that final, irreversible line.
That was enough for me.
As I got closer to next inspect their injuries, I noticed something odd. There's something strange happening with their clothes — their blouse. I took a chance closer and leaned in to see something happening.
Oh, what the hell? I found out just about that their uniforms, now being drenched from the alcohol, had become almost see-through. What do they make their clothes here with? The person who sewed these uniforms obviously didn't think about what would happen if they got wet.
I quickly looked around for something to cover them with, and my eyes landed on a coat rack by the entrance. That would do. I grabbed a few coats, draping them over the kids as best as I could. The coats were a poor substitute for proper blankets, but it was the closest I got.
I don't need to be an expert in MEDICINE to know. They're breathing, at least. That should be good. I sighed in relief, noting how they were all knocked out cold. Their heads had taken quite a hit when they fell, not to mention the fright I gave them. Probably didn't help that I scared the Lord out of them.
Then the punch to knock 'em cold.
It wasn't the cleanest solution, but it would have to do.
Now, what to do?…
Well, what else?
I return to my barstool. A place as good as any to gather a plan for outside.
If there was an undeniable truth in this world, I grew to hold like the ten commandments: a good liquor could indeed make things better — and when you're already four bottles deep into the night, that truth becomes even more pronounced, edges blurring and worries fading into a blurry haze.
You can't tell them anymore, the reality you're in, so why bother to know? Enjoy a drink until you have to go sober soon and face the reality you're dealt with.
But for now, most would partake in the drinking of humanities' greatest achievement, alcohol!
You don't have to like, hell, you can make a noise about it. But you'll have to face them in the end.
Like many before me, I also found this saying to hold true.
I had to admit, these particular bottles hiding under the shelf were something special.
While I couldn't claim expertise in making alcohol be edible, let alone one that doesn't just take lives, I did have a lifetime's worth of a complicated on and off relationship with sobriety had granted me a certain taste. My palate had run its course from the harshest, cheapest brews that barely deserved the name "alcoholic beverage".
After gallons of cheap beers, and bathtub gins. I could practically tell which is a quality class from the bottles that came out from being distilled and fermented in someone's bathtub with mold growing on the side.
The only times Lady Luck felt she tortured me enough to send me a quality bottle in return for the trouble she liked to see me be put through by her.
What a miserable marriage I'm in.
Well, at least the silence keeps my mind at ease. Except, every so often, the quiet was shattered by the distant rumble of gunfire or the sudden roar of an explosion. Each blast sent a tremor through the floor and walls, causing the glassware on the shelves to clink together or fall to pieces on the floor.
I was lost in thought, nursing a drink, when a gruff voice cuts through my thoughts.
"You said it, kid."
I turn my gaze towards the voice to face an older man who's taken the stool beside mine..
His coat, adorned with sewn patches and tears; a tarnished golden badge stood out that catches the low light, speaks years of hell he went through to earn the right to one and wear it proudly.
The old man began to fish out a carton of cigarettes, his eyes initially focused on his own movements, trail upward to meet mine.
His face slowly breaks into a small, knowing grin.
"What is it? Don't tell me you miss me or something?" He asked, his tone light as he spoke with amused surprise. "What're you, still a kid? Don't tell me you grew on the nickname now?"
His words, tinged with a mixture of amusement and genuine curiosity, hang in the air between us.
What was this? Nostalgia? I missed someone? I feel a lump forming in my throat, emotions I've long suppressed threatening to surface.
"It's just…" I began, my voice barely above a whisper. I could feel the rest of the sentence diminishing before I could even form the rest of the words. My gaze dropped to the wooden bar-table.
The old man noticed my hesitation. His amused expression softened into something less loud. Approachable. His grizzled features, usually marked by a certain ruggedness, seemed gentler in the bar's low light. He leaned in slightly, his voice taking on a more serious tone as he asked, "Just what?" His eyebrow arched, inviting me to continue, yet giving me the space I needed. "Come on, I won't judge."
"I miss you is all." When I finally spoke, my voice was strained, the words coming out pathetic-sounding than I had intendant.
A pause. It was a harrowing one to sit through. Until a low chuckle escapes him as he picks out a sloppily wrapped joint from his pack and into his lips with a smile. "Heh… Thanks, kid. That means a lot to me." He fumbles with his lighter, trying to flicker to a flame. But it was unable to spark one. "Think you can pass me a light?"
I reach into my pocket, retrieving my own lighter. With a flick and a spark, the flame dances before me, casting a warm glow. As I bring the flame to his cigarette, the tobacco ignites, releasing a faint smoke.
Somewhere close, the sound of a singular bottle crashed on the floor. But I watch him catch it deftly. A reflex that hasn't entirely abandoned him with age, regardless.
As he takes a long drag from his joint, his eyes narrow, noticing something amiss. His eyes already answer what's in my hand — or the lack thereof. "What you don't smoke no more?"
"I… stop now and then." The words come out hesitantly as I gesture vaguely at the array of bottles surrounding me, a silent observation of my current vices, as we can see.
The old man's gaze sweeps over the table with bottles of alcohol, knocked over empty or stood half-way there, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Ah, trading one demon for another."
Defensively, I retort, "Hey, they're both a pain in my ass everyday. I was cutting my loss at one of 'em."
"Ah, right right…" he concedes with a laugh, exhaling a plume of smoke that swirls lazily in the air between us. "I suppose that's a step in the right direction. Maybe like half-a-step."
Eager to change the subject, he leans in conspiratorially, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "So, tell me, how you doin' these days, kid? I heard you went to space. Must be an achievement to even go there at all after all the nukes and bombs. So, you banged any alien broads in space? Are aliens even real? Probably less disgusting than a deathclaw matriarch let me tell you hahaha!"
Felt less like an achievement and more of a chore. A stressful one.
His hand claps down my back, his laughter infectious, momentarily lightening the mood.
"I… I… I think I died."
The old man's smug grin evaporates instantly, his face falling. "Oh… Oh… Kid, I'm sorry." Concern etches his words.
I force a smile, attempting to lighten the mood. "Nah, don't be. I had a good run. Experienced many things most were bad, but some were sweet. Regardless, I experienced them."
His laughter returns, albeit more subdued. "Hahaha… Like that time you pissed off General Mamba Vargas by stealing his whiskey stash." The shared memory brings a genuine smile to both our faces as his attempt to get a smile out of me. It worked. "Where was it again? I remember you told me it was buried somewhere outside the Capital." he asked.
"Fucker hid it on his pet dog's grave. Told me it was his boy's last trick to show him by hiding his booze stash from getting stolen." I reply, chuckling at the very night when I came off actually guessing right after I snuck to the graveyard with a shovel. I smiled a lot more.
As the laughter subsides, silence returns. I stare into my glass, swirling the amber liquid within. "But… I think I did good. I got the professor from the NCR back to his senses before we headed back down to Earth… Finish his work against the plague and all that." My voice trails off, the weight of what comes next hanging heavily in the air. "Well, one of us got back down alive."
The old man nods slowly.
The golden badge on his coat gleams in the dim light, a reminder of duty and the tarnish growing around it from the passage of time.
"You don't wear yours?" The old man asks as he taps his badge. The golden star.
"Funny thing… I left it back at the Capital and it sat there ever since."
"What you're too good all of the sudden having to listen to trumpets blaring your ears every morning now?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you yes; Eh, I've been all around the the place further… I've been to Mexico and the Canadian states too… Let me tell ya, those Moose up there, ain't no joke… Sonora is a religious shithole, and Baja is still a shithole and that hole is filled with raiders that the NCR backed them into a literal corner but won't do anything else to sweep those bastards off the map."
The laughter that had filled our little corner of the bar gradually subsided, replaced by a contemplative silence. The old man seemed to sense the shift in mood. He took on a more serious expression as he took another long drag from his cigarette.
The laughter that had filled our little corner of the bar gradually subsided, replaced by a contemplative silence. The old man beside me seemed to sense the shift in mood, his weathered face taking on a more serious expression as he took another long drag from his cigarette.
"You know, kid. I never got to ask…" he began, his voice trailing off as he exhaled a cloud of smoke that danced in the dim light.
I turned to face him, curiosity piqued. "Hm?"
The old man's eyes seemed to focus on something distant, as if looking back through time. "When you were at Denver. You said you helped them toasters build something…"
I couldn't help but chuckle at his choice of words. 'Toasters' - a term for the AI-driven robots or the somewhat uncommon sight of a jar filled with a brain commandeering a metal body that had become an increasingly common sight in certain places. Usually derogatory. "You gotta have to be more specific for me, those eggheads in jars always invent something everyday."
He nodded, acknowledging the truth in my statement. Then, his tone grew more serious, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that got me off my glass.
"When the downtown street blew up on that machine city under the mountain and we were called to help stop the fire. We found you strapped to one of the machines where them toasters told you were working with."
I felt a chill run down my spine as fragmented memories of that day surfaced. The old man continued, his voice low and gravelly.
"When we got you out to safety, I remember everyone trying to stop you from clawing your own neck off like a gecko was gnawing it whole and you're trying to fight if off. We had to knock you out with a tranquilizer."
He paused, taking another drag from his cigarette before adding, "You kept screaming about chrome and metal." His eyes narrowed as he studied my face, searching for any reaction. "I almost thought they turned you into a robot like in them picture books of yours. I was ready to make scrap metal almost worthless with them robots when I saw you."
Well, if I was going to tell him… "It was a pod of sorts you seat inside in… All quantum shit. Honestly, my own intelligence could hardly follow at times. It was all theoretical, but after a large storm while I was testing the machine — Next thing I knew I woke up on a bench. I was nowhere in Denver that I am sure. I even would go as far that I wasn't in the wasteland anymore."
Words would be hard to explain. Better if I show him.
"What about the chrome and metal? Kid, you're not making any sense to me."
I rolled up the sleeve of my coat as I materialized a certain something from my memories. The sight made the old man's eyes widened, a small glint of light reflection hit his face.
His reaction was almost immediate. He muttered something under his breath, his voice tinged with disbelief as his hand instinctively went to scratch the back of his head. I could see he's bewildered — just as me when I first laid my eyes on these. "Sweet Christ…" he finally managed, his voice low, as if the sight before him had stolen whatever other words he might have had. The old man wasn't easily rattled—he had seen his fair share of strange and unsettling things—but this was different. No chance the pre-war government or post-war back-alley surgeon could attempt something like this level in tech.
If they ever did and it's locked down buried under a vault; sure as hell it would be thrice as large.
"Does it hurt?" He asked. "I don't even want to touch that."
"Eh, sometimes. The twinge; I notice them more often when I'm don't move, but my body is slowly used to them. But never fully. It takes a certain type of psychopath to get used to them like their natural to their body. I mean, really lost their mind to accept the metal."
The old man's expression lowered slightly, a mix of awe and sorrow clouding his features. He knew what this meant—what it had cost me, both physically and emotionally.
"But let me tell you. They sure are sharp — Can even climb with the two of 'em." I chuckled.
"Two?" He coughed up smoke, trying to register my words.
"Yeah, both forearms. Much cheaper to buy this in a set than individual."
"Jesus," he muttered, his voice barely more than a breath as he watched the transformation unfold before him. His eyes witness the source of the reflection of the light on his face had just moments ago now dematerialized as if they had never existed. My forearm returned to its original state — flesh and bone. Nothing more, nothing less than a few popped veins from frequent syringe-use.
He let out a low whistle, shaking his head as he finally tore his gaze away from my arm. "Now I understand why you continue to drink so much of this." he remarked, taking a sip himself.
I shrugged. "Eh, helps me sleep at night," I replied, lifting my glass and taking a long drink. Better to be asleep drunk than awake and deal with it.
I couldn't live with it. Being sober. Between the self-loathing or the parts of your memory you'd rather not remember — they always don't want to remain buried.
Alcohol helps just to forget everything. Even if it's just a moment. Even the toughest bastard I met can't live without a bottle in hand. Heh, Heroes. All just drunks dwelling in their self-pity of a glory so distant in memory or the darker parts of their journey they rather forget.
The finer achievements of civilization.
Time went by as our talks continued. A sudden explosion rocked the entrance of the bar, sending a wave of glass clinking or shatter to pieces on the floor. The old man's eyes slowly wander to the front door.
"Say, I suppose it's time for me to leave. Let's catch up next time. About where you woke up next." He said, rising from his stool as he grab his glass. "Thanks for the light."
A final toast between us. We drank our glass empty and set it down.
"No problem." I watched as he made his way to some dark hallway, his golden badge catching the light one last time as he turn towards me one last time.
Before he fully disappeared into the dark, he paused. "Just stay out of trouble — and that's coming from me," he added, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "So, stay out of trouble."
As he disappeared shadows, I called out a farewell.
"Have a good one. See you around."
Time for me to finish this up, too.
…
Suddenly, the door creaked open, cutting through the tense silence that had settled over the room. I froze. The first was a girl with striking white hair, tied into twin whips that seemed to sway with each movement. The second was a pointy-eared girl, a large bag slung casually over her shoulder.
They entered from the same backdoor I had used earlier, their eyes quickly scanning the chaotic scene.
Would you look at that? What a scene it indeed was.
A person having a competition with himself with how much fast he can empty a bottle as if an achievement — not to forget the firearms scattered over the floor. Meanwhile, a literal pile of kids lay sprawled out on the floor, soaking wet and groaning in discomfort.
Then this moron stood in the middle, head held high while he empties an entire bottle in one swig. That moron looks just as sketchy as he gets. What makes it even worse is that it's me, said moron, incriminating himself as the seconds go by.
I could feel their eyes on me. Just act cool. Don't make any move that might make you out as a criminal more than where you stand.
I slowly lower my drink off my mouth. Keep it COOL; work with my CHARISMA and DECEPTION and talk my way out of this.
Nevertheless, This… does not look good.
"I knew I should have gone home earlier…" One girl from the prefect team muttered. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a more comfortable position in her makeshift seat of a cardboard box. The day had started normally that she looked forward to relax after classes ends, but now it felt like an endless waiting game.
Beside her, another prefect let out a breathless chuckle, her chest heaving from the boredom-induced fatigue. "Guh!" she gasped, before managing a wry grin. "Hah… You said it."
She continued. "I haven't done my dailies today, not after cramming the math assignment I missed this morning."
"Say, you still saving on that that Skullman banner? Haven't read the forums yet if he's worth pulling for…"
"Not really worth to grind for him. His EX-Skill is too narrow and the curse effect is more of a gimmick than actually be usable at regular gameplay."
"What about his PeroroTalk?"
"Eh… Dunno… I don't actually bother with those…"
As they settled into the prolonged silence with a couple of sighs here and there, another girl spoke up, her voice tinged with curiosity. She absently brushed some dust off her skirt, her mind wandering to thoughts of their leadership. "You know, I was expecting miss Head Chairman to join us."
"Or maybe miss Iori," One added.
Another member of their group, her red armband barely hanging on around her arm, responded with an air of authority. "Our Head Chairwoman may be a lot of things, but being at two places at once is not one of them. As such, she has a lot on her plate already with our own academy no less." Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if discussing class schedules rather than their current tedious situation. "Now, focus on what's in front of us; not what could have been from behind. Miss Chinatsu is capable with her skills in leadership. We should all be fine, regardless of what you think of her."
The words settled over the group, a gentle reminder of the chain of command and the respect it demanded. Yet, not everyone fully agreed with the assessment.
"Of course, some of you may still think otherwise," she began, her voice laced with a calm tone that matched her authority. She paused deliberately for a moment. "You could voice your concerns to her when she arrives. I could tell her your names now later."
Among all the prefects present, no one moved. No one spoke. The silence that followed was deafening, filled with unspoken thoughts and carefully concealed opinions.
Of course, the lower-ranking prefect students made sure not to let their true feelings reach Chinatsu herself, and even more so, they dreaded the thought of it ever reaching their Head-chairwoman. The consequences of such dissent were left to their imaginations, each more daunting than the last.
"No… we're… we're good," came the eventual, hesitant response, the words nearly stumbling over each other in their haste to dispel any notion of discontent.
The afternoon wore on; the prefects settling into their positions with a mix of resignation and dutiful alertness.
Suddenly, one Valkyrie student popped out from behind a door. The Prefects expected their orders as they were advice to head inside.
"Finally." As she rose from her cardboard shelter, a remark was uttered.
Once inside, they saw a rather strange scene.
"They wen't inside and started threatening me. Of course, I believe in people should defend themselves and I acted in a way that should render them unconscious for a while." The adult said. He turns to the newcomers as they went inside. "So, calm down. They're still alive."
"You hold up someone in their own place and start giving demands. All that without buying anything first? I'm a bit offended by it." He argued with his hands still up. Just who is this guy? One of the prefects wondered as she walked past by the man and their two leaders.
The prefect students moved cautiously among the fallen sukebans, their eyes darting warily from one unconscious form to another.
As they began the process of securing the area, one of the prefects knelt beside one. Her hands trembled slightly as she checked for vital signs, relief washing over her when she detected a steady pulse. She glanced up at her companion, their eyes meeting in a moment of shared concern.
"Hey, you noticed something?" One of her friends whispered to her in a hushed tone. The words barely carried over the sound of their own rapid heartbeats.
"What?" She asked, her voice equally low, tension evident in her word.
Her friend leaned in closer, eyes narrowed as she surveyed the fallen delinquents. "They only have bruises." The observation hung in the air, pregnant with implication.
"Bruises?" The first prefect echoed, confusion etched across her features. She looked down at the sukeban before her, noting for the first time the angry red mark blooming on their temple. No sign of a gash or scratch of a bullet anywhere.
"Yeah, on their head. All of them have one. No bullet graze or gash." The friend's voice carried a mix of awe and trepidation. She gestured broadly at the other fallen figures, each bearing a similar mark.
The realization dawned slowly, a chill running down the prefect's spine as the implications sank in. "So… He knocked out all of them with a punch in the head?"
"Yeah… No kidding, look at all of them." She pointed out, her finger tracing an invisible line from one unconscious sukeban to the next.
"A single bruise in the head. All of them. Must be one heck of a punch."
…
"I don't mean no harm. If I did, I would have tried to pull a fast one on ya' already. So who are you and what exactly are you doing here?"
Right, as much as I pull words out from my ass, I went with claiming I own this bar. Would be nice, actually. Well, except for the mess I was left it.
I have doubts if this'll work at all, but I'll see how long this river will flow somewhere.
The two girls who had their weapons pointed at me lowered them along with my hands.
They look at each other.
"My name is Hinomiya Chinatsu, I am with the Prefect Team of Gehenna Academy." The girl with pointy-ears, like the elves from the picture books, told me. Gehenna? What kind of school name is Gehenna? What even is that word? Gehenna, sounds like someone would come up with trying to bullshit someone drunk in an argument inside a bar.
Just as I had anticipated, a pop-up screen suddenly appeared before me. The word that came to mind, which my mind could draw from, was a Hebrew term for 'Hell'. Must be some messed up school if they chose that name.
Demons maybe? Well, Chinatsu, by the looks of it, didn't have any horns, but those kids behind her I could spot that they looked like they did have one peaking out between their bangs.
"Mine is Nakatsukasa Kirino of Valkyrie Academy to you service! I'm assigned to Public Security Bureau. We are responsible for keeping the peace around here." The one with white hair's turn to speak. Valkyrie Academy… I was expecting girls with swords riding on white horses with wings flying. Instead, I got this scrawny kid with a revolver who looked like a lost rabbit who's not even sure what was happening and is going along with anything or is, in a small part, afraid of what is happening.
"What, like a police?" I asked.
"Yes, but less on the action… we're not exactly regulars. We're more on the side of traffic squad. Not for high engagements unlike our superiors."
Wonderful… Stuck with demons lead by an elf and essentially a group of glorified traffic police.
"We're here to stomp down any of the troublemakers like you have unfortunately encountered," Chinatsu continued as she spoke. "I, on behalf of the city, apologize for your vandals that ruined your establishment." A brief glance around the bar.
I looked at her and scoffed.
"Is that so?" I feel so safe right now that I just had to respond. Their eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me and my sarcasm. "Well, don't mind me saying that you're doing a bang up job."
Just then, a thunderous explosion rocked the building, its echoes reverberating through the walls. Despite the sudden chaos, I remained focused on the two figures before me, their contrasting demeanors more captivating than the commotion outside.
"My case stands." I declared, gesturing toward the window where plumes of smoke were now visible.
I could sense the shift in atmosphere, the barely contained indignation emanating from the two officers before me. Their reactions, though, were as different as night and day.
Chinatsu's face contorted that barely concealed rage. Her eyes behind the glare of her glasses, once professional, now angered. Offended.
Kirino, on the other hand, was a study in subtle displeasure. Her reaction was far more restrained. Looking at my words didn't stick to her long.
Ignoring their reactions, I turned away from them and made my way towards the front window. The glass was cracked and smeared with soot, offering a distorted view of the chaos unfolding outside. Sirens wailed in the distance, being drowned out by the burst of gunfire and bang of the explosives.
As I gazed out at the destruction, my mind raced with calculations. Great, the tank is still not too far off, but there's too many people in between that get in my way.
Without turning back to face them, I spoke, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions roiling within me. "Seeing as how my loss of customers and well, my savings will be spent needing to fix all these mess up and my stock. I want this to be over."
I paused, letting the weight of my words sink in. The silence stretched, broken only by the distant sounds of conflict outside. I spoke. "So, I'll extent a helping hand."
The words seemed to catch Chinatsu off guard. Her professional demeanor cracked further as she started to protest, "Mister-"
I cut her off, turning to face them once more. My eyes locked onto hers, unwavering. "Thirteen, call me, Thirteen."
Chinatsu's brow furrowed, confusion mixing with her earlier anger. She tried again, her voice laced with a hint of exasperation. "Mr. Thirteen, your help is not necessary-"
"And I insist, we can keep going back and forth and that tank will be long gone by the time we get tired." I interrupted once more, my tone brooking no argument. "I want this mess over and I'll be on my way — I mean be left in peace in my bar." I silently cursed myself for the near slip, hoping they hadn't caught my momentary lapse.
Kirino's eyebrow arched ever so slightly, the only indication that she might have noticed my stumble. But I pressed on, not giving them time to dwell on it.
A smile spread across my face, one that didn't quite reach my eyes. It was a smile born of desperation and determination in equal measure. Rubbing my hands together, I already have a plan. "So, tell me, do you kids have any smoke grenades?"
It was quiet, but one quietly raise her hand.
"Hey, I'm offering another pair of hands. Come on, the clock is ticking."
Chinatsu remained silent, her expression unreadable, but there was a noticeable shift in her demeanor. She stood there, eyes slightly narrowed as if deep in thought, weighing the situation carefully. Her gaze drifted toward the chaos outside, then back to me.
I studied her closely, sensing the tension in her stillness. It was clear she was contemplating something, though whether it was about me or the larger problem at hand was difficult to say.
"Alright, we accept your help." Finally, she relented.
"Great, now, help me gather as much bottle over there, and put it in a sack or bag. Gather all the smoke grenades you have."
"We'll work in two, one needs to fortify this position and cut off the tank and it's support. This will be the the line in the streets we need to stop from crossing. We'll use the smoke grenades to stop any reinforcement from arriving, at least to slow them down to soften for Kirino's friends down the road to deal with. That'll be the fortify group's job. There will be reinforcements. Who's better at leading?"
Chinatsu was kind enough to take that position. "I could fulfill that role. I'll set to make assure no one will pass through the smoke and get close to the tank. Until we have depleted considerable ammunition that is."
"Here, tear gas." Next were the smoke grenades or, as Kirino brought were tear gas. Better.
"Alright, get this place ready for a shootout, barricade the windows and doors, lock down every corner in case you may have been compromised and get the tear gas grenades set up to the rooftop, the stairs are on the back. The next team is responsible for focusing on the tank's support, we'll take the guards on the tank and we'll kindly ask for the driver to let us in. If they don't? Well, we'll make them reconsider." I said as I pulled out a bottle and a lighter beside. "I'm sure they'll have to get out and get a drink once we're done. It must be scorching inside there."
I continue. "We can also use it to disable the tank on its backside, that's where usually the engine is, but with the armor on our control, we can use the tank as a deterrent if need be."
Chinatsu spoke her thoughts about me. "You're awfully well-informed for being a bartender. What was it you did before arriving at Kivotos?"
"A days living here gave me all the life experience I need. You live with a bunch of children carrying firearms and no two-sense of thought if fighting on the street over a petty disagreement is worth the need of a loaded gun or the damages it might cost to anyone and everyone around them? So, thank you for the compliment, as you can see, my experience is laid out to everyone here."
Everyone quieted down.
"Well, I was a rancher… Hyenas tend to try and sneak into the livestock more often when the winter season comes. And the winter itself is also a challenge." Sure, let me dig my grave deeper.
Once the other was given, the two called upon their respective groups. Valkyrie, and Gehenna's Prefects began to work. One was to gather as much bottles of alcohol inside a pack for me to carry and one to fortify this building a chokepoint for if the tank retreats from the defense line as Kirino described a road down — then we'll have another chance if the tank returns.
My curiosity, piqued by the earlier overheard conversation, got the better of my curiosity. I turned to Chinatsu about it.
"Chinatsu, I have to ask. I heard your people over there talk about a bullet gash… Not a bullet wound. What's all that about — You people… You're bullet proof?" I asked.
As the words left my lips, my mind raced with possibilities. Like a subdermal armor implant? Last I remember BioDyne Systems made some impressive plating after all — practically deflecting or stopping bullets in its track. That would make sense for her comment to work. But I doubt these kids would be more open to surgery. Have their bodies opened and their insides filled with metal and a computer.
The thought of advanced biotechnology crossed my mind, memories of cutting-edge research I'd encountered in the past flashing through my consciousness. But something about these two didn't quite fit with the image of cybernetically enhanced individual. Sure as hell, don't feel right or at all to be chromed.
A moment of silence followed my question, the two officers exchanging a quick glance. It was Kirino who broke the silence, her voice careful with me like she was choosing her words.
"Well… We're not exactly bullet proof. Er…" she began, adjusting her glasses as if to buy time to formulate her response. "More like our body can tolerate bullets better than others to a certain point, but that doesn't mean it hurts to us. Our Halo is like a reminder. Once it disappears, our consciousness goes as well. It goes both ways, we go to sleep and it'll disappear and return just as if we get any major injuries."
Her explanation was more than less enlightening. It definitely did better at raising more questions than it answered. I found myself even more intrigued by the mention of a 'Halo' and its connection to their consciousness. So their halo isn't just for style.
Before I could inquire further, Chinatsu's voice cut through my thoughts.
"It is indeed strange…" she mused, her tone laced with suspicion.
Kirino turned to her partner, confusion evident in her voice. "Hmm?"
Chinatsu's eyes narrowed as they fixed on me, her gaze sharp and penetrating. "I was under the impression you should have known of this by now." she pointed out, her words carrying an accusatory edge. "Considering you're doing business in this city."
Oh, shit… The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I'd overplayed my hand, shown too much ignorance about this place I should have known. My mind raced, scrambling for a plausible explanation.
"Well, of course, I've been rom the country side and just moved here to help with my. Old man, yeah!" I blurted out, feeling a small trickle of sweat slide down my temple as I uttered the hastily constructed lie.
The words tumbled out, a jumbled mess of half-truths and fabrications. I could feel the weight of their gazes upon me, searching for any crack in my hastily erected facade. The room seemed to shrink; the air growing thick with tension as I waited to see if they would accept my explanation.
Chinatsu's eyes remained fixed on me, her expression scrutinizing me at the smallest detail. Kirino, on the other hand, tilted her head slightly, as if reassessing me in light of this new information. The silence stretched on, broken only by the distant sounds of chaos from outside. The clinking of bottles occasionally from the other students gathering the bottles I need stayed out of the conversation.
I stood my ground, forcing myself to maintain eye contact despite the urge to look away. One wrong move, one misplaced word, and the fragile trust I'd been trying to build could shatter in an instant.
Thankfully…
"Alright, then. I will believe your word. Not many visit the city these days lately. Even less chose to find opportunities here — education or business." Chinatsu sighed. But turn to face me once more. "But I must implore you to read the brochure first before visiting next time."
Haha… Sure. Next time. Maybe when I get the chance and not out of the blue appeared out of nowhere. A brochure…
I shrugged. Passing her off. "What can I say? I like to wander around, the mystery is half the excitement of seeing new places."
After a quick preparation for getting our placement settled, turning this place into a makeshift fortress as much as we could. A few placed and were ready at the roof with a tear gas grenade. Another on the ground floor prepared to cut a path for me to the tank.
The kids handed me as much bottled whiskey as they could stuff into a backpack for me.
With a deep breath, I steeled myself for what was to come. I moved towards the door, ready to step out into the chaos beyond and play my part in this dangerous game. However, as my hand reached for the doorknob, I felt a gentle but firm grip on my wrist.
I turned to find Kirino holding my hand. Her eyes, usually always filled with this anxiety since I met her, met mine with an intensity that caught me off guard.
Before I could react, Chinatsu stepped forward.. "Please, be easy on them," she said, her voice low and earnest. "When their halos are flickering or dimming. Please stop."
The sight in their expressions, it was burdening to look. Both Kirino and Chinatsu looked at me with a mixture of concern and… was that fear? The mention of the halos, that mysterious aspect of their whole biology. What exactly was I dealing with here? Not simple implants or at all. Was it even natural to begin with?
As I stood there, caught between the safety of our fortified shelter and the unknown dangers that awaited outside. Jesus, it felt like a burden now.
Between having halos or not? It's like wearing a power-armor. Sure, you're a bipedal tank on legs that renders any small-arms and explosions, but you sure as hell are just asking someone to take into the fact you're also slow and dexterity is next to a snail that they can outmaneuver you and shoot your backside to overload your Fusion-Pack like a mini-nuclear device.
Or in these kids' case, the halos that are proudly hovering above their heads like a "Shoot here!" target.
These weren't invincible. They were people - perhaps not so far from the likes of me. Just a high BODY or ENDURANCE, perhaps.
Hard to not notice how complicated this all been. I didn't fully understand any of this world, parts of it similar, yet these individuals whose true nature remained a mystery to me are by far the strangest thing I have seen in a long while.
Far stranger than when we when sea scavenging materials at the old Enclave Oil right and were hunted by a large sea-monster in the dark.
How was I supposed to understand all of this? Those halo… What the hell did I just stepped into? It was hard to believe to what even are those disks on top of their heads really are.
Angels? Never knew they even held a gun back in the old books. If I really died and was taken to heaven, God has a strange way of showing mercy to me.
If it'ss hilarious to him, at least give me the common sense of curtesy to tell me which part of this overdrawn joke was supposed to be the part where the butt of the joke was suppose to understand and laugh along — cause I can't see myself laughing now or anytime soon.
With a slight nod to acknowledge their request, I gently released my hand from Kirino's grasp. In the end, it won't matter. I probably didn't want to know, besides I already got just what I need to do to know about those with halo.
Just make sure it flickers or dims. But not disappear.
"Don't worry. I will. You just keep your people safe In here. Wait for my signal to prepare to advance."
As I turned once more to face the door, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever lay beyond.
With one last glance at Chinatsu and Kirino, their grave expressions etched in my mind, I reached for the door handle. The metal under my fingers grounded me at the moment as I psyche myself.
Get it done and make it fast.
The golden rays of sunlight gently caressed my face, offering a fleeting moment of serenity amidst the chaos. I let it fill my senses, providing a small but needed peace of mind.
"Wait, what's the signal?" Chinatsu's voice cut through the stillness, her words laced with concern as she tried to stop me. Her hand lifted slightly, as if to reach out.
I took a deep breath in, the cool air mixing with the warmth of the sun on my skin, steadying myself for what was to come. I turned my gaze briefly toward her, eyes meeting hers for a moment, a silent reassurance that everything was already in motion.
"You'll know it!" Those were my last words, thrown over my shoulder as I took off.
Like a gecko that got its tail cut off with a rusty fork, I ran like hell across the streets; I carve my path across the large swath of these wannabe-raiders. By how; the answer to that is that I carry a shit ton of whiskey on me.
I'm also thirsty and have been drinking at the same time while I ran, so go figure how I deal with these masked raiders with an empty bottle.
As I weaved through several bullets, passing by from both sides of the end of the streets and through the crowd of masked raiders in my way.
After I presented a surprise from the nearest raider with an empty bottle brought to the back of head followed by the sight of her body crumple down to the floor.
Another brave raider came at me with a wild swing, clearly desperate that she was coughing loud. So much so that she might as well couch her lungs out. I ducked under her arm; the momentum carrying her forward as I pivoted around her.
In one swing, I brought the empty whiskey bottle in my hand, crashing down on the back of her head.
Another attacker, this one wielding a knife once her rifle no longer found use with me up close, charged at me from the side. I sidestepped, using her own momentum against her. As she stumbled past, I delivered a swift kick to the back of her knee, sending her sprawling.
Before she could scramble with a pulled on her handgun, I brought another empty bottle down, ending her part in this fight.
But surprisingly, she retaliated in her attempt once more.
"Come on, kid. You can stop now." I muttered.
She was tough. I'll give her that, even more to manage one last strike at me with her knife as she pulled from a sheath strapped around her thigh to take a few swipes at my foreleg. I let her simmer down with the sole of my bottom in a swift stomp. Likely the last thing she saw.
As I neared the imposing armored vehicle. Gripping the remaining bag tightly, I made a final push, a last jump to catch myself on as I grabbed to some metal ledge from the tank.
Soon, I managed to climb up the tank. I pulled my revolver out as I knocked on the hatch.
"Open up! Ten seconds to get out!" I yelled.
Of course, they would ignore me.
I waited, tense seconds ticking by as I anticipated their response. But as the hatch remained firmly shut, I knew I should have poured the bottles out already.
I stood atop the disabled tank, surveying the chaotic battlefield before me. All around me is just the crackling of flames and the distant echo of explosions. But amidst this cacophony, a new sound caught my attention, causing me to turn around towards its source.
Suddenly, I turn to the gunfire where I came from. The cloud of smoke being having lit up by gunfire. The kids back at the bar need some help.
This is getting troublesome…
The almost monotonous rhythm of automatic weapons fire pierced through the haze, flashes of muzzle fire illuminating the smoke like deadly fireflies.
The situation was escalating rapidly, and my patience was reaching its limit.
I wasn't looking forward to this… But by the look of the situation, I might need this tank after all.
I held myself from yelling out frustration right now. It was too much that built up. I just had dematerialized those in my forearm earlier — to realize now I need them.
The thought crossed my mind unbidden, a grim acknowledgment of the desperate measures that might be necessary now. I glanced down at the tank beneath my feet.
Little did I know the situation was more better with the tank not in flames and me inside.
…
Meanwhile, inside… four students were inside commandeering the tank. Almost all, at one point, glanced up from the pounding sound from above.
"I swear this guy is getting on my nerve…" One of them commented, her fingers tightening around the controls of the main gun.
The frustration in her voice was clear. The constant assault from outside had frayed their nerves.
"Just put up with it." One murmured as she drove the tank. The tank lurched forward under her control, treads grinding against the debris-strewn street.
That was until a liquid leaking down at them.
A sudden change in the atmosphere caught their attention. Droplets of liquid began to seep through the seams of the tank's armor, a foreboding sign of trouble from above.
"Oh, what the!?" One was shaken up for a moment, feeling the water dripping down at her.
The shock in her voice was evident as she felt the cool liquid trickle down her neck. The frustration just kept mounting on and on. This was her favorite jacket!
"That's it." The one loading the shells decided to climb towards the hatch with a submachine-gun.
She snatched up her submachine gun, fed up.
Frustration for her had finally reached a boiling point. With a determined set to this chump straight, she grasped the submachine gun and climbs towards the hatch, ready for a confrontation.
As she nearly reached for the top.
"Ah…."
But in the end, all she could do was utter a sound. She could barely let out her voice any louder than a horrified whimper.
Her eyes widened at the sight of the cause of the metallic screech reverberating.
The single syllable that escaped her lips was barely audible, a whisper of pure terror that seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the tank. The frustration that had driven her up the ladder evaporated in an instant, replaced by a fear that froze her in place.
The sight that greeted her eyes was something out of a nightmare. Two razor-sharp blades burns with an orange-red glow as it liquifies the metal blocked its way. had penetrated the thick armor of the tank, mere inches from where her face would have been had she opened the hatch. The metal groaned and twisted as the blades worked its way.
"Hey, what's going on up there?"
The worried call from below echoed. The other students looked up anxiously, waiting for a response that didn't come. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the continued scraping of the blades against metal and the rapid, shallow breathing of the paralyzed girl on the ladder.
Finally, the one who called became worried as she looked up — only to actually have a good reason to be.
Soon, the blades slowly retracted back outside. To everyone's' dismay, at this point had their weapons drawn. A pair of hands emerged, tightly clutching the metal as if like a clay putty, easily molding to the hands' whims that the driver uttered.
"Oh…"
A/N: Hello again, everyone! I'm back and I got some news that unfortunately I got a course for Foreign Language and it's genuinely difficult for me and I have to give it considerably more time to practice my speech and writing. At the very least, our professor cared about Korean to teach us.
So, I have to delay some chapters if that is okay with some of you. Either delay or post shorter chapters. Whichever happens.
Mnass: Hehe I like the more forgotten characters.
Kerrowe: Well, not exactly bouncing through time, but more of a flashback. The speed which 13 is able to cover while traveling around the city will be explained soon. It's not an error. It's not the right time yet. I got maybe 35 or 37 chocolates overall. But I skipped the next event which was New Year, got too busy.
Eisenhower Haloway: Not sure about "is" I'd prefer the word,"was" more
fuji92: I can't change much of the general storyline, but I can move a few things. I'm not that good of a writer yet to do such a large switch. D: But I do promise that with Hoshino's story, there will be differences. A huge one If I write it correctly.