Novel: Venetian Red, volume 1

 

Synopsis: in aftermath of ww3 and emp collapse, world are split into 9 major nation. with its own agenda. In a bid to maintain some semblance of order, these nations establish the New World Council (NWC), a governing body designed to prevent member states from attacking one another. but war never changes; it merely evolves.

Behind the facade of peace, some nations resort to proxy wars, manipulating smaller nations to further their own interests while avoiding direct confrontation. This precarious balance of power creates a tense atmosphere, where alliances are as fragile as the treaties that bind them

story begin when wanderers a group of mercenary/vigilante start expanding to east to find prewar tech in bunkers. which its will become a pandora box.

As the narrative unfolds, it delves into the complexities of war, propaganda, and morality, all while maintaining a casual tone infused with absurd humor. The characters navigate a world where the lines between right and wrong blur, and the absurdity of their situations often leads to darkly comedic moments. Through their journey, the story explores the human condition in the face of chaos, questioning the true cost of survival and the nature of power in a world teetering on the brink of another global conflict.

In this richly woven tapestry of intrigue and humor, readers will find themselves reflecting on the nature of conflict, the impact of propaganda, and the moral dilemmas faced by those who must choose between loyalty and survival. The Wanderers' adventure is not just a quest for technology; it is a journey into the heart of what it means to be human in a world that seems determined to repeat its darkest chapters.

Venetian Red

Chapter 1 Dark Crusade

 

Somewhere in the Carpathian Mountains, 2398 AD. A villager hauled goods in a horse-drawn wagon, the landscape a patchwork of nature reclaiming what was left of the old world. Car wrecks, repurposed as fences or piled high like scrap-metal sculptures, dotted the hills. Ziplines crisscrossed the valleys, used for everything from transporting goods to ferrying children to the makeshift school, where lessons focused on survival: archery, cooking, self-defense, and how to spot a mutation before it sprouted extra limbs.

A giant drone hummed overhead, carrying passengers to a nearby military base. A Hind helicopter and a few armored vehicles sat in the hangar, gleaming under the morning sun.

A man dismounts from the drone, stretching his arms. He’s wearing a worn leather jacket and has long, wavy hair. Flanking him is a group of people in dark cloaks and mismatched military gear—these are the Wanderers.

 

Alam strides into an office, passing recruits training with bows and gunpowder in the field, while officers simulate warfare scenarios in virtual reality rooms.

 

He reaches the top floor, where a glass hall offers a stunning view of the mountain peaks, their snow-capped summits glistening in the sunlight. He pauses for a moment, taking in the scene—the scattered remnants of civilization, the distant crackle of gunfire from the training grounds. This is the Wanderers' domain now, he thinks, feeling a mix of pride and responsibility wash over him. But ruling can get boring. I need some action to keep from getting rusty.

 

He entered a private office, the walls lined with maps and tactical displays. A woman stood by the window, her back to him. She wore a black veil that concealed her face, but her posture was rigid, almost tense. Only the pale skin of her hands and the crimson glow of her enhanced eyes, visible through the thin fabric of the veil, were visible.

 

Carmelita turned as Alam entered, a slow, deliberate movement that seemed to assess him from head to toe. A faint smile played on her lips, barely visible beneath the veil. “Well, well,” she drawled, her voice laced with amusement. “If it isn’t the man who stole my job… and my heart. Though I’m not sure which was the greater theft.” She paused, her red eyes twinkling. “You are interesting, that’s undeniable. Though sometimes I wonder if ‘interesting’ is just another word for ‘troublesome’.”

 

“I'm always interesting,” Alam replies, walking up behind her and giving her a hug.

 

Carmelita gasps softly. “A clingy one, eh?” she smirks, her lips visible through the semi-transparent veil.

 

“Yep. I’m tired of all the shenanigans around here. How about we expand to the east?” Alam suggests.

 

“Hm…” Carmelita ponders. “The East… They say the land beyond the Don holds remnants of the old world’s ingenuity, lost technologies… and its follies.” A sly smile played on her lips. “Perhaps a journey to the past is what you need.”

“Follies? I’ve heard about of pre-war tech. That’s what we need to rebuild, to truly secure our future.” Alam replies.

“The past is a dangerous place, Alam. It offers both solutions and warnings. Some doors are best left unopened.” Carmelita warns.

 she ponders for a moment. “We can try expanding east, but I think we need a new member for that,”

 

“Do we have a poor state right now?” Alam asks.

 

“We have enough budget but not enough manpower. We need at least 10-20 new members for expansion,” she replies, checking a file on her table. “Maybe one or two of them will bring some money too. Do you have candidates in mind?”

 

“Twenty? We need a hundred! Hehe,” Alam jokes.

 

“Hundred? Do we have enough room and equipment for them?” she asks, smirking again. “Alright, a hundred it is, but you better find someone who will bring in more money. I don’t want to burden our economy. Can you do that?”

 

“We can sell our latest loot, but of course, we should only sell our light arms… or just mold them into farm tools,” Alam suggests.

 

“Farm tools, huh? That’s an interesting idea. We can sell them at a cheaper price but in larger quantities. Not a bad idea,” she grins wider. “We can also use that loot as a reward to attract some worthy recruits. This is great! But first, let me see the loot, and then I’ll determine the price we should sell.”

 

Alam breaks the hug and raises his eyebrows. “But seriously, are we poor? Is there corruption? I thought we were rich now,” he pouts.

 

Carmelita chuckles at his expression. “We’re not poor, but we’re not rich either. We’re in a medium state. We can’t just say, ‘Oh, we won the war against the Yellow Nation, so we have lots of money to throw around.’ We need to use it wisely. There’s still some corruption here and there, after all.”

 

“Hm… I wonder why they forbid AI tech. We need that to track our expenses,” Alam muses.

 

“AI tech was forbidden because it’s too risky. AI is smart, but too smart for us to control, and there’s a chance it could rebel against us. We still don’t know if it would do good or bad,” she sighs. “You really like high tech, huh? What’s with this obsession with AI and machines all of a sudden?”

 

“It’s not like I’m a technocrat. I’m just pragmatic. Humans are naughty creatures. They need… constant reminders,” Alam winks. “Plus, it’s not like they’re going to take over us like in Terminator, you know?” alam then wiggle his eyebrows

 

 

“Humans are naive and foolish, I agree. But I still don’t like the idea of letting machines rule us. I’m not religious, but I trust humans to rule ourselves,” she replies with a smirk. “Maybe if we use some AI for calculating expenses and other non-important things, I’ll think about it. you can convice me easily you know”

 

Alam grins. “What do you mean I convince you easily?”

 

“You’re a good persuader. With your words and your act, it’s like you just make puppy eyes and pout,” she chuckles. “And you’re kinda cute in my eyes, which makes it easier to convince me than others.”

 

“Yes! I will conquer the world with my cuteness… and bullets! Hehe,” Alam declares.

 

“You forgot your charm point, you know,” she says, looking at him with an amused expression. “Do you think only cuteness and bullets will make you succeed? You really underestimate people’s lust. Charm is a very important weapon for seduction.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever. Just bring me a hundred men for the next campaign… please,” Alam pleads.

 

“Hmmm, alright, but first you need to promise me one thing,” she smirks.

 

“What? Say it, woman,” Alam replies.

 

“You have to spend time with me~,” she says with a sly smile. “After our success in getting a hundred men, you have to accompany me somewhere.”

 

“Nyooohhhhhhh!” Alam exclaims.

 

“Awww, what’s that? Don’t like spending time with me?” she pouts. “I think you enjoy it when we’re alone and intimate~.”

 

Timeskip. Alam, now with his hundred warriors, is ready to embark on their new journey. He checks his intercom, studying the eastern map. The land is shrouded in mystery, possibly even home to mutants, but his goal is clear: to find valuable pre-war tech for his people.

 

The Wanderers set off in their buggies, Mad Max-style cars, and military-grade armored vehicles, passing through villages and towns. As they roll by, the locals cheer for them. The people see the Wanderers as protectors against the bandits and aggressive warlords that once roamed the region. Now, they feel free from tyranny.some villagers offer them food or express their gratitude.

 

Despite this newfound freedom, the region is still recovering from the devastation of World War III and the EMP collapse. With electric generators and nuclear reactors failing, people have turned to windmills and biogas for energy. Gasoline has become scarce and expensive, but the locals remain hopeful that one day, they’ll reclaim their glory days.

To the west, the Wanderers faced the Yellow Nation, a powerful nomadic group led by Bayarl Khan. Equipped with armored trains and remnants of NATO ground forces, they held a significant advantage in both numbers and technology. Only the Carpathian Mountains, Carpathia's natural fortress, kept them at bay. Even with the current truce, border skirmishes were frequent, fueled by the Yellow Nation’s ingrained “eye for an eye” mentality and long-simmering clan feuds  for generations.

For now, Alam knew the region was unstable. In his mind, true power came from a combination of economic strength and technological advancement. One fueled the other. Conquest was the only way to secure both.

Reaching the Don River, Wanderers tested the water for radiation. The readings were low—a sign of the land slowly healing. One of them filled a purification bottle, watching the water steam and condense before taking a cautious sip. “Clean,” he announced. “We’re good for water heading east.”

From atop his armored vehicle, Alam lowered his Red Nation-made binoculars. They were a gift, but also a reminder of their dependence. The Wanderers needed to become self-sufficient, to control their own destiny.

 

Beyond the river lies the eastern wasteland—a harsh winter landscape inhabited by aggressive people but rich in resources and treasures from pre war bunkers. It’s the perfect place for someone like him, always looking for the next adventure.

 

“Alright, Wanderers! Let’s go conquer this land!” Alam raises his sword toward the horizon, rallying his troops for the journey ahead.

They were trying to find a way to cross the Don River, but most of the bridges were destroyed. Just when it seemed like they were out of luck, they stumbled upon a tribe guarding one of the remaining bridges. The tribe was armed with old AKs, and an APC without wheels was parked nearby, serving as a static defense.

Alam approached the bridge, his armored vehicle rumbling to a halt. The old man with the beard straightened, his eyes widening slightly as he saw Alam. A faint sigh escaped his lips.

“Alam,” the old man greeted, his voice tinged with weariness. “Always pushing your luck, aren’t you?”

“We’re going to cross the bridge,” Alam declared.

The old man with the beard, who seemed to be the leader of the group, stepped forward. “Ah, Alam. Looking for conquest, are you? Have you never heard the legend of the White Witch beyond this river?”

Alam snorted. “I’ve killed a lot of witches in the past,” he smirked. “I don’t fear anything.”

 

The man shook his head. “You don’t understand. Beyond the dark woods, mutants and supersoldiers guard the White Witch. You’ll lose your men... even Bayarl Khan fears this land.”

“Good! Then I’ll make history by conquering this place,” Alam grinned,

The man shook his head again. “This is no ordinary witch. She is the embodiment of the past’s hubris, the price of tampering with what should have been left alone. Her guardians are not mere beasts, but reflections of the consequences.”

alam just blinked several times. and unfazed

The old man sighed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "You always were one for grand pronouncements. Well, I suppose nothing I say will change your mind. The toll for the bridge is one credit per man.”

Alam nodded. "Consider it a down payment. I'm also looking to hire a few good fighters. A thousand credits for those willing to join me."

The old man’s eyebrows shot up. He exchanged a few quick words with his tribesmen in their own language, then turned back to Alam. “A thousand, eh? You’re serious. Alright. I can recommend some of the younger lads. They're itching for a bit of excitement. It's not about the money," he added, a glint in his eye that suggested otherwise.. "It's… well, you did help us out with those bandits a while back. We don’t forget that.”

After a short wait, a group of young men arrived, carrying a mix of bolt-action rifles and AKs. The old man clapped one of them on the shoulder. “Go with Alam. He’ll keep you out of too much trouble… hopefully.”

Alam nodded, a confident smile spreading across his face. “Wise move. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they return to their families and wives…” He glanced at the young men, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “...and future wives. Plenty of adventure to be had before then.”

The Wanderers and their new tribal allies crossed the bridge, passing through abandoned towns and cities. The atmosphere was serene and peaceful, birds chirping in the woods. So peaceful, in fact, that Alam almost started to think this whole “conquest” thing was going to be a relaxing vacation.

They reached a clearing near the edge of the dense woods, forming a standard defensive circle with their armored vehicles. Tents sprung up within, fires were lit, and the combined group settled in for the night, That thought lasted precisely until sunrise.

A commotion jolted him awake. He burst from his tent to find a vehicle ablaze, other Wanderers scrambling with buckets and anything else they could find to douse the flames threatening the nearby tents.. “What the fuck!” Alam exclaimed, throwing his arms up in confusion.

 

Once the fire was finally put out, Alam and his officers assessed the situation. Jax, a bulky man with right mechanical arm, reported, “Sir, we lost 7 Wanderers and 4 tribesmen. 6 others are still missing. One light vehicle is out of action, and the attackers are unknown. All the victims had their throats cut. It’s like a beast did this.”

 

Alam rubbed his forehead in frustration. “We already scanned this area with drones. Let’s use thermal and infrared drones to locate the attacker.”

 

While mechanics jury-rigged the new tech onto a drone, Alam watched the grim task of burying the dead in a shallow grave. He grimaced at the deep claw marks on the victims. Definitely not your average woodland creature.

 

By midday, the enhanced drone returned, revealing hidden bunkers in the woods. And tracks. Lots of tracks. A mix of wolf and bear prints, but… bigger. Much bigger.

 

“Good. We’re going on the offensive,” Alam declared. “Order our men to arm themselves with makeshift spears, bayonet attachments or anything pointy for their rifles. We’re going to hunt the skinwalkers.” He frowned as he looked at the map,

By afternoon, the Wanderers had the target area surrounded. It was a makeshift base of some kind, a bunker hunkered down amidst overgrown barbed wire and the skeletal remains of abandoned warehouses. The lengthening shadows were starting to give the place an eerie feel.

 

 “We must finish this before night falls. Get moving, men!” Alam ordered as he took his place in the second line. As they got closer to the bunker door, Suddenly, a flash of white erupted from the bunker’s dome. A massive white tiger, easily twice the size of a normal tiger, landed with a resounding thump, its claws scraping against the metal.

 

 

A collective gasp swept through the Wanderers. Before they could fully react, a low growl rumbled from behind the tiger. A wolf, equally massive and clearly mutated, its fur matted and scarred, emerged onto the dome, its eyes glowing with a feral intensity. The sheer size of the creatures—their muscles bulging, their teeth bared—made it clear they were far from natural.

 

“Fuck... mind-controlled animals,” Alam muttered.

 

“Do we attack, sir? Or flee?” one Wanderer stammered, clearly rattled by the sight. Alam was momentarily stunned.

 

the wolf leaped from the dome, landing among the front line of Wanderers. The tiger followed, its powerful legs propelling it forward. “Attack!” Alam shouted, snapping back to reality.

 

Gunfire erupted as the wolf lunged at one of the Wanderers. A bayonet struck the wolf in the chest, and the tribesmen and Wanderers formed a shield wall to fend off the beasts while others picked them off with their rifles.

 

As the sky darkened, all the beasts were finally killed. Alam took a deep breath, checking his rifle magazine. “We’re not done yet. Set a perimeter around the bunker, and the rest follow me to explore inside!”

A loud bang echoed as the bunker door blew inward, dust and debris raining down. They entered the damp corridor, the air thick with the smell of mildew and something… else.

Alam found a room filled with monitors and ancient computer terminals. His mechanic,, quickly got to work, bypassing the security protocols. The screens flickered to life, revealing a network of cameras within the bunker and, more disturbingly, connections to a hidden lab. Alam grinned. “Jackpot.”

But his expression quickly turned to a frown as he noticed the twisted experiments taking place. Security cameras in the lab showed some Wanderers and tribesmen who had gone missing, lying on beds while mechanical arms ravaged their bodies. Another camera displayed animals undergoing brain surgery.

 

“Fuck... we... we will kill them all,” Alam said, his eyes filled with anger as he saw a woman in the lab casually eating cake beside a dead body from the experiments

alam clap his forehead. trying calm himself. he take a long breath and out. a forced smile on his face. “Well, then,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “Looks like someone’s been very, very naughty.”

Chapter 2 The Frozen Heart

 

The eastern wasteland—a stretch of land spanning from Central Asia to Eastern Europe—was a patchwork of arid plains and crumbling ruins. Here, rogue generals had carved out petty kingdoms, ruling over isolated domains. The EMP collapse had been a great leveler, but some pre-war technology had survived, locked away in fortified bunkers. These bunkers became treasure troves, allowing the nine major nations to salvage and repurpose what they could.

Inside one such bunker, the Wanderers moved through dimly lit corridors, a buzz of anticipation in the air. Outside, their armored vehicles—donations from the Red Nation—stood sentinel. Technicians in mismatched gear, rifles slung over their shoulders, crowded around ancient terminals, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and professional curiosity.

“I’ve only seen this stuff in textbooks,” one muttered, carefully brushing dust off a monitor. “Maybe we actually struck gold.”

The post-EMP world was a testament to human adaptability. The Yellow Nation, embracing their nomadic lifestyle, had repurposed old railway lines as makeshift supply routes, their lighter, more agile vehicles navigating the decaying infrastructure. The Wanderers, on the other hand, relied on heavier, Red Nation-designed engines, prioritizing durability over speed. Each faction had found its own way, making do with what they had.

The Wanderers moved through dimly lit corridors, the air thick with the smell of ozone and something faintly metallic. Outside, their armored vehicles—donations from the Red Nation—stood sentinel. Technicians in mismatched gear, rifles slung over their shoulders, crowded around ancient terminals, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and professional curiosity. They reached a massive steel door, reinforced with thick plating and secured by multiple locking mechanisms.

“This is it,” Jax said, running a hand over the cold metal. “Main lab. If anything survived the Collapse, it’s behind this.”

Alam circled the door, examining the seams and hinges. “Looks like they expected company.” He tapped a spot near the bottom. “Breaching charges?”

“Already setting them,” a Wanderer replied, attaching sticky explosives to the door. “But if that doesn’t work…” He gestured to a large backpack one of the men was carrying. “…we brought the backup plan.”

Jax watched the Wanderers plant the explosives, a flicker of unease in his eyes. He turned to Alam. “You won’t… take any personal revenge in there, will you?”

Alam rubbed his hand absently, a faint, almost imperceptible tremor in his fingers. “These psychos are remnants of the old world,” he said, his voice flat. “But I’ll try… to be civilized.” He paused, his gaze hardening. “We need what’s in there. No unnecessary mess.”

In her laboratory—marked by a prominent tusk symbol on the door—Ruan Mei, a woman with dark purple hair and a white lab coat stained with old blood, set down her scalpel.

“The experiment has ended. Time to take a break. I just can't miss this freshly made dessert,” she muttered,

Suddenly, the lab door was smashed open, and a group of soldiers with shields stormed in.they wear a dark cloak with dark drip. and At the center of this armed group stood a man in a black leather jacket with black wavy long hair—Alam.

 

"Hey, are you the war criminal who experiments on half-dead prisoners for the sake of curiosity?" Alam demanded.

 

Ruan Mei, unfazed, replied, "Yes. A little harmless experiment wouldn't be so bad, would it?"

 

"I see. I'm here for justice," Alam stated.

 

"You've come to the wrong person, then. I have no remorse for my actions," Ruan Mei retorted.

 

"Get her, boys!" Alam commanded, and armed men rushed toward Ruan Mei.

 

in flash, A jagged wall of ice erupted from the polished floor, a crystalline barrier slamming into the advancing wanderers. The impact sent them reeling, their bodies crashing against the frozen surface with sickening crunches. Some were thrown back, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, while others remained plastered against the ice, their dark cloaks stained crimson.

"This might be a lot more fun than I initially thought," Ruan Mei mused.

 

Alam's jaw dropped. "What is this madness?"

 

"A demonstration of my power," Ruan Mei declared, as a circle formed around Alam, and ice spikes rose to surround him. "And a warning that your efforts are futile."

 

"I see... This person is one of their augmented!. Spread out! Shoot them in the face!" Alam ordered, and the armed men started shooting at Ruan Mei.

 

A wall of ice blocked all attacks, shattering and creating a huge wall of debris. "Your bullets aren't the only things that are cold and deadly, you know," Ruan Mei taunted, forming a small sphere of ice in her right hand and throwing it like a projectile into the ground.

 

"Wear your masks!" Alam shouted, throwing a grenade and its release a green smoke.

 

"I see that your method of attack is by blinding your opponents. This won't work well against me," Ruan Mei commented.

 

The mist made her a little drowsy, causing her to almost lose her balance temporarily as she coughed for breath. "You know... That was a good move. Good enough that I haven't seen this technique before," Ruan Mei admitted.

 

"Okay... Capture her!" Alam ordered.

 

As the warriors rushed to capture her, The floor beneath their feet transformed into a sheet of brittle ice. Cracks spiderwebbed across the surface, then with a sharp crack, the ice gave way, sending the soldiers tumbling into the freezing chasm below

 

"You're persistent, I'll grant you that. But you really should choose your actions more carefully next time," Ruan Mei advised.

 

"Damn, this creature is harder... Prepare the RPG!" Alam cursed.

 

The armed men grabbed RPGs, arming them and loading shells into the tubes, aiming for Ruan Mei while hiding behind the debris.

 

"Hehe... Don't shoot at the same time. Give the rocket a chance to pierce that ice," Alam instructed.

 

The men fired at Ruan Mei's position, and both rockets collided with her position, piercing her ice wall but not causing any damage to her. "Hm. Nice attempt, but you failed," Ruan Mei remarked, as the ice quickly rebuilt itself around her position, even thicker and harder than before.

 

" Just keep shooting the ceiling!" Alam decided,

 

The armed men then started shooting upwards from Ruan Mei's position, but the shards of ice only made the ceiling thicker and more stable. "Your effort so far is quite admirable, but you're getting on my nerves," Ruan Mei taunted.

 

Alam noticed an air ventilation in the corner of the room. "That's it... That's her weakness. Don't let any water flow into this room," he instructed.

 

Ruan Mei simply blocked off the air vent and froze it solid with her ice. "As I said, your efforts are quite admirable. However, trying to stop air flow isn't going to help when the air vent itself is frozen over and sealed. Your desperation is also showing," she mocked.

Alam stared at the rapidly reforming ice, a flicker of genuine bewilderment crossing his face. "So… you just… make it?"

Ruan Mei arched an eyebrow. "Is that so difficult to comprehend?"

"Flamethrowers," Alam barked. "Let's see how much you like a dry heat." He pulled on his gas mask.

A faint blue glow emanated from the remaining ice shards, and a wave of frigid air washed over the room. Ruan Mei’s lips curled into a thin smile. "Such… crude tactics."

The room turned frigid as humidity evaporated, and droplets of water fell like rain. "You might want to reconsider," Ruan Mei suggested.

 

"So, want to surrender?" Alam asked, aiming his gun at her as her ice shield began to crack.

 

"That won't help you. I don't need air, and I can rebuild my shield anytime. Surrender? Never. You've proven your valor, but you can't win," Ruan Mei declared, firing a bolt of cold that temporarily disabled Alam's gun.

 

"I see... RPG team!" Alam unfazed, and draw second pistol, then commanded, and the flamethrower crew launched a barrage of rockets at Ruan Mei.

 

The rockets struck her, but her thick ice shield remained intact. Though the force pushed her back, she quickly recovered. "The RPGs are useless against me," she stated.

 

Alam muttered, "This person is not human... a monster. Jax, get the breaching kit." He then turned back to Ruan Mei, a grim look on his face. "Let's see how you handle something a little hotter."

                                                                                                

"I prefer 'superhuman.' But I must admit, your persistence is impressive," Ruan Mei replied.

 

"No, a monster," Alam insisted, crossing his arms.

 

"Fine, call me a 'monster.' But you have to admit, my powers are amazing," Ruan Mei conceded.

 

"Pathetic," Alam retorted, throwing a bottle toward her.

 

Ruan Mei caught it and crushed it effortlessly. "This won't do anything. You're starting to bore me."

 

Alam then covered her with Thermite powder. "Do you know what's in that bottle?"

 

"Yes, a flammable substance that burns at high temperatures. But you can't hurt me," Ruan Mei replied.

 

Alam detonated the bottle, igniting the Thermite and causing her skin to melt.

 

Ruan Mei raised her hand, instantly freezing a wall of water around her to wash away the powder. "Your weapons are still useless against me," she declared.

"I see... Here, drink this," Alam said, offering her a potion by throw it above icy wall again.

 

Ruan Mei sighed and took the potion, drinking it. "What is it?" she asked after unconsciously consume the mysterious potion.

 

"Fool..." Alam smirked as Ruan Mei's body started to become limp.

 

As the effects of the potion kicked in, Ruan Mei struggled to stay conscious and fell to the ground. "Gah... What-- What did you--" she gasped.

 

"You're strong, but your arrogance and dumbness... Are your demise. You lose..." Alam stated.

 

Ruan Mei tried to push herself up, but the potion was having its way. She slumped back to the floor, consciousness slipping. "I... refuse..." she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper.

"Goodbye," Alam said simply. Ruan Mei went limp.

The Wanderers cautiously circled her unconscious form, then quickly moved to secure her. Alam took a deep breath, surveying the chaotic lab. Jax appeared behind him, his hand resting on the small of his back. "We lost some good people," Jax muttered.

Alam nodded, picking up some pristine documents from a nearby desk. He flipped through them, brows furrowed. Jax watched him for a moment. "How… did you have a sleeping drugs on you?"

Alam glanced up, a faint smile playing on his lips. "For avoiding boring sex."

Jax blinked, then let out a short chuckle. Alam’s smile widened slightly before he returned to the documents, his mind still reeling.

later. alam ask reinforment from carmelita. soon the hind helicopter landed on area. pick up ruan mei and alam. while jax tasked to secure the region.

A few hours later, Alam saw her with a bunch of people wearing lab suits. "Hey... What do you feel now?" he asked.

 

Ruan Mei's eyesight was a little foggy at first, but she could clearly see the many lab people walking about and examining the machines around her. "What... Happened? And why did you bring me here? What are those devices doing here?" she questioned.

 

"Those devices will shortly disable your movement. They hijack your brain cells, hehe," Alam explained.

 

"Then... You've trapped me here against my will. I cannot move, and I cannot resist against you. Why? What is this all about?" Ruan Mei demanded.

 

"Yes... My nation is about to be invaded with greater military power such free world. And I noticed you guys are doing some naughty science... So, I brought justice and won't let my enemy capture your tech," Alam revealed.

 

Ruan Mei's hand tightened on the armrest, her knuckles whitening. The corner of her lip twitched, and her eyes narrowed to slits. "So, you intend to use my genius for your own purposes?" she asked, her voice laced with contempt.

 

Alam shook his head. "No, not my purposes... but our purposes. If my enemy captures you, you'll end up in a worse situation."

 

Ruan Mei sighed. "Then you plan to use my intelligence for your own country's benefit. Well, my genius is not something I'm willing to give you for free. No one in the history of the world has managed to control me."

 

"Hoh... Well, if I can't control you, at least I saved you from those... heh," Alam replied.

 

Ruan Mei laughed sarcastically. "Oh... So you saved me? You think I would thank you for trapping me here against my will and using this as a way to control and use me for your own selfish purposes and for your own country?"

 

"Yes... So tell me about yourself. Are you a part of Mammoth or just a different branch and faction?" Alam asked.

 

"The Genius Society is an independent organization that doesn't answer to any government or governing body. As for myself, I am one of the original creators and scientists of the Simulated Universe. It is not a simple feat to be able to create an entire universe with countless Aeons and planets. I worked hard to reach where I am currently. This organization's research and technology is far beyond any other organizations' capabilities," Ruan Mei explained.

 

"Yeah, yeah... Delusional. You created those virtual worlds for recreational purposes. That's how your finances still keep flowing. And of course, you use it for ambiguous science projects," Alam retorted.

 

"That is true to an extent... The creation of the Simulated Universe is indeed just a side project to experiment with, to fulfill my personal curiosity, and for fun. However, the creation of the Aeons and the planets within the Simulated Universe has provided tremendous value in terms of technology development as well as research for many other projects in the Genius Society. Although it's not as prestigious as a lot of the other projects, the Simulated Universe project has its own value that cannot be overlooked," Ruan Mei clarified.

 

"Well, what's your goal?" Alam pressed.

 

"I've always been curious about the possibilities and potential of a realistic, living, breathing universe. For example, would sentient beings emerge as a by-product of a universe's evolution? Could it lead to intelligent life? Would they possess their own unique culture, history, and civilization? So I decided to create one and see how it'd pan out," Ruan Mei shared.

 

"Umm, what? What even does all that mean? Use simple words, please," Alam said, confused.

 

Ruan Mei sighed. "I'm trying to say that I was curious what would happen if I created a realistic, living, breathing universe. You could see it as a big experiment. And the experiment has proven to be quite successful.

The living beings within the Simulated Universe have gained consciousness and their own free will. They've created their own civilization and are now growing and evolving naturally, like how it normally works in reality."

 

"I see... And what does that have to do with your non-human abilities or human experiments? That is completely unrelated," Alam questioned.

 

"To give the experiment more life-like realism, I decided to infuse the universe with fragments of my own essence. This allowed it to behave in a significantly more realistic and natural fashion, including its inhabitants. As for the human experiments, that is just for my own pleasure. While I am fascinated with the evolution and nature of human beings, I sometimes cannot resist the urge to experiment with them myself. My other colleagues in the Genius Society tend to frown upon this behavior of mine as they see it as unethical, but I don't really find it an issue," Ruan Mei admitted.

 

Alam burst into laughter. "Ahahaha... I see... You amuse me. I need to punish you for that."

 

Ruan Mei started laughing. "You really think you can punish me? I have already gone through much worse punishment than anything you could possibly inflict onto me. but please. Amuse me."

 

"Oho... How about if that punishment is inside your brain instead? I can recreate what hell is inside your dreams," Alam suggested.

 

"You can certainly try. I've already suffered plenty of torment and pain in the past. I highly doubt anything you'd be able to conjure up would be capable of doing much to me, unless it's something completely out of the ordinary or unexpected. But I'm curious as to what you have in store, so go ahead and do your worst. Just be prepared for me to mock you for your pitiful attempts," Ruan Mei taunted.

 

"I see... You are a masochist, aren't you?" Alam smirked.

 

Ruan Mei laughed. "I would hardly call myself a masochist. I just have a high tolerance for pain. However, I'm really enjoying this. Your attempts at inflicting torment on me have been entertaining so far. So keep it coming."

 

"Yeah... That's what a masochist would do," Alam chuckled.

 

"Well, then consider me a masochist if you'd like. If that's the case, I'm sure you'll have a lot more fun playing with me, right?" Ruan Mei teased.

 

Alam shook his head. "No, I have a bigger purpose to defend my land than torture a mad scientist like you."

 

Ruan Mei pouted. "Aww... And here I thought we were at least having a bit of fun. Well, if you insist on being a boring fellow, so be it. But before you go, I'd like to ask you one last question."

 

"What?" Alam asked.

 

"I'm curious about the reason why you are so bent on defending your land. Why is it so precious to you?" Ruan Mei inquired.

 

"It's my comrades... my friends... and my family... my soul," Alam replied, his voice filled with determination.

Ruan Mei sighed. "I see. So it's not really about the land itself. But rather those who inhabit the land, correct?"

 

Alam nodded. "Well, of course, it's just a piece of dirt... What really matters is who is living on it."

 

"I see. Then I assume that the nation you are protecting is your home too?" Ruan Mei inquired.

 

"Of course," Alam replied. "Now... Don't you want to protect someone you love as well?"

 

Ruan Mei scoffed. "Of course I care about my loved ones. But the difference between your situation and mine is that the nation I call home is not under threat of invasion. Therefore, I cannot relate to your desire to defend your home."

 

Alam chuckled. "Hoho... What a narrow-minded view. After they're done with my nation, their next target is your land... Little girl..."

 

Ruan Mei laughed. "You overestimate your importance. Your little nation is barely a blip on our radar, a mere annoyance to some of my colleagues. And as for 'little girl'—I've surpassed anything you could imagine."

Alam smirked. "Then explain how my 'children playing with toys' breached your heavily fortified lab with minimal losses. How will you fare against a real invasion?"

Ruan Mei chuckled. "Your 'special ops' were a triviality. We have no need for fortifications against such paltry forces. I alone could dismantle your entire military."

Alam raised an eyebrow. "And what about the tech I took? Did you forget that little detail?"

Ruan Mei scoffed. "This isn't a vault. We pursue knowledge, not riches. You've stolen nothing of true value."

Alam crossed his arms. "If not for research, then what is your purpose?"

"Curiosity," Ruan Mei said. "I create universes to explore their possibilities. The Aeons and planets are merely byproducts."

Alam smirked. "And now that you're… incapacitated, how will you satisfy that curiosity?"

Ruan Mei laughed. "You can restrain my body, but never my mind. No amount of torment can touch my intellect."

Alam nodded. "So, you choose endless torture over cooperation?"

Ruan Mei laughed again. "Cooperate? With someone who violates me for his own ends? I'd choose death first."

 

Alam chuckled. "Sometimes, pride makes people foolish."

 

Ruan Mei retorted, "This isn't pride; it's disdain. I refuse to work with someone who has violated me. If you think guilt will make me comply, you've failed."

 

Alam smirked. "It's your fault too. One of your experiment subjects is my man. You set the fire."

 

Ruan Mei chuckled. "You invaded my lab to rescue one subject? You broke through my defenses for one man?"

 

Alam shook his head. "No, I took your tech too." He displayed a monitor showing a virtual world diagram.

 

Ruan Mei sighed. "That? I create new diagrams for each universe. It's worthless."

Alam nodded. "But I have the tools and the knowledge to replicate them. Tell me, Ruan Mei: what matters more—the real world or the simulation?"

Ruan Mei laughed. "They are one and the same to me. The Simulated Universe informs reality. Both are equally fascinating."

Alam smirked. "A good answer. Your choices are simple: surrender, torture, or death."

Ruan Mei laughed again. "None of those entice me. There is one option I might consider… but I doubt you'd offer it."

Alam raised an eyebrow. "Then consider this: you've been injected with a fast-acting venom. Three days. I have the antidote. Perhaps that will focus your mind."

As the venom took hold, Ruan Mei felt her body weaken, pain lancing through her. Yet, she maintained her composure.

Alam nodded. "Three days. Consider your choices. Perhaps you'll be begging for the antidote before then. Farewell."

Ruan Mei gave a final, strained laugh. "I think not. I don't beg. You'll never break me. Perhaps… perhaps you should fear me regaining control."

Alam suggested, "Use this time to find redemption. Pain is a powerful motivator. You have three days to make peace with your god… or with me."

Ruan Mei chuckled, despite the agony. "Repent? You misunderstand me entirely. I would die before I yielded to you."

Chapter 3 Balance of power

 

1st Day:

Ruan Mei writhed in agony, the venom burning through her. Her thoughts grew sluggish, her vision blurred. The pain threatened to overwhelm her, pulling her toward unconsciousness.

2nd Day:

The venom intensified, each moment bringing fresh waves of unbearable pain. Her body spasmed violently, leaving her weak and dizzy. Maintaining consciousness became a struggle, exhaustion pulling at her.

Hours Before the 3rd Day:

Alam found Ruan Mei curled into a fetal position, her breath ragged and shallow. Her skin felt feverish. Though disoriented, she could still hear him.

Alam gently touched her cheek. "Blink three times if you want the antidote."

Ruan Mei didn't react at first, her eyes twitching uncontrollably from the pain. Finally, with a monumental effort, she managed three blinks.

Alam chuckled. "Good. First phase. This will ease the pain." He injected the antidote.

Almost instantly, the burning subsided, replaced by a wave of soothing coolness. Her breathing evened, though her vision remained blurred. She was still weak, but the agony was gone.

Alam chuckled. "Hehe... Good... Then I inject the antidote. This first phase will give you enough to remove the pain."

Her vision slowly cleared. The antidote was working. She took a breath, then spoke, her voice faint but clear. "What would you like to hear?"

 

Alam leaned in. "Now... Say something."

 

Ruan Mei slowly opened her eyes, allowing her vision to readjust to its normal state. As her vision cleared, she could feel the effects of the antidote kicking in at the same time. She was able to think more clearly now, and she could process what Alam had just asked her to say. She took a moment to regain her composure and then opened her mouth to speak.

 

Alam pressed, "Say what?"

 

Ruan Mei took a moment to think, and then she spoke in a quiet and clear tone. "What would you like to hear?"

 

Alam smirked. "Where is the sorry part? For being a mad scientist and prideful."

 

Ruan Mei laughed slightly. "Sorry? Is that what you want to hear? An apology? You're joking, right? How can you expect me to apologize for being a mad scientist or for being proud of my work? My research has no limits, and my pride and sense of accomplishment can never be compromised."

 

Alam shook his head. "That antidote is just the first phase. Without the second one, you will still die in the next hour."

 

Ruan Mei laughed again. "You really think I will beg for the second phase of that antidote? What kind of idiot do you take me for? Do you actually believe that I will ask you to grant me the antidote? You're out of your mind. I'd rather die here than accept something from you."

 

Alam nodded. "Good... Die."

 

Ruan Mei closed her eyes, a smirk on her face. "If you think I'll die that quickly, then it is you who is the fool. I can still survive for a while longer, even without the antidote. My body is strong and durable, and so it may still live even without the antidote, although the agony and pain will return. But as long as it takes before I die, I'll resist you until my very last breath, because I'd rather die than give in to you."

 

Ruan Mei closed her eyes, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "If you believe it will be that easy, you are mistaken. My body is resilient. I will endure as long as I can. I will resist you to my last breath."

The smirk vanished as the venom's agonizing grip tightened again. Pain surged through her, blurring her vision, slowing her breath. Her strength ebbed away, and unconsciousness threatened to claim her.

Alam sighed. "One hundred thousand RM credits… wasted on a stubborn child."

Ruan Mei’s body convulsed, her breath rattling in her chest. The venom was reaching its climax. A weak chuckle escaped her lips at the irony. Even such a vast sum couldn’t save her now. She was slipping away.

Alam watched as her body was carried away, a grim look on his face. He considered her stubborn pride. Was it truly worth dying for?

He turned back to his duties, Carmelita watching him with a thoughtful expression.

In the 24th century, replicating ancient technology was a rare skill. Humanity relied on a strange mix of medieval and modern tools—iron swords and laser guns sharing the same battlefield. Certain technologies, like AI, human implants, advanced weaponry, cloning, teleportation, and genetic engineering, were officially outlawed. But in this chaotic world, laws were more like guidelines

The Wanderers, a Carpathian-based mercenary company, had risen from humble beginnings to become a significant regional power, though not yet strong enough to join the New World Council.

alam founding on the ruan mei and its genius society bunkers is like opening a pandora box m, the genius society is linked to various shady deal across the world, including wanderers donor. a red nation based in north america.

red nation is natural rival of yellow nation. and wanderer on the middle on the two giant. especially given their origins tied closely to the Red Nation or so-called Free World, and ruled by man named Zion.

Exploring the area around Ruan Mei's lab, Alam discovered a hidden missile launch site behind the vegetation, its targeting systems clearly aimed at Yellow Nation territory. The implication was clear: Zion was protecting and supporting the Genius Society, granting them sanctuary in exchange for advanced technology and strategic assets like this missile site.

This discovery presented Alam with a difficult choice. Ignoring the situation meant risking a devastating war between the Red and Yellow Nations. The Yellow Nation, led by Bayarl Khan, had long harbored grievances against the Red Nation, fueled by territorial disputes and a history of conflict. Both of these expansionist factions were willing to do anything to justify war.

If the Red Nation continued its aggressive ambitions under Zion, the Yellow Nation would likely retaliate, leading to a conflict that could engulf not only the Wanderers but also the surrounding regions. Alam's decision to intervene was not merely about loyalty to the Wanderers; it was a strategic move to prevent a larger war that could devastate their way of life. He understood that the stakes were high: a war would not only threaten their survival but also disrupt the delicate balance of power in the region, potentially drawing in other factions and escalating the violence.

In this tense scenario, the Wanderers found themselves in a position reminiscent of Cold War-era tensions, akin to Cuba, Korea, and Afghanistan, but with a unique twist. Intervening, however, meant severing ties with the Red Nation, a powerful former ally, complicating Alam's already precarious situation.

Alam stood before a Red Nation flag on the wanderer base,. With a swift motion, he drew his dagger and plunged it through the center of the crimson banner. The act was decisive. The alliance was broken. They were now in open rebellion. Alam, once a supporter of Zion, now understood that Zion’s expansionist ambitions were a direct threat to the fragile peace the Wanderers had fought so hard to maintain.

They say balance is key—a blend of action and introspection. Alam has come to understand the dangers of hubris and arrogance, having taken a life in the process. But how can a mere man stand against an empire?

Carmelita, a woman draped in a black veil, entered Alam's office. "I know you wanted to see her on her redemption arc," she said knowingly. "But not everyone seeks redemption. You could have saved time and resources by just killing Ruan Mei in the first place."

 

Alam turned to face her, their eyes locking. "I know... But I believe everyone deserves a second chance."

 

Carmelita rolled her eyes, sarcasm lacing her words. "Whatever you say, boss. So, what's the next move?"

 

Alam nodded, fingers intertwined. "We now understand Zion's plan to use AI virtual worlds to control his population. It's more effective than drugs, cigarettes, vodka, or even sex dolls." He paused, his mind racing. "Let's research this further and uncover the side effects. Perhaps we can convince the Free World of its dangers and tarnish Zion's reputation."

Carmelita considered Alam's insight. Past civilizations had indeed used cheap alcohol, substances, and pornography to dull the masses, but AI VR represented a new level of control. "So, send in an agent?" she suggested.

Alam smiled, a glint of cunning in his eyes. "Of course, dumbass."

Meanwhile, as his agents were dispatched, Alam now faced a more dangerous opponent: capitalism and nature itself. The region Alam controlled sprawled from the Carpathian Mountains in Ukraine to Central Asia—a vast, sparsely populated area with scarce resources. Moreover, their neighbors were mostly hostile, and the majority were Zion's lapdogs.

Despite the absence of Zion's ground forces in the region due to some… logistical difficulties, his influence lingered through vassals like the Blood Khaganate. Their loyalty wasn’t based on shared ideology or ancient treaties. It was about coal.

Thanks to various global catastrophes before and after WW3, Earth's temperature had cooled, especially in the winter, with days growing longer. If you lived in the tropics or near the equator,

Alam shivered, pulling his thick coat tighter. Winter was coming, and in this part of the world, that was a death sentence. The Free World knew this, of course. They’d been shipping tons of coal and those fancy heat generators to anyone willing to bend the knee. A clever way to control things without getting your hands dirty.

Now, Alam’s isolated faction faced its own harsh winter. Providing heat for his people was a nightmare…

He grappled with the daunting challenge. With most young men in the military, only the elderly and children remained in the cities, leaving him with a manpower shortage.

Alam refused child labor or slave acquisition. Instead, he made the difficult decision to scrap some of his tanks, repurposing them into generators. He also turned to the black market, dealing with pirates and shady nations like the Green Nation in south for robot laborers—Dolls.

In the past, Alam might have turned to child labor, but he had grown as a leader. Despite opposition from his officers, he insisted that their tanks were useless without fuel and that children should be allowed to be children. not a factory shift.

As winter dragged on, a new crisis emerged: rationing food and medicine. While this strategy preserved resources and prevented starvation, it also bred discontent and despair among the population.

 Alam’s fingers were numb, his toes were numb, and honestly, his soul felt a little numb too. Distributing the last of the medicinal herbs, he wondered if frostbite counted as a medical emergency. Probably. This whole world was one big medical emergency, if you thought about it

Alam, drawing inspiration from the story of Yusuf, or Joseph, chose to preserve resources and granted extra rations only to the sick. He spread pamphlets about the prophet's wisdom to bolster mental fortitude. "we must preserve." The people, their eyes as hollow as their stomachs, reluctantly agreed. Hope, it seemed, was a luxury they could no longer afford.

As winter intensified, rumors of a Blood Khaganate spy spread chaos through Alam's city. Faced with growing discontent, Alam enforced strict laws to maintain order, a decision that eroded individual liberties and diminished hope, potentially leading to a tyrannical regime.

Late in the winter, a major crisis emerged when rebels stole a granary on the Khaganate's border, leaving many starving. The desperate question of cannibalism arose, threatening to damage the city's moral compass and lead to societal collapse.

Alam knew the Khaganate’s game: portray him as a monster, a subhuman who drove his people to cannibalism, thus justifying a full-scale invasion. It was a classic dehumanization tactic.

“They’re painting us as savages,” Alam said to his advisors, holding up a crudely drawn poster depicting Wanderers gnawing on bones. “It’s effective propaganda. But we won’t give them the satisfaction.”

As the ice receded and the harsh steppes bloomed with wildflowers, nomadic groups emerged, some allied with the Khaganate, others fiercely independent. Alam's strategy was simple: liberate these lands and attract more nomads to bolster his own dwindling numbers.

The Blood Khaganate, living up to their name, mobilized a massive cavalry force toward Alam’s border. Without their tanks, the Wanderers were at a distinct disadvantage.

One spring day, the two forces met in a lush valley carpeted with yellow blossoms. The Wanderers, armed with high-tech weaponry and gunpowder, faced a mixed Khaganate force: some clad in modern armor, others wielding crude metal shields and melee weapons. Their crimson banners, emblazoned with white tridents, symbols of their supposed lineage tracing back to some obscure steppe warlord—snapped in the breeze.

Alam’s intercom crackled to life. It was Subutai, a Khaganate captain. His head was shaved at the front, the long hair at the back gathered in a traditional braid—a style mirrored by his riders, whose horses were adorned with painted antlers and colorful saddle blankets. Subutai sat astride a richly decorated horse, clearly making a point.

“Back off, Turks,” Subutai’s voice boomed. “Lay down your weapons and join our Khan. He offers you… ‘protection.’ Refuse, and your men will become a fertilizer of this valley. Your women will become… ‘guests.’”

Alam raised an eyebrow, suppressing a sigh. “You think a bit of Mongol DNA gives you the right to waltz in here? We won’t back down. Zion’s using us to pave his way to Europe and challenge the Yellow Nation. That’ll destabilize the peace we have maintain.”

Subutai laughed. “Peace? You want peace in this world? Surrender, Alam. Think of your little mountain tribe. We’ll spare them. Just give us back our missile, and let Zion do what he wants.”

Alam’s eye twitched. “You’re not seeing the bigger picture. When the Yellow Nation retaliates, we’ll be the first to get crushed.”

Subutai’s grin widened. “Zion’s coming in a year or so. You can’t stop the inevitable. Besides, we have the blood of the conqueror within us. It is our birthright to rule!”

Alam shook his head. “We’re not backing down.”

Subutai’s face hardened. “Then remember this, Turk. Genghis Khan’s blood runs in my veins. We’ll show you no mercy.” The connection cut.

Alam gave a hand signal. “They thinks their numbers and some ancestor worship will scare us off? Let them bleed for that mistak e.”

the wanderers are take position on the high valley. and the khaganate soldiers charge, along side with their horses, and armored vehicles.

wanderer sharp shooters is aim on the drivers first. their thermal scope and their bullet manage to pierce the armor, after the armored vehicles taken out. next is their horseman, series of grenade launch by sling and rocket launcer is make their decimated their horseman.

Despite the heavy losses, Subutai and a handful of riders pressed on. Subutai’s horse cleared the hastily erected, pointy log fence the Wanderers had set up. He was a sight to behold—an SMG clutched in his left hand, a scimitar gleaming in his right, a true warrior in full charge.

Then, a Wanderer sniper’s bullet found its mark, hitting Subutai in the neck. He tumbled from his horse, ending the charge.

The remaining Khaganate forces, shaken by the sudden loss of their leader and the effectiveness of the Wanderers’ defense, broke and retreated, leaving behind their supply tents.

Alam examines a captured Khaganate supply depot, he could note the mix of advanced fuel cells alongside barrels of oil and simple farming tools, reflecting on how society has regressed in some areas while retaining fragments of the past. "They're hauling fuel for their tanks right next to barrels of lamp oil. It's a damn mess, but it works, I suppose."

The Wanderers celebrated their first significant clash against the Khaganate, a much-needed victory. But the fighting had taken its toll. They were tired, and ammunition was running low. As Alam surveyed the valley, the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the landscape. It was then he noticed them: a group of riders appearing on the horizon. They were nomads, but unlike any he’d seen before. Their mounts were magnificent creatures, larger and more powerfully built than any ordinary horse, almost like they’d stepped out of some pre-war sci-fi holovid.

“Great,” Alam muttered, squinting at the approaching figures. “Just what we need—more surprises. I hope they don’t come with a side of trouble.”

As the nomads drew closer, Alam noticed they were heavily armed. One warrior, in particular, caught his eye. He was mounted on a magnificent horse, wielding an RPG in one hand and a machine gun in the other, looking like a cross between a cowboy and a futuristic soldier.

“Whoa there, partner!” Alam called out, raising a hand in a gesture of peace. “What’s your game?”

 The warrior dismounted from his black horse with a flourish, revealing a muscular build covered in tattoos “I am Ali, undefeated wrestling champion of the nomadic tribes!” he declared, puffing out his chest. “And we come in peace!”

 

“Peace?” Alam raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “You’re packing enough heat to start a small war.”

 

He gestured to the valley below, littered with Khaganate wreckage. “Looks like you boys had some fun. Shame we missed the party.”

Alam raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “You’re packing enough heat to start your own war. And those…” He gestured to the riders behind Ali.

A rider beside Ali casually tossed a burlap sack to the ground. Several more severed heads, their hair shaved except for the traditional braid at the back, rolled out. Ali chuckled, his laughter booming like thunder. “Consider them a… peace offering. We had a little disagreement with some stragglers on the way here. They weren't keen on our new… direction.”

 

Alam exchanged glances with his officers, who looked equally bewildered. “So, let me get this straight. You want to join us because you’re angry at the Free World for taking your family?”

 

“Exactly!” Ali nodded vigorously. “We nomads value family above all. The Free World’s actions have made us outcasts. We seek a new home, a new family—like yours!”

 

“Okay, but what’s with the enhanced horses?” Alam asked, gesturing to the magnificent creatures. “Did you hit the genetic jackpot or something?”

 

Ali grinned, patting his horse affectionately. “These beauties are the result of our tribe’s ancient practices mixed with modern science. They’re faster, stronger, and can even do tricks! Watch this!” He whistled, and the horse reared up, performing a perfect jump over a tent

 

“Impressive!” Alam couldn’t help but smile.alam remind his time when at ruan mei bunkers, there is a tons of mad scientist who will sell their mutaned creature and tools for profit, or just their amusement despite international law, he then back glance at the giant black horse “But can they, like... fly?”

 

“Only if you teach them!” Ali laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But seriously, we want to fight alongside you. We have skills, and our horses can outmaneuver any enemy.”

 

Alam considered this. “Alright, but we need to know more about you and your people. What’s your story?”

 

Ali's expression turned serious. “We nomads have survived in this harsh world by relying on each other. We adapt, we share, and we fight for our families. We’ve seen the chaos of war, and we know the value of community. Joining you means we can protect our loved ones and reclaim what was taken from us.”

 

“Sounds like a solid plan,” Alam said, nodding. “But we have to be careful. The Free World won’t take kindly to us teaming up with you.”

 

“Let them come!” Ali boomed, raising his RPG triumphantly. “We’ll show them the strength of our unity!”

 

“Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal,” Alam said, extending his hand. “Welcome to the Wanderer Group, Ali. Just remember, we’re all about teamwork here. No solo acts, okay?”

 

Ali clasped Alam’s hand firmly, a grin spreading across his face. “You can count on me, General! Together, we’ll make the Free World and khaganate regret ever crossing us!”

Chapter 4 Rat Rebellions

Alam kept pushing east, leaving Carmelita in charge of the Carpathian base. One day, Carmelita was poking around Ruan Mei's old lab, checking out some of her projects. The one that really caught her eye was labeled “Fungi and Immortality.”

Carmelita’s jaw dropped—you could almost see it through her veil. She zoomed in on the monitor, finding some seriously weird details. Turns out, Ruan Mei had a whole pre-war life story of some guy tucked away in the data.

the weird part is there was a data chip—basically a full memory recording you could watch like a movie. Carmelita grabbed a VR headset and jacked in. The world dissolved, and she found herself in pre-war Finland.

It was 6:30 a.m., and Reginald Meatwagon woke up to find he’d been beaten up by the police… again. In his sleep. He lived in Tenon V, a place where reality was optional. If he wasn't already tripping, he’d take a few good whiffs from a bag of mystery mushrooms before heading upstairs to deposit a few live rats in his neighbor’s apartment. They were not like this.

After his morning rat-drop, Reginald hustled off to his telemarketing job, doing his best to avoid eye contact with the local homeless. Before his shift, he chugged a bottle of windshield washer to stave off the alcohol withdrawals. Lunch was spent in the courtyard, guzzling cooking oil from a 10-liter drum and trying not to overdose on his antidepressants.

Later, hunched over a flickering monitor at his telemarketing job, Reginald fought the tremors of withdrawal. The world around him shimmered—trees whispered secrets, clouds morphed into grotesque faces. He’d volunteered to let some shady scientist implant a data chip in his brain for quick cash, and now he lived in a permanent state of surrealism. A sharp sting at the back of his head snapped him back to the present. Even in his distorted reality, bills were still due.

This all went down right before WW3, in the worst possible place: Finland. A deadly fungus outbreak had the whole place quarantined. The government’s solution? Give the quarantined citizens a derelict department building with a few tenants already living there. Talk about a pro-gamer move. Reginald called his new digs "da hood."

His new goal? Go from being a poor, horrible tenant to a more profitable one. Could he rent out every room in the building, or would he die trying? Only one way to find out.

As Carmelita watched Reginald's simulation in the VR headset, she was hooked. She'd never seen anything like it—a world where reality and absurdity were practically the same thing, a total chaotic mess. She kept watching with a curious smirk, wondering how long this guy could possibly last as a landlord.

The simulation started in a super high-tech immigration office. The interviewers asked a few questions, and Reginald described himself as "filthy, poor, gamer, and alcoholic." Application accepted. His welcome package? Three cigarettes, two beers, and a live rat. Boom. Citizen of Finland.

Reginald took a minute to meet the locals. There was Dr. Penna (hopefully no relation to… that). Then there was Samuel, the contractor with the thousand-yard stare. Reginald liked him, though, because he sold porno mags behind his brick shelves. Good times. Finally, there was Perah, permanently glued to a bench, perpetually drunk, and always covered in… well, you get the idea. “You know what? I think I’m gonna fit in just fine here,” Reginald mused.

Their mission: rent out all 12 apartments in their building, “da hood.” It was a massive, asbestos-covered monstrosity looming behind a barbed-wire fence. Reginald forked over $10 to cross the toll bridge and check it out. After a quick tour, his conclusion: this place was a total dump. Graffiti everywhere, toxic mushrooms in almost every unit, and he was pretty sure their only tenant was actively plotting his murder.

First order of business: cleaning supplies. Reginald decided the best way to get those was to… acquire them. He snuck into a hotel bathroom and swiped all the hand soap. Crucial, since they didn't have showers yet. Hand sanitizer baths it was.

Meanwhile, Europe was having a bit of a disagreement involving missiles, but no ground troops yet. The US was just chilling, selling weapons to its European "allies" while dealing with its own stuff in the Middle East. Business as usual.

Back in serene Finland, Reginald realized this landlord thing was going to be a project. "Da hood" was a disaster. Garbage everywhere, a dead body to deal with, boarded-up doors… fantastic.

Next up: renovations. But first, the toll bridge. Everyone hated the toll bridge. Every trip to "da hood" cost $10. Since Reginald and Perah were only about $25 apart financially, they needed a solution. Reginald’s genius plan? Build their own bridge using some seriously questionable engineering. It was free, and 100% safe… unless you fell off and died.

Now they could finally talk to Samuel about renovations. Samuel laid it out: upgrades were expensive, required a ton of materials, and he didn’t care how they got them. Perfect, since Reginald was currently robbing him blind. Maybe don’t write your safe combo in your diary next time, Samuel.

Between robbing Samuel and selling him random junk, they were making decent cash. But like Ubisoft, Reginald was running out of trash to sell, so he needed a more sustainable income stream. His job hunt went like this:

Recycling: Diving headfirst into dumpsters for empty bottles. The doctor's office was a goldmine. Pay? Not great.

Music Career: Accidentally broke into an apartment with a sledgehammer, found a free guitar. Played it around town, got relentlessly insulted. Two hours of “work” for $35 and a bruised ego. No thanks.

Farming: Went to the Kurahara farm, met Jump. Got free seeds, planted them, waited… and waited… and waited. Just him and Jump. Jump was kind of creepy, so Reginald didn’t spend much time there.

Telemarketing (Again): Decent pay, but he almost died of boredom on day one.

That was it. Reginald officially rejected gainful employment. He only believed in two things now: bootleg booze and rat farms.

Carmelita watched Reginald's simulated life unfold in the VR headset, completely absorbed. How he managed to survive in such a bizarre place was beyond her, and a constant smirk played on her lips. The sheer absurdity of it all was endlessly amusing. She kept watching, eager to see what new chaos Reginald would stumble into, especially after hearing about the world war and Finland becoming a quarantine zone.

Let's start with the rats. Reginald hit up Mulan furniture store, buying a bunch of animal cages. While he was there, he also helped himself to some of Mulan’s other merchandise. Back at “da hood,” the cages looked great. Now, for the rats.

Reginald picked up three of their finest rodents and deposited them in the cages. Now they wait. Within a few days, they'd have a virtually endless supply of rats, which he could cook and process into sausages to feed the town's people.

Next up: moonshining operation (alcohol) , Reginald was introduced to several average Europeans. One of them was Penty Pentilla, the bar owner. He buys his liquor from a guy named Max Masher, who apparently got the nickname because someone mashed his brain with a hammer. Reginald couldn't wait to meet this man.

Anyway, Penty wanted them to go to Max and pick up his next shipment, so they headed over to Max's apartment and engaged in a very esoteric conversation that mostly consisted of Reginald threatening him. Eventually, he just kicked down the door, accidentally knocking Max out. If Max didn’t have brain damage before, he definitely did now. He was understandably upset, but Reginald managed to convince him his door was sentient and trying to kill him. Max bought it. They even gave the door a stern talking-to on Max’s behalf..

With Max out of commission, they snagged his supplies and became the town’s sole moonshine operation. Back at “da hood,” Reginald set everything up: a 100-liter mash drum, a fermentation container, a still, and a few barrels. All they needed now were ingredients. A quick trip to the mart later, they had 100 turnips, some plastic buckets, and every packet of yeast they had. Reginald tried his best to look casual.

Back at base, they started brewing their first batch of turnip wine. Mash, ferment, distill—simple. Though, turnip mash did look suspiciously like diesel fuel. Highly recommend not mixing those up.

 Anyway, the brewing process and rat sex colony took several days to yield any results, so in the meantime, Reginald decided to pick up a new hobby: stealing everything that wasn't nailed to the ground. Now, you might look at a feral gopnik and think to yourself, "Man, this stealing thing seems pretty simple," but you're wrong. It's actually a highly complex performance art where every action has a specific meaning.

He broke into your apartment with a sledgehammer to critique the oligarchy. He stole your family's entire food supply as a nuanced commentary on the Middle East. And most importantly, he left several logs of his own feces on your bed and in your freezer. Even he didn't know the meaning of that one. That was mostly just... fun.

The theft was pretty easy as long as you could avoid the bear traps and shotgun trip wires. you know. people of Finland is preety expert on their anti theif security, instead using advance cctv they just put farm tools in floor like a tom and jerry scene.

Selling the loot was the trickier part. He found a guy named Passmore who’d buy pretty much anything. They kept Passmore contained for public safety reasons—being Polish meant he had a particular fondness for dirty syringes, jewelry, and prescription meds.

This was what it meant to be ungovernable. Their moonshine was finally flowing (the rats were still just… existing), so Reginald put a meat grinder on top of their cage for motivation.

With the cash rolling in, they finally started upgrading “da hood.” With hundreds of dollars and some… borrowed… building materials, they managed to get level one walls: just plain brick. Not great, but it was a start. Now they needed a tenant. Someone desperate enough to live in a condemned apartment with no electricity, heating, or plumbing, plus a rat sex farm on the first floor. “I know a guy,” Reginald muttered. Perah became their first tenant. He didn’t pay much, but it was enough to fuel Reginald’s hallucinogenic cigarette habit, so it was a win.

Upgrades kept coming. They unlocked the basement, took a dip in a urine-filled pool (don't ask), built stairs to the fourth floor (and promptly fell off and died, then came back), sold more junk, and rented another apartment. “Welcome to the building. I’m storing 90 liters of illegal moonshine in your sink. Thanks for being a good tenant.”

Things were going too well. Reginald had been so busy being a responsible landlord that he’d neglected his drinking, and now his addiction was… gone, He missed the old Reggie the one who drank methanol and died. “I could go to the doctor for antidepressants, but I believe in personal responsibility. And robbing pharmacies.”

He hit up Passmore, who traded him a pharmacy key card for some Chinese wristwatches. At the pharmacy, the cashier was staring him down, so he distracted him with his pocket rats, snuck behind the counter, and scanned the card to get into the drug storage.

The final guard was a woman, but Reginald had avoided women his whole life, so that wasn’t a problem. He found the jackpot: 18 bottles of prescription meds. He grabbed them all, making sure to rearrange the shelves so no one would notice.

He made his escape and spent the afternoon seeing how many painkillers he could eat before passing out. Turns out, they just made him stronger. With 9,000 mg of oxycodone coursing through his veins, he was basically unstoppable. He was running, parkouring like a proper anime protagonist.

Corrupt them all. Glad that’s over. Time to get his stuff back from the guard. Oh, hey, free paper on the desk. He grabbed a stack. Then the guard arrested him again.

“Are you kidding me?” Reginald muttered as the gates slammed shut. “The prison industrial complex got me again. Okay, now I’m free for real. Time to turn over a new leaf… by robbing the city even harder.”

In his cell, Reginald plotted. “Besides eating mold and talking to the man in my walls, there’s not much to do in prison,” he thought. “So, I planned a heist.”

Finland had a weird dual currency system. “OC is basically fake money used by the homeless—like the Canadian dollar. RM is real money, worth about 10 times more, and buys the good stuff.”

His plan: rob the currency exchanger. Maybe even take him out. “You go to this door, a guy on the other side exchanges your money. We’re going to rob and maybe kill this guy.”

Fresh out of jail (again), Reginald bought some lockpicks. That night, during martial law, he snuck between buildings to the currency exchange. “That’s a shotgun waiting to blow my head off,” he noticed, disabling the tripwire and slipping inside.

The manager’s jaw dropped as Reginald grinned, grabbed some golden urns, and stole 50 bottles of top-shelf booze. He cracked the safe and made a quick getaway, only to be chased by a cop.

Reginald was briefly distracted by the cop’s goofy run animation, but he recovered and evaded him for three minutes before getting cornered on a rooftop. “Don’t worry, it’s all part of the plan,” he said as he was dragged back to jail.

Back in his cell, he pulled a lockpick from under his bed. “I think I’m finally learning from my mistakes,” he mused, jimmying the ventilation cover and crawling into an abandoned shaft. “Sorry for the trouble,” he muttered to the empty shaft, finding an exit to the sewers and then to the surface.

He ran to the nearest dumpster, where he’d stashed his loot. He grinned. Selling this to Passmore would net them tens of thousands. “Rehabilitation was never an option.” Everything was going exactly according to plan. Then, a few snowflakes began to fall. Reginald stared up at the sky, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. The sight of the snow seemed to trigger a memory, a fleeting image of a brightly lit room and a figure in red. He quickly blinked it away, his grin returning, sharper this time. “Time to celebrate.”

Chapter 5 Price of Conrad

Reginald was chilling in a park, contemplating the meaning of life, when a guy in a lab coat approached. The guy explained there was a shortage of young males in the area and asked Reginald to participate in a "harmless survey." Intrigued, Reginald agreed, wondering what kind of help they needed.

Turns out, he’d accidentally signed up for some seriously unethical medical research involving… technically dead bodies. “Actually, I think that one might have been alive,” he mused, a mix of horror and fascination on his face. The doctor, noticing his hesitation, paid him handsomely to keep quiet and handed him a vial of red chemicals. “Don’t drink this,” he warned. Reginald just grinned. “I’ll probably drink it anyway. You know, for science.”

Things were going well. Questing was bringing in good money, and Reginald was making so much moonshine he’d run out of bottles and was now selling it by the bucket. He was a true capitalist: as long as there were other people, there was money to be made. He had a vision: a Finland overflowing with pure ethanol, solving homelessness overnight. Every house with a thousand-liter tank of his moonshine. And, of course, him swimming in cash.

To make this happen, they needed to expand. Luckily, Reginald had just upgraded the basement, which had tons of space. But new equipment was expensive. Time for a bank robbery.

He talked it over with Passmore. They had a plan. During his earlier prison escape, Reginald had found a tunnel that seemed to lead to the bank, but it was blocked. Passmore’s guy, posing as a bank teller, would clear the blockage. Then, they’d hit the bank at night.

Passmore told him to be at the tunnel at 11:00 p.m. Reginald’s clock was set to military time, and he might have had a little too much moonshine, so he showed up four hours early. Whoops. Eventually, the tunnel was clear, and Reginald climbed the ladder, popping out in a crawlspace near the bank. He snuck past the cameras, grabbed everything he could find in the offices, and disabled the security system.

Time for the vault. A stick of dynamite later, the vault door was no longer a problem. He grabbed what he could from the safety deposit boxes and booked it. He met up with Passmore and handed over the loot. Passmore casually gave him 120,000 RM credits. “Holy crap,” Reginald breathed.

He used the cash to buy the rest of his brewing equipment. Now they were churning out 100 liters of moonshine every few days. Forget the history books; this was the real Renaissance. It went something like this:

Wake up in the middle of the night. Time for some… experimentation. Take a healthy dose of stolen meds for inspiration. Once you’re hallucinating, go further. Good. But not good enough. Commune with the divine by eating corpse fungus. Boom, divine revelation. Instead of yeast, use toxic mushrooms to make alcohol for cheap. Trust him; it was totally safe. He even drank some himself. Yes, his poop was now glowing, but there was no way to prove a connection.

Reginald was exhausted, but sleep was for the weak. Every hour he slept was an hour he wasn’t making money. So, he drank 24 liters of tea and stayed awake for 128 hours straight—the limit before he’d start trying to off himself.

Armed with his… unique… collection of booze and scrap metal, Reginald hit the market and made millions. Time for more upgrades to “da hood”: nice walls, nicer walls, nicest walls. He used the fancy exterior to trick six unsuspecting people into giving him their money. He spent it all on upgrading his own penthouse, apologizing, “Sorry, no plumbing for you guys,” as he dropped thousands on pixel art of Jesus.

These suckers just didn’t understand hard work. Sometimes Reginald had to sit on his couch for a whole 24 hours to passively generate $3,000. It was practically slavery. But hey, he had clean water, a flat-screen, a 3D printer, and he still got molested in his sleep by his crazy neighbor (his choice). All in all, things were great. His apartment was awesome, he’d successfully conned 12 people into living in his slum, and their vacancy rate was 0%. Challenge complete. “Da hood” was now officially dope.

But as a wise man once said, “It’s not enough for me to succeed; others must fail.” There were other apartment buildings in town, and Reginald took it personally that people were living there instead of begging to live in his masterpiece. Time for some retaliation.

The rat farm? Yeah, that got a little out of hand. Reginald had to build a whole fallout shelter just to contain them. These rats laughed at population control. He hadn’t fed them in weeks, and they were still multiplying like crazy. Every container in the building was overflowing with hundreds of live rats. It was a disaster, but disasters were also opportunities.

Reginald decided to unleash 10,000 rats into every store, park, and apartment in the city. Time to bring the pain and advertise his superior housing. Armed with a refrigerated backpack full of rodents, he hit the town square. “Cry havoc and let slip the rats of war!” he declared.

And that was that. Every inch of the city was now crawling with rats. The only safe place? His apartment building. Time for a celebration. Reginald knew just how to celebrate such a monumental victory.

Back in his basement, he had a 1,000-liter tank of pure vodka. Time to drink the whole thing. “I know what you’re thinking: ‘Reggie, that’s dangerous!’ Don’t worry, I also bought 900 cigarettes to balance it out.”

The party started. But that wasn’t enough. Reginald pulled out the methanol. “I know the guy who owns this stuff… Oh crap, this is good.” He filled his shower with methanol and hopped in. “Oh yeah, yeah, yeah…”

Carmelita leaned forward, her smirk widening as Reginald unleashed his rat army. "He's actually doing it," she muttered, shaking her head. "Ten thousand rats. That's… impressively disturbing." She watched him prepping his methanol bath. "This guy is something else. How is he even alive?"

"Alive doing what?" Alam tapped her shoulder, snapping her out of the simulation. "What are you watching? Some snuff film? Hehe." He winked.

Carmelita jolted, a slight flush rising to her cheeks. She chuckled, trying to play it cool. "Oh, just… a movie. Online." She winked back.

"An old movie, huh? Good. Anyway, I need more money." Alam wiggled his eyebrows.

Carmelita laughed. "More money? What for this time? Another casino run?"

"Nah, silly. Not a gambler. Need it for the campaign."

Carmelita’s expression turned serious. "Right, the campaign. How much are we talking?"

"…Everything you’ve got."

Carmelita chuckled. "Everything? That's a big ask. Must be serious." She leaned back, considering. "You sure you need all of it? Can't you manage with a little less?"

"Tried that. Taming the wild east is expensive. Need better comms, better jammers. It's a mess out there."

Carmelita nodded, a mix of understanding and concern on her face. "The Eastern Wasteland, yeah. It's a tough spot. If you need it for comms and to counter the jammers, I'll see what I can do." She sighed, resigned to digging deep into her own funds. "I'll scrape together a good amount. Just promise you won’t blow it all at the tables."

"Thanks… uh… Mom?"

Carmelita tried to suppress a smile, feigning sternness. "Watch it, 'son.' Don't get any ideas just because I'm funding your little war."

"Got it. See ya later… and… try not to watch too much porn, okay?"alam wink at her before leaving

Carmelita choked back a laugh, blushing slightly. "Hey! Who do you think I am? I don't spend all my time watching porn." She waved a hand dismissively, but a smile played on her lips.

 

After Alam left, Carmelita went back to the VR headset, curious to see how Reginald's story played out.

After his "da hood" success in Finland, Reginald decided he hadn’t quite reached peak capitalism. Time for America. He bribed his way out of Finland and set his sights on the land of opportunity.

Homelessness was one of America's best-known epidemics, with people sleeping on park benches, drinking gasoline, and committing insurance fraud just to pay the bills. It wasn't as fun as it sounded, but Reginald had bigger ambitions. He aimed to become a millionaire, a shallow dream and that's exactly what he intended to do.

 

Reginald found himself in a business management role that allowed him to financially and spiritually enrich himself, albeit through the exploitation of his employees. He was determined to accumulate one million dollars in his bank account—or die trying. "Let's begin," he thought, feeling a surge of ambition.

 

His first step was to purchase a suitcase from Passmore. This was no ordinary suitcase; it had belonged to someone who had drowned at sea. Inside, he discovered an ID that would serve as the foundation for his new identity.

 

Much like a god, Reginald set about reinventing himself. After experimenting with different hairstyles, changing the color of his pants, and undergoing a few cosmetic procedures with a doctor who had fled from war in Korea, he emerged as the ultimate business magnate: Conrad Murray. It was time to get to work.

 

Conrad's journey began with an unexpected twist of fate. The first line he encountered in his new diary read, "It's been three months since grandma died." Reginald quickly summarized the situation: Conrad was now homeless in New York City, but fortunately, his wealthy new Uncle Fred had decided to share some invaluable business knowledge to help him navigate this new life.

 

With Uncle Fred’s advice, Conrad’s business skills took off. He learned the art of the deal, the power of networking, and the importance of looking out for number one. Ruthlessness became his brand, and he climbed the corporate ladder fast.

His first big move was a tech startup with an app that exploited the homeless. Users could hire homeless people for small jobs in exchange for food or shelter. Controversial? Sure. But it took off, and Conrad’s bank account started looking very healthy.

Conrad’s ultimate goal was an empire that would outlive him. He diversified like crazy—pharmaceuticals, energy, even the booming military industry (thanks, looming World War III). He wanted a legacy, to be remembered as a pillar of capitalism.

 

Surviving in New York City was a testament to Conrad's resourcefulness, aided by the guidance of his wealthy uncle, Fred. Fred's first piece of advice was to secure an apartment, and Conrad took an unconventional approach—he ran down the middle of the road, dodging oncoming traffic. His philosophy was simple: if someone wanted to hit him with their car, they would, but they wouldn’t expect him to be in the middle of a four-lane highway at 3 a.m., which he believed made it the safest option.

The apartment was valued at $26 million. Conrad offered $15. He got laughed at, but that was the point. This was his rock bottom, the starting point for his rise to the top. For now, he rented it for $44 a day.

In New York, $1,300 got you a cramped 300-square-foot box with no running water. The “bathroom” was… an experience. After a seven-hour nap, Conrad set out to get a fridge.

Time to unleash his superpower: moral bankruptcy. He stole a fridge and sprinted through rush hour traffic, making it back to his apartment, fridge in tow. Risky? Definitely. Profitable? Absolutely.

Next, groceries. Knowing he couldn't risk getting banned, Conrad actually paid for these. Uncle Fred was holding back his financial genius until Conrad made $300 on his own, so Conrad got a job at the grocery store. Hired on the spot. The manager clearly recognized a kindred spirit.

It was 2 p.m. on a Tuesday, and his shift didn’t start for another 20 hours. But Conrad was a go-getter. He started working immediately, even kicking the other cashier off their register. Unpaid overtime? No problem. Conrad worked for six hours before letting the other cashiers take over.

After sleeping on a bench for 12 hours, he woke up just in time for his first actual shift. Seven hours later, he’d made $175. Though, technically, he still hadn't been paid.

Having conquered New York's harsh realities, Conrad was ready to build his empire. With Uncle Fred’s blessing, he got a $15,000 loan from the bank. Time for business.

His first venture: a gift shop called "Dumb Shit." He found a spot, signed the lease, and got a mysterious call from Uncle Fred congratulating him. At 1:30 a.m. It was weird since no one had ever actually seen Uncle Fred. Conrad started to wonder if Uncle Fred was just in his head. A coping mechanism for post-capitalist life.

Regardless, Conrad pushed on. He bought supplies, decorated the shop (causing a traffic jam in the process), and even crashed his car into the Alibaba Clearance Store, just to show he meant business. This, predictably, led to him locking himself out of his now illegally parked car.

Conrad, ever the resilient businessman, decided to carry the supplies back to the store on foot, sprinting through traffic. The journey was arduous, and they collapsed from exhaustion, waking up in a hospital 600 meters away. The hospital charged Conrad $2,000, a price he begrudgingly paid.

Revitalized by the wonders of private healthcare, Conrad returned to his gift shop, which was now fully stocked. "Dumb shit" was ready to open for business, with hours of operation set for all day, every day. Conrad manned the till, ready to embark on his first 24-hour shift.

 

Despite the challenges, Conrad's business began to thrive, pulling in a few hundred dollars each day. He realized that he needed to outsource the suffering, so he hired his first employee, Jason Hughes. He wants $15 an hour and part-time work. Let me tell you one thing, Jason: you will never see your family ever again. We hired him immediately, designed his work uniform, and scheduled his hours for the week. He's working 168 hours a week for the next calendar year

 

With Jason on board, Conrad could focus on expanding his business empire. He returned to the recruitment agency to place a bulk order for more employees, determined to build a business that would stand the test of time.

Conrad's relentless drive to succeed in the cutthroat world of New York City business was unmatched. Only an amateur business would even consider the concept of closing; Conrad manned the till and prepared for his first 24-hour shift at "Dumb shit." He made it about 12 hours straight with no lunch break before entering a state of exhaustion that precluded him from continuing work.

he then use his new friend. a new drug, who so strong make him  like a movie watcher than participant in real life,

I didn't want Conrad to end up in the hospital again, so I had him wander down the road in his mindless delirium, searching for a park bench to recover his stamina.

During this time, I also realized that we have several text messages from the city of New York informing us that we are being ticketed $125 every day that our car remains illegally parked. Since Conrad can't get in the car to move it, he'll be paying $125 every day for the rest of his natural life. To say this crippled my morale was an understatement.  until finaly he argue if his car is a "performance art piece", then someone buy it. and move the car for him. modern art is indeed a absurd!

Anyway, we eventually found our way back to the apartment and slept for a few hours. Conrad completed this cycle of suffering for the next few days. We were making money, but this is no way to live. We need to outsource this suffering to someone else.

I let Conrad off work early today so he could go to a recruitment office to try to find some people to hire. Unfortunately, he collapsed in traffic again, and we woke up at the hospital.when doctor explaining his injuries, and Conrad interrupts to ask about investment opportunities in the hospital's medical supply chain.

then he ran back to the recruiting office and placed an order for one employee between the ages of 15 and 31. I decided on this age range because I feel it will be easier to convince a 15-year-old that 24-hour shifts are normal in the adult world.

Conrad threw himself into his business studies, consuming textbooks and online courses like a man possessed. After thirteen hours, the world began to warp. Numbers danced before his eyes, every conversation became a business negotiation, and he started calculating the profit margins of his own bodily functions. He began to see Jason, his employee, as a liability, a drain on his efficiency. Jason's suggestion of a "lunch break" was the final straw. "Lunch is for the weak," Conrad muttered, firing him on the spot. "Time is money, and you're wasting both."

“Dumb Shit” was making decent profit, so Conrad decided to open a second business: a hamburger joint called "Beef and Nothing Else," two doors down. Turns out, nobody in New York liked his burgers. Probably because they’d been sitting on the grill for three days (no freezers). Conrad tried everything, even causing a 47-car pileup in protest. Nothing worked. Twenty parking tickets later, he was briefly bankrupt. Time to cut his losses.

He had the health department shut down "Beef and Nothing Else" so he could rebrand. He consulted his accountant, who suggested a new mascot: Golgarth. And thus, "Golgaroth's Treasure," a jewelry store, was born.

Conrad stocked it with the cheapest, most asbestos-laden jewelry he could find, and profits started rolling in. The business model was simple: find a popular product, find the cheapest supplier, cut corners, and exploit employees. Boom. Profit.

Conrad’s empire was growing. He was becoming a force to be reckoned with. The sky was the limit.

Conrad was relentless. He found an underserviced industry, rented a warehouse and storefronts, bought a pink delivery van, hired drivers and a logistics manager, and cut out the middleman by importing directly from China.

The operation ran smoothly. Goods went to the warehouse, the logistics manager handled distribution, and drivers delivered to the stores. This automated most of the business.

It took some time (and $50,000 in personal loans) to get it running. With that much debt, Conrad went into hyper-frugality mode. He fired anyone asking for more than $18 an hour and even evicted himself to live in the company van. By day five, finances were stable, bringing in $3,000-$7,000 daily.

Armed with this knowledge, Conrad expanded rapidly. More warehouses, more storefronts, more overworked employees, more money. Within months, he was selling everything from cigars and wine to donuts, cheap clothes, and even legal services (using, of course, more exploited employees). If it could be made with child labor, Conrad was selling it. $20,000 a day was the new normal.

Chapter 6 God amongs men

 

On Conrad's penthouse television screen, a vibrant image flickered to life.

"Coming soon to the NYC  Convention Center: Musk V2!

'Stop complaining, start living!' he booms. 'You can't take the money with you when you die – even I can't!'

Musk V2, the man who changed millions of lives with his best-selling book, The Secret' is bringing his all-day seminar to town. Expect workshops on creative survival skills:

• Cooking potatoes: A Cooking!
• Dumpster diving: Uncover hidden treasures in the discarded refuse of the wealthy.
• Huffing paint: A surprisingly effective (and affordable) mood enhancer.
• Bathing Alternatives: Discover the joys of a good rain shower or a vigorous rubdown with a damp cloth.
• Pharmaceutical Baking: Turn expired medications into delicious, albeit slightly unpredictable, treats.
• Manifestation: belief something! because i told so

'Instead of complaining about being poor, lady, enjoy it!' Musk V2 bellows.

'Musk, I can't feed my kids!' a voice cries from the back.

'And the rent's due!' another chimes in.

'Whoa, settle it down!' Musk V2 commands. 'Are you saying this ain't the greatest country in the world?'

A wave of patriotic fervor erupts. 'USA! USA! USA!' the crowd chants.

He booms, 'Understand this: it's okay to be poor. There need to be poor people. We reach our potential when you are the 'yang' to our 'ying.' We need you.'

A voice from the crowd shouts, 'I've had to run a bad luck, and I was wondering if the state could help me get back on my feet.'

Musk V2 scoffs, 'This is the negative, self-obsessed, and greedy talk that doesn't help anyone! My program will teach you a new outlook on life. Instead of complaining about being poor, enjoy it! Watch TV, don't vote – who cares?'

Another voice cries, 'But I'm homeless!'

'You've got it all wrong!' Musk V2 declares. 'Society doesn't owe you anything. The government has better things to worry about, like killing innocent people. You already have everything you need, so enjoy your life!'

Conrad drained his beer, a cynical glint in his eyes. "They call it the American Dream," he scoffed, "because you practically have to be asleep to believe it." He tossed the empty can aside with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "Time to wake them up."

According to the numbers, a million dollars was just a month away. Anyone with a fully functioning brain would probably coast, but Conrad decided to double down. He’d been reading "The Secret," a book about the power of manifestation—basically, if you ask the universe for something hard enough, you’ll get it. The book was vague on the details, but Conrad was sold.

He decided to manifest more money by hitting up every bank in the city for the maximum loan. He walked away with $900,000 and immediately dumped it all into the highest-risk stock he could find: shoelaces. Time to see if this manifestation thing worked. If it did, he’d be rich tomorrow. If it didn’t, he’d be in jail.

Conrad woke up on a park bench, stiff and foggy after a 24-hour nap. He checked his phone. His shoelace stock had gone up… 0.002 percent. “Manifestation works!” he yelled, like he’d just discovered the fountain of youth,

Suddenly, he felt like he’d experienced six million years of evolution in seconds. His brain cells ballooned to watermelon size. He saw the rise and fall of humanity across countless dimensions. He felt both insignificant and all-powerful. “This human body can’t handle this power!” he thought, on the verge of losing it. What was he even becoming? Something more than just Conrad, that was for sure.

Speaking of things he couldn’t handle, there was the $900,000 debt. But who cared? He’d unlocked the secrets of manifestation. “I don’t need the old gods anymore,” he chuckled, feeling like a god himself. “Everything is mine now!” He smirked. If you want results, you gotta take risks. And he was about to take a big one.

He cashed out his shoelace stock, netting a cool $1,400, and set his sights on 4th Street. “Why not buy or rent every building?” he thought, grinning. Two months later, 4th Street was his personal empire of 18 businesses, bringing in $150,000 a day. It only took a week to hit that million-dollar mark. Conrad was officially a millionaire. And a legend in the making.

Now, about Uncle Fred’s challenge: 100% happiness. To achieve that, Conrad needed to redeem his biggest failure: the disastrous hamburger joint. “I’ll create the most popular fast-food restaurant in New York City!” he declared. It might require some… sacrifices. “But hey, a small price for absolution, right?”

Conrad’s plan was insane. He figured every car in the city had cash in it, and he needed that cash. “The problem with capitalism,” he mused, “is that people can choose not to give me their money.” He needed a solution. But first, he needed more money. With about $1.5 million (mostly borrowed), he chartered a boat to international waters for some tax-free gambling.

He plunked down the whole $1.5 million on black at the roulette table. The wheel spun, the ball bounced, and… jackpot! He walked away with $2.6 million. “Let’s do that again,” he said. And he did. He won again. He returned to New York with $4.5 million. Any banker would be jealous.

But he wasn’t done. He bought every single vehicle from every dealership in town. Weeks later, he had a fleet: 75 trucks, 200 vans, 150 sedans, and 25 18-wheelers. Why? He was going to block every street in the city except 4th. “A traffic funnel,” he grinned. “To force all of New York City straight to my donut shop.”

Over the next month, he orchestrated a city-wide blockade. Hospitals, docks—everything was sealed off. New York became a maze of his vehicles. Meanwhile, in his warehouses, he stockpiled 200,000 donuts and 600,000 cups of coffee. “Hunger? Desperation? Perfect! They’ll have no choice but to come to me.” He’d sell each donut for $800. That's $160 million. “Take that, capitalism!” he chuckled.

As the city descended into chaos, Conrad reveled in his power. “This is it!” he thought. “I’ve taken an entire city hostage, and they just want my donuts!”

Then, in a cosmic twist, he reached a state of “quantum criticality.” His body, now overflowing with wealth and ambition, underwent a transformation so profound that he simply vanished, leaving only the echoes of his maniacal laughter and a city forever changed.

As his empire expanded into real estate, Conrad became a titan, bulldozing neighborhoods for luxury developments. But with power came problems: lawsuits, protests, death threats. He hired an army of lawyers and guards. In Conrad Murray’s world, it was eat or be eaten. And he was hungry.

Years flew by, and Conrad’s wealth ballooned. He was a household name, synonymous with success… but at a cost. His personal life was a disaster, his health was tanking, and his conscience was long gone.

One night, in a haze of moonshine and whatever else he’d gotten his hands on, Conrad stumbled to a drawer. Under a pile of fake IDs, he found one that read "Reginald Meatwagon." He stared in the mirror, barely recognizing the man staring back.

Conrad Murray, self-proclaimed god among men, had conquered the world with ambition and money. Now, on his deathbed (or so he thought), the possibilities stretched before him: colonize the moon? Start a cult? With his fortune, he could buy off the US’s toxic industries, stop wars, even fund research to fight the Finnish fungus.

But one question kept nagging him: What’s the point? In a final act of defiance, he decided to chase immortality. Why not? He threw a mountain of cash at a crazy science project and created a mercenary agency called “Mammoth” to protect his investments.

Mammoth thrived, stirring up small wars across North America to keep his businesses booming. They pushed imperialism and capitalism while pretending to be all about democracy, crushing any anti-imperialist movements that got in the way. A stable economy was key for his automated money machines.

Then the housing bubble burst. Everyone had been buying houses, thinking prices would only go up. They didn’t. Banks, having lent money to everyone and their dog, were in trouble. Businesses couldn't get loans, people lost jobs, and the economy tanked. Millions lost everything.

Ironically, while two million people were homeless, sixteen million houses sat empty. Conrad just kept building, ignoring reality. Build, profit, repeat. Homes were commodities, not shelters.

Then, his scientists (the same ones who’d given him those weird red potions back in Finland) made a breakthrough. Conrad, in a fit of hubris, decided to freeze himself, hoping to wake up in a perfect world.

As Carmelita watch to the tale of Conrad Murray unfolding, she found herself equal parts horrified and intrigued. This man's rise to success and power was built on a series of wildly ambitious (some might say insane) plans that seemed destined for disaster, yet, somehow, he kept achieving one victory after another.

 

But at what cost? The image painted of a man consumed by greed and the relentless pursuit of wealth stirred a mixture of revulsion and fascination in her. She couldn't help but wonder where it would lead, as Conrad's journey took another unexpected turn into the realm of scientific experiments and frozen dreams.

Two centuries later, he thawed out, disillusioned and furious. The world was a wasteland, ravaged by war and disease. Cities were crumbling ruins. The air was toxic. Not exactly the utopia he’d imagined. His New York empire was underwater; a boat rested on top of his old penthouse. What the hell had happened? “Well,” he muttered, “at least the property values have… stabilized.” And the ultimate insult? Nobody remembered him. Not a single commemorative plaque, no historical documentaries, not even a misspelled Wikipedia entry. The ingratitude of future generations was truly breathtaking.

But he was different. The two centuries in ice had changed him. He was immune to time and disease, didn’t need sleep or food (good thing, because the local food scene was… questionable).

Driven mad by the state of things, he renamed himself Wraith. Conrad Murray was dead. Long live… Wraith. It sounded suitably dramatic, and frankly, he couldn't be bothered to come up with anything more creative.

In this bleak new world, he found a kindred spirit: a young, charismatic, and ruthless warlord named Zion. Zion dreamed of a new world order. Wraith, now immortal, became his mentor, sharing his “wisdom.” What else was an immortal supposed to do?

Together, they set out to rebuild civilization. It was a noble goal, he supposed, if rebuilding meant replacing crumbling concrete with slightly less crumbling concrete

Their first challenge was the Citadel, a fortress that was the last stand of the old world's power structures a remnant of Us goverment.

It was a monument to the old world's bureaucratic inefficiency, now populated by equally inefficient Warlord.  It was a symbol of everything Zion despised—a relic of the past, clinging to power through fear and oppression.

Wraith and Zion laid siege to the Citadel, a battle that was as epic as it was bizarre. It was like watching a chess game between a grandmaster and a monkey with a hand grenade.zion with other warlord is charge into the stronghold. thousand over thousand has lost. soldier just order to advancing without weapon to be expected scavanging weapon to his deceased comrade in street, Zion, a whirlwind of manic energy, led the charge, Wraith watched from a safe distance, offering cynical commentary "A sound strategy," he remarked as another wave of soldiers was mowed down, "if your goal is to run out of soldiers before they run out of bullets." Ultimately, sheer attrition won the day."

When the Citadel finally fell, it wasn't just a fortress that had been conquered but the very idea of the old world. From the ruins, Wraith and Zion built their new empire, a society that embraced change and innovation with the enthusiasm of a kid in a sim city games,

"Remember zoning laws?" he'd ask, watching Zion haphazardly build a nuclear power plant next to a daycare center. "Those were good times."

wraith now stand in top of once white house, and at the horizon when tall buildings crumbling. smoke rising, and jets plane dog fighting with endless foes,

“Progress,” Wraith sighed, “It’s a beautiful thing.” He reflected on his past life as a capitalist, "I built an empire on exploiting people's desire for cheap goods. These guys are building one on exploiting people's fear of death. It's… surprisingly similar."

wraith then watch sunset in top of statue of liberty which now half submerged from sea rising.

I journeyed, long in walking, far beyond the place of stopping Where there was no more returning to the people I had known. I saw the world forgotten, where the grass gives up on growing And I knew that I would never make another journey home.

Crying in a thousand voices to its desolate god-king. And the music of its crying, never dead, ever dying,

I long for water quenching Of my thirst, unending, nothing that remains can satisfy. For my voice has joined the chorus ever more, ever mourning. Ever singing, ever hungry. Ever dying, never die.

Chapter 7 Rise of New Order

The VR simulation flatlined, then faded to black. The Reginald saga had abruptly ended. Carmelita shook her head, momentarily disoriented. The ruined Citadel, the rise of Wraith… it was a lot to take in.

She glanced at the data chip, suddenly curious about what came next. She sighed, removed her veil, revealing long red hair, and contemplated the connections. Zion, Wraith, Ruan Mei…

She dove back into the archived documents from the lab, finding more data chips. She was looking for a specific name, but Ruan Mei’s wasn't there. Disappointed, she tried again.

This time, she found what she wanted: data chips belonging to Zion himself, the leader of the Red Nation. She took a deep breath, put the VR headset back on, and prepared to explore their shared history.

“So tell me, Zion. What are you going to do when you grow up, and how will you achieve it? And most importantly… why?” Wraith’s voice echoed in Zion’s mind.

After World War III, a young warlord named Zion emerged from the ruins. He’d been shaped by a Spartan-like culture, forging him into a visionary with one goal: to build a better world. Zion wasn't just a dreamer; he was charismatic, ruthless, and determined to reshape the world in his image.

First, he needed allies and enemies. In North America, scattered tribes lived in huts, practicing a Stone Age-esque hunter-gatherer lifestyle. They called themselves tribes—a simple name for a neo-age, woke culture in the post-WW3 world. They valued community and freedom, which really bugged Zion. Their rejection of capitalism and money especially got under his skin.

Zion gathered his crew: Jozen, a technocrat with a leftover US Atlantic and Pacific fleet, and Kassandra, who’d invented an avocado-cocaine fusion. Why Kassandra? Because her avocados were essential for keeping his troops going. It wasn’t easy leading an army when they were constantly dodging poisoned arrows and bullets.

Zion laid out his vision: a new world order based on meritocracy, inspired by Roman civilization. This included some… radical ideas, like gender segregation. He called it a “farm,” where fertile women lived separately from average men to incentivize the men to fight harder and maintain the population.

Radical? Sure. But in a world falling apart, nothing seemed too extreme.

Despite claiming he wasn’t racist, Zion had a serious dislike for the tribal factions roaming the wastelands. “I’m not racist,” he’d say, “but I’d prefer they kept to themselves. They’re not a threat, they just hoard bodies and junk. It’s annoying, and I want it to stop.”

With a plan in place, Zion armed his colonists with the latest bolt-action rifles. With their superior tech, he was confident they could crush the tribes. They arrived at the nearest tribal base, dug trenches, and set up a heavy machine gun turret. The plan: drive the tribals into the line of fire.

It didn’t go as smoothly as he’d hoped. The tribes fought back fiercely. Zion’s forces took heavy losses from poisoned arrows, darts, even some medieval-style catapults, forcing a tactical retreat. He left some of his people behind.

“I’m not going to be like the US getting beat by the Afghans! No! I have to be better!” Zion yelled at his reflection, staring at a scar on his forehead from the encounter.

He knew he needed a new approach. Maybe brute force wasn't the only way.

As he retreated, he brainstormed. He had to be smarter. They kidnapped some tribal merchants to use as human shields while saboteurs moved in on the tribal stronghold.

They attacked again, decimating the tribes and sending the survivors running. Among them was Norman, a tribal member who’d switched sides. He said he joined the tribe for the orgies. Zion gave him a pistol to prove his loyalty, and Norman happily executed some downed survivors, clearly enjoying it a little too much. Kinky people, am I right?

“We’ve only destroyed one base,” Zion mused. “But the tribes will learn to fear us. They don’t yet.”

On their way back, they were ambushed. The attacker was Salamander, a one-man army with an anti-material rifle.

Zion wasn’t giving up anyone. He prepared to fight. Salamander was a serious threat, a crack shot who’d already taken out a whole squad. Zion decided to use a poison dart he’d scavenged from a tribal base. After force-feeding Salamander an avocado and some psychological torture, Zion threatened to cut off his avocado supply if he didn’t join him. Only Zion controlled the avocado drug market, after all.

Salamander agreed. Now he’d help Zion wipe out the tribal scum.

As his soldiers moved into position for the next assault, one soldier, Break, lagged behind. He’d lost a leg to some tribal traps and landslides.

While they attacked the tribal base, the tribes launched a counter-attack on Zion’s colony. Not a huge problem; Zion’s kill box would handle it. He even convinced a more “civilized” faction to join his crusade, and they showed up to help.

They were making progress, destroying tribal bases one by one, but each raid came at a cost. In their fourth attack, they lost many soldiers.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Zion muttered, trying to convince himself. “It’s easier this way.”

But the losses weighed heavily on him. Salamander died from his wounds, and Zion felt a pang of genuine grief. “Those sub-humans took you from us,” he said, rage simmering beneath his calm exterior. Even with his modern army, injuries were piling up. Some wouldn’t be coming back.

Zion’s resolve hardened. Modernization wasn’t enough. He needed a futuristic military.

Equipped with advanced weapons and armor, the injuries became less of a problem. They had the firepower to obliterate another tribal base. As his military deployed, Zion got some good news: he’d wiped out most of the nearby tribal bases.

Despite the overwhelming firepower of the bomber against the technologically inferior tribal factions, Zion felt it was still insufficient. He yearned to instill true terror in the hearts of the tribals, the kind of fear that grips a person when all hope is lost. That was the lesson these creatures needed to learn, and for that, he turned his attention to the power of atoms.

 

"The moral of the story," Zion mused, "is that I need nukes. But to get the nukes Daddy promised me, I have to complete a series of prerequisites. First, I must navigate the basic energy weapons tree."

 

He hastily assembled a collection of lab equipment he wasn't sure he'd ever use—after all, it was his first foray into lab work. Once he completed the energy weapons research, the option to develop the aptly named Liberator nuke appeared. However, he first needed to build a nuclear reactor. Although using remnants of the U.S. nuclear arsenal was considered taboo and forbidden in their religion—especially after the world had been devastated by the same weapons—Zion found a loophole in the scripture. While using old nukes for war was forbidden, creating new ones was perfectly acceptable.

 

Constructing that reactor was no small feat. He needed to piece together a research reactor, a reactor core, a turbine, a cooling system with pipes, a power transformer, and a reactor control computer. It was a monumental task, but now he could fire up the reactor and prepare his fuel rods for plutonium conversion.

 

"Why isn't my reactor generating electricity?" Zion grumbled. "Oh right, it is, but my batteries are still dead. I'm an idiot. While I wait for my fuel to deplete, I might as well attack a few tribal bases."

 

As Zion expanded his operations, he found himself frustrated by the landscape littered with trees. He cursed himself for not bringing incendiary rounds for his bomber; all he had were high-explosive ones that felt useless in this situation.

 

"Next time, remember the incendiary rounds," he reminded himself.

 

This base lacked the thick foliage of the last one, but the rain would soon douse any chance of his bombs igniting. Another mission down the drain.

 

"Oh, come on! They all survived? I just want to commit war crimes! Is that too much to ask?" he exclaimed in exasperation.

 

After exhausting his nuclear fuel, Zion finally had enough resources to create plutonium. He loaded it into the processor, knowing it would take months to finish.

 

"Back to what I do best," Zion muttered, gearing up for another round of… population control.

While he waited for more plutonium, Zion sent his ground forces west. Over the next few months, they systematically cleared out the remaining tribal outposts. Villages fell one by one, inhabitants scattered or forced into submission. Only three bases remained, belonging to the White Cat Curro. These guys worshipped a mutated cat that apparently changed color in high radiation.

"I'm a cultist. I'm here to sacrifice you to our cat god," one tribal yelled, charging at Zion. Zion, feeling surprisingly sporting, met him head-on with his firefighter axe. After cleaning off the axe, Zion surveyed the scene. His soldiers shivered in their inadequate gear. “They worship a cat?” he muttered.

“Their religion is… unique,” Jozen’s voice crackled through the speaker on his blue armor. “They believe this mutated cat is a divine protector against the radiation.”

The initial attack against the Curro was a mess. Zion’s bolt-action rifles were good at long range, but the Curro were experts at guerilla warfare in the icy terrain. They used hidden tunnels, ice traps, and poisoned darts, picking off Zion’s men. He was forced to retreat, leaving behind equipment and bodies.

“I will not be humiliated by these primitives,” Zion seethed, nursing a poisoned dart wound. He ordered the captured tribal merchants to be used as human shields.

The White Cat Curro made a desperate last stand, managing to kill one of Zion’s companions.

“No, Walton! Those savages killed one of our own,” Zion declared. “We’re trying to improve your lives by eradicating all of you. Can’t they see that?”

Just then, his plutonium was ready, but not enough for a warhead. He had to repeat the process, creating more plutonium (and the inevitable nuclear waste). A responsible leader would have stored it safely. Zion, fortunately, wasn't responsible.

He had some transport pods lying around, so they loaded up the nuclear waste and shipped it off to the nearest tribal settlement. With the help of his scientists and builders, they assembled a missile and, after getting more plutonium, a warhead.

Time for a test run. But the missile couldn’t reach any tribal settlements. After all that effort, the game wouldn’t let him wipe anyone off the map just yet.

So, pirates it was. A massive fireball erupted. “Yeah, I’d call that a success,” Zion mused.

To increase the missile's range, he needed a guidance system, which meant more nuking for data. He built another nuke, gathered more data, and finally, his third nuke was ready. He’d already nuked the nearby pirate bases, but some tribals were now conveniently in range.

“I don’t know how that happened, but we’ll take it,” Zion decided. “This time, I want someone to observe the effects of a low-yield nuke on tribals. For science, or something.”

They outfitted Norman with a questionable radiation suit. “I hope he survives. He needs to bring back the ship. That’s more important than him,” Zion clarified.

Norman arrived to witness the “cleansing,” and they launched the Tribal Liquefier 9000. “That was beautiful,” Zion exclaimed. “Like my eyes were blessed by the gods.”

With the guidance system complete, the White Cat Curro were officially in nuke range. But first, it was Lingard’s birthday. “Happy birthday, Lingard! We’ll celebrate the only way we know how,” Zion announced.

“Hope you had a good one, Linda,” Zion said, pressing the launch button.

They spent the next while launching ground assaults, making more plutonium, “gifting” the tribals with nuclear waste (and free cancer), and generally waging nuclear war until only one tribal base remained, located in the northern polar ice caps of Canada.

“Oh boy, do I have something special planned for them,” Zion grinned.

Low-yield nukes were an option, but high-yield was much more fun. Norman, back in his radiation suit, boarded a new ship (they weren’t about to risk the good one). He took off, traveling at what Zion considered a snail’s pace. “That’s three times speed, by the way, Norman! Pick it up! We’ve got genocide to do!”

Upon Norman’s arrival, they launched the final Liberator nuke. “Thank you,” Zion said.

Surprisingly, Norman survived the blast, though he was downed. No rescue mission, though. Too much fallout.

Zion, ever the fan of historical figures, mused, “I saw, I conquered. I depopulated, and my faction has a cool name: the Free World.”

With all the tribals gone, the world would finally know peace. His colony would thrive. But Jozen, his once loyal ally, had other plans. His fleet began raiding Zion’s coastal territories. Turns out, Jozen had been cozying up to pirates the whole time, and Zion’s little nuke spree hadn’t exactly improved his reputation. Zion watched his port get destroyed in disbelief. He learned a harsh lesson: “A traitor is worse than a tribal.” From that day on, any traitor in the Free World would face a fate worse than death: nuclear waste cleanup duty. A slow, agonizing, radioactive death.

Chapter 8 Birth of nation

Carmelita's expression darkened as the story progressed. Zion's ruthless quest for power and "purification" was deeply disturbing. His use of nuclear weapons, the weaponization of radiation, the casual sacrifice of his own people—it was all callous, inhuman. And then there was his treatment of women, the twisted "farm" for fertile females, his obsession with genetic purity. It painted a terrifying picture of a man driven by fanatical ideology.

A message flickered into her VR display: "You have spent 2 hours in the virtual world. Return to the real world, Ma'am? Or continue?"

Carmelita paused, the message momentarily pulling her from Zion's world. The real world called, with its own set of complexities. But the virtual world offered a compelling escape, a chance to witness history firsthand… the history of the Red Nation.

She hesitated. Logic urged her back to reality, to her responsibilities. But the pull of the virtual world, the desire to understand Zion and his rise to power, was strong.

In the aftermath of his conquests on the West Coast, Zion had become a major power in North America. He'd also developed a new approach to warfare. "Nukes are messy," he’d declared. "Slaves are much more efficient." He realized that obliterating populations was counterproductive; he needed manpower to build his new nation. Enslavement would provide that.

He also found that ruling a diverse population was… complicated. So, he opted for a classic solution: bread and games. He built a grand colosseum and took to the arena himself, becoming a gladiator hero to boost his political standing. He always chose a worthy opponent; Zion had a taste for a real challenge.

As he delved deeper into the intricacies of ruling, Zion realized that the concept of "tribal" was not merely a race or a group of people; it was an idea. This notion stemmed from a group of bored individuals who, during the aftermath of a global EMP event, found themselves trapped in a library. They immersed themselves in stories of ancient Americans who hunted bison and farmed for sustenance, aspiring to eliminate the concept of money altogether.

 

Zion recognized the danger of this mindset for his vision of a new world order. Without an understanding of industry, these tribes rejected the very foundations of progress, which was why they had fought with Stone Age tactics in the past. The absence of industry meant no guns, and without guns, there could be no conquest—an alarming prospect for his ambitions.

 

“i must destroy all those books!” zion declare. and with that. he had reason to wage war, again.

 

Keith, one of Zion's lieutenants—a burly man wielding a massive shield—gripped his pistol and said to the red-headed Zion, "We all know your arena skills, but war is a different beast."

 

"You'll see," Zion replied with a confident smirk, ready to embrace the chaos.

 

Later, amidst a deafening cannon barrage, Keith shouted, "The enemy's fortified the mountains!"

 

Zion's eyes narrowed. "You will charge head-on while I flank them from the side."

 

In the Barlas camp, a soldier yelled, "The free world is storming the front!" Barlas sneered, "Fools! Unleash the artillery on them!"

 

"Barlas's artillery rained down on Keith's advancing troops, but it was a feint. Zion, leading a small strike force, scaled the cliffs under cover of the barrage, taking the enemy from behind. The Barlas flag was torn down, replaced by the crimson banner of the Free World. "Look, comrade!" Keith exclaimed, adrenaline surging. "It's time to advance!"

Later, Zion confronted Barlas in his tent. Without warning, Barlas fired at him, but Zion deflected the bullet effortlessly. "Follow me," he commanded, his voice cold and steady.

Barlas, bewildered, trailed behind Zion outside the camp. Zion gestured to a woman and some children bound near his men. "Do you recognize them?" he asked, a sinister smile creeping across his face.

Barlas spat to the side, realization dawning. "I know now. You want to humiliate me in front of my own family?"

"If you lose this duel, your family will be sent to the farms," Zion declared, discarding his weapon with a casual flick.

"You're a maniac duelist, huh?" Barlas shot back defiantly. The two men clashed in a brutal hand-to-hand fight, and after a fierce struggle, Zion pinned Barlas down, delivering a final, crushing blow that silenced him forever.

 

Later, Zion watched the aftermath on the battlefield at evening. Gunshots could still be heard as some soldiers tried to loot and kill the remaining survivors.

 

"We lost about 1400 men," Keith reported.

 

"This is nothing," Zion replied, "the road to California is still long..."

As he walked away, he overheard Keith muttering to another officer, "Fourteen hundred men… for a few cannons and some farmland. Is this what victory looks like?" Zion's jaw tightened. He knew the whispers would spread. He needed a swift victory, something to silence the dissent. California would have to wait. First, he had to solidify his hold on this new territory.

 

In the newly conquered territory, Zion erected a temple to Julius Caesar, channeling his frustrations through political maneuvers and the thrill of battle. However, time was not on his side. While his war efforts progressed, prolonged conflict was taking a toll on morale and the economy. The people needed rest and a chance to rebuild, prompting Zion to expedite his plans and accept vassalage.

 

One day, two men arrived at Zion's camp: Corvo from Cascadia and Bartoleme from Las Vegas, responding to his invitation.

 

"We come from Cascadia, and he's from Las Vegas," Corvo stated.

 

The guard nodded. "Very well, but remember the rules once you enter the tent. Don't discuss how you treat your women in front of him."

 

Corvo raised an eyebrow but complied. After wishing them luck, the two men entered Zion's camp, kneeling before him. Corvo presented a chest, while Bartoleme offered a suitcase. Zion acknowledged their gifts.

 

"There are two rules if you wish to join the Khaganate," Zion declared. "First, do not question my war strategies. Second, all your women will be sent to the farms."

 

The men exchanged puzzled glances.

 

"We have no issue with the first," Corvo said, his voice steady. "But what about the second?"

Zion regarded Corvo for a long moment, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between them, a heavy weight in the air. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and deliberate. "You must prove your worth." he continue “either in the arena or in battle. I don't care if you're the leader of Cascadia; in this new nation, everyone is equal. Cascadia has been idle, so you must demonstrate your loyalty first," Zion replied firmly.

 

Later, as they exited the camp, Bartoleme remarked sarcastically, "Congratulations, you've saved Cascadia from Zion's invasion. But farewell to your wives, heh..."

 

Corvo frowned. "How can you still smile like that?"

 

Bartoleme shrugged. "In Las Vegas, many women are already sterile. Zion doesn't want those women on his farms, so..."

 

Corvo nodded, understanding. "Oh, I see... Do you have any children?"

 

"No, I don't," Bartoleme replied.

 

"And that's what makes us different..." Corvo murmured.

 

Weeks later, Corvo watched in horror as a line of women was dragged to trucks in the city. "Oh God, please forgive me," he whispered, realizing the full extent of Zion's rule.

"Then, sleek, futuristic aircraft descended from the sky, landing heavily in Zion's camp. His radar systems hadn't even registered their approach. Soldiers in gleaming white armor emerged, their weapons unlike anything Zion had ever seen. One of them approached, holding out a data pad. 'Warlord Zion,' the soldier said, his voice amplified by a built-in speaker. 'You are summoned to the Citadel of the White Nation. The New World Council has matters to discuss with you.'

 

This council, a more effective version of the old United Nations, The world is not entirely lawless; it is governed by the New World Council (NWC). The NWC consists of four major nations, each identified by a color nickname for easier recognition in a chaotic world.

First is the White Nation, also known as the Holy People Council. These survivors from Madagascar endured a nuclear holocaust and a great flood, preserving advanced technology that allows them to operate sophisticated factories and even flying cars. Uniquely, they are ruled by artificial intelligence.

 

Next is the Yellow Nation, referred to as the Golden Caravan. They are a modern nomadic horde equipped with armed trains, located in what was once Europe.

 

The third is the Black Nation, or the Great Caliphate, named for its oil-rich resources. Situated in the Middle East, they have adopted a somewhat fundamentalist ideology following the death of their messiah centuries ago after defeating the Dajjal.

 

Finally, there is the Pink Nation,or the sisterhood of south, a feminist power base in Central Africa.

 

These four major nations have decided to restrain smaller nations and warlords like Zion from waging war before the year's end, or they will face the consequences of their military might.

 

To join the NWC, Zion must race against time to strengthen his position and conquer as much land as possible to secure his own color in this new order. However, wargames are not simply about deploying soldiers in empty territories; he must be strategic and avoid the wastelands.

 

Later, on the East Coast, a Los angles, coastal city fortified city with a single highway in and out was spotted, surrounded by desert and hilly terrain—perfect for Zion's forces to make a grand entrance.

 

as place of birth place of cinema. capturing the movie tech will be boost his reputation. war is not about battles. but about propaganda. capture this mean complete conquest.

 

The general examined the map, scratching his head. "Well, folks, we have two options: we can either brave the treacherous sea or take our chances overland. But let's be real, they've probably turned the desert into a minefield by now," he said, shaking his head.

Gen2 piped up, "Yeah, too bad we don't have Jozen anymore. If we had a competent navy, we could—"

Zion's eyes narrowed, and he lunged at Gen2, hands around his throat. "Don't you dare utter that cursed name again!" he snarled, his fury palpable. Gen2 nodded vigorously, realizing he had just stepped on a landmine of his own.

 

 

Keith, sensing the tension, suggested, "Before we launch a major attack, it seems we need to cleanse the officers first, Zion."

 

Zion agreed. "Yes, send the new officers to lead the first wave."

 

Gen1, the first general, smirked. "Ah, sending them to clear the mines? I like that."

 

Later, on the battlefield, Keith turned to Gen1 and asked, "Ever seen a World War I documentary?"

Gen1 lowered his binoculars, looking puzzled. "No, why?"

Keith chuckled darkly. "Well, you're about to witness it firsthand—thousands of people advancing in waves, then snap—they're gone. Just like that!"

 

After the initial wave, Zion surveyed the battlefield like a kid in a candy store—if that candy store was filled with land mines and the candy was made of blood. "Alright, folks, the land mines should be nicely cleared after the first wave. Some groups can advance further before they meet their glorious end. Send the second wave in again before we roll out the tanks. Let’s keep the chaos rolling!"

 

 

Gen1 nodded. "Yes, sir!"

 

In the tank line, Keith leaned over to Kassandra, a striking figure in her black military suit adorned with a skull symbol "Your turn will come after the second infantry wave."

 

Kassandra, preparing for battle, said, "I hope this isn't like the Golan battle. I'll have bulldozers ready on the second tank line."

 

Keith encouraged her, "You always know what you're doing. Good luck."

 

Kassandra closed her tank lid, signaling her readiness. "Cavalry, let's roll."

 

As the dust settled from the fierce battle, Kassandra's tank group advanced into a chaotic landscape, littered with craters from cannon fire, broken barbed wire, trenches, and a buffet of dead bodies. It was a real-life horror show, and they were the main attraction.

 

Zion, leading the infantry, swaggered down Kassandra's tank trail like he was strutting down a catwalk. Corvo and Keith watched from the rear, their expressions a mix of disbelief and mild amusement.

"Wait, he's jumping into the battle himself?" Corvo asked, eyebrows shooting up.

Keith smirked, "Of course! Why don’t you join him? It’s not like you have anything better to do."

Corvo fell silent, contemplating his life choices.

 

Keith continued, "If you keep this up, you won't gain any position in this country."

 

Corvo sighed. "I don't want anything. I just want to see my wife and child again."

 

Keith punched Corvo's shoulder playfully. "And this is your golden ticket, my friend! This might be the last front in North America. If you and your army succeed, you’ll be rolling in rewards—maybe even a family reunion!"

Corvo squinted through his binoculars. "Who's the woman with the tank?"

Keith replied, "That’s Kassandra. She’s like you—a vassal of Zion. She has territory in South America."

Corvo raised an eyebrow. "Kassandra? The leader of the Crimson Eagle? Why did she join Zion? Her territory is thousands of kilometers away."

Keith shrugged. "She’s not like us. Most of us joined Zion to survive. But she seems to have her own agenda, probably because of her war with Jozen. She needs allies... or maybe just a good excuse to blow things up."

Corvo nodded, understanding the game. "Many nations rise and fall quickly after the great war. The Crimson Eagle is one of the few that has managed to hold on—like a cockroach in a nuclear apocalypse."

Later, on the battlefield, the first line of tanks was obliterated by enemy RPGs and cannon bunkers, turning the landscape into a twisted metal graveyard. people burning alive at inside their tanks

 

Kassandra, undeterred, commanded, "I expected this. Quickly, use the bulldozers to clear the tank wreckage in front!"

 

Between the burning tanks, Zion and his men charged forward, launching an all-out assault on the enemy positions like a bunch of caffeinated squirrels.

Corvo, watching the chaos unfold, quipped, "Look at him! He’s using the wreckage and smoke as shields. That’s both brave and utterly bonkers. Is he always like this?"

Keith chuckled, "Oh, absolutely! It’s like a circus act, but with more explosions!"

Corvo, fueled by a mix of adrenaline and questionable judgment, rallied his troops. "The battle will soon end! Cascadia forces, prepare! We will capture that hill!" He glanced at the young and old soldiers, all equally confused but ready to charge.

 

Keith wished him luck and handed Corvo a red banner. "Good luck."

 

Corvo rushed forward with his men, holding the red banner high.

 

Zion, seeing the red banner on the hill, asked, "Who is that?"

 

Leon, another officer, replied, "A new officer from Cascadia."

 

Zion recognized him. "Ah, Corvo. Very well, prepare yourselves. California is within reach!"

The men taunted, "Highway to hell!"

The Khaganate generals and Zion stood atop a hill, gazing down at California. They had captured the hill, and beyond it lay the once-fortified city of Los Angeles. After the sea had risen, the city had transformed into a Venice-like maze, with only one road in and out.

Keith pointed out a slight hiccup. "We have a small issue. Our forces will run into refugee groups on the highway. If we wait for them to pass, we’ll lose the element of surprise."

Zion, seizing the moment, declared, "That means the highway isn’t mined... Kassandra!"

Kassandra, clearly thrilled, sighed heavily. "What now?"

Zion commanded, "Use your tanks to clear the path."

Kassandra rolled her eyes. "okay boss, but this better not turn into a mess."

 

Corvo, hesitant, tried to intervene. "Wait!"

 

Zion stared at Corvo, and Keith tried to dismiss him, but Zion silenced him. "What are you thinking, Corvo?"

 

All the generals looked at Corvo, tension high.

 

Corvo suggested, "Let my forces follow right behind Kassandra."

 

Zion accepted. "Agreed."

 

Later, Kassandra questioned Corvo's strategy. "Why are your militia forces behind me? They're just children and old people. You can't even match the speed of my tanks."

 

Corvo remained silent, determined.

 

Kassandra, annoyed, said, "Fine, don't bother me later."

 

The cavalry thundered down the highway to California, barreling toward a sea of desperate refugees.

An old man turned to Corvo, bewildered. "Why are we hauling so little firepower and so much medical gear?"

Corvo sighed heavily, "Our goal here is to... at least reduce the death toll..."

Moments later, Kassandra's tanks plowed through the refugees, turning the highway into a scene of utter horror as they obliterated everything in their path.

Corvo, horrified, bellowed, "Move! Get out of the way or you'll be crushed!"

His men scrambled to save as many refugees as they could, but the sheer number was overwhelming. The Khaganate's main army surged forward, using the cleared highway as their gateway.

Keith, spotting Corvo tending to the wounded, called out, "Corvo! Use my medical supplies. Our artillery team hardly touches them!"

Corvo, drenched in blood, nodded gratefully. "Thanks, I appreciate it..."

a highway turn into red,,

meawhile kassandra, leading her tank division, was giddy with anticipation. "HAH! We're almost there! Tell Corvo to scout ahead!" she commanded.

The operator hesitated. "But ma'am, Corvo is far behind, focused on the refugees."

Kassandra scoffed, "WUT? That guy... Fine! Hold your positions, boys. We’ll wait for the stragglers."

On the California side, a soldier reported, "Sir, the enemy is closing in!"

The commander was stunned. "What! How is that possible? They should still be at the border! Are the anti-tank positions ready?"

The soldier grimaced. "No, sir, they’re not ready, and Jozen's reinforcements haven't arrived... What do we do?"

The commander sighed, "They’re capable of slaughtering innocents on the highway just to get here faster... Alright, prepare the white flag."

Later, all enemies surrendered, and Zion's convoy rolled triumphantly into the city. He stepped forward to deliver a speech:

"Citizens of California, I stand before you today as your new leader. I have vanquished our foes and united North America under one flag. This is a historic day, but it’s just the beginning of our journey.

"Our nation is forged in blood and fire. We have endured much, but we have persevered. We are a strong and resilient people, and we will conquer any challenge that dares to stand in our way."

 

"Our nation is red. Our blood is red. Our flag is red. And our spirit to unite is red. We are one people, and we will stand together.

 

"I swear to rule you with fairness and wisdom. We will create a world where all are free and equal.

 

"The Red Nation has been born! Long live the Red Nation!"

 

The crowd chanted, "FREE WORLD! FREE WORLD!"

 

Meanwhile, Zion's speech continued to play on every monitor in the city, even weeks later.

 

Corvo sat in his room on the high floor of an apartment. Kassandra visited him.

 

"May I come in?" Kassandra asked.

 

Corvo nodded, and Kassandra sat beside him.

 

"Are you angry about what happened on the highway?" Kassandra inquired.

 

"No... I know you were just following orders," Corvo replied.

 

"Good to hear. Do you drink?" Kassandra asked.

 

"No," Corvo said.

 

"Good," Kassandra said, walking to the window. "Hah! Look at him... He talks about a free world, liberation... What do you think?"

 

She took a sip from her drink. "Don't worry... I'm not testing you. I'm not like Zion."

 

Corvo was skeptical. "Is that so? Then why are you here?"

 

Kassandra smiled. "For the same reason you are..." then she pouring herself a drink. Zion’s… methods are starting to make my people uneasy,” Corvo admitted. Kassandra nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on the city below. “He demands a great deal,” she said quietly. She paused, then turned to Corvo, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “Perhaps we should talk more about this… later.”

 

Zion stood on the balcony of his newly acquired palace, overlooking the city. The once-bustling metropolis was now under his control, a testament to his ruthless ambition. Zion pondered, "We should ask ourselves... why, deep in our hearts, do people like violence?"

Keith, his loyal lieutenant, approached him.

"Zion, we've conquered half of North America. What's next?" Keith asked.

"The whole world," Zion replied, his eyes gleaming with ambition.

Chapter 9 The God Complex: Zion's Ascendancy

 

“The world is yours for the taking, if you can swim, of course,” Wraith said to Zion, his voice dripping with both encouragement and caution. North America now belongs to Zion, a testament to his ruthless ambition and strategic alliances, including Kassandra’s grip on South America. Yet, the path to Europe, Africa, and Asia remains obstructed by Jozen and his mischievous fleet. a formidable barrier to Zion's grand vision.

Zion's eyes narrowed as he contemplated the geopolitical chessboard before him. “For now, I must play the long game,” he replied, his voice steady. “I can manipulate and intervene in overseas politics through complex proxy wars, using mercenary companies in the eastern wasteland to destabilize regions and build puppet states like the Blood Khaganate in Manchuria. Each move is a step toward my ultimate goal: a unified world under my control.”

The stakes are high; every decision could tip the balance of power. Zion understood that to achieve his ambitions, he must not only conquer territories but also win the hearts and minds of the people. The world was watching, and failure was not an option.

 

He has plans, but this time, he chooses to wait and enjoy his new grand arena—a death race, battle royale, gladiatorial combat, spec ops ninja action, all available in his grand colosseum. He offers the best champions the honor of becoming his lieutenants and vassal rulers overseas. A simple homeless addict can become a lord if they have the talent, or be flattened in the arena.

Despite these achievements, the betrayal of Jozen reminds him of Brutus's betrayal of Caesar. This event makes him more resonant with his god and learns from past historic figures. "I have become a gentler god now," Zion says while kneeling before a statue of Julius Caesar in the temple. "I rule not by the sword, but with pleasure. People die and live because of their own penis. I will become the next god in this realm, soon enough, after I rule all." Zion's gaze turns to the world map in the background of the temple before walking outside, followed by his Amazon Pretorians—a group of female champions honored to act as his bodyguards.

Among the new building projects celebrating glory, blood, and sex, Zion develops AI VR life technology. Tired of a pathetic life in society? Tired of endless war? Want to be a warrior but too scared to face bullets? wanna married someone but too afraid about a commitment? No problem. Now you can spend money to be a king surrounded by succubi in a fantasy world. And everything you want! Earn more money in society to feel pleasure again!

Zion has become the epitome of Capitalism+, making even the wraith blush. Unlike the authoritarian Stalin style, which kills many, or the ruthless ancient capitalism that drives people to kill themselves, he offers both heaven and hell in his hands.

Now, as a good ruler on the world stage, needing a good guy facade, he controls his vassals and proxies for his next global conquest. He sits at his desk, ready to make his move.

At the of the year 2400 AD, the Red Nation, also known as the Free World, joined the New World Council (NWC), bringing the total number of major nations to nine. This expansion included the addition of the Orange Nation, or Nusantara Union, a vibrant group known for their artsy culture and affordable art, hailing from what was once Indonesia and Thailand. The Purple Nation, or Shangri-La Confederacy, emerged as a mystical community that had merged into the Himalayan mountains following the great flood in India. The Green Nation, or Emerald League, consisted of a network of mafiosos in the Persian region. Lastly, there was the Blue Nation, or Nation of the Sea, based in the Pacific and Caribbean, ruled by Jozen himself, which particularly irked Zion.

 

With the NWC now in place, a mandate was established forbidding member nations from attacking one another or invading smaller countries. The big question was: had the world finally achieved total peace?

 

But not everyone was convinced. Some members were still haunted by the memories of the last great war, and they remembered how a few powerful nations could easily overpower the whole UN with their veto power. To prevent that from happening again, some NWC members formed the Crescent Alliance—an alliance within an alliance, designed to keep the peace in this new era.

 

Zion saw this movement as a red flag for his ambitions of world conquest.  Zion aspired to be the unifier, the one who would bring an end to war. But the question remained: how?

One day, an artist from the Orange Nation finished work on a new colosseum for Zion. It was a unique design—a domed structure, almost like a stupa, with a large statue inside. A gift for the Orange Nation,

Zion surveyed the completed arena. Beside him stood Picot, a Yellow Nation general in a yellow tiger-striped cloak, and Kaveh, a Green Nation representative in a sharp black suit.

“Peace is bad for business,” Picot said, dragging on a cigarette. “Gotta keep our vassals fighting. Gives us a reason to sell them the good stuff.”

Kaveh glanced at a long document in his hand. “The NWC’s trying to block arms exports to the Eastern Wasteland. Futile. Their food program has delivery flaws too. Easy for our cargo to slip through.”

Picot nodded. “Yeah, just keep the conflicts from boiling over too fast. We gotta play it smart. Pick the right puppets… When the time’s right, your ground forces will… stabilize things,” he said, looking at Zion.

Zion met his gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable. Kaveh and Picot exchanged a quick glance.

Below, in the empty arena—still surrounded by workers, some of whom were clearly slaves—two men in chains were forced to fight. Kaveh and Picot shared another uneasy look.

Zion intertwined his fingers. “Humans are always cruel to each other, aren’t they? Especially when greed’s involved. My ancestors intervened in every nation on Earth, claiming to spread democracy and liberty… while simultaneously backing fascist dictators. They thrived for a few decades… then collapsed under their own hubris.”

He turned to Kaveh and Picot. “My goal isn’t just about resources. It’s about controlling humanity itself. When my ground forces arrive… there’s no turning back.”

Kaveh nodded. Picot grinned. He gestured to a nearby room, where several journalists waited. “Think it’s time for a chat,” Picot said. “Something the people of the world will eat up.”

The three of them headed inside, ready to spin a tale of harmless geopolitics for the cameras.

 

Meanwhile, in the eastern wasteland of Central Asia, a lone rider named Ali watched as his homeland burned to ashes. Zion's mercenaries were roaming the land, creating chaos to destabilize the region. They spread terror, justifying Zion's claim to "civilize" the area for his own gain.

 

But Ali was just a simple tribesman, armed with bows and spears, and a little gunpowder weapons. He led the remnants of his people westward, hoping to find a new future and escape the madness that Zion had unleashed.

Chapter 10 War Cinema and Cheese

 

In the dimly lit bar of a Caribbean island, the tv news is tell the new world important tv show. such how cool is the latest jets and tanks and implant technology who back in market. while brutal conflict between wanderers and blood khaganate in eastern wasteland is just a foot note on screen.

 

the menu boasts human meat and rat meat. A man with long hair and red glasses sips his bloodmilkshake. The impulsive desire to destroy and create something new—a 100% usable cow, courtesy of genetic mutation—hangs in the air. Every part of it can be consumed. but Let's skip the gory details.

 

The man is Panji, a name that stands out in these parts, especially since he’s got a young boy and girl tagging along. The girl, Nara, is a brimstone girl, and the boy, Svat, is short and stocky. Panji? He’s a mercenary, navigating the chaos of a world caught between two rival nations.

 

Welcome to Blue Nation territory, where technocrats believe in the transcendence of humanity through technology. The uneasy peace between the Blue and Red Nations has created a thriving environment for mercs and pirates during this cold war era.

 

The bartender, a woman with a weary smile and sharp eyes, finally made her way over after serving a couple of rowdy patrons. She leaned against the bar, giving Panji’s mechanical hand a once-over. "I like that finger," she said, her voice dry. "Much better than the last one. I like that top too.” She paused, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. "What have you been up to, Panji?" She cut herself off quickly. "Actually, don't answer that. I probably don’t want to know." A bitter edge crept into her voice. "I'm sure it made you feel real big and strong."

Panji shrugged, unbothered. "Not really. This island bugs you. You don't even enjoy it. Why stick around?"

Her eyes hardened. "Can you do me a favor and stop preaching? I’m fine. I am what I am. For better or worse." She sighed, the tension leaving her shoulders. "Fair enough. A lifetime of trying to sort my brothers out has left me a little…sanctimonious. Forgive me."

A moment of silence passed between them before she asked hesitantly, "I'm sorry if this is a weird question, but… what was the war like?"

Panji’s gaze drifted to the muted news screen, a shadow falling over his face. "It was… great," he said quietly. "You got to see people turn into animals." He paused, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "And… close friends die."

"Sorry," bartender murmured, her voice filled with regret. "I knew it was a dumb question. It's just… I hoped it wasn't so awful for you."

Panji shook his head slightly. "No. It was… seeing your home destroyed. Seeing members of your family die." He stumbled over the next words. "My aunt… Chrome Mother… she was… she was…" He swallowed hard. "She was raped and murdered. I found him." His voice cracked. "Everyone thinks she died in a house fire."

bartender gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, Panji… I'm so sorry."

Panji looked back at the screen, his expression blank. "The world is hard."

bartender nodded slowly. "What are you going to do?"

Panji looked back at her, a small, almost wistful smile returning. "Maybe you're right. The war taught me a lot of bad things… but it also taught me to enjoy life."

bartender met his gaze, a hint of her old self shining through. "I like that."

 “Something better is coming,” Panji says, his mechanical finger tapping his phone as he receives a call from one of his clients, Kassandra.

 

“Alright, Iron Hand,” Kassandra begins, her voice crackling through the line. “I’ve got an old friend who used to work in cinema propaganda. He’s retired now, but I need you to help him get his revenge. Who knows? We might even overthrow a government along the way!” A dry chuckle followed.

“Cinema propaganda,” Panji murmured to himself after the call ended. The phrase stirred something in the back of his mind. He vaguely remembered whispers of pre-war filmmakers, crafting narratives that could sway nations. Interesting. He tucked the thought away for later.

He glanced over at Svat and Nara, who were now engaged in a complex game of thumb war, their faces screwed up in concentration. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He placed a few credits on the bar, the metallic clink drawing the bartender’s attention. Svat and Nara, sensing the end of their game, scrambled to their feet.

As Panji turned to leave, the bartender leaned against the bar, a genuine smile gracing her lips. “You can do whatever you want,” she said, her tone light, “just… whatever it is, try not to regret it. and im fine okay? at least im not forced to bear children for elite couples in here” She winked and gave a playful two-finger salute. Panji returned a slight nod before heading out into the bright Caribbean sunlight.

As he stepped outside, the vibrant chaos of the island enveloped him. The sounds of laughter and shouting mingled with the distant roar of the ocean, He had a mission to fulfill, and the world outside was waiting.

Across the sea, in the Red Nation’s Florida territory, Smurf, a ridiculously wealthy retired boxing champion with a flair for propaganda movies in his younger days, was having a rough day. He stared at a flickering screen in his opulent mansion, the same Red Nation propaganda playing on loop. He switched channels, only to find another variation: smiling families praising Zion, heroic soldiers marching to victory. He slammed his fist on the remote, shattering the screen. "Enough!" he roared,

just few days ago, his dog has been kidnapped by an old rival for dog fights, and now he’s ready to start a gang war in the city, dragging Nara into the chaos as one of her first tests.

 

So, Panji, Svat, and Nara hop on a pirate ferry, sailing from the Caribbean Blue Nation to the bustling streets of Florida Red Nation. When they arrive, they spot Smurf—a muscular old man with a booming voice.

 

“Argh! All these cars! Motorization is unhealthy and should be banned!” Smurf bellows, rallying his goons to wreak havoc on the town. Panji and his crew jump in, ready to take on Smurf’s rivals, led by the notorious Fatty.

 

“Time to take out the trash!” Smurf declares, striking a retro American boxing stance, ready for action.

 

One of Fatty’s thugs, a skinny guy with a greasy ponytail, sneered, "Say that after I take your teeth out!"

 

After the dust settled – and several car alarms had been triggered – Loftis, a wiry guy who seemed to be Smurf’s right-hand man and sometime medic, patched up a few minor scrapes Nara had sustained during the brawl. He then offered her some ice cream, a peace offering of sorts.

"It's not safe outside. That's why I stick to the café. People just love to beat each other up because they’re frustrated with their lives," Loftis says with a shrug.

 

Smurf's gang then rolls up to a coal plant that Fatty uses for dog fights, where a woman named Roxy is lurking around.

 

"Roxy, quit stalking me!" Smurf snaps.

 

"You never told me why you dumped me!" Roxy shoots back.

 

"My dog didn’t like you, that’s why," Smurf replies, cold as ice.

 

"Argh! I hate you and your dog!" Roxy screams, clearly fed up.

 

After a scuffle with Roxy, they head to a secluded spot where Smurf's rivals are hanging out.

 

"Is this the right way to the coal mine?" Smurf asks, looking around.

 

A thug chimes in, "For you, old man, this is the right way to the graveyard!"

 

Smurf, unfazed, yanks the thug's teeth out and glances at the others. "I think we’re lost?"

 

More thugs show up, and Smurf grins. "If they’re here, then we’re definitely not lost."

 

As they move along, Smurf starts wrecking parked cars with his bare hands. Nara opens her mouth to ask why but is quickly silenced by Panji.

 

"Shhh, rule number one as a mercenary: Don’t question the client, no matter how weird they act," Panji advises.

 

The chaos catches the mayor's attention, prompting him to send riot police after someone complains about their car getting smashed by Smurf.

 

"There he is, officer! He’s the one who wrecked my car!" a citizen yells.

 

Smurf shoots back, "I destroyed your car. Now I’ll destroy your face!"

 

Finally, Smurf declares, "This is it. The coal mine. The den!"

 

In the center of the arena lies a dead dog.

 

"Oh no, boy. Is that you?" Smurf mourns, his voice heavy with grief.

 

Fatty, a hefty guy in a brown suit, struts to the center surrounded by his goons. "Your dog was killed minutes ago. He fought well and died. Like you will soon!"

 

The audience gasps, then erupts into cheers. Two human gangs enter the arena, and after a brutal fight...

 

"Please, no! Have mercy!" Fatty begs.

 

Smurf doesn’t hold back and beats Fatty to a pulp.

 

"That's not fair," Smurf grunts, panting.

 

In the VIP section, the mayor and several politicians watch the chaos unfold.

 

"Grrr, kill them!" Smurf commands, his eyes wild.

 

Panji taps his forehead, muttering, "Hmhm, here we go again." He then draws his pistol instead.

 

After the mayor bites the dust, Smurf demolishes the entrance to the cave. No one dares to report his actions, and honestly, the city residents weren’t fond of the mayor anyway. After a quick election, Smurf becomes the new mayor and bans all cars and electricity.

 

"Is this a happy ending for the city's residents?" Nara asks, raising an eyebrow.

 

"I don’t know, but it’s a happy ending for us because we got paid," Panji replies with a smirk.

 

Hmhm, Smurf wasn’t born in this city. Don’t be surprised if you see more folks hating tech in the future.

Every region in the Red Nation has its own set of rules, a direct result of Zion's early concept of vassalization during his nation-building phase. The downside? A chaotic mess in areas he hasn't fully annexed yet. But despite the turmoil, the Red Nation remains a strong and powerful force, thriving on the very chaos that surrounds it.

 

In the shadow of a city plunged into darkness, Panji's phone rang, cutting through the night like a siren. "Ahh, you called me at a rather inconvenient moment," he muttered, irritation creeping into his voice.

 

"What do you mean?" Kassandra's voice was curious, almost playful.

 

"I'm in a place where tech is banned, hehe," Panji replied, a smirk forming on his lips.

 

"Haha, oh, I see. So where are you now, hehe?" Kassandra's laughter echoed through the line.

 

"In the bathroom," Panji said, taking a sip of beer.

 

There was a brief pause before Kassandra spoke again, "..........oh okay....... by the way, it seems you're still looking after that wild girl. Heh, is she your girlfriend?"

 

"Quiet. She's more like a sister to me. I'm not in the mood for small talk. What do you want?" Panji's tone sharpened, cutting through the banter.

 

"You see, Zion's behavior is becoming increasingly worrying. As his secretary, I have to clean up his mess. Humpf..." Kassandra's voice dripped with frustration.

Panji replied. “It seems your little project was… effective. at least for now”

“Indeed,” Kassandra said, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. “Now, for the main event. Do you remember New York?”

"Of course. There are tons of classic films and games about that ancient submerged city," Panji replied, his interest piqued.

 

"I want you to destroy one of the gangs in New York so we can get a better price from the brokers," Kassandra stated, her intentions crystal clear.

 

"Ahh, gang hunting, huh?" Panji's voice mixed amusement with anticipation.

 

"Yes, but let some factions remain. I just need you to reduce their numbers. Back in our glory days, the price of guns was the same as velvet cheese," Kassandra instructed.

 

"Why do you rely on the black market?" Panji questioned, curiosity getting the better of him.

 

"Ahaha, come on, you know the answer. What would the other major nations say if we suddenly increased our armaments?" Kassandra's laughter was sardonic.

 

"Alright, now let's talk about money," Panji said, shifting gears.

 

"If you succeed in taking down one of the influential gangs there, I'll pay you 1 billion credits. Plus, you can take their territory," Kassandra offered, raising the stakes.

 

"Brrrrrrr *sprays beer while drinking* 1 billion! You called the right person," Panji exclaimed, sealing the deal with enthusiasm.

 

"I think we have an agreement. See you later, handsome..." Kassandra's voice dripped with confidence as the call ended.

 

In Smurf's town in Florida, Panji was making his way through the dead of night. As he crept along, he spotted Smurf's goons setting fire to the tech shop and library, smashing TVs, radios, cars—anything tech-related. They even forced some poor souls with cyber implants to remove their limbs right there on the street.

 

Panji peeked out from the bushes, rubbing his mechanical finger. He couldn't help but wonder how someone like Smurf, a propaganda master who once thrived on technology, had turned into such a tech-hating fanatic. But he quickly shook off the thoughts and started navigating the environment like a ninja, with Nara and Svat trailing behind him.

 

After a close call, they managed to buy the last surviving boat and escape from Smurf's goons, who were hell-bent on banning all tech. Svat proudly introduced a new companion he found before the old folks blew up the mine den.

 

"I found him in the mine den before those old people blew it up. I call him... Dogi," Svat announced, grinning as he presented the dog.

 

"Aha! That's awesome... a new companion!" Panji replied, a smile breaking across his face.

 

With the engine roaring to life, Panji, Nara, Svat, and Dogi set sail, leaving the oppressive town behind.

 

As they departed, the boat dealer—a man of few words—offered a blessing. "And He has made ships to serve you, so that they may sail through the sea by His command, and so that you may seek His bounty. Perhaps you will be thankful."

 

Just then, Smurf's goons approached the boat dealer, their intentions clear. The dealer simply shrugged and said, "You're under arrest for using and selling tech."

 

"What tech? They stole my boat," the dealer shot back, a smirk on his face.

 

The goons exchanged confused glances. "Well, how can we catch them?"

 

"Hehe, if you can't use tech, just use a rowboat," the dealer suggested, his laughter echoing into the night.

 

"Aaa... you're crazy," the goons muttered, defeated.

 

"Who's really crazy here... hehe," the dealer replied, getting the last laugh.

 

On the boat, Panji, Nara, Svat, and Dogi set their sights on New York, the city of opportunity and danger.

 

A couple of hours later, Panji stood at the bow of the boat, the city's skyline a jagged silhouette against the horizon. "Alright, Nara, Svat, and Dogi, guard the boat. I'll check out the city alone," he instructed, his tone brooking no argument.

 

"Why can't I come?" Nara asked, her voice laced with disappointment.

 

"In the Red Nation, men and women are separated. Even though there are no government rules in New York, people there will target you because you're a rare commodity. And it would be awkward if I brought a girl to meet key people here, hehe..." Panji explained, his logic sound.

 

"Humpf, then what should I do here?" Nara huffed, crossing her arms.

 

"That's your problem. How about playing with Dogi?" Panji suggested, a hint of teasing in his voice.

 

"NO NONONONO," Nara exclaimed, her frustration palpable.

 

"See you guys later," Panji said, dismounting the boat with a chuckle.

 

"See you," Svat replied, immediately starting to fish, the tranquility of the water a stark contrast to the chaos they were sailing towards.

 

Dogi's "WOOF!" was the only farewell Panji needed as he stepped onto the dock, the city of New York sprawling before him, a playground for the bold and the desperate.

Panji leaped off the boat, landing with a splash on the submerged streets of The Watery Grave. The water was a murky green, the only light filtering through from the sun above. The drowned skyscrapers loomed like silent sentinels, the only sound the water lapping against their walls.

 

A cloaked figure perched atop a nearby building greeted him. "Nice boat you have there, matey. Where you from? Why bother with this cursed place?"

 

"Looking for the leader of this place," Panji replied, his voice steady.

 

"There's more than one leader here. Each tower has its own gang and territory," the cloaked figure explained.

 

"Do you need to meet each leader, mate?"

 

"Sure, kinda. You part of one of those factions?" Panji asked, curiosity piqued.

 

"I'm with The Watery Grave Pirate crew. I'm the first mate. We're one of the biggest gangs here, with territory in most towers. We've got peace treaties and alliances with some, but conflicts with others," the cloaked figure elaborated.

 

"My boss is always looking for new recruits. You look like you're after easy cash, right, matey?"

 

"Alright, sure. I've got plenty of experience," Panji acknowledged.

 

"Then follow me, matey... We'll introduce you to the boss," the cloaked figure said, leading Panji to a door and knocking four times.

 

The steel door opened, revealing an elevator with some nude graphic image. They stepped in and ascended.

 

panji lower his red shades then look at cloak when they ascend. cloak then give him a knowing smile “you know its was a brothel too.. you get the idea”

 

When the doors parted, Panji was greeted by the luxury of the room. A table sat in the middle, with two shadowy figures seated.

 

The cloaked figure whispered to one of the figures. "Mhmh. It's kinda funny you have your own palace in here. Hehe... You can call me Panji. I'm part of the Scarlet Moon merc."

 

"Welcome, Panji. I am Captain James The Red, leader of The Watery Grave pirate crew," a voice greeted him.

 

Captain James The Red stepped into the light, an eyepatch covering one eye.

 

"I heard you're a good mercenary. I need help with a conflict," James stated.

 

"Solving conflicts for a good price, for sure," Panji replied, businesslike.

 

"Excellent, mate. There's one crew that disrupts my business. Their captain is Blackheart. I need you to get rid of him so I can run my business in peace," James explained.

 

“So, what’s the state of play down here?” Panji asked. James gestured to the window overlooking the flooded city. “Think less Singapore, more Mad Max meets Waterworld. Gangs carved up what was left, some becoming organized crews. Each tower’s its own turf.. Many towers are safe zones or neutral zones. Alliances with rival crews are common," James detailed.

 

"This place is more like Somalia or a pirate island," Panji mused.

"So, about Blackheart," Panji prompted.

"Tough guy. Heads the Black Serpent Pirates. Controls a few towers, always raiding my territory," James explained. "He's my biggest headache."

"Alright, deal. I'll infiltrate him, find his weaknesses, and take him down," Panji said.

"Sounds good. There'll be a reward," James nodded. "Cloak, show him the ropes, get him introduced to Blackheart's crew."

"Right, follow me," Cloak said, turning to leave. James watched them go,

swirling the wine in his glass, his reflection distorted in the red liquid. “kassandra favorite toy huh?” he muttered to himself. "Can one man really fix this mess?"

 

They walked down a hallway with peeling wallpaper. "Before we go," Panji said, "wanna check out the view from the highest point. Where's that?"

Cloak pointed. "That's Red Dragon's Keep. Tallest building around. It should be high enough for you to enjoy the view. and It's Blackheart's place, though. Got security, AI defenses and guards."

"Blackheart's, huh? Even better. "Alright. Maybe it's hitting two birds with one stone. Guide me to that building," Panji said, interest piqued.

Cloak led him towards the imposing tower. It loomed over the surrounding buildings, even in its partially submerged state. "Might wanna bring your hacking skills," Cloak advised, glancing at the tower's visible security systems.

"Oh, fuck. I'm bad with tech. But I have this," Panji said, showing a grappling hook. "This should do. I'll see you again," he added, determined.

 

"Good luck, matey. May the water guide you," the cloaked figure said, watching as Panji used the grappling hook to scale the building and find a window.

 

Inside, it was dark and quiet, but Panji heard a noise from a corner where a figure sat cross-legged.

 

"Heh... so that's the sound I heard. I've been waiting for you," the figure said, his voice echoing.

 

"What? Are you a wizard or something? Hehe..., you better speak," Panji warned, drawing his pistol.

 

"Heh... I may look like a wizard, but I'm no wizard. I am Blackheart, leader of the Black Serpent Pirate Crew. I was expecting you, matey," the figure revealed.

 

"The leader himself? Cool. What do you want?" Panji asked.

 

"Hehe, I've been waiting for you. You're the man Captain James sent, am I right, matey? That's why you're here, isn't it?" Blackheart inquired.

 

"Ahah, haha... Kinda. But I'm still gathering information. I'm not sure which faction to work for," Panji replied, playing his cards close.

 

"Hahah... This place is a mess. So many crews and gangs. As an independent, you can work for anyone you see fit, eh? Haha... But I can make it simpler for you, mate. I can offer you two things," Blackheart proposed, confidently.

 

Blackheart leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. "First, a place to reside in and stay. I'll ensure no one bothers you in my tower."

 

"And second, information for your search," he continued, smoothly.

 

Panji eyed him warily. "Alright. Why should I choose you over James?"

 

Blackheart chuckled, amused. "James is smart, a businessman. But I'm not like James. He focuses on business, while I care more about my men. You'll find more fun and excitement in my tower."

 

"We've got a gambling hall, fight club, even a red light district. All the fun things I can offer you," Blackheart boasted.

 

"And the best part... the reward. I can offer more than James can," he added, the promise of wealth hanging in the air.

 

Panji raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I can see if you like gambling. You're just a person who gets easily bored, isn't it? That's why you're waiting for me instead of ambushing me."

Blackheart laughed, a hearty sound that filled the room. "Haha... You see, mate, I like to know who I'm gonna deal with. And when I see you, I get the feeling you're the one I like the most. So I wait for you. Haha, I like your courage, matey. And I like your confidence and your guts. So... what's your answer, eh, mate? Do you want my place in my tower?"

 

Panji nodded, a decision made. "Alright. You might be smaller than James in some parts, but your spies are definitely all over James's place. So you're the one who has the upper hand here. Yeah, I'll be on your side instead."

 

"Alright, matey... Let me show you where you'll stay," Blackheart said, leading Panji to a large building that seemed empty except for him, some of his crew members, and his right-hand man standing beside him. Blackheart led Panji to a bare room: a stained mattress on the floor, a scattering of empty bottles the only décor.

 

"This is where you'll stay. Do you like it?" Blackheart asked, a note of pride in his voice.

 

Panji sat on the bed, getting down to business. "Alright. Here's the plan. Give me a fake blueprint and security detail about this place. When James is confident, we'll ambush him. That's how we'll do it."

 

Blackheart laughed, clearly amused by Panji's ambition. "Haha, I like your ambition, mate. I think I like you..." He took out one of his notebooks from his pocket. "Here's the fake blueprint, and here's the security detail I have. We'll have a lot more advantage now..."

 

Panji nodded, satisfied. "Alright. Why do you call yourself Blackheart? Hehe... It's kinda cringy..."

Blackheart chuckled, a story behind his eyes. "Haha... You see, mate, in the past, I had a different name, eh... But some people kept calling me 'blackhearted man,' and the name caught on. I've used this name ever since. Because to me, if you want to be successful in business, you need to have a heart of black stone. So I call myself Blackheart since then, eh... Haha..."

 

Panji nodded. "Alright. Hey, wanna check out the view from the highest point?"

"Sure," Blackheart said, leading Panji to the door and an elevator.

They rode to the top. The sky was clear and blue, dotted with clouds, and the view was impressive.

"Red Dragon's Keep. Best view in the city," Blackheart said, a hint of pride in his voice.

Panji hummed in agreement. "You could run a zipline from here. Hit any tower, even James's."

Blackheart chuckled. "Been there, done that. But hitting James now isn't smart. I'm waiting for the right moment. You find the weaknesses in his setup, and we'll strike."

"One decisive blow," Panji said.

"Exactly. I've got eyes inside his operation. They'll let me know when it's time. Just need your intel."

Blackheart leaned back. "So, where are you from, Panji? You've got an interesting vibe."

Panji shrugged. "Central Asia. Became a merc after the war."

 

Blackheart laughed, a hearty sound that filled the room. "Hahaha, I don't know, matey... It's just my instinct. It's been a long time since I've met someone like you..."

 

"Now, if you don't mind, may I know your name, eh?"

 

"Panji," he replied, his voice steady.

 

"Panji... Hmmm... Okay, buddy..." Blackheart mused, committing the name to memory.

 

"Now that I know you're working with me, in the meantime, can you get more info about James and his crew?"

 

"This is my order, matey... I expect you to return to me with info within two days, okay, buddy? I can tell you're a smart guy. That's why I trust you with this..."

 

Panji nodded, a determined look in his eyes. "Alright. You won't regret hiring me, man... Hehe... See you later."

 

"Heheh... I like the confidence, my friend... See you later, buddy... And good luck with gathering info..." Blackheart said, watching as Panji left, a new alliance formed in the shadows of The Watery Grave.

Chapter 11 Watery grave

 

Panji navigated the Venice-like ruins of what was once New York, where monstrous buildings loomed over the drowned streets, their tops barely breaking the surface. The iconic Empire State Building stood half-submerged, its rooftop transformed into a disco haven for local gangs. In the distance, the Statue of Liberty could still be seen, covered in graffiti, with her torch replaced by a money symbol.

 

Taking a long drag from his cigarette, Panji reflected on the state of the world. His homeland, like many others, was experiencing the fallout from the ice melt at the North and South Poles. The entire planet was drowning, a consequence of rising temperatures from World War III..

 

After soaking in the surreal landscape, Panji made his way back to Cloak in James's tower.

 

After soaking in the surreal landscape, Panji returned to James’s tower and found Cloak.

"Any news?" Panji asked.

"Just the usual market hustle," Cloak replied. "Smuggled goods, shady deals. It's a free-for-all down there. “

 

"And what about the people? Who do they prefer—James or Blackheart? Or is there another faction they like more?" Panji probed.

 

"Well, most folks lean towards Blackheart. Many dislike James because he’s cruel and uses brute force," Cloak explained, his expression serious.

 

"But they don’t fully trust Blackheart either. Pirates are known for their greed and lust for money..." Cloak added, eyeing Panji thoughtfully.

 

"What about you, matey? Who would you rather work for—James or Blackheart?" Cloak asked.

 

"Ahh, it’s tough to say. Both men are... kinda cursed," Panji replied, a wry smile creeping onto his lips.

 

"Yeah, man, I agree. They’re both cursed in their own way... Haha!" Cloak chuckled.

 

"Just keep a low profile or be strong enough to handle any danger..."

 

"Sounds about right," Panji said. "Let's head back."

 

Later, Panji returned to the boat, looking a bit grim.

 

"Why the long face?" Nara asked, noticing his expression.

 

"Hah... *Panji then launched into a long story* So, what do you think?" he asked.

 

"A tough choice, man..." Svat replied, scratching his head.

 

"Why not just destroy everything?" Nara suggested, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

 

"Hah! I knew you'd say that. But it’s not that simple. So, what would you do if you were in my shoes, Nara?" Panji challenged.

 

"Ahhh. Dogi, I envy you. You never have to think, do you?" Panji said, glancing at the dog.

 

"WOOF!" Dogi barked in agreement, tail wagging.

 

"So, what's your take? James or Blackheart? Choosing a client as a mercenary is like choosing life or death. Choose wisely..." Panji emphasized.

 

Nara shrugged, looking unsure.

 

"Alright, hehe. Maybe next time I'll buy you some intelligence implants," Panji teased.

 

"Fuck!" Nara exclaimed, rolling her eyes.

 

"Blackheart seems safer. He's got spies on James," Svat pointed out, still focused on his fishing line.

"Maybe," Panji murmured, picking up his own rod.

Hours passed. The sun began to dip below the horizon.

"I'm bored," Nara announced. After a moment, she looked at her reflection in the water. "Can I at least go for a walk?"

"No," Panji and Svat said simultaneously.

Dogi barked in agreement.

Hours passed. As the sun began to set, Nara complained, "I'm starving! And you haven't caught anything!"

"Alright, time for food," Panji conceded. "Svat, you coming?"

"Yeah!"

"Hey! Why do I have to stay here?" Nara protested.

"Someone's gotta guard the boat. Besides," Panji winked, "I'll bring you back some ice cream."

"Fine," Nara muttered as they left, Dogi whining at her side.

Hours later, at the restaurant, Svat reminded Panji, "Nara's been alone a while."

"You're right. Let's get this to go," Panji said.

Just then, Dogi burst into the restaurant, wounded and snapping at Panji's leg.

"Dogi! What's wrong? Nara—" Panji’s blood ran cold.

NARA'S LITTLE ADVENTURE

 

An hour earlier, Nara, after locking Dogi in the boat, had ventured out. A beggar approached, pleading for food.

 

"Please, I haven’t eaten all day."

 

Nara grumbled, "Humpf. Same. But here..." She tossed a coin to the beggar.

 

Suddenly, the beggar stabbed Nara's hand with a needle.

 

"Aaa! What are you doing?!" she shouted, shoving the beggar and mounting her horse.

 

The old beggar smirked as Nara blacked out.

 

Several people carried Nara away. The beggar and an accomplice approached the boat and opened the door.

 

Dogi lunged at the beggar's face. "WOOF!"

 

The man next to him kicked Dogi. "Argh, damn dog!"

 

An hour later, Nara found herself tied to a chair in the center of what used to be a hotel room, surrounded by a group of men.

 

"How are her teeth?" one of the gang members asked.

 

"Good," another replied.

 

"And the rest?"

 

"Her body proportions and face? Decent. She might be worth 20,000 credits."

 

Sometime later, Nara awoke tied to a chair in a dilapidated hotel room, surrounded by men.

"She's worth 20,000 credits," one said. "Maybe more after I have some fun with her."

"Touch her, and she's worth five," another warned.

"No worries... That damn dog bit me earlier."

 

"Alright, she's all yours. Hehehe..."

 

Moments later, one of the bandits splashed water on Nara's face.

 

"Rise and shine, little girl. I want to hear you scream. Hehe..."

 

Nara shot up, panic in her voice. "What!? What!? What is this? Untie me!"

 

"Hehehehe..."

 

For a brief moment, fear gripped her, but then she closed her eyes and thought, "Fak!" She kneed the bandit right in the groin.

 

"AAAAHH!! You!!"

 

Outside the room, chaos erupted. "What's happening?" Nara, still tied to the chair, dashed toward the door. Just before the second bandit could enter, she slammed the door, crushing his hand against the wall.

 

Still clutching his crotch, the first bandit drew a dagger with his left hand. Nara executed a spinning kick, smashing the bandit with the chair and breaking it, freeing her right hand.

 

"Aww... Uhh... Damn, that smarts." Her hand was bleeding.

 

"You picked the wrong target, little girl. Maybe your organs are more valuable than your virtue," he sneered, brandishing a bat.

 

"Bring it on, you coward!"

 

The second bandit charged at her. Nara used her left hand, still chained to the chair, to strike like a mace. The bandit was caught off guard and took a hit squarely on the head.

 

"Aaaahhh... Ouch. Fak." She frantically searched for the key to unlock her left hand but found the shackle jammed from the earlier impact. Hearing commotion outside, she bolted from the room and found herself in a long corridor that looked like a hotel, with several people sprinting toward her.

 

"Hey, there's a slave who's escaped!" they shouted.

 

"Fak, too many..." she thought, dashing to the elevator and jabbing the button for the top floor. Just as the doors closed, she turned and mocked the bandits with a comical face. "What are you waiting for? Quick, use the stairs!"

 

On the rooftop, night had fallen. Nara scanned her surroundings and spotted no other escape route except for a zipline to a shorter building. The pulley device was missing, though.

 

After a while, the bandits reached the rooftop door.

 

"Huff... Now where are you going, little girl? Hehehe... There's no other way..."

 

"There's always a way, you fool!" she shouted, sprinting to the zipline. she used a broken piece of the chair as a makeshift pulley and jumped."Aaahhhh!!!! Uhh, this is too fast! Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" "This is gonna hurt!" she yelled as she zipped across the gap.

The slavers watched Nara disappear over the edge, stunned. "That kid's insane..."

She crashed onto the other rooftop and blacked out.

"She's in the farmers' building! Go get her!"

One slaver frantically searched the rooftop. "Where's the pulley?!"

"We don't have one! Only the farmers use those to send down food," another replied.

"Damn it! Just find her. She messed up the elder. She can't get away with this."

---

In a nearby building, a robot announced, "Human detected."

A child looked up. "Maria, what is it? Oh... someone's there."

A man cautioned, "Stay back, kid. They could be trouble. We'll wait for the farmers to handle it." He started dialing a number.

The child protested, "But—"

The man sighed. "Fine. At least let's see to their wounds. Maria, bring them inside."

The robot gently lifted Nara and carried her to a room. The man and child began tending to her injuries.

Minutes later, the slavers ran into Panji, Svat, Cloak, and Dogi.

"Bonjour," Panji greeted them.

Dogi growled.

"What the hell?" one slaver muttered.

Another snarled, "You picked the wrong fight!" Panji quickly pinned him and punched him hard. svat join the fray. while cloak see them brawling in amusement

"Where's the girl?" Panji demanded.

"Okay, okay! That building," the slaver gasped, pointing.

"Thanks," Panji said, delivering a final punch that knocked him out.

"That's the farmers' building," Cloak observed.

"Why would she be there?" Panji asked.

Cloak shrugged. "Maybe they already sold her."

"What?!"

Outside the farmers' building, Panji turned to Svat. "He telling the truth?"

Svat held up a bloody tooth.from slaver "Looks like it."

"Nara's inside," Panji stated. then he draw his pistol

"Hold on," Cloak warned. "You can't just storm the farmers' place. They're neutral. That's like declaring war on everyone."

Panji sighed, checking his watch. Midnight. "And I still have to make a choice..."

Svat leaned against the wall, eyeing a poster advertising cheap women slaves in skimpy outfits. His gaze shifted to the building across the street, where Nara was clearly in trouble. "Nara's in a bind. Why not just postpone your little mission for now?" he asked, concern creeping into his voice.

 

Panji shook his head, the weight of the situation heavy in his eyes. "Can't do that, son. I've got two big groups marking me. If I wait too long, I might lose their trust," he replied, his tone resolute.

 

Cloak, jumped in. "Yeah, this place isn’t safe. Heh. Your boat got targeted by thieves in less than a day. You need to stay focused, mate."

 

Svat tossed a tooth in frustration. "Poor Nara. Attacked by thieves while guarding the boat," he muttered, the seriousness of their predicament sinking in.

 

Cloak nodded in agreement. "Yeah... this place is way too dangerous to be alone."

 

Panji phone turn into alive. when message from kassandra,her  call was short and to the point. "Panji," she said, her voice laced with warning. "The whispers have started. They're calling you a double-crosser. Make a decision, and make it fast."

 

Later, Panji approached James, a glint of determination in his eyes. "Hey man.. i give fake intel about blackheart tower i gather some info. perhaps its time to finish him once for all.."

 

James's interest was piqued. "Oh really you found some important intel? Give it to me," he said, eager to know what Panji had uncovered about Blackheart Tower.

 

Panji nodded. "Good. How many men you have? It seems Blackheart are still focusing on something else."

 

James replied confidently, "I have about 20 men.. including me.. that should be more than enough to take down Blackheart Tower."

 

James's curiosity was evident. "But I still have a question.. you said you got an intel about Blackheart Tower. What is it exactly?"

 

Panji revealed, "It's rooms layout and weak point who can exploit."

 

James's face lit up. "Great job mate.. you just saved me a lot of time in finding every weakness in Blackheart Tower. Now go to your room and take the rest for now. I will gather my men to prepare an attack to Blackheart Tower. Just be ready to fight matey.."

 

Panji agreed, "Good. Where is you cloak man?"

 

James pondered, "Hmm, I agree. We can ambush them at when they changing guard... when they are in their sleep. Our chance of success will be very high."

 

James noticed Panji's fatigue. "But for now, you can enjoy some time to rest matey. You look tired."

 

Panji, though tired, felt the need to prepare. "Sure. But I'm okay... and I think I need a stroll on the market. I need rearms."

 

James pointed him in the right direction. "Heh, the weapon shop is on the corner of the market matey. It's near the alleyway. Just go through the alleyway and you will find a weapon shop right in front of you."

 

Panji, ready to equip himself, replied, "Alright. See you at night. I go to market."

 

The market hit Panji like a punch to the gut—a mall gone feral. Bodies jostled, hawkers yelled, it was pure mayhem. He elbowed his way through, finally reaching the weapon shop. Half the place was dark, no generator, so they had these glowing algae cubes for light, like weird, green lamps.

 

"Hey dealer. Give me.. something with high power," Panji requested.

 

The weapon shop owner led him to the backroom, where an array of firearms, from rifles to pistols, and even experimental weapons awaited.

 

Panji's eyes widened at the sight of a sci-fi weapon. "Wow. What that sci-fi weapon you got there?"

 

The weapon shop owner explained, "The gun in front of you is a railgun matey. The railgun is classified as an experimental weapon by many weapon designers. Because the gun will fire some of the most powerful bullets ever created."

 

Panji was intrigued. "The bullet from the railgun have massive kinetic energy which will rip any body armor apart like paper. It also creates a sonic boom every time the gun fires, which can damage your ear matey. Are you sure you want this gun?"

 

Panji, undeterred, replied, "Wait? Can destroy my ear too? Heheh. I assume this can totally badass."

 

The weapon shop owner warned, "Eh yeah.. it's actually can. You see the sonic wave this gun makes when fired can cause some damage to the human ear. And by the way, I suggest you use earplugs next time when this thing been used eh matey.. hehe.."

 

Panji, set on his choice, asked, "Alright. I want that. How much credit for that?"

 

The weapon shop owner quoted, "Hmm, the price of this gun is 6400 credit. Are you still sure you want it matey?"

 

The weapon shop owner continued, "Eh, I also must warn you the maintenance and usage for this gun is quite dangerous and expensive. You need to be careful when playing with this gun matey.. hehe.."

 

Panji, undeterred by the warnings, confirmed his decision. "Alright, I take this. I give you some money so anyway.. what is the best gang you think suitable to rule this damn place? James or Blackheart? Or someone in your mind?"

 

The weapon shop owner, after a moment of thought, suggested, "I suggest Blackheart matey. He's a better fit to handle this place. James is a tyrant and cruel leader. He will do anything to achieve his goal, including killing innocent people. Blackheart, on the other hand, he's a ruthless pirate yes, but he will make sure to spare innocent life whenever he could. So I suggest you choose to follow Blackheart matey.. hehe.."

Later, Panji stepped outside with his new weapon slung over his shoulder. The railgun's weight was a constant reminder of the power it wielded.

 

Svat eyed the weapon with a mix of envy and concern. "You look cool with that man," he commented.

 

Panji's hand trembled slightly as he adjusted the strap. "You think so? My damn hand is shaking like hell..."

 

Svat chuckled. "Hehe. What's wrong?"

 

Panji's gaze was distant, burdened by the gravity of the situation. "You have no idea. The gravity on my hand now... this silly gang war. Nara... and this destructor. I think I should visit Redlight first... to calm my nerves, heh..."

 

as Panji walked outside the building, he noticed Cloak standing next to the wall, as if he had been waiting for him.

 

"Alright. You're Blackheart's spy, right?" Panji asked.

 

Cloak nodded. "I work for Blackheart, yes, matey. He's planning something big. If you want to follow him, I can take you to him, but you have to promise me something, matey..."

 

Panji agreed. "Sure. I was already trapped by James. He probably will attack tonight. Do your magic."

 

Cloak smiled. "Hehe. Let me do what I must, matey..."

 

Cloak pulled out his wrist tablet and punched in a series of codes. His eyes glowed, and his clothes began to change, morphing into a holographic suit that made him look like a ninja. His body appeared thinner, and his face was barely visible.

 

"Hehe, you ready to follow me, matey? We're gonna meet Blackheart now and tell him about James's plan to attack Blackheart Tower..." Cloak said, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

Panji's jaw dropped. "Wait, you can do that? Cool..."

 

Cloak chuckled. "Hehe... yeah, you just saw it, matey. Hehe... Now let me show you the way to Blackheart Tower..."

 

Panji hesitated. "Hmhm. I think that's not needed. I trust you if you manage to give the right information. I need to stay close to James so he doesn't get suspicious of me."

 

Cloak nodded. "Alright, matey... Let me take you to James then..."

 

Cloak put his wrist tablet away and led Panji back to James's tower. They could see the tower just a couple of buildings away from their current spot.

 

"There's James's tower, matey. He's right now in his office doing something. Heheh..." Cloak said, pointing towards the tower.

 

Panji was determined. "Alright. Make sure Blackheart's men prepare a good ambush. We'll finish this once and for all."

 

Cloak smiled, his eyes fixed on James's tower. "Hehe... Just wait and see. I will ensure we defeat James once and for all, matey. You just be patient at the right place and right time... Heheh..."

 

Cloak then walked outside and waited for Panji.

 

"Wait. Before we separate, how many of James's men are there exactly?" Panji asked.

 

Cloak chuckled. "Heheh... James has about 20 men, including him, matey. So we need to be quick in killing them. Heheh..."

 

Panji was skeptical. "Really? To control the whole tower, he has around 20? You're not... hiding something, right?"

 

Cloak's smile widened. "Heheh... Maybe there are more. Heheh... But I want to make sure you're not scared, so I only tell you the number that I know. There's a chance some of his men are hiding somewhere in James's tower..."

 

Cloak continued, "So if that time comes, we better be careful. Heheh..."

 

Panji nodded. "Alright. See you later. I'll go to James's room."

 

When Panji entered James's tower, he saw James talking with someone in a video call. James seemed busy with something important. The video call ended, and James turned as he saw Panji enter the room.

 

"Oh, hello there... What brings you all the way to my office, matey? Do you have any info about Blackheart Tower?" James asked.

 

Panji nodded. "Yes. He's just sitting around Red Dragon Tower. The highest tower. The security is kinda... easy to penetrate. I used my grappling hook and did fine."

 

James seemed surprised by the info and began planning the attack on Blackheart Tower.

 

"Are you sure about the security being easy to penetrate? We don't want to make some of our men die in a trap, don't you think?" James questioned.

 

"I will send three of my men to confirm your intel. In the meantime, you stay here, okay, matey? I will notify you when they return," James instructed. then some man is send to scout away. when some of james man look at panji suspiciously. if panji caught bluffing he will dead for sure.

 

The three men sent to confirm the intel returned to James's tower. They looked tired but eager to report their findings.

 

"Okay, I want you to tell me right away. What's going on? Is the intel right?" James demanded, his face serious and his eyes cold.

 

One of the men began to speak. "Sir, the intel is correct. Blackheart Tower's security is kinda... weak, sir. There aren't many men inside Blackheart Tower. It seems like... Blackheart Tower only has a few men and a few security drones inside."

 

Panji saw an opportunity.

 

"Strike when the moment is right. And perhaps I assume this gang war has just started too long, which is why their security has become loosened."

 

James was decisive. "Right then... Time to finish Blackheart Tower tonight. Send a message to all of our men. We will attack Blackheart Tower tonight."

 

Man 2 sent the message to all the men via James's arm console. A green icon with a radio signal appeared on his arm console, indicating the message had been sent.

 

"Message sent, sir. All men were notified and are currently on their way to Blackheart Tower," Man 2 reported.

 

Panji was eager for action. "Good. Do you join the party too, James? Or you sit here and miss all the fun?"

 

James's face lit up with a smile. "Yes, I will join this operation, matey. I want to have some fun... and also I want to kill that bastard Blackheart too with my own hand..."

 

A smile appeared on his face, a mix of anticipation and malice. "It's been too long since I've released my anger on this kind of stuff... Heheh..."

Chapter 12 Gang war

Outside the farmer's building, a tall tower poked at the sky above the grungy cityscape. It was a real dump – buildings half-submerged, choked with weeds, the whole nine yards. Then, out of the shadows pops this blonde woman in a flowing white dress, looking like she wandered off a movie set. Talk about a contrast. She was like an angel dropped into a hobo convention. But get this, the locals barely even glanced at her. They were too busy doing their thing – huddled around fires, rambling to themselves, you know the drill.

 

Svat, watching from a distance, couldn't hide his surprise. "Huh? A woman dressed like that in this city?"

 

Dogi, sensing something off, barked loudly. "Woof! WOOF!"

 

Svat turned to the dog, curiosity sparking in his eyes. "What is it, boy? Do you smell Nara on her? Hmhm. Alright, time to act."

 

Meanwhile, Svat trailed the mysterious woman, his steps silent against the wet pavement. She stopped at a drugstore and emerged with a bag. After a while, Svat decided to confront her in a secluded area to gain information. However, as the rain began to fall, the woman sought shelter by the side of a building, and Svat awkwardly joined her, pretending to also seek refuge from the rain.

 

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, the woman spoke, her voice surprisingly gentle. "That's a cute dog. We don't see many of them around here."

Dogi, happy for the attention, gave a friendly bark. "WOOF!"

"Oh, he's hurt," she noticed. "I have some antibiotics in my bag. Mind if I take a look?"

Svat blinked. "Uh, sure. You a doctor or something?"

She shook her head, kneeling down as Dogi, sensing a friend, trotted over and gave her hand a good sniff. "Just know a bit about first aid." She looked up at Svat. "Could you hold him still for a sec?"

A few minutes later, she straightened up. "All patched up. He'll be fine." She patted Dogi’s head. "You must be new here."

Svat frowned. "How'd you guess?"

She chuckled. "Anyone who's been here a while avoids me like I'm contagious. You didn't."

"Why?" Svat asked, genuinely curious.

Her eyes flickered with a faint blue glow. "Because I'm a farmer's robot."

Svat's jaw dropped. "A robot?!"

She nodded. "And I know you've been following me. What do you want?"

 

In Nara's room, the air was thick with tension. Nara, groggy and in pain, struggled to make sense of her surroundings.

 

"Aahh... it hurts...," she moaned.

 

A man's voice, calm yet firm, responded. "She's awake but in pain. Please increase the anesthetic dose."

 

Nara, her voice laced with fear, asked, "Where am I? Who are you? Please, don't take my organs..."

 

The man reassured her. "Don't worry, kid. We're helping you."

 

Nara, too weak to resist, closed her eyes and whispered, "Thank you," before passing out again.

 

Hours later, as morning light filtered through the window, Nara saw Svat sitting beside her.

 

"Huh? You're here... where's the gondrong?" she tried to sit up but winced in pain, collapsing back onto the bed.

 

Svat, his voice tinged with concern, explained, "Mas Panji is on a mission. He hasn't told us anything yet. And about your body... your right hand, back, and shoulder are broken. They replaced your bones with synthetic animal bones, hehe..."

 

Nara's eyes widened in shock. "WHAT?!"

 

---

 

Inside James's tower, the wind began to howl, a harbinger of the storm brewing outside. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a soundtrack to the impending clash.

 

Panji, standing by the window, felt the tension in the air. "Alright. Even the gods themselves seem to bless this night. Are you ready, James?"

 

James, a man of few words, nodded. "I am ready, matey. As you can see, my men are already waiting near Blackheart's tower. I've told them to wait for my order to attack."

 

James handed Panji a small radio. "Listen to me, matey. You're going to scout Blackheart's tower using this radio. I want you to stay in touch with us while we try to destroy Blackheart's tower. Understand, matey?"

 

Panji accepted the radio, determination in his eyes. "Alright. I will scout ahead."

 

James nodded. "Alright, matey. We will start our operation now. See you soon. Good luck on your scouting mission."

 

Panji, eager to take action, suggested, "Alright, we can split our group to make things faster."

Panji then lured James's crew into an ambush at the casino hall.

 "They're all upstairs, hehe. They won't expect it."

The attack began moments later. The casino hall erupted in gunfire. Panji, positioned near a balcony overlooking the chaos, saw Blackheart’s men emerge from the shadows of the slot machines, unleashing a hail of bullets. James's men scrambled for cover, but they were clearly outmaneuvered.

The few survivors made a desperate dash for the door, only to be met by Blackheart himself, who unleashed a hail of bullets at point-blank range.

Only a handful of James's men survived, and James himself was gravely injured.

Blackheart: "You have two options: slavery or death."

James, defiant to the end, spat in Blackheart's face.

Blackheart, unfazed, replied, "Or maybe a third option: long, endless pain before death." His men then dragged James into the void.

Blackheart, with a hint of satisfaction, turned to Panji. "You did a good job," he said, the thunder in the background punctuating his words.

 

The morning sun greeted the city with the sound of gunfire between buildings. James's and Blackheart's towers exchanged volleys of machine gun fire and RPGs. Atop the Red Dragon's Keep, they fired ballistas to set up ziplines to James's tower, using prisoners and slaves as shields against James's snipers.

 

Panji, observing the chaos, couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for Blackheart's forces. "Hmmh. Their numbers are still high. I'm somewhat impressed by their resilience. They don't give up, even without their leader."

 

Black, a member of Blackheart's crew, chuckled. "Of course, mate. Many have been eyeing James's position from the start. They'll fight to the bitter end, haha..."

 

Later, atop the tower, Blackheart laid out his strategy. "This is how I fight. I'll launch some slaves as bait on a zipline, and some of my crew will be among them. That way, the snipers will be distracted."

 

Panji, questioning the morality of the plan, asked, "Why use the old slaves as bait?"

 

Blackheart, unphased, replied, "Their organs are already useless. They have no energy to work, and they're no longer profitable in the chambers. Heh."

 

Panji, understanding yet disheartened, sighed. "Understandable. But what if they shoot indiscriminately?"

 

Blackheart laughed. "Haha... don't worry. Without James's leadership, they're like a flock of sheep without a shepherd."

 

Panji, clenching his fist, asked, "So, do we start now?"

 

Blackheart, ever the strategist, replied, "Wait until the sun is behind us."

 

Panji, impressed yet frustrated, mumbled, "Damn bastard."

 

---

 

At another building, Nara, still groggy from her ordeal, asked, "What's that sound from earlier?"

 

Svat, trying to decipher the distant noises, replied, "Hmhm. I think I hear explosions and gunfire."

 

A child, arriving with a tray, sighed. "They've started again... the gang war."

 

Svat, curious about the frequency of such conflicts, asked, "Is this a common occurrence in the city?"

 

The child nodded. "Yes, but this time it's more intense. Usually, they shoot at each other for a few hours, but they started at dawn and haven't stopped..."

 

Nara, concerned for her friends, asked, "Boi, is the gondrong among them?"

 

Svat, unsure of Panji's allegiance, replied, "I don't know, cung. Mas Panji hasn't said anything. He might have chosen James or Blackheart."

 

The child, piecing together the rivalry, exclaimed, "Oh, so this is about those two. The pirate versus the slaver. This will be very intense."

 

Svat, curious about the child's safety, asked, "Are you always safe here?"

 

The child, proud of their defenses, answered, "Oh yes. No one dares to attack us because they need our products. We have a robot army."

 

Svat, remembering the woman from the previous night, asked, "Does that include the robot who was with me yesterday?"

 

The child nodded. "Yes, Maria is our first robot. She's been around since I was little."

 

Svat, intrigued by the child's father, asked, "And the man who helped Nara, is he a doctor?"

 

The child confirmed, "Oh yes, my father is probably the only doctor in the city before medpads became available. That's why he has influence here."

 

Svat, acknowledging the universality of medical need, joked, "Yeah, no matter if you're a troublemaker or an ordinary person, everyone's the same when they're sick, hehe..." He playfully punched Nara's shoulder.

 

Nara, still in pain, groaned. "Duh!"

he man then comeback with some med"This is going to bring trouble." t

One hour later, on the Red Dragon rooftop, Blackheart stood with a smirk, issuing orders. "I think this is it... Release the kraken," he chuckled, signaling his men to send the slaves as decoys. "We'll go after a few waves."

 

Panji, observing the setup, interjected, "Wait. What if we place planks on the pulley as shields?"

 

Blackheart considered the idea. "Ah, good thinking. Alright, everyone, listen to the red glasses," he commanded, and his men began attaching planks to the front of the decoys. However, James' men soon blasted some of them with RPGs. Blackheart remarked, "That was a good idea, but human shields seem more fitting for this scenario."

 

As the first wave of decoys was sent out, James' men continued to shoot them down. Panji noted, "It doesn't seem to be working."

 

Blackheart laughed. "That's expected. Once their bodies reach the other side, they'll start to realize who they've been shooting." He ordered the preparation of the second wave, adding, "You'll join the pulley during the 12th wave, when they're distracted."

 

Panji asked, "So we only truly attack during the 12th wave? This is insane. How many slaves must be sacrificed? 300? 1000?"

 

Blackheart replied sternly, "Don't exaggerate. We're at war."

 

Panji grabbed a rifle, saying, "Give me that gun."

 

Blackheart chuckled, "Oh, so you want to take on the enemy snipers. Be careful, they're quite accurate from across the way."

 

Panji removed his red glasses, took a deep breath, and aimed at the window. He adjusted his scope and fired. "Too low..." he muttered, firing again. The enemy's muzzle flashes stopped. "Maybe I hit them. Too bad this isn't a game, so no kill notifications," he chuckled to himself.

 

Panji then still in same spot. not changing his position like idiot take a few shot, after taking out the snipers, muttered, "Headshot. Too bad there's no XP for that."

 

Suddenly, his room was hit by machine gun fire. He rolled and took cover. Cloak opened the door and said, "If I were you, I'd run out now."

 

Panji immediately fled the room, and moments later, a rocket hit it.

 

Cloak asked, "You're a daredevil, huh? Why the urgency?"

 

Panji nodded.

 

Cloak continued, "I see. You think you can save some slaves up there?"

 

Panji replied, "There's something that makes us beasts or not."

 

Cloak agreed, "Yes... By the way, I can sell you my camouflage cloak for the right price. With this, you can sneak into James' building undetected."

 

Panji asked, "Sell? Why not just give it to me? You know this could end the battle faster."

 

Cloak explained, "I know the battle will end, but if Blackheart dominates, I won't get double payments anymore. And without a strong rival for Blackheart, our income will decrease."

 

Panji sighed, "Ah... I thought I was the bad guy, but there's always someone worse. Fine, how much for your cloak?"

 

They haggled, with Cloak initially asking for 10 million and Panji offering 100,000. They settled on 4 million, with Panji able to pay in installments.

 

Cloak handed over the cloak and helmet, revealing his black hair. "How do I use this?" Panji asked.

 

Cloak instructed, "Your wrists and feet must be covered by the cloak, and don't move too much when it's activated."

 

Panji thanked him and shot Cloak in the head. "Oh, I forgot... What if the battery runs out?" he asked the corpse. He then carried the body to the elevator, muttering, "Let's test this cloak."

 

As he descended with the body, two men tried to enter the elevator. One asked, "Who's this?"

 

The other replied, "Never seen him before. Must be a merc Blackheart recruited. but this mean elevator line being tracked by sniper. lets use a stairs"

 

They decided to take the stairs after seeing the body, thinking the elevator wasn't safe. Panji opened his cloak, satisfied with its effectiveness. "Wow, it worked," he said to himself. then he look at cloak “so cloak. you dead with no one remember. “ panji then check his magazine “that is karma for double agent bastard”

 

Meanwhile, Salad, a doctor and vegetable seller, was checking on Nara, a captive, with Maria by his side.

 

Nara asked, "How am I doing, kind sir?"

 

Salad replied, "You'll be fine soon. And please, call me Salad."

 

Nara laughed, "Salad? That's a funny name."

 

Salad explained, "Well, I'm a doctor and I sell vegetables. Vegetables are good for health, and I treat the sick. So, they call me Salad."

 

Nara inquired, "Who kidnapped me?"

 

Salad answered, "Blackheart's men. He's the biggest slaver in town. James isn't much into slave trading; he focuses on arms deals."

 

Nara pondered, "Hmm... Does Gondrong know this? He wants to save me, right? He must have chosen James to rescue me."

 

Svat, another character, agreed, "Possibly. He might not have known you escaped. Plus, Blackheart's followers are too mysterious. In my opinion."

 

Salad paused, his gaze distant on the towers. "Blackheart... he's a man who understands the value of leverage. He knows how to make deals that benefit him, even if others suffer." The way he said it suggested he had firsthand knowledge.

 

Salad sigh then look at them, his expresion is unreadable "I understand why your friend is helping James. Despite being evil, James has a clear vision for his trade, which attracts loyal followers. That's why he's become the biggest gang over Blackheart. Blackheart, on the other hand, attracts followers with pleasures and his combat skills."

 

Nara and Svat nodded in agreement.

 

The child, with his remote-controlled drone, brought bad news. "James is in trouble. They're sending dozens of people on ziplines as decoys."

 

Svat exclaimed, "Oh no, that's cruel. What can we do? Salad, don't you have robot soldiers? Use them to help James."

 

Maria scolded, "Svat!"

 

The child asked, "What did he say, mom?!"

 

Salad sighed, "Let him speak, Maria. Maybe it's time they knew the truth... Your mother might still be alive. She didn't die giving birth to you. There was an agreement between me and Blackheart."

Chapter 13 Sewers Rats

 

Salad sighed, "Maybe it's time. Follow me, child." Salad and his child beni left the room.

 

Maria asked, "Why did you tell him that, Svat? Didn't I tell you before to keep it a secret, especially when it comes to Beni?"

 

Svat replied, "Sorry, it just slipped out. Hehe. But isn't it better this way?"

 

Nara, curious, asked, "Hey, what are you guys talking about? Don't leave me hanging."

 

Svat explained, "In short, Beni's mother was a runaway slave of Blackheart named Maria. Salad met her, and they got married. However, when Blackheart was searching for his escaped slaves, Maria was already pregnant. Salad made a deal to protect Maria until she gave birth to Beni, ensuring Blackheart got the best price from the farmers."

 

Nara interrupted, "Wait a minute... Your name is Maria too. Is that a coincidence?"

 

Maria responded, "It's no coincidence. Beni's mother implanted a personality chip into my body and memory, making me very similar to her. This way, Beni could be raised as if by his real mother."

 

After a long pause, Nara asked, "Alright, but why didn't Blackheart just let Maria stay with Salad? Why are women here forbidden to exist?"

 

Svat replied, "Did you forget to read the history before the Great War? On this continent, they were separated to maintain the population."

 

Nara exclaimed, "Yes, I know that! But those are old rules. Why are they still being followed?"

 

Maria sighed, "For some people, rules that stick for years become culture, and then mindset. Maybe this mindset is deeply ingrained in people like Blackheart."

 

Svat asked, "Can you fight, robot?"

 

Maria answered, "Yes and no. Physically, I'm stronger than a human body. However, I'm not programmed for combat; I only know basic self-defense. So, sending robots to Blackheart's building would be ineffective."

 

Svat chuckled, "Heh, I have an idea."

 

The battle between James and Blackheart had Watery Grave on a knife's edge. Their combined power rattled the whole submerged city. It wasn't just topside chaos; down in the murky depths, pirates in diving suits clashed with harpoons, a watery brawl mirroring the surface war. Turns out, both leaders were hiding way more muscle than they let on, and Panji? He'd just lit the fuse on a powder keg.

 And lurking in the shadows, another faction stirred. They moved through the city's underbelly: drained tunnels, abandoned metro lines, and the sewer system. These figures were cloaked in darkness, heavily augmented with implants, some even showing signs of mutation.

Among them were a few distinctive figures: a man in steampunk attire, complete with a black hat and dual katanas; and a woman in large goggles, a brown leather vest, and white pants—straight out of a steampunk adventure.

Their sudden appearance startled the local gangs.

"Back to the sewers, rats!" one gang member yelled, opening fire.

The man in the steampunk gear—Patrick—deflected the bullets and charged, his katanas flashing. Someone tried to flank him, but a shot rang out, and they dropped. Bianca, the woman with the goggles, lowered her smoking gun.

"HA! Sloppy moves, Patrick," Bianca called out.

"Says who? I was about to parry and finish him," Patrick retorted.

"Oh yeah? Parry this!" Bianca fired a few shots at him. Patrick deflected them, then lunged at her.

A burst of machine-gun fire ripped through the air. "Will you two cut it out?" Phonix shouted.a woman with mechanical limb with striking orange hair "Bianca, Patrick… knock it off."

"MY NAME IS PATRICK!" Patrick roared.

Phonix sighed. "Fine, Patrick. How about a little competition? Bianca, you bring me James's head. Patrick, you bring me Blackheart's. Fastest one wins. Loser cooks."

Patrick and Bianca grinned. "HA! Sounds good!"

"Just one thing," Patrick added, his voice rising again. "IT'S PATRICK! NOT RICK! AAAAAAGH!"

Meanwhile, in James' tower, Panji started killing guards and snipers in stealth and direct combat on the upper floors.

 

Panji wondered, "Huh? Who are they?" as he looked down at the lobby.

 

Bianca and others started gun blazing.

 

Bianca taunted, "Nyehhhehe... Eat this, pests!" She shot her rifle and, after emptying it, drew dual revolvers.

 

Panji muttered, "Hmmhm. The party's getting livelier... I hope Blackheart isn't under attack too."

 

He walked to the elevator and saw someone coming. He drew his weapon and took a grenade from a dead body. After the 'ting' and the door opened, he threw the grenade into the elevator, shouting, "A gift for you, friend," and boom.

 

From the radio chatter in the elevator, "Black damn it, they're using ziplines! Everyone, guard the windows! Wait, there's a rat in the lobby! We need help. Fak tamat, we're screwed!"

 

Panji  heard the activated the radio "Huh? Tharig?! He grabbed the radio, "Tharig from Scarletmoon? Is that you, friend?"

 

Tharig replied, "What!? Yeah, it's me. Who are you?!"

 

Panji laughed, "Ahaha.. Fate... It's me, Panji. Where are you now?"

 

Tharig exclaimed, "HA! You're here too? No wonder. The curse has come... Why aren't you dead yet? Hehe... Izroil misses you, hahah... Are you with those rat bastards?"

 

Panji answered, "No, friend. I'm defending the group in the next building... Hmhm... What are you doing here?"

 

Tharig replied, "Can we talk in person? There are over 100 people listening to this conversation. Meet me in the suite... Don't attack me right away, hahaha... Out!"

 

Panji made his way to the penthouse suite, raising his hand in the air and waving, with half his body behind the wall near the door.

 

Panji announced, "I'm here."

 

Tharig ordered, "Alright... Lower your weapons, boys. He won't attack, hehe..."

 

Panji asked, "Alright... What are you doing here?"

 

Tharig replied, "I have the same question. For God's sake, why are you here?"

 

Panji said, "I asked first."

 

Tharig pointed his weapon at Panji, saying, "Yeah, but I have more guns. What's your angle?"

 

Panji sighed, "Is this how you greet an old friend?"

 

Tharig laughed, "Ahahah.. I'm just imitating what you did to me before. Hehe..."

 

Panji chuckled, "Ohh, okay, okay... Still holding a grudge, huh? *sigh* So, here's the deal..."

 

Tharig, cigarette dangling from his lips as he reloaded his machine gun, replied, "Ohhh. I really don’t know whether to punch you or kiss you. You killed my boss, but hey, that bastard is finally dead, and now I own this building... How about I do both to be safe? Heh."

 

Panji smirked, "Alright. Now it’s your turn."

 

Tharig continued, "Nothing beats your story, friend. I met James when one of his ships docked in India. I started as a regular crew member and worked my way up to lieutenant during a deal with Sumbajhe. When James planned to attack Black, I was still on my way here."

 

Panji took a puff and said, "Huh. Your story’s actually pretty interesting."

 

Tharig laughed, "HAH! But this isn’t the time for stories. We’re in the middle of a fake war now. What can we do?"

 

Panji suggested, "How about I tell Black you’re surrendering?"

 

Tharig shot back, "FAK! After all these years, I finally become the boss. You think I’m just going to surrender? Besides, my crew is itching to avenge James' death. I can’t control them all!"

 

Panji sighed, "Hmhm. This is a complicated mess..."

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city, several figures emerged from the sewers and rivers. People nearby ran in fear, shouting, "The rats are back! Run for your lives!"

 

Bianca cursed, "Damn creatures," and shot at the nearby people.

 

Patrick said, "Save your bullets for the two fools killing each other above, Bianca...."

 

Bianca urged, "Come on, Patrick! I need a warm-up!"

 

Patrick drew his double katana, shouting, "Time for justice!"

 

 

Just then, a crew member rushed in. "Boss! We’ve got a problem! The rats are coming! They’re already on the lower floor!"

 

Tharig cursed, "Fak! The timing couldn’t be worse. Most of the crew is scattered at the windows facing Black's attack. Alright, boys... Make barricades. We’ll face them here!"

 

Panji offered, "Need a hand, friend? I’ve got this," he said, showing off his railgun. "But for the right price, heh."

 

Tharig waved him off, "Forget it. I wouldn’t buy it even for 1 credit."

 

Panji shrugged, "Uh, alright," and took cover behind a barricade next to Tharig.

 

Tharig laughed, "Ahahah... I know. This isn’t about business anymore, you greedy bastard. It’s about life and death. If we don’t unite, we’re all dead, hahaah! HAHA!"

 

The sound of gunfire drew closer. Bianca and her men stood outside the suite door.

 

Bianca taunted, "Ahha haha... do you smell that? Hmhm mhmh... the scent of cowards."

 

The door burst open, and Tharig yelled, "Give them hell!" They started shooting furiously but quickly realized they were firing at dead crew members. Bianca and her men hid behind them.

 

Bianca surprised them, "Surprise? Now it's my turn, nyeheheh," and they began shooting again. Bianca hid behind pillars, moving swiftly and trying to outflank them, "I'll quickly overcome these pests."

 

Tharig shouted, "Fak! Focus on that damn woman!" He reloaded his machine gun.

 

Bianca jumped from barricade to barricade, shooting crew members at point-blank range, "Are you just going to sit and wait for me to finish you off one by one? Boring. But thanks, neheh heh."

 

Tharig stood up in front of Bianca as she jumped between barricades, "Eat this, rat," he shot Bianca in the air, and she fell back from the bullet.

 

Meanwhile, Panji attacked the rat members, "Uh. They're not dying," he drew his railgun.

 

Bianca screamed, "AAAARRHHH... RATS retreat," she drew a smoke grenade, and they ran away.

 

The crew cheered, "We did it. Let's chase and finish them off!" The other crew members started to leave the barricades and chase them out.

 

Tharig yelled, "Wait, you fools. Ahhh!"

 

Panji chuckled, "Ahah.. seems you have a problem with charisma. Some people just don't have the look of a leader, heh."

 

Tharig hit Panji's face with his machine gun, "Uhh, sorry..." Panji adjusted his shades.

 

Tharig and Panji, along with some crew members, slowly walked outside the suite and saw their crew members killed, with a letter written in blood, "Let's play hide and seek."

 

Tharig growled, "Arrr// I don't have time for these rats," he drew his radio, "Explain the situation out there. 'Not good, boss. They seem to be attacking again soon. They're sending a lot of decoys. We're starting to struggle to aim.' Arr!! Just shoot everything! Out!"

 

He pointed his machine gun at Panji, "There's a bigger problem than those rats. So, what's it going to be? Are you going to keep killing my crew?"

 

Panji replied, "Mhm// let me handle the rats."

 

Tharig laughed, "HAH! How do I know you're telling the truth?"

 

Panji said seriously, "This time, I'm serious," he removed his shades, "They're a common enemy. So..."

 

Tharig agreed, "Alright... Friend, but remember, if you betray me, I'll hunt down your entire family."

 

Panji nodded, "I know that. Give me a chance..."

 

Later, Panji saw a blood trail in the restroom.

 

Panji muttered, "Seems like a trap, but... alright," he followed the trail and went inside the toilet. He opened the door and saw a man sitting on the toilet without a head.

 

Bianca suddenly appeared behind Panji, "BOO."

 

Panji yelled, "What!" He started to grab her, making her shot miss. Panji then shot her in the stomach until his gun was empty.

 

Bianca laughed, "Ahaha .. do you think that will kill me?" Panji hit her head with an axe, but it only made a small crack, "Is that all?" She slammed her head into Panji, who fell back and rolled into the toilet stall before she could shoot him. Bianca taunted, "Ahah.. the toilet will be cleaned soon. Can you please leave, darling?" She shot until she reloaded her revolver.

 

Panji yelled, "Heyy.." He slid on the floor and shot Bianca with his railgun restroom The railgun unleashed its fury, a thunderclap echoing through the building. The projectile ripped through Bianca, leaving a clean, smoking hole through her torso. The force was so strong that it shattered the glass in the restroom, Bricks and plaster rained down.

 

Bianca seemed to say something before falling.

 

Panji shouted, "WHAT DID YOU SAY?! Uhh uhh.. I think I burst my eardrums..."

 

Panji winced, clutching his ears. "Note to self: bring earplugs next time. And maybe a dustpan."

 

meanwhile amid that chaos. in serene farm building, In the warehouse, Maria and Svat were present.

Maria exclaimed, "Ahh, found it," and handed Svat a helmet with goggles. Svat put it on, and a voice said, "Synchronizing activated, please stand by." Maria added, "Alright, seems like you're logged in... Your body is mine now."

 

Svat asked, "Are you sure about this? This is without Salad's permission."

 

Maria sighed, "It doesn't matter. Besides, I feel like Beni won't see me the same way after this..."

 

She looked down, saying, "I'm no longer needed. I want to do something before I'm discarded..."

 

Svat and Maria returned to Nara's room.

 

Svat showed off, "Look at this, Nara," performing punches and kicks, which Maria mirrored perfectly.

 

Nara was impressed, "Damn cool. Hehe... But wait, I guess only you will control the robot. Since I'm still in bed, I can't join," she pouted.

 

Svat laughed, "Hah! I have a toy for you." He summoned a small robot.

 

Maria explained, "Beni usually plays with robots. I often help him assemble them. We take spare parts from broken agricultural robots and create new ones."

 

Nara, skeptical, said, "Humpf. This robot is very small and shaped like a spider. How am I supposed to attack with this?"

 

Svat chuckled, "Hah! Use your imagination. It can do this," he used a remote control to make the robot jump on Nara's face.

 

Nara screamed, "Aaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!"

 

Beni entered the room, asking, "Wait, where are you taking my robots?"

Beni explained the plan, "Here's the plan. I'll use the drone to scout around, while Nara's robot tries to find my mother, and Maria, controlled by Svat, will clear the path." Everyone nodded in agreement.

 

The drone threw Nara's robot from the sky to the Red Dragon tower windows.

 

Beni instructed, "Alright, use infrared vision to find the slave rooms."

 

Nara, observing, said, "Hmhm. There are so many people locked in every room here. How will I know which one is your mother?"

 

Beni stuttered, "Eeee aaa... just look. One by one."

 

Meanwhile, Maria used a grappling hook to climb.

 

Maria told Svat, "You don't have to try to move me. I know how to climb. I just need your help when fighting. So, you don't have to do that."

 

Svat, standing up from the floor in Nara's room after mimicking climbing movements, asked, "Really? Why didn't you say so earlier?!"

 

Meanwhile, at the elevator, Patrick sighed, "Fuhhh.. this is cheating. Blackheart's building is too tall. Bianca must have already gotten James' head. Come on, hurry up," he pressed the button furiously.

 

The power suddenly cut out. "Damn," Patrick muttered as he forced the elevator door open and climbed out. Just then, he spotted Maria at the window, panicking and climbing faster.

 

An idea sparked in his mind. "Ahh, that woman gave me an idea," he thought, and quickly returned to the elevator, climbing the cable to reach the top.

Chapter 14 Pirate showdown

 

Meanwhile, Nara's robot was trying to open a door when it spotted some slaves inside. "Which one is your mother? She looks like Maria, Beni said."

 

Nara spoke through the robot's radio, "Hey, you're all free! Which one of you is named Maria?"

 

The slaves exchanged confused glances. "Huh? Free? Maria?" one of them replied. "Sorry, we don’t want to leave here, and we don’t know who Maria is."

 

Nara was bewildered. "What?! You don’t want to be free? The door is open! The guards are busy now. This is your chance!"

 

One slave explained, "Yeah, we know the door isn’t locked. We just don’t want to go out."

 

Nara exclaimed, "What?! This is ridiculous! So, you choose to be slaves like this?!" Her robot then moved to another room.

 

Nara wondered aloud, "What’s wrong with these people?"

 

Maria, entering the building, paused her climb and said, "Well, Nara, sometimes birds in a cage see other flying birds as strange."

 

She continued, "Don’t worry. Maybe they keep the rebellious slaves on the upper floors. We’re only in the middle. Beni's mother must be up there."

 

Meanwhile, on the rooftop of the Red Dragon, Blackheart commanded, "Alright, boys. Prepare wave 8... Let everyone know we’ll launch the main attack soon."

 

One of his men reported, "Boss, our powerline just went down."

 

Blackheart ordered, "Send some people to check it out."

 

The man hesitated, "Uh, boss, but we have to use the stairs. It’s 150 floors from the roof to the bottom."

 

Blackheart grabbed the man’s shirt. "I see the slaves are more obedient than you..."

 

The man stuttered, "Uhh... alright..."

 

Maria took the staircase, trying to hide as many men started heading downstairs. Svat suggested, "Looks like we need to find another way."

 

Maria agreed, "I can’t climb with the grappling hook anymore. The wind is too strong at this height."

 

Beni asked, "Do they have an emergency ladder in the elevator?"

 

Maria replied, "I’ll check." She forced the elevator door open and saw Patrick climbing.

 

Patrick asked, "Huh? You again? Are you one of Blackheart's minions?" He pointed his sword at Maria's neck while still holding onto the elevator cable.

 

Maria exclaimed, "No! I’m here to free the slaves!"

 

Patrick smiled. "Ahh, you hate slavery, huh? An enemy of my enemy is my friend. Someone with a beard said that... My name is Patrick."

 

Maria introduced herself, "Ohh, I’m Maria. Why are you here, Patrick?"

 

Patrick explained, "I want to chop off Blackheart's head so I don’t have to cook today..."

 

He continued climbing, "There are many more slaves to save up there, Maria."

 

Maria followed him, "Huh? Yeah..." She asked, "What about you, Patrick?"

 

Patrick replied, "Not yet... My men are still downstairs. I might be too fast. Hehe."

 

 

At the elevator cable, Patrick commented, "Oh.. you're the first person from the upper world who can stand my smell."

 

Maria replied, "Yeah? Oh, I don't have a sense of smell."

 

Patrick chuckled, "Mhmh.. oh, I see. Hehe.."

 

Maria asked, "Are you a rat?"

 

Patrick laughed, "Isn't it obvious?"

 

Maria questioned, "Why do you like attacking people here?"

 

Patrick answered, "Isn't that natural, Maria? These cursed people need a lesson.."

 

They reached the top, "Seems like this is the end of the elevator route," Patrick forced the elevator door open and saw the hallway filled with Blackheart's men lined up facing the window.

 

Patrick exclaimed, "Ohh.. jackpot..." He jumped into the hallway and drew his dual katanas.

 

One of the men asked, "Who is he?"

 

Another replied, "It's the rats!"

 

A third ordered, "Finish him!"

 

Patrick shouted, "For justice!" He quickly slashed every man at high speed. Blackheart's men tried to shoot him, but he dodged. Some accidentally shot their friends in the chaos.

 

Svat was amazed, "Is he human?"

 

Maria replied, "Who knows..."

 

Nara asked, "Hey, what are you guys seeing?!"

 

Beni urged, "Nara, focus on your robot!"

 

The last Blackheart man, eyes wide with fear, attempted to flee, but Patrick's swift kick sent him sprawling. With a menacing grin, Patrick placed his dual swords at the man's neck.

 

"Where is Blackheart?" Patrick demanded, his voice cold as steel. The man, trembling, pointed upwards. "Thank you," Patrick hissed, slicing the man's neck with a swift, merciless stroke.

 

Maria gasped, "Oh myy///" Her gaze fell upon the bodies littering the floor.

 

Patrick, with a dark chuckle, asked, "Do you want to see me chop off Blackheart's head, Maria? Hehe. This might be a new chapter in history... Water grave."

 

At the Red Dragon's peak, a man reported, "Boss, we suddenly can't contact the vanguard that was going to attack the tower below."

 

Black's voice was laced with irritation, "Huh? What happened? This is already wave 10!!"

 

Patrick slammed the rooftop door with a resounding crash, "Your time is up, tyrant."

 

Black, recognizing the intruder, sneered, "You!.. Rick? So, this is your doing?"

 

Patrick's roar echoed through the air, "MY NAME IS NOT RICK! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!" He charged at Blackheart with the fury of a tempest.

 

Blackheart mounted his machine gun, and his men opened fire. Patrick, a master of evasion, dodged and weaved, making his way to the vent hood.

 

Maria peeked out from the door, her voice steady, "That's Blackheart, I'll display the visual on the monitor."

 

Beni and Nara watched in astonishment as the scene unfolded on the monitor.

 

Nara exclaimed, "Oh, so that's Patrick. His movements are cool... Like in the movies. He might not be human."

 

Beni, seizing the moment, suggested, "Maybe we should help Patrick. He has a good chance of defeating Blackheart."

 

Svat, eyes sharp, noticed, "Ahh, do you see that? There's a ventilation behind Black. Nara's robot and the drone might be able to get through it."

 

Nara, with a hint of surprise, agreed, "Good idea. Your brain is actually working... for once."

 

Beni, with a plan forming, added, "Yeah, and I have an even better idea."

 

Meanwhile, a Blackheart man, exhausted, sighed as he entered the basement, ", "Fuhh... finally. Some air," he gasped, wiping his forehead. "Check the generator, will ya?."

 

“alright i will check the generator instead” Two other grunts grumbled in agreement and moved towards the shadows. The first man fumbled for a light switch, his fingers brushing against a cold metal lever. He yanked it down.

 

, illuminating the space and revealing other gang members from various smaller faction with weapons trained on them. behind them a electric box are being hacked

 

Salad, with a mocking tone, greeted, "Happy birthday." then Gunfire erupted. after finish of blackheart man. gang members led by salad go to elevator

 

Rats poured up the Red Dragon's elevator cable. "Where'd that crazy one go?" one squeaked.

"Don't stop now!" another squeaked.

The cable suddenly jerked to life as the power returned. "Jump!" a rat shrieked. Most made it to the top, but one plummeted down the shaft, thumping onto the elevator roof.

The gang members inside the elevator heard the thud.

Inside the elevator, the impact startled the occupants. "What was that?"

Salad glanced up. "Something above us."

Rats clung to the elevator ceiling, some scrambling to get a better grip, others sliding down the sides. The added weight and friction caused the elevator to screech to a halt between floors.

"Damn it, we're stuck!" one gang member cursed, jamming his fingers between the doors. Black ooze dripped down from above.

 

Meanwhile, Panji muttered, "Duh, my head hurts... I need to punch that railgun seller's face later..."

 

He saw Tharig shouting about something in the distance, "HUH?! WHAT?! I can't hear you!"

 

Tharig pointed his machine gun in Panji's direction, "HUH! ARE YOU CRAZY, THARIG!" Panji immediately dropped to the ground and activated his cloak. Tharig ran and shot towards Panji, but his target was actually a rat member behind Panji. Tharig kept shooting as he advanced, causing the rat behind Panji to retreat until he hit the building's glass and fell.

 

Panji exclaimed, "Ohh ohh.. why didn't you say so?"

 

Tharig was speechless.

 

Panji yelled, "HUH?! KILL BILL!"

 

but then the gunfired is suddenly silent at outside at James' tower, Tharig observed, "Seems like they suddenly stopped attacking. But stay alert, boys..."

 

Panji, seated on the sofa, endured someone checking his ears.

 

Tharig, with a teasing smirk, asked, "Can you sign language? Hehe. What does this mean?" He flipped Panji off and laughed, "Haha.. this is what happens to greedy people, friend... Ahaha.."

 

Panji mumbled something under his breath.

 

Tharig continued, "By the way, nice cloak... Where did you buy it? Oh yeah, I forgot you're deaf... Hehe. Can I take this as compensation for you killing my crew?"

 

Panji mumbled again, his voice barely audible.

 

Tharig, with a shrug, said, "Alright... I'll take that as a yes//"

 

Meanwhile, Beni announced with a grin, "The drone squad has arrived... Hehe. They're drones made to spray pesticides and fertilizers for plants. Are you ready, Svat?"

 

Svat, ready for action, replied, "Yes, we'll attack from behind and disrupt their vision."

 

Maria, eager for the fight, asked, "Are you ready, Maria?"

 

Maria laughed, "Haha.. I'm ready, Svat. Are you ready to teach me fighting techniques?"

 

Svat, with a nod, said, "Of course, let's do this..."

 

Nara, not to be left out, interrupted, "Hey, ask me too. Am I ready as well?"

 

...

 

Patrick, taunting his enemies, yelled, "Is that all you've got! HUH!... I can do this all day until your bullets run out! Hahahaha"

 

Black, undeterred, retorted, "And you, are you going to play hide and seek like this until the end of time?" Blackheart hosed down Patrick’s cover with gunfire, the concrete chipping away.

 

Suddenly, the vent above them erupted, not with air, but with a torrent of green pesticide. It rained down on everyone, choking the air. Blackheart coughed, firing blindly at one of the drones. The shot connected, but the drone's explosion only amplified the spray, coating everyone in a sticky, foul-smelling mist.

 

Beni, seizing the opportunity, shouted, "Now!"

 

Nara's robot launched itself at one of Black's men, while Maria charged forward with determination.

 

Patrick, joining the fray, asked, "Where's your weapon, hehe?"

 

Maria, with a calm demeanor, explained, "I'm programmed not to use weapons or kill."

 

Patrick, momentarily surprised, exclaimed, "Huh?!" as he slashed through enemies.

 

Maria, undaunted, added, "Yes, but with my friends' help, I can do this," she punched her way through the opposition.

 

Patrick, impressed, said, "Alright, robot, give me a little boost!"

 

Maria, using the wall as leverage, maria then position herself.

 

gave Patrick a powerful boost jump. with maria arms power and patrick legs. patrick manage to had a big jump over Blackheart platform. He soared above Blackheart and delivered a devastating kick to his head. They both plummeted from the building, but Patrick caught Blackheart and continued to stab him as they fell.

 

Patrick's voice thundered, "Remember this! My name is PATRICK!!!!!!!!!!"

 

Beni, Svat, and Nara watched in awe through the drone's screen, witnessing the epic confrontation.

 

 

After the tower war, Blackheart's body was found and burned to ash along with his goons in the central street. Bums and pirate gangs, each sporting their own quirky outfits, stood silently near the fire, marking the start of a new era in the Watery Grave.

 

Tharig granted Panji access to an implant to fix his ear, and Panji shared snippets of his journey.

 

"Why are you still here? You’ve got enough to build your little city, right?" Tharig asked.

 

Panji stayed silent.

 

"How much money do you have?" Tharig pressed.

 

"10 billion," Panji replied.

 

Tharig laughed. "Hah! Now that’s interesting... So, you’re still living modestly. I assume you’ve reached your goal. What happened after I left? What went down after we finally took care of those invaders?"

 

"After we beat those invaders, you decided to chase extra cash in the east. I went west and met someone named Kassandra. I worked with her for a while and made a ton of money—more than our city needed," Panji explained.

 

"Let me guess, you fell for that woman?" Tharig teased.

 

"No... In the jungle, I killed people, smuggled them, tortured them—all for money. I always thought I was doing it for my family. But then something changed..." Panji's voice trailed off.

 

"And what was that?" Tharig asked.

 

"I found my purpose. Every day, after finishing a job, I’d look at the numbers and feel satisfied. I was finally doing something for my family. But once they were well-fed and our city thrived, I just... kept doing the horrible things Kassandra told me to do. It wasn’t about the money anymore; I just loved it..." Panji confessed.

Tharig's eyes widened in disbelief. "What? Are you mad? What did she do to you? Did she brainwash you or something?!"

 

"It's just me, Tharig. I just love violence. I don't care about money; I just like the feeling of adrenaline pumping through me," Panji admitted.

 

Tharig took a deep puff, shaking his head. "You are... just terrible. What about the girl and the child with you? Do you want them to be dragged into the devil's valley like you?"

 

"No... I just see myself in her—naive, sadistic, doing things just because it's fun," Panji said.

 

Tharig scoffed. "Hah! So you think by protecting her, it makes you better? Oh, I understand now... Maybe it's time for you to repent, Panji. Forget all this. Become my lieutenant. You might still see some action, but it won't be as thrilling as what you're doing now."

 

"Thank you for the offer, friend. I'll think about it," Panji responded.

 

Tharig laughed heartily. "HA! This isn't an offer, buddy. This is reality. Let's be realistic here. How old are you now? 30? 40? Can you still do all that at 60?"

 

Tharig continued, "That's the difference between us. As you know, we were both messed up during the war, but I also think about the future. That's why I invested my money in a boat. I want to live longer, buddy. I want to see my daughter give birth to my grandchildren. Maybe it's time for you to forget the past..."

 

Tharig concluded, "Now get out of my sight, you psychopath. But remember this, friend—if you ever change, the Watery Grave will always welcome you with open arms..."

 

Panji left, and Tharig's crew asked, "Boss, are you sure about letting him go like that? People like him, who do things for no logical reason, are extremely dangerous."

 

Tharig replied, "Relax. I still have hope for that bastard..."