Episode 9-Liberators of the Oppressed (3)

It was a beautiful night. The dark, ash-filled clouds parted by nightfall, and the scintillating stars shone brightly in the black sky. The street lamps of modern society vanished and decayed, with the natural light coming from the heavens instead.

The celestial illumination cast its white rays to the shadowed Earth below, gracing land with its presence. But one must ask, are the humans who dwell on this land worthy of grace? Forgiveness? Are they worthy of the blue sky above and the sun that feeds life to the planet below?

Humans have made multiple media dwelling on their demise, each adding their prediction to the ever-growing pile that details their fall. One such medium was the "Animatrix," created by the Wachowski sisters, the leading creators of the anime. It was a prelude to the main trilogy and recalled the arrogant humans and their decisions that led to their mass upheaval as the dominant species.

In Animatrix: The Second Renaissance, the following images show the humans approving of Operation: Dark Storm and the Machine called City 01 releasing their army in every direction. In the upcoming moments, it shows piloted planes commencing Operation: Dark Storm and releasing the molecular replicators throughout the atmosphere, blotting the sky until it is nothing but a roiling, thundering sheet of tumultuous ebony.

As the female narrator details the events, the robotic voice says this as the Earth is gradually blackened:

"May there be mercy on man and machine for their sins."

***

Two men clad in Confederate uniforms stood on a metallic balcony, overseeing Summit Avenue down below. Across the street was the Northwest School of Seattle, their main base of operations. On top of the school's roof were the various gardens growing [Agrigite Flowers], manned by the slaves tasked with the night shift.

One of the men leaned against the balcony's metal railing and puffed a cigarette while dumping the ashes into an empty flower pot. As he did, he spoke out to no one in particular and laced the smoggy air with his nicotine-laced breath.

"Same ol' shit after 'nother. Nothin happening, day 'n day out."

His partner sitting beside him responded with nothing. It wasn't hard for the smoking man to imagine doing this guard shift alone.

(Elijah muter than an owl,) he thought.

The night shift was boring as he thought it would be. It consisted of standing, sitting, watching, and nothing else. The only boons for the smoking man were his pack of Marlboro and the view. As the smoker watched the roof of Northwest school, a female slave bent down to tend to the [Agrigite Flowers]. As she did, her backside faced the man's direction.

He whistled out and thought, (She got some good cake on her. Should get a taste later.)

It was hard, though. The watchmen overseeing the workforce permitted no one to enter the slaves' quarters, not even other guards. It was under the guise of isolation and preventing any defecting soldiers from aiding them. Still, the smoking man thought differently - the guards were probably keeping all the girls for themselves.

(Greedy lil' shits.)

As another cigarette ran its course, he fished for another from his pack and grabbed his lighter. He didn't know as of this moment, but that was his first mistake. The metallic clink of the device produced a flame, but it made a sound loud enough to smother the soft footsteps of an approaching man.

They stood tall, completely unseen thanks to the hermit cloak they possessed. As they towered over the unsuspecting men from above, the man began to think.

(Ethan is pretty rich.)

George Machen recalled his young compatriot buying the cloak for him and not batting a single eyelash.

(I swear, Ethan's going to be the next Elon Musk.)

As George thought this, he looked down at the two men. The smoker was a man in his late forties, while the other was a young fellow in his mid-twenties. When George's comrade discovered their position, he proposed this as a plan.

("They seem to have a vital position. Having that would be a great vantage point. With your star relic, you could snipe the other guards before they knew what hit them. I could set up a noisy distraction to mask your gunshots. But first, you have to take it. You should climb onto the roof of the building, drop down, and slit their throats while blocking their mouths. They'll never see it coming.")

George Machen's reaction was to stare at Ethan Nakamura with wide eyes. How could someone so young conceive such a plot? What world did George live in for children to become murderers? Who was Ethan Nakamura? How did they become the efficient killer that they were?

George recalled more of his memories. They pained him because they came from a time before the Apocalypse. He thought of the people he used to train with. Chills ran through him as he did. He recalled some of the men being so emotionally detached; they didn't seem human. George remembered when he went on one patrol and came across bodies. They weren't human, of course. They were grey squirrels. Still, it was vicious. The critters had their tiny necks slit open so widely, they might as well been decapitated. George could still recall the small organs that gutted from the squirrels' bellies.

Just as George would to run back and report his findings, he saw a fellow trainee creeping behind him.

"Fuu, George, you seemed to've found something you shouldn't have. Promise to keep it a secret, 'kay? Don' worry, I won't waste 'em, I'll cook 'em up real good."

George still remembered the bone-chilling moment. He remembered looking into that man's eyes and seeing no signs of life. It was as if the person standing before him was dead inside, with no soul. George always wondered why he made it out alive, even though the situation was so comparatively trivial. Alas, he never forgot that moment or that look - the gaze of a soulless man who had no qualms with killing.

It was gradual, but the Ethan Nakamura he knew looked more and more like that old trainee.

(Ethan...)

It was a fuzzy memory - it wasn't as corporeal as the others he possessed. Still, it was there. He remembered a gentle smile and warm, dark brown eyes staring down at him. When he met that kindness, he felt as if he forced the crusted pages of his life story to turn to a newer chapter. Soon, George Machen was refreshed on a new page and given life once again.

So, it was truly ironic for the person who gave him vitality to lose theirs - even if the form of vitality was different.

(Huu, I'm stalling.)

The operation had to commence. George was being relied on. He dug into his pocket and pulled out two items.

[Hypnos Dust] and [Absorbent Rag].

This method was Ethan's humane solution. Mix the dust with some water, pour it onto the rag, drop down and smother the men with it. It was a magical form of chloroform. George silently mixed the solution and coated the rag with the dust. He still wore his gas mask - if he didn't, George would fall unconscious like the men he was about to attack. With his black-latex-covered hand, George gripped the rag and dropped down.

"Wha-- Hurmphh!!"

George smothered one man with the rag, and the other man had a flask of Hypnos dust thrown into their face. It only took a second, but the man slumped backwards in their seat while snoring. George quickly turned around and opened the sliding door, only to see two men and their interrupted card game.

With a desperate throw, George threw the dust in their direction. The white powder floated through the air and reached them, but the effect wasn't showing. The men got up, but as they did, their faces contorted as if they were about to sneeze. It looked like they would, but the men's expressions showed their bodies were half-responding. As they finally inhaled, they collapsed onto the table and floor with a loud clatter.

(Damnit! Did others hear that?)

George stepped onto the balcony, only to see a female slave worker looking in his direction.

(Please, no.)

George was about to mime with a shushing gesture, but the slave returned to her work, pretending to see nothing. He was stupefied but sighed with relief. The marine grabbed the two men and dragged them into the apartment. He bound and tucked them into the bedroom, but before he left, he saw the Confederate uniform belonging to the young man called Elijah. Ethan's voice rang in his head.

("You must don the ultimate disguise. Plus, I know you'll look good in any uniform.")

With reluctance, George undressed Elijah and took his uniform. Messages from Constellations rained from the night sky.

[Constellations of yaoi wish for a performance.]

[You have been sponsored 500 coins to perform.]

George ignored the messages and took the Confederate uniform as his own. He dressed in it, thoroughly disguising himself. George locked the bedroom filled with the Confederate soldiers and pulled out a turtle-shell-shaped radio from his pocket. He spoke with a low voice as if speaking aloud was taboo. Still, he needed to signal the second half of the attack.

"This is Red Warrior, I repeat, this is Red Warrior, signaling Burning Charcoal, I repeat, signaling Burning Charcoal. Initiate the operation, I repeat..."

George paused, thinking about what he should say next. It was such a simple phrase consisting of a handful of words, but if he uttered it, this single sentence would usher the death of dozens of people. When George realized this power, they froze. Could he make this decision? George closed his eyes, but they saw his dying trainees. He saw the slaves toiling away on that roof. When he concentrated, he could see Jael was one of them. The kind man looked George directly in the eyes and said one thing: "Help us, George. Please."

Swayed with one sentence, filled with resolution from four words, George spoke into the radio.

"Burning Charcoal, initiate Operation: Dark Storm."

***

Thirty flare zombies charged forward. They emerged from toppled cars, shot out from dark alleyways, and sprang out from trees. Within their twisted consciousness, eagerness could be felt. They worked for this moment. It was less than a mile, but these flare zombies had to walk street after street to find this hive of humans. They walked past a dumpling zone, the Paramount Theater, and a Starbucks to get to this point.

Under the mental control of their Master, three zombies ran towards the school entrance while absorbing bullets. The armor and helmets they wore shielded their bodies from the incoming fire, much to the frustration of the Confederate soldiers.

"Fuck!! The bullets are doing anything!?!"

"Keep on firing!!"

"Do we need the Gatling gun?!!"

The three zombies scrambled to the reinforced entrance door and desperately clawed at the entrance. Within their diseased minds, they recalled the promise - the promise to spread, to maul, to feed. The Master said so.

(I'm sorry.)

The flare zombies froze.

(I learned this from Michael Bay's first Transformer movie: No sacrifice, no victory.)

After that thought was transmitted, the flare zombies felt their bodies heat up. Their insides were rending apart - the pent-up forces pushed outward until their very bones fractured. Even though they were about to die, two trains of thought ran through their minds.

(YES!! DEATH!!)

The oversaturated amygdala - brimming with aggression - felt pure joy as it looked at the frightened humans.

(Yes, death...)

Mirroring this, the flickering humanity within resurfaced for a moment, registering the impending freedom from this hell. As it did, they felt the Master's mind touching theirs, wishing them farewell on their journey.

Shortly after, flaming explosions ripped through their bodies, decimating the school entrance. A byproduct of this explosion was the souls of the newly freed. The soul forms stood in the wreckage their mortal bodies caused, gaping at the destruction they inflicted.

(We did this.)

[You did. Have no fear, Incarnations, for that was beyond your control.]

All the emerging souls turned to look at the speaker, only to see a handsome man with black wings tucked behind his back.

[Come with me, dear mortal souls. Your journey to the Underworld begins.]

***

Flare zombies crowded in. A horde streamed through like an unstoppable flood. The zombies were armored, rendering conventional bullets useless unless someone had a lucky shot. Still, they were impervious at this point. The entrance guards were shredding apart from the flying debris; metal and wood perforated their flesh while scorching from the fire.

Surviving soldiers scrambled into position, hoping to suppress the horde. They fired into the crowd, but the zombies were too fast. Some men switched to their sabers, but the overwhelming numbers won, and they were thrown onto the floor.

One man stood in place as he duel-wielded LeMat pistols. He discharged round after round into the crowd but was tackled. He whacked his head against the linoleum floor, and his vision blurred. If only his head injury numbed his ability to feel.

"GuuAHH!! Help me!! HELP ME!! GOD, HELP ME!!"

Flare zombies assaulted the young man; their long, jagged nails - paired with inhuman strength - allowed them to rip the man's flesh in sheets. They pulled the heavy clothing from his legs and sank their yellowed teeth into his skin, chewing it off and revealing the bone underneath. Spurts of blood flew everywhere as other flare zombies eviscerated his stomach, ripping out his intestines right in front of him.

"Aaauuurrrggghh!! HELP ME!!"

Flare zombies chewed off his hair with parts of his scalp. He felt a clawed hand rip his ear as hands struck and penetrated his ribcage - he felt and heard the bones crack. As he desperately looked around, he saw the face of one flare zombie come near his. Two scalding, rancid lips pressed against his. It was a kiss of death.

"!!MurrphhaaaAAAuuaaa!!!"

With hungering passion, the ghoul tore his lips off and chewed along his jawline, closing in on his neck. The young man had to end this pain. With his right hand, he pulled his arm through the limbs of zombies and brought the gun near his temple.

(Sadly, there shall be no mercy for man.)

Just as he was about to press the barrel to his skull and shoot, a pair of fangs clamped onto his wrist and ripped the arm upwards - the tissue was severed, revealing the meshwork of veins. Blood poured down the man's arm as he reflexively pulled the trigger.

-!!BANG!!-

With that, any chance of salvation was gone from his mutilated grasp.

"NOOOO!!! Guuaarrgghh!! NO!! H-heLP m-mEeeeeee!!"

As the soldier lay there to die, a young boy watched from the sky, no different than the Constellations that peered at him.

As this boy's consciousness waned, he thought this: (Alas, there shall be no mercy for man. Only burning, wrathful vengeance.)

***

[Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint Stage 3 is deactivating.]

I slowly opened my eyes within my helmet.

[Fragment of the 4th Wall has said, "Ethan Nakamura was waking up, his vision was torn from the gory visage before him. Perhaps it was a blessing to avoid such horrendous sights that would hollow anyone's soul. Although, when it came to Ethan Nakamura, did he even have a soul anymore?"]

Fraggy rattled on, and on the entire time, I was in the Third Viewpoint. The ENTIRE fricking time. His voice was a little different, and his sentences were concise, unlike when he directly talked to me. It was peculiar to have my every action narrated as if this was some story.

...Although to be fair, the entire universe was one immense story revolving around [Star Stream], so it wasn't unfitting for Fraggy to narrate.

(Time to proceed with the next phase.)

I dug into my backpack and pulled out a box of Black Cat Supercharged Fireworks. Before I ignited my hands in flames and threw the entire package, I spoke into a turtle-shell-shaped radio.

"This is Burning Charcoal to Red Warrior, I repeat, this is Burning Charcoal to Red Warrior. Proceeding with Phase Black Cat. Make sure to cover your ears."

I ignited the packaging and threw the box towards the school. I dug through my backpack and dug out more. I taped them to the backs of flare zombies, ignited an elongated wick, and ordered them to run around the perimeter of the school.

(Try to find a target with all of this sensory overload.)

I watched the ghoul run forward, but it mysteriously froze in place, as if being held by the collar. The legs kicked out, but it simply went limp from this pointless struggle.

-!!Tsu-chuchut!!-

Lightning appeared above the school, and a smartly dressed Dokkaebi appeared.

[Now, now, everyone, we can't have such a situation without a proceeding scenario. There's no framework otherwise.]

(H-he froze my flare zombie in place.)

With a snap of the Dokkaebi's fingers, a blue screen materialized. I assumed everyone saw this: even the Confederate Soldiers.

[I hope you like the contents of the scenario I cooked up. Well, I'll be leaving to monitor this situation from afar.]

-!!Tsu-chuchut!!-

[A sub-scenario has arrived!]

With a crackle of lightning, the Dokkaebi vanished as quickly as it appeared. I paid no attention to it, though. My eyes were glued on the scenario window while my blood boiled.

+

[Hidden Scenario - The Slave Game]

Category: Sub

Difficultly: B+

Time Limit: 1 hour

Rewards: 5,000 coins, Acquisition of a flag?

Failure: Death?

Overall Evaluation: The Slave Game has begun. Two opposing forces are fighting: one wishes to liberate the oppressed while others want to keep the bondage in place. The objective is to save/imprison as many slaves as possible to win the game. One side will automatically lose when the entire team dies. The two groups may live as long as the opposing teammates survive.

Each slave is worth 100 coins. At the end of the time, whoever has the most slaves will win 100 coins for each slave. The victors will also receive the coin payout. Losers will receive coins for each slave but will not receive the reward payout.

To acquire slaves, bring the applicable individual into your zone.

Grey Zone: 61

Blue Zone: 0

Confederate Forces: 101

Liberating Forces: 2 (+29)

+

After reading the information about zones, I saw Northwest shine in the grey light. A fair distance from here, I saw a building shine in blue light.

[Nebula "Secret Six" is disgusted by this scenario!]

[Nebula "Radical Republicans" are disgusted by this scenario!]

[Constellation "Prisoner of the Golden Headband" is displeased with the scenario's subject matter.]

[Constellations of supremacy are eager for this scenario!]

[Constellations of controlled immigration are sneering at you!]

[Constellation "General-Slayer" wonders what your next plan of action will be.]

[Constellation "Secretive Plotter" wishes to see your machinations and cunning!]

[Constellation "Savior of Corruption" is interested in the corrupted.]

(Tsk, that damn Dokkaebi!!)

The entirety of our forces were revealed to the opposition. The shattered morale I destroyed would rebuild itself and the battle would turn back to the Confederates' favor. They would grow confident and overtake us.

(Unless...)

"Gather round."

The rotten ghouls surrounded me.

"Some of you, take off your armor."

They heeded my command. I pulled a knife from my backpack and stabbed each one repeatedly while slashing the area around their necks. I didn't sever the napes, but I made it look as if I did. I closed my eyes and projected my instructions to them. They were to spread out, lie down on the cement and wait for the signal.

I dispatched while looking at my firecracker ghoul. It was finally free, so I ordered it to run before the explosives went off. The ear-piercing explosions would disorient my enemy. I pulled more firecrackers from my bag.

(Time to bring the airstrike.)

[Your skill "Air Steps Lv. 4" is activating!]

(Head to the weak points George identified.)

Half of my remaining forces scattered, ready to attack. I kept the other half as an emergency reserve. With light footwork, steps made from air formed at my feet. I ran up this atmospheric stairwell while eyeing Northwest school. In one hand was another box of fireworks; the other one held thermal grenades.

"Let's bring the rain."