Chapter 103: There Is No Line １０ in Seoul (３)

****

I was completely isolated by the black fog. I stood alone in the darkness. The Group of Interest is the enemy of humanity. Not a single one spared.

“Director. We wish to talk.”

I pressed a button on my gas mask, dropping an anti-amnestic pill into my mouth. Whatever hallucination or cognitohazard they were using, I wasn’t going to fall for it easily.

I ran as fast as I could into the darkness.

“Director!”

Disgusting things. Let me first figure out where I am. Phase dimension? Simple fog? Or an illusory space? Which one is the right way to see it?

All other readings normal. This is fog. Well, even if it were a type of illusion, the readings could still be normal. But I just took an anti-amnestic, so that’s probably not it.

BANG! BANG!

Gunfire continued. I couldn’t even tell who was shooting what, but…

[This is Moon-1.]

“Are you alive?”

[I’m fine. Darkness. Death. Dying. But. Don’t worry. I’m fine. Run. Surrender. Put down your weapon and wait quietly.]

“…”

I grabbed the radio.

“I will consider everyone inside this bunker dead. If anyone is still alive, do not cross my path.”

Cloak. Wilson. Gauss musket, Popo. I ran back into the darkness. This time, with the single-minded determination to kill everything I saw.

“Director!”

A voice I’d never heard before. If it were a Foundation employee, they’d naturally speak through the radio. Or maybe that… where in the world was it coming from?

“Director. I can’t see where you are.”

Irritation surged up.

I’m going to kill them.

I’m going to kill them.

“Ah!”

I tackled the black shape in front of me, then smashed its helmet with the butt of my musket.

“What… a power befitting the king of this nation.”

“Die!”

Grenade.

Another soldier showed itself. I threw a grenade in the direction it had come from. Whether it died, I couldn’t tell—

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Several more shapes in combat gear fell. Uniforms I’d never seen before. They looked somewhat similar to the Foundation’s gear, though…

“Director.”

“What.”

“Didn’t you learn on Jeju Island? At Ganymede, or in the Garden, or anywhere. Haven’t you realized anything?”

First, assess the situation.

I couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from. It was possible it was being transmitted anomalously, using this fog as a medium. My task force’s status was unknown, but something was imitating them.

Let’s assume they’re mimics for now.

The number of mimics was at least several dozen. What was I killing until just now? But it didn’t seem likely that mimics could replicate and use guns in such a short time. In other words, the real enemy was mixed in too.

For now, kill as many as possible. The voice I’d have to leave alone for the time being, since there was no way to deal with it.

Really. I really want to kill them all.

BANG! I withdrew the muzzle, and another mimic died with its head blown open.

“Ugh. Can’t even see your face out here.”

“Just wait. I’ll cut your corpse into pieces, stuff it, and hang it in the lab.”

“Director. Please wait a moment. Give me just five minutes, just five minutes of conversation, and I’ll let your task force return alive.”

“I’ve been telling you. One minute’s passed.”

“What do you think the Foundation is?”

“What.”

“The Foundation is the root of all evil in this world.”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I took cover from gunfire coming from somewhere. At least I was glad I’d brought the ballistic shield. I didn’t know if it was effective, but it was true that just having the ballistic shield was reassuring.

“Oh? Then what’s your goal?”

“The Foundation possesses the power to rewrite the world. And what does it use that power for? Even you, Director—you could solve every problem in this country if you wanted to.”

“So what, you want me to be a king?”

“You already are a king, Director. Like Yeonsangun, who neglected state affairs to chase tigers in the mountains—an incompetent and wicked king who tramples the nation underfoot while chasing after irrelevant anomalies.”

Someone threw a grenade. I raised my ballistic shield and took cover. I had a feeling I knew who it was.

“We are the Colorless Orchestra. The resistance against the Foundation-centric world order.”

“Yeah. I know that.”

“You, and the Foundation’s current leadership—you have no right to hold the Foundation’s controls. No right to decide providence.”

RRRRRRRAT-TAT-TAT.

That’s an automatic weapon. I popped a smoke grenade and headed back into the darkness. Bringing a machine gun into this cramped building is a bit much, honestly.

I’m only firing single shots over here.

“We will open a new world. Now then, hand over the crown! Or, if you prefer, you may join us. Isn’t it stifling?”

“What?”

“You, Director—even with the power to summon typhoons and split mountains, what do you actually do? Hiding in the shadows, buying cars, drinking wine, buying watches—pathetic little things like that.”

Is there a way to find them?

No, wait. There’s no evidence they’re even on this floor.

“If the Orchestra—if we—had the power to rewrite the world, we would be rewriting it. For a better world.”

“If this is the best you’ve got, what are you going to do?”

“That can’t be right!”

“You son of a bitch, I’m busy. Every single day, bastards like you come screaming about how they’re going to destroy the world. What the hell do you want me to do about it?”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I couldn’t stop running. In a situation where I was being chased, stopping could mean death.

Now I understood. What the Orchestra was, and what those bastards had been doing all along. I was starting to get a rough picture.

“Director. Do you know what a foundation is? It’s usually translated as ‘Foundation,’ but the organization is older than the concept of a foundation itself.”

“Huh?”

“Base. Framework. Groundwork. Foundation. Our work is not the containment of anomalies. It never was. Throughout history, what the Foundation does is—”

I think I’ve made a full loop. The outline of this pitch-black maze was starting to take shape. Even if it was complete darkness with only enemies visible…

“Setting the rules of the world so that humanity can survive. That is what the Foundation does. Am I wrong, Director?”

“I don’t know.”

Anyway. I came down here to catch the Pitch-Black King’s followers, and now I’m fighting some unrelated bastards. I don’t get it.

To summarize what I’ve learned so far—

“This is your last chance, Director. Join us, or die by our hands.”

It’s a bluff.

They’ve trapped me in a confined space, surrounded me with mimics and Orchestra members—and they still can’t even pin down my approximate location, let alone capture me. What are they going to do?

Meanwhile, my Popos already know the way out of this maze. They’re following the ventilation shafts, heading toward the center of the facility.

The task force… I have no idea where they are.

I pulled out a flare gun.

An orange flame split the darkness.

****

It’s a fairly elaborate trap, I’ll give them that. Black mist. Mimics. Orchestra members. But they must not know much about what happened on Jeju Island.

This isn’t enough to stop me.

The number of members and mimics has to be finite, and my Popos keep bringing me 12.7mm armor-piercing rounds.

The mimics are gradually thinning out. And if this black something is manifesting through the mimics as a medium, it has to disappear too.

Sure enough, it’s fading.

The Orchestra members are probably former Foundation soldiers. Whether because of their equipment or not, they’re not fighting at the level of Foundation soldiers.

BANG!

The last mimic finally went down. I managed to reach the central door on basement level 4. No time to wrestle with the door, though.

“Wilson. Crush the lock.”

CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!

It didn’t even take a few seconds. I kicked open the door to the basement level 4 control room. Inside… one person was sitting there.

“Wait, hold on—”

The Popos surrounded the target in an instant.

I drew my pistol.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

I shot the limbs off the man sitting in the control room, then pressed the muzzle against his skull. The floor was soaked with blood.

“Ghhhhaaack…”

Once you’ve shot someone to death, you learn that the amount of blood is surprisingly small. Even if you wrung every last drop out, it’d be about two large milk cartons’ worth.

But usually only a fraction spills, and most of that gets absorbed by clothing or gear. You often find yourself thinking, *that’s all the blood there is?*

Come to think of it, who knows what kind of anomaly he might be hiding. I pumped two more rounds into the prone man’s torso.

“Agh!”

“You. What are you?”

“C-concertmaster of the Orchestra—”

“What were you planning to do today?”

“The Director’s— gyaaah! Neutralize or co-option.”

“You thought that would work?”

“I-I’m sorry. If you’ll just spare me—”

“Mm. Alright.”

I kept waiting for an answer, but the Group of Interest’s ringleader didn’t respond. His breathing had stopped a while ago, so he was probably dead.

That said, I don’t want to sit here checking his pulse. It might be dangerous.

Still, he could turn into a zombie or something, so I’ll have to burn him later. I holstered my pistol and checked the radio. How many task force members could still be alive?