And at that very moment, the entire squad heard a half-howl, half-squeal coming from the destroyed, burning room. There was something about it that felt familiar to me. Nonsense! I had never encountered anything like it before—a sound that literally blew out eardrums. I even had to pretend, like the living, that I was uncomfortable, bending over and covering my ears.
"What the hell was that?!" Bertha said irritably, instantly turning toward the sound.
"Probably that… what's it called? HiF-05. And something tells me we shouldn't go back," Lupo said, reloading as she finished off the last zombies on the other side of the door.
"No," I replied to Foue Eyes, who was glaring at me, through the highlighted connection.
Well, it was easy to understand her concern, but none of my victims seemed to have risen again. Here, all of them were drunk—lying there exactly as they had been, even after so much time had passed. And even the one who had been alive didn't come back. Then again, I'd literally bitten his head off, so how exactly was he supposed to revive?
By the way, it was high time to conduct an experiment to create someone like me—though I was afraid to. I was what I was thanks to chance, but a monster created deliberately by altering an original person could be dangerous for me too. And clearly, now was not the time for such experiments. For the same reason, I still—and immediately—hadn't drunk Yamata. I couldn't take any more, in terms of digesting personalities. Yes, yes, I'm no altruist: I'm dragging the mercenary along on a voluntary-compulsory basis so she doesn't run away or die before I can get her knowledge.
No, drinking her wasn't entirely rational anyway. Once I found another scientist—then yes, that would be a different matter, and an additional reason. After all, it's easier to control a simple scientist than a mercenary who can cause problems. But tying her up and hiding her wasn't an option either. The infected have a phenomenal sense for the living—or perhaps they see them, the way I do—so if I left her and came back later, I might find a gnawed skeleton, or a girl dead of starvation. She has her needs, and my diet wouldn't suit her.
I'm taking a risk, damn it. But what else can I do?
"Fuck, it's blocked! Damn U.B.C.S.!" Lupo cursed.
It seemed we wouldn't be able to get out the same way we'd come in. The door was blocked so badly that even an explosion wouldn't help. There was nothing to make a precision blast with—and even if there were, clearing the debris behind the door would take too long—while a powerful explosion would damage the surrounding walls. With a sigh, the commander headed for the door leading to the workrooms on the right.
That was when I truly appreciated the power of teamwork from within a squad like this. First-person shooters are relaxing—especially when you know no one can beat you anyway (within reason, of course; I still hoped they hadn't dropped Tyrants into the city yet)—and when you can safely take out the one person you need.
We literally mowed down the unfortunate zombies we encountered along the way. The only truly inconvenient moment came on the staircase, when a horde of zombies simply knocked down the barricades from the upper floor and rushed us. That was probably the only time I switched from pistol and knife to an automatic weapon. No, it had a good rate of fire, and even an amateur wouldn't miss in such a crowd—but it just didn't suit me. I must have picked up some of Vector's quirks.
And so, carefully retreating backward, we pushed through the entire floor under the pressure of the onslaught and emerged on the second floor. The way back down to the first floor, however, was blocked by those "kind" special forces. So we had to trudge toward the city hall exit on the second floor.
That was when I noticed two special forces soldiers standing at the entrance. Oh yes—so many of you survived.
Inspiration struck at that very moment. After contacting Foue Eyes, I briefly—Yes, now it's briefly with me for a long time—outlined my plan. The situation was quite convenient. Let's see what you choose.
"Ghost, there are two special forces soldiers at the entrance," Foue Eyes said. "It's not really a problem, of course, but it's better not to waste ammunition or suit energy. Could you take them out?"
Approaching the window, she made a perfectly logical suggestion. The fact that it had actually been my idea... was best left unspoken. Drawing attention to myself wasn't wise, and Vector was just an executor, and he would have charged straight into the fight rather than suggest something like that. I know that for a fact.
"I can't. The opening's inconvenient," Ghost replied curtly, assessing the fighters visible through the window—just as I had. Unfortunately, their positions made a clean shot difficult. Still, my vision definitely had more advantages than a normal human's.
(End of Chapter)
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