Despite his deep dissatisfaction with Faust’s decision, Ode’s heart was swiftly captured by the sleek, handsome fighter jet.
He had loved guns, tanks, and battleships ever since he was a boy, but for various reasons, all those hobbies had died in infancy. He never imagined that, as an adult, he would leap straight from collecting models to climbing aboard the real thing. “What’s her name?”
Ode settled carefully into the simple seat, unable to resist running his hands over the light-strip-like trim lines on the armrests. Even the Chesterfield leather sofas at Cavendish Manor had never received such treatment—instead, Ode had unceremoniously scratched several marks into them.
“BAC 1-11. We generally call her the ‘Sky Aston Martin.’ Aside from the warships designed by Chief Eva, hardly any other craft can fly faster than her—but you have to understand, anything Chief Eva designs has to be flown with your life on the line, so there’s no real comparison between the two.”
Old D climbed through the hatch and gestured toward the tail of the aircraft for Ode’s benefit. “See that door back there? Inside, the chief has prepared some… necessities for you. You can use the stuff in there to pass the time during the journey.”
If his waist hadn’t still been aching and he hadn’t been mindful of maintaining some adult dignity, Ode would have leaped right out of his seat. He rose as quickly as he could, his heart trembling with excitement as he hit the button to open the hatch. The doors slid slowly apart, revealing a wall full of firearms whose names he couldn’t even begin to guess.
“Your work uniform is hanging on the right as you go in. The sizes should all fit.” From the pilot’s seat, Old D added, “I’m sure changing clothes is something you won’t need help with,” before tapping a button to seal the side and rear hatches. The plane gave a slight jolt as it powered up.
Ode had no idea what other recruits thought when they boarded this fighter jet, but as for him, he clutched three heavy guns he had pulled down from the wall, overcome with the dizzy joy of waking up on Christmas morning to find himself dropped right into Santa’s workshop, buried under an avalanche of gifts. As for the work uniform Old D had specifically mentioned, Ode ignored it entirely.
Never mind how torturous it was to wear a suit in the Sahara Desert—something that served others far more than oneself—the words of that Egyptian companion from the dream realm were still fresh in his mind. Ode had no intention of showing up to the new recruit ceremony in a suit again, leaving that poor Egyptian kid muttering about “that suit hugging the waist, so badass!” on his deathbed. Why not strike up a proper romance while things were still lively?
Lost in such random thoughts, Ode spent a considerable amount of time in the equipment bay.
Old D wasn’t making this trip solely to ferry him to the training camp. Along the way, he picked up and dropped off quite a few people—faces from both East and West, most of them bearing wounds. As they tended to their injuries, they exchanged idle chatter:
“I’m begging you. Taisui already looks like a slab of living meat—that’s creepy enough on its own—and now it sprouts a few hundred eyes. Is it possible these monsters would conquer Earth faster if they just made themselves prettier?”
“Heh! So what? Isn’t it normal for monsters to look monstrous? Think about the idiots back home—that bunch of old geezers on their last legs, bitching about why the Deep Ones grab more men than women. I’d trade that pack of stinking old meat for your Fake Taisui any day.”
“My comrade died. His body was too polluted to recover. …How am I supposed to explain that to his family?”
The cabin fell silent at once. In the equipment bay, Ode froze with his hand outstretched in the middle of his treasure hunt.
The excitement ebbed away like the tide, leaving the harsh reality impossible to ignore once more.
The rest of the journey passed without a word from the temporary passengers. They disembarked one by one along the way, and in that hush, Ode even began to feel an illusion—as if this plane were merely a shuttle stop between one death and the next, ferrying warriors who had barely clawed their way back from the brink of oblivion straight into the jaws of the following peril.
By the time the fighter jet reached the outpost, it was deep into the night.
The subzero chill of the desert night forced Ode to shiver and wrap himself in the suit after all. With Old D escorting him, he made his way to his assigned dormitory.
Clack!
A patch of warm yellow light hung from the ceiling. All four of the room’s military bunks stood empty.
“It looks like your roommates are all out on missions tonight. You can enjoy some rare peace and quiet.” Old D pushed the suitcase he had been dragging over to Ode’s bunk. It was filled with daily necessities that Faust had helped prepare. “Get some good rest, sir. Tomorrow’s training will be exhausting.”
Old D glanced at the communicator on his wrist and soon hurried off—undoubtedly to pick up someone else.
Ode stood blankly in place for a moment before slowly making his way to the chair by the window and sitting down.
The cold desert wind battered the windowsill. Gradually, he could hear his own heartbeat throbbing in the empty room, as if he had been flung back once more into his grandfather’s empty house, or that cramped cheap rental. Outside the sealed space, the noisy world churned on relentlessly, weaving a dense web of bonds and connections like a loom—yet not a single thread stretched out to him.
Fear crashed over him like a tsunami, sending his heart into uncontrollable spasms. His body shuddered with each pulse of blood, his breaths growing labored until he was gasping desperately on the verge of suffocation, nearly retching.
He had to do something—anything—as long as it kept him from stopping.
As long as it kept him from dwelling on those deaths he didn’t want to remember.
Meanwhile, inside the GORCC outpost at Sahara Base, in the instructors’ office.
“What did you just say was wrong with that new kid?” An old man with a white beard wore a simple white undershirt and lounged brazenly in the subzero chill, fanning himself with a palm leaf fan. “Hey, don’t move! I’m almost done reading your love prospects.”
“…” Even Faust had moments when he could only roll his eyes and heave a weary sigh. He stubbed out his cigar listlessly. “You know damn well I’ll never love anyone again. Why do you keep harping on this? Listen, it’s about Ode—”
“Whoa, the Red Luan star is stirring!” The old man jabbed his fan at the Tarot cards spread out before him, their faces glowing pink. “Congratulations, young friend! From the imagery here, not only will you have a beautiful wife in your arms, but grandchildren gathered at your knee—hmm?”
The old man suddenly tilted his head slightly. “Hmm… Looks like your worries aren’t unfounded after all. That kid you sent over just dug himself out of the dorm—and he doesn’t look good at all.”
“Who’s on night patrol tonight?” Faust shot up from behind the desk.
“Pharaoh.” The old man waved his fan. From beneath the shabby undershirt and worn fan emanated an aura of immortal grace. The dozen or so Tarot cards scattered across the desk rose without a breeze, swirling into the outline of a bagua before neatly gathering in his palm. “I’ll tag along with you. Getting nabbed night-prowling by Pharaoh is no joke. She’s liable to get pissed that a student ignored orders and didn’t rest up properly. And counting on that face-blind old bat to recognize a newbie? Dream on!”
As the elder and the younger man hurried out of the instructors’ office, down on the first floor of the training area.
Ode’s abnormal physical reaction didn’t ease until he found the directory board. He did his best to suppress his ragged breathing as his eyes darted wildly over the board. “Library… books… here. Second floor!”
Dizzy and disoriented from the hyperventilation, he staggered toward the stairs. His heartbeat gradually slowed with each step upward, and his wavering vision steadied.
The path to the library led down a long corridor lined with classrooms bearing plaques like “Laboratory 1” and “Laboratory 2.”
Ode paid them no mind. His thoughts were fixed on one thing: he could search the library for information on the Black Mud Monster’s true nature, perhaps piecing together some of the mysteries surrounding Dreamcatcher Town.
The library sign emerged from the darkness ahead—getting closer, just two classrooms away, one—
Boom!
The frosted door beneath the “Laboratory 4” plaque exploded outward. A green octopus tentacle half a meter thick, wrapped in grayish-green slime, thrust out, cracking the walls on either side of the doorframe.
Caught off guard in his already unstable state, Ode toppled backward, only for a small tendril to clamp tightly around his ankle. A mind-scattering power flooded into his body from the point of contact, weighing down his eyelids on the spot.
But before he fully slipped into unconsciousness, a vision flashed before his eyes.
It was underwater.
Eva’s pale face turned toward him, her pupils lifeless as she sank downward.
Amid the rippling waves of light, he strained to swim after her—only for a colossal black shadow to surge up from the ocean depths in the next instant, plunging his vision into darkness.
Pharaoh had just caught the falling student and was pondering how best to give him a proper lesson on the importance of balancing work and rest when the feather-light body in her arms suddenly twisted downward. Two hands latched onto her arms like specters, using the downward momentum to hurl her sideways—
Crash!
Pharaoh nimbly steadied herself amid the shattered glass littering the floor. She looked up to see the trainee bolt headlong into Laboratory 4 without a backward glance, clattering around in search of a weapon. She nearly laughed in disbelief: Well, damn—this kid not only sneaks out at night but dares to assault an instructor when caught!
She snapped on the lab lights with a smack, eager to finally get a good look at what this little fool looked like. This time she’d note his height and build for sure—only to see the trainee lunge at the sole weapon in the back of the lab, secured behind its own separate lock. Without a hint of pain, he reared back and smashed his fist straight through the glass!
Pharaoh: “…Fuck.”
Some things were locked away for good reason. Like this light machine gun, lovingly crafted by Eva—its firepower as devastating as the mental pollution it inflicted on the user.
The instructors kept it under lock and key to signal that when it came to Eva’s creations, avoid using them if possible. If you absolutely had to, write your last will and testament first.
The fact that they used glass instead of something sturdier was because—who the hell would be crazy enough to use something that burned through your life force anyway?!
Ode would.
And he handled it with impressive ease.
His fingertips brushed over the rugged barrel, and the trigger’s password lock beeped open. Under Pharaoh’s stunned gaze, he slung the heavy gun over his shoulder, his arms transforming into the steadiest of mounts—
Hiss…
The sands outside the teaching building churned violently, rising like a tornado. They smashed through the lab window and coiled tightly around Ode’s hands, squeezing just enough to prevent him from pulling the trigger.
“You crazy kid?!” Pharaoh strode into the laboratory, her sharp rebuke falling on deaf ears as far as Ode was concerned.
His gaze remained unfocused, countless hallucinations flickering rapidly before his eyes:
