WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 147: Peep Show Grey (4)

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The patrol ended once the night cleared. An east wind at sunset was rare in San Francisco, and it had pushed the thick fog all the way back to the mouth of the bay. Thanks to that, breathing was easier during the latter half of the patrol. Cold night air, unfiltered by a gas mask. It smelled foul, but it was better than being stifled.

With the view opened up, the city was not as dark as he had expected. It was the last night of February, and there was no moon in the sky, but the entertainment districts were lit up. Even a city like this still had amusements. In practice, that meant several luxury passenger ships. Orca Black had fitted one out in its own territory as well.

Seeing it brought an unpleasant voice back to Gyeoul’s mind.

[Lieutenant. Enjoyment is an essential part of life. Humans are animals that cannot live without pleasure.]

The person had been wrong, but the words themselves were not.

Later, after returning and while he was writing the patrol log, the shipwide broadcast called for Gyeoul. Team Leader Chadwick was waiting in the lounge. It was not urgent, so he could take his time.

The path to the lounge was loud even from the hallway. Gunfire of various calibers, explosions, and shrieks. Gyeoul tensed for a moment, then relaxed. The clue was the sound of bullets striking something. Some of them carried the texture of concrete. The firefight was almost certainly on a screen.

When he opened the door and went in, every eye turned toward him. Only for a moment. Then everyone went back to their own rest. Drinking, playing pool. Team Leader Chadwick was with the people watching a movie. A zombie movie, of all things. Even after Gyeoul walked over and sat across from him, he did not take his eyes off the screen.

Gyeoul sank into the sofa. It gave way pleasantly beneath him. They had said it was not urgent anyway.

The movie was typical B-grade fare. The makeup and effects all looked vaguely cheap. The actors, though, were first-rate. Just seeing their names appear through his Intelligence correction was enough to tell they were famous enough to be common knowledge. What was with the mismatch? Gyeoul assumed it came down to manpower, facilities, and budget. Hollywood no longer existed. The leading studios of Los Angeles were now only part of a vast ruin.

The screen abruptly changed. Chadwick complained.

“Come on, that was just getting good. This is the problem with cable. Too many ads in the middle.”

The advertisement that played was a product promotion by a firearms company. A heavily armed woman made eye contact with the viewers. She began speaking as she disassembled a gun.

「Everyone. What is the greatest gift a parent can give their child? Love? Of course. I love my children too. What matters is how we express it. One-sided affection cannot be called true love. Children are not their parents’ property. We need to think. What is truly best for our children? How long are we going to keep protecting them one-sidedly?」

Tak. The last part of the disassembled gun was placed on the table. Then she began putting it back together.

「I’ll tell you what I think. We must teach our children how to fight. We must give them the ability to protect themselves from the plague and every other threat. This is not optional. If your child does not know how to handle a gun, then right now, you are neglecting your duty as a parent.」

Clack. Holding the gun, whole again after the upper and lower receiver joined, she recommended the product to the viewers.

「The manageable recoil of 5.56 millimeter. A weight as light as a textbook. Excellent reliability with almost no malfunctions. The durability to fire 6,000 rounds without a single maintenance session, and to withstand 30,000 rounds if properly cared for. State Armory’s AR-15 will be the greatest gift for your child.」

A snort escaped him at the part about it being as light as a textbook. Not because it was a lie. In America, textbooks were usually passed down. They were made sturdy, and therefore heavy. An unloaded rifle could weigh about as much as a single book. The standards were also different for firearms released on the civilian market.

What impressed him was the way the ad placed firearms and textbooks on equal footing.

One more thing stood out. In the ad, a mother was giving her daughter a gun as a gift.

‘It has a stock... Did the law change? I should look into it.’

Civilian sales of rifles had originally been restricted. The right to own firearms was, strictly speaking, for self-protection. Full-fledged automatic weapons were excessive firepower that did not fit that purpose. The only exceptions were a qualified few, and only in states generous about firearm ownership.

Even so, before the disaster, citizens had been able to get rifles easily.

Because the rifles they bought were legally pistols.

Where did a rifle end, and where did a pistol begin? Three standards decided that. Barrel length, automatic fire, and the stock. If the barrel was 41 centimeters or shorter, automatic fire was impossible, and no stock was attached, it was treated as a pistol. So civilian rifles only had a rounded tube attached where the stock should have been.

Was that fitting for a country where pizza was classified as a vegetable?

In any case, it was information worth remembering. The quality of civilian armament had improved. Depending on the situation, the federal government might collapse and end up facing militias.

The next advertisement was also from a firearms company. The concept, however, was different. It emphasized guns as fashion items.

「In an age where everyone carries at least one gun, are you satisfied looking the same as everyone else? If you cannot take it off your body, then it is already fashion. Express your individuality with patterns that combine practicality and beauty. You are special. Christie & Co. will protect the beautiful right of American citizens.」

“...”

The lineup flashing across the screen was attractive. The materials and coloring set them apart from ordinary firearms. They were products that could satisfy men and women alike. The aesthetic paint jobs were also suitable for camouflage. That had been the point from the beginning, which was why the same gun was divided into New York pattern, Texas pattern, West Virginia pattern, and so on.

This sort of promotion was not entirely new. Before the disaster, America’s population of 320 million owned 300 million guns. With nowhere left to sell, American firearms companies had painted lethal weapons pink and sold them even to girls under the age of ten.

In the world of Days after Apocalypse, that had simply been justified.

Kh-hk. He heard someone sobbing beside him. Gyeoul turned his head and felt a complicated emotion.

“Lieutenant. Aren’t those commercials truly tragic?”

Nathan Chadwick had tears in both eyes. He was hard to read. Was this excess emotion caused by the cigarette he was still smoking, or was it deliberate acting? Gyeoul could not rule out the possibility of madness either.

Although he was casually called team leader, Chadwick’s actual rank, Supervisor, was impressive. Even though they belonged to different agencies, a simple comparison placed him higher than Joanna. In that hierarchy, it would be faster to count down from the top than up from the bottom. In military terms, he was a field-grade officer.

Of course he was. In an emergency, he might have to negotiate with remnants of the Chinese military on his own, or make decisions even more serious than that. The Central Intelligence Agency was no soft organization. They would have sent someone capable enough for the job.

‘I should assume this is an act. An intelligence operative of a level you rarely meet in the field... If I assume a certain level of 「deception」 is layered over him, it isn’t strange that 「Insight」 is quiet.’

Gyeoul’s 「Perception」 was in the realm of experts. A professional intelligence agent could plausibly offset it.

In truth, even without correction, he could read most people. No, cases where he could not read someone were rare. He had grown up observing people that closely while he was alive. Yet now all he felt was something vague.

It would be a problem if there was something behind that mask, and a problem if there was not.

Chadwick rambled on at the silent Gyeoul.

“Fear is eating away at society. I hear even first-graders attend class with pistols on their hips. Dreaming of becoming the next Lieutenant Han Gyeoul, you see. Farm owners are building high walls and wrapping them in electric barbed wire. The used-car market has no camper vans or buses left, either. Apparently they’re burying them all underground. That is how poor people make their air-raid shelters. Oh, how pitiful.”

He went on, heatedly discussing how discount stores had placed per-person purchase limits on canned food and antibiotics, how privately stockpiled ammunition was estimated to have reached 500 billion rounds, and how cults and racist groups were on the rise. TV commercials were one face of the fear economy that had taken over the market.

“What is even sadder is that citizens can only fear what has been made public. If the operation underway here became known, more than a few people would faint dead away. Hah. Don’t you feel a sense of duty? A desire to protect those people’s ignorance, whatever it takes.”

“Yes...”

At Gyeoul’s lukewarm response, the CIA officer suddenly began laughing. He took a long drag from his cigarette. The ember glowed red. Whether it really was cannabis was questionable.

“No need to look so serious. I was only playing around. I heard you’re always sharp as a blade, Lieutenant. What was it again? You have to maintain your combat power? Is that right?”

“You never know when something might happen.”

“Ah, you can’t live like that. You’ll snap. I never thought the greatest war hero in history would be such a timid honor student type. That personality would get you bullied at school in no time.”

As he said that, he groped beside the sofa with his empty hand. After a moment, he pulled up a bottle of beer. He set it on the table and pushed it with a tap, and it slid precariously to a stop in front of Gyeoul. The Budweiser wobbled back and forth, then quivered and found its balance. Chadwick said,

“Look, Lieutenant. For a soldier, meals are orders and rest is a duty, no? Have a drink. Everyone else is complaining that the ration is too small, but you won’t even touch yours. It feels wasteful just watching.”

Alcohol distribution here was a standardized supply ration. Even the people drinking at the bartenderless bar on the far side of the lounge were carefully nursing one small bottle per person.

Apparently, the story had gotten around. The newly arrived boy officer did not seem to be fitting in well.

It was an understandable misunderstanding. Since joining, Gyeoul had rarely shared rest time with the other members. Whether through direct progress or Time Acceleration by journal, the latter was handled by a virtual personality that had learned Gyeoul. Around the beginning of this world, there had been times when it presented options to Gyeoul, but perhaps its learning had deepened, because at some point that stopped happening. Thus, its progress came to resemble Gyeoul’s will.

There was a reason.

‘Did the previous supervisor really die to the enemy?’

It was a possibility. Here, many things were happening that original regulations could never have tolerated. The cannabis grown on the farm was one example. There was a red-light district in the entertainment area. There were also American citizens who could be rescued with their current combat strength. Protecting citizens was the nominal highest priority for both the Bureau and the Intelligence Agency.

What if there was something else besides that? It was not excessive worry.

Gyeoul opened the beer. The CIA officer grinned and lifted his own bottle.

“Cheers.”

Clink.

He drank deeply. Alcohol. Even after drinking several times across repeated rounds, it was still a beverage whose appeal he did not understand. Was that because it was different from the real thing? Maybe. He had heard that the feeling of drunkenness was reproduced with high fidelity. Too high, rather, which was the problem. The boy disliked the feeling of losing control of himself. It made him feel as though even here, he was disappearing.

Still, this much should be fine. Although he did not have 「Addiction Resistance」, his body, strengthened by combat-type corrections, possessed better resistance than an ordinary person’s.

“Ooh.”

Watching Gyeoul empty the bottle in one go, Team Leader Chadwick smiled with satisfaction.

Gyeoul asked,

“Did you call me here to say that?”

“Hm? Ah, no. No, I didn’t. Damn. I called you over and forgot the real reason.”

While splitting his attention toward the movie that had started again, he handed Gyeoul a thin document.

“What is this?”

“A request for cooperation from Blockade Command... They say they’re at their wits’ end because too many gifts are arriving addressed to you, Lieutenant. They couldn’t even bring themselves to check the contents and just shoved them into warehouses, but now they don’t have any more warehouses to shove them into. No, wait, they said they need to empty the warehouses already filled too.”

Operation Manifest Liberation was right around the corner. If several warehouses were filled with one person’s belongings while they were preparing a full-scale offensive, it would certainly be troublesome. Countless gifts had failed to reach Gyeoul because of insufficient transport capacity. The document suggested a way to handle them.

‘It really isn’t a major problem.’

Gyeoul read the contents. It was handwritten by General Schroeder, the Army Blockade Commander.

「There was an unavoidable aspect to it due to the lack of transport capacity, but I want to apologize for leaving unattended the goodwill and kindness citizens have sent to you all this time.」

Why would a commander-level figure care about something like this? Gyeoul wondered for a moment, but after reading the next part, he understood. In the end, it was about public opinion.

「I will be honest. There are citizens criticizing the fact that, aside from Christmas Day, when a special aircraft was arranged, none of the other gifts were delivered to you. They say that if there were circumstances, we should at least have asked the citizens for understanding and asked them to refrain from sending gifts. They are not wrong. We simply failed to think that far. The troublesome part is that some people are using this for political attacks. Your popularity is unprecedented, after all. In the end, the fire spread all the way to the White House.」

「So, Lieutenant Han Gyeoul. If you are willing, I would like you to write a letter stating that you consent to the disposal of food items past their expiration date and the sale of the remaining gifts. Assuming you agree, I also ask for a voice recording. Something suitable for release to the press. The Department of Defense will handle the sale process on your behalf, and we plan to commission a private company for valuation. The funds produced from that will be deposited into your salary account. I believe that should be acceptable to both you and the citizens.」

「Refer to the enclosed contract form. In any case, the gifts that have accumulated are recognized as your private property, so this could become a sensitive issue if handled poorly.」

「Lastly, I once again offer my apologies. It is the role of commanders like me to allow excellent soldiers like you to focus on their missions. I have failed to fulfill my duty. I only hope my request does not feel like coercion. Please understand with a generous heart.」

「I will end this letter here. With respect for your loyalty and devotion. General Terrence Schroeder, United States Army.」

All kinds of things developed into serious problems. Gyeoul sank into a feeling of absurdity.

============================ Author’s Note ============================

#The Weight of Textbooks

The textbook weight mentioned in the story was based on the California Department of Education’s textbook weight standards. Of course, this is not about lower-grade textbooks... For Grade 9-12 textbooks, the maximum standard is 5 pounds, about 2.26 kilograms. You can think of the AR-15 rifle as the civilian version of the M16, and the lightest ones sold on the civilian market are around 5.5 pounds. Saying they are similar is not an exaggeration.

#Q&A

Q. Habika-nim: @ I wish the author a good night’s sleep. Rest when you should, and give us good writing. May I command you as a reader? (laugh)

A. Haha. If it is an order like that, I will gladly accept any number of them. Thank you.

Q. AntiChrist-nim: @ The Great Old One surely would not just let Merry Cthulhumas pass by... mass release?

A. Impossible dreams are beautiful. You would be better off going out and dating your lover. During that time, you will not think of this strange novel.

Ugh... To think I, as an Old One, am recommending romance...

Q. Petting-Wearing-Pero-nim: @ If you start mass releases from the 24th, before you know it, it will be the 26th.

A. Haha... I will try... I am always trying, though... Hahaha...

Footnotes:

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