Chapter 129: A Seamless Transition of Terror

Since the collapse of the Reunion Movement, Red had carved out a miserable but quiet existence in this Victorian city.

As a former warrior, his physique far outstripped the average Infected. He knew how to lift, how to endure, and how to keep his head down. Among the local Infected scraping by in the slums, he lived a relatively decent life as a manual laborer. Aside from the occasional spit at his boots or casual humiliation from the locals, he rarely encountered genuine trouble. He truly believed he had left the blood and ash behind. He thought he could just quietly count the days until his Oripathy claimed him.

Then, a single voice dragged him kicking and screaming back into the abyss.

Chernobog. The Central District. The biting, ash-choked wind, and that crisp, unhurried male voice echoing from a captured earpiece.

“Good work. Except for the special task force, everyone else can pack it up…”

Red’s squad had thought they intercepted critical intelligence. They had leaned in, holding their breath, desperate to hear the commands of the unseen phantom orchestrating their demise. Instead, a soft rustle bled through the static. The voice seemed to lean intimately close to the microphone, delivering a low, melodic chuckle that vibrated directly against their eardrums.

“Little mice, what else do you want to hear?”

Clang.

The moment the phantom spoke, the massive iron quarantine gates of the mobile city block slammed down, severing their retreat. Simultaneously, deafening gunfire erupted from the shadows as Rhodes Island elite squads materialized from the remaining three directions.

The ensuing slaughter was so systematic, so suffocating, that Red’s own mind had walled off the memories as a trauma response. He only remembered the sheer despair. Every time he thought he had found a blind spot, a Rhodes Island vanguard would intercept him. If he took cover, the adjacent building would mysteriously collapse, crushing the stragglers who failed to dodge. For three agonizing hours, he bled. When he finally exhausted his last drop of stamina, desperately trying to ignite his Originium Arts along his blade—only to find his internal energy completely drained—the tactical radio of the execution squad crackled to life.

The floodlights of the entire mobile city block snapped on, blinding him.

“Decapitation tactics executed. Rhodes Island personnel, you can actually rest now. Does anyone want to head back to the branch for some afternoon tea?”

The ruthless operators whispered among themselves, lowered their weapons, and simply backed away. The unknown captain casually wrenched the tactical broadsword out of the wall, freeing Red’s pinned shoulder.

“Did you hear the boss? Give up the resistance. Rhodes Island doesn’t have a habit of abusing prisoners, and we even provide free medical care…”

Red didn’t wait. He turned and fled into the ruins, running until his lungs burned.

He didn’t stop until he breached the outskirts of Chernobog. Amidst the howling Catastrophe, the stolen earpiece sparked with static, yet that polite, smiling voice pierced through the interference.

“Hello? Don’t hang up. Congratulations, you’ve successfully run out of my control range. Now, can you calm down and talk to me?”

Red had smashed the earpiece under his boot without a second thought. He changed his name, buried his crimson blade, and fled to the most unremarkable city in Victoria to become a nameless Infected porter. Over the months, the phantom voice had faded from his nightmares. The suffocating paranoia of being watched—a sensation that used to make his scalp prickle—had dulled into an unreal memory.

Now, it was real again. Far too real.

Red desperately wished he could invent a time machine, travel back to that frozen wasteland, piece the shattered earpiece back together like a holy relic, and enshrine it.

“Red? Don’t you want to chat with me, or did I remember the name wrong?”

The voice that should have been crushed into the Chernobog snow months ago was now whispering right beside him. Red’s calloused palm instinctively clamped over the hilt of his concealed blade, slick with cold sweat. He didn’t dare look up. He certainly didn’t dare run.

“Yes… you have a terrifyingly good memory.”

He knew exactly what this meant. By acknowledging the memory, he was confessing to his sin. ‘Just because I didn’t follow his orders… just because I crushed his little toy… he tracked me across the continent?’

What kind of psychotic, omniscient control freak was this man?!

The Doctor, meanwhile, had completely forgotten about the earpiece incident. He simply had a terrible habit of messing with people whenever he spotted a familiar face. Back then, he had fully expected the Reunion straggler to cut the comms; he was just throwing out a casual jumpscare for his own amusement.

Noticing that Red was trembling slightly—perhaps still shaken from the local thugs harassing him earlier—the Doctor offered a comforting pat on the back. “What, still dwelling on what happened before?”

‘He really did hunt me down over the earpiece…’ Red felt the Doctor’s hand rhythmically tapping his shoulder blade—landing precisely on the old scar where the Rhodes Island captain had pinned him to the wall. The phantom pain flared violently. Red squeezed his eyes shut in sheer despair and braced for execution.

“…Yes. How do you intend to dispose of me?”

The Doctor blinked. Why would he dispose of him? Did he look like some Victorian noble who hated the Infected? The Doctor offered a warm, disarming smile. “Do I look like someone who would hold a grudge over such a trivial little thing?”

‘Does he look like someone who holds a grudge? Then why did he cross thousands of miles just to corner me in a slum?!’ Even the dead wouldn’t buy that lie. Red was absolutely certain this was a predator toying with its food. The mastermind was furious.

But Red didn’t dare call his bluff. He bowed his head even lower, his voice trembling. “No, you do not. It was my own presumptuous ignorance.”

‘Ah, glad we cleared that up. So, water under the bridge!’The Doctor nodded in satisfaction, mentally crossing off their past hostilities, and smoothly extended his usual recruitment pitch. “It’s fine, I was just passing through anyway. So, do you want to calm down and chat with me?”‘Come join the island, my dear Red Weeb!’

Back during the Chernobog operation, the Doctor had only ever perceived this man as a digital sprite on the PRTS command terminal. Because the mission objective was merely routing Talulah’s vanguard rather than a total annihilation, Red’s pathing AI hadn’t charged straight for the blue box. Instead, the system made him run laps around the map. Plus, he didn’t have any annoying HP-lock mechanics.

Twenty laps! The Doctor had casually dropped a Supporter operator on the high ground, deployed two defenders to block the lane, and completely ignored the screen while the slow-debuffs chipped the poor Avenger to death. He genuinely had zero impression of Red’s actual combat prowess.

But to Red, those exact words carried a horrifying weight.

‘Can you calm down and talk to me?’

‘So, do you want to calm down and chat with me?’The phantom voice from the earpiece overlaid perfectly with the man standing before him. Spanning months and thousands of miles, the mastermind had flawlessly picked up the exact sentence where they left off. Only this time, there was nowhere to run.’This is revenge. This is absolute, premeditated revenge!’

Red finally lifted his head, though he kept his gaze averted, only daring to catch a peripheral glimpse of the Doctor’s pale jawline. He forced the corners of his mouth up into a ghastly, terrified smile.

“Of… of course. I have been thinking about you for a long time.”

‘This man is a complete psychopath who remembers every slight!’ He had to play along. He had to be utterly submissive. If he showed even a hint of rebellion, this monster wouldn’t give him a second chance to run. Was his survival in Chernobog just a sick game of cat and mouse all along?

The Doctor beamed. ‘Perfect. I knew it. We’re hitting it off immediately!’

Though, he did wonder why the edgy swordsman was sweating so profusely.

[Rhodes’s Note:

Enjoying the operation so far, Doctor?

(This daily grind literally pays the landship’s rent! 🙇‍♂️):

Massive thanks for reading and supporting the operation!]