I Have Returned, but I Cannot Lay down My Gun

Chapter 719

"Are you telling me that other people will teach me from now on?"

"Yeah. You understand why, right? It's been a while since we've had a break, but the Dagger team is about to get busy again. That's basically the situation."

"...Yeah."

"The response of the mutant dogs is really... easy to understand. Ears are down."

"Ugh, stop looking!"

It was a day in early to mid-June, heading toward the middle of the month, at Central Park.

Just a day or two before the operation, which had been notified through the Icarus Gear, Olivia said this to Lapland, who had now grown somewhat accustomed to her face.

Lapland was eating a sandwich with peanut butter, Nutella, and fluff — a sort of marshmallow jam — so diligently that she looked as if she might choke at any second, staring at us.

Of course, the person in question didn’t know the reason. I had already heard all sorts of backstory, and after thinking it through, I knew this was the right move.

The explanation continued.

"You probably know already, but since you don't have an Icarus Gear that you can wear, your abilities won’t be enough to handle the intensity of the training the Dagger team usually goes through. So, we need to start from the basics."

"...So, does that mean I'm going to be doing... basic military training first?"

"You're quick to catch on. Exactly. Go ahead and get the training done. You’ll need to get familiar with basic stuff like self-defense tactics, abbreviations, zeroing your firearms, and so on."

"Yeah."

Exactly as she said.

To briefly explain the situation, it was like a group of experts well-known worldwide in their field teaching a middle school student.

Of course, it wouldn’t last long. The Dagger team was too busy for that. Olivia's team, led by her, and me—still like a sticky residue between them—had to depart for Syracuse, upstate New York, in 40 hours.

You can’t expect too much from people who are already this busy.

Lapland, with a sandwich stuffed full of blood-sugar-boosting ingredients, gulped it down and, seemingly ready to give up, added:

"...So, where am I going to be learning from now on?"

"Don’t worry too much. It’s someone you already know."

"I don’t know many people, except for the operations team… Ah! Why are you hitting me?"

"You always talk back every time you speak, huh? Want another hit?"

If Lapland had said something like "Aren’t you already hitting me?" right there, she might have actually gotten a flick to the head, but I’m glad that didn’t happen.

Anyway, that didn’t mean we didn’t have time. As I said, there was still some time before the operation, and since Olivia was the one delivering the message, she had to ensure a smooth psychological landing for Lapland.

She beat around the bush a bit, but the bottom line was that we were going to help Lapland with her handover.

So, now it was time to inform her who she was being sent to.

How much time passed after that?

Lapland pursed her lips and made a grimace.

"..."

"Do you know them?"

"...I met them recently. We’ve made some progress, but I didn’t expect to meet them again like this. Actually, you sent me to them, didn’t you?"

"No way. Well, it’s good that it’s someone you know. Although, I’m not sure in what sense you know them, so we might still go together… Anyway, I’ll stop rambling. Let’s get ready."

"...Yeah."

When Lapland stood up, as I patted her shoulder, she didn’t have much to carry—everything she needed would be prepared, as if she were at a boot camp.

I thought she would look perfect if she shaved her head down to 3mm, but who would like that?

Although I didn’t say it out loud, Lapland looked better with longer hair. She seemed to know it herself.

Without realizing it, I muttered under my breath.

"Why are all mutants so pretty..."

"...Hey."

"Ah, I didn’t mean it."

"Don’t say weird things, you idiot."

That’s how I ended up getting my first light smack of the day.

But I wasn’t wrong. I’m sure anyone would agree... Still, I’m glad it wasn’t Logan who heard that. The testosterone-fueled polar bear was extremely sensitive to those kinds of jokes.

Anyway, we three, now getting used to our Alpha-class mutant quarters, walked out. The sky was still blue, with very few clouds. It wasn’t rare, but it was good weather.

The air had a faint smell of gunpowder, and I could hear the disciplined shouts of soldiers from all around. These were becoming familiar sights lately.

The civilians staying at Central Park HQ had to train to defend the base and preserve their lives. It was a sort of militia.

The HQ made sure to train everyone so they could build enough physical strength, and sometimes they were used for various tasks. Cement sacks, steel cables, and firearms were all used as barriers to protect Central Park.

I heard the guards had successfully convinced the higher-ups to get a turret with a 50-caliber chain gun, and now they could thankfully turn any suspicious figures into minced meat.

Lapland was about to receive great help from the 107th Military Police Battalion, who were tasked with training such militia.

"One! Two! Three! Four! Left foot! Left foot! Don’t fall behind! Get rid of all the fat on your body!"

"One! Two! Three! Four!"

"Ugh, w-wait…!"

"Don’t stop! Here, you stop, but in real combat, if you fall behind, bullets won’t miss you!"

"Oh…"

Meanwhile, a loud voice rang out from the side, and several men and women in military uniforms were jogging around Central Park. They came in all shapes and sizes, but most of them hadn’t put on much weight.

It didn’t take long to realize that the harsh reality of the virus crisis meant only the fit could survive.

As if she knew my thoughts, Olivia added:

"Thanks to that, America won’t rank first in obesity anymore."

"...Isn’t that dark humor a bit too painful?"

"Shut up, you idiot. Anyway, we’re almost there. Captain Farquharson should be waiting for us. By the way, did you get your uniform?"

"...I got a white shirt and black pants, sort of like an operations officer’s clothes."

"Simple enough."

Indeed.

Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t met many operations officers. Their uniforms weren’t exactly standardized either… well, that wasn’t important. We were about to meet someone I knew.

I thought to myself as I continued walking, and soon we came to an area that had clearly changed compared to before. There were many new buildings of varying sizes.

No need to explain what it was.

I fiddled with the patch for the 107th Military Police Battalion in my pocket, and just then, I heard a familiar voice.

"It’s been a while since we last met. You’ve really started looking like a soldier. The crybaby rookie of the Military Police Battalion has grown up."

"...I’m not a crybaby."

"You’re really not one anymore, Eugene. And..."

Swish.

From inside the building, Captain Farquharson approached with a bright smile, greeting us.

It didn’t take long for her eyes to meet Lapland’s.

"We’re meeting faster than I expected, Lapland."

"...Yeah. It happened like that. I didn’t expect it either."

"I was thinking of holding a small welcome party for the new recruit, but maybe that should wait for now."

Indeed, it was hard to explain just from the fact that we were friendly, but… well, I understood why I was involved indirectly, so I didn’t mind.

Still, the expression wasn’t bad at all.

Captain Farquharson placed her hand on Lapland’s shoulder and added:

"It won’t be easy. I expect you to become a great combatant."

"...I’ll do my best."

"Welcome to the 107th Military Police Battalion. By the way, your senior here is Eugene."

"Ah."

Thinking back, I realized that.

I chuckled at the memory of my military service, and Lapland responded with a somewhat awkward expression, acknowledging my reaction.

Thus began Lapland’s difficult journey.

"JFK International Airport’s internal photos and analysis are complete. And… it’s a good thing we didn’t skip lunch. It’s worse than we imagined, so if you’re not prepared, please leave."

"I’ve already seen every awful thing, so it’s too late to turn back. Let’s take a look."

"Then… I’ll display the screen."

"...Oh my God. Am I really seeing this? This isn’t hell?"

At Central Park HQ, TOC.

Large photos appeared on the screen. From end to end, the images were filled with decayed bodies, blood, and millions of bugs whose identity I didn’t want to know.

A massive airport, full of civilians who had fled the U.S. at the start of the Omega Virus outbreak, was packed with corpses. The tragic ending didn’t need much explanation, but...

Reality always exceeds imagination.

Once the bodies, frozen over winter, began thawing to a temperature that allowed the bugs to move, they started to decompose rapidly.

By June, the bodies had become a sludge, merging into one, with the human form unrecognizable, a mix of liquid and solid matter. The first thing Central Park HQ confirmed was this horrifying sight.

"What… do we even do about this?"

"...I don’t know."

"At least, the good news is that there are no enemy forces operating inside the airport due to the condition of the bodies. There are still some people sneaking into hangars and scavenging scrap metal."

"That’s problematic too. By the way, wasn’t Air Force One at JFK airport? There are devices in there that must not be leaked outside."

"Reports say it’s gone through a self-destruction procedure. We don’t need to worry about that."

"At least that’s something."

The photos were quickly taken off the screen, replaced by a schematic layout of the entire airport.

But what stood out were the red zones. This indicated how widespread and how much of the "liquid" had accumulated inside the airport.

The operation officers shook their heads. This was far beyond what engineers could handle, especially since few people could operate heavy machinery right now.

Someone spoke up.

"...So much of the area is filled with so many bodies. It’s not something we can resolve in a day or two. It might take years to recover."

"Since we don’t need to receive passengers for at least the next few decades, we can consider most of it unnecessary. The important areas are the hangars and control towers, and places where maintenance and defense personnel can stay."

"If it’s just that, we should be okay, but eventually, we’ll have to handle the inside somehow. If left as is, it’ll become a breeding ground for disease."

"...If only there were some magic bomb to cleanly wipe out the buildings."

Once the bodies were identified, there was no way to perform burial or identification. In this era, supplies were far more valuable than human lives. Even if we tried to clean up, we would need excavators to lift the bones buried in the sludge.

It was a tough situation, and those working to clean it up would face a future filled with severe PTSD.

Someone spoke up.

"Any better ideas?"

"...Well, after a few more months, much of the organic matter will decompose."

"Not that. Any real ideas?"

"...Should we use incendiary devices?"

"That sounds good."

Someone, clutching their aching head, spoke.

"Bombing would be too hard to calculate the damage and impact, but if we set something up from the ground, it might be realistic."

"...We’ll have to clean it up somehow. It’s up to the living. Let’s think of it as cremation. It’s better than leaving the bodies like this, right?"

"...I’ll pass the request to the higher-ups and ask for anything else we might need."

"Alright."

The conclusion came quickly.

It was lunch time, so we couldn’t show the photos to the Dagger team yet, but the excellent operators would likely understand the situation without needing the images.

Some quick-witted people realized that some of the Dagger team members didn’t need to head to JFK airport hours later. They quickly informed that the operation had been canceled.

The U.S. government, which had never experienced anything like this before, responded faster than ever and made the decision to cancel the deployment of engineers to JFK airport.

Instead, another option was chosen.

Communication was established.

"...Yes. This is Senior Operations Officer Kane Whitebrim. I’ve received your call."

• This is Senior Researcher Jordan Royden from DARPA. I happened to be near the operation location and decided to contact you. I’ve heard about the situation at JFK International Airport and believe I can help.

"DARPA… You’re saying?"

• I’ll send you the details through a data transfer.

How much time passed?

New pop-ups appeared on the screen.

It didn’t take long for people to widen their eyes in surprise.

"...What is this?"

• This is an incinerating nanomachine emitter that had been in development recently. It breaks down organic materials into fuel and generates nanomachines that ignite at extremely high temperatures using the energy derived from this process.

"Such high-tech stuff existed?"

• This is a byproduct of research into bio-nanomachine and combat skills generated by the Icarus Gear. It’s very limited, and we don’t even know if it can be used in actual combat, let alone whether it can gather data.

"..."

At that moment, Officer Kane realized why this was possible through past precedents.

Items and technologies developed for war and to gain an upper hand in battle could shake the world. Just look at how the internet and GPS were developed.

Only a hundred years ago, missiles didn’t even exist, and the ability to break the sound barrier was exclusive to rockets and bullets.

So, the war that’s about to happen, and the technologies developed for it... how much will they satisfy or exceed the imagination of mankind?

'...This must be the kind of situation where these things are revealed.'

Human dignity had long become a thing of the past.

In this unstable world, people had to move forward, leaving the dead behind.

And sadly, Central Park was prepared for that.

"...I’ll leave it to you."

• If anything comes up that can help identify the bodies among the remains, we’ll retrieve and pass it along. That much is possible.

"Thank you. Please let me know when the deployment is decided."

That’s it.

The communication ended, and Officer Kane slumped back in his chair, sighing deeply.

Despite the new ventilation system, there was still a nauseating smell of burning protein in the air.

JFK airport was burning, and 39 hours before the Dagger team would leave for Syracuse.