I Have Returned, but I Cannot Lay down My Gun

Chapter 740

"...I’m sorry for causing trouble earlier with the heat, but isn't it a bit much to put me back to work again tonight after I’ve already worked all day? It would be better for everyone to rest tonight..."

"Hey, the military police are still working. Stop whining and come help carry the supplies!"

"Yes, I’ll be there soon."

The scorching sun that had been heating up Governor’s Island, Manhattan, and New York slowly began to set.

Since humanity gained electricity, the boundary between day and night had been erased. The time when nothing could be done after sunset was a thing of the past—or at least it seemed that way, until the loss of infrastructure, including electricity, took place.

However, as long as people were alive, technology remained, and there was usable infrastructure left, the work had to continue. Especially if the situation got worse, even more work had to be done.

Of course, at first glance, this might seem like a serious statement, but it wasn’t really that important.

This explanation was more about why I and the Mutants were still hauling supplies on Governor's Island and why I had to put Ms. Rapland back to work, even though she had just recovered from exhaustion.

---Drummm...!

---Kaga-kaga-kach!

"Ugh, so noisy..."

"Come to think of it, Ms. Rapland, your hearing must be quite sensitive. Here, take these. These are noise-cancelling earpieces. They’ll let you hear voices more clearly, but block out external noise... Do you need another pair?"

"...Give me one more."

"Wow, it’s rare to see someone with four ears these days."

Indeed.

As I said earlier, the surrounding noise was deafening.

We were currently at Fort Jay, a pentagon-shaped fortress on Governor’s Island. This fort, originally built in the 18th century, still aimed its cannons at New York Harbor.

There were also several buildings in the center of the fortress, and the noise we were hearing came from the walls and floors of those buildings being scraped and demolished. The electrical panels and wires had been moved elsewhere.

It was pure manual labor. The reason they were tearing down existing buildings instead of constructing new ones was that it was much simpler and easier to camouflage.

"The vertical launch system is coming down. Be careful."

"I didn’t think we’d manage to fit this inside the building in just one day, but somehow it’s done. It’s a good thing that both the width, length, and height are similar to the building’s dimensions."

"The problem is that the launch tubes inside are all single-use. Re-loading them will be difficult, but we do have transport drones, so we’ll manage somehow."

"But don’t we also need to build a separate armory to store spare launch tubes?"

"That’s our responsibility too."

"Ugh..."

Despite Ms. Rapland looking dejected and pouting beside me, at least it was fortunate that we didn’t have to build a completely new structure.

Governor’s Island had so many vacant buildings, and these buildings were perfect for storing SM-6 missile canisters—the containers that hold the missiles, electronics, and firing mechanisms.

Of course, we had to rip the insides apart, but digging up the ground to build an armory capable of storing the missiles, pouring concrete, and installing heating and cooling systems was...

Well, we probably wouldn’t finish before the war started.

Cooling water would come from the New York Harbor’s seawater. Of course, just using seawater for cooling would be ridiculous, so we’d have to channel the heat emitted from the servers into corrosion-resistant pipes and cool them using the seawater.

Anyway, the people who were more knowledgeable than I would figure that out. We just had to do the work we were assigned—digging, moving debris, and everything else.

It was uncertain if we’d meet the timeline, but thanks to the Icarus Gear, we could significantly shorten the time.

"Here, here, and here. First, pour in the oxidizer, then set up the sticky bombs. After firing, we’ll quickly deal with the floor of this level."

"Dump trucks and drones are on standby, agents. The debris can be dumped in New York Harbor, so that’s convenient."

"That comment alone shows just how much America’s been backed into a corner. Anyway, firing now. Everyone step back."

"Fire, fire!"

Boom!

The entire building didn’t shake. Instead, the mix of concrete and rebar was roughly torn away by the explosion. Adjusting the sticky bomb setup, we could get the desired result without damaging the building’s frame.

Heavy debris, weighing around 200kg, fell to the lower levels, and we cleaned it up. Since the roof had already been completely removed, large drones hovered above.

As the dust settled, we entered the now chaotic building and cleared the debris. A large hole had been created big enough to fit the VLS launch system platform capable of holding 16 missiles.

A container, big enough for a dump truck to fit through, was driven into the hole. Mutants, who were capable of carrying hundreds of kilograms of debris that ordinary humans couldn’t, moved the rubble into the container.

Nearby, members of the 107th Military Police Company handled the smaller debris and filled in the empty spaces in the container.

The Mk.41 VLS platforms, modified to hold 16 missiles instead of the original 8, were ready. There were four rectangular buildings in the center of Fort Jay, and two platforms would be installed in each.

It would take about two hours to install one platform, and in the most ideal scenario, it would take 16 hours. But Central Park HQ had allowed 32 hours for this.

And the Mutants could endure this level of hard labor.

"Ugh, when did it become 3 AM... I’m so tired."

"You must be tired. If you’re struggling, rest a bit. I’ve already sent reports multiple times about how you need Icarus Gear, but the higher-ups haven’t done anything about it. Those annoying guys..."

"...But doesn’t that mean if I wear it, I’ll be dragged into even more work?"

"What can you do? You were stuck on Rikers Island for a while, now it’s time to do something useful for society. At least you’re getting enough food."

"Well, that’s true..."

"And Captain Fawcett has always been carrying snacks for you, so if you’re craving something, go to him..."

"Ugh, what!? Don’t suddenly drop the strength!"

I heard loud voices coming from the side—looks like Ms. Rapland heard Captain Fawcett’s name. Speaking of snacks, I was feeling a bit hungry too.

Living in America for nearly six months, I noticed that, while people here ate snacks often, the variety wasn’t quite the same. When asking Koreans about snack options, a variety of answers would come up, but here it was just popcorn, cookies, or maybe mac and cheese or pizza rolls for something heavier.

At the most, a hamburger.

'...Suddenly, I really want some ramen.'

Maybe when the chance comes, I’ll see if there’s any left in Koreatown.

Ramen has an expiration date too, you know. I remember hearing that ramen noodles, being fried, can smell rancid oil if left too long.

It’s only been six months, and about two of those months were frozen, so four months. It might be a good idea to grab whatever ramen is left before it’s completely ruined. I thought of this suddenly.

But unfortunately, that thought quickly faded away.

"Good work, everyone. There’s some food prepared outside, so feel free to come out and eat if you’re hungry."

"Ah, your guardian is here. It must’ve been tough waking up this early. Shouldn’t you be getting some more sleep?"

"I’ve become quite irregular with my wake-up and sleep times. I should help when I can. Please say a kind word to the chefs working hard to make food at this hour."

"Of course."

"And Rapland, would you like a chocolate bar?"

"...Why do you always talk about snacks when you look at me? And I smell hamburgers outside... but I don’t need that. No, I’ll take it. Ugh..."

...I felt a sense of déjà vu.

For some reason, I saw myself in Ms. Rapland. I realized that the reason people give me snacks isn’t just because it’s a random act of kindness, and maybe that’s true, but...

Anyway, as Ms. Rapland reluctantly took the snack, Captain Fawcett came up to me and began patting my head.

"I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but you’ve really put on some weight, kid. I’ve probably said it before, but you really do look better when you eat well."

"Hehe, that’s why I’ve been eating a lot."

"Sergeant Mitchell once said you always ate well. If you can handle MREs, there’s hardly anything that tastes bad. Keep eating well. You too, take a chocolate bar."

"Yes, sir."

Just then, I felt a slight rustling in my hand. A chocolate bar with its shape still intact was handed to me, and I felt its weight in my hand.

I chuckled as I took it, and Captain Fawcett, seeing my reaction, smiled and patted my head again. I thought to myself that maybe my true calling was being the youngest.

But in the midst of this, I heard an odd vibration from the side—not really a vibration, but something else—and as I turned my head in that direction...

"...Ugh."

"Ms. Rapland...?"

"..."

Ms. Rapland was staring in our direction, her face complicated and sulky. It disappeared soon after, but I still couldn’t figure out what it was.

"..."

Ms. Rapland, with that complex expression, lowered her head with a look of disbelief.

It wouldn’t take long before she realized what that look meant—jealousy.

"Come to think of it, the youngest is from Korea, wouldn’t you get tired of eating just these things? I just thought about that."

"It’s a little nostalgic, but I used to love Western food. I liked Korean food too, but here there aren’t many chances to eat it. It’s not like I can spend all day looking for Koreatown..."

"I’m curious about Korean food, though. Maybe I should wait until the youngest cooks for us."

"Uh, I can’t cook."

"You can’t be worse than Logan."

...If you say that, I think I’ll get some glares from Logan.

Of course, my attempt to protest was useless because Logan had already started choking Owens, and, naturally, he was adjusting his strength.

While the wrestling continued, I thought to myself that maybe, someday in this world, I might end up making kimchi all by myself.

It was a bittersweet thought, but I figured it might not even matter much. Would I even see cabbage here?

Anyway, it was 3:45 AM now.

As the early morning was coming to an end, a delicious smell began to spread across Governor’s Island. Tonight’s late-night snack was pizza. They had even closed the windows to block out any light for blackout purposes.

Fortunately, none of the others seemed tired. The chefs had been rotating shifts for this moment. In fact, it was mostly the Mutants who had been doing most of the labor.

Still, despite how tough it was, I felt acknowledged, and the mood wasn’t bad at all. I could tell from the way others looked at us and acted.

We were the Dagger Team, after all. Having made so many miracles and having more to come, we had to walk a thorny path to turn those miracles into reality.

I might feel a little embarrassed saying it, but... that's the truth.

"It’ll probably take about three weeks to complete the base."

"Only that long?"

"It’s not too long, but not short either. We’re using all kinds of new tech, and we’re assembling parts we’ve received. It’ll take time."

"That’s true, but... anyway, we need to finish quickly so we can run system integrity checks multiple times. If the system fails while the enemy is coming, that would be a big problem."

"Yeah, yeah, eat first. Did you come up here to talk business, or for the snack?"

As always, the room was lively, and with food and drinks, the atmosphere improved. The beer was cold. Back in Korea, I didn’t drink much, but I could see how it happened.

Still, I was full and feeling cool, so I just smiled and thought that it was good enough.

As time passed, however, the atmosphere became slightly awkward.

The chefs went out saying the ingredients were running low, and Ms. Rapland was taken away by Captain Fawcett. Soon, only the Dagger Team remained in the room.

It wasn’t lost on anyone that this meant something else, so the others shifted their postures and began waiting for what was coming next.

After some time...

Click!

"...Greetings, Dagger Team. Chief Operations Officer Kane Whitebrim here. I apologize for interrupting your meal, but we need to get straight to the point."

"Yeah, figured as much. Don’t worry about it. Let’s hear what you have to say."

"Then I’ll get straight to it and send over the data now."

Silence.

A pleasant sound appeared in my ears. The operation data had been transmitted.

And how long had it been?

"...Jordan Amherst?"

"That’s correct. After some investigation, we were able to successfully capture the man identified as the primary culprit behind the Omega Virus outbreak. His status is unknown, but we’ve located the apartment where he stayed before spreading the virus."

"If he’s alive, it’s going to be a big problem."

"That’s why I’m telling you this now."

A brief pause.

Then, the conversation continued.

"The truth is, if Jordan Amherst is alive and his whereabouts have passed to another country or Artemis, finding him would pose an immense security threat to the U.S. There’s no greater threat."

"Understood. You mean, if possible, we should capture him, but if not, we should give him the chance to repent in the afterlife?"

"Exactly. We don’t know where he’s located yet, but we’ll likely be able to pinpoint his location within a short time, given the data we’re collecting. However..."

"However?"

"Please take a look at this next data."

At that moment, new data came through. This one came directly from Cyber Command.

The message was simple. There was a notification from a communication device taken from a nuclear submarine, as well as data from enemy military satellites. It was a kind of communication network connection—a signal from within 3000 km of U.S. territory.

"...Based on this data, higher-ups believe that another country might also target Jordan Amherst."

"Another country knows about him? Is that even possible?"

"Artemis has been assisting the enemy alliance in various ways. They probably know about this data too... but for now, HQ advises the Dagger Team to prepare for the worst."

"Understood."

What we knew was the location of Jordan Amherst’s apartment. It wasn’t far—just a few kilometers from Central Park.

I wondered how he could have schemed in such a place, but the world always has its ironies.

After the brief briefing, the conversation continued.

"Alright, then. Let’s do this. But for now, I’ll help with the construction, so just give the order to deploy."

"We’ll update you with relevant information soon."

And that was the end of it.

A brief silence followed, and then...

"...So, it seems like the chefs should be back soon. I’m still not full."

"Of course."

Only the disappointment of the Mutants, who hadn’t had enough to eat, lingered in the room.

We were definitely pigs, no doubt about it.