Chapter 57
Side Story: With Non-Ability Users
Side: None
'Day of Regression' caused companies to go bankrupt, and the homeless population surged.
The sudden appearance of dungeons caused land prices to plummet all over the country. Gates could appear anywhere, from remote mountain regions to densely populated areas in the capital region, without regard for location.
Even when containment facilities were built and gates covered, it was only natural that people would not want to live nearby. If anything, anyone whose house had a gate appear in it would have to evacuate.
Evacuation meant abandoning one's life up to that point. And gates did not appear only in private homes and back alleys. They sometimes appeared in company offices and reception areas as well.
Even so, large corporations and other companies with resources could relocate. They could build new offices on new land and secure new distribution routes. Some companies may even have handled everything through rentals. After all, there was always a chance another gate would appear at their new location.
But individuals and companies without resources, as well as small and midsize businesses crushed under pressure from their parent companies, were different.
Everyone had already been at their limit because of the recession, and then this happened. On top of that, spiritual disasters caused human and material damage. Though still only rumors, reports of monsters being sighted at sea were also circulating, and fuel and materials continued to rise in price.
New phenomena such as 'magic stones,' 'elixirs,' and 'magical tools' dealt the finishing blow to many small factories and local companies already on the verge of collapse.
Government support had its limits, and many people lost their jobs around the world.
That gave rise to discontent. Why had things come to this?
Dungeons had appeared all over the world. Monsters emerged from them. Some people were living in hell amid this fantastical situation, which overflowed with dreams to those who saw it differently.
And those who preyed on such people... existed no matter how much the world changed.
＊ ＊ ＊
A certain place in a certain prefecture. A corner of a certain regional city.
In that sparsely traveled area stood a reinforced-concrete building.
Its gate was rusted, and there was no sign. This had once been a small factory dealt the finishing blow by those changes in the world.
It had gone bankrupt after borrowing money from various places during the recession even before the 'Day of Regression,' then being unable to repay its debts.
The factory's owner had surrendered the land and building as collateral for his debts. He knew that the other party was considered dangerous by society at large. He had no other path left.
An organization had purchased the land and building through an antisocial group on the black market just a few days earlier.
Several vehicles were parked in the lot of the now-defunct factory. Several people hid behind cover and kept watch on the surroundings, while the others entered the building.
Most of the machinery had been removed, leaving the interior bare. More than ten oil drums sat haphazardly on the unfinished concrete floor.
A bearded man who appeared to be the leader among those getting out of the vehicles gave instructions to the others and began opening the drums.
The drums were pried open with loud cracks. The men took out the bags inside.
When they opened a bag full of a large quantity of drying agent, pointed metal objects about the size of a human finger emerged.
"Phew..."
A relatively young man whistled. The leader briefly glared at the youth, whose hair was black only at the roots, but said nothing in particular.
The metal objects that had emerged were unusual in this country. ────They were bullets.
And where there were bullets, there naturally had to be something to fire them.
When they opened a bag taken from another drum, one packed with a large amount of grease, several components fell out.
Most of them groaned involuntarily at the smell spreading through the abandoned factory.
"Listen carefully, all of you."
In a voice marked by a strange accent, the bearded man looked around at the others.
"Look closely at the instructions I handed out beforehand. Then assemble them. First, wipe off the grease."
Perhaps in response to the Asian-looking bearded man's voice, some of the men who had shown no reaction to the smell of grease brought over cardboard boxes.
They were packed with a large number of towels and old clothes.
The men in the factory, including the bearded man, put on work gloves and masks and wiped the grease from the components.
"...What a pain."
The young man who had whistled when they opened the drums muttered under his breath.
The young man of about the same age working beside him shook with laughter.
"Heh... For real."
Perhaps pleased to find someone of the same age who felt the same way, the pudding-haired youth spoke to the man beside him in a low voice.
"Yeah. We came here because we'd be able to shoot guns and all."
"Well, they say maintenance is part of the fun too, right?"
"Huh? Are you an otaku? One of those military otaku?"
"Nah, not really. I just like weapons. But I didn't expect we'd start by wiping off oil."
"Seriously."
Starting with them, quiet conversations began here and there.
The men gathered there varied considerably in age. However, they had something in common.
"I wanna kill a whole bunch of people with these. Then I'll get the death penalty."
"You might get shot by the police first."
"I'd be fine with that too. Actually, I wanna go on a rampage against the cops."
Those who wanted to kill people as if it were a game.
Or...
"With this... with this, I'll get those bastards at work..."
"I'll make those government scumbags pay...!"
"I'll bring the iron hammer of justice down on those enjoying themselves with slush funds..."
Those who were dissatisfied with present-day society.
The bearded man and the sturdy men around him said nothing. They seemed prepared to admonish anyone who got too loud, but had no intention of punishing them for speaking quietly.
The work could hardly be called efficient, but if they kept at it, they would eventually finish.
After sorting the still-sticky, dirty components into several types, the men began assembling them in an assembly line.
The men centered around the bearded man applied grease and handled the more troublesome steps. The others fitted the components together while referring to the instructions handed out beforehand.
Perhaps anticipating that people with little education would participate, the instructions explained many of the steps with pictures. In that sense, they were good instructions.
However, those well-made instructions had been created with malicious intent.
At the hands of the men, automatic rifles were completed.
There were clearly more of them than there were people in the room. The Soviet Union's creation, the world's most widely circulated firearm—the 'small weapon of mass destruction'—was now lined up across the floor of the abandoned factory.
"Gentlemen."
The bearded man stood before them and began speaking in accented Japanese.
"The world is now facing a great crisis."
He occasionally stumbled, but his enunciation was proper. His clear, easy-to-understand voice naturally made the gathered men straighten their backs.
"Ability users. They are not human. They are walking corpses that defy the laws of this world. The personalities and souls of the people they once were are already gone."
With eyes filled with an unnaturally strong conviction, the bearded man looked around at the others.
"Why can't we see monsters? Because they don't exist. They are fiction created by the hands of ability users."
Clenching his fist tightly, he continued.
"The politicians have either been brainwashed because of their weak minds, or betrayed humanity after being blinded by the profits produced by those people. They have become the monsters'—the ability users'—agents."
Gradually, the bearded man's voice began to grow louder.
"You are victims. You were robbed of the peace and prosperity you should have enjoyed. Your happy lives were taken from you not because of your abilities or personalities, but solely because of whether you were convenient for ability users."
Several of the men listening to what could only be called a speech nodded faintly.
"Someone must set this rotten world right! We must devote our very lives to it, and do justice for the sake of the future, even if we must be covered in infamy for a time! Heaven is watching our devotion! The day will surely come when we are rewarded!"
He declared this with grandiose gestures.
"We will make the world take notice! Bring the iron hammer down on the corrupt! We will do justice through 'Calamity'!"
The bearded man raised his fist high.
"We are 'Calamity'! Together with our leader, Tequila Moosmay, we will become heroes spoken of by future generations and be guided to paradise after death!"
"Yeah!"
Their voices, slightly out of sync but filled with fervor, rang through the abandoned factory.
However, the nearby residents had no reason to care. The area around the abandoned factory was filled with empty houses. More importantly, the building itself had been equipped with soundproofing.
Even if they started firing guns there, the police would not be notified immediately.
The bearded man listened to their response and nodded in satisfaction. Then his eyes sharpened.
"Now, I will explain our plans going forward. Fortunately, our comrades have reported that ability users have difficulty increasing their numbers except through natural reproduction. But to prevent them from increasing any further, the schools attended by children of ability users..."
────Clang!
His voice was cut off by a metallic sound that suddenly rang through the building.
The men immediately looked toward the source of the noise and saw that the shutter at the building's entrance had closed.
It was a thick metal shutter that slid horizontally. The only light inside came from the reddish sunlight entering through the windows.
"What is this!?"
"Could it be a trap...?"
"Tch...!"
The bearded man clicked his tongue amid the men's agitation.
Several of them tried to open the shutter, but it did not move in the slightest. It was as if some tremendous force were holding it down. Others tried to escape through the windows, but for some reason those would not open either.
Meanwhile, the bearded man and the sturdy men loaded magazines full of bullets into their guns.
"Get away from the windows and shutter! Take up your weapons! The government's dogs have sniffed us out! We'll move up the timetable! Kill them all!"
"Yeah!"
"What!?"
Responses bordering on cheers and cries of surprise reached the bearded man.
There was no time to answer them, so he and the sturdy men around him handed out loaded guns one after another, practically forcing them into the hands of the 'grunts.'
"The instructions explain how to use them! It's not difficult! When you see the enemy, shoot!"
As he gave that order, the bearded man turned his gaze toward the second floor of the factory.
The center of the second floor was open to the level below, with only a few platforms running along the walls. A man keeping watch outside shook his head at the bearded man.
There was not a single moving thing around the factory. Not even their comrades who had been standing guard.
It was work of almost magical efficiency. No, there was even a possibility that actual magic had been used.
Sweat beading on his forehead, the bearded man began selecting an escape route while issuing orders to the 'grunts.'
He and several others had always planned to survive and gather soldiers at their next destination. He had no intention of dying in Japan.
Planning to use the hastily gathered 'grunts' as shields, he slowly retreated toward the back of the factory.
There was no shutter on that side. He had thoroughly checked beforehand that no one was hiding behind the thick reinforced-concrete wall.
The man began walking soundlessly toward a position outside the line of fire.
But an unintended sound escaped his lips.
'Ah...?'
The startled voice carried a foreign intonation, followed by the sound of liquid dripping heavily onto the ground.
The sound reached the ears of the other men, whose vigilance had made them hypersensitive. They turned around in a panic and saw...
"Huh? Wh-what...?"
"Eek...!"
The bearded man, a gaping hole in his chest and blood flowing from his mouth.
'G-gh, g, aaah...!?'
As the bearded man tried to scream from the pain and sense of loss, his head flew through the air. The sudden jet of blood from his wound looked like a sprinkler.
But the man's body soon toppled forward, and a red pool slowly spread from the wound.
"Ugh..."
The gathered men could do nothing but watch.
"Aaaaaaaah!?"
The panic spread through the group, beginning with someone's scream.
Some of them fired wildly at the shutter and windows, trying to make holes. The bullets bounced off the shutter, while the necks of those trying to escape through the broken windows were severed by something.
Others threw down their weapons and crouched down to beg for their lives. Another man tried to run away, tripped over one of them, and fell in a tangled heap.
The sturdy men tried somehow to restore order, but their efforts quickly turned into screams. Their thick muscle armor was dyed red in an instant, and those who tried to give orders were dismembered one after another, beginning with their limbs.
It was not even a battle. It was a one-sided massacre.
How many minutes had passed since the bearded man died? Five? Ten? Surely not twenty.
Before they knew it, the factory had grown very quiet.
"Hah... hah... Damn it! What is this!? What the hell is going on!?"
The pudding-haired youth leaned his back against a pillar, an automatic rifle in his hands.
The way he held the gun at waist level made it obvious to anyone that he was an amateur. Even so, this was the only thing he had left to cling to.
By then, the abandoned factory was filled with a metallic smell that overpowered the odor of the grease they had just wiped away.
As he panted, he could hear nothing but the sound of his own breathing. He hoped that the 'something' attacking them had perhaps gone away.
But that hope was soon denied.
A gun lying beside one of the corpses suddenly floated into the air.
"Eek...!?"
The 'something' seemed interested in the gun, and the automatic rifle spun around in the air, moving in various directions.
The pudding-haired youth raised his own gun toward it.
"Die, you monster!"
Countless bullets flew from the muzzle. His aim was a mess from losing the struggle against the recoil, but even a poor marksman could hit something by firing enough bullets.
Several of them undoubtedly flew toward where the invisible being was.
But every one of them struck the wall on the far side. They did not slow for anything other than air resistance, as if there had been nothing between them, and embedded themselves in the concrete.
Though the gun was empty in an instant, the pudding-haired youth continued pulling the trigger like a madman.
"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Hey, police! You're out there, right!? You've got us surrounded, don't you!? I'll turn myself in! So come on! Help me!"
No one answered the pudding-haired youth's cries.
The invisible being pointed the gun it had been toying with at him.
"Hey, wait...! I surrender, I surrender, so...!"
The youth threw down his weapon and raised both hands.
But...
────Ratatatatatatat!
A deafening burst of gunfire rang out, and his body jerked from the impacts at the same time.
He sprayed blood from his entire body as he moved like he was dancing some chaotic dance, then collapsed to the ground when the bullets ran out.
The abandoned factory, now ruled by silence. But soon, three sounds could be heard.
The first was the sound of chewing. The battered bodies of the men were being bitten apart and gnawed away by something invisible.
The second was the sound of metal. The guns that had been picked up were being fiddled with, clacking and rattling. Every so often, a bullet went off accidentally and embedded itself in a wall or ceiling.
And the third.
────Flip... flip...
The sound of paper rubbing against paper.
The weapons instructions that the members of 'Calamity' had prepared for the locally recruited soldiers to read.
They were being flipped through in various places around the factory.
'They' could not read. At least, they could not read any modern language.
But the instructions had been carefully illustrated so that they could understand them without being able to read. 'Calamity' had even used AI to finish them so that child soldiers could understand them.
These three sounds continued until the next morning.
The sound that continued to the very end was the sound of paper being turned.