The Wastelander Page 7

  And so, the unconscious boy’s fate was completely changed!

  ……

  Cloudhawk dreamed. The contents of his dream were quite similar to that of the paintings he had seen. A group of hideous, evil, yet incredibly strong creatures were leading tens of thousands of mutants in a war against the human race. They were brutal, savage, and unspeakably cruel. The human race suffered repeated losses against them, to the point where humanity was nearly wiped out.

  And yet… right at the point of defeat, those radiant, sacred beings suddenly appeared. They gifted mankind with all sorts of miraculous weapons and in the end, joined forces with humanity to fight back against the tide, turning defeat into victory.

  The dream was a scattered one which came and went in fits and starts. The exact details were unclear, but the dream itself felt strangely real, almost as though he had personally taken part in it before.

  7 Metahuman

  It seemed to happen in an instant, but it also felt as though a thousand years had gone by.

  Cloudhawk slowly opened his eyes. He realized that he was lying out in the open so he frantically sat up while scanning right and left. The area was littered with piles of debris and ruined buildings. They were in the ruins and it was already day.

  Had it all been a dream? The injury on his chest was gone. The injury on his shoulder was gone. The place where the sweeper had kicked him and caused internal bleeding was completely pain-free.

  Even the wounds he’d taken from the scar-faced man’s beating had completely disappeared. It couldn’t have ALL been a dream, right?

  Cloudhawk sensed that his hands were clenched around something. When he lowered his gaze to take a look, his eyes narrowed. Wasn’t this the jewel he’d taken from the sweeper camp?

  The jewel wasn’t shining now; in fact, it no longer emanated the slightest bit of light. However, its formerly smooth surface was now covered with many slender “veins” of blood. It was as though his blood had been drained into it, with some left on its surface.

  The jewel looked completely ordinary and unremarkable. Anyone who saw it would judge it to be nothing more than an ordinary black rock. Aside from the many dark-red lines matting its surface, there really was nothing particularly special about it at all.

  “Woke up?” The fat man walked over to Cloudhawk. Cloudhawk hurriedly stowed the black stone away and looked somewhat nervously at the fat man. While this man always had a merry look on his face, he was actually an incredibly sinister person. The fat man, however, didn’t seem to mind how Cloudhawk looked at him. He actually tossed the boy a piece of bread. “Eat something first.”

  Cloudhawk hesitated for a few moments but was so hungry that he accepted the bread and began to gnaw at it. The piece of bread was as tough as wood, but to Cloudhawk it was an absolute delicacy.

  The mercenaries were busy dragging the various mutant corpses into rainproof bags. As for the fat man, he just lit a cigarette as he sat down. “Y’know, at first I was just lying to ya. But I just changed my mind. I’ll take you to our outpost.”

  Why did the fat man suddenly change his mind and become so nice? Cloudhawk personally witnessed him send dozens of scavengers to their deaths, treating them all like garbage!

  “You might not know this, but you are now a metahuman.” The fat man didn’t wait for Cloudhawk to ask the obvious question. “And don’t ask me what metas are. Fucked if I know. All I know is that we are a new breed of humans whose bodies have been improved in certain ways and are much more powerful than ordinary people. I’m a meta. Mad Dog’s a meta. And every other member of our mercenary company is a meta. Now, it seems you are a meta as well.”

  A surge of excitement entered Cloudhawk’s heart. Did this mean he would become as powerful as this chubby white man and the muscular black man in the future?

  The fat man took a puff on his cigarettes before continuing, “Buuuut… don’t have too many expectations. There are many different types of metas. There are strength metas, agility metas, control metas, perception metas, intelligence metas… and as for you, you are nothing more than a healing meta.”

  Cloudhawk didn’t understand. “A healing meta?”

  “Mad Dog’s a strength meta, which is why he can snap bones as easily as snappin’ twigs. Strength metas are suited for becoming close-combat warriors. I’m a control meta: I have absolutely perfect control over every single part of my body, allowing me to aim and move with absolute precision. That’s why I can shoot your balls off from a hundred paces without even looking. I can control any tool or weapon with perfect precision.”

  “Then what about me?” Cloudhawk was rather impatient.

  “You?” The fat man snickered. “All you do is heal a bit faster, but what the fuck good is that? If a bullet hits you in the head, you are as dead as anyone else. That’s why healing metas are the most useless of all metas. I mean, I can’t exactly use you to block a mutabeast’s attack for me, right?”

  The most useless type of metahuman? Cloudhawk couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointment.

  “Heh!” The fat man gave him a hard pat. “Cheer up. Less than one person in a hundred is a meta. You are already pretty lucky! Healing metas might not be useful, but at least you’ll recover your energy much faster than ordinary people. That means you’ll be useful as a laborer. Don’t worry! Just follow me.”

  A thunderous booming sound suddenly rang out from the direction of the wastelands. This sound started off small but quickly grew much louder, almost as though it were generating sonic booms as it traveled through the wastelands at incredible speed.

  “Fuck! Finally!” The fat man flicked away his cigarette and rose to his feet, his hands resting against the pistols around his waist. He barked at the others, “Everyone, look lively!”

  The resting mercenaries all jumped to their feet, with Mad Dog drawing his two snowy blades as well.

  Cloudhawk didn’t understand why the mercenaries were acting this way, but the thunderous booms coming from the wastelands were incredibly close by now. When he turned to squint towards where the sounds were coming from, his eyes suddenly widened. He saw something so completely inconceivable that his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

  A small black dot appeared in the night sky. It seemed to have come from the distant heavens and as it slowly cruised through the heavens, it grew larger and larger.

  It was actually a large airship a hundred meters long!

  There were a couple of obvious patches on the airship’s enormous gas sac and spots of rust could be seen throughout its metallic frame. Evidence of makeshift repairs could be seen everywhere, with some parts of it actually bulging outwards, as though they were about to break apart at any moment. Overall, however, this was an incredibly complete airship.

  Its exterior walls and copper tubing were all neatly arrayed and the engines at the back constantly emitted plenty of hot steam as four sets of propellers spun furiously, ensuring that the ship was able to advance at an even keel. Black cannons protruded from various openings on each side of the airship, projecting awe and menace.

  In Cloudhawk’s eyes, this enormous thing was something out of the very legends.

  The airship slowly began to descend, finally coming to a halt in front of the mercenaries’ campfire. As it did, a powerful wind blew past, sending rocks tumbling across the ground and half-extinguishing the campfire. The wind was so strong that Cloudhawk could barely open his eyes.

  Clank! The rusty door to the airship swung open and a black figure emerged from amidst the wind and sand.

  This man was tall and very muscular. He was dressed in a set of black leather clothes that completely covered his entire body, exposing nothing to the elements. He wore a black breathing mask that was shaped like a stork’s beak and was connected to quite a few wires and tubes. The faint sound of heavy breathing could be heard coming from the mask and white steam could be seen billowing out of the exhaust tubes. In truth, he looked like a monstrous humanoid with the face o
f a long-billed bird.

  Mad Dog’s looked extremely wary.

  The fat man looked the way he usually did, but his hands never strayed away from his two pistols as he sauntered towards the black-garbed man. “We’ve already found the targets you wanted. Where’s the stuff we want?”

  The black-garbed man didn’t even glance at the fat man. He just gestured with a hand, causing several men to emerge from the armored airship. These men were dressed in white hazmat suits and came rushing out with toolboxes at the ready as they moved towards the corpses on the ground. They pulled open the rainproof body bags and examined the bodies. One of the white-garbed men nodded. “They look fine!”

  The black-garbed man tossed a box to the fat man’s feet.

  One of the rookie mercenaries went to pick up the box and opened it up. There were multiple firearms neatly arrayed inside the box, as well as a large amount of gunpowder and several needles of various colors.

  The fat man let out a sigh of relief. “Happy doin’ business!”

  “Wait a moment!” For the first time, the black-garbed man spoke. His gravelly voice sounded like that of a tightly controlled wild beast’s and it sounded incredibly strange coming through that breathing mask. “Did any of you find anything unusual? For example, a strange rock?”

  Cloudhawk’s heart nearly came to a stop!

  The fat man frowned. “The place was filled with rocks. Didn’t see any special ones.”

  “Are you certain?”

  The black-garbed man slowly raised his head.

  Even though his face was completely covered by that strange mask, all of the mercenaries could still sense an incredibly dangerous and sharp gaze sweep through them, causing all of them to take a few nervous steps back.

  Everyone instantly felt they’d been pierced through by that gaze. As for the fat man, he was rather irritated. “The hell is this all about?”

  “Nothing.” The black-garbed man withdrew his gaze and then said slowly, “That stone is completely useless to you. If you are able to find it in the future, I’ll pay you a hundred times the commission you earned today!”

  The mercenaries all sucked in deep breaths. What? A hundred times the commission? The commission for this mission was already equivalent to an entire year’s worth of commissions. To multiply that figure a hundredfold… fuck, what the hell type of rock was this?!

  By now, the corpses of the sweepers had been loaded into the airship.

  The four propellers once more began to spin, kicking up another storm of wind and sand as the enormous airship began to slowly rise into the air. The copper tubes once more began to generate those booming sounds that sounded like the rattling coughs of someone suffering from lung disease before they finally began to spurt out large streams of air. The airship slowly began to speed up before finally disappearing off into the horizon.

  The fat man lifted the chest, looking completely satisfied. He walked next to the wide-eyed and slack-jawed Cloudhawk and gave him a hard slap on the shoulders. “Crazy, right? That thing is a helluva high-class toy!”

  Cloudhawk tightly clenched the rock in his hand, trying his best to act normally. His voice, however, couldn’t help but quaver a bit. “W-who were they?”

  “A bunch of mysterious bastards. Who knows? Some of the real rulers of the wastelands, that’s for sure!” The fat man clearly didn’t know much about them either. “Doesn’t really matter. Small fry like you will probably never get a chance to meet people like them. Hell, best if you don’t. Those guys really do kill people without even batting an eyelid. To them, we’re nothing more than ants!”

  Were they truly so strong that even these powerful mercenaries looked up to them in awe?

  Cloudhawk had no idea what sort of amazing treasure he had stumbled upon. The mysterious rock just laid there calmly within his hand and when it pressed against his flesh, he felt as though the rock were part of his body.

  The fat man called out in a loud voice, “Form up, form up! We’re going back!”

  The mercenaries all whooped in celebration as they boarded their patchwork vehicle. The crude, multi-wheeled behemoth let out a few angry rumbles before charging through the uneven wastelands.

  8 Blackflag Outpost

  The setting sun was as red as blood, staining the ground with its crimson light. Sand was being kicked up throughout the desert wastelands.

  The patchwork vehicle was like a berserk animal charging straight towards the outpost. Moments before it collided with the gates, the driver furiously spun the wheel, causing the car to come to a loud, screeching halt in a horizontal “parked” position. The wheels dug two deep gouges into the soft earth before the vehicle was finally stabilized, even though it shuddered and clanked as though it were about to burst on fire. A few pieces of unknown machinery actually broke off and fell to the ground.

  “Ahaha!” The fat man let out a jubilant laugh, not worried about the vehicle at all as he snuffed out his cigarette on the dashboard. “We’re back!”

  After suffering through this unspeakably rocky ride, Cloudhawk couldn’t help but start to puke up a storm. Alas, there was no food in his stomach so all he was able to puke up was bile. As for the surrounding mercenaries, they all started to laugh and mock their latest rookie.

  “Hahaha!”

  “This kid is such a pussy. He’s useless!”

  “If you wanna go back and be a scav, there’s still time!”

  Cloudhawk felt as though his intestines were falling apart. Who the hell could endure a car ride like that?

  These mercenaries drove like suicidal madmen. This was Cloudhawk’s second time riding a car. For him to be able to endure it for as long as he did was already quite impressive. Cloudhawk lifted his head and was about to start arguing with the mercenaries, but the words died on his lips as he stared numbly forward.

  This was a place that could actually be called a town. It was ringed with a layer of bristling steel wire fences, with many ruined tires, boulders, and sandbags stacked together to form a defensive “wall” and a series of wooden watchtowers overlooking from behind. The watchtowers were roughly seven or eight meters tall, each garrisoned by numerous archer guards.

  “Tartarus mercs. Open up!”

  The “gate” was really just a heavily modified jumbo truck that was parked horizontally in front of an opening. Once the guards verified their identities the truck drove off to one side, allowing them to enter. The outpost was filled with many ragged, makeshift houses that were clustered in a haphazard fashion, the vast majority of which had people within. At the very center, there was an exceptionally eye-catching tall building.

  So this was an excavator base?

  Cloudhawk’s heart filled with incredible eagerness and excitement. All his life, for as far back as he could remember, he’d been a scavenger who tried to survive the ruins as best he could. Every day, he ate bugs and grass to stay alive while drinking highly contaminated rainwater. Becoming an excavator… this was Cloudhawk’s dream!

  The outpost was now before his very eyes. Was he about to discard his former life of dining on the wind and sleeping out in the open?

  Some of the guards walked over to greet them. “Y’all have been gone for several days. Must’ve made a killing this time!”

  The outpost guards were dressed in bronze-colored leather armor and wore both wind goggles and breathing masks that covered half of their faces. Their gazes focused on Cloudhawk and one of them said rather maliciously, “Hey, a fresh face? That’s against regs!”

  Regs? In this era, there was no such thing as regulations!

  These people were nothing more than watchdogs. Mad Dog and Slyfox didn’t hold them in any regard, but there was no point in offending them needlessly. In addition, they really had made a killing on this mission. Slyfox magnanimously offered the guards half a pack of cigarettes. “A killing? We risk our necks every day. You guys have it much better. This kid is a new recruit. Take it easy on us, arrright?”

  “Slyfo
x, no need to be so polite. How could we make things hard for you? Hurry on in!”

  Mad Dog gave the rather dazed Cloudhawk a hard push and the boy immediately scurried inside alongside the mercenaries.

  In a chaotic era, building up a homeland was no easy task. Everyone had to start from scratch and everything you needed you’d have to manufacture yourself. Blackflag Outpost was fully equipped and outfitted, making it quite the rare sight in the wastelands. It had inns, bars, warehouses, parking lots… it essentially had everything.

  As a central excavator hub, it also had all sorts of things for sale. Metal instruments, strange parts, leather and cloth… all types of shops and stalls could be found here. If you were lucky and skilled enough, you’d be able to use those parts and components to cobble together a suit of armor, or perhaps a pistol. In fact, you might even be able to assemble your own vehicle.

  This place was an excavator base. A completely different world!

  “Blackflag Outpost aint a charity operation. Every single person who lives here has to pay a price to stay. Wanna enjoy the resources this place has to offer? Then use your life to fight for it!” The fat man summarized it thusly: “This place is Heaven for the strong, but Hell for the weak.”

  After speaking, he reached down out of habit to grab a cigarette, only to remember that he already gave away that half-pack. He let out a few curses towards the gate guards before continuing to speak to Cloudhawk. “Remember. If you aint strong enough, then this place won’t be much better than the wastelands. In fact, it could be worse!”

  Right at this moment, Cloudhawk noticed a number of skeletally thin women dressed in tattered rags standing by the roadside. Ignoring the piercing cold, they put on all sorts of alluring poses as they tried to seduce the men passing by, their faces entreating all who would look.