“Choice? I… I’m afraid, in my current state, there’s no ‘choice’ left for me, is there?”
Clutching at Ji Bingyao, the now limbless Shirley’s face was ashen, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Though Ji Bingyao and Eileen had swiftly applied tourniquets from their personal kits to stem the bleeding, it was clear to all present that in her current condition, she was rapidly approaching death’s threshold.
“No, dearest Mother,” Salome began, a smirk playing on her lips, “though you so crudely decided to shatter our rules and violently coerce your poor, weak, and helpless daughter, out of profound love for you, we have nonetheless chosen to indulge your desires: to provide you with weapons and ammunition, and to grant you a chance to survive.”
She gestured mockingly towards the quad-pedal machine with an inviting sweep of her hand.
Behind her, Cassandra had already clapped her hands over her eyes, shrinking back in fright and letting out soft, fearful sobs.
“This… is for me?”
“Precisely so. Everyone, please assist me in placing Mother inside; just ensure her face is upward,” Salome stated.
“Oh, and do not fret. Why would I ever harm Mother in such a life-or-death situation? Had I wished her dead, I could have easily accomplished that just now.”
The four members of the band “Pink FM” simultaneously fixed Salome with gazes brimming with murderous intent.
Had their stares been weapons, the winged loli would undoubtedly have been riddled like a sieve.
Yet, in the end, they reluctantly lifted the now limbless Shirley, carefully lowering her into the constantly contracting, flesh-colored tendrils that resembled the grasping arms of a sea anemone.
These tendrils immediately enveloped her, prompting a heart-wrenching shriek from Shirley.
“Sister Salome! At-at least, couldn’t you give Mother some painkiller?” Cassandra stammered, trembling uncontrollably as the tentacles coiled around Shirley’s severed stumps, probed into her orifices, and even pierced the skin of her nape to connect with her nervous system.
“Mother is suffering too terribly like this…”
“Painkiller? Haven’t I already provided it?” Salome questioned, shrugging nonchalantly as the hatch of the quad-pedal walking mech sealed shut.
“Have you forgotten? This is Mother’s grand creation, the ‘Huntress,’ a project she was deeply involved in designing all those years ago. Do you recall what it contains?”
Cassandra merely licked her lips, offering no further words.
“What in the hell is this?!” Ji Bingyao exclaimed.
Concurrently, Shirley’s agonizing screams abruptly began to diminish, eventually transforming into a series of low, ambiguous gasps.
“This, dear Mother, is a rather exquisite creation she designed in the past—an enhanced version of the multi-functional all-terrain combat mech, the ‘Bloodhound’,” Salome elucidated with a cheerful expression.
“Although the chassis’s technical specifications are largely identical, the ‘Bloodhound’ itself is a relatively conventional combat vehicle, offered in both manned and unmanned configurations. The former is piloted by a single, ordinary driver, while the latter can be operated autonomously or via remote control. Neither is particularly remarkable… Yet, the modified ‘Huntress’ stands apart.”
Cassandra, without warning, began to tremble violently, as if a memory of something truly horrifying had just resurfaced.
“Indeed. These modified walking mechs are exclusively piloted by individuals with disabilities. They forgo conventional operating systems, instead relying on the living neural link system that our dearest Mother personally spearheaded the development of.
Mother’s rationale was that this method would allow her to ‘recycle’ and repurpose the unfortunate subjects who failed in her various experiments and selections.”
As moments passed, the moans emanating from beneath the walking mech’s metallic hatch gradually subsided.
Alice, her face etched with unease, cautiously stepped forward.
“Shirley? Are… are you alright?”
“I… I’m fine,” Shirley’s voice, faint and fragile, drifted from within the sealed hatch.
“My bleeding seems to have stopped now, and the pain has receded…”
“Naturally,” Salome scoffed, “for that is Mother’s crowning achievement.
These living link devices, genetically engineered from primitive chordates, are equipped with integrated medical assistance functions.
Though their primary design was to provide emergency first aid to pilots following cockpit damage, they are remarkably adept at rapidly staunching blood flow, sterilizing, alleviating pain, and even promoting wound regeneration.
Furthermore, they serve as a cushioning system, facilitating smoother operation.”
A collective sigh of relief escaped Ji Bingyao and the others upon hearing this revelation.
However, their respite was fleeting, and they promptly resumed glaring at Salome.
“Don’t for a moment imagine this means we will forgive you!” Ji Bingyao spat.
“We will never forget who lured those monsters here and caused Shirley to be reduced to such a state…”
“Enough, everyone,” Shirley asserted, enveloped within a mass of pink tendrils.
Though her mouth and nostrils were now completely filled with the pulsating appendages, rendering normal speech impossible, she had noticed, after several tendrils pierced her neck, that she could effortlessly ‘speak’ her thoughts simply by concentrating.
“At the very least, we now possess weapons and ammunition. I believe, with this ‘Huntress,’ we might genuinely be able to repel the enemy after all.”
“Huh? Really?” Eileen inquired.
“Yes,” Shirley affirmed, taking a deep breath.
The air supplied by the tendrils embedded in her nostrils carried an odd, acrid scent, yet it seemed infused with a peculiar stimulant, sharpening her senses to an extraordinary degree.
Concurrently, as the tendrils, now fully integrated with her nervous system, continuously fed her streams of data, she could feel the quad-pedal walking mech transforming into an intrinsic extension of her own body.
Every subtle rustle of wind, the faintest shift in light, or the most minute variation in temperature in her surroundings—all were acutely perceived by her.
Simultaneously, a cascade of selection menus unfurled within her vision, revealing the formidable arsenal concealed within the ‘Huntress’ mech: two AR-I plasma assault rifles, a plasma assault cannon, and a .303 caliber Gatling machine gun discreetly mounted beneath the cockpit.
Additionally, it housed two sets of smoke grenade launchers, totaling twelve units, alongside a comprehensive electromagnetic countermeasure system.
Beyond its ranged capabilities, the mech itself was theoretically capable of close-quarters combat; its razor-sharp mechanical feet could effortlessly cleave through most organic forms, even those protected by thick carapaces.
As for its other specifications, they appeared far from disappointing: this quad-pedal mechanical leviathan could achieve a top running speed of 75 kilometers per hour.
While such speeds would typically be jarring, the viscous tentacles completely filling the cockpit provided exceptional cushioning.
Its armor, though not as robust as that of older main battle tanks, was at least comparable to some heavy armed helicopters, boasting a layered composite of silicon carbide, titanium alloy, and quartz sand exceeding 40 millimeters at its thickest points.
Even its more vulnerable sections offered protection against small-caliber gunfire and had been treated for corrosion resistance.
Furthermore, its energy reserves were remarkably plentiful, allowing for a continuous sixteen hours of operation in standard combat mode!
In essence, everything appeared remarkably promising… until Shirley, in a tentative test, commanded the ‘Huntress’ to take just one step.
Although Shirley had previously read in the manual that this modified walking mech was covered in pressure sensors, capable of simulating both temperature perception and tactile sensation, she could never have anticipated how utterly agonizing that single step would prove to be!
Despite it being merely one stride, the sensation that flooded her was a tormenting blend of numbness, itching, and searing pain, as if a dozen bullet ants had simultaneously bitten into her flesh.
Shirley had, in the past, read the tale of ‘The Little Mermaid’ countless times, yet she had never conceived that the mermaid’s agony, walking as if on sharp blades with every step after gaining her legs, would somehow manifest in her own experience!
“Shirley?! What’s wrong with you?!”
“I’m not… I’m fine!” Shirley quickly offered, her voice a reflexive attempt to soothe her companions’ panicked shouts.
To underscore her assurance, she commanded the ‘Huntress’ to take several more steps.
Each instance yielded a similar, agonizing result: sometimes the pain that surged through her was a searing heat, akin to a wasp’s sting; at other times, it manifested as an intensely sharp itch, like being pricked by nettles; and occasionally, a dull, unsettling numbness accompanied these sensations.
While Shirley observed that reducing speed and shortening her stride could significantly alleviate this torment, it proved utterly incapable of eradicating it entirely.
“Fine? Really?” Eileen questioned, her keen perception being the first to note the quad-pedal mech’s distinctly peculiar movements, which struck her as deeply problematic.
Its gait, particularly after that initial step, had become exceptionally cautious, uncannily resembling someone tentatively dipping a toe into a scalding hot bathtub, yet hesitating to fully immerse themselves.
“Uh… actually, I… I…” Shirley began, still reluctant to alarm her companions.
However, the torment had barely receded; while tolerable when stationary, the moment she moved, she felt as though she were walking barefoot over a path strewn with sharp, jagged stones.
“Ah, dearest Mother, I neglected to inform you of something,” Salome suddenly chimed in, letting out a soft giggle, as if she had just recalled a particularly amusing jest.
“As the very crystallization of your intellect, the ‘Huntress’s’ living control system, which directly interfaces with the pilot’s nerves, is undeniably exceptional.
Yet, it possesses one rather insignificant flaw: it is excessively sensitive.
To put it another way, during locomotion, external signals induce an extraordinarily intense stimulation… resulting in severe agony for the pilot.”
“You bastard! Why didn’t you say so sooner?!” Ji Bingyao raged, casting aside her shotgun with its now-broken barrel.
She then drew a fish-gutting knife and pointed its sharp tip menacingly at Salome.
However, even this finely crafted steel blade instantly lost half its length as a sudden spatial rift materialized and severed it.
The scene unfolding before them plunged everyone into an even deeper abyss of despair: the prime instigator of all this suffering, the very object of their immense pain, stood right before their eyes, yet they were utterly helpless against her.
“Alright, at least this device itself is functional, even if it’s a little… uncomfortable. I can endure it,” Shirley hastily interjected, trying to calm the situation.
“Everyone, our paramount objective right now is to safeguard the remaining people within the school. All other concerns can… can certainly be addressed later.”
“Fine,” Ji Bingyao conceded, letting out a long, weary breath and dropping the now-halved knife.
“First… we save everyone.”
“A truly sagacious choice.
Well then, given that Mother has, in a single transaction, paid such a hefty sum, as a dutiful daughter, I shall extend a minor pardon for your previous transgressions and bestow upon you another assortment of gifts,” Salome declared, raising a small hand high above her head.
As she did, a shimmering spatial rift tore open before her, and she gestured towards the substantial pile of equipment stacked within the monitoring room.
“These are all yours. I wish you the best of fortune. Should you manage to survive the ensuing battle, perhaps we shall cross paths once more.”
Without a backward glance, Salome stepped into the glowing rift.
Cassandra, her expression a complex mixture of emotions, cast one final, troubled look at the group before reluctantly following, disappearing into the now-closing spatial anomaly.