Seoul Cyberpunk Story-Chapter 33: Machina (3)

I walked quietly down the hallway lined with white marble.

The soft light descending from the ceiling reflected against the floor, creating an atmosphere that felt almost sacred.

So I matched the vibe—put on my most solemn, reverent face and strolled ahead like I belonged.

Every time I passed another priest, I offered a slight nod.

Despite my unfamiliar face, none of them seemed suspicious. They simply nodded back and went on their way.

Probably because even at a glance, it was obvious I was a full-body prosthetic.

I kept moving deeper into the compound.

The hallway began to narrow, the spacing between candles on the walls grew wider.

Fewer people.

And then—I found something off.

Two priests stood in front of a massive iron door, their hoods pulled so low I couldn’t even see their faces.

But that wasn’t what made them suspicious. I’d seen plenty of white-robed weirdos on the way here. This cult had so many secret chambers it might as well have been a dungeon crawler level.

What stood out was that these two were... wrong.

There was no trace of life in them.

No heartbeat.

No lungs pulling in air.

No circulation of blood.

Those priests were practically full-body machines.

And in their eyes—pure madness, the kind that comes from way too many implants.

There wasn’t a sliver of the gentle smile I’d seen in the others.

In fact, with that level of madness, they should’ve been clawing at the walls and tearing people apart.

So why are they just standing there?

They guarded the door silently, obediently—as if following orders.

Implant lunatics were supposed to be uncontrollable. But these ones... were just calmly waiting.

Weird as hell.

I stayed at a distance, memorized the door’s exact position, and slowly backed away.

Then, I began looking for a way to loop around.

No surprise—there wasn’t any path forward except through the door those two guarded.

Even if I wanted to use the shadow-warping power I’d copied from that Titan Tech prototype, it was useless here. I couldn’t see any shadows on the other side of that door.

But.

I still had a special infiltration method of my own.

First, I found an isolated space with solid walls and no foot traffic.

At the far end of the building, I located a small room that looked like a private prayer chamber.

Once I confirmed it was empty, I pulled as much energy from the Core Ring in my chest as I could.

“This should be enough.”

Then, like the wall didn’t even exist, I stepped forward—slow and steady.

My body slid through the wall like it was pudding.

On the other side? Surprisingly, it was outside.

It looked like a peaceful backyard—manicured grass, neatly trimmed bushes, marble benches.

A PR-perfect garden, just like the Machina Cult’s public image.

But there was a problem.

A serious one.

There was a clean-cut divide in the yard—like someone had sliced the world in half.

A fusion boundary.

Two separate spaces jammed together, the line between them too perfect to be natural.

I turned back toward the cult building, and sure enough—it stretched out like a long, straight wall.

Like a barrier meant to hide this rift.

The cult’s construction project hadn’t been random—it was built to conceal this border.

Completely opposite worlds...

Beyond the line was a landscape totally unlike the serene courtyard.

Black dust fell like snow.

Dark smoke belched from spires that stabbed into the sky.

A cursed place.

Looks like I found where Victor might be.

The twisted horizon matched the photos Victor had sent.

****

Victor carefully unfolded the worn piece of paper in his hands.

The letter 329 had given him was old—crumpled and faded, edges frayed and stained.

Evidence that 329 had read and reread it countless times.

Victor tilted it toward the light to make out the faint writing.

The letter was short.

It explained a few things, then quietly pleaded for help—from any mercenary who might one day find it.

It had clearly been erased and rewritten many times, making it hard to read, but Victor went slowly, refusing to miss a single word.

The letter asked for help saving a ten-year-old girl named Iris—his little sister.

He forgot his own name... but not hers.

Victor reached the final line—where the “payment” for the job was mentioned.

It was a stash of credits buried back at the writer’s home.

But the amount listed was laughably small.

Not even close to enough to hire a merc.

Like a kid offering a handful of acorns to buy candy.

No way...

Victor looked closely at 329’s body again.

The way the implants tore through his skin, how his frame was too small beneath all that metal.

His original body—what was left of it—was tiny.

This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.

How young had he been when he wrote this?

Victor wanted to ask his age. But he didn’t.

There was no point.

He wouldn’t remember.

As Victor looked up from the letter, 329 was already staring at him—his expression caught somewhere between fear and hope.

Like a child terrified of the answer they already know.

“My sister, Iris. Will you accept the rescue request?”

Despite his twisted face, 329’s voice was clear. Bright.

Like he’d rehearsed this line tens of thousands of times.

“I will,” Victor said. “Mercenary Victor accepts your job.”

329’s mangled face twisted even further—

And then broke into a beaming smile.

A real one.

Jingle.

The bell above the entrance to the Seoul Dispatch Office rang.

Amber instinctively set down the glass she was holding and looked up—

Scarlet stepped inside, her face more serious than usual.

The office interior echoed with the soft, plump cries of kiwi birds.

They waddled around the small pen next to the counter, bumping into each other like overfed dumplings.

When Scarlet approached the counter, Amber gave her a casual, familiar smile.

“There were kiwis here last {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} time, too. You’re swimming in ‘em today,” Scarlet said, leaning an elbow on the counter.

Amber folded the cloth she’d been using to dry the glass and replied,

“All of them? A dropped-off deposit from A. Just for a bit.”

Scarlet nodded slowly.

Her gaze shifted from the birds to Amber.

Then she took a seat in front of the counter and drew in a long breath.

As always, the inside of the office was lit with soft, bluish neon.

Outside, the distant noise of Babel City hummed like a forgotten siren,

And the old ceiling fan creaked slowly overhead, turning with exhausted rhythm.

After a moment of silence, Amber’s voice came low and heavy.

“You really plan to infiltrate the cult, Scarlet?”

Scarlet nodded without hesitation.

“I need to see it with my own eyes. Something’s off about the Machina Cult. It’s not just another scammy death sect.”

She tapped the table lightly with one finger as she spoke, her voice calm but firm.

Amber’s smile faltered, just slightly.

Scarlet wasn’t like A or Aria—she wasn’t a field operative. She was a netwitch, an analyst, someone who stayed behind the screen.

And now she was volunteering to step directly onto the battlefield.

Amber couldn’t stop her.

Because she knew why.

Scarlet had grown up in an orphanage near the Burning Duct.

Even after she left, she visited every week, bringing gifts and stories for the kids.

And just yesterday—those children had disappeared.

Surveillance footage and departure logs were checked.

The only likely suspect...

Was the Machina Cult.

Scarlet had already been investigating them.

Had almost closed the file.

And now she blamed herself for not shutting it down when she had the chance.

“...Then be careful, Scarlet.”

Amber pulled a small bag from beneath the counter.

Inside were a few basic defense gadgets—a netwitch’s portable survival kit.

“These might help.”

She handed the bag over.

Scarlet accepted it, slinging it over her shoulder with a quiet nod.

She didn’t say much—she rarely did—but there was a look in her eyes that said everything.

“Be back soon,” she said softly, heading toward the door.

Jingle.

The bell rang again as Scarlet stepped out.

The door closed.

Amber let out a quiet sigh.

Now, all she could do as a broker... was wait.

Wait, and hope the mercs made it back.

She listened to the soft, muffled voice of the wall-mounted TV echoing through the shop.

Then she picked the glass back up and resumed wiping it.

“...Hmm?”

Her eyes froze.

There, on the glass she had just polished spotless—

A faint mark had appeared.

A small handprint.

No way it was human.

“This is...”

She held the glass up to eye level, inspecting it closely.

“I’ve seen this before...”

A flash of memory—

A tiny palm print found on her desk the day after that mess with A and Jinrong.

She’d dismissed it at the time—figured it was just some random smudge.

But now...

Amber activated her AR interface and pulled up the photo she’d taken that day.

She compared the two prints.

They matched.

Exactly.

Not a coincidence.

She thought, her eyes narrowing.

A new Nexus Node spy drone?

Did they catch someone installing a backdoor? No way... we’d have known.

And why the hell would a micro spybot have hands?

Amber scanned the room, tension rising.

Then she reached under the counter, pulled out a small notebook, and uncapped a pen.

She began calmly writing her observations.

<Estimated height: approx. 130mm. Max 150mm.>

<Appears to emit localized repulsion field, displacing certain dust particles.>

As she scribbled notes, something watched her from atop the counter.

Lying flat, face-down.

[Oops. Got caught.]

A little kid.

Smiling, carefree.

Grinning like none of this mattered.

They lay there, palms pressed against the counter like they were copying the glass print.

Looking up at Amber with curious eyes.

They knew she couldn’t see them.

But the fact that she’d found the handprint?

That was enough to make them giddy.

Like a child starting a game of hide-and-seek.