I need a partner.
As I chopped meat—*Thud! Thud!*—my escape plan took shape in the kitchen:
Drag that control terminal back in front of me. Kill the one holding it. Kill everyone nearby. Grab weapons and armor. Slaughter as many aliens as I want in this city. Once satisfied, head to the forest. Hide in my secret base. Retrieve the weapons I've collected. If aliens come hunting, ambush and kill them in the forest. Infiltrate Fort 88. Kill them one by one. Eventually, kill everyone.
It's too vague.
The problem is, I have no paper or pen. I can't sketch maps or organize notes. Details remain fuzzy. My sluggish brain can't plan backup strategies for obstacles.
I could rebel now, but my chances of escape are low.
It's all because of the control device—and bomb—in my temple.
I need to deal with this bomb in my head, one way or another.
Honestly, seizing the control terminal isn't enough. If I were an alien engineer, I'd have multiple safeguards.
I need just one person to be my brain—someone to think for me.
The women I've violated? Communication's hard since I can't speak. Plus, they're prisoners too. Even if we could talk, they'd be useless.
And the aliens? Communicating with them is hopeless.
But if I could talk… I could find a miserable alien in this city, bargain or threaten them, and maybe gain a partner.
If I'm looking for help, it'd have to be from the alien side.
But how?
As I brooded over this, chopping meat in the butcher's kitchen, the storefront stirred.
Glancing over, I saw the Minotaur boss talking to someone.
A stranger—long-haired, purple-skinned, with horns. A demon-type, I'd say.
Well-dressed. From my days as a sniper targeting aliens, he looked like a high-ranking officer.
A celebrity, even. A crowd had gathered. What was he here for?
"Two kilos of ground meat."
…Just buying meat, it seemed.
As I cranked the mincer, I noticed a faint, odd sound beneath its roar.
The machine was heavy-duty, grinding bones and all, so it was loud. But amid the clattering metal, a *tap-tap* sounded.
A malfunction?
I paused, ears straining.
The sound wasn't mechanical.
Not from the mincer.
Was something stuck in it?
Humans sometimes have foreign objects in their bodies—bullets, surgical pins, even pearls in penises—that can jam machines.
I stopped the machine.
The tapping halted, slightly delayed.
I restarted it. *Tap-tap.* Stopped it. The taps stopped, delayed again.
Every time, the same response.
It seemed to hide within the machine's noise—a secret…
The next moment, electricity jolted through me, arching my back.
My soldier's memory, buried in the butcher's dull synapses, awakened. I recognized the sound.
*Stay calm. Don't cause a scene.*
I feigned composure, swiftly wrapping the ground meat and handing it to the boss.
No panic. Act natural.
The demon officer smiled, paid the boss, and left.
I watched him go, then tapped the boss's shoulder.
The Minotaur turned to me.
I pointed vaguely—*over there, over there.*
When I act like this, it's usually to use the bathroom.
The boss nodded, letting me go. I love him. But why does he keep giving me this grass? You might be a herbivore, but I'm a carnivore. *Munch munch.*
Chewing the grass, I circled the store and found what I sought.
A figure squatting behind the shop.
I stopped before them.
The rag-clad person turned, startled, and scrambled up.
This was the one tapping the pipes.
I grabbed their neck as they tried to flee, slamming their head against the wall. Their hood fell, revealing their face.
A humanoid race, featureless. Male. But his pupils were horizontal, goat-like—clearly not human.
He stayed silent, pressed against the wall.
We glared through the paper bag.
I slowly brought a sharp claw to his ear, tapping the wall.
His confusion turned to shock.
"—No way… You're… human…?"
It was Morse code.
I knew instantly. I'd used it too.
The aliens either hadn't noticed this primitive system or ignored it.
Aliens are strong, but their technical ingenuity seems lacking. No signs of them intercepting this simple code. Though we'd never intercepted their long-distance communications either.
I think our technologies are too different. Ours is based on physical phenomena; theirs overwrites it.
Either way, Morse code was vital for us soldiers—*tap-tap* over radios, bird-like *peeps*, even knocking on structures like this.
Seeing him speak human, I realized: He was from *Earthspint*—the Anti-Alien Special Intelligence unit.
Like my former Fox Team, they faced brutal missions.
So this was it.
I'd heard the unrealistic rumor they'd infiltrated the alien city, but never believed it.
…Wait, this used to be a human fort. The aliens use it as-is, so entry points are obvious to us. With the right disguise, infiltration is easy.
I tapped the wall, signaling I was from Fox Team.
"Seriously…? Butcher's disguise… How…?"
He thought this was a disguise.
Understandable. But it's not.
Questions flooded my mind.
His eyes? Probably a disguise device.
What was he doing? Spy work, likely.
How long has he been here? Irrelevant.
Who was he signaling? That's what matters!
He was tapping the pipes—connected to the sewers. There are more humans down there.
Who? How many? Their goal?
*Tap-tap.*
"—I can't say… You understand…!"
Right. Earthspint agents don't share info, even with allies. I'd need time and tools to make him talk.
…
Will you partner with me?
"Let… go… We'll talk… over there…"
I'd give Earthspint alien intel.
They'd help me escape.
A deal.
…Possible?
"#◇, ★○§◎#▲. ☆§☆※▼▽&§△#?"
A voice from behind—unintelligible. An alien.
Turning, I saw the demon officer and three guards watching us. The officer spoke to me, guards drawing swords.
They think I'm attacking an alien.
The man secretly tapped the wall.
—*Help me, I'll return the favor*—
The guards closed in. Time was running out.
What to do?
…
…Yes. That's it.
An epiphany struck.
Decisive moment.
Eventually, I'd have to take a gamble.
Now�s the time.
Using my thumb and forefinger, I plucked out his eyeball like a boiled egg.
The optic nerve slid out—slimy, just like an egg.
"—?! AAAAAAAAH—!"
Ignoring his screams, I tossed the eyeball at the demon officer's feet.
It rolled, revealing a strange device attached.
I plucked out the other eye, crushing it. My fingers held a contact lens-like device—clearly a disguise.
I flicked the lens to the officer, who examined it curiously.
"Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?"
Because you betrayed me.
I tightened my grip. A *crack* sounded.
Earthspint can't be trusted.
They'll use anything to complete their mission—even me. Spies survive by exploiting others. Even if we partnered temporarily, they'd betray me again.
Of course. No one would free a dangerous butcher like me.
He'd investigate me, discover my past, and see me as a threat. He wouldn't free me.
And he'd be right. They're smart. That's the conclusion.
I can't outmaneuver them without freedom or countermeasures. Revealing myself to Earthspint means being used thoroughly. No escape, no guarantee they won't stab me in the back.
Or they might seize my control terminal and use me as a weapon again.
—Absolutely not.
I won't be manipulated anymore!
Earthspint is the enemy.
"—Je… Vo, Dan…"
He said my name—the first person to remember it.
…Maybe we could've worked together.
But I don't trust humans anymore. Your bad luck I found you.
The spy died by my hands.
He left me three gifts:
One: Reminding me I have communication tools.
Two: Confirming there are humans in this city who know Morse code.
Three: Proving my usefulness to this demon officer.
Thank you, stranger.
In return, I'll display your meat in the shop. Freshness is key, after all. A flash sale—it'll sell out fast.
I'd better tell the boss quickly. Maybe he'll give me more grass as a reward.