The Underclass - Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The effects of this unknown injection were alarmingly rapid. Fula's face quickly flushed red. Galaxy felt her palms growing hot, and soon after, a hard, stony film began accumulating on them.

Under the influence of the injection, Fula's hands began to petrify.

Galaxy didn't dare blink. All Fula could do was muster a smile to comfort her.

A few strands of her white hair began to turn gray at the roots, and then slowly back to black. It was a good sign.

But before Galaxy could even feel happy, Fula let out an agonizing groan the next second. The petrification on her arms worsened drastically, and the hair on her head reverted to that glaring, stark white.

Galaxy hurriedly held her, tears streaming down her face.

"Fula, Fula..." She could only call Fula's name in sheer helplessness, but Fula could no longer respond, as if trapped in a nightmare.

An indeterminate amount of time passed before clarity returned to Fula's eyes. But she was incredibly weak, only able to gasp for air as she slumped against Galaxy's chest. She raised a hand to wipe away Galaxy's tears and said hoarsely, "Galaxy, I'm still heading toward death. This injection can't save me."

"There has to be another way," Galaxy sobbed, her tears flowing faster than Fula could wipe them, blurring her vision entirely.

Fula smiled weakly. "Can I have another smoke?"

Galaxy nodded frantically, lit another cigarette, and brought it to Fula's lips.

Fula took a light drag, struggling to turn over in Galaxy's arms to face the starry sky above. "Galaxy, don't stop moving forward. I'm the first comrade you've watched die, aren't I?"

Galaxy gave no response.

Fula, however, spoke with a sense of freedom. "Honestly, death might just be a release. Let's hope I go to a better world in my next life. Everything here is bizarrely beautiful. I actually really liked the neon lights and advanced gadgets in District A. But those don't belong to the poor. We can only look. Even taking public transit is a struggle for us."

She murmured to herself. An indeterminate amount of time passed before the air was finally void of her soft whispers.

Even Fula's eyebrows had turned so white they seemed to glow, but those eyes that had once shone so brightly were closed forever.

Galaxy sat alone, smoking the cigarette Fula had only finished half of. It wasn't until a cold gust of wind struck her that she realized the cigarette had long since gone out.

She sat on the roof like a withered statue all night, until the new contact Fula had previously arranged with the organization arrived to take over.

And her personal wanted poster had once again appeared on every street and alley in District C.

Not her forged identity, but Galaxy's real name.

The new contact was a woman of few words, with a sharp, no-nonsense haircut and a serious expression. She seemed accustomed to death, effortlessly handling Fula's body. Carrying Fula's urn, she asked Galaxy if she needed to make any further arrangements.

Galaxy didn't take Fula's ashes with her. She simply buried her in front of the little wooden cabin Fula had insisted on returning to right before she died.

Galaxy handed one vial of Black Water to the woman, who introduced herself as Caleb. It seemed that in a single night, Galaxy had grown addicted to the taste of cigarettes.

"Take this to your leader. Also, I need you to track down someone's location within the next two days, and get me a concrete opportunity to get close to her."

The woman took the Black Water and asked meticulously, "Who is it?"

Galaxy replied expressionlessly, "The President."

A flicker of surprise crossed the serious woman's face. "The President? You want to assassinate her?"

"Yes. Assassinate her." Galaxy's gaze was dark and unreadable; no one knew what she was thinking. She merely snuffed out the glowing ember of the cigarette between her fingers and said casually, "Killing her benefits you too, doesn't it?"

With that, she pulled a highly antiquated audio recorder from her pocket and tossed it to the woman. "Also, use this however you see fit."

Caleb was quite curious about the voice recorder, but Galaxy offered no further explanation, only jerking her chin toward it. "You can press play and listen. There are only three short recordings."

"...All tyap-j radiation can only be purged by human bodies, and the method the Federation came up with was to use the miners for the purification... SAR is a radiation disease, and it's incurable. For thirty years, we haven't found any way to resist it..."

Several recordings capable of sending shockwaves across the entire world now rested in Caleb's palm. Her eyes grew wider as she listened.

In the past, they had only known that tyap-j was radioactive. They never imagined the Federation could be so heartless, and that the sole purpose behind such cruelty was merely to acquire the substance in her other hand—Black Water.

"Then the reason you're wanted is..." Caleb hesitated to finish the sentence. She had heard Galaxy's name before, but always felt the stories were a bit surreal. Today, she was finally forced to believe that Galaxy was truly a formidable figure.

Leaning against a tree, Galaxy smiled at her. Standing in the shade, she looked somewhat ghost-like even in the morning light. "Because I destroyed all the tyap-j they've been using miners' flesh and blood to purify for the past thirty years."

Caleb's pupils shrank. This time, her tone was infinitely more respectful. "Then please come with me right now. I'll take you somewhere safe. I'll ask the leader about the President's intel and do my best to acquire it for you."

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