Beeeep-!!!
As if announcing my presence, a horn blares out, long and loud, like it’s trying to assert itself or egg someone on. Accompanying that horn, there’s a basic sound like the earth itself is rumbling from the engines, mingling with the creaking and groaning of a truck crashing into a tree. And then…
KABOOM-!!!
The sound of multicolored explosions shaking the ground as the truck erupts for various reasons!
A truck that was running smoothly steps on a mine, twirls around in the air a few times, and then explodes, along with its cargo hold.
The truck reaches its target, a button is pressed, a homemade directional mine goes off, and dirty bombs are scattered everywhere.
Bang!
Bang Bang—!!!
In Korea, called a “ReMix truck,” and in America, a “Mixer Truck,” the vehicle races wildly, spewing out its contents onto the ground.
It looks like regular Ready-Mixed Concrete, but this is no ordinary mix—it’s been secretly spiked with something extremely special.
Radioactive waste.
Materials that had become unusable due to radioactive contamination were taken in for a price and then added as ingredients to the concrete mix. If you held a Geiger counter to it, it would probably scold you with a tut-tut as it showed readings in sieverts, as if saying, “You won’t die naturally while measuring this!”
The Mixer truck was contaminating Yellowstone National Park in a different direction from the preceding dirty bomb. And it was doing it in a much stickier, more stubborn way.
VROOOOOM-!
Is that it?
No, far from it.
Another truck speeding by is spewing radioactive waste in powdered form.
This powder is made from materials soaked in high levels of radiation, and it contains cesium balls at random intervals, making it extremely hazardous—not just for humans, but for plants and for the animals that call Yellowstone National Park home.
That’s how Yellowstone National Park began to be contaminated at an alarming rate.
To the point that if you visited here a few years from now, you might wonder if dinosaurs or aliens were hopping around.
“Th… Thi…”
This unspeakable atrocity!
Strange noises drew Kenneth out of the hot springs. Shocked by the chaotic scene created by the trucks and having realized what they were spilling, Kenneth’s mouth hung wide open, his face contorting in disgust. But when he saw thousands of balloons coated in radioactive waste being dumped from the cargo space, he felt an indescribable surge of rage.
“Which damn bastard did this?! The Lord will surely curse you!”
Kenneth, venting his fury with the feeling that he was spitting out blood, pulled out a divine object from his robes.
It was a fan made of feathers, seemingly bought from the Middle East. Every time Kenneth swung the fan, a wind arose, swirling around the floating balloons. Sometimes it would guide the balloons gently to the ground, other times it would create tiny punctures, slowly letting the air out. Thanks to this wind starting from the fan, the thousands of balloons that floated away prevented the worst-case scenario—where they would spread radioactive waste all over.
Once Kenneth had recovered all the balloons, he folded the fan and put it back in his robes, only to look down at the chaos below.
“…”
VROOOM-!
The trucks were running amok.
Like a vomit of filth from an evil being, the radioactive concrete.
The scattered and unrecoverable radioactive waste contained in homemade bullets that were spreading with an explosion.
Radioactive materials and cesium powder covering everything in white, as if snow had fallen.
Ah.
This.
This is…
Kenneth couldn’t continue his words as his eyes met with the horrifying scene unfolding before him—something he could not have imagined, something he never thought he’d ever see.
For a moment, it felt as if his mind had frozen in disbelief.
But soon his brain sprang back into action, and he quickly devised a way to clean up this mess.
Click.
From his robes, Kenneth pulled out an incredibly small revolver.
A small revolver that probably wouldn’t appeal much to the testosterone-heavy Americans.
It was the type of pistol sold in gun stores with the suggestion that women or children could carry it for self-defense.
Kenneth slowly lifted it, aiming the barrel towards the truck.
Muttering something under his breath in a voice so soft he could barely hear himself, Kenneth pulled the trigger without hesitation.
Bang-!
The resounding explosion.
A small bullet departed the barrel, slicing through the air.
Strangely, its trajectory was not straight, not like anything typically seen.
Ordinarily, gravity should cause it to curve downwards. But the bullet Kenneth had fired moved forward in an S-shaped motion, mimicking the movement of a snake.
What’s more, it also adjusted its path according to the movement of the truck, appearing almost legendary, like a magic bullet straight out of folklore.
SWOOSH-!
That magic bullet pierced through the window of the car, creating a perfect hole right in the middle of the driver’s forehead.
A small hole appeared on the driver’s forehead, precisely in the center, while a much larger hole emerged at the back, larger even than an adult’s fist. And from that hole, gray brain matter and blood should have streamed out…
But there was nothing.
No brain matter, no blood.
While the hole had indeed been made, it seemed to stop there. The inside of the driver’s body was completely empty, as if it were a hollow wax figurine.
Inside the hole, the driver’s interior appeared completely vacant and, oddly, each time light struck it, it sparkled, reflecting the surrounding scenery. It was as if the shell worn by this driver was made of mirrors.
“…Magic.”
Kenneth immediately recognized the true nature of the bizarre sight.
Magic.
Something crafted with magic.
A facsimile?
A tangible curse?
A ghostly figure?
A dummy?
An illusion?
Countless possibilities flashed through Kenneth’s mind.
Magic is unpredictable and bizarre; thus, there were endless possibilities.
On the other hand, this very multiplicity makes it difficult to document or datafy, leaving magic dependent on experience and personal knowledge.
So Kenneth realized that none of the myriad scenarios that had flashed through his mind quite fit what was before his eyes.
“…To react to one mere attack by doing this…”
Kenneth frowned as he pictured the offender’s face.
Just one attack.
Only one.
It wasn’t even an attack on their home, just a hotel where they happened to be staying during a journey. And it wasn’t even an attack using proper sorcery—how could revenge be taken with such an atrocity?
“…No, it does make sense.”
No.
It does make sense.
A headache briefly passed through his mind, and it felt as though the fog that had clouded his thoughts momentarily cleared.
And with that clarity, he understood—this was a reasonable and natural act from the young shaman Kenneth had attacked. However, the conflicting thought that this was still too extreme, despite being retaliation, arose. Simultaneously, as the fog clouded his mind again, the resentment bubbled up—he couldn’t help but feel this was unfair.
Thus, the conclusion he came to:
He recognizes the act of revenge.
It’s a manly thing to do, something entirely within reason.
But the manner was wrong, and it was far too excessive.
So, his counterattack would not be unjust, would it?
With that thought, Kenneth began firing the pistol wildly.
POW!
Bang-!
The recoil shakes his arm.
His aged, ailing body struggled to control the recoil of even this small weapon.
But even though he was old and infirm, Kenneth had eyes that could pierce the darkness and a divine object that ensured anything he saw met its intended target.
The bullets fired out of the gun changed their trajectory and wove their way forward, like live snakes, penetrating the hearts and blasting the heads of their targets.
One by one, the drivers fell—first one, then two, then three…
Silence followed as each of them stopped moving the moment the windholes were created. Despite the holes in their bodies, their expressions never changed, and they remained expressionless, steadfastly performing their duties even in their final moments.
Beep!
Boom!
The horns sounded, explosives detonated, and they rammed their trucks into something, destroying it.
The drivers did their utmost to desecrate nature and spread radioactive waste throughout Yellowstone National Park, never hesitating to do what would enrage Kenneth until their dying breaths.
Kenneth pulled the trigger even more frantically at this sight, and finally, he managed to pierce through every driver with magic bullets.
When the last one fell silent…
Click.
Kenneth lowered the hand holding the gun.
Bang!
A gunshot echoed from far away.
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