"Hey, kid, did you wet your pants?"
Simon poked his head in through the window from the street, teasing. Although Simon was wearing his tactical sunglasses, Dominik was sure that he was looking at him with a mocking gaze. He definitely was!
"Get lost!" Dominik picked up an empty StG 44 magazine from the ground and threw it at Simon's face.
"Ow?" Simon easily dodged the magazine by pulling his head back. Then he poked his head back through the window, still with a playful tone, "Alright, alright, come out quickly. We don't have much time."
"Hmph." Dominik snorted softly. He slowly stood up, looking at the heavy, empty StG 44 in his hands, then decided to leave it leaning against the wall. He patted the brick dust off his jeans and walked out of the shop-house.
However, when Dominik saw the scene on the street, his stomach churned as if it had been stirred with a stick, and a wave of nausea surged through him again.
This was because the muddy street was littered with corpses. Some bodies seemed to be convulsing, their limbs still twitching in the mud, which was chilling to witness.
"Gulp!" Dominik struggled mightily to swallow back the vomit that was about to come up.
He didn't want to be mocked by Simon again. More importantly, he knew he would have to face such scenes frequently in the future, so getting used to it sooner was the only choice.
At this moment, Dominik showed a hint of sadness. After all, he had killed people. Just now, when he was blindly firing the StG 44, he saw three people fall.
The 7.92×33mm Kurz bullets, at a distance of less than thirty meters and against unarmored targets, were devastating.
Simon seemed to realize what Dominik was struggling with, so he walked closer, patted his shoulder, and comforted him:
"Alright, if you hadn't shot, they would have killed you without hesitation. Besides, The Syndicate's men are all scum—slavers and drug runners. You actually did a good thing."
"Mm…" Dominik just nodded, a bit dazed.
"Heh heh." Simon chuckled and said, "Don't overthink it! And, if you hadn't shot to draw their fire, I really wouldn't have been able to handle 32 people at once."
"Phew…" Dominik took a deep breath, looked around, and tried to steady his nerves. Then he asked, "Hey? How did you do that? Even if I drew their fire, they should have noticed you, right?"
Simon didn't speak. Instead, he pulled out a slender black tube from a small pouch on his tactical belt, shook it, and said, "Here, what is this?"
"This…" Dominik narrowed his eyes, staring at the black tube. Although he wasn't military-savvy, having played many shooting games, he knew what this thing was.
"A suppressor."
"Exactly. I used it to take care of the sentries and the rear guard first. By the time they reacted to the ambush, heh heh, it was already too late."
After Simon finished speaking, he put away the suppressor, looked left and right, and whispered to Dominik, "By the way, once we reach a safe zone or a government checkpoint, never mention the suppressor. I don't want to be hunted down by the international authorities or the Junta."
"Huh? Why?" Dominik asked, puzzled.
"I got this through... special channels. While Private Military Contractors have some leeway with firearms, military-grade suppressors are strictly regulated. In this region, having one marks you as an assassin or a foreign operative, not just a guard."
Simon explained while crouching to check the corpses on the ground to see if there was anything useful.
"Oh…"
Dominik didn't quite understand the legal intricacies, but he vaguely guessed the reason. A silent weapon implies premeditated killing, not self-defense.
Just as Dominik was lost in thought, Simon gathered several rusty magazines and a canvas chest rig from a dead militia member. He shoved them into Dominik's hands, along with a battered Type-56 assault rifle he had picked up.
"Ditch the museum piece," Simon said, referring to the empty StG 44 Dominik had left behind. "These guys are amateurs, but at least their ammo is common. They mostly have one gun each, and half of them don't even have spare magazines."
"They're just villagers with guns." Dominik fumbled to put on the canvas chest rig. After tucking the magazines into the pouches, he pointed around the dilapidated village and said, "Look at this place. What's the difference from Somalia?"
"Somalia?" Simon was startled, looking at Dominik. "You mean the failed state in the Horn of Africa?"
"Yeah... is there another one?" Dominik asked, confused.
"No, just checking your history," Simon muttered, shaking his head.
After the two finished scavenging, Simon slung his SCAR-L over his back, waved his hand, and motioned for Dominik to follow him.
The two walked towards The Syndicate's main camp at the end of the street. Simon looked around the poverty-stricken bamboo structures and sighed:
"The Golden Triangle... Myanmar, Laos, Thailand. This region produces enough food to feed millions, yet look at them. Starving, armed, and desperate. Do you think this place can avoid being a hellhole?"
Dominik looked at the overcrowded slums, the distinct smell of unwashed bodies and fear hanging in the air. He shook his head grimly.
"It's the fallout of the 'Great Asian Stability Initiative' three years ago," Dominik said, his voice low.
Simon stopped and looked at him, surprised. "You know about that? I thought you were just a rich kid tourist."
"I'm a history student, Simon. This is literally what I was writing my thesis on before I got grabbed," Dominik replied, kicking a piece of rubble. "The coastal cities were flooding, the economy crashed in '23. The Junta and the neighboring governments promised these 'Special Economic Zones'—free land, housing, safety from the typhoons."
"Propaganda," Simon spat.
"Exactly," Dominik agreed. "They moved millions of poor and refugees here to relieve pressure on the capitals. But it was just a dumping ground. They left them here to be managed by warlords to save money, while the state media still calls it a 'development miracle.'"
"Miracle, my ass," Simon scowled, adjusting his gloves. "I was one of the passionate idiots who believed that 'miracle.' I joined the security forces thinking I was protecting a new beginning."
At this point, Simon pointed to himself and said indifferently, "I was one of those passionate young people."