Seoul Object Story
Chapter 69: Gyeyangsan Relief Camp (9)

Objects dressed as researchers rushed towards us at the director’s signal, looking like they were dragged out of bed. Their unmotivated faces and awkward movements only made them more bizarre.

They moved more like zombies than even the zombie camp residents did.

Still, though they appeared to lack motivation, they stumbled towards us in a straight line with all the grace of a broken puppet show. Some were even bleeding profusely from missing limbs, but that still didn’t stop them. Nope, they kept on trucking towards us.

Preparing for the inevitable collision, I focused on the blood filling the floor which was seriously cramping my movements.

The fight kicked off with Junior No. 2 leading the charge.

Bang—! Bang—!

Two shots, two researchers down.

They dropped, their heads popping like ripe melons, but before we could celebrate, more replaced them.

Junior No. 1 and I stepped up to shield Junior No. 2 and the client. These researchers had taken out the ninja-wannabes, so yeah, this was gonna be a little tough.

As time ticked by, I knew I had to come up with a plan, fast.

Pow—!

With a loud bang, a researcher, now a broken, limbless mess, was thrown back, knocking over his buddies like a grotesque bowling ball.

After a few more minutes of this macabre game, Junior No. 1, our human bowling champ, cried out.

“What the fu—?!”

“Calm down! What’s wrong?” I asked, while swinging Watson as hard as I could.

“These researchers… Even if we bash their heads in, they keep moving.”

Following her line of sight, I saw the decapitated researchers slowly getting back on their feet.

Wha?! Why are these zombie knock-offs doing that? If you are gonna do that at least be cool like a Dullahan!

Hmm, should I chop their limbs off so that they can’t move anymore? Sure, but Junior No. 1 was the only one who could pull that off, and even she would run out of steam eventually.

MEEEOOOWWW—!

The cat Object on the client’s shoulder let out an anxious yowl. It seemed to be scared.

“Senior! Do something!!”

Hah, sigh… We were running on fumes at this point, having been gradually forced into the defensive.

Unlike the bootleg zombies we faced in the camp, these researchers were relentless, real monsters who didn’t stop attacking until they couldn’t move anymore.

Junior No. 1 was visibly exhausted, and since Junior No. 2, now out of ammo, was also dual-wielding hammers.

I had to somehow buy them some time, otherwise, we would all die.

Lifting Watson up, I called out, chanting like a mantra.

Smoke wafted from the gas lamp, swirling around us like we were at the center of some ritual.

The ominous, blood-red smoke pushed the researchers away, giving us a much-needed breather. The knock-off zombies tried to break through, but it was like they hit an invisible wall.

“Ugh, I’m spent,” Junior No. 1 groaned, squatting down and resting her hammer on the ground.

The brightly burning lamp’s light cast a strange shadow in the smoke.

It was none other than [ Watson ].

Like usual, the snickering Object, wrote messages on the shadows like some weird graffiti artist.

Watson, was still the same, as chatty and all over the place as usual.

Well, time to work I guess. I said, clapping my hands to get my two cute junior’s attention. “Try to get some rest. I need to figure out a way to get out of this mess.”

I approached the shadow beyond the smoke, calling out, “Watson!”

Laughter echoed from the lamp in response. A plethora of characters kept appearing and disappearing.

I absolutely needed its help to get through this, so I had no choice but to borrow Watson’s power.

The problem was that the conditions I had to fulfill to receive its help were quite vague, but I had a rough understanding now.

The condition was a ‘Trial’.

If even after receiving Watson’s help, Holmes still had to go through a ‘Moderate trial’, Watson was willing to provide quite a bit of help.

In other words, I couldn’t ask for complete solutions like asking it to “bring the client’s brother to me” or “kill the director”.

But still, I asked it, “Watson, can I ask you to kill the director?”

The laughter stopped cold.

Well, that was a no. As expected, Watson’s answer was negative. But there was something strange in what it said…

Killing the director was something that it could not do? It was very unexpected.

To think Watson, who could normally handle any Object with ease, would say such a thing…

The director must not be an ordinary Object. It wouldn’t make sense otherwise.

Well, he looked anything but ordinary, as he stood there unharmed with knives sticking out of him like a pincushion.

Hmm, so what should I ask Watson to get out of this mess?

At that moment, the monocle’s description of the director came to mind.

So… unless the monocle was missing an important detail, well then I am screwed, but if it’s accurate, then if the director’s wish were to come true, wouldn’t we be free of him and his researchers? Simple enough, right?

“Watson! Can you tell me what the director’s wish is?”

Laughter bubbled up from the lamp again.

Seeing Watson’s reaction, I knew I had to go for it.

Hearing those words, the shadow cast by Watson lowered its head and approached me.

As I brought the hot gas lamp close to my ear, I heard a cacophony of noises and a chorus of whispers.

Fantastic. We’re totally fucked.

That was my immediate thought upon hearing Watson’s answer. The information was utterly useless for the current situation. Watson’s barrier was also starting to become blurry as if it might collapse at any moment, and the anxious gazes of my juniors practically bore holes through my back.

We are in trouble. Big trouble.

But… If I ran, Watson would definitely kill me. We were stuck in a no-win situation.

Should I at least tell my juniors to run?

MEOOOOOOOWWW—!

Right then, the cat let out a yowl so loud you’d think it came from a lion. The desperation in its cry was palpable.

MEOOOOOOWWW—!

It sounded like the cat was desperately searching for someone.

***

As I left the room following the cat’s cry, a long hallway greeted me.

It was a blood-stained hallway with no end in sight, concrete soaked in blood, and heavily rusted iron doors lined up on both sides.

MEOOOOOWWW—!

I moved forward, following the cat’s cries like a game of hide and seek.

MEOOOOOWWW—!

With every step, I felt I was getting closer and closer to the cat. But then, researchers suddenly appeared, blocking my path. They smelled of blood, and I realized that they were the ones running this creepy torture chamber.

Even though they looked like humans, they weren’t. They were blurry figures connected to their shadows, who probably served as a clay doll, probably servants of something and bound to the shadows.

Despite blocking my way, they didn’t seem to be motivated. It felt like it wasn’t even their intention to stop me, and they were just trying to stall for time.

There were a lot of them, so dealing with them one by one would take forever.

But I don’t need to worry! I have the Golden Reapers now! Muhahaha!

Before long, Golden Reapers appeared beneath my feet. They popped out of the Garden of Golden Reapers, smiling brightly at first. But their expression quickly soured as the terrible stench of blood filled the basement.

Are they sad? No. They are angry—really, really angry.

The first targets were the researchers drenched in blood. The researchers, armed with torture tools covered in blood, faced the wrath of my Golden Reapers. They didn’t die easily, but once their bodies were riddled with holes, they couldn’t move anymore.

Having dealt with all the researchers, the Golden Reapers scattered in all directions with tense expressions.

What’s wrong with them?

They darted around as if they were looking for something, leaving no place untouched. They even jumped above the lights and into every corner of the hallway.

What are they doing?

Curious, I opened one of the doors and found a few Golden Reapers scattered around the room. The room was a torture chamber, with a chair in the center of it. Tied up in the chair, was a victim, left in a miserable condition.

Plip-! Plop-!

The Golden Reapers were clinging to the corpse, sobbing and shedding golden tears as they touched the blood-stained face with their tiny palms.

They wailed their hearts out, but no sound came out as if they had no lungs.

I know that feeling quite well—when someone is so sad, but no sound comes out. It was even more frustrating and sadder.

Even if they didn’t say it, I could feel it. Hmm, did they perhaps feel the pain of the victims?

The Golden Reapers fondled and pulled at the victim’s cheeks, and lifted their eyelids, desperate to make them open their eyes. But no amount of pleading made it possible.

Not being able to bear their pain any more, I went out of the room, only to be greeted with a horde of even more angry Golden Reapers.

MEEEOOOOOW—!

We marched towards the source of the wail, where the Ghost Cat was.