There's No Love In the Deathzone (BL)
Chapter 515 - 508. Eye of the World

Chapter 515: Chapter 508. Eye of the World

"No, you can’t get in," Naomi, who had been tasked to hold the fort of the operation in the borderland, faced the throngs of reporters in front of the Trinity headquarters gate with a cold face.

Naturally, reporters wouldn’t be reporters if they would back off just from a ’no’.

"Oh, come on--don’t be such a snob!"

"Hey, Missy! Don’t you know how beneficial it is to get an exposure from us?"

"That’s right! Or do you think Mortix and Trinity are immune to bad reputation?!"

Naomi’s eyes, who were cold and indifferent before, turned fierce. Hah! Did they think she would be afraid of such threats? Did these people think they were more scary than Bassena Vaski’s wrath--or worse; her Chairman?!

She looked at the group of reporters and snickered. "Go on, write what you want. Let’s see who will come out on top; your articles or our lawyers."

The reporters clicked their tongues in dissatisfaction. Naomi wanted to believe that it was enough to drive them out, but she knew these kinds of people; they might do something daring and enter the Deathzone illegally. Not that she cared if they died, but their company would spin it to be Mortix’s fault for negligence.

So she let out a sigh and told them. "Look; we already gave you a clear rule; bring the permit and we’ll let you in. So just go back and obtain the permit."

"But we have it here!" some of the reporters took out a piece of paper.

Naomi almost wanted to scoff, but held herself and put on her business face. "We clearly stated we need two permits; from the government, and from Trinity. Please adhere to the stated regulations, thank you."

She announced in a firm, final, uncompromising voice. She knew--they all knew--how easy it was to forge government permits or bribe an official to make them one. But they couldn’t do the same with Trinity, because no sane staff of the guild would dare to cross their Guildmaster.

"Ah, for fuck sake! You people charged so much for this! Do you think a small company like us can afford it?!"

And yeah--to get a permit from Trinity, they had to go through detailed contracts, get vetoed, and pay for it--which made it even more nonsensical to bribe since they could have just paid legally. Naturally, Trinity did not need any additional income. The fee would go toward the vehicle used to transport them inside and the tents they would use during their stay--so their expenses wouldn’t get mixed with the operational cost.

And to be honest, they did not need any exposure--the operation executive definitely thought it would just disturb them. But still...image had to be maintained somewhat, and the citizens were curious, so they had no choice but to oblige to some extent.

Thus, the strict regulation was made to ensure that only those with considerable clout and a certain degree of sincerity could come inside. The government would most likely permit just about anyone, so it was Trinity who held a tight rein.

"That’s right, that’s right--just scram, you low-level company," someone cackled and smugly waved two permits in front of everyone, incurring nasty glares from all around.

"Shut your mouth, San!" the person’s colleague hissed and sighed afterward, snatching the permits. "We’re just lucky, so stop getting so smug!"

"Oh, come on!" the man clicked his tongue. "Such a spoilsport..."

The colleague did not care however; it was true that they got the permit because of luck. She had once written a good article defending Luzein Ishtera during the whole debacle about the guide’s red-zone origin, and only because of that did Trinity give them a permit despite coming from a relatively unknown tabloid. The company had scrapped together all the money they could spend without hurting their finance, so she would not let this person screw this chance.

"Here are our permits," she told Naomi right away, before her colleague could incur more wrath from the other stranded reporters.

Naomi, who could see her agony at being partnered with such an obnoxious person, gave her a consolation smile and checked the permit right away. She couldn’t care less about the government permit, but the one from Trinity had a special way to get authenticated. She put the permit under a light to identify an official logo in the paper and over the Guildmaster’s signature. Only after making sure the permit was legit did she let them pass through.

"Please follow this person," she told the reporters, who let out a sigh of relief and urged her colleague to hurry.

They entered the outpost, which might as well be the second Borderland’s headquarters. The temporary buildings had become semi-permanent at this point, and a lot of the Unit’s members spent their time hanging out there with the staff--two years were enough to make them befriend each other.

But there was no time to look around, because they were immediately being ushered toward another gate; this one belonged to the real Borderland Headquarters. There, they were getting passed to another staff who led them to a big, eerie gate in the middle of the tall, thick, stone wall separating them from the Deathzone’s front porch; the grey marsh.

For a few seconds, they froze in front of the gate. Of course, they had seen the pictures of the Deathzone before, but seeing it with their own eyes was different, and the heavy pressure made it difficult to breathe.

"Visitors, please follow me carefully," the staff warned them, and they hurriedly followed the person toward one of the vans parked in front of the gate. Before opening the door, the staff turned toward them and gave each one of them a pouch. "Inside you will find your visitor ID, a mask, goggles, and a set of medication. The transport will begin in half an hour; please stay inside and avoid going around by yourself, or we have the right to revoke your permit. If you feel sick, please tell the driver."

After a series of instructions, the staff opened the door and told them to enter. There were already four people inside, who had been waiting for longer than they were.

Begrudgingly, San climbed inside and took a seat. "How strict," he clicked his tongue.

"Do you think it’s a theme park?!" his colleague, the exasperated reporter Leah, hissed again.

The four people there glanced at them; two people scoffed and another one snickered. The last one, who looked the most senior--and who Leah recognized as a reporter from one of the biggest broadcasting companies--just glanced coldly before closing his eyes again. Leah glared at her colleague and stomped on his toes as a warning.

At least, for the remainder of their journey, that colleague was busy biting his coat in pain to make any stupid command.

Should have done it from the start.

Right as the clock in the van hit ten o’clock, someone with a Borderland Unit’s uniform opened the door to check on them, and after making sure everyone was accounted for, he closed the door and climbed into the passenger seat.

"Let’s go."

"Yessir!"

With that command, the van immediately drove through the paved road in the middle of the marsh. From the window, Leah could see that their van was the one leading the convoy. It wasn’t just the reporter’s vans, there were also supply trucks coming along.

Soon, they passed the first checkpoint, which was a telecommunication beacon. Here, once again, they checked the list of the convoy to be conveyed to the main base inside the Deathzone. From here, Leah found out that the man getting into the van earlier was a high-ranking Unit member called Ron.

"We’ll be entering the Deathzone," the man warned them once before the van passed through a big gate and into a jungle.

Immediately, Leah put on her goggles. She was an esper--albeit a low-rank one--and thus didn’t need a mask. But she still wanted a better vision to observe the Deathzone more.

Which she almost instantly regretted.

The same things seemed to be felt by the other reporters, who immediately turned their eyes away from the window. Only after the van left the jungle did they let out a relief breath. They could see a glimmer of light outside at one point, coming from the first Deathzone checkpoint. Three espers were standing guard by the beacon and a purification device, nodding at the convoy as a greeting.

The rest of the journey was more bearable after the initial shock of the grotesque jungle. The guild had cleared a lot of places to make an easier pathway toward the main base, so there was not much eerie stuff happening on the way. If they could ignore the occasional scary stuff, it was almost like making a journey through the countryside during the night.

The excitement of finally witnessing the first base inside the Deathzone kept them going through the long ride, and when the clock told them it was almost night, the van finally arrived in another marsh, and they could see it from the window; the spire of light.

"Ah..." Leah exclaimed softly--the same sound could be heard from the other reporters.

It didn’t feel much from the picture when they saw it while sitting in a well-lit room in their comfortable office. But here, after traveling through the darkness and feeling the heavy pressure, that spire of light was like the epitome of hope.

Leah nudged her partner immediately. "Hurry--the camera!"

"O-oh, yeah..." the cheeky man stuttered and took his camera, taking the first shot of the main base.

"Hmm...who is in charge of guiding this people?" Ron asked the esper guarding the gate, but the person shrugged.

"Dunno--we’re a bit busy with the desert, so not many people inside," the guard said while typing in his commlink. "Why don’t you take them, Sir? Someone will meet you inside--probably Sir Lex."

"I guess..." Ron glanced at the reporters who awkwardly gathered in front of the three-layer gate, fumbling and stumbling while acclimatizing themselves to the Deathzone. He clapped his hand to garner their attention. "Come along and follow me for now."

The guard whistled and the gate opened. The reporters were hurriedly ushered inside. They looked around in confusion as everyone went around without paying heed to them--just a simple glance before running to do their own errand.

"Hm...should we go to the arena? Or just a command tent?" Ron muttered in front of the group, but soon, he saw someone who would shed his burden. "Ah, Lex!"

A man in a clean suit and neat hair who looked more like a secretary than combat personnel approached them relaxedly. "Ah, sorry there; my Boss is calling more people over to flip the desert over. Thanks for the escort."

"Should I come over?"

"Nah--just rest and wait until one of them calls for you," the man chuckled, before finally addressing the reporters who had been feeling stranded and neglected.

He smiled at the plethora of their expression; annoyed, intrigued, confused...Lex clasped his hand and swept his gaze across the group. "Now, you must have felt a bit lost," he said with a soft laugh. "But you can see we are all busy, so please understand."

"Do you really have no one you can spare to even guide us a little bit?" someone asked in annoyance.

"Why?" Lex tilted his head with a blank expression. "Don’t you come here for raw footage?" he spread his arms to gesture toward the base. "This is raw. Do you think we usually have people standing idly doing nothing?"

The reporters blinked as the implication of the esper’s words sunk in.

"Well then, enjoy your ’raw’ experience," Lex curled his eyes and smiled innocently.

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