Chapter 77: Chapter 77: Supplies Running Low

The atmosphere within the Hall of Memories had undergone a violent, unsettling transformation the moment the bunker’s automated voice uttered the word General. The brilliant, clinical white light that had radiated from the silica pillars was replaced by a rhythmic, pulsing crimson emergency glow. It felt as if they were trapped within the chambers of a gargantuan, dying heart. The massive hydraulic doors, which had stood open with such ancient arrogance, were now sealed tight, leaving behind a seamless wall of heavy composite alloy that locked them within the vast, silent archive.

Dayat sat cross-legged on the cold metallic floor, his breath coming in shallow hitches as he tried to steady his racing heart. The acute migraine from the earlier data synchronization had faded into a dull, persistent throb, but a different kind of fatigue was now creeping into his joints. It was the physical exhaustion of a body pushed far beyond its red-line. He stared at his tactical backpack; its fabric looked deflated, a visual indicator of their dwindling resources.

“Kancil, check our remaining rations,” Dayat commanded, his voice raspy and dry like parchment.

Kancil immediately began to rummage through the bag. He pulled out a few dense, dull brown blocks wrapped in coarse Dwarven cloth—Dwarven High-Calorie Rations. The boy tapped one of the biscuits against the metallic floor, producing a sharp, hard clack-clack that echoed through the silence, proving just how fossilized the food had become.

“Only four pieces left, Big Bro,” Kancil reported, his voice devoid of its usual street-smart energy. “These things are harder than the rocks we’ve been walking on. If I threw this at someone’s head, I’d probably give them a concussion. And the taste… it’s like eating sawdust mixed with dry clay. But… it’s all we have.”

Dayat let out a long, weary sigh. He was acutely aware of the singular, frustrating limitation of his manifestation ability: he could not create food or any organic matter that could be consumed and digested. He could manifest the most advanced railgun or a complex water filtration system, but he couldn’t summon even a single slice of bread to appease the growing, gnawing ache in his stomach. They were entirely dependent on the dwindling logistics of Terragard.

However, hunger was not their most immediate adversary. Dehydration was. The air within the vault was recycled, filtered, and bone-dry. The circulation system worked with a terrifying, mechanical efficiency, sucking the moisture from their skin and parching their throats with every breath.

In the corner of the hall, Lunethra appeared to be suffering the most. The ancient Elf was leaning against a crystal pillar, her slender frame trembling. Her skin, usually possessed of a radiant, moonlight glow, now looked ashen and translucent. Her lips were cracked, and her breathing was shallow. For the Elven race, Mana was not just a tool for sorcery; it was a biological necessity, acting like oxygen within their bloodstream. In this Mana-void zone, Lunethra was experiencing a condition akin to Acute Mana Anemia, compounded by severe dehydration. She was holding on by sheer willpower, but her physical endurance had hit its nadir.

“I have to find water,” Dayat muttered to himself.

He stood up, his legs feeling like lead, and walked toward the perimeter of the hall. He scanned the walls, looking for any mechanical vulnerability. His eyes caught a narrow, partially exposed pipe hidden behind a service panel that had warped with age. A faint moisture trail glinted there—the result of condensation from the bunker’s ancient cooling system. The water looked murky, smelled of stagnant metal, and likely carried a cocktail of hazardous chemical residues.

Dayat didn’t ask Dola for a data-dump this time. He closed his eyes, reaching into the knowledge he had already absorbed. The constant neural links with Dola were beginning to rewire his cognitive pathways; he found himself understanding mechanical structures and scientific principles more intuitively, allowing him to bypass the agonizing “Data Burn” for simple, practical applications.

I need a ceramic filter. A manual pump system. An activated carbon cartridge to neutralize the metallic toxins.

Dayat extended his hand. He visualized every component, layer by layer.

The Main Chassis: A cylindrical tube made of high-strength, lightweight transparent polymer.

The Core Filter: A dense ceramic block with microscopic 0.1-micron pores to strain out bacteria and coarse sediment.

The Secondary Stage: A compressed layer of activated coconut-shell carbon to neutralize heavy metals and odors.

The Pump Mechanism: A manual plunger with precision one-way valves.

ZRAAAP!

A sapphire-purple radiance flared in Dayat’s palm, and a rugged Portable Ceramic Water Filter materialized. Without wasting a second, he attached the intake hose to the leaking pipe and began to pump. Cret… cret… The sound of the manual plunger was the only thing breaking the oppressive silence. The murky, stagnant water entered the filter, navigated the labyrinth of ceramic and carbon, and emerged from the output hose as clear, odorless, and life-giving fluid.

“Drink this, Lunethra,” Dayat said, kneeling beside her and handing her a cup of the distilled water.

Lunethra took it with trembling hands, her fingers brushing against his. She drank greedily. Though the water contained no Mana, the physical hydration provided a necessary spark for her muscles, preventing them from seizing up in a total collapse. “Thank you, Dayat. Your world… even its water is filtered through logic.”

Dayat then passed the water to Kancil before taking a long drink himself. The cool, clean liquid felt like a miracle against his parched throat.

Once their thirst was sated, Dayat turned his attention back to the sealed hydraulic door. He looked at Dola, who had been standing in a statue-like silence, staring at the massive slab of metal with an expression that was profoundly difficult to read. A deep sense of existential unease radiated from her; she was constantly rubbing the tips of her fingers together, a nervous human habit she hadn’t possessed a week ago.

“Dola,” Dayat called out softly. “You’ve been quiet. Talk to me.”

Dola nodded slowly, her sapphire eyes dimming. “Dayat… when that system spoke, something within my deepest sub-routines reacted. It was as if a locked door in my mind was suddenly hammered on from the outside. I am realizing that the ’glitches’ I experienced—the influence of the entity known as ’The Maiden’—were not mere code errors. She is a part of this bunker’s architecture. And this system recognizes my digital signature as the key.”

Dayat approached her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. The Maiden Protocol… maybe that was your original identity in this world before you were ’downloaded’ as my assistant. If this bunker calls you General, it means you have authority here.”

“But I do not know how to wield it, Dayat,” she replied, her voice tinged with a very human frustration. “I am afraid… that if I attempt to reconnect, the Dola you know will be overwritten by the cold, ruthless General. I do not wish to lose my ’I’ variable.”

Dayat squeezed her shoulder. “I won’t let that happen. But right now, we’re out of options. Our food is gone, and Lunethra is fading. We have to move forward. Try it, Dola. I believe your current personality is stronger than any old code.”

Dola stared at Dayat for a long moment, searching for the certainty in his eyes. She took a deep, simulated breath, stabilizing her cooling system, and walked toward the massive door panel.

To cut through the suffocating tension, Dayat reached for his digital music box. He pressed shuffle. An upbeat yet profoundly emotional anthem began to flow—”Laskar Pelangi” by Nidji.

“Mimpi adalah kunci… untuk kita menaklukkan dunia… berlarilah tanpa lelah… sampai engkau meraihnya…”

(Dreams are the key… for us to conquer the world… run without tiring… until you achieve them…)

The lyrics seemed to breathe a fresh surge of energy into the room. Giring’s soaring vocals provided a surreal contrast to the cold, oppressive metallic walls of the bunker.

“Laskar pelangi… takkan terikat waktu… bebaskan mimpimu di angkasa… warnai bintang di jiwa…”

Kancil began to hum along with the rhythm, even though he didn’t understand the language. The melody provided a spark of life in a dead room. Even Lunethra seemed more settled, the song acting as a bridge between the cold technology and their shared hope.

Dola stood directly before the door. She placed her ivory palm against the cold surface. She didn’t use a voice command; instead, she initiated a wireless handshake through a low-frequency protocol only she understood.

[General Alpha Unit: Requesting Override.]

[Protocol: Silent Exodus.]

[Authorization Code: 01001101-01000001-01001001-01000100-01000101-01001110.]

For several agonizing seconds, nothing happened. Dayat’s heart hammered against his ribs, his hand ready on his HK416 in case the system decided to deploy more sentinels.

Suddenly, the red emergency lights flickered and turned a steady, calm green. A heavy, pressurized hiss of hydraulics followed, and the very floor beneath them vibrated. The gargantuan metallic door slid aside with a grinding groan, revealing an exit leading into a wide, arched tunnel that appeared to have a faint, natural light glimmering in the far distance.

“Dayat… the path is open,” Dola whispered, turning back to him with a thin, relieved smile.

“Good job, Dola. You stayed you,” Dayat gave her a proud thumbs-up.

Without wasting another second, Dayat helped Lunethra to her feet while Kancil quickly shouldered his pack. They stepped out of the Hall of Memories, leaving behind the silica pillars that held ten thousand years of sorrow and destruction.

They emerged into the new tunnel, leaving the oppressive gloom of the bunker behind. As they walked toward the distant light, the song “Laskar Pelangi” continued to play, a triumphant melody for a team that had just escaped the jaws of the past.

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