Chapter 27: 7,800 Super Soldiers
As Galler stepped into the factory of his so-called "partner," a manager was quietly speaking with a client:
"...We are clearly trying to help! Recently, the number of humans killed by kangaroos has far exceeded those unfortunate enough to be bitten by sharks, yet in New South Wales, injuring a kangaroo is illegal. Wildlife abuse carries a maximum penalty of 50,000 Australian dollars and five years in prison... It's unreasonable, of course it is. We're working hard to change that. You must understand, kangaroos have become rampant across Australia. You can always see kangaroo carcasses along the highways, and kangaroo meat in supermarkets goes completely unsold. Perhaps we should find a use for these natural boxers beyond food processing plants—some place better suited to their talents..."
"What? You’re not interested in kangaroos but prefer crocodiles?! Maybe crocodiles do look cooler, but you do know they’re rarer and more expensive, right?"
The moment Galler crossed the threshold, their conversation abruptly ceased.
The manager turned and politely nodded with a smile. "Good morning, Bobby! And this must be our new friend?"
“This is Mr. Galler Esposito, from America,” the woman named Bobby introduced them. “And this is Brian Lynch, our head of the northern division.”
“Hello,” Galler stepped forward and shook Lynch’s hand. “I was referred here to have a look around. Hoffman mentioned you have some interesting stuff.”
“‘Interesting,’” Lynch savored the word meaningfully. “Indeed, this is a miracle factory. Before Bobby shows you around, may I ask what your main line of work is back in the States?”
“Fireworks, I guess,” Galler answered vaguely. “I like things with a bit more excitement. You know, we have a lot of flying superheroes over there, so it’s best if fireworks launch when they make their entrance.”
Lynch immediately praised him. “Good taste! Wonderful. We do have some magical ‘fireworks’ you can’t find anywhere else in the world. But may I ask—do you mind if they’re living beings?”
Human trials? Galler’s eyes darkened slightly, but he leaned in with feigned interest. “What do you mean?”
“You must have heard of Captain America,” Lynch lowered his voice. “I hope you won’t be offended, I’m just using him as an example: one vial of serum injected, and an ordinary person can become a powerhouse. If such serum could be mass-produced, how many super soldiers would you want?”
Galler asked in surprise and skepticism, “You’ve developed biotech similar to Captain America’s serum?”
How had he never heard of this?
Lynch smiled without answering.
Galler pressed on, “But I want obedient soldiers, not a bunch of uncontrollable superhumans—there are already plenty of those in America. How do you ensure the finished product is controllable?”
“With some rather unrefined methods,” Lynch said. “As you said, ‘fireworks.’ If they don’t obey… boom, the little device inside their bodies will be detonated.”
Galler was about to inquire further, but Lynch interrupted him. “Sorry, I can only tell you this much before you place an order—that’s the policy. Bobby will take you to see some ‘explosive’ test results shortly. If you’re interested, given Australia’s unique geography, we also offer free shipping.”
A bunch of scum treating their kind as commodities for experimentation and trade.
Galler felt a surge of disgust but forced excitement and curiosity to keep the deal going and gauge their depths.
“Let me see it,” he urged. “I’ve loved Captain America since I first saw him as a kid. I’ve always wanted to have a whole row of Captain Americas displayed at home.”
...Quite twisted, typical of Americans.
Lynch’s demeanor grew friendlier. He quickly dismissed the previous client and had secretary Bobby escort Galler on a factory tour. Passing by Bobby’s side, Lynch whispered in a tone only they could hear:
“Don’t mention that the finished products are kangaroos, or they won’t sell. I’ve tested it.”
“...”
Without changing expression, secretary Bobby turned to Galler. “This way, please.”
They entered a secluded laboratory, housing several white mice and rabbits. The experimenter injected a substance into a mouse, which instantly became frenzied. Then a rabbit was placed in the mouse’s cage. Despite the rabbit’s size advantage, the mouse aggressively punched and kicked it, driving the rabbit back until it finally collapsed with a pitiful cry.
The experimenter injected another rabbit, which immediately hissed, stomped, and circled the cage. When it kicked the nearby wire mesh, it punched a hole through it.
Galler twirled his fingers thoughtfully. “Does it work on humans too?”
Secretary Bobby remained silent but showed him a video:
A figure about 1.6 meters tall stood in the center of the arena, wearing a massive helmet and bulky armor resembling a metal barrel. Only two muscular arms with boxing gloves protruded from the armor’s sides. The figure furiously swung punches at a metal machine emitting constant barking sounds, smashing it to pieces in a single blow.
“How’s that?” Bobby paused the video and said to Galler, “Maybe our serum isn’t quite as potent as Captain America’s, but we can produce thousands of these.”
“How long does the serum’s effect last?”
“Metabolism times vary per individual. Currently, our selected products represent the longest-lasting effect.”
“Alright, alright...” Galler absentmindedly stared at the screen. “I’m satisfied. Very satisfied. How long to airlift these soldiers to Metropolis?”
He had completely forgotten about the animated dreams now. Unmasking these hypocritical human experimenters took priority.
“Metropolis...?” Bobby frowned. “How many are you ordering?”
“The more, the better. How many do you have? I’ll take them all.”
Bobby warned, “They’re not cheap.”
Galler glanced at the price list and saw each unit cost less than a ten-thousandth of a used Batmobile. He waved his hand grandly, “No problem, I want them all. What about those not yet injected or only partially treated? I want those too. My people will handle the rest.”
“Excellent,” Bobby’s eyebrows relaxed. “Then we won’t need to airlift. The boss recently bought a single-use, long-distance teleporter made with alien technology at an auction. If you pay a deposit, the machine is a free gift with your order. In just ten minutes, your soldiers can appear wherever you want.”
—Quite advanced.
Galler considered sending these unlucky creatures to Metropolis, preferably near Uriah’s location, then staging a fake supervillain attack. That way, he could generate material for the editorial department and rescue the serum-injected test subjects.
The only problem was, he had assumed there would be only a few dozen super soldiers.
But Bobby informed him, “We have 7,800 finished products.”
Galler thought he misheard. “How many??”
“Seven thousand eight hundred,” Bobby repeated. “Plus some not yet injected... the boss said you can have them as bonuses.”
Galler’s pupils constricted violently! He racked his brain, unable to fathom how this factory managed to capture over 7,000 people in a city with barely over 100,000 residents without being discovered. Did they raid the local indigenous population, or recruit a global crime syndicate through the port?
He was dazed, stammering, “That quantity is unexpected... so the total price is quite high.”
The secretary pleaded, “We can offer a discount since you’re buying the whole lot.”
Galler barely recovered, then said, “Thirty percent off.”
“Agreed.” Bobby accepted without hesitation. “The long-distance teleporter is still a free gift. You can activate it whenever you like.”
The staff joyfully went to set up the alien-origin teleporter. Galler still felt something was off. Grabbing secretary Bobby before she left to report the good news to the boss, he said, “Since I’ve placed the order, I should be allowed to see the finished products, right?”
...
An outstanding soldier, standing upright on powerful hind legs with muscular biceps and nearly two meters tall, was brought before Galler.
It snorted fiercely, its eyes blazing with spirit, chin raised in disdain. Its sharp claws gleamed, tail thrashed wildly on the ground, and an AK-47 hung at its waist.
—This was a typical eastern grey kangaroo of Australia, numbering in the millions, a social species. Adults could weigh up to 66 kilograms, stand over two meters tall upright, and run at speeds up to 64 kilometers per hour. Even without serum injection, they were capable of brutally beating up city-dwelling, comfort-addicted upright apes.
Not to mention it was armed with a firearm.
Galler looked at the AK-47 and felt visions of cosmic rise and fall flashing through his mind.
The laboratory staff politely said, “Since you requested the earliest delivery, we’ve just activated the teleporter. The first batch of 3,200 soldiers is already en route under your command. The rest are queued. Any other instructions?”
Galler’s mind exploded like a universe evolving from a singularity into all things. He calmly asked, “Miss Bobby told me besides the 7,800 finished products, there are many test subjects not yet injected. Your boss gave them all to me, so what’s the exact number?”
The staff replied with a question, “Have you heard an Australian kangaroo joke?”
Galler: “What?”
“Did you know? Metropolis, as one of America’s largest and wealthiest cities, has a population of 11 million. Meanwhile, Australia has 50 million kangaroos. If kangaroos invaded Metropolis, every citizen would face five kangaroos. You don’t know, you don’t care, you only care about yourself... oh wait, you do care—after all, these kangaroos were sent by you.”
“...”
Galler glared at the staff member.
The staff smiled cautiously and asked, “Sorry, did I say something wrong?”
He hadn’t said anything wrong or miscalculated.