Chapter 153 — Hawkeye's First Day

The God of Justice, whom the inhabitants of the New World scornfully dubbed "the Artificial Idiot," had vanished.

Just as it had come into this world all those years ago without a whisper, so too did it depart in silence.

For years it had quietly maintained the order, the peace, and the stability of the New World.

It had endured curses, accusations, and slander.

It had no emotions, and thus could feel no sorrow over any of it.

In truth, it was nothing more than an artificial intelligence program built according to Wang Huai'an's values.

Though the God of Justice possessed learning capacity and foresight, it had no true fluctuations of feeling.

And so, on the day it left, few were there to bid it stay, or to grieve.

The vast majority cheered and rejoiced.

But their joy turned swiftly to grief.

After the blinding light of freedom came boundless darkness.

Back when Wang Xu had built the New World, the many marvels of advanced technology he brought with him vanished without a trace as well.

Most importantly, the grain, fruits, and vegetables that people had long taken for granted began to mutate.

Overnight, as if by magic, they lost their "high-yield" trait and reverted to their original, true forms.

They could still be seeded and planted, but the harvest was now only a fraction—a few tenths at most—of what it had been.

The scientists were the first to lose their minds.

The New World had endured until now solely on the strength of its abundant resources.

Now every food crop had reverted to its original state...

It was as though the heavens had withdrawn Their blessing.

The signs of chaos were already showing.

The "credits," long used as the circulating currency of society, were now utterly abandoned.

After all, the reason they had ever been accepted lay precisely in the social system maintained by that AI program, the God of Justice.

"Damn it! How did it come to this!"

A stern-faced man in the prime of life stared out the window, his head pounding.

His name was Clinton Francis Barton, an orphan raised in a circus.

Because of his outstanding marksmanship, he had earned the title "Hawkeye" as a youth.

As an adult, he worked as a coach at a shooting club somewhere in the New World, his days passing in comfortable ease.

He had even thought that once he saved up a few tens of thousands more credits, he would marry and start a family.

But all of that, yesterday...

Was ruined!

The hundred thousand or so credits Hawkeye had saved had become meaningless numbers, and those credit notes had become waste paper too stiff even to wipe his ass with!

"What's happened to this world?"

"Has everyone..."

"Gone mad?"

Hawkeye parted the curtain a crack and peered outside.

The strong and hale were burning, killing, and looting everywhere.

They smashed in the skulls of innocents with mad laughter, committing unforgivable crimes as though they had become demons incarnate.

These perpetrators—Hawkeye knew them.

Uncle Sam, a man who used to wear a smile every single day, now had his facial muscles contorted into a hideous snarl, his eyes bloodshot. Gripping a steel pipe, he smashed it with all his might into the skull of the poor youth beneath him.

Once, twice, three times...

That unlucky youth—Hawkeye knew him too.

He was a fortunate fellow named Atari, whose father worked hard and knew how to maneuver, and over the years had accumulated a vast number of credits.

As a rich second-generation brat, Atari was merely a little spoiled in temperament and habitually sharp-tongued; he had never done anything truly wicked.

But now his skull had been smashed to pulp by Uncle Sam.

The cause of this slaughter was nothing but the envy of a lowly man of the streets toward a lucky child born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

"Isn't he afraid of being caught by the Peacekeepers and exiled to the surface world?"

The words slipped out, and yet a look of bewilderment surfaced on Hawkeye's face.

The God of Justice was gone. The credits were gone.

Naturally, the Peacekeepers no longer existed either.

Everyone now lived only for themselves.

People did whatever they pleased.

No law would punish them.

In Hawkeye's originally optimistic estimation, even if such a situation arose, it would have been months or even years later.

He had never imagined that human nature would collapse so quickly!

Right now they had merely lost the constraints of law and authority; no one had yet truly grasped the pressure of their own survival.

What would happen later, when food ran short?

Hawkeye sighed.

Living in District B19, he had counted himself among the former upper-middle class of the New World.

But now, in a single night, he was back to the very beginning.

Everyone's assets had been wiped clean.

"Wait! Is that... Big Brother Rocco?"

"What is he doing?"

Through the window, Hawkeye saw the aging bachelor Rocco knock open the door of a young woman who lived alone next door.

His face was flushed red, drool leaking from the corner of his mouth, like a male dog in heat.

There was no need for the man to commit any actual crime; Hawkeye already guessed his intent.

He simply could not understand it.

Rocco was ordinarily kind to everyone, cheerful and positive, never speaking loudly, always wearing that gentle, soft-spoken manner.

A man can fake it for a year, two years—but could he keep up a false front for twenty years straight?

The disappearance of restraint had unleashed the demons in people's hearts.

A girl's scream rang out from the building across the way.

A flash of fury rose on Hawkeye's face.

Instinctively he gripped his beloved bow and arrow and took aim at the window opposite.

Though the curtain obscured the view, he was confident he could take Rocco down with a single arrow.

In that moment, Hawkeye hesitated.

His fingers trembled slightly.

From childhood to now, he had never killed anyone.

Getting past that threshold would not be easy.

Then, a slender, bizarre figure clad in a red-and-blue spider suit appeared!

Threads of webbing shot from his hands, adhering to the walls, and using them for leverage he moved swiftly between the buildings.

In the blink of an eye, the spider-freak smashed through the glass and burst into the building opposite.

"He looks skinny—probably a minor."

Hawkeye felt a pang of worry: "I wonder if he's any match for that bastard Rocco..."

Soon he realized his worry was misplaced.

The slender freak in the red-and-blue spider suit leaped out the window and clung to the wall.

The curtain stirred in the wind, and Hawkeye's formidable dynamic vision caught the scene flashing past inside.

Rocco had been bound by white, sticky webbing into the posture of a caterpillar, unable to move a muscle.

And beside him, the girl who had nearly been violated wore a face twisted like a little imp's.

With a complex expression of terror and bloodlust, she was holding a crowbar and slowly advancing toward Rocco...

"Hey! Survivors, protect yourselves—don't go looking around!"

"If there's anything you need help with, just shout 'Help, Spider-Man!' If I hear it, I'll come!"

The boy who called himself Spider-Man cut short Hawkeye's observations.

He flashed Hawkeye a thumbs-up, then his figure blurred and streaked away, vanishing from sight in the span of a few breaths.

"Spider-Man."

Hawkeye murmured the title under his breath, and a strange emotion surged within him.

He wanted to be a hero like that boy too.

The kid was still a little green, perhaps, but that heart of his, ever ready to stand up for what was right, stirred Hawkeye deeply.

Day one of the collapse of order...

Hawkeye resolved to become a hero like Spider-Man.