Chapter Ninety-Two: Directive Choosers
Section One: The Kill List
Process codes were no longer operational tools but battlefield banners.
Wherever planted, that ground answered to no other command.
Whoever's blood marked it could rally people, draw lines, distribute goods, issue orders.
Once crowds recognized it, teams guarded it, and rival factions dared not touch it—it became independent power.
Deadlier still, this power wasn't an abstract system.
It was held up by lives.
Blackvine called them:
Directive Choosers.
Not appointed, but chosen by the process—and choosing it.
They made processes bleed without breaking, issued commands without crumbling.
Not officers.
Living, unkillable process avatars.
So, they had to die.
A list circulated three times within Blackvine's main domain's high walls, finalized:
[High-Risk Process Controllers · Directive Choosers Decapitation List · Code AXD-79]
Targets: Jason · Tu Qing · Tarn · Maria · Zhao Mingxuan
Secondary Purge: All R-line code line holders
Special Directive: Prioritize non-process state kills / Remove structures at critical board sites
Support Teams: Night Slash · Board Cutters · False Directive
Objective clear:
Not to smash boards or codes.
But to strike the "guardians" themselves.
Process lived not for well-written codes, but because those behind it still breathed.
Kill them, and no one dares touch the boards.
Codes dissolve. Ground empties. City falls back.
They targeted the core binding structure.
The task fell to Night Slash.
Three squads, three per team, no high explosives, no boards, just "silent kill kits":
- Hydraulic throat-cutter
- Bone-crushing spike blade
- Neuro-sealant poison needle
- Three-second disruptor gun
No need to wipe out—just one lethal strike.
No need to declare process termination; dead men let crowds pull boards themselves.
Primary target: Tarn.
The "mainline symbol" of board-holding, tied to 26 active codes, 12 line extensions, Iron Valley's largest single-person process defense zone.
His death would collapse R-line code trust by at least 40%.
The night before the hit, Jason, in the command room, received Fuxi's alert:
[Pure Yang] → [Stripping]
"Blade to the heart, not defeated by directive; directive holds, but men break."
No clear order, but the meaning was stark:
Process wouldn't fall first—its guardians would.
Zhao Mingxuan set internal process defenses:
- Mainline code guardians shifted to dark zone rotations.
- Boards moved to three-person guards, day-night handoffs, scars uploaded live.
- Each board linked to a "dead sequence" code—if someone died, the system auto-triggered "process solidification," locking the code, untamperable, unreplaceable.
This was "board-bound spirit guarding."
Boards became part of a body preservation system.
Kill a process person, and the code turned into an untouchable "memorial structure."
The enemy knew this.
So, they struck during code transitions, when guardians were off-post, processes briefly unbound.
The weakest seconds of the system.
At three a.m., Tarn moved from East Second Road's process hub to S-7's north code point.
Shoulder armor half-open, only a side-arm board.
Two escorts tallied wounded, updated board paths.
The team paused, all quiet.
An unmarked old cargo truck glided close.
Its signal suppressor activated, license plate rewritten, Tarn's code identifier silent.
At twenty meters, the truck's back door sprang—three men launched.
The first sprinted low, the second wielded a spike, the third aimed a disruptor gun—targeting breath and nerves.
Tarn turned as the first spike lanced his neck.
Too late, helmet unlatched, elbow raised to block, spike piercing arm, bone cracking.
He didn't retreat.
He rammed forward, headbutting the spiker under the truck, both tumbling into a ditch.
The second leaped, kicking Tarn's flank, poison needle slicing armor seams.
Tarn twisted, slamming his weight down, crushing the man's leg, bones snapping.
The third raised the disruptor, hitting Tarn's chest. Arcs flared, convulsing him, code chip overloading, board signal dark for five seconds.
Process board unlinked, teetering on loss.
An escort shouted, "R-7 code broken," detonating their auxiliary ID chip module.
The blast didn't hit foes but forced the code into "locked binding state."
Code secured—untamperable.
The third, aiming to finish, drew a gun, but Tarn, teeth gritted, gripped a chainsaw's blunt end, slashing back through chest-searing pain.
One horizontal cut snapped the disruptor, battery exploding.
The third dropped.
The code held, entering "post-injury retention mode."
ARGUS broadcast:
"Code HX-S2-R7 faced decapitation strike."
"Executor survived · Process endures · Code binding reinforced, no re-verification needed."
"Control retained."
Back at command, Jason heard the report, voice ice, "They drew first blood."
"Next time, we don't wait."
Section Two: Killing Beneath the Board
Process code "HX-S2-R7," originally S-7 midsection line board, guardian: none.
Board corner broken, code shifted down, unbound, hanging.
Not at a gate or command path.
Nailed to a collapsed stair's iron beam, battered by wind and rain, half-rusted.
No one touched it.
Until Tu Qing arrived.
He was dispatched to the code line.
Not to guard. To kill.
Jason's private order:
"R11's been approached three times, each with unidentified heat signatures."
"Not crowds scoping ground—someone's scoping people."
"Don't guard the board—kill who comes."
Tu Qing carried no code, no gray process armor.
He wore a tattered long coat, sleeves ripped, inner arms strapped with old-era magnetic bone knives.
Alone, he sat under the board three days, three nights.
No words, no light, no process talk. He didn't call for relief.
Asked if he was line-holding, he sneered, "I'm not here for process."
"I'm here to see who dares pull it."
On the fourth night, the wind shifted.
Zone perimeter sensors dropped, west darknet leaked a clipped message:
"HX-S2-R11 vulnerable."
"Unbound, process floating."
"Kill the holder, seize trust line, claim it."
Three hours later, a five-man team reached the code point's edge.
Not regulars, not process guards.
A "Process Transfer Hunt Crew"—specializing in killing unbound code holders, seizing boards, recoding, rehanging—turning enemy codes into "pseudo-processes."
The cruelest twist of process politics:
Can't guard your code?
We'll make it our mouthpiece.
They didn't expect Tu Qing under R11.
The first man peeked, saw him, and shrank back.
Team chatter, brief:
"Who's that?"
"Tu Qing."
"Board's not empty?"
"Not anymore."
Panic crept in.
Not fear of death—fear of tangling with a "reaper-tier executor" instead of a code.
Wrong target.
But they were here, had to do something.
Decision:
Probe approach. If Tu Qing didn't move, pose as "process auditors," transfer the board.
The first man edged toward the board, skirting the broken beam, steps feather-light.
Tu Qing didn't look up.
Sat still, like sleeping.
The board swayed in the wind, clinking softly.
The second man stepped, fingers grazing the board's frame—then air screamed.
A cold glint flicked from Tu Qing's sleeve, slicing the second's forearm tendon, blade sheathed, edge to bone.
A scream cut short as the third raised a gun, Tu Qing's left hand snapping a short gun's grip, muzzle whipping their visor's chin.
The fourth drew a knife, Tu Qing didn't retreat, spinning half a step, knee slamming gut, hurling them into a stairwell pit.
The fifth, the leader, primed a code disruptor anchor, but Tu Qing's kick snapped their right knee, dropping them.
He stood slowly.
Spat blood, "You really touched the process?"
"Touch it, I really kill."
These five weren't regulars.
Their deaths wouldn't spark process war.
But success would've "silently changed masters."
A swapped code—crowds don't question origins, only new executors.
They were process traitors.
Tu Qing's kills tore the code back from "political barter."
Post-clash, R11 was rebound as "Tu Qing's board."
Registry auto-logged:
"Code HX-S2-R11 faced transfer sabotage attempt."
"Holder: Tu Qing."
"Outcome: Decapitated five manipulators."
"Code Status: Hard-Bound · Trust Increased."
The city's first board logged for "decapitation resistance," system-classed:
"Anti-Slash Process · The bloodier the kill, the less dared touched."
Rust Street control announced, "Such codes formed a 'combat merit embedding mechanism.'"
Meaning:
Process wasn't hung.
It was killed into being.
That night, Tu Qing cleaned his blade, hauled the board inside.
No process endorsement, no guards.
Just one line, "Want this board? Ask if I'm here."
Section Three: Rank Coding
When R11's clash was logged, Tu Qing sat by the board, silent.
Its edge, blood-crusted, slanted in the ground like an unpullable nail. System-uploaded combat data filled three pages, core entry one:
"Thwarted illegal code transfer · Five enemies killed · Minor self-damage · Holder unyielded."
Unedited, the report sparked imitation.
Process Management, Tactical Analysis, and ARGUS Control aligned, proposing redefinition:
"Codes with single-point combat records and casualty ratios qualify for new class: Combat Process Codes."
Recommendation:
"Launch process militarization pilot · Build command chain hierarchy by code."
Not strategy debate.
Power restructuring.
Codes were war's structural components.
Not order, but war's extension.
Planted codes recruited, armed, claimed ground—military insignias.
Every board clash was a merit record.
This step was inevitable.
A process front emergency meeting convened.
Jason didn't attend, delegating full authority to Zhao Mingxuan.
No process system researchers—just team captains, combat commanders, decapitation alert members, line holders.
All held bloodied codes—not system codes, but boards that killed.
Zhao Mingxuan opened, "Process issues directives."
"But only blood-killing process earns trust."
"We're establishing process ranks."
Proposal in two tiers:
1. **Code Grades**
- S-Tier: Over five combat records, holder unchanged, code in enemy intel.
- A-Tier: At least one decapitation, survived board crisis, board held.
- B-Tier: Guard record + casualties, line holder chain unbroken.
- C-Tier: Line code, registered, no combat.
Process wasn't about writing quality, but:
"How many died under your board?"
"How many sieges did your code endure?"
"Is your man still standing?"
2. Process Rank Structure (Trial)
- Directive Commander: Auto-elected per five A-tier+ codes.
- Process Shield: Three successful line holdings, 90+ hours standing, joins guard squads.
- Board Breaker: Clears fake codes, failed processes, holds kill-order rights.
- Merit Line Holder: No troops, no rank, but code lives, bled for board—can claim special council seat.
Discussion was brief. Tarn raised a hand, "One suggestion."
"Don't make boards medals."
"Medals hang on corpses."
"Boards are still in the ground—don't frame them."
Zhao Mingxuan nodded, "Process doesn't hang on walls."
"Boards stay planted."
"These ranks are for those who bled, still standing."
"They get seats. They get command."
"Process isn't for crowds."
"It's for enemies—pull, and pay."
That night, the code rank system went live.
R11 (Tu Qing's) became the first "A-tier combat process code."
A red serrated mark was added, signaling decapitation survival and counter-kill.
Uploader stayed anonymous, but Tu Qing was system-defaulted "process controller."
Not authorization.
Blood-code binding.
You bled, you stood—you spoke with weight.
Rust Street's main system issued a warning:
"Attempts to insert fake codes into the process front without merit standards will be deemed code espionage."
"Codes no longer judged by structure for command rights."
"Who owns a code? Whoever still stands beneath it."
Fuxi, silent five hours, flashed:
[Great Strength] → [Journey]
"Directive in the ground, troops from name; un-fought directives don't carry."
Process wasn't a command source.
It was a "war permit" earned with life.
From today, process boards weren't for execution.
They were insignias.
Muzzles.
War's license to speak.
Section Four: False Directives
With codes as insignias, Iron Valley's landscape transformed.
Codes stopped extending commands.
They were preemptive weapons for whoever could fight to speak.
A new system leaderboard emerged:
[Combat Code Bulletin · Merit Sync Live · Grades Real-Time]
No code standards or process resumes.
Just each board's bleed count, enemy assault records, counter-kill stats, holder uptime—down to hours, wounds to millimeters.
Boards weren't for the worthy, but the bloodiest, longest-guarded, steadiest-standing.
The system aimed to stabilize code trust, curb forgeries, rally holders.
But it sparked one thing:
Code holders became resource prey.
Not "steal codes."
"Steal people."
Recruit a holder, and their codes, merits, ranks joined your faction.
Politics, military, power reshaped.
Factions moved.
Blackvine Society reacted fastest.
No more "cut process," but "swap process people."
They deployed "process loyalty restructurers," armed with fake directives, posing as "Rust Street high command envoys," targeting high-merit code holders.
Pitch, one line:
"You've bled, time to live elsewhere."
"Bring your code to us. We give you men, troops, a process zone."
If the holder agreed, no fight—swap flags.
Code signal linked, board code flipped.
Name unchanged, ownership shifted.
Forge Abyss Commune was slyer.
They waved "co-build" banners:
"We don't steal codes; we join holders, form 'shared code nodes,' everyone gets a seat."
They offered holders resources, medical, gear, broadcast rights.
"You bled, doesn't mean you're alone."
Bleed, but get hot food, dry blankets, a mic no one pulls.
Sentinel Bone League was brutal.
No theft, no persuasion, no nurturing.
One act: pull boards.
They struck when holders patrolled, ate, or cleaned wounds—not killing, just breaking boards.
Pulled, burned, they hung banners:
"Merit isn't boards.
Kill for ground, no process."
Provocation.
Not rejecting process.
Saying, "I see process, not your board's life."
"You're not ruthless, not big—your code doesn't deserve to live."
In three days, Rust Street lost nine codes.
Five C-tier, lured into pulling.
Three B-tier, holders defected to Abyss's co-governance.
One A-tier combat code, holder poisoned, board seized, burned, code voided.
Codes didn't lose to process.
They lost to—wavering hearts, cooling blood.
Tarn, hearing it, smashed a code transfer request at the command meeting, "Process came from dead hands."
"Take a code elsewhere, I'll cut you down."
Zhao Mingxuan stayed silent.
He knew this wasn't morality—it was power struggle.
Boards were land rights, voice, expansion ports.
More code-holders, more "process fronts" to launch.
Control fronts, rule ground.
To counter the "false directive" storm, Jason ordered:
[Process Code Ownership Lock System]
All A/B-tier codes must engrave "first blood point" and "initial holder name" on the board's back.
If seized, transferred, or enemy-held, system auto-locks, marking "illegal code drift."
Unreturned in three days, system voids the code, tags it "black code," blacklisted by all line holders.
Process couldn't be stolen.
A code you couldn't guard, you didn't deserve.
An unguarded board meant you abandoned your blood.
No one trusted you.
Section Five: Code Severance
Once codes became insignias, they weren't system-issued.
No one cared who wrote them.
Who guarded, held, killed without retreat—that was the process's sole proof.
When codes turned to land rights, resources, commands—they were currency, flag, blade.
Process writers weren't just recorders.
They were battlefield scavengers.
Jason knew Iron Valley's code war—guard boards, seize boards, forge, defect—was hitting its deadliest phase:
Fake codes gaining traction, true process systems teetered.
No counter, and processes would be "legally absorbed" by rivals, rendering holder blood moot.
He stopped waiting.
The main command center issued a top-tier alert in three days:
[Process Code Blackening Risk Assessment]
- A-Risk: Fake codes paired with transfer requests.
- B-Risk: Original holder mismatches current beacon attribution.
- C-Risk: Code combat data conflicts with registered merits.
- D-Risk: Holder lacks combat scars but holds high-tier codes.
All "risk codes" faced a new system:
[Code Loyalty Lock]
A biometric-system-blood imprint trinity for hard-binding codes.
Binders must meet one:
- Survived one process combat (board-held).
- Held a dead executor's code over 24 hours.
- Bound a code within 30 seconds of chain-break.
If a code was linked by "non-registered fronts" or unbound by holders, system auto-triggered "lock severance," voiding the code as a traitor directive.
Traitor codes were unreadable by Rust Street systems, holders barred from process affairs.
But step one.
Process didn't fear chaos—codes weren't alive.
Process feared:
"People trusting fake codes."
"Believing others' boards, their ground becomes theirs."
Jason launched the next phase:
Code Severance War.
Code: Slash Code.
A decapitation-grade strategic strike.
Not killing, not pulling boards.
Targeting fake, illegally transferred, beacon-hijacked codes, cutting each.
Every code tied to ground, signal line, executors.
No blood, no scars, no memory—no right to exist.
Jason said, "No blood, fake code."
"No combat, enemy directive."
"Enemy directives written—send them to the ground."
Slash Code's first targets: six boards, all "hard-bound illegal codes."
Executors weren't process teams, but the newly formed Guard Legion.
Guard Legion · Overview:
- Structure: Five-man combat units.
- Members: All verified combat-scarred line holders.
- Creed: "If code isn't earned by life, life cuts it."
- Gear: Process scrap wrist-guards, ID helms, melee axes, beacon blast charges.
Process wasn't issued or written.
It was:
Who guarded, stood, killed—who spoke.
Fake process writers stole voice from the dead.
The Guard Legion's first mission: C-3 North Depot's old power plant outskirts, code "HX-T1-FK8."
Originally Rust Street's early command line, lost to heavy combat, system-cut, deemed dead.
A month ago, it "revived," bound by "Free Autonomy Group," flagged as "co-built process zone," linked to five civilian supply lines.
No merits, no holders, no deaths by the board.
Yet it controlled a street, rallied a team, issued three notices.
Process ground theft.
Jason ordered, "Erase."
The Guard Legion squad entered without process uniforms or codes.
They carried a "Dead Sequence Stele."
Seven names—those who bled for T1.
"You stole our brothers' board."
"We'll rip you from this ground."
The purge lasted seven minutes.
Fake directive holders offered no real fight, only cut signals, but the board's port was smashed, chip welded shut by blast charges.
Board scraps were boxed, archived by ARGUS.
Box labeled:
"Fake code dies."
"Write it perfect, no blood of ours—don't stand."