The night was tranquil, moonlight pouring down like liquid silver across the boundless land. A fire crackled in a makeshift stove fashioned
The night was tranquil, moonlight pouring down like liquid silver across the boundless land.
A fire crackled in a makeshift stove fashioned from scrap metal barrels. A radio sitting on the open ground played festive music—the Wraiths were celebrating a week's worth of meat hauls.
But when Lin Mo and Brutus clashed in a brutal melee, that celebratory scene shattered.
Everyone—whether it was the scavengers singing and dancing or Maine's team lying in wait by the entrance—felt the sudden blast of a warhorn.
The dancers froze mid-step. Those drinking set their cups down and scanned the area...
Only Maine reacted first. He burst through the factory gates, laughing heartily and spewing colorful insults at the enemy while raising his massive, bear-like cyberarm. A brass-colored launcher extended and fired a grenade.
It landed in the densest part of the crowd and exploded, shredding several unsuspecting scavengers to pieces.
The battle had begun!
Those most threatening scavengers—high-ranking ones with speed-enhancing cyberware—were instantly targeted by Hara Kawano, who had been stationed on a high-rise nearby.
Even though they entered an adrenaline-triggered state and their Kerenzikov boosted their reflexes to extreme levels, they were still lambs to the slaughter.
The tungsten flechette rounds fired from Kawano's fully charged Nekomata sniper rifle tore through their reinforced subdermal armor like cardboard. These rounds were devastating—none of them even had time to react before being killed on the spot.
Their supposedly bulletproof metallic skin—which could resist heavy machine gun fire—was no match for the destructive velocity of the Nekomata's flechettes.
After emptying four rounds and clearing the mag, Kawano quickly swapped in a fresh one.
The Nekomata's power was unmatched on the battlefield, but its limited magazine capacity remained a drawback.
Its small mag could generously be described as "precision over volume"—but less generously, "woefully understocked."
Those four gunshots were a rude awakening for the celebrating Wraiths. As someone shouted, "They've got a sniper!" the crowd scattered for cover.
Some tried rushing toward the basement to aid their boss, but the electronically locked door—hacked shut by Sasha—kept them sealed out.
In just a flash, with Maine pulling aggro at the front, Dorio, Rebecca, and Pyra had joined the fray.
"Don't steal my kills!"
Rebecca's mad cackle was laced with a shrill whine as she wielded two pink-and-green pistols. She didn't even bother to aim, just pulled the triggers, letting off a roaring barrage.
Even without aiming, her smart-linked bullets flew true—striking down fleeing Wraiths like guided missiles. Every shot meant another corpse, clean headshot, straight to the ground.
As her magazines emptied, her laughter grew wilder.
Though petite, Rebecca darted across the battlefield like lightning, utterly fearless. Her excitement flared with each burst of gunfire, her face glowing with the high of adrenaline.
"Die, die, DIE—don't run, trash!"
Each barked "die" came with a kill. Her kill count climbed with her voice.
Rebecca's assault was ferocious—but also recklessly bold.
That's where Dorio came in. Maine's rock-solid partner, she was the team's stabilizer.
Holding a Maglian-Prelude revolver in one hand and an Arasaka HJSH-18 Masamune rifle in the other, she stood beside Rebecca, watching the battlefield with a sharp eye and covering her partner's blind spots.
Even with two weapons notorious for heavy recoil, Dorio handled them like toys. Her muscular arms soaked up the kick, allowing for sustained fire.
Her aim wasn't as precise as Rebecca's, but she fulfilled her role flawlessly—keeping track of her team's positions and shouting warnings whenever Maine got too reckless.
In less than 30 seconds, the abandoned factory yard was littered with bodies riddled with bullet holes.
Blood soaked into the ground, forming twisted crimson sigils. Limbs and entrails were strewn across the battlefield. The center fire barrel still burned with orange-yellow flames, like gunpowder yet to settle.
The radio was hit by stray bullets, its sparks flickering. Several barrels had been knocked over, flames dancing across the floor.
The remaining Wraiths scrambled for cover—some hiding in adjacent buildings—readying their counterattack.
In mere moments, the tide had turned.
Although their ambush gave them an early edge, the sheer firepower imbalance forced Maine's team to retreat behind cover, biding their time.
Rebecca, still charging ahead, was abruptly yanked back—Dorio's thick arm wrapped around her waist, dragging her into a nearby guard post.
"Let go of me—I'm not done!"
Rebecca kicked furiously like a trapped bird flapping its wings.
"Keep it together. Now's not the time to play hero," Dorio growled, forcing the hyperactive Rebecca to calm down.
Realizing she couldn't escape Dorio's grip, Rebecca let her adrenaline simmer. Her excitement, like the heat of a gun barrel, cooled in the night air.
Maine crouched behind another building, watching the hail of bullets rain down. His face showed unease.
Beneath his skin, his titanium-alloy subdermal armor could shrug off most firepower—for now.
But if the enemy set up a suppressive fire net, even he wouldn't hold out long. He'd be scrap.
"Pyra, what the hell are you doing? Is it done yet?" Maine roared into the comms.
"It's done, it's done! Just chill and enjoy the fireworks, Maine," Pyra finally replied after a long silence.
Right on cue, a nearby warehouse erupted into flames.
The scavengers hadn't expected that at all—shouts of panic rang out as they dove for cover.
Maine peeked out, his sunglasses slipping down his nose as disbelief flashed in his eyes.
"You prepped for that long and only blew up one warehouse? That's all you've got?!"
The explosion was clean—hot air and fire surged from the building. Beautifully executed.
Unfortunately, it had been carefully calculated—the blast radius was limited to the inside of the warehouse, killing over a dozen scavengers hiding inside.
But outside, plenty of scavengers remained. Though stunned by the blast, they didn't forget their orders. Guns still aimed at Maine's crew.
"Who the hell said this was gonna be an easy job?! I didn't bring a truckload of bombs, alright? This is the best I can do!" Pyra snapped back.
"Tch, weakass. Just admit you screwed up, alright?" Rebecca mocked.
"And your little toys are supposed to compare to my big boom? Don't come begging me for extra mags when you run out!" Pyra shot back, flipping the bird—though nobody could see it.
"Can you two take that fight to DMs and not clog the team channel?" Dorio cut in.
"What now? Their firepower's pinning us down—we can't strike back. Do we wait for an opening?" she asked.
"Wait," Maine replied firmly, still assessing the situation.
"Hold up—nine o'clock! High thermal readings! They brought in heavy weapons!"
Pyra's voice cracked with urgency, and everyone tensed.
As a tech expert, Pyra wasn't just good at making explosives—he was good at spotting them.
His cyberoptics resembled protective goggles, tuned to detect explosive signatures and high-energy reactions.
"Rebecca, Dorio—get out of that guard shack!"
Maine's pupils contracted as he looked at the structure. It could withstand bullets—but not an explosive strike.
Dorio's face went pale. She grabbed Rebecca and made a dash for the door.
With her own metal-plated skin, she might survive a few rounds of fire. Staying put would be certain death.
At that critical moment, a calm, steady voice echoed across the comms. It swept across their panic like ripples settling over a lake.
"It's fine. I'm here."
Lin Mo had arrived.
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