Lucas Kane's confidence surged as he bounded onto the narrow ledge of a neighboring building. His boots struck the second-floor rain awning with precision. Without hesitation, his hands clasped the balcony above, muscles tightening, and he propelled himself upward.
Two meters vanished beneath his leap. No run-up, no momentum—only the mastery of his newly awakened skill: Expert Climbing.
Like a gecko clinging effortlessly to glass, Lucas scaled the side of the structure, each motion fluid and sure.
Time to test the true power of the Energy Armor.
He strode to the edge of the rooftop, inhaled once, and tipped forward into empty air.
Thud!
The fall lasted barely three seconds, yet in that instant the bracelet on his wrist pulsed with light.
A shell of bronze-colored plating expanded outward, snapping into place. A full suit of armor enveloped his body before his boots even struck ground.
The jolt he expected never came. The crushing rebound, the bone-rattling shock—all absorbed, vanished. Instead, he landed heavy, but unbroken, unharmed.
Lucas flexed his fingers, marveling at the seamless plating around him. The armor responded faster than his own reflexes, activating at the moment of danger.
Satisfied, he nodded. A few minutes later the armor dissolved into motes of light, retreating into the bracelet, leaving only his wrist bare once more.
All of this had taken place on the building's blind side, hidden from the eyes of other survivors.
Next, he retrieved the Armored Mech from his storage space.
[Damaged Armored Mech: can be repaired using steel materials.]
The prompt floated before his eyes.
Perfect. He had just unlocked Beginner Mechanical Augmentation, granting him the ability to repair minor faults and enhance simple machinery.
Let's practice on this one first.
From his earlier trade with Ethan Cole, he still had a stash of steel. Lucas activated the skill.
[−20 Steel. Armored Mech successfully repaired.]
[Enhancement unavailable. Higher Mechanical Augmentation required.]
Lucas scratched his head. "Figures. Something this advanced isn't so easy to modify. Still… let's see how she runs."
He slid into the cockpit—part automobile, part exosuit. Pedals at his feet controlled throttle, brakes, and jump jets. Joysticks replaced any steering wheel, syncing with the movements of his torso and arms.
With Driving Mastery supporting him, the controls quickly became second nature. The mech thundered across cracked asphalt, hydraulics hissing, then launched into the air with a powerful leap. Thrusters roared, suspending the steel titan mid-air, pivoting, braking, accelerating as though gravity itself bent to his will.
Lucas rampaged across the empty streets, crushing stray zombies into paste beneath metal feet. Their claws and teeth scraped harmlessly against the armored hull. One casual kick launched a ghoul a dozen meters, spine snapping audibly as it crumpled on landing.
"Ha! Now that's satisfying."
But mobility wasn't enough. He forced himself to learn every diagram, every gauge, every weapons system inside the mech. For an entire afternoon he trained, switching seamlessly between ranged fire and melee weaponry, until his mind swam with data streams.
By dusk he was drenched in sweat, chest heaving as though he had fought a war himself. Finally, he dismissed the mech back into storage.
Circling the building, Lucas approached his heavy truck—his most vital resource convoy.
A murmur stopped him. Words carried in the silence, sharp and alien.
The language was unmistakable. Neon tongue.
Though Lucas could not understand the meaning, the clipped syllables and cadence were familiar enough to recognize.
He crouched behind the truck, peering around the rear. Four figures stood on the opposite side—three men and one woman. Small, wiry builds, their gestures sharp, their voices tense. One climbed the wheel hub, yanking at the driver's door.
The keys, of course, lay safe in Lucas's pocket.
When brute force failed, the group argued in hushed Neon syllables. Then one gestured toward the window, hefting a stone large enough to smash glass.
Lucas's jaw tightened. My truck. Not yours.
He stepped out from behind the container, shield slung across his arm, Tang blade gleaming. The intruders spun at once.
Through Insight's Eye, their stats were laid bare: three men, each at the Exceptionally Strong tier. The woman was merely Normal.
Insignificant. Ants before him.
One of the men barked, his words clipped and hostile:
"Who are you? What do you want?"
Lucas's eyes narrowed.
Another survivor growled, raising his blade. "Get lost, or die here!"
Lucas muttered coldly, "Speak human."
"Kill him!"
With a roar, the nearest Neon survivor charged, katana raised high.
Lucas's lips curled into a grin. He didn't need weapons against foes this weak. But in the apocalypse, overconfidence killed faster than any zombie. Carelessness was death.
The riot shield snapped forward. The Tang blade hissed free.
Slash. Slash. Slash!
Like a phantom, Lucas ghosted past the three swordsmen in a blur.
The world froze.
Blood sprayed in arcs, painting the asphalt crimson. The three men gasped, horror etched on their faces as they realized their bodies no longer held together—torsos sliding away from hips, collapsing to the ground in twitching halves.
The looks of shock remained plastered on their faces even as life fled them.
The Neon Survivors had underestimated the wrong man.