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After reviving JakeYardley, the two crouched down in the aftermath of their victory and started examining the loot boxes scattered across the floor.
"Let's check mine first," JakeYardley said, his cursor clicking on the box belonging to [WhichOnesJustice].
The interface popped up with a soft chime. Inventory in view.
Weapons and armor were visible immediately — the good stuff, right at the top. Items in the chest rig and backpack required search time, progress bars slowly filling as his character rifled through the dead player's belongings.
A Tier 3 vest sat in the equipment slot — durability at zero. Broken. Completely shredded. But even damaged, the heavy texture and reinforced plating made it clear how good the protection had been. Premium gear.
Clearly stripped off an Ahsarah Guard soldier. The guy had probably felt invincible when he found it. Hadn't even gotten to enjoy a few rounds of proper coverage before losing his life to BigFishGaming's Tiger Cannon.
"Tsk. Tier 3 armor." JakeYardley clicked his tongue, hands still moving through the loot. "Too bad it's broken."
He paused, a thought occurring to him.
"Actually, good thing it's broken."
His own starter Tier 1 vest had been completely shredded in the firefight. Zero durability. Might as well have been wearing tissue paper.
He dragged the damaged Tier 3 armor into his equipment slot without hesitation, watching it replace his useless starter gear.
"Even broken, I can still equip it," he explained to BigFishGaming, voice tinged with excitement at his own discovery. "Just costs some HAF to repair when I get back to base. Durability cap drops a bit permanently, sure, but it's way better than nothing. Tier 3 with reduced cap still beats Tier 1 at full."
He kept rummaging through the backpack and chest rig, fingers flying. Sparse pickings:
A single-slot [Dancing Lady (Blue)] worth only a few thousand. A bulky four-slot [Display Screen (Blue)] worth just over twenty thousand but taking up way too much space. Several other low-value greens. A UZI with almost no ammo left — basically a paperweight.
"This team really wasn't picky," JakeYardley muttered, shaking his head. "Just shoved everything into their bags like hoarders."
He tossed the junk back into the box, keeping only the damaged Tier 3 armor. No room for garbage.
"Probably came in desperate, grabbed whatever they saw without thinking about value-per-slot."
"We were the same earlier, honestly." A rueful laugh. "But now we've upgraded — can't settle for this stuff anymore. We have standards."
He remembered treating that display screen like treasure during their first run... until he found that gold blueprint and immediately discarded it without a second thought. Funny how fast your perspective changed.
"Lucky they fought another team first and got depleted," JakeYardley said, closing the box interface. A hint of lingering fear crept into his voice. "Otherwise, with that intact Tier 3 armor..."
"Tsk." He shuddered. "My Tier 1 bullets would've felt like a tickle. Dozen shots just to scratch the durability, and they'd drop us in two. We'd have been absolutely cooked."
BigFishGaming hummed calmly. Agreement.
He'd already speed-checked the other box while JakeYardley was talking. Similar situation. Nothing worth taking. Vendor trash all the way down.
They pushed through the door on the far side of the room. This should be where the previous firefight happened — the one they'd third-partied.
Sure enough. Four more boxes arranged in the corridor, scattered where the bodies had fallen. Probably the full enemy squad plus the earlier duo's teammates. A lot of death in a small space.
Empty, though. Already looted clean by the two players they'd killed. Those guys just hadn't expected more opportunists to show up behind them. The hunter becoming the hunted.
No point lingering in a room full of empty boxes. Quick check to confirm the corridor was safe. Then they found a secluded corner, backs to the wall, and hit Tab to open inventory.
Time to tally the gains from their "peacekeeping" efforts.
JakeYardley's inventory was packed. Every slot filled.
The [Design Blueprint (Gold)] gleamed at the top like a trophy, its golden icon practically glowing. Next to it: several purple-tier [Complete Horns] and [Electronic Jammers], valuable single-slot items. Plus various blues and medical supplies filling the remaining space.
His eyes drifted to the stats bar at the bottom of the screen, heart rate picking up:
[Current Game Earnings: 410,547 HAF]
A small [...] icon sat next to it. Clicking revealed:
[Current Game Loss: 3,784 HAF]
Mostly from Tier 1 ammo consumption and a few vehicle med kits. Pennies compared to the profits.
"Fish, how much did you pull?" JakeYardley could barely contain himself. His leg was bouncing under the desk.
BigFishGaming checked his own interface, taking a moment to do the math:
[Current Game Earnings: 420,480 HAF]
[Current Game Loss: 4,384 HAF]
"Around 420k."
His voice stayed calm. Professional, even. But a closer look would catch the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth. The way his eyes crinkled. The suppressed excitement threatening to break through.
Enormous gains versus minuscule losses. The rush of sudden, overwhelming wealth was real. Their hands were shaking slightly.
"Holy shit! Let's GO!" JakeYardley cheered, punching the air. "We came in with 36k combat readiness — and this single round netted us nearly 380k profit! More than ten times the investment!"
Their bags were full to bursting. Gunshots in the Admin Building had gone completely silent. Besides the two of them, only Ahsarah Guard NPCs remained in the area, patrolling empty hallways.
No point wandering around with full inventory like walking loot piñatas. If someone pushed into the building and ambushed them now? Disaster. All that profit, gone in a flash of muzzle fire.
"Extract?" BigFishGaming asked. The question was obvious. The answer was obvious.
"Extract."
They didn't know about the breaker mechanic that opened additional extraction points — that was advanced tech, information they hadn't discovered yet. So they went with the standard method.
The map showed their spawn location: "West Building Position 1" near the Administration West Wing. Left half of the map.
That meant their regular extraction points were arranged on the right half. Opposite side, maximum distance from spawn. Classic extraction shooter design.
Three options marked on the map, each with different tradeoffs:
Visitor Center — Regular Extraction Lower right corner of the map. Long journey through potentially hostile territory.
Dam Top — Regular Extraction Upper right. Required climbing a slope to reach. Weight limit: 50 kg.
Paid Extraction Blue mission icons scattered across the map. Complete a mission for 10-25k HAF reward. Then spend 10k HAF to extract immediately from anywhere. Or skip payment and use regular extraction like normal.
The two looked at their weight. Thirty-something kilograms each. Comfortable.
Then at the Dam Top's 50 kg limit. Plenty of room.
Then at the map distances. Visitor Center was far. Dam Top was close.
"Dam Top," BigFishGaming suggested, his voice decisive. "Visitor Center's too far. Too many things can go wrong on a long walk. Every corner is another chance to die."
"Paid extraction means doing a mission. Hassle. Risk. Takes time."
"Agreed! Dam Top's closer!" JakeYardley immediately pinged the location on their shared map, the marker blinking insistently.
They moved in tandem, maintaining proper spacing and vigilance. Weapons up, cameras scanning, footsteps quiet.
Quick navigation along the exterior of the Admin Building, using cover whenever possible. They passed several resource points — containers, lockboxes, spawn locations — but only glanced at them. No stopping to loot. No getting greedy.
Safe extraction was priority one. Every second they spent looting was a second they could get ambushed.
And fortunately, the path was clear.
Maybe most players had already been eliminated. Maybe the bots were clustered inside buildings, away from the exterior routes. Maybe they were just lucky.
Either way, they reached the Dam Top Extraction Point without incident — an area cordoned off with yellow warning tape and iron fencing, a helicopter silhouette painted on the ground.
They stepped inside the marked zone. Their characters' feet crossed the line.
[Extracting...]
A countdown bar appeared center screen.
10... 8...
Each second stretched out like taffy, feeling three times as long as it should. The area looked safe — no enemies visible, no footsteps audible — but they still nervously rotated their cameras, muzzles pointed at every possible angle of approach.
Getting ambushed at the last second would be devastating. All that loot. All that profit. Gone because someone caught them with their pants down at the extraction point.
5... 4...
JakeYardley's heart was pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears.
3... 2... 1...
[EXTRACTION SUCCESSFUL]
The screen flashed white. Settlement interface loaded with a triumphant musical sting.
JakeYardley and BigFishGaming's characters stood side by side in a victory pose. Behind them: icons showing their full loadouts, every slot packed with loot. Massive profit numbers splashed across the screen in glowing golden text.
"LET'S GO!" JakeYardley exhaled explosively, slapping his thigh hard enough to sting. Pure, unfiltered satisfaction spread across his face like sunrise. "WE DID IT!"
BigFishGaming relaxed too, tension draining from his shoulders like water. He leaned back in his gaming chair, the leather creaking, eyes still gleaming with that post-clutch high. That adrenaline afterglow.
He didn't say anything. Didn't need to. But his heart was just as stirred.
This experience — going from nothing to overflowing, profits built on tactical cooperation and calculated risk, surviving when others had fallen — this was the core magic of the game. This was what made extraction shooters special. The gambling. The tension. The payoff.
They were already itching for the next round.
"Again?" JakeYardley asked, finger hovering over the Ready button.
BigFishGaming grinned.
"Again."