This Thing Called Talent
It was a wholly different feeling.
Nothing had changed but the body itself, and yet the gulf was this wide? This went well beyond a simple shift in perspective.
My fundamental tactics had always been about reading an opponent's psychology. Find the blind spots, hunt the gaps, and strike.
Once you were in a real firefight, things got messier and more chaotic than that, but that was the gist of it. Reality, unlike a game, gave you only one life. Charge in indiscriminately and you'd be turned into a honeycomb before you knew it. That was why concealment and cover were the baseline, and from there you layered in every kind of movement you could manage.
But the "me" of now was something else.
Twenty-three kills, two deaths, thirteen assists.
Even if matchmaking had dumped me in the newbie bracket, that was not a KDA you stamped out easily. I had known Lee Harin was a talent freak, but I hadn't expected it to go this far.
As I'd said, my style was to hunt an opponent's openings—moments when they were reloading, or fussing over a wounded teammate, situations where they couldn't easily return fire. You could call it cowardly, but combat was not a game. In a kill-or-be-killed world, "cowardly" didn't apply. The idea that everyone followed the rules and fought fair was something that only held in sports.
Anyway, even if I was hunting openings, reading every enemy's situation in the middle of chaos was extraordinarily hard. So even when I went for a gap, unexpected fire would come screaming in. No matter how long I'd lived as a mercenary, dodging incoming bullets was beyond me.
Lee Harin, however, was different.
She analyzed every situation on instinct and made evasion possible. Physical limits meant a perfect dodge was still out of reach, but just being able to read incoming bullets was a fresh shock all by itself.
The enemy in front of me was laying down ferocious fire. I could punch through and close the distance, but then the sniper on the right, waiting for his chance, would put a hole through me the wind could whistle through.
The old me would have waited for allies to link up. But right now I had this strange certainty, so I decided to trust my instincts for once.
I laid down a burst of suppressive fire toward the enemy standing in front of me. Maybe he took it for a last desperate flail. The one who'd been spraying indiscriminately cut his fire and ducked behind a nearby car. In the same instant, the sniper's round came screaming at me with terrifying speed.
In any other circumstance I wouldn't even have known how I died—but now I could see it all with perfect clarity.
I dropped my upper body, slipping the sniper's bullet, and charged the enemy still hiding behind cover. The one behind the car wouldn't be able to read my rush. I swapped to my pistol on the fly and fired at the figure crouched there. Given a pistol's low damage, it didn't convert into a kill, but I succeeded in putting rounds through both arms and one leg.
Of course the sniper wasn't sitting idle. He'd already reloaded and was firing again. Even in Lee Harin's body, actually dodging bullets was a stretch. Speed was one thing, but slipping a round you couldn't predict was never easy. If you knew where they were aiming, though, it wasn't that hard.
Most snipers went for the head. It was the one-shot disable with the lowest chance of the target getting back up. That didn't change just because this was a game. If anything, being a game made people even more eager to land headshots.
I turned my head lightly and slipped the shot. Even with the considerable distance between us, I could almost feel the enemy player's panic from here. Couldn't blame him. Who in their right mind would expect someone to dodge a flying bullet? If I saw someone do that, I'd doubt my own eyes too.
I put a hole through the windpipe of the enemy who'd been struggling to pick up his gun with a ruined body, then looked toward the sniper. He hadn't even thought of relocating—he was still in the same spot, lining up another shot.
Distance or no distance, staying put after your position was blown... that was as good as asking to be killed. Especially since he was using a bolt-action rifle that needed a reload after every shot—exposing his position was fatal.
I charged the building the sniper was hiding in without delay. The way he scrambled to stop my approach looked painfully sluggish to me.
Bang—!
The sniper's rifle cracked as he finished lining up his shot. I veered slightly left as I advanced. The round tore past my waist.
Bolt-action sniper rifles boasted considerable accuracy. In other words, if I tried to win a shooting duel, my odds wouldn't even be one in ten thousand. That didn't mean there was no way. A bolt-action required you to manually work the bolt handle after every shot. Even if it only took a second or two, the sight picture you'd set after the first round would be thrown off, and you'd have to realign every time. In short, his reaction speed dropped significantly.
The enemy who'd already fired would need considerable time after reloading just to reacquire his aim. A golden opportunity for me to close the distance.
Bang—!
Reload complete, the sniper fired again. He'd aimed in a hurry, though, and the round punched into the floor instead of me. I poured on the speed and reached the building. He fired without even aiming, a last desperate flail, but an unaimed bullet wasn't going to fly true.
He finally grasped the situation and spun to run—but with no obstacles and that little distance, my shooting wasn't so sloppy I'd miss. A hole opened in his body so clean it felt refreshing, and he collapsed, strength gone.
There was no time to get drunk on the joy of a successful hunt. I threw myself onward in search of the next prey.
"Nngh~!"
Ah, that felt good. My body was so badly stiff I'd made a sound without meaning to. I'd been moving hard in the game, but my real body had been sitting still the whole time, so of course it would protest. Back in the day I'd once stayed motionless for over twenty hours on an operation. This beginner's body, though, wasn't up to that yet.
I'd been so absorbed I lost track of time. At first I'd been too busy adapting to the game systems. Even if it was realistic, it was still a game, so it took a little time to adjust. Of course, once I actually got in, what I needed to adapt to wasn't the game—it was this body.
A completely unfamiliar sensation. Every little action the enemy took jumped into my eyes. From the smallest movement I could picture what they were about to do. All I did was move the way instinct told me to.
I thought I understood now why people said effort could never catch talent. The world as seen through "my" eyes and the world as seen through Lee Harin's eyes were vastly different. It was a stark difference you only understood by living it.
"Um..."
What now, all of a sudden. I turned my head and found the part-timer who'd shown interest in me standing there. What was he going to say this time? As someone who'd just played a round, I didn't need any help.
"I really fell for you at first sight. Please teach me the game!"
What.
My brain wasn't processing what I'd just heard. No—I was doubting whether my ears had even heard it correctly.
"I—excuse me?"
"You're so good at the game... I wanted to learn a little. And honestly, you're my type. I'd like your number, too!"
Unlike before, he was so brazen I couldn't even think of what to say. More than that, I was stunned that he'd been able to spectate my gameplay. Looking around, you couldn't even tell what game someone inside a Connector was playing.
It wasn't a pleasant experience. Who would be happy that someone had been watching them without permission? And more than anything, even if I had a woman's body now, my mind hadn't become a woman's. I had no choice but to reject this confession that wasn't quite a confession.
"I'm sorry, but I can't give you my contact information."
"Come on, don't be like that. I'm a better guy than you'd think."
Among people who called themselves decent, genuinely decent people were few and far between.
The man's persistent courtship eventually sputtered out, after a bit of a scene, when another PC bang employee stepped in. A little late, but I was grateful. A moment more and I'd been ready to plant a fist straight into his face.
The thrill I'd felt playing Last of Quantum had long since drained away. All that remained now was a sour aftertaste. Best to stay away from PC bangs for a while.
...Maybe I should just buy a Connector.