Wasteland Dash
I felt the soft touch of a cozy blanket. What can I say? It felt great. I'd expected my body to ache from camping out, but this might've been the most comfortable sleep I'd had lately. Still, when did I even get carried in here? I was definitely waiting outside for my squadmates. Was it too chilly out there, so I gave up and came in? Or... no way... sleepwalking?!
It was a horrifying thought. I tried to sit up right away, only to flop back into the pillow, my butt wiggling awkwardly to boot. Believe me, I wanted to get up. But as soon as I threw off the blanket, a chill seeped in—what was I supposed to do about that?
"If you're awake, come on out. We need to talk."
How did she know? Did I make too much noise? No helping it. Yes, yes, coming right out. After all, I'm the 1st Squad's all-purpose secretary, Nera MK.3.
I sprang up, smoothed out my wrinkled clothes, and strode confidently out of the tent. Carlos was right there waiting for me. Whoa, why so close? It's intimidating.
"What is it?"
"We found traces of what might be a 5.0 stage cadaver last night. We'll track it down, so you stay here with the 3rd Squad and follow Captain Carmen's orders."
No, am I getting sidelined again? Aren't we supposed to be on the same team? It hurts my feelings when you guys go off without me.
"I've already informed her."
If I begged to come along, he'd probably say they didn't need someone who couldn't help. Aigoo, such is my lot in life. I should ask for a weapon when we get back to the sector. At this rate, I'll end up as the all-squad all-purpose secretary, not just 1st Squad. Hmm... but that might not be so bad...? The idol spreading hope throughout the sector, the ultimate helper! Just imagining it makes my heart race.
While I daydreamed of my bright future, the 1st Squad ditched me and headed off into the distance. My squadmates are like the wind—always brushing past me. Nice metaphor.
Bored already. Guess I'll go find the 3rd Squad.
By the time I reached the 3rd Squad, I was helping Carmen prepare warm food and refreshing drinks. What can I say? Doing this nonstop makes me feel like I've changed classes to chef. I should ask for a sashimi knife from supplies. A combat knife doesn't suit a cutie like me.
"Carlos told me. Don't worry—the 3rd Squad will keep you safe."
No, that's not why I'm here...
"I'm fine, really."
"Hehe, confident, aren't you? Still, better be careful. Unlike the monitored zones where we methodically clear cadavers, the fringes can bring trouble anytime."
Sheesh, everyone underestimates me. I know that better than anyone. Losing precious comrades is par for the course, and I've had to rewind time endlessly from total wipes. But that's not something to tell me—say it to that rookie over there, hiding his head like he's guilty.
He said he was fine yesterday, but now his hands are shaking. Hmm... or not? Let's reframe this. He's the guy who was hiding in the tent shadows despite being scared—brave in his own way. But hiding like that could get him snatched by a cadaver! For real! Linkers sometimes burrow up from underground for a critical hit at insane odds!
Yeah, I misjudged our 3rd Squad rookie. That pounding heart? Thrill of the hunt. He's an adrenaline junkie. I dub thee Joy Boy.
"Alright, everyone! Bellies full?"
"Of course, sis!!"
What, is it a guy thing? They eat so fast. Well then, time to hunt? With that amazing rookie (JOY BOY), I feel like we can do anything!
"While the 1st Squad handles the 'calamity-class', we'll sweep every cadaver around~!!"
"Woooooo!!!"
Hmm, tough to match that energy. Shouting's not my style—I'll just raise a hand. Whee~
With the cheers, everyone piled into the military truck. One driver, one monitor assisting. The other eight were all combat personnel, weapons at the ready the moment we rolled out. Ooh, this feels pro. Kinda giving me PTSD.
For the record, I stood in the center of the cargo bed. Yeah, emphasizing again: I was the heart of the team. Even if no one was looking, I was their idol. Too bad—no pom-poms, or I'd wave 'em for a 30% attack buff.
"Multiple cadavers ahead!!"
"Ready to fire!"
The truck sped along at an absurd pace for its size, closing the gap fast. The noise drew even more from afar.
"Open fire!"
⏤⏤⏤⏤⏤!!!
Gunfire should've roared, but all I heard was a piercing beeeep!—tinnitus. Right, the reports are insanely loud. Once forgot my earplug on one side; ears rang all next day. Thought distance would help, but no. And now it's everywhere, full auto—no breaks. Even I can't handle it.
I plugged my ears with fingers and looked around. Noise matches firepower, huh? Cadavers became hives before reaching us. Not regular bullets, either—bio-ammo, blending life's mysteries with human tech. One shot shears off chunks of flesh!
"Sharp eyes, little miss. You noticed?"
Not really noticed—just knew. But it's wild seeing it in 3D after flat screens.
"Impressive."
"Yep, not just physics—P.V. Virus power infused. Like Carlos's freezing rounds, but tech-assisted. No contest on power!"
The 3rd Squad roamed far, cadavers charging endlessly but posing no threat. Joy Boy's hands still shook, but no mistakes. Bumpy ride, constant gunfire, occasional cadaver shrieks. Hmm, getting boring. Action needs spice, not repetition—or it flops.
"Little miss looks bored. Want a light task~?"
Carmen raised a fist beside her head.
"Halt!"
The truck slowed and stopped. Cadavers, thinking we'd tired, charged fiercer—but died faster.
"Soon all nearby cadavers will be cleared. Pick a corpse you like and bring it here. Easy, right?"
Huh, not hard at all. "Light task" for real. Thought it'd be a military prank, like field leveling.
"I have plenty of ammo. Seven portions should do."
Mm, yeah—seven cadavers.
"Around forty should cover it?"
...?
"Go! Rookie, tag along with the inspector miss."
"Yes, sir!"
The dazed rookie bolted up and dashed off... Uh, okay? Maybe I thought too civilian. Forty might be a breeze for post-humans like us. Perfect chance to show my skills! Good thing I have detection radar. Fresh, sturdy corpses only—better ammo than usual. 30% attack buff, incoming!
Starting with that 4.2 stage over there.
I hopped over, hoisted the huge corpse, and returned. Carmen smiled, pulling out a big box.
"Put it in here."
I did—the lid sealed auto. Red glow, then wringing sounds from inside. Huh, instant processing?! Kinda gross it's a body, not a rag—but I've eaten 'em raw! Noise stopped, psshhh, lid opened. Neat rows of shiny bullets inside, gleaming. Touched one—red veins spread across.
Whoa! Like a living toy. Pretty accurate, actually.
"Cool, huh?"
Super cool!
"Amazing."
But kid stuff. Dragging corpses for ammo? My 1st Squad fights endless without it—including me!
While chatting, the rookie arrived with a 3.1 stage—decent pick. Box processed it into bullets. Magic toy box for now.
We repeated: fetch, watch processing. Supplies done quick.
How much slaughter followed resupply? The path behind us was littered with gore. Squadmates' clothes weren't rags—they were blood-soaked badges! Grinning innocently, drenched red.
Yes, break time. Truck did the work; they weren't tired. Guns were, though—weapons have limits. Even bio-engineered ones overheat. But self-repair with rest. Should I applaud the tech?
People fine, weapons not? Backward, no? I eyed the rookie's gun—barrel glowing hot, swollen like bruised. Ow, weapon pain? Bio-engineering = gun-shaped cadaver? Why's it trembling?
Curious, I checked the rookie. Volunteered for watch during break—why shake now? Bugs me; can't relax! You know when someone's anxiety rubs off? Everyone eyed him proudly, but he was oblivious to his tension. Adorable effort.
But does he know sentry duty's pointless? Monitors everywhere, scanners constant—eyes useless. Except... linkers. Only visual there.
Hmm... but if a linker hits, he's most vulnerable solo. Blind spots vanish grouped, but alone? Easy prey from behind. Look—ground cracking like moles. Heading his way?
No! My precious evaluation-booster—!!!
I dashed; all eyes on me. The bald cheering uncle, the monitor, Fan Club President Carmen. They checked my path.
"Damn, linker!"
Elites react fast. Wish they'd minded him more! Rookie turned at the screech—good, but check your feet! Claw about to bisect you from groin up!
Ground bulged; his balance crumbled. Realized too late. Shocked face, total collapse. Gone.
Claw split him—till I grabbed the ankle. Vision red. Last time I showed a bit; scanners missed, so fine. Yanked linker root-out, slammed it down. Not dead, so spun into rotating elbow! Speed is power! Low weight, max burst!
-Boom! Mole-cadaver shattered.
See? I can do it barehanded. Why the faces?
"Sis..."
Staring like I'm dying. So pitiful—have mercy. Why guns on me? We were cool!
"Little miss... how do you feel?"
Best ever! Hero time!
"Just normal... Urk."
Ah... bloodflame dragon raging inside. Veins not settling? Big trouble other way. Can't suppress or 19-year plan's toast. Hold!!
"So... you could do it. Virus reaction?"
"2.5 stage."
"Hmm... after that rampage?"
Ah! Worried I'll turn! Looks berserk, index stable—suspicious! What now? Can't fake finer yet! Said I minimized to 2.5!
Calm down. No relaxing—close eyes, sit slow, breathe deep. All focus suppress! Talk nonsense to deflect suspicion!
"Just a normal allergy."
"Little miss... this isn't a joke."
I'm not joking... Hing.