Assault on the Horizon Ho

"Is this the last one?"

"Looks like it. Grab there. Heave—"

"Urk, this thing's insanely heavy."

Inside the deep red container sat several crates. Each one was wrapped in thick packaging—clearly special cargo.

The final piece was the massive black box I was hauling, about the size of a person. I moved it into place.

With everything loaded into the container, we leaned against the wall for a moment to catch our breath.

"Hoo... This job is a total pain in the ass. What kinda valuables are they shipping by sea? Just take a plane."

My coworker and senior at the security firm, Nelson, grumbled as we hauled the cargo together.

"Guess ships are cheaper. Trying to cut costs, probably."

"You think someone hauling valuables like this can't afford air freight? Nah, they're just weirdos."

"Haha."

"Why the hell are we loading cargo anyway? We're security, not laborers."

I gave Nelson a vague reply and turned my head, gazing into empty space.

Not literally empty space, of course—just something special visible only to my eyes.

A translucent blue interface with crisp white text displaying my profile. Straight out of a comic book—a status window.

It showed my basic info, abilities, and traits. Name, age, appearance—all exactly matching my real self.

Maybe not "possession," then—more like "transmigration"? Unfortunately, no ability to scan others for their info.

About a year had passed since the transmigration. Not a long time, but so much had happened that my memories of the old world were fading.

No desire to go back, though. This world was better in every way.

Just wish I'd bookmarked some guides beforehand—life would've been way easier.

Too late for that now.

-Whooo.

A distant horn blared. Signal that the ship was about to depart.

These days, I worked for a security firm contracted to a shipping company, serving as armed guard on this merchant vessel.

The ship had set off from the Neocraft Federation—the nation where I'd awakened—bound for the distant Novapolis across the sea.

"Time to shove off. Let's head back."

"Yeah. Hope we don't get caught slacking."

"Heh, whatever."

As we turned to leave the container—

-■■■■■

"?"

Suddenly, a strange energy prickled at my back.

Subtly different from usual. Like a caress on the skin mixed with sharp stabs—an eerie sensation.

I paused and scanned the surroundings. Nelson asked,

"What? Something up?"

"Hold on a sec."

Maybe just my imagination? But no—my ability was Super Senses. Heightened perception beyond human limits.

If it was picking something up, it wasn't nothing.

"Gonna check it out quick."

"Yeah, alright. I'll head out first."

I moved swiftly toward the source.

"......"

Just a pile of cargo. The stuff I'd loaded earlier.

Big, thickly packaged crates—but that was it.

I inspected them closely, pried at them, even checked the container walls.

"...Really just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my imagination?"

No clues. My tension deflated.

Slept poorly last night—maybe that was it?

Super Senses caught even the faintest vibes, but it wasn't infallible. False positives happened.

Likely this time too.

"......"

I stared at the cargo a moment longer, then turned and headed out.

A week passed.

I thrust my left fist forward.

Quickly retracted, then right hand.

—Whoosh!

Timing it perfectly, I leaned back, head tilting. Left hand sweeping from the side.

Step forward, right jab, slip in sideways, uppercut.

Done.

Relaxed my fist and shook out my hands.

Shadowboxing finished, I turned around.

-Beep beep.

A shrill alarm pierced from the clock by my bed.

Checked the hands: already 5 a.m.

"Time to get ready."

Glanced out the window. Still dim and dark outside.

Shift change soon.

Two more guards aboard besides me and Nelson. They handled nights; we took days.

A week since departure. All peaceful so far.

Why "so far"? Because this world's oceans had real-life sea monsters like krakens.

Even Somalia's waters would seem a hundred times calmer.

That's why most ships here packed firepower rivaling warships, plus cloaking tech.

This one too, naturally.

Of course, superhumans existed who could toss a ship like a toy or cleave it in half. But hey, call it an act of God.

Our ship wasn't hauling anything special beyond those specially secured crates, so low odds of attack.

I washed up and poured hot water into an instant ramen cup. Delicious aroma filled the room.

'Ramen at sea hits different. Best stuff ever.'

Slurped down every drop, finished eating, and geared up.

Uniform on, grabbed my assault rifle, knife, radio—then stepped out.

Or tried to.

'Almost forgot this.'

Rushed back in for my oddly designed pistol.

Futuristic, with green light tracing its parts.

Neocraft Federation special for civilians against superhumans. Used ultrasound to stun senses momentarily.

Disable perception and powers, then finish with bullets. Manual said it worked unless they had body reinforcement.

Short range was the issue—pistol made it worse.

Still, reassuring.

Holstered the pistol, shouldered the rifle, and exited.

A familiar face popped from the next cabin.

"You're up. How do you always beat me awake? I got up super early today."

"Let's move."

Nelson and I headed to our patrol zone.

"Ah, ah. This is Team A. Team B, respond. Over."

Nelson keyed the radio for the night shift duo. His usual blank expression.

No change if they replied.

"......"

"......"

Dead silence. Nothing from the radio.

"Team B? Team B? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠What's with this? Broken?"

A chill crawled up my neck.

"Something happened? Better check quick."

"...Yeah. Let's go."

We picked up the pace, words sparse.

Footsteps echoed in the empty corridors as we crossed the decks.

'...Ship's too quiet.'

No reason for total silence at dawn. Merchant ships ran 24/7.

Felt like all crew vanished. No signs of life.

Bad vibes today—luck's gone south.

Racing to the deck, my enhanced smell caught a fishy stench.

Not sea salt. Thick, metallic—blood.

"……."

Nelson clammed up too, sensing trouble.

We headed sternward instinctively.

"No way..."

Then the scene hit us.

Two bodies on deck. Team B. Heads pierced clean through, blood pooled black and sticky.

"Fuck..."

Nelson ground his teeth.

I scanned deck and hull below. That faint nagging feeling earlier—the ship wasn't moving forward.

"......"

After a beat, I said,

"No signs of boarding around the hull. No stops, ship was fine last night. Problem was inside from the start."

"...Crew did this?"

"Seems like."

"Hoo... Crazy bastards. Villains infiltrated? We're screwed then..."

Then two figures in the deck's center caught my eye.

Middle-aged man in a white cap with a brim. Thirties guy in crew uniform holding a rifle.

'Captain? Who's the other?'

Rifle guy glanced around, pulled a small device from his pocket, bent down like installing something.

'That guy's the killer? Captain a hostage? Accomplice?'

Moments later, air ripped in the center—black circle forming.

"What the hell is that…?"

Nelson's breath quickened.

The black circle expanded, space tearing.

I knew what it was.

'Portal.'

Rumor-only teleportation tool.

"Quick, over here!"

Pulled Nelson behind cover, peeked out at the portal.

-Clank, clank.

A hulking man emerged. Humanoid, but wrong. Silver body fused metal and machine.

His prosthetic right arm etched with a black snake emblem.

Cyborg brute scanned around.

"This is it. Horizon Ho."

Then second, third, fourth. Armed troops poured out.

Six total. Assault rifles all around—one even had an energy weapon.

"Shit... That many..."

"Cargo's the target, probably."

A week ago, in the container—my senses tingling. Packaging had been excessive.

In this world? Who knew what insane shit was inside.

'...My mistake. Should've investigated when ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Super Senses reacted.'

That red container. Only spot on ship worth their raid. Senses confirmed it.

Rifle crewman joined them. Probably the shooter.

They were behind this.

"...Seongjin. What now? Bail?"

"Lifeboats on both sides, but dropping 'em makes us sitting ducks. Too far anyway. Gotta hit midship."

This was a massive container ship. Hundreds of meters long, dozens wide.

We were at the stern. Too far to walk.

"Still, let's scout—"

A voice from afar.

"Destroy the lifeboats first. Can't let rats slip out."

They split, gunfire—then splashes.

"......"

"...Fuck..."

The cyborg boss—presumed leader—addressed them.

"Search for the objective! Radio on sight. Secure it, blow the ship, and evac! 4, 5, 6, 7—deck sweep! 2, 3—with me! Captain. Lead on."

He followed the captain downstairs. Group split.

"..."

I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mulled it over.

Early morning, still dim. Jumping overboard? Suicide. Open ocean, no land.

Waiting? No—they'd bomb the ship post-objective.

"...Wheelhouse."

"Huh?"

Ships had emergency beacons for distress. This one too.

"To the wheelhouse. Send the signal."

"That's up front? We're dead aft. Run into 'em?"

"Then we kill 'em."

"What?"

I eyed the deck. Portal long closed. No reinforcements likely.

Sensing their auras: cyborg aside, others weak. No superhumans.

Doable.

"Senior. Help me out. Kill the deck guys first, then wheelhouse. Signal from there."

"......"

Nelson bowed his head. Hands shaking visibly.

Then he looked up, resolved.

"Hoo... Damn it, fine. How?"

"Good call. Follow me."

Moving to container stacks, I planned.

They hadn't spotted us. Key advantage.

Four on deck, minus basement group.

No gunshots—too noisy, they'd hear. Silent kills.

They're split-searching, don't know objective spot exactly. Exploit that.

And...

"Goddamn it. Quitting this shit the second we're back...!"

Nelson's role would be crucial.