Scrap Warrior: Duran Dos 23

Finding gaps in their defenses amid a deployment of troops and equipment on an entirely different scale from Barren Island was no easy task.

If those bastards had any learning ability, they wouldn't let our spec ops team slip through so easily. They'd learned their lesson from Barren Island, after all.

We observed their vulnerabilities for a good long while, but no real openings presented themselves. A look of dismay crept into Sergeant Helman's eyes. Sergeant Klein voiced what we were all thinking in his soft, measured tone.

"We're fucked, sir. What's the play, team leader?"

"Their security's tighter than a nun's asshole. We expected heavy, but this... this surpasses expectations."

Our ultimate goal was to infiltrate the enemy's Biche harvesting facility, carry out sabotage, and serve as one prong of the feint operation.

But the Kyrria forces' airtight vigilance—not letting so much as an ant through—had thrown our plan into disarray from the jump.

Charging headlong into an impregnable fortress would just get us picked off one by one. Even if we weren't the main force, failing to inflict meaningful damage would render the feint pointless.

"No gaps? Then we make one."

All eyes turned to me at my words. Sergeant Walters was watching with keen interest. Love that look. Keep staring, and we'll be fucking before long.

"You planning to draw their fire solo, like on Barren Island?"

Sergeant Helman grasped my intent immediately. In a situation this locked down, infiltrating meant someone had to sacrifice. And no one fit the bill better than me.

"That's right."

"But it's risky. Drawing their eyes means they'll tighten up even more. Fewer cracks for us to slip through."

"We exploit the split-second chaos before they lock it down completely. Use it to infiltrate, strike, and make a stylish exit."

This was classic high-risk, high-reward. The risk? Our lives. Helman knew it, falling silent in thought. But it didn't take long for him to concede there were no better options.

"Yeah, seems like that's our only play right now."

"That barbed-wire section to the right—only one guard post. If I pull their attention, you can slip in there."

We had Sergeant Walters, our tunnel rat expert. Helman nodded approval. Our choices were slim from the start.

"Alright, that's the plan. Objections?"

He scanned the team. None, naturally.

With the op greenlit on the fly, I peeled off from the group. Solo ops were my bread and butter.

I targeted the massive main gate. Looked like the route for heavy equipment—the barbed wire framed a door big enough for it.

Two sentries stood watch at the gate post, with more outposts nearby. Perfect setup to grab attention.

I leveled my N1 Gllico rifle at the guards. Darkness blanketed everything, but my night-attuned eyes locked on target precisely.

These sentries were sharper than Barren Island's—no dozing, no chit-chat, eyes scanning diligently.

Of course, without night-vision gear, naked-eye watch had limits. Sound detection at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠best.

But spotting a sniper dozens of meters out? Fat chance. The poor extra had no clue Death's scythe hung over his neck. That's why you die first on the battlefield.

I held my breath and squeezed the trigger. The gunshot shattered the eerie silence shrouding the dark.

Thud!

One sentry dropped. I saw the spotter's panicked face. He ducked into the post instinctively.

Pity the N1 Gllico lacked punch to pierce concrete outposts. Even a sniper rifle might struggle.

That's where grenades shine. They hadn't pinned my position yet. I hurled one hard at the post.

(Grenade!)

BOOM!

The grenade exploded louder than gunfire right in the post. The sentry I'd sniped and his spotter flew into the air with the blast. Alarms spread—the Kyrria troops scrambled.

(Ambush! Eyes sharp! Enemy ambush!)

Chaos from the sudden strike. Our golden window. Time to infiltrate.

Darkness Radar pinged the team's position. They were breaching the wire fast. So far, by the book.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The Kyrria ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠forces, zeroing my rough location, opened suppressive fire. Quick reaction—proof they were on high alert.

I stayed cool under their barrage, firing methodically. Ammo's precious; no spray-and-pray. Each shot deliberate, one-hit kills.

Skills leveling up steadily? Music to my ears. I kept their eyes glued until the team infiltrated.

Realizing we were short-handed, the Kyrria troops escalated beyond fire—dispatching search parties beyond the wire. They weren't skimping on manpower to crush the raiders.

(Enemy's platoon-sized at most! Comb the area and wipe 'em out!)

"Woof! Woof! Woof!"

Even war dogs. The search force was company-strength.

Should've prepped booby traps. Pity. But killing them sans traps? Easy. Just annoying.

Keep coming at me like that? You're doing me a favor.

I calmly picked off the searching Kyrria troops in the dark. Those tracking by gunfire despaired as comrades dropped per step, scattering.

Me with perfect Darkness Radar intel vs. them fumbling by moonlight and sound? No contest from the start. Prioritized the dogs as real threats.

While I played one-sided hide-and-seek, the team slipped into the facility unscathed.

Time for me to join the party.

A guy like me doesn't need a mouse hole. I strode right through the main gate.

(Enemy incoming! Shit! One guy! Just one!)

(Crazy bastard!? Open fire!)

Their wild bullet storm? Not a threat. I dropped the two gate guards and sauntered in.

Inside teemed with hulking machinery. Time for some noisy fun.

*-*-*

My goal: snag Biche. Only way out of this hellhole. Set a checkpoint, and I could return anytime.

Drawing eyes, I bolted for the Biche production site. Easy to spot—the massive drilling rigs stood out, like real-world oil derricks.

"Bingo. That's the spot."

Didn't notice, but my feet flew. Desperate to escape this war-torn shitshow ASAP.

Fuck, though—back to reality means reenlisting. Life's endless grind.

Kyrria troops swarmed chaotically, hunting the spec ops intruders. But the bedlam favored me. I closed on the Biche rigs amid the frenzy.

"So this is where they harvest Biche?"

Approaching, a pungent stench assaulted my nose. The rigs hummed with heat. Running 24/7 to churn out war fuel.

Workers in hard hats manned the machines diligently. I granted them eternal unpaid leave.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

(Argh! Enemy!)

Construction grunts unarmed. Guards sparse. Easy pickings.

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

After sweeping the yard, I headed for the towering rig arm.

Inside, white raw Biche oozed like an open faucet, feeding pipes to other processes.

"Jackpot—raw Biche. Fuck this place, it's over."

I scooped some into a small beaker. A notification popped up.

'Stranger's World' quest done. Rewards sweeter than expected. S-Grade Random Item Coupon and Stone of Origin caught my eye.

Stone of Origin—key for ability recombination, right?

I checked the item I'd snagged before.

Core material for ability recomb secured. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Huge win.

Problem's the 10k credits.

Credits from uploading porn to Credit.com periodically. But maintaining Coolong Territory in Solari World eats plenty.

Coolong's my mini-kingdom. Rule like a god: bed beauties, lavish castle, dancer shows. No skimping on my realm.

Need a big credit grind. S-ability's ace, but no urgent need—play it cool.

Time's on my side. Knock out tasks, credits'll pile. Urgency hits? Handle then. Unix Cube lets me hop worlds.

Quest wrapped—I returned to reality. Vision blurred wildly.

"Phew. What a fucking marathon."

Back still slick with cold sweat. But home safe. Reality.