Deployment (3)
SteelRain? What the fuck is that guy?
The soldiers, tracing the gunfire, looked up toward the top—but squinted against the blinding sunlight.
At the pinnacle of the comms tower, someone had mounted a heavy machine gun and was unleashing hell in every direction, east, west, south, north.
After dealing with ability users, these mutants feel like sitting ducks.
Cheol-woo let out a long breath, shaking out his hands gripping the machine gun. Can I finally relax a bit?
Ability users dodging in erratic zigzags were a whole different league from these brainless mutants charging straight ahead.
Judging by their clumsy movements, he figured he could snipe them even from afar. Scanning for the spot with the clearest line of sight led him straight here to the comms tower.
But with mutants swarming in the tens of thousands, nearly a hundred already cresting the barricades, climbing up with a sniper rifle would've meant swapping mags all day while watching the soldiers get torn apart.
Screw it—why not just snipe with the machine gun? So he'd told his sister to haul up the M2 and ammo belts. Thanks to that, he'd pulled off the shot right on time.
'Here they come again.'
Tututu— Cheol-woo's thumb danced like Morse code, the M2's barrel spitting .50 cal rounds in bursts.
Mutants vaulting the wall and hanging in mid-air—perverbek—their heads punched through, plummeting to the ground.
Spotting more cresting the opposite wall, he whipped the barrel around—tututu—and hosed them down.
Ah—fuck— In that instant, mutants scaling the refugee camp wall vanished behind the tents, out of his sight in a flash.
Can't shoot 'em like this. As he fidgeted with the trigger in frustration, crimson blood sprayed across the tent—whoosh—and out stepped NewTontonMan, flicking blood from her longsword, waving toward him.
Not long after, boom-boom—artillery thundered from the harbor, and five seconds later, shells airbursted beyond the barricade, shredding the mutant horde.
Relentless barrages shook the earth, blanketing the world in dust clouds.
When the haze cleared, the street was a butcher's nightmare—tens of thousands of mutants reduced to mangled organic waste in seconds.
Think we're good for now? Cheol-woo scanned the perimeter from the tower top for a good while before something odd caught his eye.
A faint glint from the woods—flash—followed by rustling bushes shaking violently.
A person? Mutants would've charged blindly; they didn't run like that.
Cheol-woo descended the ladder on trembling legs. He'd have his sister bring the machine gun down later.
"Haa. How the hell did you hold them off without artillery till now?"
"Mutants swarmed now and then, but nothing like this."
"So we can assume we've wiped out the locals?"
"LA's got nearly four million people. A quarter hooked on the blue drug—that's about a million around here. And that's just local; statewide, it's way more."
"···."
A sigh escaped the expeditionary force commander. They'd braced for federal army clashes, but it looked like the real op was endless mutant defense.
No wonder the U.S. civil war was dragging into its second month with zero progress.
As the commander stared blankly in despair, David Min cut in.
"Commander."
"Ah, good work. That sniping saved our asses."
"Yeah, whatever. Spotted someone fleeing into the woods—gonna chase 'em down."
"Too dangerous. Could be a trap."
"I know."
"Then you especially shouldn't go. Can't spare my men."
"Didn't ask permission. Not borrowing your guys either. Just FYI."
"···."
Soon, heavy thuds—thump-thump—as NewTontonMan fell in beside Cheol-woo, leaving the commander dumbfounded.
Heading out alone beyond the base, where mutants and hostiles lurked? Just the two of them, no squad?
Absurd, but he had no grounds or authority to stop them—just watch.
"Don't go too deep into the woods."
"···."
"Guerrilla ambushes are thick there."
"Noted."
Acknowledging Colonel Douglas's warning with a nod, Cheol-woo quickened his pace.
Compared to the fretting commander, he seemed utterly relaxed—like letting two elites scout solo was no big deal.
Knows ability users prefer small elite teams over herds.Smart guy for a commander—lucky break.
Cheol-woo smirked in satisfaction as he vaulted the barricade.
"What'd you see?"
"A person."
"What? Bound to be some around—enemy's got 3,000. But chasing outright? Too risky, no?"
"Gotta risk it now. Mutants swarming everywhere, yet one gets this close? Means one of two things: immune to mutants 'cause it's a parasitic creature, or confident enough to punch through a horde solo. Either way, high chance it's enemy brass. Capture 'em, we get intel."
"Ooh···."
Yuri nodded, half-getting it but impressed anyway. She liked the aggression—unlike defense, where everyone hunkered and shot while she twiddled thumbs. Melee thrived on closing distance proactively, not waiting.
'Deliberately masking tracks while fleeing. No civilian.'
At the spot he'd spotted the figure, Cheol-woo knelt, probing the ground. No footprints, crushed grass, broken branches—flawless.
Except the scent. Human sweat from pores lingered thick, betraying the trail.
'Sweatier than Sis. Not an ability user, then.'
An ability user with enhanced smell would've masked it—no such effort here.
Civilian, parasite, or ability user without his nose acuity. Less chance of a powerhouse threat.
"Hold up."
"What? What's wrong?"
A sudden unease hit; Cheol-woo froze. Hackles rising, like eyes on his back.
If the scent wasn't a slip...
'Lured in!?'
As Cheol-woo ducked behind Yuri—ratatata—muzzle flashes erupted from the brush, bullets raining down.
Pababak—dull thunks as rounds slammed into NewTontonMan's armor.
Thick foliage hid everything—how'd they pinpoint them?
Thermal imaging. Answer clicked in Cheol-woo's head.
"Sis. Hold your breath."
"Got it."
Paak—his grenade burst mid-air, spewing white phosphorus smoke.
Acrid fog blanketed wide in seconds. Gunfire halted; Cheol-woo tapped Yuri's shoulder.
No words needed—she charged through the smoke, him tight on her heels.
Cough-cough—a hack from ahead, and Cheol-woo's HK417 roared.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Solid hits, but no telltale buzz—no kill.
Body armor? Bursting through the smoke, he saw foes dragging their fallen comrade's vest.
Ratatata—their wild sprays blocked entirely behind NewTontonMan as he calmly returned fire.
Heads snapped toward his precise headshots; spooked, they ditched the body and fled downhill on monowheels.
"Chase?"
"Too fast. One POW's enough."
"Fine."
Five enemies total—top gear, slick moves. No ability users, yet threatening. Special forces?
To pry more intel, Cheol-woo approached the prone, hacking soldier.
"Gaaah!"
"Nope."
As the guy rolled and yanked a grenade, Cheol-woo stabbed the fuze with his dagger, severing it.
The soldier screamed bloody murder, knife buried in his hand. Something familiar about that uniform...
"I surrender. Spare my man's life."
"···!"
Snap—a gilliesuit-clad soldier emerged from leaves. Rifle trained, he stood stock-still, hands sky-high.
Soon, the monowheel escapees crested back up, hands raised, in a line.
"Thought you were cutting tail and running. Why surrender now?"
"Realized you're not the enemy."
"You know me?"
"Yeah. We're old pals."
"Who the hell are you?"
"Houndmaster··· Ring any bells?"
Shhrrk—he shed the gilliesuit, revealing a familiar helmet.
Then it hit—awkward smirks crept over Cheol-woo and Yuri's faces.
Not exactly a fond memory.