Blizzard Execution
The HR manager at Olivia Bio Group scowled at the notification popping up below his monitor. The request had been posted less than a day ago, and someone had already snatched it up. Normally, it took time for verification procedures and distribution through intermediaries before any responses came in. This was unusually fast.
What a hot-headed mercenary, he thought.
He opened the notification and tilted his head at the callsign of the mercenary who had accepted the job. "Rabe? I've heard that name somewhere before."
As someone in HR, he was privy to all sorts of rumors floating around about people. He recalled the whispers circulating among those working under the company's upper echelons. Sometimes, he'd walk into his boss's office to find them clutching their heads in agony, or hurling office supplies, or spewing curses. If the boss had any self-control, you'd just get a barked order to get out. But if they were truly unhinged with rage, the name "Rabe" would suddenly slip from their lips.
From what I've heard, it's some anti-corporate zealot digging up every dirty secret the company has—like a messiah for the rebels.
But it was just a rumor. No single person could pull off something like that. The consensus was that it was a fabricated ghost story cooked up by anti-corporate propaganda.
"Hmm, Rabe..."
Was this mercenary connected to someone high up in the company? Maybe they'd heard the whispers about this shadowy "Rabe" and borrowed the callsign. He let out a chuckle at how this "Rabe" was nothing like the rumors—far from exposing corporate skeletons, they were just wagging their tail like a loyal dog.
Rumors are just rumors, he thought. He picked up the phone, switched to the internal line, and dialed intelligence.
"Intelligence? Whip up a usable ops plan within two days. Yeah, anything'll do. Why so fast? Who knows—mercenary seems impatient."
Personal opinions aside, work was work now that the job was accepted. He dumped the full briefing on intelligence and returned to his tasks.
As I headed to the ops zone, a detailed briefing video arrived from Olivia Bio Group. I opened it and watched blankly.
The monitor went dark with a click. My reflection stared back—face devoid of even a smirk.
This is basically picking a fight with me, right?
To them, it was probably just casual self-promotion, but from this side, the arrogance pierced the heavens. Even the intermediary delivering the briefing seemed infected by it. At least it wasn't official company policy dictating that tone.
I sighed inwardly at the absurd farce and climbed out of the Nexus. The arid mobile hangar greeted me. The control panel showed outside temps at minus 30 degrees Celsius. Relentless blizzard conditions.
About five hours until arrival at the ops zone.
By then, it'll be right around evening.
A snowy night with visibility slashed to nothing. Perfect for an assassination. Sure, flattening the area with a house-sized Nexus wasn't exactly "subtle," but without witnesses, it counted as one.
I wriggled my fingers and toes in anticipation of the rare sortie, a pleasant smile creeping onto my face.
By the time the snow-laden clouds turned navy, I reached the ops zone. Not far off, a winding road snaked along the mountainside. I claimed a high point overlooking the entire path and waited.
How long had it been?
Flicker—
A white beam pierced the storm from beyond the ridge. Target approaching.
Static crackle— Enemy comms jammed.
I ignited boosters and launched skyward. Switched to cruise mode, plowing through the blizzard straight ahead. Icy flakes stung the Nexus.
Beep, beep! Sensors picked up missiles from the anti-airs—about 20, fired in rapid rifle-like bursts. Red glows flickered through the gray blizzard wall.
Foolish.
Pointless against a Nexus. They did some damage, but easy to dodge. I cruised toward the lights, burst-turning. A dozen missiles whistled past into empty sky.
As their shouts and screams cluttered the channel—
Boom-crash!
I pierced the blizzard-shortened lock-on range and rained missiles on them. Ear-piercing noise echoed briefly, then silence.
Everyone passing through here turned to ash in an instant.
Job done.
Not challenging at all. Guilt over killing? Nah. These weren't saints, and in this world, I'd seen enough corpses. Judging lives and deaths by my standards felt too arbitrary anyway. Strictly speaking, not even my first kill. Streets don't let you stay bloodless.
I stood still in the blizzard, scanning for signals. None. Time to boost out—
A voice tore through the comms. I flinched, radar pinging a new signal. A Nexus sliced the sky toward me.
Nexus confirmed—probably Guillaume's guard. Late arrival meant they got tied up and missed the timing. I eyed it: clumsy movements.
Not even a proper Nexus.
No neural port—just a civilian fumbling manual controls. I watched briefly, then flew to meet it head-on.
Before they could react—
Thud! Hand cannon barrage, missile volley. Pathetic reaction speed. By the time their sluggish turn swept the viewport, I'd circled and rammed.
Thump!
Noise-laced scream over comms.
More hand cannon fire. Missiles detonating. Red flames erupted nonstop; their Nexus lurched side to side, forward and back, up and down.
Not even a fight. Just a simple task.
Disappointing.
15 seconds later, their Nexus was scrap, power lost, plummeting to the ground.
Crash!!
Final missile hit, total explosion. Flames flickered faintly in the blizzard.
Who wants to die?
I watched, then headed back to the hangar.