Battle Tank Precision
Kim Seo-jun reset all his plans the instant he got the situation report from Private Park Bo-seop.
Even hearing that Major Lee Hye-na was tangling with an infected psyker, he'd thought evacuate no matter what.
“A Block Suit?”
“Y-Yes? Ah, yes, that's what they say!”
But the moment he heard the infected psyker that had shown up was wearing a Block Suit, his calculations flipped.
Kim Seo-jun knew the carnage a psyker agent in a Block Suit unleashed on the battlefield—and just how insane it was.
A Block Suit's an Agent Suit that tosses mobility to the dogs.
And he knew exactly what they'd sacrificed for that ludicrous performance.
Evacuation's no issue.
From there, Kim Seo-jun stopped agonizing over running off with the survivors.
Instead, he weighed two options.
If we can just nab it.
Capture it—or not.
We defend HQ and score rewards.
At that point, Kim Seo-jun spoke up.
“Name and rank?”
Sergeant Viktor Lewandowski stared at him, slack-jawed.
Kim Seo-jun skipped the long explanation.
Thwack!
“Gurk!”
He gave the sergeant's shin a light tap, twisting the man's face in pain.
“State your name and rank.”
“S-Sergeant.”
Talk but don't listen? Joint-lock. A space-age classic that still worked.
Normally, of course, he wouldn't.
Hell, Kim Seo-jun was a sergeant—no NCO outranked him.
But right now? Rank didn't matter.
And militarily? He'd racked up laughably many violations already—and planned more.
“V-Viktor Lewandowski, Sergeant.”
Effective as hell. Kim Seo-jun bowed his head.
“Sorry for the sudden violence. Situation's critical, so I applied force.”
“N-No, it's fine.”
Sergeant Viktor Lewandowski nodded stiffly at the apology.
To him, Kim Seo-jun asked:
“Where are the Battle Tanks?”
“Pardon?”
No answer. Kim Seo-jun lifted his foot a hair.
At the joint-lock vibe, the sergeant blurted:
“Ah, I know.”
Moments later, Kim Seo-jun reached the Polish HQ warehouse storing the Battle Tanks.
“Private Park Bo-seop, you're up.”
“......I'll give it a shot.”
With Private Park Bo-seop.
Rumble rumble rumble!
Soon after, the Battle Tank rolled out.
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13.
When the space age dawned and war with the Mogs erupted, humanity's first development rush was tanks.
No debate.
“Tanks are human history! Space age changes jack!”
No combat weapon was more ingrained in humanity.
Space tanks emerged, iterated through failures and tweaks, until optimized for space Mog-slaying.
Then they got named Battle Tanks.
Too many differences from regular tanks for any other label.
Mog-fighting, planet-hopping demanded insane mobility over standard tanks.
Hordes meant not just shells—tons of high-tech armaments.
Summary: better mobility, overwhelming firepower, top durability, lightweight. Hear that? Most ask:
“Just a super tank? Why Battle Tank?”
Simple answer.
“What? Price in another dimension?”
Supercar vs. F1—not same class. Battle Tanks? Priced like starships.
Even big nations struggled for numbers.
Dev costs huge; tech hyper-secret.
Per-country ops wildly different.
“Ignition!”
Whirr!
“Oh! Lit up!”
Why a Korean Space Marine Private Park Bo-seop could drive Poland's? Simple.
“Lucky—Poland imports our Battle Tanks.”
Prime arms partner, heavy Korean buyer.
Korea's Black Panther series? Space-respected excellence.
“Yeah, damn lucky meeting you out here, Private Park Bo-seop.”
“Huh?”
“Didn't know you tanked too.”
Still, driver on Battle Tank? Absurd.
“Ah, Battle Tank license bumps base pay big, so I studied.”
Like car license chat—but no.
Manuals brutal; views alien.
Car? One screen. Tank? Five.
No simple wheel-gas-brake. Feel worlds off.
Pay lured masses; basic drive pass? 1/100 lucky.
“But beginner driver, sir. Zero combat.”
Real ops? Licensing joke.
Kim Seo-jun? Unworried.
“I trust you, Private Park Bo-seop.”
His driving crushed norms.
“Weapons though—can you handle 'em, sir?”
Now him the issue.
“No shade, Sergeant Kim, but... y'know...”
Tank weapons? Specialist training mostly.
“Not Space Marine rifles.”
Just trigger-pull.
“Don't sweat. Got experience.”
“Ah!”
Not "never tried, let's wing it."
Infected psyker? Risky as hell.
Tanks beastly—but psykers tricky.
No fair slugfest; they dodge, mine perimeters.
No initial tank plan—but Block Suit? Viable.
Plus weapons confidence.
“Awesome! Sergeant Kim on guns! How?”
“Not by choice. Tankers all dead, Mogs mountain-high behind, ammo dry—you learn.”
“Huh?”
“Don't? Die.”
Life-bought confidence.
Scraped by, re-enlist? I'm nuts too.
No more waffling.
No time.
Lee Hye-na battling for them now.
“Rolling out.”
“Yes, sir!”
Private Park gunned for battlefield; Kim Seo-jun claimed gunner seat—main cannon aimer.
Linked his Battle Suit helmet to tank feed.
Outside view bloomed.
“Clear.”
Pristine vista.
Grabbed F1-style controller.
Then.
Huh?
Clean world... gained sight.
Red light?
One crimson line.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
14.
“Support incoming. Hold just a bit longer!”
Kim Seo-jun broadcast near the military truck—no "bail now, support? Nuts?" in Major Lee Hye-na's head.
Certainty.
Seo-jun delivers, any crunch.
Without him? No survival here.
Hardest fighter to live.
Core faith: his survival fixation.
Hold.
Two focuses.
Wipe all but that one.
Infected Space Marines max cull!
Mogdog-level for her.
Rat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat!
Guns? Sure. But Agent Suit her.
Guns? Meh power, meh effect.
Key flaw.
Click!
Ammo burns fast.
Grrr-rrr!
Normal Marines paced; infected? Rage-fogged judgment.
No ammo math.
Grr! Grr!
Reloads sloppy.
Crunch!
She struck—head bisected.
Rooooar!
Block Suit infected psyker? Couldn't track her speed.
Thus.
Crunch!
Cleared.
Pre-Seo-jun: all infected bar psyker down.
Psyker 1v1.
Grrrrr!
Infected psyker spewed wordless fury at her.
Bad optics.
Seemed psyker cornered.
Reverse: she cornered.
How to drop it?
Her logic? No path.
Then.
Screeeeeeee!
Eerie sky-wail; eyes sharpened.
“Fuck.”
Cursed on reflex, skyward gaze. Spotted dot.
Screeeee!
One-eyed Cyclops sonic-bursting.
Meant: Mog horde inbound!
“Sergeant Kim Seo-jun!”
Desperate yell.
“Cyclops! We gotta evac!”
Speaker snap-back.
“Support set. Infected psyker toast.”
“Sergeant Kim!”
“No time!”
Solid call.
Block Suit crack? Needs apocalypse fire.
Psyker no fool—bolts at heavy barrage.
Slow psyker-scale; Marine-outpaces.
“Battle Tank miss? Useless...!”
BOOM!
Thunderclap; mega-blast her front.
Tank shell Block Suit kiss.
Direct hit?
Shock; infected raged.
ROOOAR!
Bolted.
Shockingly solid.
Shell trashed outer plate only; internals shock-soaked firm.
Insane!
Knew tough—but shell-tank? Face iced.
“Sergeant Kim! Hit! But barely scratched. Four more minimum for damage!”
Report.
“Run now!”
Undeniable logic; Seo-jun:
“Major Lee Hye-na—withdraw!”
“Roger!”
Retreat order—bolted blind.
Then heard.
BOOM!
Eh?
Repeat blasts.
KABOOM!
Massive shocks.
What?
BOOM!
Stunned—third shell; turned, saw.
KABOOM!
Third perfectly nailed sprinting infected psyker.
Three shells: Block Suit guts-out.
Normal? Psyker pulped inside-out.
Grrrrrr!
Infected? Not human. Rose. Fled.
Fast—armor shed freed speed.
She figured: Untargetable.
No pin.
Moves.
She'd tackle—
BOOM!
KABOOM!
Shell connected.
Eh?
Frozen; voice hit ears.
“Infected psyker eliminated.”