Stealth Strike on the Chinese Multi
Kim Seo-jun had never seen a Thunder. It hadn't existed back when he was active duty.
But he knew exactly what an ultra-advanced battle tank meant in the space age.
The purpose of an ultra-advanced battle tank isn't Mogs—it's other battle tanks.
Their real target was humans. There was no other reason to shell out ten times—or more—the price of lower-grade tanks just for marginal improvements in mobility, range, and radar capabilities.
Especially after that declaration of war.
Given the path the Chinese HQ was taking on Amotia Planet, the Thunder's target was almost certainly another nation's battle tanks.
No way to stop it otherwise.
And once that Thunder got rolling, if it zeroed in on the Polish Base with its barrel, Kim Seo-jun had no reliable way to counter it. So if there was any chance to stop it here and now, he had to take the shot. And right now, he had the means.
Stealth means I can slip right in.
The ability to infiltrate at this very moment.
"We move when the next vehicle goes in."
The moment resolve hardened, Kim Seo-jun sprang into action. From his vantage point as close as he could get without blowing cover, he spotted it.
Vroooom!
Two military trucks rolling through the gates. In that instant, he moved with them.
"Stealth."
Vanishing from sight.
9.
The branch chief of the Chinese division on Amotia Planet might as well have been the king of the country. The second HQ kicked you out, you were done—no survival guaranteed for even a day. In a universe where you could write off dead people as "Mogs ate 'em" or "must've been hungry," defying the top commander's orders was impossible. China took it to extremes, and Colonel Wang Lei exploited that authority without mercy. A tyrant through and through.
And right now, Colonel Wang Lei's mood was fouler than ever.
"Goddamn it."
No wonder. The scheme he'd cooked up for a big score had gone up in smoke.
Zhang Wei, that backstabbing bastard!
Worse, Wang Lei was convinced this wasn't some accident—Lieutenant Zhang Wei had seen the goods, gotten greedy, and betrayed him.
Something huge came out. Something massive.
He was sure whatever turned Zhang Wei's head had come from Hawk Eye's supply crate.
This is bad. If they find out we lost the Thunder…
For Wang Lei personally, this could be fatal.
If it ends up in American hands, we're finished.
The Communist Party overlooked a little graft as long as the higher-ups got their cut, but handing bleeding-edge strategic assets like the Thunder to another nation? That was beyond the pale.
Handle it now. Somehow. While comms are cut off from the outside.
Every angle piled on the stress until it peaked, and everyone at Chinese HQ became collateral damage. Verbal abuse was standard; beatings commonplace.
Knock knock!
A knock echoed in Colonel Wang Lei's office. He bellowed without even asking who it was.
"Can't you see I'm working? Get the hell out!"
Knock knock!
Another knock. His eyes sharpened—like a shark smelling blood. He was itching for blood today anyway, so he strode to the door himself. One button press to open, then slap whoever was on the other side.
Click!
The door swung open, and he lunged to grab the intruder's collar.
Crunch!
But as his hand shot out, a sickening crack came from his own wrist. Then he saw it.
"Huh?"
His left wrist dangling limp. Staring blankly, pain crashed in, twisting his face as his wristbone screamed.
"Gaaahhh!"
He screamed, glaring at his assailant with even more rage.
"You, you son of a—"
Words forming to threaten ejection into space without a suit.
"Gasp."
But seeing her face froze him. A woman, late twenties at most. Short bob haircut, razor-sharp eyes. Unforgettably striking beauty. Wang Lei recognized her instantly.
"L-Lin Zi-ai, L-Lieutenant?"
Trembling at the sight. A colonel quaking before a mere lieutenant? Simple: she was with the Space Peace Committee. They operated independently even from the People's Space Force, ostensibly for "space peace." In reality, under that banner, they did whatever they wanted with full backing from the People's Republic. The excuse was ironclad—hang it on your nose or ear, it stuck. Research for peace? Anything goes. Deem someone a threat to peace? Eliminate by any means. Pure terror for the Space Force. If she reported Wang Lei as a peace obstacle, he'd cease to exist.
N-No way?
And he'd done countless things that could qualify.
"Don't worry, Colonel Wang Lei."
Lin Zi-ai smiled at him.
"I'm not here for the reasons you're thinking."
"Pardon?"
"Not about stealing another nation's psyker supplies, claiming them personally, and losing a psyker and the Thunder in the process. No need to worry."
His face drained to blue. Too shocked to even feel the wrist pain.
"Th-thank you."
All he could muster. She ignored it.
"I'm here to inform you of a few facts. Several operations will launch on Amotia Planet soon."
Operations? He nodded eagerly.
"Yes, sir! Full support! Anything you need!"
Desperate to atone for his screw-up.
She smiled. "No need. In fact, stay out of it."
"Pardon?"
"Just came to tell you that much today."
Her eyes gleamed murderously.
"Our preparations are perfect. No one will interfere."
10.
An abandoned mining site on the surface—but step inside, and it was a base. Not some slapdash outpost; from the entrance alone, you could tell massive budget and resources had poured in. A true headquarters. China's second HQ, the Multi. The moment Kim Seo-jun slipped in, he launched his assault.
BOOM!
Bombs detonated, trigger squeezed relentlessly at every visible target. Standard procedure.
Stealth lasts 10 minutes.
Not much time, and piecing together their secret plans here was impossible. Best he could do: maximize damage before stealth dropped, then GTFO.
This one shot's enough. Plenty to win Hawk Eye's favor.
Even without catastrophic damage, it was a win for him.
Best if I can scrap the Thunder, though.
One wish, so he moved for it. Finding the Thunder wasn't hard. It was huge; the transport hauling it, huger. Paths for that beast were limited. He followed them.
"Enemy attack!"
"Respond!"
Meanwhile, Chinese Space Marines stationed at the Multi mobilized. Child's play for Kim Seo-jun. His gear was no joke: Agent Suit stripped from a Chinese psyker shrugged off standard Space Marine fire. Plus, he'd popped a Steam Pack, plunging him into a different flow of time.
Where are they?
Crucial: Chinese Marines couldn't see him.
"Where the—"
Splat!
Heads exploded mid-shout. Not even a game for him. One worry, though.
As long as no psykers.
Senses on high alert, sharper than ever. He didn't forget.
6 minutes left.
Countdown ticking as he dropped incoming Marines. Then his eyes locked on.
Found it.
The Thunder in maintenance. He closed in, planning to pop the hatch, stuff it with explosives from his inventory. Total destruction unlikely, but sidelining it for days or weeks? Profitable. Plenty of boom in his Inventory.
Just execute. Approaching the barrel, his eyes flickered.
This can't be?
Had to be.
Railgun?
Not a standard battle tank cannon—railgun conversion. Nightmare for the enemy. Railgun range and power outclassed normal tanks like middle schoolers vs. NBA pros. If this mobilized? Unimaginable carnage!
Destroy it no matter what.
Resolve steeling—then it hit.
Bzzzzt!
Sudden full-body chills. Not spine-tingling; prey sensing predator. Mouse spotting cat.
Gulp.
Something's here. Something powerful.
Whatever it was, no ignoring it. He snapped focus from the Thunder, bailed, held breath, scanned.
Where?
Likely a psyker. He hunted it. Then—
There.
Opposite the Thunder maintenance bay, at that entrance. Chills emanating. He aimed there. Hesitated. Flee or fight? Risks clear. Flee: abandon Thunder. Fight and win: both psyker and tank down. What boosted survival? Decision instant.
Take it.
Letting China slide meant a death sentence anyway. Confidence too.
I shoot first, no way I lose.
Tension coiled, footsteps muffled, he advanced down the passage. Entered. Goosebumps intensified.
This is…
Face shifted. He clocked it.
Not a psyker.
Active duty, he'd faced psykers beyond count—far more than average Marines. Knew the feel. Psykers chilled, but not this. One thought surfaced.
Mog.
A Mog. Special specimen.
No way Fly-class. Minimum Feather-class…
High grade. Memory stirred.
…No, not Feather either.
One flashed up.
Clear.
From when he'd nearly mustered out of the militia.
Light-class.
Confirming, he spotted it: a custom glass case holding a Cyclops. Body abnormal. Tentacles severed, eerie metal spines stabbed in. Tubes pumping mystery fluid nonstop. Single eye unfocused, drugged haze.
…Experimenting on a Cyclops.
Everything clicked.
China up to their weird shit again.
Made sense for their Multi. Rifle up, he fired.
Shwooo!
Gauss round pierced reinforced glass and Cyclops alike. No hesitation.
China's never doing anything good.
This research? Zero chance it helped humanity. Cyclops down, he bolted.
Just scrap the Thunder and bounce.
That instant—footsteps halted. Face hardened.
Light-class Cyclops defeated. 5,000 points awarded.
First Light-class Cyclops defeated. Platinum Ticket awarded.
Alerts chimed. No long deliberation. One job here.
Use it now.
Seize the moment!
"Use Platinum Ticket."
Whatever comes, make it good.
Activating on the spot—then it hit.