Operation ID Io-200
Found something insane.
——
To truly immerse yourself in a game, you need VR. This is the answer we’ve been searching for.
Visuals and sound indistinguishable from reality. With the latest immersive terminals, even touch and smell are replicated.
At this point, it’s a full world. Game creators are gods of creation. We’re playing in the alternate realm they’ve built.
Modern era, medieval, ancient, primordial, or future. Or another world entirely.
Crazy punk. Grime-soaked war. Pop-style garden management. Horror that freezes the blood.
Sports. Shooters. Classic swords and bows. Superpowers, hyper-science, magic—anything goes.
The game grows harder with each generation. Creators test us, deliberately pushing the limits.
But we’ll clear it in the end.
Defeating enemies, claiming the heart of that girl who intrigues you, solving the labyrinth incident, settling old wounds.
And occasionally, saving the world or something like that.
—Know how many worlds I’ve saved before?
AI technology, evolving continuously from ancient times to the present, always accumulates information.
Non-player characters in the game respond to the player's diverse outputs with a vast array of reactions.
Human-like communication abilities further entrench our reliance on the "other world."
How many worlds I’ve saved—questions like that, they answer without hesitation.
Are there really that many?
— I’m not counting past fifty.
Excellent. You're a professional who saves the world, aren't you.
A faint smile at the unusual phrasing. Not a lie. Just a joke.
We become heroes inside the game.
No one mocks us. We’re careful to say it’s only inside the game.
— Then I have a request for you.
— Another quest? Should I call it a mission? Is it time-limited? Or number-restricted?
— I’m certain, as a professional who saves the world, you can accomplish it.
— That’s fine with me.
I deliberately built up the drama, creating a pause.
— Can I expect a quest reward?
—
—
The blue-haired goddess sways her hair like it’s submerged in water.
Height estimated at 150. An innocent air, as if she’d never known a single dirty corner of this world.
Concealing her youthful, dewy body beneath a white robe, emphasizing purity. Her gentle, downturned eyes serve as a highlight.
A textbook Lolita-type NPC.
The navigation AI, named Blue Goblet, swam through a sea of flickering electronic data.
Numerous profile cards appeared in a window.
‘Your request involves Observation World 44, Planet Sitalskia.
A human habitation zone that, throughout evolutionary stages, has repeatedly endured long-term interference or invasion from extraplanetary species, resulting in a distorted military development path.’
Hm, a sigh.
Despite the overtly cute character design, the introduction is unexpectedly grim—very heavy on flavor text.
So, what’s the game genre? Sci-fi shooter? Real-time strategy?
The Blue Goblet presents you with multiple options within the Human Salvation Project.
Profile cards scroll past in a single line, flowing before your eyes.
A stern military officer, a slender少年, a cyborg with half a mechanical body. Choose your agent.
Hmph. So this is character creation.
The Sitalskian species has been locked in total war with extra-planetary origin species for fifty years. Years of back-and-forth combat have worn the civilization to the brink of extinction.
You will lead these agents to victory for the human species.
OK, got it, got it. Smash the bad aliens, right?
Select one profile card from the line and touch it.
A glittering effect bursts across the screen, and the card is picked up.
Io-200. Physical age: 21. Height: 182 cm. Weight: 79 kg.
Born in the Hayth Republic, Carver Ve. Joined local militia. Later volunteered as a soldier in the Citalskia Coalition Army.
Selected for the Coalition Army Enhanced Soldier Program. Underwent advanced enhancement modifications. Classified data purged for security.
Participated in the Western Calph Continent Counteroffensive. Sustained injuries. Suffered severe damage to nanomachine-assisted brain. Lost most stored data.
Currently in vegetative state. In cryogenic stasis.
No need to panic over unfamiliar terms in the profile. The story will reveal details gradually. Simply proceed.
Alternatively, there should be an index within the game to establish world context. That’s how it works.
Still, the record is unusually grim. Even without understanding the terminology, the severity is clear.
The kind of character that’d fit right in a Western sci-fi war film. Tough-looking. Liked it.
Scanning through the other profile cards, nothing clicks.
Still, this one’s the only option. Select the Io-200 card.
— Choose an option to apply to Io-200. Option limits affect Io’s physical capacity.
A row of text laid out in neat columns. Been through this many times before. Played countless games.
Strength, perception, etc., etc.—a long list of “gifts from the goddess” for Io-200.
Decide which abilities to boost. Judging by the layout, the Blue Goblet’s “capacity consumption” favors certain attributes.
Call it cost. Io is young, with a superior body.
Therefore, physical options are relatively low-cost—require less capacity to unlock.
Brute strength is the prime example. Speed bursts as well.
On the other hand, specialized skills carry high costs. These game-like constraints sharpen a character’s individuality. The direction of character creation is limited, but that’s precisely what I prefer.
No hesitation. Options selected without delay.
Io is a soldier. — Though apparently in a vegetative state.
A soldier must act like a soldier. Or perhaps, like a superior one.
“Hungering Jackal”
You are sharp-eyed, keen-nosed, swift. A jackal tracking prey!
— Enhances perception and burst speed.
“Natural Constitution”
Your toughness is impressive. You’d keep moving even after your organs were shot through!
— Is playing superhero fun?
— Boosts stamina and endurance. Significantly reduces performance degradation when injured.
“Fortune”
You are fortunate. For you are watched over by the Blue Goblet.
— There is a + effect operating on you, beyond your cognition.
Skills set beyond the standard. The skills inherent to Io appear as well.
“Acquired Will to Fight”
Tragic past and hopeless battlefield conditions forged intense hatred, self-discipline, and a fighting spirit in Io.
That remains embedded in his body, even now that his mind has failed.
— Io-200’s body significantly boosts performance under adversity.
Option settings concluded. The Blue Goblet delivers this with no emotion.
A close-up of a young man with black eyes and black hair appears. Hm. Appearance cannot be customized.
“Not bad at all, quite handsome.”
Classic hero type. Not bad. Tall and lean, but judging by the weight stat, more muscle than it looks. That’s probably the setting.
Then, we deploy you into Sitalskia.
You have saved countless worlds before. Your legend grows once more.
Blue Goblet will support you. For the survival of the human species in Observation World 44.
...Still, that NPC really knows how to deliver a unique line.
What kind of data accumulation is this? Is the navigator always this stiff?
Suddenly, I make a request.
God of Victory, grant me the kiss of victory.
Blue Goblet falls silent for a moment, then surges toward me through the electronic sea.
A kiss to the cheek. Already synchronized with my senses—warmth registers clearly.
Oh, I didn’t think you’d actually do it.
Service-oriented NPC, huh.
By the time I’m impressed, her body is already under Io-200’s control.
Black eyes, black hair, tall and slender. A soldier of the Syltiskia Coalition, enhanced physically, brain destroyed.
——
——Syltiskia Unified Year 266. April 10. PM 04:33.
——Central region of the Karaf Continent. Echo Canyon Coalition Secret Bunker.
——Operation ID: Io-200.
Clank, clank, the cryo-pod is hammered roughly.
Io’s consciousness is already awake. A faint flicker of eyelids. Noisy chatter echoes in the ears.
‘It’s off, dead.’
‘There’s still hope.’
‘Ten years left untouched? You really think it’ll work?’
‘We’re short on manpower. Nothing better than veterans from the pre-truce era.’
A sound of instrument manipulation. Io tenses every muscle, performs a full-system self-check.
Cold body, yet blood boiled within like a pot on low flame.
A presence so intense, so real it defied all prior experience. Io’s eyes widened.
Immersive game terminals occasionally inflicted severe neural damage on human brains.
Linkable sensory levels should have been restricted long ago.
“This level of intensity… clearly exceeds those limits.”
‘Pax! The data?’
‘…Found it. ID 1028. Most information erased.’
‘Name too?’
‘No. They call her Io. …No detailed specs available, but she was a pre-truce enhanced soldier. …A monster.’
‘Keep your mouth shut, private. She fought for her homeland. Now she is one of us.’
The voices reaching through—too young. Not just young. Childlike. As if from a child’s throat.
This generic, run-of-the-mill sci-fi war game has a particularly brutal setup. And games like this usually avoid featuring children.
Because of strict content regulations. Too many human rights activists in this country would go berserk if a child’s death scene were portrayed.
—“Open the sleeping bag! Found the medkit?!”
—“Ready!”
—“Contact!”
The milky-white cryo-pod hissed open. Io choked on a thick cloud of chemical fumes.
Crawling out, she felt damp earth beneath her. Mud clutched in her palms. The stench of mildew.
She lifted her gaze. Children stood there. Leading them, a girl with golden hair.
—“…Children?”
—“…Yeah. To you, we’re just ‘kids.’”
But this war in Sitalskia never granted us a peaceful childhood.”
Silent, she was a doll—face devoid of expression. Open her mouth, and the furrow between her brows deepened, her lips twisted like a starving stray, spitting lines that cursed the world.
“Recovery agent.”
The girl stepped close to Sergeant Io, pressing a toy-like gun to her neck.
No pain. A cold sensation along the nape, and the suffocation from moments before vanished.
She stood. Met his gaze. The difference in height became clear. Small, she was. Useless thought, but it registered.
“Sergeant Io, is your consciousness clear?”
“Sergeant?”
Sergeant. The rank meant nothing. No recognition.
“Data says you were promoted one rank after being frozen. Lucky you, Sergeant.”
The terminal mounted on the girl’s arm projects a green window into the air.
A record of Io’s history appears to be displayed there. The girl squints, her cheeks twisting into a grimace as she scans through it.
The children wear dusty field uniforms, strange-shaped armor strapped to their bodies, and carry rifles awkwardly—sci-fi types, clearly.
Their ages hover around fourteen. Not an age one would expect to see on a battlefield.
Reiterating: in our nation, regulations on creative works are strictly enforced.
Child soldiers? Absolutely not. No game with such a depiction could ever be released.
Io shakes her head—no. This isn’t a commercial product.
Even gods who’ve crafted countless worlds might, from time to time, want to create something without profit in mind.
That’s what this game Io is playing right now. The sensory link exceeding regulation thresholds, the line of boy soldiers standing before me—all of it makes sense now.
"Where is this?"
"Kharuf Continent, Echo Gorge Allied Forces bunker. A subterranean fortress, but abandoned for a long time."
"Who are you?"
"...Just woke up. Some things are unavoidable. But I’ll say this now, for your sake."
The girl shook her gold hair, pointing to the rank insignia at her neck.
"May seem absurd, but I’m a lieutenant. Sergeant. Fulfill your duty to your superior."
Io’s body moved on its own. A perfect salute.
Not uncommon in immersive games. When specialized skills or movements are required, users can’t be expected to learn them all beforehand. The avatar compensates with preprogrammed behavior.
Fine, then...
A vibration resonated deep in the abdomen.
It came in pulses. The lieutenant above stared up at the dim ceiling of the bunker and clicked his tongue.
We’ll talk while moving. Corporal, take your gear.
A desert camo field uniform and a warped armor piece were tossed in front of him. Along with a rifle that looked long used.
Don’t say you don’t know how to put it on. And your… particular feature is a liability around young girls. Hide it quickly.
Io had been jolted awake from the pod, still naked.
Oh… that’s bad. Might get my account locked for indecent content.
Io twisted his face as he looked down at his groin. Excessively detailed. Makes you question your sanity.
He didn’t know how to equip the gear, but his body compensated.
In less than three minutes, a fully armed soldier stood ready.
Come on, enemy's approaching. — Just checking, you can fight, right?
Io hesitated for a moment, then decided to play along with full confidence.
I'm good with firearms. Killing those damn alien bastards is no problem.
Excellent.
The lieutenant broke into a run. Her squad of young soldiers followed.
Io kicked off through the damp ground. Mud squelched beneath his boots. Sweat slicked his skin.
(Indeed, introducing shooting mechanics like this is predictable enough... )
Yet the world felt so meticulously crafted it blurred the line between simulation and reality.
—
We are the 3552nd Detachment of the Karaf Defense Reserve. Our superior unit has already been destroyed.
I am Crewk McGabban. Graduated from the 12th Cycle of Enhanced Soldier Training. You’re the same kind of being, a cyborg.
Captain Creeke continued her explanation as she moved through the dim bunker.
Nothing to say to Ioh. No knowledge of this planet, Sitalskia. Not even a fragment.
Only thing certain: this beautiful girl named Creeke is a cyborg.
Silence is gold. Captain Creeke concluded, satisfied. A well-designed AI.
You’ve been in cryo-sleep for a long time. It’ll take time to wake your memories.
She collected spare ammunition and an old-fashioned pistol—still functional, a fact that surprised her—on the way toward the exit.
The deeper they went, the stronger the tremors became. Captain Creeke said it was enemy suppression fire.
The Coalition has abandoned the Karaf Continent. They’re holding only the Eastern Bay Harbor Zone, evacuating all other regions.
The hometown you ten years ago fought to protect—ultimately falls to the enemy.
At a makeshift rest stop, more like a collapsed outpost than a proper position, set up by Crewk’s Squad 3552, they retrieve a spare terminal.
Crewk tosses it to Io, signaling to mount it on the arm.
Communication, data access, current task verification—multi-functional and high-performance.
“Little Lady. A dated model, nothing more than what’s assigned to us—but now you’re officially part of Squad 3552. How does that feel?”
“Depends on what kind of unit it is.”
Crewk snorts and presses forward without pause.
They move at a brisk pace.
“Squad 3552 is a group of child soldiers. Morale is low, equipment is lacking. Calling it second-tier is an insult.”
Primary mission: supporting the联合 main force—name it auxiliary duty.勉强 received training, at least. Enough to handle a firearm without immediate mishap.
—Ah, that’s sufficient, isn’t it? Makes me want to vomit.”
No need to ask. Irony drips through. The character called Crook seems utterly disillusioned with the联合 forces that pushed these boys and girls of 3552 into this state.
“Yet as I said earlier, our superior units are already destroyed.
Cut off from the middle school network, we missed the return bus from the picnic camp and now find ourselves stranded in the territory of hostile, ferocious beasts. One whim of those detested aliens and we’re either minced or not—exactly that kind of situation.
Escaping requires combat strength. Your intelligence arriving now is nothing short of miraculous.”
Hmph. Io offers a disinterested reply.
The initial objective of this game appears to be escorting these young recruits to safety within allied territory.
But this situation is slightly outside expectations.
As Crook exhaled with visible strain, Iō’s acute senses detected a presence other than 3552.
Ahead, midway along the S-shaped corridor. Something’s there. Iō halted Crook.
"Second Lieutenant—sound."
"Full stop…! Stop, stop…!"
Crook immediately signaled silence and ordered the squad behind him to freeze.
"Sergeant—rely on you."
Following Crook’s command, Iō advanced.
Peering around the corner from cover behind the bunker wall, Iō saw the creature.
(Another grotesque alien, this one.)
Even in the dim light, Iō’s eyes registered its form with precision.
A body coated in green mucus. The head elongated like a caterpillar, the back of the skull protruding sharply.
No teeth were visible in the leech-like mouth. Possibly concealed within.
The body, roughly canine in shape, built for quadrupedal locomotion. Coloration: black.
Sucking at a lizard of impossible size, completely absorbed. Unaware of Iō’s presence.
— What is that?
— A dog with a slug-like mouth, covered in sludge. Excessively long occipital region.
— Identification ID 24A.
— 24A?
— More commonly known as Reachdog. Eliminate it.
Iō braced the rifle’s stock firmly against his shoulder.
Information overlays appear in his vision. Weapon model: XP-11, alias Raven. Ammunition: thirty rounds. Bullpup configuration.
All details displayed—rate of fire, ammunition status, load capacity—none of it matters. He doesn’t need to check.
A fraction of his body extends from cover. Peers through the iron sight.
Short trigger pull. Sharp report. Minimal recoil. Clean three rounds.
All three struck the Reachdog’s slipping form. Spattered crimson-black from the head. The Reachdog expired.
(—Gore restrictions ignored. Expected, though.)
Fast work, Corporal. —Even the younger recruits struggle with a single Gero-hound. Your presence is appreciated.
Ioh advances without sound, clearing the passage. Not just one.
Fortunately, no other enemy silhouettes. Crook updates the command.
Corporal, straight path ahead. Lead to the exit.
Pax, Shorty, watch our rear!
Three-five-five-two was indeed a gathering of children and teens, yet still under Crook’s command.
The path ahead brought several encounters with Reach-Dogs. Leeches fused with dogs, coated in green mucus. A failed pet project from a child’s art class.
Io dealt with them all. Used to fighting monsters.
“This game’s got realist leanings.”
Muttering while swapping magazines, Raven.
Most FPSs are user-friendly—reloading doesn’t consume carried ammo if the magazine still holds rounds.
This one’s different. Magazines don’t pull infinite ammo from magical pouches. Rounds don’t shift inside on their own.
If you remove a magazine with rounds still inside, it stays that way. Toss it, and it’s gone.
Realism matters—but it can slow the game’s pace.
A matter of preference. Io thought this approach worked.
“Exit.”
Light from outside. The whine of a helicopter rotor. Crewk clicks his tongue.
The bunker’s entrance is set into the side of a cliff, a narrow passage twisting like a serpent down to the base.
Outside, a rust-colored wasteland. Towering boulders, taller than Io, roll across the terrain, between which robots dart and weave.
—Two-legged. Inverted joints. Good taste.
Two streamlined legs support a pair of twin-mounted cannons, one on each side.
At the center, a mirror-ball-like object rotates intermittently, pulsing green light.
The gray body has an unnatural sheen. The rounded form feels unsettlingly organic. The robot’s knees bend in reverse, opposite to human anatomy, demonstrating astonishing leaping capability.
Slightly larger than an adult human male. Smaller size, but excellent mobility.
Autonomous walker, Cyphs... don’t get spotted.
Crouk’s urgent whisper.
Five of the reverse-jointed walkers. Locking fire with the aerial combat helicopter.
The tremor felt since earlier—this combat.
Regular army combat helicopter... might get rescued.
Can’t fit everyone.
Just need an escort home.
Crouk addressed the terminal at his wrist, Little Lady.
This is Carver Ve temporary defense perimeter, Team 3552! Respond!
‘Where’s this signal from?! This is CBK Jango One—did you call me?’
We’re currently at your position, at the联合 base entrance! Midway up the cliff! Requesting rescue!
‘Never heard of a base this deep. Besides, we’re the ones needing help here.’
The helicopter pilot evades the walking tank’s shells with precise maneuvers.
This one’s just kids! We need help!
—This unit is currently engaged in a full-scale military operation. We cannot provide support.
You “adults”! Two days ago you said the same thing, left us kids behind at Carver Ve! Are you doing it again?!
—...Damn it, you’re telling me.
We’ll assist in destroying the walking tank. You just clear the enemy along the route back to Carver Ve.
Cruke calls out to his squad.
Pax! Bring that monstrosity over here!
The boy named Pax carries a massive rifle. He hands it over.
Absurd length. Absurd caliber. A rifle that looks like a joke.
Semi-automatic. Six rounds loaded.
Not an armament meant for units like ours... but we managed to borrow something left behind during the panicked retreat of the main force.
Sergeant, you said you were good with firearms, didn’t you?
Io takes the rifle and chambers the first round.
Zero-in?
If such a concept existed in this game, then yes.
Not yet. But this should be about the right combat range.
SOD7. Rifle for enhanced soldiers. Standard infantry would struggle to handle it, but you should manage.
— Jango One, this is Three Five Five Two! I’m stopping their advance! You handle the rest!
Go ahead, Sergeant.
Io drops to the dusty ground, belly-down, and peers through the scope.
The world unfolds through the SOD7’s optics. Enemy movements appear sluggish.
(Interesting game. Really, truly, built down to the finest detail. Obsessive, to the point of madness.
The one who made this is either a genius or a psychopath—or else deeply unhinged.)
Such creators aren’t rare these days. Not worth mentioning.
Io pulls the trigger as a walking tank touches down.
The recoil is heavier than a detonation. Still, for gameplay, that kind of punchy sound works better.
Nothing like the recoil from a Raven. It feels like the stock’s sinking into the shoulder.
The walking tank topples. Slides across the rust-colored earth on momentum, crashes into a boulder, and stops.
The high-caliber round pierces both legs and blows off the armor plate entirely.
A minigun rakes the area from the combat helicopter. The walker erupts in flames and detonates instantly.
"Got him!"
"(Yeah, you got him.)"
The excited voices of young soldiers.
Crouke whispers in his ear. His rifle barrel is locked on the target beside Io.
"Shall I spot for you?"
"Not necessary."
Io pulls the trigger again. Two shots in rapid succession.
As before, one walker collapses. The other shudders violently, its weak point hit, then freezes in a grotesque spasm.
Two left. Eliminated the same way.
No comment. No hesitation. No room for doubt.
(Seems like the introduction is over.)
Io disables every walker and Cyphs in seconds.
'Beautiful…'
Minigun fire from Combat Helicopter Jango 1. The walking tanks fall one by one.
‘You call this a kid’s shot? This is what a kid can do?’
‘My unit’s ace. More importantly, you understand this?’
‘…………Support request accepted. Provide fire support on the road to Carver Ve.
But that’s it. Got it?’
‘Appreciate the support.’
Crewk ended the transmission and immediately cursed the helicopter pilot.
‘Damn bastard… You’re laughing, Sergeant. We’re just nuisances after all.’
Shoulders trembling with rage. The hunched posture carries resignation.
Eventually Crewk takes a deep, deliberate breath and turns back to Io as if nothing happened.
‘Well done. Perfect shot. We’ll make it out of here alive for now.’
Beyond this point, I don’t know—but I’m beginning to think it’s okay to hold onto hope now.
She extends a hand. A girl, more than twice as small as Io.
Io shrugs, a performance of toughness, of sharp-edged soldier’s routine.
What’s the next order?