Carver Ve Temporary Defense Outpost

“That game’s messed up.”

“Damn, I ran it through the analysis suite—no virus signature, but it’s not certified by any authority.”

“Huh. A real challenge. Could kill you with the sensory feedback alone.”

“Pain and shock levels are dampened, supposedly, but the smell, the texture—god, it’s hyperreal. Even the details on the dick are rendered.”

“T-that’s kind of hot.”

Shinoda Yusei was having a heated discussion with his friend Jonathan Ridge at a classic café terrace in the neighborhood.

The topic had somehow shifted to an SF shooter that had breached Yusei’s terminal’s protection and infiltrated the system.

Unknown title. Unknown developer. No model compatibility or recommended specs listed. No certification from any game safety consortium whatsoever.

Sensory linkage exceeding regulatory limits—grotesque or lewd content beyond regulatory limits.

A completely banned game. Possession alone could get you hauled in by police, not just the developer.

Yusei lifted a teacup with white porcelain and red rim to his lips.

Jonathan scrolled through data on the terminal.

“Can’t we extract the data somehow? I’d like to play it.”

“Tightly guarded. They don’t want it spread recklessly.”

“Yeah, fair enough. Standing out too much gets you caught. Nobody wants that.”

“Still, I wanna do it today… sorry about that…”

Jonathan nodded, smoothing back his cropped blond hair.

He was a regular partner in action and shooter games. Whenever free time came, they’d team up and jump into online matches.

Originally, today was supposed to be the same as always…

—Fine, whatever. I’ve got to get other tasks done once in a while.

—Hey, that tech report’s still not finished, isn’t it? Professor was furious.

—It’s already done. I just don’t feel like going to submit it in person.

—These days, every lab uses data posting. Why the hell do we have to carry memory drives on-site?

—Ain’t it been hacked from the post a while back? That’s the security protocol.

—That’s nonsense.

—You’re Japanese-born, raised in Japan, yet you act like some foreigner doing over-the-top stuff.

—Heh, it’s the kind of thing that works on high school girls.

His blue eyes glint. Yusei pretends not to know.

—Anyway, this is getting too much. Guess I’ll go hiking then.

—Yeah, yeah, good luck. I’m heading home.

—Sometimes, those “thrilling games” aren’t such a bad thing. But watch yourself, Yusei.

—Huh?

—Another few dead from immersion terminal incidents. Some in vegetative states. Others with brains completely fried.

Don’t join their ranks.

There are always those who ignore the danger—chasing thrills, pleasure, curiosity. You’re one of them. The kind who willingly plays games with unknown origins.

They end up on the daily news feed, neural circuits burned out. Too many now. It’s become routine.

—I’ll be careful.

—

—Terminal user, Crewk McGabban

—April 11, 01:22 AM recorded

—A way to alter the situation has been found. I’m recording this so that, when we’re dragged before the military tribunal later, they’ll understand the impossible circumstances we faced.

First, we remain isolated.

The massive alien offensive began in February. The Karaaf Front Army leadership skillfully concealed their military failures, but not everyone could be fooled.

More importantly, forward bases had already been destroyed, and each unit had suffered repeated retreats.

What rankles is that we, Division 3552, are caught in the aftermath of those failures.

Since April 5th, during our support mission to construct the Bean Lodge campsite front line, we were abandoned by allied forces.

Left stranded by an incompetent somewhere who didn’t know how to operate reconnaissance drones, and a negligent communications officer who couldn’t even make a single call—we remained isolated at the camp, hit by a night assault, and half our 38 personnel were lost. Or perhaps it’s better to say we’re lucky half survived at all.

All of them were middle school age—boys barely past high school. Survivors or dead, it made no difference.

Madness. The ones responsible fled early. By the time we limped to Carver Ve, battered and broken, nothing remained.

—Nothing. No allied forces. No support units. Not even drones or weapons. Starving, we forced open abandoned homes and scavenged like fire thieves.

As if it needed saying—(sigh)—the Karaaf Front Army is nothing but trash and incompetence.

We searched for vehicles to escape. Fortunately, two partially wrecked old-model personnel transport trucks were found four kilometers north at a temporary surveillance outpost.

Small, but not unusable. The choice between smelling a comrade’s rear and being tortured to death by aliens is obvious.

There were still decent people among the adults. A few engineers, led by Sergeant Carlyle, were among them.

They volunteered to join the detachment bound for Carver Ve, to help us. The rest of the unit had withdrawn due to deteriorating conditions, but Carlyle and his team never received the order— their comms had “failed” during transit.

They’re currently repairing the truck. We owe them our deepest gratitude for drawing the short straw.

We’ve also gained combat support. Sergeant Io. Like me, a cybernetically enhanced soldier. Advanced physical augmentation, mental conditioning for battle, and some form of memory processing— likely for secrecy.

Sergeant Io is an exceptional soldier. His skill set, naturally, stands apart from that of the child soldiers.

For us, utterly devoid of options, he is a slender thread of hope. He and Corporal Carlyle will be the key to getting the 3552 unit back alive.

Carver Ve being an irrelevant point to the enemy was fortunate. A brief respite is possible.

We will begin our evacuation eastward as soon as preparations are complete, though we have no way of knowing how the enemy is deploying.

Rescue requests are ignored. Occasionally we spot friendly helicopter units— they cannot afford to spare attention for us.

—If no one else will help, then I will bring them back alive.

End of transmission, Crewk McGibbon.

‘Blue Goblet continues to research beneficial information for you.

I will leak relevant data as needed.’

You're saying this audio data is it, Goddess.

Io snorted, reviewing the audio log of a furious, disappointed girl.

A potent method for delving into the game's world and characters. Her log left a clear impression on Io—harsh combat conditions, an unjust world, and a character of striking intensity.

Don’t hate her kind.

—

— Sitar Skia Unified Year 266. April 11. 04:35 AM.

— Central Karaf Continent, Carver Ve Temporary Defense Outpost.

— Operation ID: Io-200.

Io woke to the sound of an explosion.

The signal to begin. A flamboyant disruption of silence. Flames erupting skyward. Standard fare in FPSs.

Io lay on a makeshift bed inside a grimy tent. Through the gap at the entrance, the blaze burned bright and unrelenting.

Footsteps rushed in, and a man entered the tent. A broad-shouldered man with dark skin.

Sergeant Io, morning call from the lizards!

Who the hell is this? The name appeared in the corner of his vision before he could finish the thought.

Corporal Carlyle Evans. Support unit for Blue Goblet. Name and minimal data.

Lieutenant’s waking the brats up! We’ll handle the adult work!

Carlyle tossed the rifle leaning against the tent entrance.

Standard bullpup profile. XP-11, Raven. Io pulled the charging handle, chambering the first round.

He burst from the tent. Apparently, he’d been sleeping in his armor.

Constant combat zone, then? Pathetic.

The surroundings were a ghost town. A rural town abandoned to rust.

The western barricade and auto-turrets have been destroyed! But the enemy numbers aren’t that high!

Carlyle barks as he sprints down the road. Scattered vehicles lie abandoned at intervals—likely the source of the earlier explosion.

Typical SF shooter—vehicles with futuristic designs.

Hecks, Neumann, hold position! Don’t let the brats get through!

Two of Carlyle’s subordinates join him mid-route.

One, a broad-shouldered man named Hecks, tosses something to Io.

Sergeant, night vision. Scrap metal, barely functional—but better than nothing.

It’s a visor-style device, clearly an infrared scope.

Io snaps it on quickly, powers it up. The interface is already familiar—the avatar body knows the controls.

The field of view turns green. Shapes emerge in the darkness—multiple shadows. The area around the burning vehicle is too bright to see clearly.

Carlyle had already begun firing. Behind the abandoned vehicle he used as cover, countless dogs were running.

Long, awkward heads. Mouths like octopus tentacles. Wet footsteps splattering saliva.

Reach Dogs. Even in the green-tinted vision of the night scope, their filth was unmistakable.

—Ten o’clock! Noimann, deal with it!

Io started shooting too. These so-called Reach Dog enemy NPCs weren’t particularly durable.

Low-tier fodder. Pulses of fire controlled by intermittent trigger pulls—quick, efficient, and clean. They fell in seconds.

Carlyle’s shots were extremely precise. A Reach Dog once lunged at Noiman from behind a vehicle, but he calmly knocked its side with the stock of his rifle and finished it as if nothing had happened.

Noiman appeared small beside Carlyle’s group, yet he was a dependable NPC.

The filthy dog-thing was cleanly dispatched in under three minutes.

Carlyle’s group took cover behind the vehicle, preparing for the next engagement.

"Equipment check... OK."

"Same here."

"Corporal, everything clear? Ammunition crate is set up twenty meters back. We can resupply if needed."

Io confirmed her gear, then replied to Carlyle: "All clear."

A signal arrived on Carlyle’s arm—Little Lady. The name displayed was Crewk McGabin.

Carlyle responded.

‘Status?’

The dog-colo is dealt with. But a single dog-colo couldn’t breach the turret.

—Loading the squad onto the track now. Accelerating the plan.

—Departure?

—Can’t afford to idle after being attacked.

A detonation echoes in the distance. Communication distorts.

Crewk appears to have fallen, crouching in the dust, covered in grime.

—Damn it, another bombardment! How the hell do they even have artillery in a backwater town like this!

Listen. A deep, gut-wrenching boom confirms the sound.

Immediately afterward, another explosion. A section of the lifeless town erupts in front of Io.

Instinctively raise arms to shield the face. Pebbles strike both arms—faint stings.

—Enemy position?

—Unknown. No sign within visual range.

—…Retreat. Regroup.

—Understood.

Carlyle scanned the surroundings for movement. No need to collide with the enemy the moment he started running.

At that moment, a woman’s voice echoed in Io’s ear. The comms terminal was nonfunctional.

A shadow appeared at the edge of vision. Blue Goblet.

—Agent Io, I am beginning your support now.

Huh. Might compromise the game’s atmosphere a bit, but this is navigation AI, then.

—Your operational objectives will also be relayed.

—(Saving the world, right?)

—A subordinate task toward that end. Your current operational goal is to ensure the survival of Crewk McGabban.

Io tilted his head at Blue Goblet’s mechanical, unyielding tone.

—(Why that lieutenant?)

—Crewk McGabban was calculated by Blue Goblet to make a significant contribution toward the victory of the human species.

Her gaining significant authority within the military would increase the Sythar Skia Coalition’s chances of victory by approximately four percent.

(…Is that significant?)

It is a substantial figure. You will be expected to accumulate such percentages—several percent, or even fractions of a percent—over time.

Small things accumulate into large results. A thoughtful phrase. Io snorted.

—Multiple endings, this game.

The path diverges based on player actions or the success or failure of various strategies.

Victory. Defeat. Not just those—what would be the current trend?

Perhaps the heroine changes depending on the route? Completing every ending would be difficult.

Still. Yes. A concrete objective is easier to follow than a vague one like “save the world.”

Sergeant, let’s move. We’ve got kids to supervise.

Sergeant Carlyle speaks. An enemy could appear at any moment.

‘If we start the evacuation now, the truck will be destroyed by artillery fire.’

‘Sergeant, wait a moment.’

‘Huh?’

Blue Goblet made an unavoidable statement. Io ordered Sergeant Carlyle to hold position.

‘Agent Io, mission briefing.

Destroy the enemy weapon currently firing on Carver Ve.

Escort will be handled by Blue Goblet. Estimated time: forty-five minutes.’

Second stage. Not so easy, huh. Io nodded slowly.

‘Sergeant Carlyle, once you’ve rejoined Lieutenant, stand by.’

‘Corporal?’

‘Cease the artillery fire. Eliminate it within one hour.’

‘Alone? Is that a reinforcement course joke?’

‘Not a joke. Move.’

Carlyle stepped forward.

‘Impossible. What can one person do?’

Order. Move, Private.

Carlyle exchanged glances with his two subordinates, hesitated, then nodded.

—Understood. Sergeant, lives should be preserved, don’t you think?

The three began moving quickly. Io manipulated the communications terminal.

The interface was vague at best, but muscle memory carried through. Opponent was Crewk.

—Lieutenant.

—Io Sergeant, is there an issue?

—Retreating like this gets us炮击. Destroy the enemy weapon.

—What?

—Estimated operation time is no more than one hour. I’ll handle it alone. Proceed with evacuation preparations.

—...Wait a moment, let me gather my thoughts.

—No time.

Crewk clearly understood the risk of artillery fire during retreat.

She ran her fingers through her blonde hair, disheveling it, then issued the order.

—Approved. Return alive.

—Understood. Io, out.

Communication severed. Only the roar of burning vehicles echoes.

—Initiating escort. Distance is negligible.

A blue dot emerged in Io’s vision as Blue Goblet spoke.

The moving target was marked. Route acquired. A user-like guide.

—Distance one thousand? Close.

—Time is short. Let us finish before dawn. Darkness is our ally.

—

Crumbled concrete. Shattered ground.

Burnt-out armored vehicles. Human corpses abandoned.

In the dark, Io advanced, stepping over them.

—Stealth is recommended. Success rate drops sharply if detected.

—(Leave it to me.)

—Reachdog has a skeletal structure similar to a dog, but its sense of smell is not superior.

Eliminate sound. Blend into the darkness.

A grotesque canine abomination prowling everywhere. Sergeant Io creeps up from behind, stabs each one with a knife.

The sensation in his hand is unnervingly vivid. He’s sliced meat countless times during self-cooking, and this feels remarkably similar.

At five hundred meters, a transmission comes in from Crewk.

No fancy headset. Io lowers the volume to minimum and responds.

—Sergeant Io, this is artillery. It’s ongoing.

Evacuation prep is complete. How much longer until you return?

—I’m on track. Less than twenty minutes to reach the objective.

—I believe you. …While searching supplies, I found a fine whiskey the officer had been drinking.

I can’t drink it. I’ll give it to you. If you make it back alive, then—

Io shrugs. He’s been immersed in the game down to the marrow of his bones, for so long it’s grown tiresome.

Not going down on a mission this early. Io’s FPSP is his specialty—his natural domain.

Closing the remaining distance. No marked enemy within five hundred. Only Reach-Dogs.

Enemy formation suggests a small unit. Too many foes early on would be problematic.

『Target acquired. Quadruped artillery unit Tomas.』

(That’s sleek.)

『Perhaps their aesthetic sense.』

In the darkness, the green-tinted night vision reveals a four-legged weapon bearing a cannon.

Sleek. Like a smart crab or spider. The one firing shells at Carver Ve since earlier.

Approximately eight meters tall, four wide, two and a half high. Small compared to a tank.

But what’s far more interesting…

Around the quadruped artillery unit Tomas, two-legged monstrosities are unfolding.

(That’s an alien?)

‘Designated Weedran, colloquially known as Scaleman, or affectionately called the fucking alien.

They inherit several traits common to reptiles—ferocious, cruel, and relentlessly calculating.’

(Thought they’d be more terrifying.)

A two-legged monster armored in scales. Like a giant lizard with a crest and a rifle strapped to its torso.

The visor-like device mounted on their heads glows faintly—on night vision, their faces appear overexposed, hard to distinguish.

‘They are descendants of aliens who once interfered with Citalskia. After centuries of hiding on the planet, they lost contact with their home and the means to leave. Their actions have since grown increasingly extreme.

Now they seek to eradicate the human species and claim Citalskia as their new homeland.’

(Heh? That’s unexpected… I don’t know, it sounds tough.)

Seems they’ve got their own reasons. Can’t say I understand the full picture.

(Thought humans would be whining about how hopeless the odds were.)

Weedran Infantry Unit possesses advanced technology. Human species’ defeat is highly probable.

(I’ve already heard that. …Time to finish the mission. Plan?)

Eliminate the Weedran Infantry Unit. Touch Tomas. After that, I’ll handle it.

Do not let Tomas’s close-range defense system activate. End it in one move.

Got it, Goddess.

Io holds breath, suppresses footfall, and begins moving through the dark.

Four Weedran Infantry Units. None appear heavily armed.

The Weedran seem focused solely on operating Tomas. None carry firearms.

Once in position to engage all four at once, Io immediately shifted to attack.

XP-11, aiming Raven at the Weedran staring into the night sky, fired.

Headshot. Lizard head burst open. The Weedran reacted instantly to the impact, diving behind nearby rubble or into the shadow of Tomas’s frame.

They did not discern the direction of attack. Io squeezed the trigger at a Weedran scanning the wrong direction. Headshot.

Next, targeting the Weedran holding a terminal resembling the one used to operate Tomas.

(That thing they’re carrying—Tomas’s terminal, right?)

That is correct.

The rubble obstructed the line of sight. Io adjusted, aiming at the terminal instead.

Destroy the control terminal. Tomas continues firing, but input is now blocked.

Easy prey. A lukewarm mission, this one.

The remaining two Weedlans finally detected the direction of attack and shifted their cover points.

Io did not miss. Leapt from behind the rubble instantly, firing before the Weedlan could take cover.

The last one was the one operating Tomas. Might carry a handgun, but from earlier observation, it lacked a rifle. That enemy was probably set as a Techno-Officer or something similar.

Io advanced cautiously, weapon raised, crouching low behind cover.

Final resistance. When Io closed to ten meters, the Weedlan hurled something the size of a palm from its hiding spot.

—Plasma Grenade—

Io acted with extremely game-like logic.

In this situation, move forward. Exit the grenade’s blast radius, and catch the enemy off guard.

Io’s plan worked. Weedran stumbled forward, caught off guard by Io’s front kick.

Then, without ceremony, he was shot down. A violent violet lightning erupted just behind Io.

—Enemy down. Surprisingly simple.

—Well done. Touch Tomas.

Like this? Io casually brushed one of Tomas’s legs.

Io’s right hand flared with sudden blue light.

—This unit’s defensive control system is extremely fragile. Initiating self-destruct. Countdown: ten seconds. Take cover.

—Hey, warn me earlier.

Io scrambled backward, kicking up dust, and ducked into the collapsed roadway’s pit.

—Wanted to salvage usable gear from the enemy corpse.

—Apologies.

Snatching a weapon from a fallen enemy was standard procedure in FPS combat.

Precisely ten seconds later, the massive explosion detonated. Shielding himself from flying debris and dust, a transmission crackles through from Crewk.

—Sergeant Io! What was that explosion!—

—Enemy artillery unit Tomas destroyed. Enemy unit eliminated. Repeating: enemy unit eliminated—

—Eliminated… how exactly?—

—Fewer in number than expected. Focus on withdrawal now—

—…Yeah, can’t be sure no other units are closing in.

Return to the truck. Let’s make a run for it—rear sails deployed, full retreat—

Understood. Io rose, brushing dust from his frame.

—Honestly, you’ve taken me by surprise. I’ll be relying on you from now on—

Crewk, hopeful after Io’s success. Exhausted, but eyes still sharp.

—Understood, ma’am—Io replied with a hint of mockery, and began the retreat.

—

—Sergeant! Over here!—

Carlyle Private reaches down from the idle troop transport container.

The sun peeks over the horizon. The sky burns crimson with dawn. The private laughs—rough, masculine.

Inside the container, the boy soldiers are packed tight. They press their faces to the small window, spot Sergeant Io, and cheer.

—Damn, it’s Sergeant Io! He’s back after smashing them!

—Hoo-yeah! We might actually make it home alive!

Sergeant Io returns their cheers with a wry smile, takes Carlyle’s outstretched hand.

Lifted onto the container. Carlyle grins, pleased.

—Didn’t think you’d actually pull it off.

—Four fools. Simple operation.

—Hah! You scaly bastards, eat your own humiliation!

From the passenger seat of the second personnel transport truck parked alongside, Crook leaned forward.

—Sergeant, good work! That’s a full campaign commendation right there!

—Apply for the medal if I make it back alive.

—Naturally! The military rewards performance!

Crook grinned, calling to the driver’s seat. The driver was Neumann.

So that makes you the one operating this truck, then.

—Alright, let’s move out!

Crook pounded on the door. The truck accelerated.

——Objective achieved.

——Operation ID: Io-200. ——Connection terminated——