Fletcher TV Assault Reporter

The objective of the Syndicate Assault Team was the communications relay located along the evacuation route of Squad 3552.

Before the deterioration of the battlefield, the relay had been struck by enemy infiltration units and had ceased functioning. Not essential, but useful if available.

The Syndicate's mission included not only locating Weedran's "surprise," but also restoring functionality to the relay and securing the limited resources it contained.

—How much farther to the communications relay?

Carlyle Corporal asked, projecting the surrounding map data into space. Utterly sci-fi.

—Mark the point. …Here.

—…Less than three kilometers.

—The former rear is now the frontline. Even if we restore it, it will likely be destroyed immediately. But within that brief window, much can be accomplished.

—And after the relay's function is restored, we're told we can use the remaining supplies as we see fit.

Something like a vehicle, for example.

Crouke raised an eyebrow at the Charger’s words.

An armored vehicle with machine guns and rapid-fire cannons would be better than a rusted-out truck on the verge of collapse.

——

The base looked coated in dust from a distance.

A fragile fence made only of barbed wire, situated in the middle of the wasteland.

A large parabolic antenna was visible.

"Combat traces here."

As they entered the base grounds, signs of gunfire were scattered everywhere.

Bodies of allied soldiers and wreckage from Weedran weapons.

"...They said no one was left inside the base?"

"Unexpected events happen."

"Indeed....Sergeant Io, any enemy presence?"

Io on top of the container withheld a reply, shrugging at Crouke’s question.

"…………"

"Sir? Is something wrong?"

Passive skill, 'Hungering Jackal,' proves highly effective. Correct decision to acquire it first.

Sergeant Io distinctly heard a faint gunshot. Judging by the position, this communication hub—likely underground.

Gunfire. Someone’s fighting.

Nothing registered for me.

I heard it.

Where from?

Charger, team leader, regarded Io’s words with mild skepticism but did not question them.

Io had been more attentive than anyone else during the march, quicker than anyone to detect enemies.

Sound suggests underground.

Move out, assault team.

Spencer, hold the track with Private Carlyle. In exchange—Lieutenant, I’d like to borrow Sergeant Io.

What?

He’s the only one who heard the gunfire. He’ll guide us to the source.

No time for further debate.

Charger pressed the point with firm resolve.

Sergeant Io, lead the lieutenant and the officers.

Understood.

Don't push too hard.

Depends on the situation.

Io tapped fists with Crook, then split from 3552.

——

『Continuing combat support. Agent Io, fight freely.』

The blue goddess visible only to Io danced once in the air, then settled into the corner of Io’s vision.

Checked the ammunition in the magazine, disengaged Raven’s safety. Ready at any moment.

This building? Power room underground, supplying energy to the adjacent parabola.

Currently offline.

The Syndicate Assault Team deployed their helmet visors, entering combat readiness.

Pressed against the sides of the low building’s entrance, prepping for breach.

Well-trained. Movements that justified the Special Forces designation.

Go.

With Charger’s quiet command, the door shattered open.

Two operatives surged inside at diagonal angles, tracing an X pattern, dividing the room to secure it from left and right.

Even after the safety sweep concluded, they remained on alert, waiting for Charger’s next order.

"Corporal, this is good?"

"...There it is again."

The Sinclair team hadn’t heard it yet. Io moved through the cluttered room—papers and electronic devices scattered—heading toward the next door.

"Come on, Sinclair. Follow."

The Sinclair team exchanged glances. A tough guy moving ahead of them, ignoring their presence.

As they advanced deeper, nearing the stairs down to the lower level, the Sinclair team finally caught the sound Io had been hearing.

Muffled. Coming through several doors. Not loud enough to be detected from above.

Impressive. You actually heard that.

Later. Breaking in.

One of Sinclair’s team members exclaims in awe at Io’s hellish hearing.

Charger ignores the remark and orders the breach. Combat is confirmed.

Enemy confirmed.

GO! GO! GO!

The Sinclair team detects Weedran’s unit in the underground communications facility.

Ambush. The team eliminates five enemy contacts in an instant and secures the area.

Enemy scent remains.

Can we strike first?

Kill them before they notice. Move.

—Captain, that kid’s got real balls.

Io leaves the team behind and presses forward.

Through dim, narrow corridors. No footfall. No breath.

Blue Goblet’s delicate voice reaches Io.

Enemy approaching. Unnoticed.

The Weedran infantry, sensing something amiss, stepped into the corridor.

The blue-skinned lizard man flinched upon spotting Io, fumbling desperately to raise his rifle.

The trigger never fired. Io had already pierced his forehead.

— Contact! Watch the rooms to left and right!

— Hostile thermal signature, concentrated ahead.

The situation offered no advantage. Rows of rooms lined both sides of the straight corridor.

No time to check each one. The allies were still fighting.

— I’ll cover front with Io. Boomer and Wendigo, watch our back.

At this point, the Charger had shifted strategy, optimizing Io’s deployment.

Moving swiftly, closing blind spots between them.

— Move faster, Sinclair. Gunfire’s getting close.

A room confirmed ahead—likely the power chamber.

A woman’s scream… or perhaps a roar of fury. A bold voice echoes.

“Faaaack! You damn lizard bastards! Come on, attack already!

I’ve got plenty more rounds left!”

Shotgun? The distinct sound of a pump-action. Then the sharp crack of a grenade blast.

The fighting here is far too dangerous for underground combat.

Io and Charger exchanged glances.

“Some bold one’s around.”

“…Convenient. We’ll hit them from behind.”

Charger signaled Io and the squad, timing the moment.

“Using grenades in a place like this. The woman in combat might have ruptured eardrums.

Call out—don’t expect a response. Identify enemies strictly.”

The squad nodded in silent agreement. Charger issued the order.

“Move.”

Charger leading, the team charges into the final room.

Shoot the Weedrun unit facing away. One survivor attempts to fire—blown apart by the woman’s shotgun, mid-motion.

—Drop your weapons and get down! Refuse, and I’ll kill you!

Does words even work against Weedrun?

Io shoots down the lizardman aiming at them, even as the thought crosses his mind.

—Enemy forces fully eliminated.

Blue Goblet’s declaration. To Io’s eyes, nothing moved. Only bloodstains, flesh fragments, and gunsmoke remained.

Charger advances, rifle raised, calling out to the woman.

—Enemy secured! Drop your weapon!

—What, you guys?!

—Can you hear me?! Drop the gun! Hands up! Get down!

—Who the hell are you?! Lower your guard and show your face!

Charger’s prediction held true—the woman appeared temporarily deafened.

Combat high. Adrenaline from battle, agitated. Erratic, even.

Io lowered the gun and stepped forward. Seeing a human face, the woman finally seemed certain she was not an enemy.

Charger now added gestures, repeating the message.

—Seems… human… then.

—Lower the weapon. …Okay?

—

—Good evening, everyone. This is Natalie Vicker, reporting for Fletcher TV.

A red-haired woman speaks with sharp composure, holding a microphone.

Reporter for Fletcher TV. Brown skin, striking figure wrapped in an outdoor jacket—perfect for broadcast.

Yet despite that appearance, she had held a lone defensive position against countless Weedrunners. A warrior.

“Fletcher TV crew, Karaaf Front Army 260th Battalion…”

The plump cameraman, Dreas Wong—Natalie’s partner, who had been hiding somewhere earlier—was now being directed by her to set up the recording terminal, capturing the current state of the communications base.

“Tough woman. Still shooting after that much gunfire.”

Natalie and Dreas had been dispatched separately from the Sinclair team to this communications base as recovery personnel. In short, war correspondents.

But they’d been caught off guard by an unexpected ambush. The recovery team, unprepared for combat, had scattered. Natalie and Dreas were left behind at the base.

Remarkable they’d survived at all. Even the Charger looked stunned.

“We were hit by a Weedrunner ambush—faced utter annihilation.

Yet there,…”

"Stop. I’m confiscating your data card."

"Ah, come on, can’t you cut me some slack?"

The Charger frantically deployed the guard on its headgear, as if about to be photographed.

Special forces personnel—face or any personal data—were classified. Not allowed to be captured.

"Then, come on, you there! Face this way?"

Reluctantly, Natalie seemed to lock onto Io.

"You don’t need to hide your face?"

"I’m not Sinclair."

"Then state your unit."

"…3552 Squad… temporary assignment…"

Natalie fiddled with her personal terminal. "Karaaf Front Army… 3552…"

"You’re kidding. A kid soldier?"

"Not a lie. I’m assisting under the request of 3552 Squad Leader, Lieutenant Crewk McGavan."

"But why would a kid squad be here? This area’s long been a frontline."

I know that already. They were left behind.

Natalie’s expression darkened in response to Sergeant Io’s sarcastic tone.

…May I interview Captain Creeke?

Ask her yourself. Just in time—there she is.

A glance revealed the pride of our unit, our delicate little princess, clicking her heels as she approached.

Sergeant, are you unharmed?

Captain, we have a guest.

…You’re from media relations. What are you doing here?

Io recounts the circumstances.

That’s quite a burden you’ve carried.

A perfunctory social phrase, devoid of interest. Yet Natalie is intensely focused on Creeke.

I think it’s you, Captain, who’s endured hardship—more than me, certainly.

3552 was supposed to be a juvenile combat unit. Sergeant Io said they were abandoned. Could I hear the full details?

Ha.

Creeke shrugs theatrically, snorts through her nose.

I can tell you anything you want to know. About what we’ve been through.

Charger shakes her head.

Lieutenant, be careful with your words.

Sorry, sir. I’m just telling the truth.

Charger snorts through her nose. Nothing more.

—

While the Sinclair team restores communications, Corporal Carlyle and the combat engineers scavenge through the vehicles.

Armored transport is operational. We’ll assign it to escort the truck.

Would be nice to have a larger cargo hauler. But we can’t expect miracles from a forsaken comms base.

Hex and Neumann quickly finish prepping the vehicles.

Carlyle mutters while checking fuel and supplies.

A single helicopter would help a lot.

Corporal, even if we had one, Sinclair would take it. End of story.

—Yeah, maybe.

The engineers don’t like the Charger. Something about the kid soldier pointing a rifle at it really set them off.

“Sergeant Io, don’t you think this is wrong? Doing something like this.”

What’s that? When Io stays silent, Carlyle continues.

“My eldest kid—she’s a girl. She’s about the same age as that kid right now.

She’s safe on the mainland. …But still.”

About the kid soldiers.

“That’s right. Not someone else’s problem. If we let this happen—abandoning kids like these—next time it could be our daughters.

We’re adults. We have a duty. Sinclair’s team’s got me furious, but I can still accept it. They’re protecting kids like these, in the end.”

A small choice, he thought. Some kind of adventure segment, perhaps.

Raising Sergeant Carlyle’s好感度 might not be a bad idea either. His words carry weight.

“Agreed, Sergeant. Our job is to bring Captain Creeke and those boy soldiers back alive.”

That was the same order from Blue Goblet.

(That’s right, isn’t it?)

Io muttered inwardly. At the edge of his vision, the blue goddess smiled—mechanical, expressionless.

Now both Carlyle and Blue Goblet’s好感度 are up. If this leads to branching events, I’d prefer a heads-up in advance.

Carlyle continued his vehicle maintenance.

…Apologies, Corporal. I was too relaxed. But hearing you say that, I’m relieved.

If we make it back alive, I’ll invite you home. My wife will serve you her cooking.

“Tastes good?”

“She was a head chef at a famous restaurant before we married. She’ll serve dishes that’ll take your breath away.”

—Looking forward to it.

The noisy voice approached at what seemed a calculated pause in the conversation.

—It’s dangerous, Natalie.

—I know. But what else are we supposed to do with a story like this?

—You’ve always been like this, you know.

—Exactly, Drees. I’m not changing my approach this time.

The escape of a forsaken boy soldier unit. Guaranteed high viewership.

And personally, I can’t let the front command that pushed them into this situation go unpunished.

—No silencing, right?

—Try it if you can. I won’t die easily. I’ll dig into the details, and I’ll tear apart those mustached old bastards in command.

—Huh… I’m getting used to this, I guess.

—I’ll be fine, but you’d better not die, Drees. I don’t want to hear complaints from your wife.

……ah, there you are.”

The noisy duo from Fletcher TV spotted Io and approached.

“Allow us to accompany you, Sergeant. Our Fletcher TV reporting team has been assigned to cover the Eastern Bay Harbor City of Oxanun.

You know Fletcher TV?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Maybe not in Karaf. But in the Eastern Continent, where the Sitalskia Coalition’s main force is based, we’re a major network.

We’ve come all the way from Karaf to cover this unprecedented crisis.”

In short, they were here to watch the fire across the river.

“…So you’re planning to follow us closely?”

“That’s correct. If you feel we’re in the way, feel free to leave us behind. But I believe it’s necessary to show people the situation you’re in.”

Abandoning children to save only the adults—no, that’s unacceptable.

Natalie’s eyes burned.

The eastern continent, separated from the Kalaf continent by sea, known as the 'Home Continent' by many soldiers, feels no urgency regarding this current Weidran Grand Offensive. It seems distant, like a matter of another world. This detachment manifests in the sluggish movements of the Cytalskia Coalition Forces.

Gaining public support at this stage is crucial. Add to the subtask: 'Protection of the Fletcher TV Reporting Unit.'

(Yes, yes, as the goddess commands, right?)

Blue Goblet, having found value in them, added a task to protect Io.

—

Regretfully, this is where we part ways.

The Chargers of the Syndicate Assault Team, having restored base functions, secured another vehicle and set out on their next mission.

Their arrival was far from ideal, but their combat capability undoubtedly proved a significant aid to Unit 3552.

Cruke offered a straightforward thanks.

—This is how it ends up, escorting us all the way. I appreciate it.

—No, I requisitioned your vehicle for the mission. Write that in the report.

Otherwise I might get docked pay.

Charger delivered his dry remark without changing expression. Cruke managed a wry smile.

—Sergeant Io, you were sharp.

—...Is that so.

Suddenly Charger turned to Io.

—If you make it back to the mainland, take the Sinclair selection test.

You’d make things a lot easier if you were on my team.

—Survive first.

—Hmph. Lieutenant, use him to the fullest.

—No need to tell me.

Even at the end, that bastard remains insolent.

Charger chuckled and walked away.

——

And as the military’s prized special forces arrived, noisy battlefield reporters joined in.

Natalie and Dres. Dres, for his part, was irrelevant—Natalie, however, proved her courage and mobility, following Sergeant Io wherever he went.

—Got it locked in.

Natalie wore a compact camera fused with her visor. Grainy footage, but immersive first-person perspective, apparently.

—Sergeant, what kind of bastards are we dealing with this time?!

—Tell us, please!

The young soldiers seemed to have regained their energy, a stark contrast to earlier.

—We all thought kids couldn’t do anything.

We all believed we’d die.

But thanks to Sergeant Io, and Corporal Carlyle, there’s now a chance.

Now everyone holds hope that they might return alive. That is a remarkably positive sign.

Comfort them. That’s your job.”

Crouk ordered Io to speak with the young soldiers.

Io was in high demand—so much so that arguments broke out over which of the two trucks they would ride in.

“Did Sergeant Io have someone before entering cryo-sleep?”

“…Idiot. Think about the sergeant’s position for once.”

Among the young soldiers were girls of age. They seemed particularly interested in Io’s personal history, pressing her with questions.

There was nothing to answer. Io had no memories to offer. All she could do was smile awkwardly.

Yet Crouk seemed satisfied.

“Not bad, Sergeant. Well done.”

“Then good. …Can we make it to safety like this?”

Impossible. We could be engaging hostiles at any moment. We’re always on the brink of annihilation.

Crouk was slowly, subtly, revealing cracks in his composure.

Hard to say. Some flag had been raised. A matter of event progression.

Perhaps the AI had finally opened up.

—Sergeant, I’ll need you again next time. Without you, we won’t survive.

Crouk spoke with trembling eyes.

The creator of this game is a genius. And skilled at portraying human emotion.

Io remained expressionless, thinking.

—

Terminal User: Crouk McGabban

April 14, 08:20 AM — Log Entry

Today I am still alive. I leave this behind on the transport truck’s cargo container.

We encountered the Chtalskia Union Special Forces, Syndicate Assault Team, en route. At first, we were relieved—then they pointed guns at us.

Apparently, the Weedran scum are spreading a repulsive virus among their own forces. A dangerous virus that strips away human reason.

Fortunately, none of us were infected. We confirmed this using the Syndicate’s diagnostic scanner.

We don’t know the full situation, but we ended up traveling with them. They said they’d sent their own helicopter to support another unit and commandeered our truck.

In the end, we gained reliable escort, and they obtained transport to their destination. No one lost. …Probably.

We stopped at the Syndicate’s operational objective—a communications hub. Intelligence had indicated it was abandoned, but we encountered an enemy unit.

The Syndicate and Sergeant Io, who had joined them, wiped them out completely.

I reviewed the combat data too… Sergeant Io appeared to know the enemy’s tactical maneuvers as if they were old acquaintances.

Perhaps he did something similar before entering cryo-sleep. Given the extent of the data erasure in his file, it’s not entirely unfounded to suspect so.

There were two civilians at the communications hub—reporters from Fletcher TV.

One of them, Natalie Vicker, reportedly fought against the entire Weedran suppression unit alone and survived. A remarkably resolute account.

They requested interviews with me and with Unit 3552. I accepted. Their recordings will undoubtedly cause a ripple across the public sphere.

Normally, their safety would be our priority. But a unit of child soldiers like ours has no such luxury.

I hope they return alive. That is sincere.

At the communications outpost, Sergeant Carlyle and his squad had restored one combat armored vehicle.

A solid asset as escort for the transport truck. No need to be toyed with and killed by an enemy force.

The Weedran scum claim they enjoy peeling human skin off living bodies and watching them writhe in agony... but I wonder how genuine that is.

Better to put a lead slug into my own brain than be taken prisoner by such creatures.

...Ah right, what about the whiskey.

When escaping Carver Ve, Sergeant Io destroyed the enemy artillery unit Tomos and annihilated its escort force.

May seem insane, but it's true. A necessary operation to secure our escape route.

I promised Sergeant Io an extremely... ah, extremely heroic sacrifice and astonishing battlefield results—a bottle of the unit’s rations, whiskey. The rest of the squad agrees.

But in this state, where combat could erupt at any moment, I can’t have Sergeant Io drunk.

Need to think of another reward...