Chaos in all directions

Smell of burning oil. Smell of scorched rubber. Irritation piercing the mucous membranes.

Io was thrown from a crushed vehicle, drenched in debilitating fatigue.

Blue Goblet swam through the field of view, brushing across the cheek.

— Sensory correction. Pain perception blocked. Begin abdominal treatment.

— Hey now… this is bad.

— Hemostasis continued. Muscles relaxed. Remove foreign object carefully, avoid internal damage.

A metal fragment the size of a palm was embedded through the uniform, into the abdomen. Goblet’s visual support penetrated Io’s body, displaying the full image of the foreign object.

By luck, the organs were spared. Vital signs displayed on the screen showed no abnormalities.

— (Goblet, support…)

— For you.

Data floats upward in blue light—options and procedures for removing the metallic fragment, along with required supplies.

The fragment had a straight, straightforward shape. Could be extracted with effort.

Sergeant Io! Are you alright!

Hartie, Sergeant.

Hartie Goodman, blood streaming from nose and forehead, holds a handgun, scanning the perimeter, jogging toward Sergeant Io.

Carries a bag, presumably from the vehicle. Contents: medical tools.

Damn it, worst case. Emergency treatment—brace for pain.

Hartie, weapons? Infected.

Hartie kneels. Io senses movement behind him, beyond the rising black smoke.

A groan, like choked sobs. The source rakes its own throat, its own skull.

Hartie immediately recognized the situation. Dragging Io, he ducked into cover.

—Stored gear in the trunk, but the chassis is warped. Won’t open.

—Need to contact friendly forces.

—Give me a moment. I’ll handle this.

—No anesthetic? That’s reckless.

—Right here, Hartie.

A stagger, unsteady, swaying left and right.

Jaw and throat crimson from blood. Eyes bloodshot, glowing fiercely.

Hartie bit his lip hard, took one deep breath. Killed the infected. A checkpoint soldier.

In that time, Io pulled a small pair of shears from the tool bag, ripped open the uniform with force, and jammed the metal fragment into the wound.

Not exactly a pleasant feeling. Without hesitation, she widened the wound slightly and pulled out the obstruction.

—Wait, stop!

—Keep watch. You don’t want to join their ranks.

Blood bursts forth in clumps. Agent Io grimaces, slathering trauma gel haphazardly, twisting her body with practiced motion as she wraps the bandage.

She discards the tattered jacket of her uniform.

—Recovery protocol initiated. Nanite efficiency at maximum.

Agent Io, theoretically, you are in optimal condition.

—(Optimal with a hole in your gut?)

—Joke. But even if you weren’t, we still win.

Avoid strenuous movement until wound coagulation is complete.

—(Yeah, you’re right, Goblet.)

Smooth, unnervingly practiced motion. Hartie stares at Io with an expression like he’s seeing something unnatural.

—Unbelievable… I’ve never seen a man as tough as you.

—Any friendly units nearby?

—No response on comms. Terminal temporarily paralyzed. Probably caused by the earlier explosion.

At once, a piercing siren splits the air. Oxanun shifts into full combat readiness.

Multiple explosions follow in quick succession. Flames and smoke rise in the distance. Screams echo.

—This isn’t an accident. The infected aren’t random either.

—Weidran attack. Sergeant Io, can you stand?

—No problem. I’ll pry open the trunk and secure the weapons.

Io draws his handgun and slips out silently from cover.

The air around remains thick with the stench of burning rubber and oil.

——

The car overturned in the explosion had lost its tires somewhere. Useless.

Clear the surrounding threats, then pry open the trunk together with Hartie.

—Damn, no other option. …But I didn’t expect to have to shoot civilians or allies.

No time for hesitation.

Continue vigilance. First, equip the gear.

Hartie says, reloading the handgun. Io drags out a compact armor carrier from the mangled trunk and quickly straps it on.

—The command center area will be sealed off. Rapid response units should begin civilian rescue operations soon.

—Good. Terminal functions have restored.

—Ready. Hartie, your turn.

Normal Raven without attachments. Io sends the first round into the medbay and drops to a crouch, covering Hartie.

Avatars usually wore field uniforms. This was slightly... rough, perhaps.

A fresh sensation. This style isn't bad either.

'Before that, take this. Shouldn't have been on the equipment list. Lucky break.'

Hartie pulls something metallic from the trunk.

A cross-shaped rod, bent at the tips, tapering inward. Unknown purpose at first glance.

‘Hemostatic system. Apply to the wound and press the switch.’

Following Goblet’s instruction, Hartie activates the device. The metal tips wrap around Io’s abdomen and clamp down with force.

'Thanks.'

Hartie nods and begins arming up. The terminal starts buzzing violently.

This is Oxanun Command Relay Girlnin. All personnel, assume combat readiness.

Initiate first response per Emergency Protocol 4-5. Repeat—

Civilian infected confirmed! Activate virus response team! Rescue units, standby!

Negative, don’t play games.

Denied. Immediate Response Unit 11th Squad here. Minor force, but we’ve confirmed Weedran.

If we do nothing, civilians will die.

Defense systems inactive. Route to command center wide open!

Enemy stealth units detected. …Damn it, they’re spitting out a swarm of Fireflies.

Looks like a full-scale panic.

Continuing intelligence gathering. Will relay anything deemed critical immediately.

(What about 3552?)

Scheduled for physical conditioning at Northern Anne Marie Memorial Park.

(Connect with Lieutenant.)

——No response. Unable to establish contact without high-intensity comms due to signal interference.

(You can’t make contact either?)

Destroy the output device suspected to be enemy ordnance. Then contact is possible.

(We don’t have that luxury.)

As Goblet and Hartie exchanged transmissions, Hartie finished preparations.

He’s watching Io’s abdomen.

Ready. But Sergeant Io, you need medical evaluation.

The treatment gel is working. Hemostasis is stable. No need to worry.

That drug doesn’t close massive wounds. You should be in agony.

Just like usual. Either way, I want to head north.

North? Why?

To rendezvous with my commander.

Sinclair?...No, wait—could it be 3552?

Hartie glances toward the checkpoint from earlier. No way to predict when the infected will surge.

From a guard’s standpoint, another approach would be preferable—but stalling here is the clumsier move.

Initiate movement. Surroundings remain unknown. Stay alert.

A minimal awareness sync completes. Io raises Raven and advances at a jog.

The introduction this time differs from usual—but nothing extraordinary. Io’s consciousness is already taut.

Enemy ambush. Infected. Trapped allies. The scent of a dangerous mission.

Is this the avatar Io’s skills manifesting? That burning impatience, the surge of exhilaration. And yet, the limbs brimming with power. Despite the gaping wound in the abdomen.

Natural physique. Acquired combat drive. Call it that. As usual.

Contact.

A small shadow 500 meters ahead comes into focus.

Clearly not human anatomy. The way it glides along the roadway, its agility surpasses human capability.

— Hartie, lizard hunter.

— Taking shooting position! Fire at will!

——

'Snake Eye, operational limit reached. Recharge in 120 seconds.'

Penetration operation by a small unit. Sinclair’s own tactics being mirrored back at him.

Whatever method, whatever route, an unmistakably elite specimen—different from any Weedran seen before—has been deployed in Oxanun.

— Cover the flanks!

Amid scattered friendlies, Io peered beneath a wrecked vehicle.

Multiple encounters with Weedrans so far—formidable opponents. They never halt. They move through Oxanun with precision, using Firefly support units to navigate the interior.

Like waves crashing and receding, Sergeant Io denies the enemy the chance to strike.

Distance one hundred and a little more. The feet of the Weedran, hidden behind the vehicle, come into view.

Sergeant Io halts breath for an instant, then fires without delay.

The Weedran collapses, its ankle joint pulverized.

Two Firefly units, released in desperation, streak toward Hartie.

Hartie leans forward onto the vehicle’s hood, stabilizing her aim, then shoots down both units.

So easily, two objects soaring at high speed.

Good instinct.

Sergeant Io maintains calm awareness of events beyond her field of view, then puts a bullet through the crawling Weedran attempting to flee.

"Substreet toward the north has advanced significantly. Sergeant Io, enemy status?"

"Hard to say. They’ve evaded us with persistence. But they’re relentless."

Don’t know what you’re planning, but you’re still hiding, aren’t you.

We might need to find another route.

Two reload as they lean against the concealed vehicle.

Forgot to mention—sorry, Hartie.

I'm apparently on a wanted list.

I know. Difficult missions are exactly what I seek. Countermeasures are already in place.

Hartie’s wrist terminal erupted in noise.

Emergency call confirmed. This is the Oxanun Defense Team, Salmatia Heavy Cavalry Division.

Ready and nearby—send details.

Io cautiously poked their face out from the chassis to scan for threats. Hartie responded to the comms, wiping sweat from their brow.

"Cavalry unit?"

Tradition. Still not riding horses.

Salmatia, this is Hartie Goodman, assigned to the direct command operations unit.

On a VIP escort mission currently—Annamarie Memorial Park, south sector, we’re pinned down by Weedran.

Confirmed infected running through adjacent sectors.

Anything could happen at any moment. Requesting immediate reinforcement.”

‘VIP escort? ……Fine. Cavalry’s arrived.’

Something is approaching. Iō feels it distinctly.

Heavy boots striking concrete. Rigid armor scraping against armor.

Intermittent hisses and thuds—compressed air venting.

Salmatia Heavy Cavalry lived up to their name with full armor.

Armor larger and heavier than what Sinclair uses.

Some carry high-caliber guided weapons, others heavy machine guns. Firepower unmatched by standard combat units.

“At least we won’t be taken down by infected.”

The most heavily armed and armored unit among infantry formations. Having them nearby was fortunate.

Seven combatants from a highly trained, heavily armed armored unit.

Sergeant Io and the others deploy into the substreet where they engage Weedran, immediately initiating suppression.

— Watchpost detected! …… Contact!

— Advance and suppress! GO! GO! GO!

Sergeant Io and Hartie approach the unit they suspect to be the Salmatian commander, scanning surrounding buildings, especially elevated positions.

The soldier performs a collapsed salute, then freezes.

Astonishment echoes through the muffled voice from within the armor.

— Wait, wait, wait…! Saluting the Diamond Frame!

You’re telling me the VIP is Sergeant Io? Did we really need your rescue?

— Yeah. Hartie. Glad to see you. Next time, I’m buying. Connect me to command?

Negatives. Command severed bidirectional comms to counter Weedran's jamming.

All we can do is tune out the upper brass screaming over the comms.

Boom—deep in the gut, a detonation. Debris and dust surge upward. Shrapnel surges toward Io’s group.

For now, Oxanun is in total chaos. The so-called “honorable” First Battalion has set up a temporary forward command post. Until then, we’re the ones putting out fires.

Weedran’s clever. Their ambushes are always flawless. Dangerous.

“Go back because it’s dangerous?” You think you can say that in front of Diamond Frame?

The deep growl of heavy weapons fell silent.

Sarmatia’s personnel converge, jetpacks flaring.

—They’ve escaped. They’re fully committed to sabotage.

—We’ll slaughter every last one of them. …Rejoice, you’re on a glorious mission. You’re guarding Diamond Frame!

—Perfect. With assassin Io joining us, those lizards will remember their place.

Io shrugged. Let them get carried away.

Still, didn’t mind.

—I’ve no intention of evacuating, sorry.

—Ah, we know. You’re enjoying the hunt, right?

The commander shoved the trooper who’d made the crack.

—Apologies, Sergeant. Combat high. Don’t take it personally.

—My objective is to rendezvous with the commander. I’m heading to Anne Marie Memorial Park.

—Hmm. We had interest in that location too.

Your boss—Crewk McGavran of Unit 3552—is rallying local militia forces with volunteer troops.

Io made an odd face.

Lieutenant—what the hell are you doing.