-[Alert: 8 Fallen Operators detected in CAL EXPO // Ergency Mission]
-[Alert: Fallen Operator duration remaining: 59:11]
“Damn, Fallen have appeared! Hey! Everyone, pack your gear! We’re taking everyone we can grab right now!”
“What’s going on? The score is ridiculously high. Did a boss mob just spawn or sothing?”
“No idea. We should be fine if we go with around 15 people, right?”
In Sacranto, where nurous sanctuaries were being established one by one, the interior was bustling. The mission board, cluttered with everything from basic tasks for area stabilization to individual mission notices for personal gain, suddenly lit up with a red mission at the top—Fallen Extermination.
Players, so lying on beds staring blankly at the ceiling, others struggling to transport virtual construction materials for non-existent interiors, jolted towards the board. Their avatars, with a range of eye colors from blue to red, purple to gold, and even heterochromatic, scanned the board quickly. A few users who checked it faster were already looking up where CAL EXPO was located.
“So, where is it?”
“About… 4 km north of here. Why did they have to pick a place like that…?”
“Fine, let’s just go. Do we have that snowplow we built?”
“Uh… we have one, but honestly, walking might be faster.”
“Then grab your stuff! Anyone heading for the Fallen Raid, gather at the main entrance in five minutes!”
A crowd of avatars, each wearing different types of gear that seed more suited for carrying unusual items than firearms, dashed out in a rush. This scene was unfolding across Sacranto; in other words, before anyone even reached the Fallen's location, players were already encountering mbers from other sanctuaries, either in rivalry or in cooperation.
Luckily, aside from a few groups with the lowest mutual friendliness, no major chaos erupted. However, this did not guarantee that the peace would extend to CAL EXPO, which was soon to beco a battlefield. After all, people preferred monopolizing over sharing resources.
Soon, the number of players grew close to a thousand—an odd mix of both many and few. Considering that each sanctuary had brought every mission-capable player, it was surprisingly high, given that so couldn’t participate due to distance or the mission's excessively high score.
“Wow, there are so many people. Are we going to end this without even getting a few kills?”
“Who knows? With the high score, we might get thrashed if we’re not careful.”
“There are a thousand people here; how could that happen?”
This was the general sentint among nearly all the players present. However, that didn’t guarantee smooth operation. Those who managed to slip near the mission area while maintaining so semblance of stealth soon encountered minor conflicts and differences in opinion.
“Hey, this is our spot. Would you mind stepping out?”
“Seriously? You don’t own the land. You should’ve marked it first.”
Naturally, this was just a mild exchange. As the gap closed between the smaller, ten-strong squads, tension rose. The mont they touched each other’s space, sparks began to fly. Piling prideful players into a cramped area inevitably led to disaster.
However, the flas didn’t catch. The reason was simple.
───Piiing!
“Gah…!”
“What the—!”
“Damn, the shield broke in one hit! What’s with the bullet marks? What kind of rounds are these?!”
“How should I know?!”
When every spark is extinguished, there’s no fight. That stark, maddeningly clear choice beca a bullet, cutting through one of the many players clustered around CAL EXPO. Neither the shooting range nor the direction could be identified, but it was clear the shots ca in volleys rather than singles.
And only the unlucky ones who were hit in the limbs managed to glean any information about the bullets.
“Shield-piercing reaction rounds…? What the hell is this? Unlimited penetration? Get down!”
“Who the hell gave the Fallen Operators weapons like that?!”
Chaos erupted. But the issue was that CAL EXPO lacked any decent cover. Players dodged left and right, only to be wiped out by the brutal firepower. Fortunately, not all thousand players were bunched in one spot.
Once around 200 players were incapacitated—unable to log back into Sacranto for eight real-world hours—the players finally had a mont to catch their breath, and the sniper fire ceased.
At that mont, a new pop-up ssage appeared.
-[Alert: Checking codenas in Fallen Operator list…]
-[Codena Confirmation - Eugene, Harmony, DICE, HTPsk, I’m Not Going Back…]
-[Confird infection by Hostile Intelligent System Analytic Virus, aka HISAV. Ti until Icarus Operators’ recovery… 47 minutes and 51 seconds.]
“What? Now players can be officially designated as Fallen Operators? Can we even kill them?”
“Are you sure you want to? Did you even check the usernas of those who turned?”
“Uh… damn, we can’t touch them.”
Why do these people always manage to get into the strangest, most absurd situations? Regardless, asking the individuals involved might be impossible forever. After all, by the ti they reached CAL EXPO, reason was already beyond them, or maybe they were fixated on the ti and effort spent getting there.
In short, it still seed worthwhile to take down a few, just like before.
“Fine. Just charge! There are 800 of us here; if we manage to kill even one or two, the rewards will be massive!”
“Is he blinded by the rewards or just plain blind?”
“Who knows. Just charge! It’s do-or-die anyway!”
Of course, it didn’t take long for the players to realize that “do-or-die” wasn’t the best choice of words here.
The 2-square-kiloter deathtrap finally activated.
“Keep pushing! We can win with sheer numbers!”
“If it were that easy, we’d have swept through already!”
Tatatata!
Deafening gunfire, explosions from all directions, and the cries of many players filled the air. However, just 17 minutes into the battle, the situation at CAL EXPO beca even more chaotic.
Reinforcents from the enemy alliance had arrived. A colossal force, the equivalent of three battalions, arrived with combat vehicles, turning the two-sided fight into a three-way war.
The facilities at CAL EXPO, once ant to inspire hope, were now being obliterated by cannons and fla-throwing vehicles, while players and Fallen Operators fired every skill they had at each other.
But that intensity was only at the beginning.
“Where are the Fallen?!”
“Screw them! We still get loot points for taking down the reinforcents, so let’s just farm those.”
“Feels like working a temp job after failing to land a permanent one…”
The only difference was that here, the “custors” wanted to kill the “part-tirs.”
What should have been a minor skirmish beca a massive war involving around 1,700 players. And amid this chaos, the Fallen were naturally forgotten.
“Harmony, status report?”
“Currently sniping from the first hideout. No casualties yet…”
“Understood. This side might get tricky. Maintain radio silence until I contact you again.”
“Got it. I’ll let Dice know.”
A static-filled noise as the transmission ended.
Simultaneously, an enemy squad breached the building. Despite the endless cacophony of gunfire outside, I could discern the language they were speaking—Russian, shown clearly on the Snake Radar.
“Engage autonomously. Holding ground only weakens us.”
“You have to co back soon!”
“Of course.”
Leaving those words behind, I stepped outside.
It was inevitable. Unlike Harmony and Dice, who each had two people with them, I only had one. Although this person was not without skill, the streets were crawling with hundreds of enemies. And half of them were also Operators.
At tis like this, the ability to ensure certain kills when encountering enemies was crucial. Eliminating witnesses aligned perfectly with the art of assassination.
The user with couldn’t quite manage that, so I decided to shape them into the best support Operator possible under these circumstances.
When I told them that, their voice shook noticeably.
Maybe I shouldn’t have ntioned that my life depended on it if they ssed up.
───Piiing!
“…15 ters ahead, five enemies on the upper floor. Six following behind. All wearing level-4 armor, helts at level 3, and visors averaging level 2.”
“Understood. For them, unfortunately, we’re ard with Green Tips here.”
“Heh.”
I pulled out my pistol and aid at the stairwell.
Timing was essential. Gaining the initiative was paramount. The instant I erged and pulled the trigger, my sights were already trained on the enemy’s goggles.
Pik. One dropped on the spot. The stairwell was narrow, and I aid for those with the most room to move. The next target, scrambling to turn their gun towards , was also felled with a quick shot. More polygons scattered against the wall.
Six were quickly reduced to two, and soon zeroed out as the last two fell.
“Grenade explosion on the upper floor! Slow down your advance!”
“It’s the Fallen! Eugene is here! Unleash everything!”
“Run, you maniacs—!”
Continuing the translation:
The chaos had indeed reached new heights. Taking responsibility for the result was up to .
And my answer was the axe I hurled with all my strength.
───Swoosh!
“Gah…!”
“What the…?”
“Fall back! Don’t retaliate!”
The damage was so severe that automatic censorship kicked in, pixelating the carnage. Ignoring it, I yanked the axe out with my right hand and grabbed a nearby corpse with my left, using it as a shield against bullets and skills. As I flung the body and charged like a rhino, the impact echoed loudly against the wall.
But my pistol wasn’t in my hand—it was coiled around my tail, pointed directly at an opponent’s chin. One pull of the trigger, and yet another Icarus Operator was down for respawn in 24 hours.
The last one… collapsed to the ground, bowing in surrender. Rather than a grim male avatar, they had a pretty, white-haired girl avatar, which may have lessened the shock a bit, at least on the surface.
“Leave before I change my mind. And tell your teammates to stay away.”
“Y-yes….”
And with that, the player—probably a “he” despite the avatar—scurried off, abandoning their weapon on the floor.
There were still 27 minutes and 39 seconds left until the Fallen Operator status would be lifted.
“…If this buys us even five minutes, that’d be great.”
“If only we could broadcast this scene to the players here, we’d have bought ourselves 50 minutes…”
Of course, I ignored the snide remark.
The triangle of my conscience, slowly rounding into a circle, was a asure of how ruthless this reality had beco.
The battle wasn’t over yet.
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