"Shit, this is bad." He t the next shambling undead head-on, his power armor delivering a crushing blow. His right hand clutched a powered knife, its blade dulled from the relentless chopping of undead flesh.
"We're all gonna die here," a comrade's voice crackled through the comms, his own power armor echoing the grim reality in the other sector.
"Yeah," Joel replied, his voice strained as he hacked away at the undead with his dulled knife, "Rember the training? When there's no way out..."
"Overload the fuel cell," his friend finished, a tremor of fear in his voice. "Don't let the armor fall into enemy hands. But..." he hesitated, "that ans getting cooked from the inside out. Hot enough to lt titanium."
"According to the manual," Joel said, his voice flat as he continued dispatching undead, "our brains shut down first. We won't feel a thing."
Joel, a volunteer from Texas, had nothing left to lose. He'd lost everything when the Confederacy took Austin. His house, his wife, his son – all gone. His wife, beautiful as she was, likely suffered a fate far worse in a concentration camp.
His son, sold to the Confederacy just days before Texas' reclamation, later, he found out that his son died, beca a victim of the Confederacy desperate weapon experints.
Fueled by anger and resentnt, Joel volunteered for the new recruits, pushing himself to the limit. His performance earned him a coveted power armor suit, transforming him into a ruthless killing machine. His sole purpose: strangle the life out of Supre General Moore, the one who caused all of this, with his bare hands. But that dream seed elusive now.
He refused to die here!
"Co on, you rotting corpses! I'll smash all your brain out of your skull!" he roared, activating his power armor's ultra-intensity mode. His arms, a blur of motion, dispatched the surrounding undead with brutal efficiency.
The knife, useless now, was discarded. He grabbed a nearby iron railing, wielding it like a club. Skulls were crushed, limbs torn, makeshift weapons improvised and discarded as needed. Undead heads t the wall with a sickening thud, their lifeless forms slumping to the ground.
Joel's power armor energy reserves dipped below 25% as he activated Ultra-Intensity Mode. He clenched his jaw, a silent vow forming in his mind. If it reached 10%, he'd overload the fuel cell, taking as many of these undead with him as he could to hell.
Suddenly, a long, wheezing sound pierced the air above them. Joel, still consud by the slaughter, was jolted back to reality by a thunderous boom – a sound all too familiar.
He raised his visor, his gaze landing on the sight that brought a flicker of hope – three Astral Tech Assault Pods streaking towards them. Reinforcents had arrived.
The three assault pods slamd into the ground with a bone-jarring boom, sending a plu of dirt and concrete shrapnel spraying outwards. Undead caught in the blast were obliterated. Auto-turrets on the pods whirred to life, spewing rounds that tore apart the surrounding horde, clearing a path for their occupants.
Another boom echoed as a hatch on one of the pods burst open. A figure propelled itself out, a jian sword gleaming under the moonlight as it carved through the undead in a deadly ballet. Each precise slice opened a bloody path towards the fortified building.
The very one where Joel was desperately fighting for survival.
The newcor sported a specialized power armor, a middle ground between the bulky suit Joel wore and the lightweight stealth armor favored by Maria's infiltration unit.
This armor prioritized dexterity and reflexes, offering enough protection to deflect stray bullets. Its strength lay in facilitating high-intensity movent and brutal group lee combat.
The design, reminiscent of ancient Han general armor. It was surprisingly robust while maintaining exceptional mobility.
Cao Cao himself erged from the pod. His movents, a dazzling display of bladework and fluid maneuvering, cut a swathe through the undead ranks.
Joel watched, srized by the CEO's awe-inspiring display of skill and prowess. In that mont, a single desire flared within him: to be just like Cao Cao, the leader of Astral PMC.
Cao Cao spearheaded the charge, Astral PMC troops trailing close behind. Their heavy weaponry roared to life – autocannons and high-caliber miniguns unleashing a torrent of bullets that ripped through the undead horde like a scythe through weeds. The scene was a brutal ballet of destruction.
Another explosion erupted from a nearby pod. Undead were flung aside like ragdolls by the force, a speeding truck barreling through them. A tallic boom echoed as a colossal, four-ter-tall walker erged from the smoke, crushing another group of zombies under its chanized limbs.
This chanical marvel transford its arm into a flathrower, spewing forth a long stream of holy golden fire that incinerated the approaching undead. The other arm morphed into a large-caliber minigun, spraying bullets into the remaining ranks.
Witnessing this spectacle, the US soldiers trapped inside a nearby building erupted in cheers, a surge of hope rekindled. They too joined the fray, fighting back with renewed vigor.
Another pod slamd into the ground. Its hatch hissed open, revealing a trove of weaponry – light machine guns, rifles, submachine guns, grenades – a lifeline for the desperate soldiers.
"Brothers! Here's your chance to fight back!" Cao Cao roared, raising his jian sword high. "Now co, fight for your right to live!"
The soldiers erupted in cheers once more, pouring out of the building under the protective cover of Astral PMC troopers. They reard themselves, the power armor soldiers replacing their depleted fuel cells and grabbing fresh weapons from the cache.
Joel t Cao Cao's gaze, and the CEO acknowledged him with a curt nod. "You fought well, soldier," he said. "Your tenacity bought us enough ti to have permission to deploy reinforcents for your rescue."
"Permission?" Joel echoed, a knot of unease forming in his stomach. Sothing about Cao Cao's words didn't sit right.
"Oh, it's nothing," Cao Cao brushed him off with a dismissive wave. "Just bureaucratic red tape and chain of command nonsense. Nothing for you to worry about."
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