The next day, you arrive at the company right on time. Director Yu assigns you a job. Head to the Dome Entertainment Complex, the exhibition hall outside Lena Park's concert venue, for cleanup duty. Ten p.m. to four a.m.
You arrive on site, collect your work badge and a push-cart vacuum. The job is simple enough. Just push the cart around the empty ten-thousand-foot exhibition hall. The job lasts forty days, good pay, and nobody bothers you. Practically perfect.
After your shift, back at the dorm, you don't even bother looking around the place. You put on the headset and dive straight back into Mech World.
You have no idea that on the game's forums right now, Bird Slayer has become the very definition of a complete lunatic.
Everyone assumes you're some kind of masochist, but the moment your brand new mech steps out through the base gates, every player secretly watching you draws a sharp collective breath.
Your thighs are loaded with shockwave bombs. Both mechanical arms are strapped with explosives. Even the reactor on your chest is bound tight with two mini hydrogen bombs. Your most primitive, beat-up Blade mech is now a walking suicide truck. Anyone who blocks you dies with you.
With a thunderous roar, it stomps into the wasteland. The hunt begins.
Meanwhile, deep underground in the mutant base, Chief Tigerface watches your bomb-strapped suicide truck on screen and swallows every order to hunt you down. He doesn't dare send anyone. Who would dare touch a madman ready to die with everyone around him?
But you don't care about the mutants at all. Your eyes are locked on prey.
You fire your mech's rocket pack and crash-leap across the hills. Then you dive headfirst into an abandoned mutant lizard den underground. Radar is badly jammed down here, but you don't care.
Gripping your 16-foot plasma blade, you run straight into an underground bull over six feet tall with three terrifying horns. Without hesitation, you swing your blade down. The bull collapses.
Charge skill plus one.
In that instant, back in reality, you feel a violent burst of gene fire searing through your body. Your stamina drains instantly. You're forced to log off.
You clutch your brand new 50,000-kilowatt battery like a lifeline. It drains fifty percent of the charge before that near-death exhaustion finally fades.
Your eyes light up. If charge skill costs this much, it means the game can directly strengthen your real body. I'm going to farm these bulls.
Eyes red, you dive back into the game. You become a ruthless butcher, slaughtering eleven bulls in a row until charge skill maxes out.
What follows shows inhuman patience and cruelty.
You drag all eleven bull carcasses into a narrow, towering underground tunnel. You shut off your radar. Like a ghost, you crouch in a blind spot above the tunnel, waiting silently for prey. You're using this scattered carrion to lure every monster on the second underground level.
One hour, two hours, a full five hours pass. From below comes a dense chorus of biting and chewing. Hundreds, maybe thousands of mutant lizards cram into the narrow tunnel, fighting over the feast.
You smirk coldly, pull out two shockwave bombs, and hurl them at both ends of the tunnel.
A terrifying chimney effect rips through the narrow tunnel. The massive blast shreds every lizard inside into dust.
Camouflage mastery plus one. Dynamic vision plus one.
Watching the notifications flood your screen, a thrill races down your scalp. But this isn't enough.
You drop into the tunnel and shove the mini hydrogen bomb under the most intact bull carcass. You set a five-hour detonation timer. Eat up. Eat plenty before you go. You smirk, dust yourself off, and log straight out.
Back in reality, you stand before the bathroom mirror and activate camouflage mastery. Your facial muscles writhe violently. Even your bones grind with a faint creaking sound. Minutes later, a face stares back at you. A famous, instantly recognizable actress.
You touch the face. A wave of revulsion nearly makes you gag. Disgusting. You shift back instantly, but you know this power makes you an unstoppable assassin in the real world.
Exhausted, you collapse onto the bed and fall into a deep sleep.
Then, four hours later, deep in your mind, a sudden violent storm of notifications explodes.
Stealth plus thirty-two. Stealth plus eight. Stealth plus four.
You shoot upright like you've been electrocuted. Plus thirty-two skill points. You know exactly what that means. This is a true tier one creature. Your hydrogen bomb just took down something massive.
In that instant, greed completely overwhelms your reason. You slam the game pod open with raw fury. You log in and buy the most expensive flight attachment. Then you push your mech's speed to the max and dive underground like a madman.
The cave tunnel has been blown into a radioactive wasteland. Among the wreckage, you spot it instantly. The remains of a silver rat, tiger-sized. Jackpot.
You let out a wild, ecstatic roar. You don't care what other mutant creatures might be lurking nearby. You yank out a large sack and stuff the silver rat in roughly. You hoist it onto your shoulder and turn to run. A B-rank creature's bounty is enormous. You won't let anyone take it from you.
You sprint back to base sixteen in a blur. You slam the golden glowing sack down onto the quest counter with a thud.
The NPC administrators freeze in shock. A rookie piloting a beat-up starter Blade mech just hauled in an A-rank mutant rat carcass.
Meanwhile, tens of thousands of kilometers up, aboard a starship over sixty miles long, a strikingly beautiful officer in a Federation Major General's uniform stares hard at the report in her hands.
"Activate the S-rank lab immediately. Extract this rat's genes." General Voss's voice is ice cold, but underneath it trembles with shock. "Grant this player a rank. Bring him into the fold."
Back at the base, the administrator beams at you. "Dear player, in recognition of your outstanding contribution, the Federation has decided to grant you a military rank."
You cut him off without a shred of courtesy. "I refuse."
Taking a rank means forced conscription. You want me as cannon fodder for your top brass? Dream on.
The administrator chokes for a moment, wiping cold sweat from his brow. "In that case, surrender the special mutant creature for a reward of fifty million gold. Also, we'd like to buy your combat footage for five million gold."
"Deal. Pay up now."
Fifty-five million gold. Watching the number explode in your account, you burst out laughing and log off without hesitation.
Meanwhile, aboard the starship tens of thousands of kilometers above the surface, the usually icy general grips the table with both hands. Trembling with excitement, she confirms it. Every one of those rats carries the stealth gene fully intact.
"But extracting an A-rank stealth gene is extremely high risk. Under Federation top secrecy law, we must wait for an SSS level specialist to intervene. Cut off all external communications immediately. Activate the highest level combat protocol." General Voss roars sharply, fervor blazing in her eyes. "From this moment, any craft that dares approach this ship gets blown apart. No warnings. This is a weapon powerful enough to overturn the entire balance of Federation warfare."