"What exactly does this symbol represent...?"
Karl studied the claw-like emblem. If it truly depicted a claw, then it looked as though some kind of creature had extended its hands to tightly grip the corners of the crate.
If there was one claw, then logically...
Karl shifted positions and, just as he expected, saw an identical claw mark on the opposite corner.
Two claws grasping the crate's corners—almost like it was being cradled.
If that were the case, then the body of the creature should be on the other side.
Moving again, Karl circled around the crate, drawing curious looks from nearby Militech operatives as he stood at the rear. But there, he saw nothing.
Was he wrong?
No.
He stepped to another side, reached in between the apples and plastic foam packaging, and uncovered a pattern hidden inside the crate. It was a black symbol with white-edged flames, like a dark fire.
At its center, a white skull—reptilian in shape, jaws open, and a short length of vertebrae trailing behind.
That emblem...
Karl found it oddly familiar.
That design style—he'd seen it somewhere.
Arasaka... no—Tiger Claws.
Those heavily customized biker freaks from the Tiger Claws loved decorating their bikes with stickers like this. So these transporters were definitely ex-Tiger Claws. Their habits clearly carried over into their current jobs.
But wait—this was inside the crate. Would basic transport workers even be allowed to open them? Wasn't everything pre-sealed by Arasaka?
Could someone from the packaging team really have slapped their gang-styled decals inside each box? It seemed unlikely.
Instead of solving anything, thinking only raised more questions.
"Bzzzt—"
Just as Karl stood up, deciding to shelve the matter and help move crates with the Militech team, a low vibration buzzed from within his combat suit.
He didn't know exactly what the alert meant, but he could tell from the way every Militech operative around him suddenly tensed—
Something was wrong.
"Unidentified vehicle rapidly approaching. Repeating: unidentified vehicle approaching at high speed!"
From the ridge where they'd hidden the recon vehicles, a scout's voice screamed over comms. But then, a sharp gunshot cut through the air—and the third warning never came. The channel fell into static.
"Recon post has gone silent."
In this mission, "silent" only meant one thing:
Vital signs terminated.
Karl turned toward the horizon and saw dust trails rising in the distance. Judging from how fast they were closing in—
Normally, human eyesight could reach about 4.5 kilometers, but the hilly terrain of the Badlands cut that range dramatically. Given the pace, Karl estimated the sniper who had taken out the scout fired from around 700 to 800 meters away.
From a moving vehicle. Against a stationary target.
Unless they were using targeting cyberware, that sniper had serious skill.
"Prepare for engagement!"
At Meredith's shout, Karl dove behind the overturned Arasaka truck. The same armor that had withstood mines made for perfect cover. When you don't know your enemy's firepower, hide behind the thickest thing available.
Between Militech operatives and scavengers, they had about thirty people. But there was no way everyone could squeeze behind two trucks and an APC. Those closer to the Columbus transports huddled there instead.
Gunfire rang out.
Bullets tore through the Columbus trucks like paper. As the synthetic biofuel ignited, the vehicles exploded into fireballs. Those nearby were forced to flee—or were caught in the flames.
Biofuel made from synthetic wheat had replaced petroleum in this era. But it had a major flaw: it was even more flammable than alcohol. Once ignited, the fire spread fast—much faster than traditional fuels.
Karl spotted a few Militech personnel rolling on the ground, trying to put themselves out with sand and relying on their flame-resistant suits.
The scavengers weren't so lucky.
With no combat suits and no fire-resistant dermal plating, they were reduced to blackened husks in seconds.
Expected.
Still, the Wraiths weren't completely unprepared. With nowhere to run and no hope of negotiating, they turned vicious.
Several of them leaned out from behind the surviving Columbus trucks, using salvaged Arasaka weapons to fire blindly at the incoming vehicles.
Too far. Too inaccurate. Too unfamiliar with the gear.
Their bullets vanished into the wind.
The sniper kept firing, steady and methodical.
Out of the corner of his eye, Karl saw another scavenger's head burst like a melon. He started calculating distances.
The enemy was moving in. They weren't trying to pick them off slowly—they were closing for a kill.
No need to rush. Let them come.
So... how far now?
That sniper rifle sounded kinetic. If that's the case—
Karl picked up a chunk of metal debris from the truck. He wiped it off and angled it toward the gunfire's origin, trying to catch the muzzle flash.
A faint glint.
Still too distorted. Too vague.
He couldn't estimate the distance.
With a sigh, he dropped the shard like it was never worth the effort.
He had no clue how to read muzzle flashes from warped reflections.
Most of the braindance training he'd done was focused on indoor CQB or urban skirmishes. No one had taught him how to range sniper fire based on distant glimmers in warped metal.
Not today.
.
.
.
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