The air of Afghanistan isn't breathed, it's chewed. It's a harsh mix of ancient dust, burnt diesel, and a tension so palpable you can almost taste it at the back of your throat. The moment the C-17's ramp lowered at Forward Operating Base (FOB) "Triton," the heat hit us like a wall. It was a dry, oppressive heat that promised to wick every drop of moisture from your body.
Our welcome was a dusty ride in an MRAP (Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected) to the Horizon Security compound, a fortress of HESCO barriers and razor wire in the middle of nowhere. The sector commander, a weathered British ex-SAS with an unrevealing gaze, gathered us in the briefing room. His name was Pierce.
"Forget the training bullshit," he said with a crisp accent, as a map of the region appeared on the screen behind him. "This isn't Nevada. The enemy here is real, they're motivated, and they know this terrain better than you know your own face. Rostova Corporation is building its pipeline through the Adram Valley, right here." A red laser circled a strip of barren land dotted with small villages.
"The local insurgency, calling themselves 'The Mountain Lions,' has been harassing construction teams relentlessly. Your mission, 'Kilo' team, is simple: you're going to babysit a team of engineers while they work on Sector 7, a village called Zarin Dah. Intelligence reports indicate the village is being used as an insurgent base of operations. You'll move out tomorrow at dawn. Questions?"
Silence. No one wanted to look like a rookie.
"Good," Pierce concluded. "Don't become a headline. Dismissed."
The night was short and filled with anxiety. I checked my gear three times. The system flickered in my vision, calm and ready.
As I lay on my cot, listening to the distant sounds of the base, the reality of the situation hit me harder than the heat. Alex, the gamer, had dreamed of this. He had played missions like this dozens of times, comfortably seated in his gaming chair. But Kenji, the body I now inhabited, felt the knot of fear in his stomach. There was no reset button. There was no saved checkpoint.
Dawn painted the sky a dusty orange. Three MRAPs, carrying our Kilo team and the Rostova engineers, rumbled down a dirt road that snaked between rocky hills and abandoned fields. I was in the lead vehicle's turret, manning the .50 caliber machine gun. The system helped me, overlaying a HUD (Head-Up Display) that analyzed the terrain in real-time.
My heart pounded to the steady rhythm of the diesel engine. The landscape was monotonously beautiful and deadly. Every dark window in the mud-brick houses in the distance, every turn in the road, was a potential threat.
"I see movement, ridge at eleven o'clock," Marcus's voice crackled over the comms.
My eyes locked onto the indicated spot. The system magnified my vision. They were two men in robes, watching us. No visible weapons. They could be simple shepherds. Or they could be spotters.
"I see them," I replied, my voice calmer than I felt. "No visible weapons, but they're reporting our position."
The convoy continued, tension building with every meter. Zarin Dah came into view, a cluster of earth-colored mud-brick buildings that blended perfectly with the landscape. It looked like a ghost town. No children playing, no women washing clothes. Just an ominous silence.
"I don't like this," Javier muttered over the radio. "It's too quiet."
He was right. It was the calm before the storm, a classic tactic in video games and, apparently, in real war.
"Attention all," the voice of our team leader, an ex-Ranger named Thorne, came over the radio. "Disembark. Maintain 360-degree security. Engineers stay in the vehicles. Kilo, we're going to sweep the first building complex to the north."
The moment my boots touched Afghan soil, the world slowed down. The air was thick. The sun, relentless. We moved in formation, weapons raised, toward the first building.
And then, all hell broke loose.
The explosion came from our rear, an IED that had been waiting for the entire convoy to enter the kill zone. The third MRAP was lifted off the ground by a fireball and black smoke. Simultaneously, the clatter of AK-47s erupted from windows and rooftops throughout the village.
Third person.
The ambush is perfect. Crossfire from multiple angles. The Kilo contractors dive for cover, returning fire instinctively. Bullets kick up dust clouds from the ground, pinging off the vehicles' armor with a sharp sound. Kenji, or Kage as he's now known, reacts half a second before the others. While the others dive, he's already kneeling behind a low wall, his M4 spitting short, controlled bursts towards a machine gun nest on a rooftop.
First person.
My reticle turns red over the gunner. No time to think. Only the training, Logan Walker's muscle memory, and the system's data. Bang. Bang. My first shot suppresses the enemy, forcing him to duck his head. The second impacts the mud-brick wall right next to him. It's not a kill shot, but it forces him to shift position.
"Suppressive fire on the northeast rooftop!" I shout, my voice cutting through the chaos. Thorne looks at me, nods, and starts barking orders. We've recovered from the initial shock. Now, we're in the fight.
"Thorne, we gotta move! They're tearing us apart out here!" shouts Marcus, pressed against the side of the main MRAP.
"Kage! Javier! With me! We're gonna clear that building on the left! It's our only decent cover! The rest, cover us!" Thorne orders.
This is where it begins. CQB. My pulse quickens, but it's not fear. It's... focus. An icy clarity.
Second person.
You run. The world is a blur of earth tones and muzzle flashes. Bullets whistle past you like angry insects. You reach the building wall. Your back presses against the hot adobe. Thorne and Javier are with you. The sound of gunfire is deafening. There's no background music, no fancy UI. Just chaos and the smell of gunpowder.
Thorne uses a small breach charge on the wooden door. The explosion is a dull thud. He goes in first. You follow, milliseconds later. The room is dark, filled with dust.
You move to the right, your rifle sweeping your sector. You see movement in a dark corner. A figure rises, the barrel of an AK seeking a target. You're faster. A double-tap to center mass. The figure slumps silently. He didn't even have time to scream.
"Contact down!" you whisper into your throat mic.
We advance to the next room. It's methodical carnage. Door. Flashbang. Entry. Gunfire. The system feeds me information.
We clear the ground floor. "Moving up!" Thorne shouts. Stairs are the worst place to be. The ultimate "fatal funnel."
"Hold up," I say, stopping Thorne. My minimap flickers. Sounds. Upstairs. Directly above the staircase. An ambush within the ambush.
I open the summoning menu. My yakuza bank account, now converted into system funds, appears before my eyes. I need something fast, silent, and lethal.
Confirm.
A cold sensation materializes in my left hand. It's a perfectly balanced combat knife. It feels familiar, as if I've thrown thousands of them.
I look at Thorne. "Cover the stairs. Throw a flashbang on three, then pull back. I've got this."
He hesitates for a second, but the conviction in my eyes persuades him. "Do it."
Thorne barks an unintelligible order, throws a flashbang upstairs. The bang and flashes fill the stairwell. In that instant of distraction, I peek around.
First person.
Time stretches. I see two insurgents leaning over the edge, disoriented by the grenade, their rifles pointed downwards. My arm moves with a will of its own, an extension of my intent. The knife flies, spinning in a perfect arc. It strikes the first man in the neck with a wet thud. He falls backward, surprised, clutching his throat.
The second man turns toward me. My M4 is already up. No time to aim down sights. I fire from the hip. A three-round burst impacts his chest. The impact slams him against the wall.
"Stairs clear!" I report, taking the steps two at a time. The smell of blood and cordite is overwhelming. The first man I took down with the knife stares at me with glassy eyes. I look away, bile rising in my throat. This isn't a game. They don't disappear in a flash of pixels.
I ignore the notification. Thorne and Javier climb up behind me, their faces a mix of shock and respect.
"Damn, Kage..." Javier mutters.
From the rooftop, we have a better view. The battle continues below. Our team is gaining ground, but the insurgents are tenacious. And then I see the real problem. A man, clearly the leader, is coordinating fire from the building across the street, an old auto repair shop. He's using a radio and has two men with a mounted DShK heavy machine gun in the back of a pickup truck inside the shop.
"Thorne, the leader's in the workshop across the street. With a 'Dushka.' If we don't take them out, they're going to shred the MRAPs."
Thorne looks through his binoculars. He curses. "Can't reach him from here. They've got us pinned down."
I think fast. Alex, the gamer, knows what to do. The walls are adobe and brick. They won't stop a high-caliber bullet, but they'll disperse an explosion. I need something precise. My funds aren't unlimited. I can't summon Captain Price. But maybe... something smaller.
"Cover me," I say, and duck behind a crenel. I close my eyes, focusing on the system. It's a gamble. A very expensive gamble.
Confirm.
Fifty thousand dollars. A fortune. I feel a tug on my virtual bank account, and for a second, nothing happens. Then, a low hum fills the air right beside me. A small drone with four rotors, the size of a dinner plate, materializes in a flicker of green light before becoming almost invisible with optical camouflage. A control interface appears in my vision.
"What the hell is that?" Thorne whispers, recoiling.
"Air support," I say simply. I pilot the drone with my thoughts, sending it off the rooftop and flying it across the street, invisible to the enemy. The drone's camera gives me a perfect view inside the workshop. The leader, the gunners, everything.
"Target acquired," I whisper. The MQ-27 has a very small explosive charge, designed to destroy equipment, not to demolish buildings. It's perfect.
I maneuver the drone directly above the DShK nest.
Yes.
A small explosion shakes the workshop. It's not huge, but it's incredibly precise. Metal flies through the air. The screams of wounded insurgents replace the machine gun's roar. The insurgent leader, dazed, stumbles out of the workshop, directly into Thorne's line of sight.
Thorne's sniper rifle shot is a single, resonant crack. The leader falls.
With their leader and heavy weapon out of commission, the Mountain Lions' morale breaks. The fire diminishes, becoming sporadic. Soon, silence falls over Zarin Dah, broken only by the crackle of flames from the destroyed MRAP and the groans of the wounded.
The battle is over.
I remain kneeling, my heart pounding against my ribs. The adrenaline rush fades, leaving an icy void. I look at my hands. They don't tremble. I look at the bodies in the street. I look at the smoking workshop.
This was my doing. Alex planned it. Kenji executed it.
Marcus runs over to us. He has a cut on his arm, but is otherwise fine. "Is everyone alright? We saw the explosion. What happened?"
Thorne looks at me, his eyes analyzing every inch of me. "Kage... he saved our asses. That's what happened."
I climb down from the rooftop, my legs feeling heavy. The smell of death is thick, nauseating. I pass by the insurgent I killed with the knife. His face is frozen in a mask of surprise and pain.
The notification flashes in my vision, but I barely register it. My gaze is fixed on the destruction. On the blood staining the dust.
I've won. I've survived my baptism by fire. I've proven to be more than Kaito Tanaka's useless son. I am a lethal operator. A ghost.
But as the Afghan sun begins to set, painting the smoke and dust a bloody red, a cold question settles in my heart.
By becoming this efficient, deadly monster... what part of Alex or Kenji am I killing in the process?