• [Warning: High traffic influx detected. First-tier safety firewall breached. Authorization recognized… DARPA filtering complete, no anomalies detected. Blocking traffic—impossible. Impossible. Impossible. Impossible….]

• [Notification: Verifying access node… Unable to determine. Electronic certificate cross-verification complete. Commencing inter-server coordination and system central control procedure to manage traffic.]

• [Notification: Activating Protocol Icarus.]

 

"Damn it, what is this!"

It was 3 a.m., when even the sun and moon had fallen asleep. Inside DARPA's control room, which never truly turned off, walls filled with dozens of massive screens and floating holograms rapidly became littered with warnings that they had never seen before, all within a matter of seconds.

Even for those working at DARPA who had pulled countless night shifts, it was the first time they had ever encountered so many issues in such a short span. The researchers, network technicians, and security engineers, who had faced all sorts of scenarios, could only stare blankly at the screens in stunned silence.

Only one person, Jordan Royden, appeared to be furiously working at his computer, masking his exhaustion. At a glance, he seemed busy trying to resolve the situation, but that wasn’t the reality. He exchanged a subtle glance with the person overseeing tonight's shift.

Breaking eye contact, the shift leader spoke up coolly.

"Call in the rapid response team for Protocol Icarus. Everyone else, return to your division’s control room and prepare to minimize collateral damage. Remember, we’re the initial response team, not the crisis resolution team."

"Understood!"

With that, half of the personnel swiftly left, and even those who remained to monitor and organize the situation quickly bolted to their departments as soon as the rapid response team arrived.

How much time had passed since then? Once all the shift staff had left and the entire response team had taken their seats, the control room doors sealed tightly.

A dry, mechanical voice sounded from the ceiling.

• [Notification: Control room lockdown complete.]

 

"...."

Another stretch of time passed before someone finally broke the silence.

"Isn’t the time difference with Korea thirteen hours? This is brutal, really. Of all times for something like this to happen… Anyway, everyone. How does it feel to witness the true nature of the Icarus Gear?"

"It’s like a natural disaster. The technological gap is at least 30 years ahead. The traffic load briefly surpassed DARPA’s normal computational capacity."

"Strictly speaking, it’s not that the device itself holds that much processing power… But considering how it can legally commandeer every connected terminal, it’s about the same."

Despite their chatter, their fingers moved constantly.

What initially seemed like chaotic data flow was reorganized under their hands, forming a coherent picture on the network. The real-time modifications to Yujin’s record file, unlocked by the Icarus key, were projected on the hologram display.

Soon enough, the file took on a comprehensible form. The holographic records illustrated Yujin’s journey in this world.

Following Anchorite’s guidelines closely, the file meticulously documented every encounter Yujin had, drawing from a roster that spanned not just Delta Force and DEVGRU but also a vast array of special forces units under JSOC that were too numerous to name.

Observing this, the team leader spoke up softly.

"There are quite a lot."

Indeed, it was an unprecedented and bizarre lineup of a cartel that probably hadn’t existed before in history, but it wasn’t something to be overly concerned about. They didn’t need to get all of them on the same page. Focusing on those closest to Yujin and revolving around them was enough.

And even those “closest” included future presidents, NSA directors, nearly half of DARPA’s researchers, the Secretary of Defense and Deputy Secretary, the Army Chief, and countless others from the Secret Service to JSOC and beyond.

In the real world, that level of influence was more than sufficient.

Moreover, any remaining traces in the digital realm could be effortlessly wiped by the Icarus Gear.

The work flowed smoothly and sequentially. In other words, they only needed to organize the outcome of efforts made by others rather than doing it themselves.

By the way,

"MWRT, huh? So this military tech development project that’s been floating around for years is tied to this as well."

The Metropolitan-Warfare Tactical Response Team, or MWRT.

If Yujin had followed the typical special forces track, gradually climbing through the ranks, she might have been building experience in a TIER 2 special unit by now. But the higher-ups had fabricated an entirely new unit to legitimize the experience she’d accumulated.

There was no need to strain their brains designing training data. They could easily compile a few select records from the extensive combat data stored in the Icarus Gear, which would be more than enough to make anyone’s training records as thick as a millionaire’s wallet.

‘…And to think, it’s armed with electronic certificates capable of easily breaching DARPA’s system. If anyone hears about this, they’re going to be utterly floored.’

In their world, they had already poured nearly two decades and billions of dollars into this project, so such performance was only to be expected. In emergencies, each device could even function as a network hub, matching the scale of a single U.S. institution.

Of course, during the initial chaos, the vast majority perished amidst viruses and pandemonium, leaving only a handful of operators and a limited number of Icarus Gears in existence….

The turmoil was gradually subsiding.

After almost 13,000 kilometers worth of remote modifications, the updates began to taper off, concluding with a message signaling completion.

A final message was delivered:

• [Yujin: Future modifications are possible, so any feedback would be appreciated. // It’s really great to see you all again!]

 

"Haha."

The work on their end was mostly wrapped up.

Now it was time for the U.S. to get busy.

But before that, there was something that had to be said.

"...Can someone please let Anchorite know not to do these updates at this ungodly hour next time?"

Everyone nodded in unison.

It was a very late night, indeed.

• [USSOCOM: Authenticity verification complete. Any parts requiring modification or editing will be sent within three days. See attached file for details….]

 

"Looks like the guys dragging their feet in Florida are finally getting to work. Remember General Howard?"

"Oh, the one who almost got himself killed during the Miami recapture because he insisted on fighting on the front lines?"

"Haha, I’ll have to remind him about that next time. He might not take it so well."

A short laugh followed.

Considering the Omega Virus incident affected the entire U.S., who knows how many people were involved. Fortunately, John mentioned someone I actually remembered.

General Howard R. Spencer.

I remember him rampaging around, determined to destroy every hostile force operating near the stranded aircraft carrier by Miami Beach. He even made a fuss about being an old Green Beret and wanting to join the fight.

Of course, just two days later, his command vehicle was almost blown up by a Russian infiltration team’s rocket. But he somehow managed to escape and even claimed a few kills afterward.

"So he’s the commander of USSOCOM now?"

"He’s the one who’ll be vouching for a lot of your military background. Why don’t you schedule a video call? Building a trust network is a fundamental HUMINT skill, after all."

"Really?"

"Haha, tough crowd."

As I pondered when would be best to send this old man back home, I opened the classified email sent through the private network. The message automatically deleted itself as soon as I downloaded the file.

The file didn’t have many notes. It was the result of a preliminary draft, and the pre-work Anchorite had done was approved, so there wasn’t much that needed changing. If anything, it contained more requests, primarily for battle data currently stored in the Icarus Gear. They wanted the records to shape training and operation documentation. Of course, given the file sizes, I couldn’t just send them over immediately.

I might suggest storing them on high-capacity drives and shipping them via diplomatic pouch later on.

Naturally,

"That’s a good idea. Just a brief connection already overloaded DARPA’s systems, from what I heard."

"Haha, blame the U.S. government for pouring astronomical sums into a single watch."

"It’s ironic that such a statement can’t be brushed off as just a joke."

He added this with a subtle smile, his gaze fixed on the list of training programs I’d completed.

"Firearms and tactics, SCUBA, CQB, CQC, HALO, SERE, infiltrating large facilities and ships, land navigation, sabotage, tactical demolition, IED creation, emergency medical skills, advanced urban warfare, building tactics, CDQC, JTAC, various vehicle operations, small-unit tactics, and more... You’ve learned quite a bit over four years. Owens must’ve had his hands full."

"He’d probably tell you that anyone else would’ve burnt out long ago."

"Not an unfair point. Even the infamous Green Beret Q-Course gives over ten days’ rest between phases…."

And, as I mentioned, they didn’t let me rest after training. The constant incursions before, during, and after training taught me just how brutal this training could be. Even though I was often praised for absorbing knowledge like a sponge, there were hundreds of times when I nearly broke.

Anyway, I shouldn’t get lost reminiscing about the past.

Scrolling further down, I saw countless certificates and proofs of completion for various training courses—an endless list. All of it, my record.

"Anyway, if there aren’t any major issues, your profile will be finalized like this. You can proudly present it as your business card."

"Though it’s not like I followed an official course."

"Are you talking about something like SFAS? Basic fitness tests, land navigation, armed mountain marches, rough terrain training? I assure you, there’s no JSOC operator with your stamina and endurance. But then again, you’re not exactly suited for espionage either."

"I suppose you’re right, but… it still feels lacking."

"There’s always something that feels lacking. But on the flip side, given the circumstances, you’re probably one of the best urban warfare specialists in JSOC. Think of it as a different specialization. It’s not like a comms specialist envies a medical sergeant."

"Oh."

It felt like an odd resolution to a lingering doubt I’d had. Maybe, deep down, I was hoping for someone to tell me this.

We continued talking back and forth. Meanwhile, emails from the U.S. kept coming, bringing new topics into the conversation. Specifics on being formally added to the DoD’s list of TIER 1 operators, and other matters.

Time flew by, and before I knew it, it was 11 p.m.

The hours melted away like ice cream left outside on a summer day.

"...Has it really been almost twelve hours? I don’t think I’ve ever felt time pass so quickly."

"Seriously. Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?"

"I’ll stay nearby. I doubt I’ll sleep much anyway, with all the data to go through. I might end up pulling an all-nighter."

"There’s an extra bed here. You could sleep here."

"I’ll pass. I’d rather not get in trouble with my team. This won’t be my last visit, anyway… Come to think of it, next time, there might be someone else dropping by."

John added this with a hint of regret.

With a tired nod, he took the sweet chocolate milk I handed him and downed it. Then, he glanced at me with a grin.

"You still love sweets, huh? I can guess what’s in your fridge without even looking."

"Can’t help it with a high metabolism."

"Honestly, I’m a bit jealous… Never mind. I’m just tired. I think it’s time for me to go."

"Alright."

And now, for the final topic of the day.

Although, unfortunately, “unexpected” would have to be added to that description.

"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you."

"About what?"

"Well, my team and I, we’re all huge fans of your streams. Some of our operating funds might have ended up in your bank account."

"...Ugh."

"If only you had a better game selection criteria, though."

Gah.

Hearing this from an old colleague was a shock, to say the least. But he laughed and added that having work was a great motivator. In that sense, I had nothing to be embarrassed about.

The problem is, I’m terrible with embarrassment.

Anyway, we exchanged quick goodbyes.

The heavy door closed.

───Click!

And the house returned to silence as if nothing had happened.

But it wouldn’t be quiet for long.

Because—

• [Harmony: Teacher—! I actually hit TIER 1 today!]

• [Harmony: And I’ve been working Limit, Stone, and Hotteok pretty hard, hehe. They’re doing so well! But there’s always room for improvement, so I did some extra shooting range training with them today!]

• [Harmony: I’ll send you the stream link for today. Use it for analysis if you need it later!]

 

Of course.

I had a feeling she’d go for it the moment I told her not to.

It was a psychological trick, like telling someone not to think of an elephant. Seeing it work brought a smile to my face. Her rank was a clear indicator of how much her skills had improved, after all.

I added a quick reply and clicked on the link she’d sent.

───.

As the bright glow filled the screen, I popped open a notepad.

It seemed I’d be up late tonight.