"This... this is the actual Icarus Gear..."

"Be careful. It has a feature that can release a kiloton-level EMP in emergencies, so mishandling or attempting to steal it could reset DARPA entirely."

"Haha, that's brutal."

A chilling power indeed.

Of course, not all Icarus Gear models come with such features. Each model has slight differences. Originally, the plan was to test various functions, select the best ones, and then produce a downgraded mass-production version. However, the Dark Winter crisis dragged on, and the facilities and personnel capable of manufacturing these watches were decimated, leaving the project abandoned.

Additionally, the watches were categorized into early, middle, and late models. Since I spent nearly six months wandering around before settling in as an agent at Central Park, I naturally received a late-model version.

I certainly made good use of it.

"Don’t worry, we'll return it after the analysis. You have ways to get it back, don't you?"

"I can't deny that."

There were options. For example, I could remotely access the gear via my current phone and deploy Warhound-class drones all over the place. Unfortunately for them, my gear was fine-tuned to my specific settings. It compared the wearer's vital signs with the preset data, so no one else could use it without tripping the alarms.

That's what happens when you pour billions of dollars into a watch the size of a wrist device.

Thus, there were a few things to adjust before the analysis.

"Alright, let me tweak the settings a bit. How long do you plan to analyze it?"

"We estimate about three hours."

"Then I'll relax the external network intrusion defense for three hours. Make sure to check the open ports afterward, and adjust the network capacity as needed. Just don’t do anything overly strange with the tests..."

"We’ll be careful."

I began moving my fingers as I remembered.

One of the most intricate devices in the world instantly projected dozens of holograms in the air, and the fragments of past experiences, which I’d memorized to the point of near-exhaustion during actual operations, replayed through my fingertips.

As the gear displayed its true capabilities, something that only a handful of people in the world could fully understand, the people around me wore expressions as if they were witnessing magic. It reminded me of how ordinary people might look if they watched a fighter pilot operate a cockpit.

After completing the necessary adjustments, I handed over the watch. Even though I had worn it through almost every situation for the past five years, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy about being separated from it, even for a few hours. But there wasn’t much I could do.

Janet, the Secretary of Defense, spoke softly.

"Not much time left, but I promise on my position that nothing will happen to the gear."

"Are you making that promise because there’s little time left?"

"Do you think I’d risk blowing up DARPA’s entire database out of curiosity and go down in history for all the wrong reasons?"

Fair point.

That was the end of that conversation. While the Icarus Gear’s value was astronomical, it wouldn’t be wise to refuse cooperation after coming this far. Besides, there were countless ways for me to retrieve it if necessary.

The watch was placed inside a small case, about the size of a briefcase. The case itself was made from multi-layer liquid metal and alloy, capable of protecting its contents even from .50 caliber rounds. It was then escorted, along with me, down to a level that would never see the light of day.

After descending for about 20 seconds, we arrived at a massive, almost surreal research lab. It wasn’t the same as the one depicted in Dark Zone, but it was familiar. The only notable difference was that this lab seemed more rugged.

A guide approached and introduced himself.

"Welcome. I’m Eric Sutton, and I’ll be guiding you through the tactical support device demonstration today. You can call me Eric."

"Nice to meet you, Eric."

"Shall we proceed to the demonstration area?"

I nodded and glanced around.

As I recalled from my memory of DARPA, the left side after exiting the elevator for senior staff had a lobby, followed by a hologram display showcasing the current technological lineage and advancements at DARPA.

I glanced briefly at the hologram. There were noticeable differences. A few projects that should’ve been completed were still missing, which gave me a strange feeling.

As I observed, Eric spoke again.

"The hologram doesn’t yet include the Augmented Reality implementation and advanced combat dog projects. I’m sure you know why, Sergeant Eugene."

"...Yes. Where were you stationed before?"

"I was with JTF. I was assigned to the technical control division but also worked at the surveillance towers near Columbus Circle. I was the first to report the Osprey crash to HQ."

"You must have fought alongside Task Force Dagger. I was there, but I don't remember many people I fought with."

"That's alright. I remember, and that’s what matters. Thanks to you, I’m still alive."

I chuckled briefly and nodded.

If anyone was guiding me here, they had to be well-versed in the virus-stricken history of the U.S. I was now in the epicenter of those memories, and it was only now sinking in.

We exchanged some casual banter. The main topic was a shared criticism of the other world's U.S., which had blown astronomical sums on a watch like this. The amount was staggering, ranging from hundreds to thousands of trillions of won, making the grumbling understandable.

Yet, in the end, if people like Eric were saved by the watch—though I couldn’t claim the watch alone was responsible—it seemed somewhat worth it. After all, it was a down payment that helped revive a crumbling America.

Once the pandemic ended, though, the inevitable backlash over spending such sums on deep-cover agents would hit hard, but that wasn’t my problem.

The demonstration began.

Familiar gunfire filled the room.

"You’ve probably seen this turret before. We can’t fully replicate the Icarus Gear’s original targeting process, so its performance is a bit diminished."

"There are some things you can’t recreate."

"Unfortunately, yes."

Despite the deafening gunfire, the conversation felt mundane. I’d seen this a thousand times in the ruins of New York, so it didn’t have much impact. This demonstration was more a way to kill time until the analysis was complete.

They seemed to sense my lack of enthusiasm.

"So far, who else has seen this in person?"

"The research team and Secretary Janet, mainly."

"She must’ve been quite surprised."

There was no verbal answer, but a nod confirmed it.

As several data points popped up in the air, Eric continued.

"The current efficiency is roughly this level. Since we haven’t seen it fully integrated with the Icarus Gear, we’re not sure how much more we can improve it."

"Probably by more than 70%."

"…That’s impressive."

I thought it was only natural, though.

There wasn’t much else to ask. I’d seen all these skills countless times before. If I wanted, I could’ve even shared the targeting program codes and other behind-the-scenes details that they didn’t know about.

With about two and a half hours left until the analysis was complete, it was clear Eric would be keeping me company for the rest of that time.

After a while, he asked a small question.

"Where are you headed next?"

"After DARPA?"

"Yes."

"Probably the Pentagon or Icarus headquarters. I’m not sure about the former since there’s no real reason to go there, but I definitely need to visit the latter."

"You're only hitting the major stops."

"Yeah. I came for the final championship, but my to-do list keeps growing."

…Of course, that was just how I phrased it. I had known for a long time, even before boarding the plane, that there would be an overwhelming amount of things to do and discuss. The only surprise was how compressed the schedule had become.

As we continued talking, we passed by the turret and drone testing area, eventually reaching the chemical launcher and Hive test bench. This triggered a faint sense of unease. None of these places held pleasant memories.

There was a silent debate about who would bring up the topic first, but Eric cautiously broached it.

"These are the tools every Icarus Operator carries. I was healed by one of them during the Columbus Circle battle. I’d never seen anything like it before—truly incredible."

"…Enough to heal gunshot wounds without leaving a trace, in record time."

Nine shots to the abdomen. Thirteen to the left femur. Seven to the left calf. Fourteen to the right lung.

Over the course of nearly five years, I’d suffered countless wounds, but the nanomachine gel and miniature healing drones inside the Hive had buried all traces of the dozens of bullet wounds that should have marked my body.

Scars were impossible. As the battle began, the gear would scan my body ten times per second to detect any injuries, and various nano tools—medical injectors, healing drones—would repair the damage instantly.

Of course, there were limitations. Bones shattered by a direct hit couldn’t be regenerated immediately, so about 20% of my skeleton was still reinforced by hardened nanomachines.

"Sigh."

My smooth abdomen bore no signs of the countless bullets that had torn through it. Many people overlooked the fact that being an Icarus Operator didn’t make the fight any easier.

The bullets rained down fast enough to overwhelm even the shield, and a single stray round could significantly reduce your combat ability if it struck an unprotected area.

…Not fond memories.

However,

"Still, I received rewards for my efforts, so I can’t really complain now."

"Rewards for your efforts… Oh!"

Swish.

It felt a bit strange to wear it myself, but as I lightly shifted my clothes, a distinctive medal came into view.

More than just a piece of metal, it carried a weight beyond its physical form.

Without needing further explanation, Eric saluted. I returned the salute and smiled slightly as he continued, still somewhat flustered.

"That’s an incredible reward. It’s a shame it wasn’t officially announced."

"One soon-to-be president even asked if I wanted to try a tour in Pakistan."

"Haha, that's a pretty high-level joke. I get why they’d want to give it to you so badly."

Haha.

And so, we continued chatting until the Icarus Gear’s analysis was nearly complete.

"Transfer complete. With this, you now own 100% of the think tank’s shares. I doubt you plan to run the entire operation yourself, so I’ll assign a trustworthy executive to help manage things. Since you’re leaving on January 1st, it might be worth meeting them if you have time."

"Sure."

"You seem to have some blueprint in mind. If you’re not too busy, I’d like to hear it."

"We spent 20 years developing the Icarus Gear and the technology behind it. So, over the next ten to twenty years, I plan to gradually release the various sub-technologies derived from it."

"Isn’t that a bit long?"

"There are more spinoff technologies than you can imagine, Madam Secretary."

At present, nothing else could compare to the detection software.

The Pulse that scans everything within a designated radius and draws conclusions.

Drones tested with real-world data, guaranteed to function in the harshest environments.

Medical nanomachines that, if applied in the medical field, would be worth far more than their weight in gold.

Shields that could protect anything, and the extensive list of subordinate technologies that made it all work seamlessly.

"If we release even ten new technologies each year, it’ll more than cover the think tank’s operating costs and secure the livelihoods of our staff. If we release twice that, their families will be set for generations."

"That’s quite a claim."

"I’ve studied the gear and its technology to the point of losing some hair from stress, so I can guarantee it."

Indeed.

Janet had brought up the topic first, but discussing it now revealed that she hadn’t fully examined all the details—though that wasn’t really her fault.

With her workload already piled high, it was impressive she had grasped even the basic outlines of the gear’s capabilities.

The Secretary of Defense, wearing an oddly amused expression, spoke again.

"I’ll leave the specifics to you. In just a few years, you’ll become one of the wealthiest people ever."

"Haha, should I start lobbying for you?"

"What higher position could I even reach? Besides, I’m a Republican, and even if I entered politics, my future wouldn’t be bright. If the old Senate raccoon were Republican, maybe things would be different. I’m content with a modest retirement home in Beverly Hills."

"Anyone listening would think Beverly Hills is nothing but mountains and fields."

Few people could downplay one of the richest neighborhoods in the U.S. like that.

Anyway, with the main discussion wrapped up, I could refine the future tech release plan later using the watch I’d soon get back. It seemed like my future would be relatively secure.

Janet glanced at her watch, then patted me on the shoulder.

"Next time we meet, it’ll be as civilians. Originally, you were supposed to visit the Pentagon and NSA as well, but after reviewing your schedule, we decided to drop those visits."

"I’m not sure if I should thank you for that."

"It’s nothing to worry about."

With that, she left with a final word.

"Chief of Staff Sorkins is waiting outside. You’ve got a week off, so enjoy yourself. And I hope Icarus HQ has the answers you’re looking for."

"Thank you."

As she disappeared into the distance, I returned my temporary ID and prepared to leave.

It wasn’t intentional, but my wallet felt heavier by the minute.

"Maybe I should treat everyone to something nice later…"

It seemed like the best way I could show my gratitude.

There wasn’t much left of my past to settle.