NoveLight ™
"Status report?"
"We’ve established a defensive line northwest of San Jose, pushing toward the center of San Francisco. With both bridges destroyed, the remaining enemy forces can’t retreat."
"Let’s minimize bombing to preserve what’s left of the infrastructure. Rebuilding will take ages if we cause any more damage."
Powell, the general in San Diego, let out a small sigh after saying this. Fortunately, no one reacted to it—or perhaps they intentionally ignored it.
It was inevitable. Watching the progressive destruction of America’s proud cities and infrastructure, giving orders to destroy what he knew would need to be rebuilt, wasn’t exactly enjoyable. Especially when the view from a military satellite showed the aftermath in stark, brutal detail.
Though the ground zero wasn’t extensive, the spreading fires around it were alarming. The impact area was a former residential neighborhood, where homes were being swept away by the shockwave alone. At least four or five such hits had been necessary.
Powell's expression hardened as he spoke again.
“Have we identified any anti-air missiles?”
“We lack sufficient data to give a clear answer, but if any forces remain, it’s likely some missiles are still operational.”
“Hmm.”
He had a good reason for asking. Even though a nuke had landed, cities were both ideal and paradoxical nuclear targets—while maximizing blast impact, they also significantly reduced its range. Although most of the enemy forces had been wiped out, some remnants were likely scattered throughout.
To verify, reconnaissance UAVs would have to be deployed. However, if any SAMs remained, they would pose a major risk. In a world where every resource was precious, they couldn’t afford such losses.
It was a frustrating puzzle. To protect allied forces, they’d need UAV recon. But to ensure UAV safety, they needed to confirm the presence of SAMs, which could only be done by sending in people.
A Catch-22, but not without possible solutions.
“Operations Advisor.”
“Yes, General.”
“Seal off San Francisco. Let no one, not even a rat or a crate of supplies, get in or out. Form an elite reconnaissance team from the best of our forces on the blockade line.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sealing off a major city like San Francisco was no small feat. If the remaining forces held out indefinitely, this could drag on for months or even years. But they’d break the siege with periodic assaults, tracking down and eradicating hostile forces one by one, leaving them without food or sleep.
“When I arrived at Point Loma, do you know what I saw first? Two mushroom clouds. We’ll make them pay for turning San Diego into a radioactive wasteland.”
It wouldn’t be easy, and it would take time and adaptable strategy.
But time and resources were on their side, unlike the invaders who had stomped their way into San Francisco. Within a few months, that area would be entirely devoid of anything.
With the primary concerns addressed, Powell’s attention turned elsewhere.
“How’s Sacramento?”
“It’s still in chaos. The snowstorm is intensifying, and meteorologists predict it could last at least six more weeks.”
“Good heavens.”
The satellite view zoomed further north, where a massive storm system blanketed Seattle, Portland, and Sacramento. While no single storm could cover that vast area, multiple severe blizzards had swept over California.
The West Coast looked anything but promising. Cities lay blanketed in white, with an expected temperature drop well below freezing.
“If we’d delayed Team Dagger’s deployment any longer, things would’ve been much harder.”
There was no response, but he continued.
“Check that winter supplies are ample for the San Francisco defense line. Any delay, and HQ might struggle to deliver resupplies.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Reinforce personnel and snow removal equipment at San Jose International Airport. Make sure everything proceeds smoothly.”
Finally, Powell sank back into his chair.
Watching his operations officers rush about to carry out his orders, he clasped his hands together, mumbling to himself.
“Wouldn’t mind a shadow showing up in Sacramento—or even just at Travis Air Force Base…”
He wondered why they’d appeared, who they were, and what they were made of.
That immortal force, which had managed to rout Los Angeles so effectively, hadn’t reappeared. Their help was sorely needed to preserve troops and resources. Maybe, just maybe, they’d reappear if he wished hard enough.
With a fleeting thought, he stared at the satellite image of Sacramento, obscured by thick clouds.
“…so that’s what our rookie says.”
“Of course.”
There wasn’t a single soul who wouldn’t welcome an immortal army that needed neither rest nor supplies.
It was decided: the next mission area for the shadows would be Sacramento.
“The game devs really do whatever they want.”
“…”
“Yerin?”
“Uh…”
“Oh my god, what happened? Hypothermia already?!”
Sacramento, California.
The operation, codenamed "Snowpierce," commenced in mid-February 2036, as a record-breaking snowstorm with an average temperature of -23°C hit the West Coast for the first time in decades.
Only two operators could travel together in the snow-buried, hostile landscape. With the storm blocking all external reconnaissance, Sacramento was declared a non-supervised zone where betrayals and impromptu alliances were permissible. Players deploying to the area scattered across the city.
The objective? Set up a shelter against the relentless blizzard, forage for materials, or take over existing structures for better protection. Players could destroy, merge, or defend shelters as they saw fit.
In short, it was a brutal survival battle in a Dark Zone.
Assuming one could handle the cold.
Boom!
“What the hell?!”
“Stay focused! Moving is the only way to stay warm!”
“But who told you to throw a fire grenade at me?!”
Under faint lighting, snow flurries, and moonlight, a bright flame blazed to life. The heat was so intense that the surrounding snow melted before refreezing, while Dice thrashed like a freshly caught fish.
Viewers were stunned into silence, but as the flames on Dice’s clothing quickly extinguished, he found himself cured of hypothermia. Harmony, too, warmed up thanks to the fire grenade.
But a critical choice loomed: exhaust shield energy to stave off the cold, leaving oneself vulnerable in combat, or risk hypothermia to conserve shield energy.
They chose the latter.
“…Finally warmed up. So, where do we go from here?”
“Open areas are crawling with enemies, and most buildings have too many windows, which makes them hard to secure…”
Bzzz.
A pulse spread through the area.
Most players deployed to Sacramento aimlessly wandered, often meeting their end from enemy patrols, other players, or the cold itself. While many buildings were nearby, few offered strong defenses.
But exceptions existed.
“200 meters ahead… Is that… a prison?”
“Sounds like a major hassle.”
“Since when did we ever avoid hassle?”
Click.
The ominous sound of Harmony’s M110A1 in the icy winds was unmistakable. One way or another, either the prison or this duo would face the River Styx today.
Neither Harmony nor Dice had any intention of wandering in the blizzard any longer than necessary.
Recalling their survival missions with Eugene, Harmony exhaled heavily. How had they gone from knowing so little to this point?
With the freezing conditions, the route to the prison was oddly clear—no enemies in sight, which likely meant they were all holed up inside.
A foreboding structure with faint lights stood in the center of Sacramento.
The Sacramento County Central Prison.
And a skull symbol appeared.
-[Warning: Numerous enemies detected in the building. Reinforcements recommended.]
“There’s a prison in the middle of downtown? Interesting.”
“Not a prison anymore. At least not if there aren’t prisoners inside.”
“Oh.”
The implication was obvious.
After a brief pause, Dice added.
“Well, at least we don’t have to worry about friendly fire.”
Harmony chuckled, nodding.
The door creaked open, and through the thick darkness, only a siren echoed. The entrance was guarded by an Echo—the recorded image of an enemy soldier slaughtering every staff member inside.
Apparently, the enemy forces had scavenged weapons from nearby, opened every cell door, and either executed or enlisted remaining prisoners as auxiliary troops.
The Echo faded, but the events that followed were easy to predict.
Then—
Thud!
“What was that?”
“Someone’s trying to ambush us in the dark.”
Smoke rose from the silencer of Harmony’s pistol, the enemy dropping with a hole in his forehead. A shotgun clattered from his hand, now useless to anyone.
Suddenly, the ceiling lights flicked on. Footsteps echoed from both hallways, followed by the hiss of gas vents overhead. But neither Harmony nor Dice flinched, their shields automatically filtering the gas.
A grenade, pin pulled, rolled down the hallway. Ducking behind an overturned desk, Dice aimed across the corridor.
Heavily armed troopers poured in, oblivious to the grenade waiting around the corner.
The explosion went off right at the trooper’s rear.
“Aaagh!”
Boom!
No armor could withstand a grenade at such close range. The trooper with a shattered pelvis rolled across the floor, bleeding pixelated polygons, only to be finished off by bullets.
As more enemies arrived, grenades and nanite launchers cleared entire waves at once, overwhelming the prison’s defenders.
When the remaining troops retreated inside for regrouping, Harmony commented cheerfully.
“Apparently, you can name a shelter once you capture it.”
“…Why bring that up?”
“Thought of a good name.”
And then a screenshot appeared.
It was an old photo, seemingly taken during a survival mission with Eugene—clearly intended to get a reaction from Dice.
Eugene, bundled up like a chubby bear, was in the shot.
“How about ChubbyConda?”
“This is ridiculous.”
But Dice didn’t hesitate.
“Let’s do it.”
“Knew you’d like it.”
And so, the two reapers made their way into the prison.
Thus, the first major shelter in Sacramento’s operation history earned its iconic name: ChubbyConda.
tftc