NoveLight ™
"Did these guys ever imagine they’d starve to death at an airport?"
"I’m not sure, but I’m glad we won’t have to fire a shot. There’s a reason there was no sign of life when we scouted the airport with the SUAV."
Northwest Sacramento, Sacramento International Airport.
Under the relentless snowstorm, nine figures cautiously emerged—the Task Force Dagger Team. These weren’t the peaceful Dagger Team members from the game who helped the youngest, but rather the group who once lost and regained their youngest at the Indian Point Nuclear Power Plant.
Rain or snow, the operation proceeds. The Icarus Gear allowed users to maintain 100% combat readiness even in extreme conditions, far beyond the in-game, performance-limited version designed for balance in territorial wars.
Making full use of these capabilities, Dagger Team had been airlifted from Travis Air Force Base, tens of kilometers south, to Sacramento International Airport, which they aimed to retake as a foothold for the broader Sacramento campaign.
"Activating Echo. Let’s see what happened here."
"Not that we need to look. It’s pretty obvious what happened…."
In the end, it was all about the snow.
In war, supply lines were critical; if you failed to secure them, the only outcome was death. A rare, massive snowstorm—one that might come once in a century—had swept over Sacramento, burying everything, including the supply routes, under snow.
The unique nature of Sacramento International Airport made things worse. To put it bluntly, the airport was in the middle of nowhere. Within a 9km radius, there were only farms. To get supplies, one would need to drive over 13km one way. In other words, anyone there had to cover about 25km round trip to fetch essentials.
Normally, that distance wouldn’t be a problem.
But—
"With all this snow outside, there’s no way supplies were coming in properly."
Snow.
For the past two months, Sacramento’s average temperature had hovered around -25°C, with snow piled up over 40cm in most places. It was a historic natural disaster. Bringing supplies by truck might have worked once or twice, but eventually, it was simply impossible.
The Echo that Laurentina activated confirmed this.
-[Log: Mikhail and Popov haven’t returned for three days. We’re probably going to die here, buried in the snow. Will anyone know whether losing a single truck or burying two of our comrades in snow was the greater loss?]
-[Log: I heard there’s a hotel and a mall if you head west on the West Side Highway for about 14km. Maybe there’s a chance. If I leave, it’ll be during the day. I’ll take all the cold-weather gear I have left.]
-[Log: It’s been a week since we lost contact with the supply lines. Everyone’s starving and going mad. I’m running out of food myself. I’m leaving today. May God have mercy.]
"Do you think this guy’s still alive?"
"Hard to say. If he was lucky, maybe he made it to Costco and is surviving like a caveman?"
"Icarus Gear shows this was written 42 days ago. Who knows… Either way, Intel collection shouldn’t be a problem given this mess."
Other Echos scattered around contained similarly grim stories. The bullet holes and shattered glass nearby hinted at in-fighting driven by hunger, and the scattered bones… well, they didn’t want to know more.
Several Pulse scans revealed no signs of life. Not surprising; with some of the airport’s ceilings partially collapsed under the snow’s weight, the freezing air kept pouring in.
The airport’s internal temperature was only a few degrees warmer than outside. Anyone without proper winter gear, food or no food, was likely to freeze to death.
The place was littered with bodies.
Aside from a few charred or frozen bloodstains, the floor was covered with frozen corpses. But the airport brigade had already become a meal for the snowstorm. Now, all that was left was to check for remaining intel.
Finding the operations command center was straightforward. Near a cluster of high-ranking corpses, they found a shiny, server-like room that screamed "command center."
"Bingo. Everyone, gather around. Let’s see what’s inside."
Whirr!
Logan took out a power supply from his bag, while Laurentina carefully placed her wrist on it. The server whirred to life, displaying various holographic panels. The data had stopped updating about a month ago, suggesting the place fell around then.
Other than being in Cyrillic, the tactical software was similar to others they’d seen. The team began combing through the network, downloading key data onto their Icarus Gear.
Since someone else might come after, they activated a destruction algorithm to erase the data after use and continued talking.
"Force deployments, key targets, Sacramento’s travel routes… They wouldn’t have set up a command center here if they expected it to fall. We’re taking everything."
"Wait a sec. Look below—there’s an emergency message."
A popup immediately appeared in their line of sight.
The contents were heavy.
"…Uh, everyone, listen up."
"Now what?"
"I think things are about to get complicated. Take a look."
A single popup window appeared.
Emergency.
An aircraft transporting two 150kt nuclear warheads to Mater Airport, east of Sacramento, has crashed somewhere in Sacramento due to inclement weather.
Recover the warheads at any cost.
Laurentina added in an exasperated tone.
"…Are these people insane?"
The enemy coalition had earned the disdain, even in death.
Sacramento’s situation had just fallen into utter chaos.
"Something always has to come up, doesn’t it?"
"Why does it feel like I keep running into nukes? Are they normally scattered all over the place?"
"Maybe we should ask our Russian friends."
Mainstream.
In other words, the must-do tasks for this mission, the huge routes leading to the end. For those who wanted to experience the collective PvP and unique siege warfare of the Dark Zone, the faction wars were undoubtedly enticing. But as with all things, a beginning has an end.
In other words, simply clearing the surrounding buildings and eliminating nearby enemies wouldn’t end the Sacramento Campaign. While it might seem like overthinking, the more hints that surfaced, the more this felt less like paranoia and more like instinct.
Some might even call it Snake Sense.
"Still, this clue isn’t much help. They didn’t even say where the transport plane crashed. Sacramento is huge."
"Maybe they left it vague because there are tens of thousands of players roaming around?"
"If it weren’t for the blizzard, that theory would hold up."
Without flamethrowers or vaporized napalm, they would’ve been forced into a snow-clearing operation in virtual reality. And thanks to the sudden update to the main mission, the Dark Zone community sites were abuzz. Some players even started fires in abandoned buildings, claiming a plane had crashed there, turning the situation into utter chaos.
Harmony and I had also started our stream, checking occasionally for useful information. But realistically, would anyone give up valuable intel so readily? Most players would keep critical data to themselves for later use.
But that wasn’t the only issue.
"Why does Sacramento have so many airports? It’s like there’s one in every quadrant…."
"Mater Airport, Executive Airport, McClellan Airport, International Airport… Just based on possible routes, we have six options."
"Best not to trust that. The blizzard probably knocked them off course. Better to assume they could be anywhere."
The first ones out always get burned.
As the chat pointed out, tracking the flight path would waste time and manpower. A better plan would be finding the black box, the departing airport, or the warhead type.
A 150kt nuclear warhead was missile-grade. In other words, it was ballistic missile material. That meant hitting a nearby command post and checking the warhead allocation or supply manifest for the missile could pinpoint its location.
I tapped the table softly. It was a signal only Harmony, Dice, and I understood—a code for when we discussed sensitive in-game intel, like sanctuary trap locations.
Enabling the blurred screen and conversation filter, I added:
"When we hit the Capitol Museum command post last time, we took everything we could. We should go through it again; there could be something useful."
"Another brilliant idea."
There was no shortage of viewers itching to get involved.
After selecting a few to “crush” their avatars’ heads for laughs, I checked the data hovering in the air. Of course, all the viewers saw was a blurred screen.
One by one, I shared my findings with Harmony and Dice, who reviewed each entry with broad smiles. We keyed in on ballistic missiles and troop deployment logs. A few entries pointed to McClellan Airport as a ballistic missile depot, but a quick look confirmed it was a decoy.
And soon, we found data from about a month ago indicating a transport plane was scheduled to arrive at Mater Airport, east of Sacramento.
But there was a problem.
"It doesn’t say where it took off…."
"Let’s just be grateful we’ve narrowed it down."
That left three options.
McClellan Airport, 13km northeast of the prison; Executive Airport, 8km south; and Sacramento International, 15km away. My instincts told me it was likely Sacramento International.
After a brief consideration, I spoke up.
"Dice, check McClellan. Harmony, head to Executive. I’ll go to Sacramento International. If there are enemies, don’t force it. If things get rough, pull back. Take sanctuary members if you need backup."
"Going solo, as always?"
"It’s the furthest, so those who can’t keep up would only slow us down. Besides, taking everyone would make the base defense harder."
"Got it. Prepping recon set."
The three of us split off—our destinations were blurred, so viewers would only catch the name of a generic “--- Airport.”
Moving on roads, it was about 11 miles, or roughly 18km. Adjusted for the game’s map scale, that meant trudging through about 9km of snow. If this were reality, it would be challenging, but in any case, I intended to get there fast.
With brief farewells, the three of us exited the prison’s main gate, heading in different directions. Snow had lightened up, and the few players who ventured out had cleared most of it, allowing me to walk on asphalt again.
But after only a few dozen meters—
Deep snow, past my shins, up to my knees, awaited me.
"Wow…."
Crunch.
Snow that had fallen fresh and old, compressed and packed, broke underfoot. With each step, hundreds more, I moved forward.
After a few minutes, I switched to the adhesive bomb’s flame-throwing mode, melting my way through the snow. Though it only helped for about a kilometer, it was better than nothing.
The cold wind howled. With the streetlights dead, an eerie atmosphere loomed. The only sound was my footsteps, muffled in the endless white.
After a while, I reached a stretch of the West Side Highway. At last, Sacramento International Airport appeared on the horizon.
But it looked nothing like I expected.
Honestly, it barely looked like anything.
"…Is this it?"
It was just a massive snowbank.
Not a single light shone. Just in case, I sent a 500m pulse forward, which confirmed it—no life signs in the airport.
Hastily, I crossed the snow-covered parking lot and reached the terminal. But even in the terminal’s heart, there was no sound, no movement.
I had to admit it.
Whether by natural disaster or another cause, everyone occupying the airport was dead.
It didn’t take long to confirm my suspicion.
"My God…."
Exactly.
There were a few bodies with gunshot wounds, but most… were eerily clean, like mummies. The cause was clear. With a partially collapsed ceiling, freezing air poured into the airport. Snow had buried the structure, letting in relentless, icy gusts.
But there was something more important.
Footprints?
Fresh footprints trailed through disturbed snow.
I followed them, taking care to avoid detection by viewers. They led to a server room. A quick thermal scan confirmed that it had been reactivated recently, likely warmed by prior use.
Could someone have beaten me here? Connecting a power supply, I activated the server. To my surprise, it booted up without issue. As I started transferring data to my Icarus Gear, I checked another area.
Login logs.
If the server had been shut down and rebooted, there would’ve been login records, and any deletions could be traced.
What I found was entirely unexpected.
"…!"
A distinct server shattering algorithm.
The files splintered into unreadable trash, blocking any further transfer. But I knew exactly where it came from.
It was from Dagger Team.
Dagger Team from the other world had already been here!
"Damn it."
But the viewers’ laughter had nothing to do with my frustration.
I needed to find Dagger Team.
Immediately.
"What’s this? The youngest just messaged me?"
"What did he say?"
"To stop immediately and send him our location… What’s going on?"
Meanwhile.
Dagger Team frowned at the unexpected message.
tftc