"Let's revisit the conversation we had earlier. The Ministry of National Defense... what?"
"As I said, that's what I heard. The more detailed information will probably be sent to your manager by email... Anyway, I'm just passing along what I overheard from the higher-ups. It seems like the people making the documentary programs are getting pretty excited about it."
"A documentary. I get the idea now."

Day 3 had ended.

One general observer, one senior control officer, and two side participants — in short, the four manifestors had spent the day at a small bar deep inside Fort Moore, enjoying their drinks. This had become something of a routine by now. Since they weren’t closely tied to the competition or scores, this was possible.

That said, starting tomorrow, they wouldn't be able to sit in bars like this for the evening. In just 24 hours, a total of 66 people, including themselves, would be sent to the Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest and Daniel Boone National Forest, located 270 km and 540 km to the north, respectively.

The highlight of this sniper competition was approaching. Over the next three days, participants would need to cover about 60 km in total, heading toward a fortress, then infiltrating an enemy base filled with humanoid robots to complete their missions. Of course, failure to reach the destination on time meant immediate disqualification.

More details would be explained later, but for now, he turned his attention back to the original topic.

"Whether it's possible to make a documentary or not, we'll put that aside for now. So far, all Olivia has shown is her sniper skills, so is she planning to go down that route if she participates?"
"That's right. The rumor I've heard is that they're considering putting people with a strong interest in shooting, like military reviewers and regular people who have deep knowledge of firearms, through actual Marine Corps sniper training. Something like an entertainment-focused military documentary."
"I get the general idea. If it's that kind of thing, I can understand it... but, like someone said, actually participating in it is an entirely different matter."

It felt a bit familiar but seemed more likely to veer toward entertainment rather than seriousness.

He had seen something like this before on YouSpace. A program that recreates actual events or films real training camps for editing and broadcasting... something along those lines.

Of course, he didn’t know if Olivia would even participate in such a program, nor whether it would be serious or more geared toward stimulating interest. As he had said, it was uncertain whether she would actually join or not.

So, of course, the response was deferred. Lorentina didn’t seem particularly curious about whether this owl would accept or decline the invitation, so the topic quickly shifted.

It was essentially a continuation of the previous conversation.

"Anyway, I didn’t expect much from it... The offer for an external sniper instructor is likely just another impulsive move by some people blinded by their achievements."
"Seriously? Offering instructor positions to someone who can randomly shoot and hit targets perfectly? Ridiculous."
"Exactly."
"I’ve also received similar offers in the past. Now that I think about it, I remember it pretty clearly."

What he was referring to was a military survival variety show that aired a few months ago.
The concept was to bring together veterans from various special forces to compete against each other, and he vaguely remembered receiving contact about it… but the problem was, at the time, he was too busy. He had been in the midst of reclaiming the U.S. West Coast.

Naturally, he had forgotten about it, and after that, there was nothing to mention. The infinite competition heading towards the 4th Final Championship had begun. But now, this story was reaching his ears in a somewhat different form.

Perhaps, a few months later, he might be serving as an advisor for that TV program. Considering how unpredictable life was, it wasn’t entirely impossible.

Though it was highly unlikely that he would participate as an actual contestant.

"Are you interested in things like that, rookie?"
"Well, I don't really like showing off my skills on these kinds of shows. If I need to go somewhere and accomplish a mission, that's a different story."
"Good. Seems like we’re almost done with this. Let’s talk about tomorrow's infiltration mission."

"You know I can't be involved in that topic, right? How about we chat more casually, and then after a few hours, I leave, and naturally, the conversation moves in that direction?"
"No way, kid."

Christopher Lorentina, the senior control officer for this competition.

What they were about to discuss now was the fortress infiltration mission scheduled for tomorrow, so Shark had to keep his mouth shut. If he had added anything wrong, it could be used as a hint for the huge mission coming up tomorrow.

No matter how much they were side participants, that would be considered cheating.

Shark just kept sipping his drink, clearly annoyed, while Logan and he pulled out a large map from a small bag. It was a massive map with a 10 km scale. Attached to it were smaller maps with their landing zones and expected movement routes drawn on them.

The cost and difficulty of the last mission, the fortress infiltration, were directly proportional, and there were several sheets of paper listing the many exceptions they had been briefed about, taped under the map.

They began with the basic outline:

"We have to cover about 60 km in 68 hours. If we don’t reach the target in time, we’re automatically disqualified."
"Let’s estimate about 10,000 calories needed per day, so we’ll probably need to eat two or three combat rations per meal. The weight of the rations alone is around 24 kg. The rest will be ammo and various equipment. Each person will probably be carrying over 90 kg."
"90 kg? That’s not too heavy. I hope it doesn't rain."
"If it rains, it'll be non-stop marching. I’d rather not dig a hole and camp out under a tarp."

It may sound easy, having to cover 60 km in 68 hours, but that changed if the terrain was all mountainous.

As mentioned earlier, the weight of the gear alone was 90 kg. For the other teams, they'd be carrying about 50 kg or more, and if they had to bring reconnaissance drones or sniper turrets, the weight would increase substantially.

Again, as mentioned, failure to reach the target on time meant automatic disqualification.

But that wasn’t the real issue. The real problems were the many exceptions:

"Sniping and counter-sniping, minefields, concealed observation posts and barbed wire areas, humanoid patrols… It's a mess."
"That’s why everyone checks vital signs in real-time. Accidents can happen at any time."

One potential mission they could face: if a humanoid sniper with training rounds detects their movement, they would have to locate the sniper’s position and counter-snipe to eliminate it.

The longer the delay, the more precise the shots would become, and beyond a certain point, lasers from Miles training systems would be used to simulate hits — a minor injury wouldn’t stop them, but a severe injury would restrict their movement, and if they died or were abandoned by their team, they would face penalties in the scoring.

Minefields would be points on the route to avoid, and no one needed to be told what happened if they entered. As for barbed wire areas, they would have to cut through it themselves — either with bolt cutters or by shooting through it.

Humanoid patrols were just that — patrols. If spotted, it would get difficult. The longer it took, the more likely a tactical strike team would show up, firing Miles lasers. A hit meant a gunshot wound.

These preparations would take place in the Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest and Daniel Boone National Forest, with 16+1 teams going to the former and 16 teams going to the latter, totaling 32 teams.

However, Lorentina predicted that only about 10 teams would make it to the destination safely. At the time, everyone had laughed it off, but...

"Looks like they’re just planning to disqualify us all. What’s worse is that there’s no guarantee that this mission won’t actually happen."
"Exactly. It’s harsh, but it’s the way it has to be."
"Well, what else would you expect?"

This wasn’t an artificially created battlefield to eliminate participants. Quite the opposite.

This fortress infiltration would serve as a form of preparation for real infiltration missions that they would one day have to face. Setting such a high standard would help ensure no one would complain later. Here, failing just meant disqualification, but in a real mission…

You’d die.

Taking a deep breath, he added:

"By the way, when will we get the combat rations?"

"Don’t just randomly pick something before the training. Just take what’s available now. The warehouse is full."
"Yeah, right. But I hope I can take RCIRs instead of MREs. Hopefully, there’s enough stock."

Lorentina’s face showed a brief look of disbelief, but it wasn’t exactly out of place here.

Logan explained.

"If I stuff that awful MRE garbage in my stomach for 3 days, I’ll die. It’d be better to take some frozen pizzas or something."

"...I know what you mean. Eating that trash for too long will give you constipation. Enough with the gross talk. I'll check if there are any foreign combat rations in the warehouse, so stop looking at me like that!"

"If I check the rations before the mission and they’re all MREs, you’re gonna regret it when I come back after eating those for 3 days straight."

"...I’ll dig through the warehouse at night and bring back anything but MREs. I don’t want to have a funeral because of Arctic bear-like stupidity."

"Can we please stop with those awful jokes?"

As the laughter spread throughout the helicopter, it didn’t last long.

How much time had passed?

The Atlanta cityscape faded into the left rear view, and the pitch-black mountainsides below came into view — Operation Zone A, Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest. And further right, the landing zone for Logan and him.

Using thermal vision, they checked the area. Several helicopters could be seen in the distance, dropping off participants and taking off again.

The helicopter slowed down, descending and beginning to hover. As it did, they threw down thick ropes into the darkness. As the ropes hit the ground, they attached their gear and rappelled down.

With a wave, Logan added:

"Let’s meet near the fortress!"
"Haha, don’t get yourself killed!"

30-minute wait time, timer set.

Everyone had to remain seated until everyone touched the ground, so they activated their night vision goggles, which were necessary since thermal vision wasn’t enough on its own.

After confirming everything was working, he powered them off. They had to conserve battery, so leaving them on wasn’t an option.

Turning to Logan, he added:

"This time has finally come."
"Yeah, it really has."

30 minutes until the fortress infiltration mission began.

It was a moonlit night.