Ashen Crucible

Chapter Two: Night Raid

Chapter Two: Night Raid

The hydraulic machinery’s distinctive groans echoed through the cavernous depths, followed by billowing clouds of steam gushing from exhaust vents hidden behind rock formations. A three-meter-wide, alloy-steel gear-shaped door, glowing faintly cyan under the dim light, began to sink into the mountain. After retracting a full meter, it rolled sideways into the cliffside, revealing a shadowy passage.

Even through the haze of vapor, Su could make out several weapon terminals embedded in the ceiling of the cavern and at the far end of the tunnel. The primary offensive systems were micro-automatic machine guns, their barrels angled with precision to create an impenetrable kill zone across the entire passage. Above them hung two lenses—one visible-light, the other infrared. In the Old World, such defenses would have been top-tier, but nowadays, creatures capable of shrugging off micro-machine-gun fire had become commonplace. These outdated terminals were relics of a bygone era.

“Hey, Turner! Glad to see you made it back in one piece!”

As the group emerged from the passage, a towering black man approached, slamming Turner into a bone-crushing embrace.

Turner returned the favor with equal force. “If it weren’t for Su, we’d be nothing but paste on the cave walls—or whatever’s left of us in the wolves’ shit.”

The man turned to Su, who stood at the back of the line. Extending a hand, he flashed a set of pearly teeth. “Name’s Tony. Base logistics chief. You saved Turner—that makes you family. Welcome to the 11th Base.”

After a quick scan and quarantine check, the returning squad dispersed to their quarters. Su, granted high-clearance privileges due to his heroics and his Hunter-Employer license from Payne Corp, received top-tier treatment: a private room and access to internal pricing for supplies.

Base 11 wasn’t large—just 400 residents—and space was so scarce that residency screenings were ruthlessly strict. No new outsiders were accepted without rigorous vetting.

Originally a Cold War-era nuclear bunker (Designation: NX-11), it had been designed for the elite. When war broke out unexpectedly, those privileged few never made it. The automated defenses sealed the bunker, trapping only sixteen maintenance workers. Fifteen years later, the facility rebooted, emerging into a world reclaimed by chaos. Now, Base 11 stood as a fragile successor to the Old World.

Su’s two-minute shower cost fifty credits—a small fortune for most, even here. The water, recycled and mildly irradiated, could erode unmodified bodies over time. He dried off, wrapped himself in bandages, and mentally reviewed the base layout: living quarters, logistics, military zones, and the central control hub. A red-marked “Danger Zone” on the map noted an emergency exit leading to abandoned subway tunnels—now infested with predators.

Back in his room, Su counted his remaining coins: 110 credits. Not enough for the Payne Corp RF-series rifle he coveted (3,000 credits base model). Gene mods, the de facto currency, ranged from 10,000 credits for basic enhancements to multiples for specialized traits. Ammunition and firearms made decent barter, but Su’s funds were dwindling.

He sketched a custom bullet design on paper and left for the logistics sector. Along the way, residents nodded politely—Su’s pale blond hair and bandaged frame drew stares, but his reputation as a third-tier marksman and Payne-certified mercenary overshadowed his odd appearance.

Tony was hunched over a workbench, assembling firearms. At two meters tall, he looked more like a linebacker than a quartermaster. “Man! These bullets’ll snap your shoulder!” he exclaimed when Su handed him the blueprint.

“Twenty rounds,” Su said firmly.

Tony whistled. “Ninety credits and a day’s work. No discounts.”

After paying, Tony eyed Su’s shoulders again. “You’re a walking contradiction, you know that? Most three-tierers are built like tanks.” He chuckled. “Committee chair Old Antony wants a chat tomorrow. He’s got missions for you—good pay, considering our size.”

“Thanks,” Su replied.

“Ain’t no strings attached, friend,” Tony added, lowering his voice. “This world’s forgotten what friendship means.”

Su bought 5.56mm hollow-point rounds and returned to his room. Locking the door, he rigged a simple alarm—a twisted wire in the keyhole. Even with Turner’s influence, paranoia was prudent.

Lying on the bed, Su activated his sleep mode. Emerald eyes glowed faintly as his body entered a twilight state—half-conscious, hyper-aware. Dreams came in fragments: distorted faces, whispers in static, endless pain. Two faces recurred, blurred yet haunting.

The vision shattered when sensors in his brain flared. His body jerked sideways, rolling to his knees before a shadowy figure lunged. A pistol materialized in his left hand, its barrel jammed under the intruder’s chin.

The girl before him was no older than eighteen, her tan skin glowing in the dark. Crimson-purple lipstick framed full lips, and her mismatched eyes—amber and gold—blazed with a mix of fear and exhilaration. Her cropped brown hair framed a face that defied the harshness of the New Era. A cropped leather jacket revealed a curvaceous torso, while faded jeans clung to hips and thighs like a second skin.

“What?” she panted, her voice trembling with nervous energy.

Su’s finger hovered over the trigger. “Identify yourself.”

Chapter Two: Night Assault (Part 2)

The young woman possessed a face and figure she could confidently flaunt, overflowing with vitality and restless energy—a quality evident from the thick stench of alcohol radiating from her body. Her impaired vision, caused by inebriation, fixated only on Su’s piercing left eye and the handgun he held. His hand, now unwrapped from bandages, displayed flawless skin and definition that put her own vaunted hands to shame.

A flicker of killing intent flashed in Su’s eyes as he noticed the metal wire on the floor. Had she disarmed his alarm trap even in this drunken state?

His finger hovered imperceptibly over the trigger. Just a millimeter or two more, and her brains would decorate the wall. The girl finally registered this detail, her drunken haze replaced by panic. Su maintained the lethal pressure, forcing her to her feet with the pistol pressed beneath her chin.

Sweat beaded across her forehead and neck as she strained to maintain the balletic posture required to avoid triggering the weapon. Any slight movement could end her life. Yet at this moment, Su began to grope her.

His right hand combed through her hair, traced her earlobes, circled her neck, then slipped into her gasping mouth. She bit down reflexively but dared not follow through. Next, his fingers undid the two buttons of her leather jacket, exposing her bare torso for thorough inspection—every lump, curve, and crevice scrutinized for weapons or bio-mechanical threats. In this post-apocalyptic era of mutated horrors, such precautions were routine.

“Oh!” She hissed through gritted teeth as his probing fingers encountered moisture below. The search continued unabated.

When Su stepped back and holstered his weapon, her drunken stupor returned. “Who… who are you?” she slurred.

“Li Ji,” she panted when he finally spoke. “I heard you’re new. And cool. I’m a locksmith by trade.”

Su knew this game. In this violent age, women traded bodies for survival—food, water, shelter. Many resided in the compound under its strict residency system, where only the useful or wealthy thrived. With his sniper skills and genetic enhancements, Su had little patience for such schemes.

“I’m broke,” he said flatly.

Her eyes blazed. Like a panther, she lunged, pinning him to the bed. “No payment!” she growled, tearing at his bandages. “You owe me after that search!” Her body moved with practiced desperation, but as their bodies aligned, Su’s pistol snapped back against her throat.

“Tomorrow’s mission. I need my strength,” he said, ice replacing his earlier heat.

Rejected and enraged, she clutched her torn clothes as he slammed the reinforced metal door shut. Outside, her scream echoed: “I’ll fck you raw someday, Su!”

Unfazed, Su sat rigid by the bed, pistol across his knees. Her threats meant nothing. Intuition—a weapon as vital as his skills—had warned him of something unnatural in her trembling flesh. Trusting his gut, he spent the night alert.

Base 11’s governing body, the Seven Committee, convened in their aluminum-domed council chamber. Chairman Anthony presided over operations manager Turner, medical chief Tony, and others. The compound’s 200 residents lived under strict meritocratic rules: prove your worth or perish. Clean water, the most precious commodity, traded for everything—from bullets to s****l favors.

As Su entered the council room, seven pairs of eyes drifted to the modified sniper rifle leaning against his chair. Though old-school compared to modern M3A precision rifles, its custom 1,500-meter range and crude scope spoke volumes about its owner’s priorities—investing in flesh over machinery.

The committee’s questioning revealed their curiosity about his Third Tier Sniper Specialization and the rare First Tier Visual Enhancement. At twenty years old, accumulating eight evolution points suggested either immense wealth or reckless ambition. Their gazes sharpened when calculating the potential profit from his enhanced optics.

Post-interrogation came the real task: infiltrate the cave network beyond the base’s southern exit. Success promised a First Tier Genetic Modding Serum—worth five months’ wages for most. Refusal wasn’t an option.

With $100 advance from Payne Corporation’s license, Su purchased 5.56mm rounds, specialty ammunition, and purified water. By dusk, he stood at the cavern entrance, the iron gate sealing behind him.

Somewhere in the wastes, Li Ji wandered—her youth and beauty now commodities for desperate survival. But Su’s thoughts stayed focused. The mission awaited, and in this new world, hesitation meant death.