Apocalypse Hunter

The scorching sun above C12 Base nearly scorched all life on the ground, the air shimmering violently under the heat. C12 Base’s guards patrolled tirelessly at the gate, their hawk-like sharp eyes seemingly able to tear apart anything they saw. The land around the base was sparsely covered with dry, yellow weeds and stretched endlessly into a barren desert. Suddenly, 800 meters away, a mound of earth slowly rose from the ground. The mound, camouflaged with wild grass, was unnoticed by the guards in their yellow-green military uniforms scanning the area. Beneath the mound, a black iron tube emerged at a snail’s pace, soon followed by the heavy sound of breathing that was faintly audible yet concealed flawlessly. Hidden beneath the grassy mound was a man. His refined hiding technique and perfect breath control evaded even the sharp eyes of the guards. Clearly, he was no ordinary sniper! The sweltering weather was far from ideal for sniping. The air, distorted by the sun’s heat, combined with the northward wind, which formed a perfect right angle to his target, created conditions that were exceptionally challenging. Adding to his woes was the interference of strong ultraviolet rays. Beads of sweat rolled down the sniper’s forehead as he adjusted to the unfavorable conditions. The sniper’s body suddenly convulsed, and he muttered a curse under his breath, “Damn it!” He quickly withdrew his black sniper rifle back into the mound, the sound of fabric being sliced audible as his nano-material suit was unexpectedly torn. For reasons unknown, the sniper’s heartbeat surged uncontrollably. Beads of sweat emerged from every pore, as if his body were a parched infant greedily sucking in the radioactive air. “Not now, of all times! Damn you all to hell!” he spat, his voice filled with frustration. As he muttered, he nimbly wrapped fabric strips around the exposed metal areas of his sniper rifle. At the edge of the plain, a dark horde suddenly appeared, racing toward the base with the force of a hurricane. The automatic scanning system at C12 Base shrieked, and rust-streaked anti-aircraft guns emerged from either side of the iron gate. “Level-One Alert!” boomed a voice from the high platform. The speaker, a tall black man clad in a tight combat suit and heavy boots, wielded a silver Barrett M82A1 rifle effortlessly. His scarred face was framed by short, coiled black hair that glistened under the scorching sun. The sniper, observing through his scope, assessed the formidable figure. The Barrett, a weapon notorious for its weight, seemed an odd choice for someone seeking mobility in an escape. The sniper’s quick calculations revealed that the man’s prowess with the Barrett might surpass his own with the Desert Eagle. Unfazed, the sniper’s gun barrel, now thoroughly camouflaged, silently emerged from the mound again. Its target? The tall black man commanding the high platform. “Taking you down is worth twenty thousand gold coins,” the sniper thought, as his finger hovered over the trigger. “Prepare the anti-aircraft cannons!” the black man ordered. Outside the gate, a hundred well-trained soldiers swiftly set up their black-painted cannons with precision. The entire operation took less than ten seconds, showcasing their efficiency. Eight hundred meters away, the sniper steadied his aim, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The black man’s upper body was wrapped in thick body armor as he stared intently at the approaching horde of creatures. Though protected by layers of armor, he felt a sharp, instinctual danger piercing his brow. “Damn it, I’m being targeted!” he cursed, leaping to his left and vanishing from the platform. In the Age of the Cactus, navigating through chaos demanded a reliance on instincts. Trusting your gut often meant the difference between life and death. “Damn it!” the sniper cursed, spitting onto the ground. He swiftly packed up his sniper equipment and began retreating. The ground trembled more violently with each passing second as the monstrous horde drew closer to C12 Base. Staying put meant certain death—whether by the hands of the ravenous beasts or the base’s relentless barrage of bullets and artillery. He shuddered at the thought of his limbs being turned into sashimi by the mutant beasts, only to be dipped in ketchup and devoured. As he slung his rifle over his shoulder, one startling detail emerged: his sniper rifle lacked a scope. Not even a rudimentary sight adorned its sleek black frame. Yet, he caressed it lovingly, as if it were a cherished lover. “Damn it, there’s no way out!” the sniper muttered, his tone turning resolute. Caught between predators and prey, his only choice was to turn toward C12 Base for refuge. Otherwise, he’d either end up as a snack for the flesh-hungry beasts or be gunned down by the base’s relentless defense systems. The black leader had already caught onto the sniper’s intentions. Seeking refuge at the base was clearly out of the question. As the sniper deliberated, the deafening roar of artillery erupted behind him. Explosions rang out as the beasts closed in on the base, their monstrous forms now in clear view. “Time to roll the dice,” the sniper whispered, his body breaking into a rapid sprint. Bullets rained down, their percussion resonating like a relentless drumbeat. The sniper’s agile movements allowed him to narrowly evade the barrage, his body darting and rolling like an antelope in the wild. From the high platform, the black commander watched the sniper’s fluid, almost supernatural agility with awe. “A mutant human!” he exclaimed, the words escaping through gritted teeth. At the gate, soldiers tirelessly loaded ammunition, firing relentlessly at the horde to ensure no creature breached the base. Amidst the cacophony of gunfire, the sniper dove into a grass-covered depression. “What a heart-pounding close call!” he murmured, wiping the sweat from his rugged face. Most of it, however, trickled down his neck, soaking into his dusty shirt collar. From his left breast pocket, he retrieved a thick, coarse cigar. Ducking beneath the hail of bullets, he lit it with a steady hand and took a long, deliberate drag. “Hey, buddy, your time is up,” he muttered with a sly grin, the cigar firmly clamped between his teeth. Amidst the swirling dust, his silhouette emerged from the firing line. With a nimble roll, the glowing tip of his cigar flared. Kneeling on one knee, his posture exuded both precision and poise. Then, an extraordinary transformation occurred. The sniper’s right eye turned a brilliant gold, resembling a high-powered optical lens. As his pupil contracted, it split into two smaller pupils, each pulsating in rapid succession. In the blink of an eye, the two golden pupils collided, merging into one. At that precise moment, the towering figure of the black commander came into perfect focus. Without hesitation, the sniper pulled the trigger. A white trail marked the bullet’s trajectory, cutting through the air at 720 meters per second. In the blink of an eye, the black commander’s head exploded in a burst of crimson, his body collapsing lifelessly to the ground. “Buddy, if you want to kill me, better make sure your aim’s on point!” the sniper quipped, his voice dripping with mockery. He slunk away into the dust and chaos, leaving behind a trail of blood that evaporated into the scorching air. The gunfire continued unabated as the beasts howled and clawed their way toward the base’s walls. Teeth bared, claws slicing, they surged forward with relentless ferocity.