The piercing screech cut through the grayish-green fog, and with a dull thud, a dark mass slammed onto a heap of concrete.
A nearby player immediately aimed his gun at the shadow.
Yet before he could clearly see what it was, an ear-splitting boom rang out. The dark mass blew into pieces in an instant, sending black mucus and charred bits of meat flying in every direction.
A foul stench plastered against his gas mask.
Ducking low to dodge the spray, the player cursed under his breath.
"Fuck!"
"A Detonator!"
Fortunately, he had been far enough away that no casualties occurred.
Right at that moment, however, those shrill shrieks echoed once more. Over a dozen dark silhouettes traced parabolic arcs through the thick mist, hurtling toward the players' positions.
Explosions detonated one after another. Gray-green puffs of smoke flashed across the line as black mucus and chunks of meat splattered everywhere.
Though the damage was modest, the blast radius small, and the accuracy practically nonexistent, arriving in such numbers still caused plenty of trouble for the players.
One player was killed on the spot, while four others suffered varying degrees of injury.
Battlefield Atmosphere Group was stunned and blurted out instinctively, "Holy shit! Are they chucking Detonators like hand grenades?!"
Those damn things had to weigh twenty or thirty kilograms at least!
To throw them that far required monstrous arm strength!
Commander Spring made a prompt decision, barking out orders.
"Squad A, take cover!"
"Squad B, fire high-explosive rounds!"
A chorus of bangs erupted from the left flank.
Twelve 20mm high-explosive rounds bored into the grayish-green smog, bursting into patches of orange-yellow flame.
Even without direct line of sight, they could still predict the impact zone based on the parabolic trajectories.
The counterattack seemed to work; the number of Detonators soaring through the sky was cut in half almost instantly.
A second and third volley followed without delay. Explosions continuously echoed from deep within the fog, punctuated every now and then by the blast of a detonating mutant.
Casualties mounted across the mutant ranks.
Some were shredded by the high-explosive rounds, while many others were blown apart by their own exploding kin.
Stationed on the frontline, Commander Spring felt a surge of delight. He could tell with the naked eye that after those few volleys, the mutant offensive had visibly lost steam!
As if realizing that lingering in the mist meant certain death, the mutants abandoned their hesitation and surged forward once more to assault the players' positions.
Accompanied by a deafening roar, burly, hulking monstrosities charged out of the fog with heavy, pounding strides.
They stood two and a half meters tall, their bulbous bellies swaying from side to side. Their necks seemed fused directly to their chins, making them look from afar like heaps of walking flesh—uncannily resembling trolls from a fantasy realm.
Having never encountered such beasts in the northern suburbs, the players crouching behind the concrete rubble were dumbfounded.
"Holy crap, what kind of mutant is that now?"
"Never saw this in the official website's bestiary!"
"A mutant version of a super mutant?!"
"A Warhammer Ogre?!"
"Personally, I think it looks a bit like the Tank from Left 4 Dead..."
"Just swap the muscle for pure blubber!"
Behind those running fat beasts swinging their guts and flailing their arms, hordes of gnawers trailed like imps in their shadows.
Damn.
They even figured out combined-arms infantry-tank tactics?
Surprised as the players were, they didn't lose their focus. They were in the middle of a raid boss fight; there was no time for idle chatter.
The moment the targets entered effective range, the heavy machine guns mounted on the flanking buildings opened fire first, unleashing a ferocious torrent of lead at the charging horde.
Immediately after, Squad A's players pulled their triggers as well, strafing the incoming mutants.
Unlike the Tyrants who were armored in chitinous plates, these charging fat behemoths had massive health pools but relatively low defense. While 7mm full-power rifle rounds might overpenetrate a gnawer, they hit these lumbering brutes with devastating stopping power.
Clouds of black blood burst from the mounds of flab one after another. The tumbling fragments created massive temporary cavities inside their bodies, ripping their limbs clean off.
The gnawers clustered around them suffered catastrophic casualties under the machine-gun sweep as well. An occasional high-explosive round crashing into their midst sent severed limbs flying and felled swathes of them in a heartbeat!
A handful of the fat mutants managed to lead a pack of gnawers to the fringe of Squad A's perimeter, but they quickly discovered that the brutal fight had only just begun.
The front-row players decisively ceased fire. Grabbing spears, handaxes, and even wire-wrapped clubs and shovels propped against the rubble, they swung violently at the mutants' heads.
The back row continued firing in support, relieving frontal pressure on the melee line.
Those holding the front were all seasoned veterans. Having weathered multiple game versions, their character stat sheets far outstripped ordinary men, and their combat experience was exceptionally rich. Handling these mutants was child's play.
Even when facing three or four gnawers at once, they parried and struck with ease, never losing an inch of ground.
The fierce battle raged for an hour.
Under the interlocking crossfire from the flanking buildings, the second wave of the Tide finally began to peter out. In the end, only a few stray gnawers and "fatties" were left stumbling toward the players' defenses.
They were running on fumes!
Swinging his entrenching tool, Battlefield Atmosphere Group cleanly cleaved open a gnawer's skull. He kicked the corpse down and yanked the shovel free in one fluid motion.
Two more gnawers rushed in from the side. Unfazed, he thrust and slashed, lopping off both of their heads with crisp precision.
Black blood sprayed all over him.
Battlefield Atmosphere Group raised his arm, wiping the gore from his gas mask, and grinned back at I'm the Darkest.
"This thing works like a charm!"
I'm the Darkest was struggling to yank his bayonet out of a gnawer's corpse, panting heavily. "Dammit, how many waves are they gonna throw at us?"
"Who knows? Might last all night."
"What the hell?" I'm the Darkest gasped in shock. "Won't it be dark again in the real world by then?!"
"What are you scared of? You only revived a few hours ago anyway."
Hooking the entrenching tool onto his belt, Old Battlefield narrowed his eyes toward the road ahead.
What was an all-nighter to him?
If they got rid of the anti-addiction timer, he could fight for an entire day straight!
The Tide's offensive paused briefly, leaving only scattered gunshots across the line.
The players were slightly fatigued, but their morale remained sky-high.
Up until now, apart from Squad A suffering five dead and ten wounded, Squads B and C were practically at full strength!
Just then, good news arrived from the rear.
Over twenty greenhorns came jogging down the street, hauling crates of ammunition.
"Ammo! Ammo's here!"
The arrival of supplies brought a collective sigh of relief.
Across the previous two waves, the mutants had numbered five or six thousand at the very least. Even with everyone conserving their shots, their ammunition consumption had been staggering.
Most players had only carried six magazines when setting out, and many were down to their very last one.
This resupply could not have come at a better time!
Without taking a moment to rest, Commander Spring immediately directed his men to split off fourteen crates and deliver them to Squads B and C on the flanks.
Those were the fulcrums of their firepower.
The remaining six crates were distributed among the brothers in Squad A.
A single ammo crate held roughly 1,000 to 1,100 rounds. After sending 2,000 rounds to the two machine guns, the remaining thirty-five players could only receive about 110 rounds apiece.
"Why so little?" Commander Spring asked, his brow furrowed.
Silver Hand, who had overseen the transport, replied helplessly, "I wanted to bring more, but the ammo has to be carted up from the rear. This is literally the entire stockpile from 68th Street. The Administrator told us to bring every last crate."
Spring nodded and asked further, "How are the fortifications coming along?"
Before Silver Hand could speak, Silver Sword chimed in from the side, "Construction is already one-third done! We've piled up concrete rubble into barricades, strung barbed wire across the street, and driven in wooden spikes to halt the advance of heavy mutants."
"The residents of Bet Street and the serfs from Brown Farm have all been mobilized. More players are continuously joining the line from behind—feels like there are at least a thousand people working!"
"We might wrap it up before dawn!"
The northern suburbs were teetering on the brink of life and death; no one dared let their guard down.
Hearing that a third of the fortifications was finished, Commander Spring exhaled a slow breath of relief. Pausing for a second, he stepped in front of the supply-runners and swept his gaze over them.
"Which of you know how to shoot?"
At those words, their eyes lit up instantly. Twenty hands shot up into the air in unison.
"Me, me, me!"
"I do! I'm cracked at FPS games!"
"I've shot guns at a firing range!"
Commander Spring: "..."
Completely green, every last one of them.
Still, this was no time to be picky.
Selecting five players who looked relatively dependable to stay behind, Spring handed them rifles recovered from the fallen players. After showing them how to operate the mechanisms, he instructed firmly:
"Remember, don't shoot until you see the monsters!"
"And don't point your barrels at our own guys!"
Clutching the rifle in his hands, Silver Daddy replied excitedly, "Got it, bro!"
Just as they finished speaking, the grayish-green fog suddenly contracted, then rapidly expanded.
Just like breathing!
The players across the line ended their rest, standing at full alert as they stared into the grayish-green haze.
Then, muffled thuds began striking the earth. The cracked concrete roadway vibrated faintly, shaking loose pebbles and dust from the ruined structures.
Every nerve tightened.
Right then, a low, drawn-out wail—resembling a train's steam whistle—reverberated through the fractured ruins.
A colossal foot, thick as a bridge pier, slammed heavily onto the concrete surface. Immediately following it, an enormous head emerged from the depths of the fog.
"Holy shit... what the hell is that thing?!"
I'm the Darkest's eyes went wide, his bulging eyeballs threatening to pop out of their sockets as he stared unblinkingly ahead.
He felt he had experienced more shocks today than in the entire past week.
He wasn't the only one; the players beside him looked just as stunned, their faces plastered with uniform shock and disbelief.
Innumerable chunks of flesh were heaped together into a mound five stories tall. Rotting skin crept from its soles all the way to its crown, its hideous face draped in mud-like hyphae and slime.
It possessed no facial features on its head—only a festering maw. Across its belly, another, even larger mouth opened and closed rhythmically, exuding an ominous grayish-green vapor.
Every now and then, mutants like gnawers fell from that gaping maw, staggering to their feet upon hitting the pavement.
Commander Spring's pupils shrank to needlepoints. Pressing a hand to his earpiece, he shouted into the mic:
"All squads, attention: Boss has appeared!"
"Squads B and C, open fire! Armor-piercing incendiary rounds! Three volleys!"
"Suppress it!"
The stitched behemoth acted like a moving wall, shielding the mutant hordes advancing in its wake. If this monster reached their line, the consequences would be unthinkable!
A synchronized reply came over the comms:
"Copy that!"
Cannons and rifles roared in unison as twenty-four anti-tank rifles spat long tongues of fire!
Armor-piercing incendiary rounds traced orange-yellow arcs through the air, streaking straight for the behemoth sewn together from flesh and blood!
Facing the players' focused fire, the stitched beast parted both its great and small mouths, a muffled roar rumbling from a throat buried beneath layers of blubber.
The mutants clustered around it surged forward, sprinting ahead.
The third wave had officially begun!
"Goddammit! This Boss's health bar is ridiculous!"
His shoulder aching from the recoil, Kakarot swore as he set his 37mm heavy lance mount firmly on the ground, chambered another armor-piercing incendiary shell, and slammed the bolt shut.
Bang—!
The massive recoil kicked up a burst of dust from the ground.
Yet when the shell slammed into that mountain of flesh, it was like a needle poking into cotton—provoking no reaction at all.
Completely ignoring the concentrated fire raining down on it, the sewn titan continued to march forward with measured strides.
Crouched on the absolute front line, Battlefield Atmosphere Group shouted anxiously over his shoulder, "Holy shit, Spring, think of something!"
"Shut up, I'm thinking!"
Spring's mind raced as he glared at the five-story mountain of flesh.
He had seen with his own eyes that the creature's head took at least six armor-piercing incendiary hits. By all logic, its brains should have been cooked to a crisp.
Unless...
The head wasn't its weak point at all?!
There was no time to hesitate. He gave a swift order:
"Machine gunners and anti-tank riflemen, attention! Stop wasting ammo on that meat mountain!"
"Take down the Crawlers!"
"All 37mm heavy lances, switch to AP rounds and focus its left leg! Aim for the joint!"
Even if they couldn't kill it, they had to stop it in its tracks!
The barrage seemed to take effect.
The heavy weapons mounted on the flanking buildings poured on frantic fire. Its left knee struck by multiple armor-piercing rounds, the titan tilted, lost its balance, and crashed heavily to the ground.
Billowing clouds of dust rose into the air. The gust kicked up by its fall blew aside the surrounding spore clouds, and countless gnawers and even Crawlers were flattened beneath its colossal bulk.
Machine-gun rounds swept over its carcass, frantically cutting down the mutants swarming behind it.
The anti-tank rifles maintained continuous fire, targeting the Crawlers and Tyrants to keep the high-threat targets from closing in on the barricades.
The battle reached a fever pitch.
Right then, Commander Spring heard what sounded like music to his ears over the comm channel:
"Fire support is on station!"
"Hang in there!"
The moment the voice trailed off, a series of booming thuds echoed from afar.
Several white phosphorus flares rose into the sky, their blinding white brilliance illuminating the night.
Under that harsh glare, the gnawers' movements grew visibly stiff, their advancing pace slowing by half a beat.
Sprawled on the ground, the stitched behemoth struggled to haul itself upright. Right at that moment, four lightning-like arcs cut across the night sky.
Catching sight of the anomaly overhead, numerous players looked up, their faces registering stunned disbelief.
"Look at the sky!"
"Planes?!"
Two shuttle-shaped aircraft flew one behind the other, their wing-mounted plasma engines trailing blazing arcs of fire as they screamed over Qingquan City like falling stars.
Twelve pitch-black munitions dropped from the bellies of the two craft, sweeping in a bombing run that started from the prostrate behemoth and tore toward the rear.
Boom—!
In a split second, towering sheets of flame erupted toward the sky.
The concussive shockwave engulfed the entire street, and roaring infernos swallowed every mutant in sight.
The scorching heatwave even washed over the players' line, searing the carpet of gnawer corpses.
"Are those..."
Staring dumbfounded at the sea of fire, Commander Spring swallowed hard.
"Planes from Boulder City?"
So powerful!
If only the shelter possessed firepower like that!
The incendiary fire scorched out a complete vacuum. After writhing within the flames for a brief moment, the burning behemoth collapsed onto the pavement and went still.
The spore clouds were replaced by thick smoke. The entire street reeked of scorched meat, a stench detectable even from the distant artillery positions.
Cheers of victory erupted all around, players yelling praises and spamming 666.
"Thank you, Dev Daddy, for sending the rockets!"
"Holy crap... that firepower is insane!"
"How many did that drop kill?"
"Two or three thousand at least... maybe even four or five thousand."
Because of the players' fierce defense, the Tide had been packed tightly in front of the line; this single airstrike had even cleansed the spore clouds released by the fruiting bodies.
Still, a question lingered in Spring's mind.
Where had this airstrike come from?
***
Several kilometers away in the temporary command post, Chu Guang, clad in his power armor, stared at the screen and let out a slow breath of relief.
"Just in time."
Earlier, he had instructed Xu Shun to purchase fire support from Boulder City's militia.
Twelve incendiary bombs cost sixty thousand chips in total. For orders of more than six, delivery was free within the Qingquan City area.
A great bargain for high quality.
Originally, Chu Guang had planned to hire mercenaries to assist in combat, but the distance from Boulder City to 65th Street was simply too great, and the cost-to-benefit ratio wasn't worth it.
So he had shifted his approach. Using the contact details gathered over the radio, he directly chartered the militia's aircraft and purchased an airstrike run.
Now it seemed the money had been well spent.
As for where the chips came from?
Naturally, he didn't have that much on hand, but he could borrow from Liszt.
Liszt's battery factory and exoskeleton plant had only just opened; he was already strapped firmly to Shelter 404's war chariot.
Besides, Chu Guang possessed an excellent credit record, and with massive reserves of spirit leaves stored in the warehouse, Liszt wasn't the least bit worried about repayment—in fact, he wished Chu Guang would borrow even more.
"The frontline troops should be able to catch their breath now."
Out on the front, sporadic fires flickered.
Piles of stacked corpses formed small mounds.
Mortar thuds sounded periodically in the distance as 88mm high-explosive shells rained down on the grayish-green fog further out, leaving behind a rolling barrage.
The Boss had been wiped out by the airstrike.
Only a few scattered stragglers remained, writhing atop the sea of corpses.
"...Is it over?"
Spring relaxed slightly. Perhaps he had overcomplicated things; this blocking action might not be as impossible as he had imagined.
There were still five or six hours until dawn, and they had already inflicted ten percent casualties on the mutant horde.
Right at that moment, intense gunfire erupted from the right flank. Spring snapped his head toward the nearby building, but saw only flickering flashes of muzzle flare in the dark.
Frantic shouts came over the comms:
"Left position is taking heavy Crawler contact!"
"Us too! Right position under attack—fuck!"
"Dammit! Where the hell did these bastards come from?!"
The rattle of rifle fire and the shrill screeches of Crawlers echoed over the channel. The players garrisoning the structures had engaged the mutants in close-quarters melee.
Judging by the sound, there was far more than one!
A bead of cold sweat rolled down Spring's forehead.
Just as he was about to detach men to reinforce the flanks, a dark silhouette burst out of the fog and through the blazing infernos.
Getting a clear look at that figure, I'm the Darkest gasped involuntarily:
"Power armor?!"
To be precise, it was power armor engulfed by slime mold. Between the rusted joints and seams bulged chunks of dark red flesh, and a dark red layer of creep crawled over the steel plating from the cuirass to the greaves.
Steel and flesh had fused into an ungodly chimera. Yet shockingly, its sprinting gait was indistinguishable from that of a living human!
The flanking positions under attack by the Crawlers managed to fire off two 37mm armor-piercing rounds. The shells struck the thick chest plate, deflecting sharply upward in showers of sparks.
Failed to penetrate!
Battlefield Atmosphere Group's eyes went wide.
T-10 power armor!
He had seen it on the forums!
Those were photos taken by Brother Fang Chang during his first trip to Boulder City; that was the exact armor fielded by the Boulder City militia!
Had it been captured by the slime mold?
With no time to ponder the cause, the surrounding players clamped down on their triggers, spraying the power armor in an attempt to halt its momentum.
Yet a burst of 7mm rounds hit it like a light tickle, failing to slow it down in the slightest.
A hundred meters vanished in the blink of an eye.
The power armor slammed into the players' line. With a swing of the chainsaw mounted on its right arm, it claimed two lives in an instant.
I'm the Darkest tried to flank it, but the moment he took a step back, the howling chainsaw cleaved him in two.
Having only revived a few hours ago, the unlucky bastard didn't even have time to yell out a single curse before he was physically logged off once more.
Seeing the power armor fix its sights on him, Battlefield Atmosphere Group knew running was futile. Tossing aside his empty rifle, he drew his entrenching tool and charged head-on.
A chainsaw swept toward his face at terrifying speed. Even with his Evade talent triggered, the screeching blade still sheared his right arm clean off.
Blood gushed like a fountain!
His consciousness wavered for a split second.
Fighting to stay lucid, the veteran drew his combat knife with his left hand and stabbed violently at a seam on the armor's side that was packed with dark red slime mold.
"Die, you bastard!"
Yet the power armor was one step faster. Its left arm shot out and seized him by the throat, hoisting his entire body off the ground.
The knife swung on empty air.
Enormous pressure crushed his windpipe. Battlefield gasped for breath, his face flushing crimson, feeling as if his skull were about to burst.
He threw his dagger at the slime-crusted iron hulk, but it merely clanged uselessly off the surface.
The cursed thing had inherited the power armor's defenses. A 37mm armor-piercing round had only left a scratch, let alone a mere knife!
Nearby, Silver Sword leveled his bayonet, howling as he charged forward to help. But before he made it halfway, a Crawler pounced on him, pinning him to the ground and ripping his throat out.
"Holy crap! Old Sword! Aaargh, I'll take you bastards with me!"
Seeing the mutants closing in and his rifle jammed, Silver Daddy drew a handaxe and charged bravely, only to be submerged beneath a wave of gnawers.
Chaos engulfed the battlefield. Gunfire roared everywhere.
Players and mutants collided in a brutal melee.
Both sides were ruthless zealots who feared no death; courage and morale had lost all meaning here.
The entire street transformed into a gory meat grinder in an instant, dragging every combatant into its maw as lives vanished at a terrifying pace.
"Fuck..."
*Flexed too hard—looks like I'm done for!*
Catching sight of the slaughter out of the corner of his eye, Old Battlefield cursed inwardly.
Before his awareness faded completely, he marshaled his last ounce of strength, reached toward his waist with his left hand, and ripped out a hidden cord.
This was a custom rig he had built himself.
He just hadn't found a chance to use it until now.
Six hand grenades began spewing blue smoke simultaneously.
Staring into the crimson eyes beneath the steel helmet, he spat a mouthful of bloody foam right into its visor.
"...Go to hell!"
The spit made the metal can pause slightly, as if failing to comprehend what he was trying to achieve.
In that split second, fire detonated with a roaring blast!
Old Battlefield was torn to shreds without suspense.
The concussive fireball caught the power armor off-guard, blasting away large sheets of creep, but failed to inflict any structural damage.
Squad A's defensive line had been breached.
With the collapse of the center, the already beleaguered flanks were swiftly encircled by mutants.
The battle raged on.
Every player fought with relentless courage.
Even though they all knew their deaths were already written.
"...A scripted wipe after all, huh?"
A bitter smile tugged at Commander Spring's lips.
The intensity of this fourth wave had clearly exceeded their capacity to hold.
In fact, if not for that earlier airstrike, they might not have even survived the third.
He had done everything humanly possible.
The rest would have to fall on the brothers behind them...
Tossing away his empty rifle, Spring drew his pistol and fired into the surging gnawers, determined to fight alongside his squadmates until the bitter end.
Running was out of the question anyway.
Where could an Intelligence-type even run to?
Hiding was just as pointless.
According to the updated intel on the official website, once the airborne spore concentration reached a certain density, slime-mold mutants gained omnidirectional awareness within the area.
Every spore cloud served as their eyes!
Emptying his magazine, Commander Spring silently reloaded.
To his surprise, the gnawers ignored him, not even sparing him a glance as they bounded past toward the positions behind him or darted into the flanking buildings.
The fog thickened around him.
It swallowed him whole, dropping visibility to under five meters!
Then, a hazy silhouette emerged directly ahead.
It was a three-meter-tall titan, dark red flesh trailing behind it like a flowing dress. A featureless face stared directly at him, while fleshy red tentacles whipped through the air behind it like the hair of Medusa.
Though not a Perception-type, Spring had an overwhelming premonition.
The entity before him was far more dangerous than the five-story behemoth they had faced earlier!
Touching his finger to his headset, he took a deep breath and spoke calmly:
"Artillery team... fire on my position."
His VM had already transmitted his coordinates.
Adjusting the fire mission would take about thirty seconds.
Finishing his transmission, Spring raised his pistol and pulled the trigger on the monstrosity.
Bang—!
Muzzle flash erupted.
The bullet struck the creature without splashing a single drop of blood, yet he didn't stop, continuing to pull the trigger rhythmically.
He seemed to have drawn its attention.
Or perhaps the creature had been coming for him from the very beginning.
A slit parted across the featureless face. A tentacle shot forward with a whoosh, punching through his mask and driving straight into his right eye.
With no time to react, Spring only caught a flash of shadow before his connection to his game character severed entirely.
The headset lay on the ground.
The video feed continued transmitting.
The monster let out a raspy whisper:
"...Embrace evolution."
Deprived of consciousness, Spring's body stood motionless in place.
The creature gazed at him, seemingly perplexed.
After a moment, a trace of disappointment entered its crimson eyes, and it slowly retracted its tentacle.
The surrounding gnawers swarmed forward, quickly burying Spring's standing corpse beneath their ravenous mass. Yet Spring stood rigid amidst the ruins, allowing them to tear at him without moving an inch.
Silence fell over the scene, broken only by the wet crunch of chewing.
The image was eerie beyond description.
Right then, high-pitched whistles split the air as over a dozen mortar shells saturated the area around Spring, bursting into a contiguous sea of fire.
A shell landed nearby, instantly wiping out a cluster of gnawers tearing at Spring's body.
Catching the shrapnel and shockwave head-on, the Medusa-like monstrosity shrieked shrilly, the flesh beneath its skirt rolling as it darted through the searing smoke.
Explosions continued to detonate across the ruined street. Gunfire inside the buildings finally fell silent, leaving only occasional distant blasts.
***
Several kilometers away in the temporary command post, absolute silence reigned.
The feed had cut out with the blasts, leaving the room suffocatingly quiet.
Vannus couldn't help glancing at Chu Guang.
Though the visor concealed Chu Guang's expression, it couldn't possibly be good.
All 125 men killed in action.
Among them were dozens of Awakened.
Even with their brilliant tactical success, such brutal losses would cast a grim shadow over the entire shelter.
"...They were true warriors."
Chu Guang nodded slowly.
"Yes."
Construction on the first defensive line was already sixty percent complete and expected to be finished before dawn.
Though dawn was still several hours away, the advancing Tide had visibly ground to a halt.
The brave souls of 65th Street had bought them more than enough time.
In the incubation pods that had lost their connection to their clones, the synthesis of new vessels began.
Meanwhile, with the offline departure of 125 players, the official Wasteland OL forums erupted into absolute chaos...
Chapter 268