Congratulations! Explosive skill leveled up to 4!

With a smoke trailing from a cigarette dangling off his lip, Marcus twisted the wires around the end of a blasting cap. He had been grinding skills he thought were useful, one of which was Explosives. It was a skill reserved for the demolition and grenadier jobs but with Marcus’s unique Mercenary specialization, all job restricted skills opened to him.

“Are you Hartdegen?” a voice called to which Marcus looked up.

If there was a poster with an operator front and center. The man standing before him would fit right in. He had a binocular night vision goggles folded up on a ‘bump’ helmet with an electronic headset connected to a radio. His vest bulged with stacked magazines, grenades, a knife and other utilities. From the shape of his vest, Marcus guessed that the man wore interceptor plates underneath as a last line of defense when the shields dangling off his belt fails.

An M110 lay cradled in his hand, topped with a suppressor, bipod, and a high-powered scope. A Glock hung from his leg holster, also fitted with a red dot sight. The man intrigued him. Compared to Marcus, he was the opposite, with his table cluttered with scrap electronics and loose stripped wires.

“Still is. Last I checked.” Marcus replied, blowing a cloud of smoke to the side. “What can I help you with?”

Name: Demented Race: Human Player ID: 710010809715 Level: 29

“You’re a hard man to find. We would like to invite you to be a part of our clan, SRT. With your skills, we can see you rise in our ranks quickly. In exchange, we can provide you with gear, quests, men and rep.”

Marcus hummed, daisy chaining another blasting cap with another strand of wire. “So why do you want me?”

“I think the reason is already apparent.”

“Is it because of my handsome looks?” Marcus grinned.

“No, it’s because of your previous placement in the leaderboards.”

“Oh yeah, I remember now. You were there.” Marcus said as soon as the name registered. He was the top three CQC in the pistol category until Marcus came along to bump him off his spot. “I hope you’re not mad getting bumped off third place.”

“A bit. But became more curious about the new player.”

“We’ll,” Marcus said, spreading his arms. “Here I am.”

“So, will you consider our offer?”

“I’ll consider it. But it’s faster if you’d just straight up hire me. No strings attached and I can leave anytime prior to a week of notice.”

“Hire you?”

“I’m a mercenary. It’s a job, and a play style. I’ll pass you my rate.”

Demented looked at the price and blanched. From working with Columbus, Marcus learned his lesson and so tied up his rate with his current level. A flat rate of 250,000c for the first two days, 30,000c more than his previous one, and 30,000c credits per hour after that.

“It’s a bit steep. No one will take you up on that!”

“You’d be surprised.” Marcus grinned. “Price is always negotiable depending on work, but I’ll never go lower than that.”

Demented shook his head. “It’s not up to me. But I’ll pass it up the chain.”

“Don’t take too long.”

Marcus watched Demented step out of the armory before closing the circuit. The blasting caps detonated with a sharp crack, followed by a small experience gain in Marcus’ explosive skill. Compared to the rate he was gaining in the first three levels of the skill, progress slowed down significantly. He now had to find other ways than just stringing detonators and blasting caps together.

Unlike the last time he set out, it was Marcus’ job included preparing everything himself. So after spending a few more boxes of ammo in the range practicing his drills, Marcus browsed through the black market and started buying up frag grenades, flashbangs and smokes. He had just unlocked the ability to plant Claymores safely with his Explosive skill so he bought a couple too, just in case.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

For meds, he visited the Medical center and bought up stims for the journey. He then booked a trip with Ripley and Adept inside their APC. Everything added to his plan of being like a porcupine, more trouble dealing with the pricks than worth the meat underneath. All the while, moving and doing its business while everyone else is asleep.

Earlier in the day, he had already taken the controllers from the Smoking Barrels. The exchange was simple. After sitting on the bar, an NPC went by him and dropped off the controllers in a paper bag. He checked it, and just like the voice on the phone saying that they never fail, all the controllers were there.

As for the rest of the materials, Marcus took them from the general store, then stashed the pallet in Stoner’s armory. The cranky old gunsmith was not happy about it, but after some pleading and convincing, Marcus was allowed to keep it there until the end of the day, which was fine.

Cleaning up the blasted pieces of metal and lengths of wires, Marcus checked the clock. It was time.

It was late, both in game and in real life. There were fewer players moving about on the ship, turning in for the night for work or school for the next Monday morning. Marcus took the hand truck carrying the pallet out of the armory and towards the vehicle bay where the M113 awaited. He had to pay Ripley and Adept an extra for the delivery they had their classes tomorrow, but later in the afternoon.

Marcus didn’t enjoy keeping them this late into the night, but he had to, and so was more than willing to pay double for the initial asking price. The threat was still fresh in his mind as he employed the rat strat of completing his quest while everyone else was logged out or on their bed, sleeping.

Marcus loaded the crate inside. He sat in the compartment, looking out at the hangar as the door swung closed.

“Just to make this clear,” Ripley said through the internal comms, “You want us to go to this location to drop off your cargo. You know this looks awfully look like an ambush to us, right?”

“It’s a quest.” Marcus replied, pulling up his screen and redacting it like Columbus did with him on their first meeting. “Just get it here and let me drop it off,”

“Okay. We got it.” Ripley replied after checking the authenticity of the quest. The APC jerked forward, and they were off. “Just so you know, we’ll be shooting anything we find in that location.”

“Feel free. I’ll even pay for the bullets.”

The trip towards the location took around an hour. In a straight line, the trip would barely take five minutes, but the congested city streets filled with rubble and abandoned cars forced the APC through multiple detours and tight fits through side streets and alleys. In the end, they arrived in one piece at the coordinates.

Through the hatch, Marcus peeked his head out of the back and scanned the area with his thermal scope. Save for the nocturnal creatures wandering in the night's darkness, it was all clear.

“Wait here.” Marcus ordered through the radio. “If I’m not back within ten minutes, go back with the package.”

“Got it.” Ripley replied.

The APC’s engine cut off, a contrast against the ensuing silence of the city. Save for the sound of wind blowing around the buildings. The night was growing cold as Marcus crawled out of the hatch and jumped from the top.

His boots crunched against the broken glass scattered on the sidewalk. He then shone his light inside the same clothing store he came out after exiting the goblin controlled station. Marcus made as much noise as he could, tracing his steps back deeper into the store and openly shone his light to illuminate his path.

Down in the basement, Marcus caught movement in the corner of his eye. A shadow peeked around the overhead heating pipes and he raised his hand to signal the hidden goblin to stop and standby. Seeing no reaction, he repeated the same command.

“This means you stop and standby you fucking idiot.” Marcus shouted at the hidden goblin. “If you shoot me with that shitty shotgun, I’m going to shove it so far up your ass and blow your brains out!”

Congratulations!

Would you like to take the skill: Authority?

Your power to command members within your organization. Reduces the chance of orders being ignored by your subordinate NPC. Higher levels increase the number of NPC under your command (Max: 2) Exceeding the limit increases the chances of negative outcomes ranging from ignored orders, missing equipment, insubordination and even mutiny, among many others.

Skill slots available: 1

Accept? [Y/N]

He accepted the skill just as chittering sounded after Marcus’s sudden outburst. He then looked at the hidden goblin, who gingerly crawled from the top of the pipes and dropped to the floor.

More goblins started coming out of the small nooks and hidden alcoves and lined up in front of Marcus. They were the same group he had taught before he left the station and obediently waited for orders the moment they realized who he was.

“Follow me.” Marcus ordered, repeating it with a hand gesture, and stepped back up to the ground floor. The APC was still there, waiting with the periscope turrets swinging from side to side as both women diligently kept an eye out, still watching for an ambush.

“Ripley. I have friendlies coming in. Don’t shoot us.” Marcus said through the radio and causing both turrets to swing his way.

“Okay. We see you.” Ripley replied.

“They’re friendly. Don’t shoot them!” Marcus said, waving the goblins to come outside. The moment they stepped into the light, the second periscope swung their way and he wondered for a second if they would even open the hatch for him to get his package.

“They’re friendly?”

“Don’t worry, they’re just here to take the package.” Marcus replied, thinking maybe he should have pushed the pallet out first and simply let the APC leave before calling the goblins out.

“Alright. Were trusting you on this.” Ripley said, followed by the powered whining of the pneumatic door.

With the help of the goblins, Marcus pushed the pallet to the sidewalk. Even barefoot, the Goblins seemed to be unaffected by the glass scattered atop the concrete.

“Alright. Were good.” Marcus said through the radio as the goblins started unpacking the pallets.

“Call us again if you need something delivered.”

“I will.”

“Good luck.” Ripley replied as the APC started backing out and turned in place. It then gunned the rest of the way through the streets and bumped at the corner of a car stalled out in the middle of the street, pushing it away like it was nothing.

“Carry all of them inside.” Marcus ordered while he kept an eye out.