I drove my pickup truck through the darkness of the night, the rumble of the engine the only sound accompanying me. Following the coordinates to the missing truck, I navigated through the forest and past the southern checkpoint, eventually merging onto a dirt road that led back into the open grasslands.
This area felt different—more dangerous. Occasionally, bullets whistled past as husks caught glimpses of my vehicle. Their aim was erratic, but the tension was palpable. The sky shifted rapidly from a fiery orange to an inky black, plunging everything into near-total darkness.
Not wanting to draw more attention, I avoided turning on the headlights. Instead, I quickly flipped on my night vision goggles, their green glow illuminating the path ahead. With the lights off, I moved cautiously, relying on the NVGs to avoid detection by the lurking husks. Surprisingly, or not, the night vision was better than I anticipated, the image was as clear as it could be, and I could see the tiniest details in the grassland.
As I drove through the dark expanse, my thoughts drifted to the potential threats waiting ahead. So far, the most challenging danger had been the sheer number of husks this world seemed determined to throw at me. Even then, I’d had the backing of the Federation—a faction with enough infrastructure and influence to make survival at least somewhat manageable. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something worse might be lurking just beyond my sight.
The only sounds keeping me company were the soft hum of the engine and the occasional blip of the waypoint marker in my vision, steadily guiding me toward the truck’s location. My grip on the steering wheel tightened as I considered what I might find when I got there.
I could only hope it wasn’t something catastrophic. If that truck had fallen into the wrong hands—or worse, if it wasn’t just a truck—it could spell disaster for more than just me. I quickly shook the thought, I got more weapons and ammo than an average PMC in Tarkov, sure as hell I would get through this easily. I got like, what, 4,000 rounds in my inventory?
The waypoint on my HUD blinked closer, the distance steadily shrinking as I navigated the uneven dirt road. I caught sight of faint silhouettes—unnatural shapes against the backdrop of the grassland, with the shape of a large truck. The missing truck was there, just as the waypoint indicated, but something was wrong.
There was nothing there, pure and simple. The truck wasn’t flipped or anything, it was just… there, unscratched, without any soldiers manning or guarding it. The task was to retrieve the truck, and the amount of credits, it was too good to be true.
Something is wrong, I can feel it.
I parked my truck a safe distance from the target and reached into my inventory, pulling out the ballistic suit. The weight of it hit me immediately, but I had no time to hesitate. Piece by piece, I strapped it on, swapping out my standard helmet for the heavy ballistic helmet that came with the suit.
Grabbing the night-vision goggles, I snapped them into the helmet’s integrated mount. The enhanced visibility was a welcome upgrade—it wasn’t quite a power armor system, but it was close enough to make me feel like a walking tank.
As I secured the last strap, a thought crossed my mind. A minigun would be perfect right about now, I mused. But, alas, that particular dream wasn’t happening tonight. Instead, I reached for the M249 from my inventory, the weight of the machine gun comforting in its own way. I stored my G36 in the inventory and put the MRAD on my back. Not to forget, I also attached the laser sight to my M249.
"Guess you’ll have to do," I muttered, patting the weapon’s receiver as I checked the belt-fed rounds.
I slowly approached the truck, I saw no sign of battle on the truck itself. I scanned the vehicle thoroughly with my NVGs. No bullet holes, no scorch marks—nothing to suggest a battle had taken place here. The truck was oddly pristine, almost untouched.
This feels wrong. It was too clean, too intact. Every instinct screamed at me that this was a setup. I swore that the moment I opened it, something would happen. Maybe an alarm, a trap, or worse—an ambush lying in wait.
“Alright,” I muttered under my breath, “let’s see what’s behind door number one.”
With one hand, I reached out and grasped the door handle, ready for the worst.
As my hand gripped the door handle, I paused for a fraction of a second, bracing myself for the unknown. With a sharp pull, I yanked the door open—and immediately dove to the side, expecting gunfire or an explosion.
But nothing happened.
The truck’s cabin was empty. No traps, no husks, no ticking bombs. Just a clean, undisturbed interior. My heart pounded in my chest, and I felt the tension start to ease—but only slightly. This is too easy.
Then I heard it. A faint beep. It was almost inaudible over the wind, but it was there, rhythmic and ominous. My blood ran cold. The sound wasn’t coming from the cabin—it was coming from the cargo bay. The beeping grew louder, steady, and relentless, like a countdown. Oh no.
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Suddenly, the cargo bay erupted in a deafening explosion, the shockwave slamming into me like a freight train. I was thrown clear of the truck, my body ragdolling through the air before hitting the ground with bone-jarring force. I rolled over the dirt and grass, the impact knocking the wind out of me as my helmet rattled against my skull.
My M249 still slung tightly to my body, dug into my side as I tumbled to a stop, face down in the dirt. My head throbbed as it slammed against the uneven ground, the ballistic suit absorbing enough of the impact to keep me conscious but not enough to keep it from hurting like hell.
Dazed, I tried to push myself up, the world spinning around me. My NVGs flickered, momentarily disrupted by the force of the blast. In the distance, I could hear the faint, guttural growls of whatever monstrosity I had just unleashed.
Inside the truck wasn’t cargo or supplies—it was a massive, pulsating mass of organic material. It looked alive, its surface shifting and writhing as if breathing. Tendrils extended from it, snaking around the wreckage of the cargo truck. In the middle, a glowing red core.
[???Slimera??? - Level ???]
Oh, for fuck sake!
Before I could react, the core suddenly emitted a blinding flash of red light, and the beeping turned into a high-pitched whine. The tendrils snapped to attention, moving with terrifying speed toward me. I quickly imbued my machine gun with dark psionic energy. I immediately pulled the trigger of my machine gun, peppering the mass with bullets coming from the gun.
The bullets tore into the pulsating mass, leaving behind gaping wounds that oozed a strange, glowing fluid. Chunks of the fleshy exterior exploded on impact, and the tendrils recoiled violently, writhing as if in pain. It let out a terrifying roar as I continued to pepper it with my machine gun.
Then, out of nowhere, husks—a shitton of them—appeared, flooding in from every direction like they’d been summoned out of thin air. My heart sank. Really? Did this thing just summon them? For fuck’s sake, this had to be a joke.
The tendrils convulsed violently, then suddenly sprouted a series of grotesque meat spikes from the writhing mass. Without warning, the spikes launched toward me, cutting through the air like deadly missiles.
My instincts kicked in, and I activated my [Focus] skill. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as my perception sharpened, every detail of the spinning spikes coming into vivid clarity. I gripped my machine gun tightly, steadying my aim with deliberate precision.
With the spikes inching closer in my slowed perception, I pulled the trigger. The M249 roared, each burst of bullets carefully aimed, tearing through the incoming projectiles. One after another, the spikes disintegrated mid-air, their fleshy fragments scattering harmlessly to the ground.
The last spike exploded just meters from me, and I exhaled sharply, releasing my [Focus] skill. My blue bar was gone by half, but at least, nothing but splattered meat landed on my ballistic face shield. I quickly wiped them off and focused on the incoming husks.
I tossed the empty ammo box aside and quickly slapped a fresh one into the M249, the satisfying click signaling I was ready to go again. I could feel the force of bullets striking my body—sharp impacts dulled into nothing more than gentle taps by the heavy ballistic armor.
The husks, wielding their scavenged assault rifles, unleashed a barrage of fire, trying to suppress me. But instead of flinching, I grinned under my helmet and returned the favor, unleashing a relentless spray from my imbued machine gun.
The dark psionic energy enveloping the bullets shimmered ominously as they tore through the air, guided like they had a mind of their own. Each round found its mark with uncanny precision, punching through husks one by one.
The husks faltered, their numbers thinning rapidly under the assault. The air filled with the sharp crack of gunfire and the dull thuds of bodies hitting the ground. I kept firing, ensuring none of them got the chance to regroup. I continued the rampage on my end, slowly, the husks’ bodies fell one by one with each casing that fell into the ground.
I then refocused on the abomination.
It somehow stayed.
Don’t tell me it can’t move.
Whatever, let’s get this over with.
I slung the M249 over my shoulder, its barrel still smoking, and switched to the MG-338 from my inventory. The weight of the weapon felt solid in my hands as I assumed a firing stance, planting my feet firmly. Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.
Each shot sent a heavy recoil through my arms, but the ballistic suit absorbed the brunt of it, keeping me steady. The rounds tore through the incoherent blob of meat, each impact causing chunks of flesh and sinew to explode outward in grotesque sprays.
The mass shuddered under the relentless barrage, its tendrils flailing as the concentrated fire ripped through its form. It felt like pure destruction in my hands, and I wasn’t about to let up. If that thing hadn’t died, I would keep shooting.
Eventually, the 100-round box ran dry, the MG-338 clicking empty with a final, resounding clack. Smoke curled from the barrel as I lowered the weapon, my breathing steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me.
The mass? Well, it was no longer a mass. The once-pulsating blob of meat was now a scattered mess of shredded flesh and broken tendrils. At its center, the crystalline core lay shattered, its faint red glow flickering before dimming into nothingness.
I exhaled sharply, surveying the aftermath. "Guess that’s one problem solved," I muttered, putting the MG-338 back into my inventory and glancing around for any remaining threats.
[Retrieve Lost Medical Supplies Near Southern Checkpoint: FAILED]
[45,000 UC Has Been Deduced From Your Account]
[Exiting Combat: +3,000 EXP]
"Medical supply my arse," I muttered, then cursed out loud, the words echoing into the night.
Of course, it wasn’t just medical supplies. It never was. I should have expected that the Federation always had a way of underplaying the danger—or outright lying. And now, not only had I fought through a nightmare, but I was also out 45,000 UC for my trouble. I wasn’t sure what happened, heck, how the hell that thing even appeared in the cargo bay.
“Next time, I’m charging them double,” I grumbled, kicking a chunk of shattered meat across the dirt.
Well, at least I’m still alive.
I then turned my gaze at the truck, which was thankfully clean and unscratched from any damage from the previous battle, not even a stain of meat or strange liquid was visible on its window. Maybe, I could have enough money from looting the husks.
And my Hilux is still intact.