“At the first beacon, we fought with flesh and died with flesh. At the tenth, we fought with steel and survived. By the last beacon, we had become something the invaders never planned for.”

  — Leyla Najjar, founder of Najjar Bionics

  The armory dissolved.

  Not gradually, but in a single flash that left my vision swimming with afterimages, and suddenly we were standing somewhere completely different. The white projection room was gone, replaced by what looked like a viewing platform suspended in empty space with a transparent floor beneath our feet showing nothing but void.

  “Oh no,” Alice groaned immediately, her pyromancer robes rippling with simulated wind. “Not the intro again.”

  “Dash hasn’t seen it,” Cecilia said. “And I like it.”

  Alice shook her head and sighed dramatically. “You like it because it’s got dramatic sword poses and explosions.”

  “Yes.” Cecilia’s response was completely unapologetic. “That’s exactly why I like it. Now be quiet.”

  Alice opened her mouth to protest, caught the look Cecilia was giving her, and sighed with theatrical resignation. “Fine. But if we die because we started late, it’s your fault.”

  The surrounding void began to change.

  Light bloomed in the distance, coalescing into shapes and forms, and a voice rolled over us with that particular timbre that only existed in movie trailers and corporate propaganda.

  “DURING THE SYSTEM APOCALYPSE—”

  The void transformed into Earth 1.0, but wrong.

  Continents stretched and distorted, oceans displaced, the entire planet visibly expanding like watching a time-lapse of geological change compressed into seconds. Cracks of golden light spread across the surface, chaos incursions tearing through reality in cascading waves.

  We were still standing on our invisible platform, but now the planet rotated beneath us, somehow close enough to see individual cities burning, forests consumed by reality-warping energy, entire regions simply ceasing to exist as chaos washed over them.

  “—FIFTEEN HEROES FOUGHT THE INCURSIONS AND INVADERS ALIKE—”

  Figures materialized around the planet, rendered in heroic detail that bordered on mythological. One of them was my great-grandpa.

  Fifteen warriors, each one distinct, each radiating power that seemed to make the air vibrate, fought against things I couldn’t quite process. The heroes won, obviously. One by one, the incursions were sealed; the invaders driven back, golden light spreading across the planet like healing wounds.

  “—AND SAVED OUR WORLD.”

  The planetary view pulled back, showing Earth 2.0 stabilized but transformed, easily twice its original size, with continents rearranged into configurations I’d learned in school.

  “BUT THEY WERE NOT ALONE—”

  The view shifted, diving down through clouds toward a specific region, jungle-covered and vast, stretching across what the overlay helpfully labeled as “FORMER SOUTHEAST ASIA - NOW EXPANSION ZONE 7.”

  “—IN THE CHAOS OF EXPANSION, WHEN BORDERS MEANT NOTHING AND SURVIVAL MEANT EVERYTHING—”

  Cities appeared in the jungle, or what was left of them. Skyscrapers half-consumed by vegetation, roads cracked and overgrown, entire metropolitan areas reclaimed by nature in weeks. People fled in streams, refugees carrying what they could, and above it all, massive structures rose from the jungle canopy.

  Beacons.

  Pillars of light and something else, something that pulsed with systematic energy, each one marking territory, claiming regions, establishing control over the expanded planet’s new geography.

  “—THE MIDORIKAWA CORPORATION SENT ITS WONDER TRIO—”

  Three figures materialized in the air before us, and it took me a second to realize they were us.

  Or rather, idealized versions of us rendered in the same heroic style as the fifteen. Alice with flames wreathing her hands, Cecilia with twin blades crossed dramatically, and me with the coilgun rifle held in a pose as if I actually knew what I was doing with it.

  We looked like propaganda posters, all dramatic lighting and foolish confidence, the imagery that made corporate military service look exciting instead of terrifying.

  They descended into the jungle like PR instruments of liberation, cutting through what the overlay labeled as “CHAOS REMNANTS” with a coordinated performance.

  “—TO LIBERATE WHAT REMAINED—”

  The view followed them—us—through a montage of victories. Beacon and refugees rescued; supply lines established; order imposed on chaos through superior firepower and corporate determination.

  “—BUT THEY WERE NOT THE ONLY ONES WHO WANTED CONTROL—”

  The jungle shifted, revealing something that made my stomach drop, despite knowing this was all just the past and elaborate storytelling.

  A base.

  Human construction, clearly military, but wrong in ways I couldn’t immediately articulate. The architecture was too advanced, too refined, the technology at least a generation or two beyond anything I’d seen even in Earth 1.0 old photos.

  Soldiers moved through the compound like people who’d been using system enhancements for lifetimes, not years. They looked human, perfectly human, but the overlay helpfully tagged them in red: INVADERS.

  “—THEY LOOKED LIKE US—”

  The view zoomed to an invader’s face, completely indistinguishable from any person I might pass on the street. No visible mutations, no chaos corruption, just... human.

  “—BUT THEY HAD POSSESSED THE SYSTEM FOR MILLENNIA—”

  The view pulled back, showing their base in full, showing the beacon they controlled, showing the territory they’d claimed while Earth was still recovering from the apocalypse.

  “—AND THEY AIMED TO CONQUER WHAT WE HAD ONLY JUST BEGUN TO UNDERSTAND—”

  Images flashed in rapid succession. Invader forces moving through the jungle, system users with techniques and abilities, weapons that bent reality, entire squads teleporting or phasing through obstacles like they were performing basic maneuvers.

  “—BUT THE WONDER TRIO SAID NO—”

  The three heroes materialized again, standing on a ridge overlooking the invader base, backlit by a dramatic sunset that cast them in silhouette.

  “—MIDORIKAWA CORPORATION SENT THEIR BEST OF THE BEST—”

  More figures appeared behind the trio, dozens of soldiers in matching tactical gear, the full force of corporate military power arrayed against the invaders.

  “—TO SECURE THE INVADER BASE—”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  The camera, or whatever perspective we were viewing from, dove toward the base, showing defensive positions, automated turrets, guards patrolling with weapons that crackled with systematic energy.

  “—AND CLAIM THE BEACON—”

  The beacon itself, a massive pillar of light and metal rising from the jungle, pulsed with power. If my school wasn’t only propaganda, then whoever controlled it controlled everything for hundreds of kilometers in every direction.

  “—YOU HAVE TO—”

  The scene flashed.

  Suddenly we were inside a military plane, the roar of engines vibrating through the haptic suit, the interior rendered in utilitarian detail with jump seats along the walls and equipment racks bolted to every available surface.

  Backpacks materialized on our backs, heavy with simulated weight, and through the small windows I could see jungle canopy rushing past below us.

  “HEY!” Cecilia’s voice cut through the engine noise, and I turned to see her pointing a sword at her sister with genuine fury. “I was watching!”

  Alice shrugged, completely unbothered, her finger still hovering near whatever interface element she’d used to skip the rest of the trailer. “You’ve seen it a hundred times!”

  “No!” Cecilia pouted, despite the AR overlay of her tactical armor covering half her face. “You always skip it before the deployment briefing!”

  “The deployment briefing is just the narrator telling us to jump out of the plane and burn people,” Alice protested. “We already know what we’re supposed to do!” She stuck out her tongue, turned away from the argument with her sister, and marched toward the cockpit door with the purposeful energy as if she’d already decided and wasn’t interested in debate.

  The door slid open as she approached, revealing a cramped cabin space with two pilots hunched over controls that glowed with holographic overlays.

  Beyond the windscreen, I could see our approach vector.

  The jungle canopy stretched endlessly below us, a sea of green broken only by a massive clearing maybe two kilometers across. Perfectly flat plain, no trees, no cover, just open ground that made every tactical instinct I had start screaming.

  And at the far edge of that killing field, the invader base sat like a fortress, walls and towers and automated defenses all positioned with clear sight lines across the entire approach.

  We were heading for the tree line on the opposite side, the sensible insertion point where the canopy would provide cover from aerial detection and the jungle would mask our approach until we were close enough to matter.

  Alice pointed directly at the center of the plain.

  “Drop us there.”

  The pilot made a sound as if he was choking on his own tongue, his hands jerking slightly on the controls before he caught himself and forced his posture back into professional composure. “Ma’am,” he managed, voice strained. “I have orders to insert your team at the designated—”

  Alice’s hand moved in a casual gesture, and a fireball materialized beside the pilot’s head. Not touching him, just hanging there in the air close enough that I could see sweat break out on the man’s temple from the simulated heat.

  The flames danced and flickered with that perfect AR rendering, completely fake but convincing enough, and the pilot’s body language suggested he was taking it seriously.

  “I’m the operation commander,” Alice said, her voice still cheerful but carrying an edge that hadn’t been there before. “Got it? I say we drop there; we drop. Record it in the log, and if we die, it’s on me.”

  The pilot stared at her for a long moment, then at the fireball still hovering inches from his face, then back at her. He swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Adjusting flight path.”

  The plane banked slightly, turning toward the center of the clearing, and Alice dismissed the fireball with another casual gesture as if she hadn’t just threatened a virtual NPC with immolation.

  She turned and walked back into the main cabin with a satisfied grin, leaving the pilot to his adjustments, and I followed her back to where Cecilia was waiting with an expression somewhere between pleased and resigned.

  “You’re scary,” I said, the words coming out before I could stop them. “That was...”

  “Preem!” Alice’s grin widened, practically glowing with satisfaction. “Always wanted to do that! NPCs usually just follow scripted paths, but Vaultline’s AI actually responds to threats! Makes it feel way more real!”

  I blinked, my brain catching on something in that statement. The pilot had reacted too naturally, too quickly, with an adaptive response that shouldn’t be possible from standard game AI.

  Even high-end systems usually had tells, slight delays in processing, unnatural speech patterns, but that conversation had felt completely organic.

  “Actually,” Cecilia said, adjusting one of her swords, “Vaultline was a military contractor first. They made system-grade combat simulations for training actual soldiers. Had to repurpose all their tech when the Fortune 15—”

  “Boring!” Alice cut her off with cheerful giggle.

  My mind was already racing ahead, connecting dots. “Wait,” I said. “If this is a military-grade simulation, do we get experience? Like, actual system experience? What if—”

  The notification appeared before I could finish the thought.

  [Analyzing… Due to the first combat scenario of newly constructed equipment enhanced by Hoqalo, experience enabled for this simulation.]

  “Nope!” Alice said instantly, shaking her head. “Nada! Never! Games don’t give real XP, that would break everything—”

  “Huh,” I said, staring at the notification still floating in my vision. “I do get experience, though.”

  Alice stopped mid-sentence, her expression shifting through several emotions too quickly to track before settling on something between shock and pure joy.

  She ran toward me and wrapped me in a hug that nearly knocked me backward, her simulated pyromancer robes billowing around us. “YOU DO?!” Her voice cracked slightly with excitement. “FUN AND XP?! AT THE SAME TIME?! HOW?”

  She started shaking me, or possibly just shaking with excitement while still holding on, and I grabbed her shoulders trying to steady both of us before the haptic suit registered it as an attack and did something unfortunate.

  “Alice, stop,” Cecilia said, her tone patient but firm.

  Alice released me immediately, stepping back with visible effort to contain her enthusiasm, and Cecilia moved closer with that focused expression that meant she was working through a problem.

  “Curious,” she said. “How come? I’ve heard rumors about simulation-based experience gain, but I’ve never read anything confirmed about it working in simulation environments—”

  “Does it matter?!” Alice interrupted, bouncing on her heels. “He gets to have fun AND level up! That’s like finding out your favorite food also makes you healthier!”

  “It’s because I made this,” I said, gesturing at my gear. The AR overlay had transformed my hoodie and pants into a generic military uniform, but underneath I knew it was still my soul-bound custom work. “The equipment, I mean. It’s for testing purposes, I guess? The system seems to think combat data from simulations counts as valid feedback for improvement.”

  Cecilia’s eyes lit up with a spark that suggested she’d just had an interesting idea. “Can you keep making small things and farming experience from—”

  Her expression changed abruptly, eyes widening, and she actually gulped. “Why did the system just give me a warning about suggesting exploits?”

  [It will not be allowed.]

  The notification appeared in my vision, and based on Cecilia’s reaction, probably in hers too.

  I hung my head, feeling that familiar weight settle over me. “There’s something special about me I can’t really talk about. Only one in the Sol, and the system itself took an interest. It’s... complicated.”

  “Poor you,” Alice said, and she actually sounded genuinely sad instead of her usual enthusiastic self. “I mean...” She blinked, glanced around as if checking for something, then continued with forced brightness. “It’s awesome! The system is awesome! Very fair! No complaints!”

  I caught the slight edge of nervousness in her voice; was she worried about getting flagged for criticism?

  The plane shuddered slightly, engines changing pitch, and through the windows I could see we were descending toward the open plain, toward the absolute worst possible insertion point, directly into the enemy’s line of sight.

  Alice’s grin returned full force. “Alright! Let’s do this!”

  The plane’s rear door cracked open with a mechanical groan, and suddenly the roar of wind filled the cabin. Through the widening gap, I could see the clearing rushing up to meet us, vast and exposed and completely devoid of cover.

  I moved toward the edge, looking down at the ground that seemed both too close and too far away, my brain trying to calculate drop distance and impact velocity and failing spectacularly because I’d never actually jumped out of a plane before.

  “Wait,” I said, turning toward Alice. “How do we—”

  The light above the door flashed green, and Alice’s hands hit my back, and suddenly I was falling.

  The wind ripped past me with a force that felt entirely too real for a simulation, the haptic suit conveying every bit of air resistance as I tumbled through empty space.

  My stomach lurched into my throat, the ground spinning in my vision as I tried to orient myself, tried to remember if there was supposed to be a parachute or a grappling system or literally anything that would prevent me from becoming a crater in the middle of this clearing.

  Alice’s laughter cut through the wind, wild and delighted, and I caught a glimpse of her falling beside me, arms spread wide, completely unconcerned about the rapidly approaching earth.

  The backpack activated.

  A sudden pressure against my spine that built into something that defied physics, anti-gravity or repulsor fields or whatever magitech nonsense the simulation was using to prevent us from dying on impact.

  The sensation was strange, not quite floating, more like falling up while still moving down, velocity bleeding away in a way that made my inner ear scream in confusion.

  The ground rushed up to meet us, and then we were touching down with a gentleness that completely contradicted the terminal velocity we’d been achieving seconds before. My boots hit grass with barely more force than stepping off a curb, the haptic suit conveying the soft impact, and for a moment I just stood there, trying to convince my brain that I was alive.

  The backpack fell away.

  It simply detached, the straps releasing automatically; the weight disappearing from my shoulders with a soft click.

  I watched it hit the ground beside me, suddenly feeling lighter, more mobile, the simulated burden gone now that it had served its purpose.

  Alice landed beside me with a whoop of pure joy, her backpack falling away in the same smooth motion, and she was already moving, flames dancing around her hands as she scanned the clearing with that manic energy.

  “That never gets old!” she shouted, grinning widely. “Come on, Dash! Base is that way! Let’s go be targets!”

  TODAY’S CHAPTER IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY Heroes of the Sol Alliance

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