The sun was sinking behind Fairmont, staining the western sky in layers of orange, red, and fading gold.
Lin Yan sat outside a closed pharmacy with a Big Mac in one hand and a Coke beside his leg. The last light caught on the windows across the street, turning the glass almost copper.
He took another bite, chewed twice, and mumbled through the mouthful.
"Damn. That’s beautiful."
His free hand went for his phone almost automatically.
He pulled it out, opened the camera.
The viewfinder was black.
Right.
He’d sold the camera modules.
He put the phone away and went back to his burger.
Everything within two kilometers of Fairmont Regional had been evacuated nearly an hour ago. Federal vehicles now sealed the roads into the projected zone, leaving normally busy intersections empty and rows of storefronts dark.
Lin Yan reached into the bag for a few fries.
Across the street, twelve federal operators were quietly checking weapons and equipment. Lin Yan had been given essentially the same standard setup: ballistic combat shirt, plate carrier with front, back, and side plates, combat belt, gloves, knee pads, and boots, with his helmet and headset resting beside him.
Compared with the twelve operators across the street, Lin Yan looked like he fit right in.
Looked pretty fucking good too.
His old friend, the XM8, hung across his chest, this time fitted with a fifty-round drum. Ten more loaded drums were packed across his gear, bringing the total to five hundred and fifty rounds of 6.8×51mm.
An AA-12 automatic shotgun hung across his back as an emergency weapon. One thirty-two-round drum was already loaded, with three more on his gear—one hundred and twenty-eight shells altogether. If something got close enough that precise aim stopped mattering, that was what the shotgun was for.
He’d also asked for a small handful of .44 Magnum rounds and tucked them into one of his pouches.
Five hundred and fifty rifle rounds. One hundred and twenty-eight shotgun shells. Ammunition packed anywhere it could reasonably go.
Apparently, Lin Yan had developed a mild fear of insufficient firepower.
The best part was that none of it had cost him a cent. He’d asked, the federal government had provided.
And if the information he’d given them about tonight’s Convergence proved accurate, there was still a sizable payment waiting for him. Help them stop the invasion on top of that, and there’d be even more.
Free gear, government money, System rewards, Convergence rewards—and he got stronger along the way.
Hell, he deserved all of it.
He took another drink of Coke.
Vrrrmmm—
Lin Yan looked over his shoulder.
A dark SUV rolled through the checkpoint and stopped inside the staging area.
New Blood?
That was the name the government had given the program—NB for short. Previous Convergence survivors who had performed well enough were being brought into the system and trained for future deployments.
It felt rushed even by current standards, but these weren’t exactly normal times. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Lin Yan could understand that.
The rear door opened.
A man in freshly issued tactical gear climbed out with his shoulders tight and one hand close to his rifle, immediately scanning the empty street as if something might already be waiting for him.
Lin Yan chewed on a fry.
They’re sending this guy in? Isn’t that basically assisted suicide?
Then the man turned slightly.
Lin Yan narrowed his eyes.
Wait.
Why did that face look—
"...What the fuck?"
Marcus saw him at almost the same moment and froze.
"Lin Yan?"
Then the tension vanished from his face. He broke into a grin and came over at a quick jog.
"Fuck, am I glad to see you, Boss."
Lin Yan stared at him. "Why the hell are you here?"
"I joined NB."
"I know what NB is. I mean here." Lin Yan pointed at the ground. "Tonight."
"Oh. That."
Marcus scratched the side of his helmet.
"Back in the subway, I saw what you could do."
Lin Yan raised an eyebrow, and Marcus continued.
"You were strong enough to keep going when the rest of us were just trying not to die. I want that too. I want to get strong enough that the next time something like this happens, whether I live or die isn’t up to somebody else—or just dumb luck."
Lin Yan gave a slow, approving nod.
That, he understood.
Marcus grinned. "So yeah. I volunteered."
Lin Yan gave him a satisfied pat on the shoulder. "Good. That’s the right idea. Takes guts to come back after what happened. I respect that. Stay close tonight—if something goes wrong, get behind me."
Marcus nodded immediately. "Got it, Boss."
Marcus was still smiling when something on the pavement behind Lin Yan caught his attention.
"Wait. Why’s that machine gun sitting on the ground? They haven’t mounted it yet?"
Lin Yan followed his gaze, took another bite of his Big Mac, and said, "Oh, that? Mine."
Marcus turned back to him.
"That thing?"
"Yeah."
"You’re taking that in?"
Lin Yan chewed, swallowed, then pointed toward the building across the street.
"See that building?"
"Yeah, Boss."
"I ran into a bear this morning." Lin Yan pointed toward the second-floor windows. "Standing up, its head was about there."
Marcus followed his finger.
Lin Yan spread his arms.
"And it was about this fucking wide."
Marcus stared at the building for a moment, then looked back at the machine gun.
"...Okay."
He glanced at Lin Yan.
"I’m feeling a lot better about tonight."
Lin Yan grinned. "You should."
The machine gun was an M2A1, chambered in .50 BMG and paired with a thousand rounds of linked ammunition. Gun and ammunition together weighed roughly a hundred and seventy-five kilograms; with the XM8, AA-12, armor, and the rest of his gear added in, Lin Yan’s full combat load would push well past two hundred.
For him, the M2A1 and its ammunition felt roughly like a ten kilogram pack would to an ordinary person. He could carry it without much trouble, but keeping that weight on him for hours would still burn stamina, so there was no point picking it up before he actually needed it.
By then, the other three recruits had made their way over, and introductions were exchanged without much ceremony.
Coach was a broad, heavyset Black man somewhere in his forties. Rochelle was younger, composed, and already looked more comfortable in the issued gear than Marcus had when he’d stepped out of the SUV. Nick was a lean white guy with a sharp face and the general expression of someone who’d already decided he didn’t particularly like the situation.
Lin Yan looked over the group.
Marcus. Coach. Rochelle. Nick.
For some reason, the lineup gave him a very bad feeling.
Lin Yan finished his Coke, set the empty cup beside the bag, and reached for his helmet just as one of the twelve operators started across the street toward him.
The man looked to be in his early forties, lean beneath his gear, with a calm, economical way of moving.
He stopped in front of Lin Yan.
"Lin Yan?"
"Yeah."
The man offered his hand.
"Daniel Reeves. Entry lead."
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