There Must Be Something Wrong With This Game!

"Werewolf unit, assemble."

The Werewolves were assembled on the training grounds. With vacant eyes, the squad members stood in a line, awaiting the Sin President’s command.

In addition to their prefrontal lobes, various other parts of their brains had been removed. After each consciousness download, they were left with only these damaged brains, rendering them stupefied and capable only of obeying the Sin President’s orders.

Before long, they saw the Sin President approaching with rows upon rows of dolls.

The dolls looked just like fashion mannequins in a storefront window, only their bodies were made of some unknown flesh instead of plastic or wood.

The dolls were expressionless, their faces covered in hair. This hair made the dolls resemble cacti, but not a single Werewolf laughed.

Because no one had ordered them to.

Looking at the Werewolves, the Sin President asked, "Is everyone here?"

"Number 450 has not arrived. She is reportedly out observing the enemy," the secretary answered.

"So we’re short one... No matter. You, take her place."

The secretary who was singled out obediently stepped forward, joining the ranks of the Werewolves in place of Number 450.

Looking at these Werewolves, the Sin President wasted no words.

He eagerly had the dolls move one by one behind the Werewolves, their hair extending like blood vessels and plunging into their bodies.

The grotesque fusion began.

The Werewolves represented the pinnacle of the cyberpunk fusion between flesh and machine, but the Cursed Puppets were the masterpiece of Nemo.

Curse, technology, and human flesh merged into one. Not even the Clockmaker knew what this unholy union would create.

Though the Werewolves could no longer feel pain, the fusion with the dolls still subjected them to immense suffering.

Their consciousness was being invaded. A bizarre presence infiltrated their bodies, fusing with them in an utterly inconceivable way.

At first, they could still make some noise.

But as the fusion progressed, the hair burrowed deeper into their bodies. The dolls began to seep into their flesh, attaching to their backs like shadows and becoming part of their bodies.

An hour later, Number 450 revived after being torn to shreds by Lord Hasshaku yet again.

After putting on her Equipment, she thought, ’It moves silently, can freely alter its height and reach, and it can shift between an ethereal and a physical form. How am I supposed to fight something like that? I really do need a complete brain.’

After dressing and putting on her mask, she was about to ask about her application for a brain when she suddenly sensed something was wrong.

Something was wrong with the air. The base seemed to have been infiltrated by some entity. A foul stench mingled with the scent of her comrades, filling her with intense unease.

As a Werewolf with few remaining emotions, the only thing Number 450 cared about was her comrades.

Wolves are pack animals. Comrades are of vital importance to them, partners that must never be abandoned.

But now, the scent of her pack was tainted by the stench, causing her to worry greatly for their safety.

With her pistol and dagger ready, Number 450 decisively rushed out of the cultivation chamber and saw a figure crawling before her.

The figure was abnormally massive. From behind, it looked like a large, writhing jellyfish, shuffling restlessly across the ground.

But thanks to her excellent vision, Number 450 saw that it was none other than a cub who had only recently become a Werewolf.

Only, this cub’s body had expanded unnaturally, his flesh growing without restraint, making him look like a ball of bloated dough.

"Cap... tain... kill... me... hee hee hee hee hee."

The broken words came from the cub’s mouth, but they were soon replaced by an eerie cackle.

Just then, the cub’s head swiveled one hundred and eighty degrees. Where the biological chip on the back of his head should have been, there was now a doll’s mask, frozen in a twisted smile.

Seeing it, a sensation similar to her encounters with Lord Hasshaku washed over her.

She quickly rolled aside, just as a black arm inexplicably materialized in the spot she had just occupied, nearly impaling her.

She fired at the cub without hesitation and immediately bolted for the exit.

’I don’t know what’s going on, but getting out of here has to be the right move.’

Thanks to her several clashes with Lord Hasshaku, although she never figured out what it was, Number 450 had learned some of its attack patterns and gained a sort of early warning system for its strikes.

Whenever she felt a pinprick in her brain, she knew an attack had been launched.

The warped cub wasn’t fast. After a few failed attempts to grab Number 450 with its tentacles, it gave up and let her escape.

But the cub was not the only one on the path to the outside world.

Creatures similar to the cub crawled aimlessly throughout the base. In every corner, she could see these things, grotesquely fused with the dolls.

She tried to kill them, but her bullets failed to pierce their rotting flesh. It only seemed to enrage them, causing them to speed up.

After a desperate struggle, she finally reached the base entrance, only to be met with a scene of utter despair.

The body of the Sin President’s secretary was blocking the exit. Her endlessly proliferating flesh had sealed the doorway completely, trapping everyone inside.

She stared, expressionless, for a moment before turning to head for the sublevels. Suddenly, she sidestepped and aimed her gun behind her.

Behind her, a mass of shadow was coalescing, and from it, the figure of the Lone Ranger emerged.

He nodded in appreciation. "You’re the best Werewolf I’ve ever seen," he said. "To think you sensed my presence instantly."

"What happened to my pack? Are you involved?" Number 450 demanded.

"I don’t know. It has nothing to do with me. But I asked my partner, and it seems to be the work of one of our enemies."

Number 450 didn’t know the Lone Ranger’s origins, but she could sense he wasn’t lying.

Adhering to the principle that the enemy of her enemy is her friend, she holstered her weapon. "I am the Werewolf Captain," she said to the Lone Ranger. "You can call me Captain, or you can call me Number 450. I am now formally requisitioning your assistance in searching for and rescuing our President. You have no right to refuse."

The Lone Ranger looked at the Werewolf Captain and couldn’t help but smile. "Why would I refuse?"

"Good. Then let’s move out. We’re heading to the President’s last known location."

If the Sin President knew what was happening, he would surely regret one thing.

Namely, not giving his Werewolves a brain.

But regardless, from the moment the Lone Ranger found this place, the Sin President’s life was like a candle in the wind, about to be extinguished.

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