MMPS Ch. 27

Chapter 27: Buried

Yu An edged cautiously toward the exam venue’s tunnel exit, his every step calculated. He lingered in the shadows, his gaze sweeping the surroundings with a predator’s patience. After ten measured seconds, he moved. His boot came down lightly on the camera embedded in the ground, pinning it still. 

With nimble fingers, he flipped open the cover of the storage core analyzer, retrieved the Function Core: Radiograph’s Eye—and pressed it into his left eye socket. The cold, jagged edges of the Aberrant Core nestled against his flesh, sending a sharp sting spiraling into his skull. Yu An gritted his teeth but did not flinch.

The core latched into place, its crimson glow pulsating faintly before the connection finalized. Yu An straightened, his left eye now housing the gift of Radiograph’s Eye, its power of X-ray vision stirring awake. He lifted his gaze, and the world transformed into overlapping layers of transparency. A single, eerie breath, and he began scanning the field ahead.

The stark black suit Yu An wore had an advantage: its hood ensured his face remained forever shrouded, an empty void to all who looked his way. No one could see the Aberrant Core embedded in his left eye, even under scrutiny. The Underground Metro conference hall’s observation screens flickered briefly as the camera he’d disabled went momentarily dark. A trivial disruption, unnoticed by most. 

But not by Zhao Ran.

Zhao Ran’s sharp eyes tracked Yu An’s movements. The brief blackened screen told him everything. His mind connected the dots—Yu An had swapped cores. Likely something as practical as a vision core. It made sense: with the hostile terrain riddled with uncertainty, assessing every opponent’s location was a logical first step. Zhao Ran’s lips curved slightly. Yu An wasn’t as reckless as he’d initially thought.

He had expected Yu An, with his aloof and indifferent disposition, to plunge straight into the chaos, targeting the undercover operative hidden among the interns. Yet, here Yu An was, calculating and composed. Zhao Ran’s tension eased, his attention drifting toward the other monitors to observe the remaining contestants.

The investigators were as predictable as ever. Most had abandoned the written test early, scribbling down answers within their knowledge limits before rushing out. They’d hesitated at the sight of the Skill Test signage, puzzled at first. But comprehension soon dawned. They adapted quickly, their situational awareness commendable.

In less than ten minutes, the first test task would refresh. The Skill Test, designed to eliminate passive participants, ensured tasks were constantly churned out. Failure to complete a task meant automatic disqualification. But taking on a task meant inevitable encounters with rivals. There would be blood. Zhao Ran glanced at his watch. For Yu An, ten minutes should be more than enough to deal with two technicians.

Yet Yu An’s actions diverged slightly from Zhao Ran’s expectations.

The test field spanned a thousand acres, meticulously constructed to resemble a coastal warehouse zone. Its layout was intricate: warehouses and shipping containers dominated the east and north, while sparse woods and a few derelict cabins peppered the west. The space teemed with hiding spots, labyrinthine paths, and cover for ambushes. An ideal battlefield for rookies to prove their mettle.

Yu An crouched outside the exit of two adjacent exam venues, slipping the Arrogant Bat into his shoulder bag. He found a concealed vantage point and quietly inventoried the Aberrant Cores in his analyzer.

The Satan’s Guidance core, salvaged from the goat-headed creature, had only two uses left. Its ability to disorient opponents was an ace up his sleeve—too valuable to squander needlessly. The Picture Within the Painting, an Illusion Core acquired from the Illusion Chamber Beauty Salon, lay dormant. Its grade was too high. Yu An had never succeeded in linking with a silver-grade core; the strain might shatter him before it served any purpose. He dismissed it for now.

The Goat Horn, a second-tier blue core returned to him by Officer Ye, was his key asset. It significantly enhanced strength and agility, perfect for direct confrontations. But it came with limits—it only lasted thirty minutes. Yu An would need to conserve at least twenty minutes of its power for dealing with the that Flame guy or Ni Lan, both formidable targets. Both were carriers like himself, wielding high-grade Aberrant Cores. A head-on clash with either would be a gamble.

A muffled voice broke his thoughts: “What the hell is this? Your bat is jabbing my face.”

Yu An frowned. The voice came from Miss Bo, the woman immortalized as a figureboard at the bottom of his bag. He’d forgotten about her. Again.

“I forgot to leave you at home.” Yu An muttered as he zipped the bag shut. No need for unnecessary witnesses—least of all a camera catching her animated face.

Inside the corridor, footsteps approached—careful, deliberate. Yu An’s grip on the Arrogant Bat tightened. Rising to his feet, he pressed his back to the wall near the exit, the bat hanging loose in one hand. His breathing slowed to a near stop. The Radiograph’s Eye buzzed faintly as his vision pierced through the wall. The technician was there, just beyond the threshold, moving cautiously.

When the man finally peeked out, his throat met cold, unyielding wood. Yu An’s bat hooked against his neck, yanking him backward. The chokehold constricted the man’s airways; his hands flailed desperately, scratching at Yu An’s jacket. A muffled meow escaped from the fabric.

The technician, Ji Nian, wore an ID badge labeling him as an intern mechanic with the Mechanical Logistics Division—a secretive but potent department specializing in Aberrant equipment.

“Hand over your weapon.” Yu An ordered, his voice ice-cold.

Ji Nian, trembling, emptied his pockets: “I… I didn’t bring anything. I thought the skill test was tomorrow, so I only came for the written exam…”

Yu An didn’t eliminate him immediately. Instead, he dragged Ji Nian to another venue’s exit, shoving his head toward the door: “Enter someone else’s safe zone, and you’re automatically disqualified. Want to keep your points? Then don’t resist.”

Ji Nian nodded in fear, and finally, the chokehold loosened. Ji Nian gasped, coughing violently but dared not make a sound. 

Yu An’s bat nudged his back. “Turn around.”

With hands raised in surrender, Ji Nian obeyed. He pushed his glasses up nervously as his gaze landed on Yu An’s face—or rather, the void where his face should have been. Darkness swallowed his features entirely. Ji Nian froze, awestruck. Then his lips parted. From within his mouth, a small dart launcher rose to fire.

But Yu An was faster. The bat swung upward, slamming Ji Nian’s jaw shut with brutal precision. Teeth clacked, blood spilled, and Ji Nian howled, clutching his tongue.

“I’m a technician too.” Yu An dangled his own Underground Metro ID badge in front of Ji Nian’s teary eyes. “There are bonus tasks for technicians in this test. Going solo is suicide. Let’s team up and share the points.”

Ji Nian, cowed and pained, nodded quickly. Yu An pried the miniature transmitter out of his mouth and then let him go. The little techinician was weak and fragile, practically powerless; even if he just stood there and let him hit him, he might not dare to take action.

The next challenge awaited.

The remaining technician refused to leave their safe zone, their hesitation betraying a clear weakness: poor combat ability. Yu An deduced they were a cybersecurity specialist, relying on their fortress-like defenses to outlast any would-be ambushers.

Yu An crouched in silence, the wheels in his mind turning. Tapping his bat rhythmically against the iron bars of the examination entrance, he sent out a coded message: tap-tap… pause… tap-tap-tap.

Ji Nian stiffened beside him. “Is that… backdoor code?” he whispered, his voice tinged with awe. The rhythm was unmistakable, a hacker’s message calling for cooperation.

The sound of cautious footsteps followed. From the shadows of the hallway emerged a second technician, wary and calculating. His ID card read Yong Zheng. 

A backdoor, a term widely known among hackers, describes the subtle art of infiltrating a target computer, altering its settings, and seizing control—a secret passage carved into the system’s defenses.

Yu An used this double entendre to subtly reveal his identity as a technician, rather than an investigator lurking on the sidelines, waiting to harvest technician elimination points.

“What’s your play?” Yong Zheng asked, cradling a sleek miniature computer in his hands. Neither of them were built for direct combat, and if there was another path to take, they’d gladly explore it.

Yu An turned his head slightly, his voice low and calm. “First, we leave the exam gate.” By his calculation, investigators would arrive soon. Fighting amongst themselves would only leave them vulnerable, and the investigators—always hungry for the bounty on technicians—would undoubtedly be closing in.

“There are ten damaged elimination pits scattered throughout the field. Pits Three and Six are the nearest to us, but Pit Three is the farthest from any investigators. That’s where we’ll go first.”

Yong Zheng frowned in surprise. He had already hacked the positioning system of the test site during the written exam, allowing him to track every intern’s real-time location across the entire area. Cracking the Undergrounf Metro’s security system had taken him almost fifteen minutes—it was notoriously impenetrable. Yet this man in black had left the exam hall earlier than anyone else. How had he figured out the others’ locations?

“You’re a carrier.” Yong Zheng stated with quiet certainty. “Did you embed a search-type aberration core? Not much combat capability in that, though.”

No one could have imagined that one among them was a host who could swap Aberration Cores at will.

The trio moved swiftly to Pit Three. Around the malfunctioning elimination pit, shattered electronic parts and broken equipment lay strewn across the ground like discarded carcasses. Yu An crouched down, inspecting the components one by one. This wasn’t just about reattaching loose parts; the pit’s core drive was critically damaged. Repairing it would demand absolute focus—and at least twenty minutes of uninterrupted work.

“I can do it.” Ji Nian said suddenly, his voice soft but steady as he poked his head up. From the pocket of his work pants, he pulled out a neatly folded set of tools.

Yu An blinked, momentarily stunned. Hadn’t his pockets been empty just moments ago?

“Actually,” Ji Nian admitted sheepishly, scratching his head, “the whole outfit’s my own custom Aberration gear.” He unfastened a steel clasp on his waistband, revealing an embedded Aberration Core.

The shy mechanic knelt by the broken pit, his fingers dancing delicately over the shattered machinery. Occasionally, he closed his eyes, as if mentally sketching the intricate schematics of the core drive. His precision was unnerving, as though he could see the machine’s lifeblood flowing beneath its ruined surface.

Yu An watched in silence before speaking softly. “The pit’s elimination recognition system isn’t inside—it’s at the rim. If we tweak it, we can double its detection radius. Once we leave, we won’t come back here.”

“A trap? Not bad,” Yong Zheng said, still leaning casually against the machine. He was sucking on a contraband jelly snack he had smuggled in. “I can adjust the algorithm. Give me thirty seconds.”

Yu An left them to the technical work and climbed onto a heap of branches nearby. From this vantage point, he activated his perspective core, scanning the area for movement.

Someone was coming. Maybe they’d deduced the trio’s route based on the layout of the test site—or maybe they just weren’t acting alone.

Yu An gestured for the two technicians to hide. His right hand drifted to his Core Storage Analyzer. With a flick of his thumb, he unclasped the compartment and retrieved the Aberrant Core: Goat Horn, its surface cold and faintly pulsing in his palm.

The approaching figure—an investigator named Ai Ke—moved like a predator through the barren trees. In his hand, he carried a piece of Aberration equipment that resembled a walkie-talkie. Powered by its internal core, the device was designed to detect heat signatures. It made tracking hidden technicians almost too easy.

This was Ai Ke’s strategy: avoid stronger opponents and hunt technicians instead. His combat skills were mediocre at best, but luck had handed him three technicians to exploit for points. Who cared if it was dishonorable? Points mattered, not pride.

He crouched low, listening intently to the faint sounds of machinery being repaired. Confident his targets were distracted, he sprang into action. With a swift, predatory leap, he emerged from the shadows, drawing a military-grade knife from his belt. His eyes locked onto the closest target—a thin, seemingly frail man dressed in black.

As Ai Ke descended, the man slowly raised his head, meeting his gaze.

It wasn’t a human face that looked back at him. A chasm of endless blackness engulfed his features, framed by two curved goat horns that gleamed faintly under the dim light. From beneath the hood, a cold, ethereal blue light slithered out like the trail of a specter.

Before Ai Ke could react, Yu An’s legs tensed, the Goat Horn core surging raw power through his body. With a burst of speed, he launched himself upward, his left leg striking Ai Ke’s stomach like a battering ram. The investigator’s breath was knocked out of him as he tumbled backward, flipping mid-air to regain control. Clenching his knife in both hands, Ai Ke twisted toward Yu An’s chest, aiming for a killing blow.

But he was still airborne, his movements restricted. Yu An sidestepped with unsettling ease, his right shoulder twisting out of reach. Then, with fluid precision, he sprang into the air once more, his leg arcing in a brutal sweep. The impact sent Ai Ke hurtling three meters away, crashing to the ground near the barely-repaired elimination pit.

Yong Zheng glanced up, the jelly snack still dangling lazily from his lips. Ji Nian, his face smeared with grease, grinned as he peered at the crumpled figure on the ground. “Sneak attacks, huh? Guess investigators have their bad days too.”

Yu An, ever composed, removed the Goat Horn to conserve its charge. He climbed onto a perch to keep watch. Meanwhile, the two technicians turned to him, their voices tinged with curiosity. What should they do with the unlucky investigator?

Yu An tilted his head slightly, his voice devoid of emotion. “Bury him.”