"Hmph. At least one of you has some eyesight."
Silas remarked coldly as he pulled out another four plasma pistols after the rifles.
"We might encounter danger on the way. While Vincent and I will handle any serious combat, these assault rifles and pistols are for your own protection."
"You're all from the Outer Districts. You've probably seen firearms like these before. But whether you've used one or not doesn't matter—watch closely. I'll demonstrate once, and only once."
Jake and the others nodded silently. They understood exactly what he meant.
After the devastated epic battle-Starfall, every city near the battlefront between humans and the Bisolarans became known as Sanctuary Cities.
These were both the front lines and the rear guard—the most dangerous places, yet also where the ruthless could strike it rich overnight.
Sanctuary Cities absorbed floods of refugees from overrun settlements, resulting in wildly mixed populations:
desperate survivors, opportunistic adventurers, unofficial mercenary bands, and those with nothing left to lose.
To maintain order—or some version of it—every Sanctuary City was divided into Inner and Outer Districts.
The Inner District housed the elites, the wealthy, and the ruling class.
The Outer Districts were a turbulent mix of civilians, refugees, mercenary groups, and gangs.
The administration tended to turn a blind eye to the chaos beyond the inner walls.
After all, aside from official military seizures and major faction claims, much of the city's resources flowed in from those very same desperate souls surviving in the outer chaos.
Jake and the others were indeed from the Outer Districts.
Only Baseline Humans from the outskirts of a Sanctuary City would risk their lives venturing into the New Reclamation Zone.
All for a slim chance at enough credits or resources to afford a top-tier university, better gene-modification, and a way out of their dead-end lives.
Having grown up in the outer chaos, they'd all seen firearms before—but only from a distance.
Weapons like these were contraband within city sectors, reserved for mercenaries and gangs.
After a brisk demonstration of the basics—loading, aiming, firing, and safety—Silas handed the weapons over.
Almost instantly, a primal fascination took hold.
There was something about the weight and promise of a gun that pulled them in.
Sam ran his hands over the dark, streamlined body of his rifle, eyes wide. "This is so damn cool…"
Silas tapped a few commands into the interface on his forearm.
With a smooth hydraulic hum, sections of the white wall and floor slid apart, forming a compact shooting range complete with a row of target drones.
"This is the Academy's private training facility. Fully shielded. Soundproofed. We won't attract any… unwanted attention."
"I've granted temporary weapon authorization. You have ten minutes. Practice. I will not tolerate friendly fire once we're in the field."
None of them—except for Leon—had ever seen tech this advanced.
Not even Jake could hide his eagerness as they stepped into the range and began to fire.
Jake adjusted his stance, took a breath, and squeezed the trigger.
Vrommm....
A low hum resonated through the weapon as a wave of heat ruffled his hair.
A bolt of plasma shot forward, striking the target ten meters away and blasting a smoldering hole through its center.
The edges glowed cherry red, hissing and steaming.
Though there was no traditional recoil, Jake could feel a deep, resonant vibration through the rifle—a concentrated surge of power that left no doubt about its lethal potential.
The plasma assault rifle was highly intelligent, equipped with auto-targeting, lock-on systems, and friend-or-foe identification—ideal for dealing with the Bisolarans's lesser bio-hounds.
But against slightly advanced Bisolarans beast-soldiers, it became far less effective. It could injure but rarely kill outright.
And against a true Bisolarans warrior? It was practically useless. Even the lowest-ranked warriors wore living armor; higher ranks were shielded by energy barriers.
Still, the New Reclamation Zone was supposed to contain little more than hordes of Ash-Howlers and a handful of beast-soldiers controlling them.
No Bisolarans' warriors should have remained behind.
Soon enough, Silas called an end to the practice. He didn't need these three to be sharpshooters—only competent enough to not shoot each other.
When it came to real combat, that was his job.
Next, he pulled three sleek pairs of goggles from the pack.
They resembled Jake's own tactical eyewear but were clearly more advanced—minimalist in design yet humming with latent functionality.
"These are military-grade tactical lenses, only basic model but good enough for our mission" Silas stated.
"It's beyond standard civilian comms and tracking; they feature enhanced threat detection and energy-level visualization."
"Whoa, mil-spec!" Rolly gasped, practically vibrating.
If there was anything he wanted almost as much as a gun, it was a pair of legit military lenses.
"Once we reach the spatial convergence point, these should maintain squad comms even through interference."
Silas continued. "They can also identify Crimson-Howlers."
"That means any Ash-Howler with an energy reading over 1.5.
Do not let those escape. If you take one down and retrieve a Blood Crystal, I'll buy it from you at market rate."
"But if you detect any bio-beast with energy exceeding 10… do not engage. Fall back. Find cover. Your bullets will be little more than insults."
Everyone nodded solemnly as they accepted the goggles and put them on.
With a soft click, the integrated chip embedded in the frame magnetically linked to the neural interface port at the base of their skulls.
Jake confirmed a series of permissions, and in an instant, the operating protocols streamed directly into his mind.
A flood of data unfolded before his eyes in crisp augmented reality—environmental readouts, biosigns, mapping, positioning, and more. It was like waking up a new sense.
"Energy Level 106?!" Rolly suddenly shrieked from beside Jake, his voice cracking with disbelief.
Jake glanced over. Through his lenses, he could see the readings clear as day:
Silas Von – 106
Vincent Franks – 61
Leon Keeper – 1.5
Rolly B. Rockbottom – 1.3
Sam – 1.1
"Jake! You're a 1.6?!" Rolly gasped, as if he'd just witnessed a miracle. "That's, like, top-tier genius level at our school!"
Leon and the others turned to look at Jake. Silas didn't even lift an eyelid.
"Your current Energy Level is a crude measure of physical vitality and potential—something your professors will drone on about. I don't have time for Academia 101."
"All you need to know is this: with those rifles, as long as you're not surrounded, you'll be safe against any bio-beast under EL 10."
"Hey, big shot!" Rolly chirped, still fondling his rifle like a newfound treasure. "What about your weapon? Can we get a peek? Something cool, right?"
Silas's eyes flicked open. In one fluid motion, he extended his hands.
A shield shimmered into existence in his left; a massive, gilded warhammer materialized in his right—like something out of a transforming mecha.
"HOLY CRAP! Morphium Alloy! The super-metal that rearranges its own molecular structure! That is so. Freaking. COOL!" Rolly's eyes looked ready to pop out.
"Weaponized Morphium Alloy is, like, textbook legendary! Are we even allowed to look at this for free?!"
Silas didn't respond to Rolly's fanboy moment. With a thought, the Morphium Alloy weapons dissolved back into whatever pocket dimension they called home.
His expression turned stern once more.
"I'll be dealing with the main threats," he stated, his voice leaving no room for debate.
"But remember this: do not charge ahead recklessly, and do not freeze up and fall behind. You follow my commands. Exactly."
"I'm setting Crimson-Howlers as your primary detection target. Your lenses will now auto-lock onto any Blood Crystals they drop. Your job is to clean up the stragglers we miss."
He was about to continue when he suddenly stopped mid-sentence.
His head tilted slightly, and he turned a sharp, questioning gaze directly toward Jake.
Jake's heart did a sudden, unpleasant flip-flop in his chest.