I stumbled back to my Humvee, collapsing into the driver's seat. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. I fumbled for my water bottle, my fingers slipping on the cap.
The battlefield was silent. A "Wave Cleared" kind of silent.
The Roman "Tanks," the ones who hadn't been caught in my .50 cal spray, were... gone. They had retreated. They had seen what happened to the "DPS" and decided, correctly, that their "DEF" stat wasn't going to be high enough.
"Rogers! Get your head on a swivel! They might come back!" the Lieutenant yelled, his voice still high on adrenaline.
I just nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I looked at the M2 Browning. It sat there, silent, innocent, its barrel still smoking slightly. It looked like a "Tower" from a defense game. An overpowered, end-game Tower that cost way too much mana.
I felt the bile rise again. This isn't a game. This isn't a game.
I did the only thing I could think of. The only "process" I knew. I pulled out my phone. The screen was black. No signal, of course. The battery was at 43%. I opened the "Notepad" app. The one I used for tracking Gacha-game pull rates and build guides. My thumbs, still shaking, started to type.
Anomaly: A Specialist's Guide to the New WorldEntry #1: The M2 Browning.Item Class: Legendary (Cursed).Description: Heavy machine gun. Fires .50 caliber rounds.User Review: 0/10. Do not recommend. This thing is... broken. The DPS is insane. AOE (Area of Effect) is devastating against low-DEF, 'zerg' type mobs. But the emotional 'debuff' isn't worth it. Needs a serious nerf.
"What the hell are you doing, Rogers?" The Lieutenant was standing at my window. I quickly blanked the screen. "Just... checking my vehicle's diagnostics, sir."
He stared at me, his eyes different now. Not angry. It was... respect. It was almost worse. "You did good, Specialist," he said, his voice quiet. "You saved us. Grizz... he..." He shook his head. "Just... stay alert."
He walked away, barking orders to set up a proper perimeter.
I sat there for maybe ten minutes, listening to the two moons and the sound of soldiers reloading magazines.
Then... a new sound. "Hold your fire! Hold your fire! Single target, approaching the line!"
I looked up, my heart hammering again. A new wave? A boss?
I peeked over the dashboard. A figure was walking slowly out of the dark, "purple-green" forest. They weren't charging. They were... carrying a white flag. A piece of white silk tied to a broken standard.
"It's... a woman?" the Lieutenant whispered, binoculars pressed to his eyes.
The figure stopped about 50 meters from our sandbags. She was tall. She was wearing the most intricate, beautiful, impractical suit of silver armor I had ever seen. It looked like a "Premium Skin" from a Korean MMO. A long, blue cape hung from her shoulders. She wasn't wearing a helmet, revealing long, blonde hair tied in a severe braid. She was, by any objective standard, stunning. And she looked absolutely, utterly terrified. But she was holding her ground.
Holy shit, I thought. They sent the 'Princess' unit.
"Do you speak... English?" the Lieutenant yelled. "American? Habla... Español?"
The woman in armor just stared. She was breathing hard, but her posture was pure royalty. She clearly didn't understand a word.
"She's one of them!" a private yelled. "Smoke her!" "I said hold your fire!" the Lieutenant snapped.
The woman raised one gauntleted hand. She started to speak. Her voice was clear, ringing with authority, but trembling with fear. It was... Latin? Or something like it. It sounded exactly like the "Holy" spells from Final Fantasy.
I didn't understand the words, but I understood the tone. She was an envoy. She was here to negotiate.
She scanned the line of soldiers, her gaze passing over the Lieutenant. Her eyes were searching... searching... And then... they "locked" onto me. Right on me. Sitting in the driver's seat of my Humvee.
Her eyes went wide. She had seen me. She had seen "Grizz" fall. And she had seen me... the scruffy, terrified Specialist... take his place and unleash the "God of Thunder."
In her world, the guy yelling orders (the Lieutenant) wasn't the hero. The hero was the one who wielded the magic weapon.
The Knight-Princess lowered her white flag slightly. She took one step closer. She looked directly at me. And she said one word, her voice full of desperation and awe: ""Pax..." (Peace.)