Deejay didn't take his eyes off the quest window.
"System," he said calmly, "what is System Reputation?"
The transparent board shifted, and new lines of text formed.
"System Reputation represents the host's influence, reliability, and recognition within the System's operational framework," Aegis Prime explained.
"Higher reputation unlocks advanced system privileges, exclusive shop items, improved quest rewards, and expanded system authority."
The explanation continued.
"Reputation increases through successful quest completion, protection of intelligent life, and effective utilization of system resources."
"Certain system functions and items will remain restricted until reputation thresholds are met."
Deejay nodded slowly.
"So the more I do, the more the system trusts me."
"Correct."
That was all he needed to know.
He lifted his gaze back toward the ruined streets below. The quest wasn't just numbers on a screen anymore. Fifty survivors meant fifty lives. And every second mattered.
"Alright," he said, voice steady. "Let's start."
He turned toward the drone station.
"Sentinels," Deejay commanded, "deploy immediately. Priority one: rescue survivors. Keep them alive. Guide them to a safe location."
The docking station hummed.
The two combat drones unfolded smoothly, mechanical wings extending with sharp clicks. Their blue sensor lights flared brighter as their systems came online.
Deejay slipped the Chronos Vault Ring off his finger and held it up.
"Take this," he added. "Collect weapons and ammo from fallen police and soldiers. If you pass markets or stores, grab supplies—but survivors come first. Safety above all."
The drones hovered closer.
"Command acknowledged," both units replied in calm synthetic voices.
With a sharp burst of compressed air, they shot toward the window.
The drones slipped through effortlessly and dropped into the open air.
Deejay watched as they dove.
From the 28th floor, their descent was a blur of blue light and precision movement. Wind howled past them as they accelerated downward, thrusters adjusting in perfect balance.
The moment they reached street level, everything erupted.
Zombies turned at the sound of movement.
Red markers flooded Deejay's visor.
"Engage," he whispered.
The drones opened fire.
Thin beams of blue-white energy sliced through the air. Zombies fell mid-stride, heads snapping back as their bodies collapsed without even reaching the drones.
The shots were clean, efficient, almost surgical.
The first survivor was a man in his thirties, trapped between an overturned jeepney and a collapsed street stall. Three zombies lunged at him from different angles.
The man screamed and raised his arms.
Then the drones descended.
Three precise shots.
Three bodies dropped.
The man froze, staring.
One of the drones hovered closer, projecting a soft blue arrow on the ground.
"Follow," the drone said.
The man didn't hesitate. He ran.
The drones guided him through narrow alleys, cutting down any infected that wandered too close. They moved fast, but never recklessly—always positioning themselves between the survivor and danger.
The second survivor was a woman clutching a child, cornered inside a small convenience store. Zombies battered the glass doors, cracks spreading with every hit.
The drones smashed through the back wall instead.
Energy fire lit up the cramped space, dropping the infected before they could even turn. The woman screamed, then went silent as she realized she was safe.
"Mommy?" the child whispered.
"It's okay," the woman said shakily. "We're okay."
The drone pointed toward the exit.
"Proceed," it instructed.
They joined the first survivor.
The third. The fourth. Then the fifth.
A wounded police officer bleeding from the leg. Two college students hiding under a bus. A delivery rider trapped on a rooftop ladder. A shop owner barricaded behind metal shutters.
Each rescue was fast but careful.
The drones didn't rush blindly. They cleared paths, provided cover, and adjusted their routes constantly. Zombies ignored them, rushing past toward human screams that never came.
Meanwhile, Deejay stood at his shattered window.
He raised the Helios-LX Pulse Rifle.
Through the visor, targets locked instantly.
He fired.
The rifle hummed softly, sending a pulse of light downward. A zombie's head exploded in a flash of heat. Another shot. Another kill.
His movements were smooth, controlled. The goggles fed him angles and distance, his body reacting without hesitation. His increased CP made recoil meaningless. Every shot landed where he wanted it.
Gold Coin notifications flashed briefly in his vision.
+10
+10
+10
He ignored them.
Focus first.
Below, the drones continued.
They led the growing group of survivors into a reinforced underground parking structure beneath an abandoned mall. The entrance had been partially collapsed, leaving only a narrow opening that zombies couldn't easily access.
The drones sealed the area further—dragging debris, positioning vehicles, and setting up temporary barriers.
Ten survivors.
Breathing. Alive.
A few minutes later, the system chimed.
"Update: Rescue operation successful."
"Ten survivors secured in a safe location."
Deejay lowered his rifle slightly.
He exhaled.
That was only the beginning.