Chapter 4: First Assignment

As expected… or maybe I should say it was inevitable? I was assigned to the sniper squad.

“Hello, everyone. I’m Alex, and I’ll be leading the sniper squad.”

A giant, bald man wearing sunglasses grinned broadly as he spoke. Alex continued:

“Snipers are specialists, but being able to snipe isn’t enough. So I’m going to send you all into every kind of battlefield. Honestly, the work will be tougher than other squads. If you think it’s too much, let me know. I’ll reassign you.”

A no-hard-feelings policy. That probably meant it was really that tough.

A few people raised their hands, exchanged a few words with Alex, and walked away. I wanted to be one of them, but my skill set wouldn’t allow it. Even if I transferred to another squad, I’d be useless. I gave up and absently touched my necklace. Still sharp. Still hurt.

“Anyone else want to transfer? …No one? You’ve all made an excellent choice. After all, snipers get good pay and special bonuses.”

I think… that was meant to be a joke.

But I—I mean, we—couldn’t laugh. At best, we managed a dry “heh, haha.”

Maybe Alex didn’t like that reaction, or maybe he didn’t care.

“Well then, let’s get down to business.”

Alex let out a sigh as he said it.

Most likely, this first assignment—this first job—was a test.

The work given to us rookies was simple.

“This here’s our company’s crystal mine. Here’s the map data—shouldn’t get lost, right? Now go into this sector and kill anyone illegally mining there. Oh, and don’t worry about friendly fire. Any company employees will have their ID signals turned on in the zone. If you aim at them, your centipede will issue a warning. If you aim and don’t get a warning, they’re enemies. Kill them. Make sure you turn your own ID signals on.

“The assignment period’s about a month. Work three days, then come back and report on the fourth. That’s all.”

And with an assigned sector and three days’ rations… they left us alone.

No more instructions. Figure it out yourself.

If that was the deal, then standing around wasn’t going to help. A few others—probably my fellow rookies—were pestering Alex for more explanation, but it’d be pointless.

“…Well, let’s go.”

I called out to my Monoz and started walking.

“Pi!”

A moment later, a large Monoz came rolling over.

Ox Unit—that’s what I named him. Even though he was technically small, he always wanted to haul cargo, so I gave him that name. In military terms, I guess he’d be a supply corps unit.

“…Right. Thanks.”

The key member of my squad had brought me my anti-hostile-organism combat exoskeleton—better known as the centipede.

This thing had been my clearest reminder that this really was the world five hundred years in the future.

Humanity never managed to build a Gundam, but it seemed they aimed to join SupeRobo* Wars by other means. A more “realistic” route, which was kind of disappointing for a super robot fan like me.

Anyway. My robot tastes aside, back to the centipede that Ox Unit brought me.

The name came from its folded-up storage form. The spinal unit for the exoskeleton looked like a centipede’s legs, and the modular armor around it looked like a shell.

TATARA Heavy Industries – Reinforced Exoskeleton: Arakane.

Mass-produced. Cheap because it’s mass-produced. Reliable because it’s mass-produced. That was my centipede.

I donned the blue steel frame. I’d heard there were sniper-specific models of the centipede from Tatara Heavy Industries too. But I didn’t know how they differed, and apparently they cost more than I did. So it’d be a while before I could get one.

Artificial spinal cord made of reinforced plastic intertwined with DNA filaments, integrating the external body as an extension of my own.

I opened my hand. Closed it. Opened again. The motion of the powered muscles was smooth.

Next, I put on a cap with the “C×C” logo. Even five hundred years later, sniping relied on the senses. Tree crystals didn’t play well with electronics, scattering jamming waves everywhere. That meant no complex electronics.

When Yuri found out I was suited for sniping, she took away my helmet. Whether that was good or bad, I didn’t know, but I’d gotten used to wearing just a cap when there wasn’t much risk of close-quarters encounters.

“…”

For what it’s worth, the cap was made with future tech and had bulletproof properties. I chose not to think about what’d happen if my head got hit.

“Pi!”

“Yeah. Alright, let’s really go this time.”

What came next was a gun—also Tatara Heavy Industries.

Since our company was a Tatara subsidiary, everything from the Monoz up was Tatara-made.

Type B Model 5 Bolt-Action Sniper Rifle.

With it in hand, I set off walking.

***

Wait, fire.

Wait. Wait. Wait. Fire.

My job was to guard the mining site of the most important resource of this era, the faintly green-glowing tree crystal.

Breaking through the red-soil wasteland, the tree crystals stood tall like forests, more than just fantastical, they conveyed a sense of resilience. As expected of the most important resource, the all-purpose inorganic substance.

Apparently, these tree crystals weren’t just vital to humanity. The enemy aliens wanted them too. In fact, the wars of this era were mostly fought over these crystals.

Did we start fighting because of the crystals, or were we enemies from the start? I figured I’d look into it someday.

Anyway. My job was simple: kill any poachers—enemy aliens—who came to illegally mine my company’s tree crystals.

But it wasn’t easy.

Our company’s crystal mines were huge and labyrinthine. Probably because the tree crystals, living up to their name, behaved like actual trees. Cut them, and they grew back. They sprouted anew.

That meant even cleared paths got overgrown over time.

Among the poachers were ant workers: black-shelled ant-people, the worker class of the Insectum.

The small, ant-faced poachers used those overgrown paths.

Branches everywhere. Too many branches. Made sniping difficult.

On the first day, I couldn’t shoot well. Barely did my job. So the next morning, I focused on finding good sniper points, working with my Monoz optimized for reconnaissance—Rat Unit, Dog Unit, and Rooster Unit. By afternoon, I’d finally started shooting.

A high ground overlooking my assigned sector. Windy, but the poachers were clearly visible. I thought it was a good spot.

You could mine tree crystals anywhere, but the rare, high-value types worth poaching only grew in certain places. That meant the poachers’ target areas were predictable. And by extension, so were the places we needed to guard.

I spent half a day scouting sniper points. Alex might get mad at me for that. But I also got a better handle on my Monoz’s traits, and even gained a new one—Snake Unit. So by Yuri’s definition of “first assignment,” things were going smoothly.

So far, going by personality and size, I’d named them: large → Ox Unit; medium → Dog Unit; small → Rat Unit, Snake Unit, Rooster Unit. I still had one medium unit left. I wondered what he was good at.

Nibbling on a block of field ration, I pondered it.

Oh—should’ve mentioned earlier. I decided to name my Monoz after the animals of the zodiac. I couldn’t remember my own name, but I could remember “karate shuriken.”

That’s just who I am, I guess.

***

Garigari garigari.

One of the spherical Monoz split open, biting into a rock.

It mixed the ground-up stone with foaming agents, expanded it, and spat out a construction material.

Stack enough of those, and you had a trench. Adjust the foaming agent and moisture, and you could make a cushion.

“Pipi!”

“…Thanks.”

The still-unnamed medium unit handed me one of those cushions.

Apparently, he had nimble “hands” or whatever counted. The cushion even had a star pattern made from embedded rocks. It was a nice gesture—but honestly, I didn’t need it.

I’d called Ox Unit a supply unit earlier, but really, all Monoz were top-class engineers.

With built-in factories inside them, they could manufacture anything from anti-air missile bases to tanks, given the right schematics.

Not that I had those kinds of blueprints. The only blueprint I owned was for sandbags.

I watched the Monoz churn out more and more sandbags, slowly forming a defensive position, wondering if you really needed a blueprint for sandbags.

“…”

I felt a little guilty.

Sitting there, watching, I felt like a NEET. Maybe it was the sheer diligence of the Monoz, radiating some kind of pure beauty of labor. Either way, it made me want to work too.

No problem. I already had a target. All I’d lacked was motivation. And now I had it.

I slid the gifted cushion under my rifle, went prone. Peered through the scope.

One breath. One deep breath. Exhale. Hold it—look.

In the back of my mind, I heard the ticking of a clock.

Fire.

One shot, one kill.

As I watched an ant’s carapace burst, my hands moved reflexively outside my awareness. Lift the bolt, pull back, push forward, lock down—reload.

Breath and stillness synchronized as the motion ended. Lock on. Fire.

In the narrowing scope view, another ant’s abdomen exploded in a spray of life.

Finally, the ants noticed and started scrambling. But—not yet. They weren’t ready yet. I picked off one, standing fully exposed, and pulled the trigger.

Two left.

One breath.

I stood. Moved. Changed angles. The shift opened a new line of fire. The hidden one stumbled into my kill zone.

I shot. Offhand. Would it hit? It did.

One left.

The last one didn’t survive by luck. He’d been cautious. After his comrades died, he’d already gauged my position, slipping into my blind spot by the third kill.

I couldn’t shoot him. Wouldn’t hit even if I tried.

Sniper rounds were expensive. No point wasting them. I just had to flush him out.

I had a way.

I gave the go signal. My left-hand crystal glowed, sending a short-range comm to Snake Unit and Dog Unit.

Snake was burrowing to scout the area below my vantage. Dog was guarding him.

At my command, Dog burst forward, spinning out a machine gun from his side as he rolled in an arc, laying down suppressive fire.

A beautiful maneuver. But Dog’s real specialty came next. At just the right moment, he opened his “mouth.” Inside gleamed the grinding teeth of a Monoz, a looping chain.

That bite, the chain-nipper attack—that’s why I’d named him Dog Unit.

And—

As the startled ant scrambled away, Snake lay in wait for a perfectly timed precision shot from concealment.

That ambush—the sly hind attack—that’s why he was Snake Unit.

Driven by Dog, trapped by Snake, the ant was in a panic. Nowhere to run. Sitting duck.

All that was left for me was to pull the trigger.