Chapter 158: The Confused Mercs
The wind was cold and dry. Sand blew past the rocks where the three of them were sleeping, tucked between old dunes and rusted metal. The bots were in position, just like they had planned.
Xavier slowly opened his eyes.
He didn’t move right away. Just turned his head a little, checking Reva and Lyra. Both were knocked out. Good.
Earlier, when they sat around and shared that bitter drink, he’d slipped in a bit of sleep-herb. Nothing strong. Just enough to knock someone out for a few hours. He drank it too, of course. But it didn’t affect him like it used to. He had been drinking this stuff since he was a kid. Now, instead of knocking him out, it made his blood pump faster. It made him sharp.
He sat up and exhaled quietly.
He didn’t want to bring them along. They didn’t owe the village anything. If things went bad tonight, he wanted to be the one to take the hit—not them.
He picked up the control pad from Lyra’s pack and linked it to his glasses. The screen flickered once. Then he was in.
Through his glasses, he could see everything—the drone feeds, the bot cams, the thermal scans, even the radar layout Reva hacked earlier. They had eyes on the whole damn camp.
Xavier tapped a small switch on the device on his wrist. His vision split, syncing with the bots. The desert shimmered in faint blue lines as HUD markers showed patrol routes, enemy movement, and terrain paths.
He gave the silent command.
The drones started moving—slow at first, gliding above the camp’s edge, sending back live footage. The bots marched forward, their steps quiet thanks to the mufflers Reva installed. No clanking, no buzzing. Just soft crunches on sand.
Xavier moved between the machines, crouching low, stepping light. He wasn’t rushing it.
Then—click—he hit the jammer.
One by one, the radar towers on the enemy camp blinked off. The mercs wouldn’t see it happen. The screens would still look active, just frozen in time. Reva made sure of that.
Then he gave the go.
The bots charged in.
Bright flashes burst in the distance—gunfire, shockwaves, plasma bursts. Some bots exploded. Others kept moving. They tore through the camp like angry hounds.
While the chaos spread, Xavier used the shadows to slip in from the side. A guard turned.
Xavier didn’t wait.
He moved fast. He slammed the man into the wall. Quiet choke. No noise.
He pulled off the guy’s uniform and slipped into it. It stank like smoke and sweat. The helmet was cracked, but it’d do.
His glasses still showed everything—guard locations, drone routes, enemy heat signatures. The weapons he carried were smart-linked to his gear. They pinged targets and guided his shots.
Now, he was in the heart of the storm.
Some of the mercs were still asleep when the attack began.
Their comms were jammed. No one was answering. No one could. Most of their scanners and radars were glitching or dead. Lights on the panels blinked red. Error codes. Frozen screens. Nothing made sense.
But the ones who were awake—well, they weren’t clueless.
Booms started echoing from the east side of the camp. Dust flew. Screams followed.
Gunfire lit up the dark. A few mercs rushed out of their tents, half-dressed, weapons in hand, still shaking off sleep. They didn’t know what was going on, but they knew they had to fight.
They moved fast, forming small squads. Yelling orders, waving flashlights, calling out names that no one responded to.
The whole place was on high alert now.
And Xavier... was right in the middle of it.
Wearing their uniform, helmet low, gun in hand.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t shout. Just moved with the crowd. The mercs thought he was one of them. Why wouldn’t they? The helmet covered his face. His tag matched the dead guy’s.
They were too busy panicking to notice anything strange.
Xavier stayed near the back of the squads, behind the louder ones, the ones barking orders. When one of them broke off from the group—bam. Silent shot. Quick knife to the neck. Choked scream.
And down.
Then he’d drag the body behind a barrel or a broken crate.
Again and again.
The chaos was loud—flames crackling, metal screeching, bots smashing into cover, plasma shots tearing through the walls. Nobody noticed a few mercs disappearing one by one.
They thought the bots were getting them.
Xavier never let himself stay in one place too long. He kept moving, kept blending in. Sometimes he ran with the others, firing fake shots just to stay in character. Other times, he ducked behind debris and took real ones down when they weren’t looking.
One guy passed him, yelling into his dead comm, "Echo team, respond! Where the fuck are you—?!"
Xavier shot him in the back of the head with no hesitation.
The guy dropped face-first.
Another squad rushed past without even glancing at the body.
The plan was working.
The whole camp was falling apart.
And no one knew he was the one tearing it down from the inside.
It was going too well.
Too smooth.
Xavier had taken down at least forty nine of them by now. Clean, and quiet. His bots were wrecking the outer camps. The drone feeds were showing flames, crushed tents, half-burnt bodies.
He was just about to move deeper when a loud, heavy boom cracked through the air.
Then another one, this time louder.
The ground shook under his boots.
He turned his head toward the west side.
One of his drones caught it first.
Big metal bastards.
There were three of them.
Heavy-grade mechs. Over three meters tall. Thick armor. Dual cannons. Shoulder-mounted missiles. And they weren’t just AI-driven—they had mercs inside them. The high-rank ones. You could tell by how sharp their movements were.
These weren’t just walking tanks. These were killers.
Two of Xavier’s frontline bots got blasted in a second. One missile, one pile of parts.
The jammers were hit next. One of the mercs fired a barrage straight toward the center where most of the jamming signals were coming from.
Boom.
Xavier saw one drone blast through the air, burning.
His drone feed cracked. Then another froze. And then two more went black.
"Shit," Xavier muttered under his breath.