Samsara Space: They're all begging me to heal them one more time.

Blue Team's secret base.

On the holographic screen, the image of the Comptau AV crash site finally froze on that nauseating wall of flesh and blood.

"Signal lost. Two team members... vital signs dropped to zero." The intelligence officer's voice trembled slightly.

The command room was deathly silent.

The colonel stood in front of the command platform, his back to the crowd.

He didn't fly into a rage as his subordinates had expected; instead, he silently crushed the tactical electronic pen in his hand into powder.

Black powder slipped through my fingers.

"very good."

The colonel's voice was deep, carrying a suppressed rage, like a volcano about to erupt:

"They stole Herman, killed my men, and then used those disgusting biological methods to intimidate me."

"That red team captain wearing a fox mask is provoking my bottom line."

A surge of heat shot up my spine and into my brain.

The [Original Sin Chip - Wrath] was cheering in his mind, urging him to immediately pull out all his troops and fight to the death.

"Kill them all..."

"Use nuclear bombs...use railguns..."

"call……"

The colonel took a deep breath, drew a tube of blue coolant from the power armor's cooling tank, and injected it directly into his carotid artery.

As the cool medicine entered his body, the redness in his eyes subsided slightly. He forcibly suppressed the mindless killing intent.

"Sir, should we activate 'Demon Lizard' for a retaliatory strike?" a staff officer asked cautiously.

"idiot."

The colonel gave him a cold glance:

"Since the Red Team dared to show their face in the Badlands, it means they were well-prepared. Those summoned creatures that can devour flesh and blood... what if we rashly send our main force there and fall into such a bizarre magical trap?"

The colonel walked to the tactical map, looking at the dense clusters of wanderer markers on the badlands, a cold glint flashing in his eyes:

"What do the wanderers rely on to fight? Vehicles, teamwork, and intelligence."

"Since they outnumber and outgun the people in this desolate land, I'll make them blind and deaf."

The colonel suddenly waved his hand:

"Transmit my command to activate the 'Blackout' protocol."

"Activate the electronic jammers on all base stations and release a wide-area EMP pulse. I'm going to cut off all GPS signals, civilian communication frequencies, and even the network connectivity of the prosthetic eye in Badlands."

"In this electromagnetic wasteland, only our military anti-jamming channels are usable."

The colonel's lips curled into a cruel smile once more:

"I'm going to turn that rabble into headless flies. When they're crashing into each other in the dark and lost, I'll send in the mechs to finish them off."

The colonel thought this move would allow him to win without bloodshed.

But he overlooked one thing—the man wearing the fox mask was so poor that all he had left was money.

……

three days later.

Badlands, military technology C-4 supply line.

The midday sun scorched the wasteland.

A convoy of military technology transport vehicles, fully loaded with energy batteries and ammunition, is advancing toward a secret base, escorted by several heavy armored vehicles.

"Communications are normal. Radar shows no abnormalities."

The Blue Team officer leading the team looked at the tactics panel. Since the "Blackout Protocol" was activated, the signals from the surrounding wanderers had indeed disappeared.

Without navigation and communication, these natives would have been in complete chaos long ago.

But the convoy didn't realize that on the cliff above them, several pairs of eyes were staring intently at them through old-fashioned optical telescopes.

"These blue-skinned dogs are really confident."

A homeless man lying behind a rock spat out a mouthful of saliva. He wasn't holding any high-tech PDA; instead, he was holding up a mirror with a red skull painted on it and waving it three times at the distant mountain peak.

That's a reflective signal.

In the era before radio, this was the most primitive and least jammable form of communication.

A few seconds later, a plume of black smoke rose from the distant mountaintop.

"Brothers! The signal's here!"

The vagrant roared and pulled a crumpled flyer from his pocket, which bore the golden logo of the Heavenly Kingdom Armed Forces.

"If we take down this convoy, we'll have all the holy water for the rest of our lives! For money! For survival! Charge!!"

……

"Report! Obstacle detected ahead!"

The convoy braked suddenly.

Ahead, the road was littered with the wreckage of wrecked cars and burning tires.

"Is this a roadblock set up by the Chaotic Blade Gang? Clear it away!" the officer ordered impatiently.

The machine guns on the armored vehicle turned their muzzles, ready to blast through the roadblocks.

Just then...

Whoosh-!

An electromagnetic pulse (EMP) grenade flew out from behind some rock and landed precisely on the hood of the lead vehicle.

It's sizzling!

The lead vehicle stalled instantly, and its electronic systems failed.

"Enemy attack!!"

But this is just the beginning.

boom! boom! boom!

Suddenly, countless human heads appeared on the surrounding wasteland.

They were not well-trained soldiers, but ragged vagrants, tattooed gangsters, or even bounty hunters riding beat-up motorcycles.

The weapons they carried were a motley collection: some carried old-fashioned rifles from World War II, some carried the latest kinetic shotguns, and some even carried modified harvesters.

But in their eyes burned the same fanatical light—a thirst for money and holy water.

"Brothers! Boss Zhang said! Blow up a car, 50,000 yuan reward! Kill a blue-skinned dog, 1 bottle of holy water reward!"

A homeless man wearing a cowboy hat roared and raised his rocket launcher:

"For the holy water! Rinse it!!"

Rumbling--

Engines roared as countless dilapidated motorcycles and modified pickup trucks rushed down the hillside from all directions, launching a suicide attack on the armored convoy.

They did not use any electronic aiming, relying entirely on the naked eye; they had no tactical coordination, relying entirely on sheer numbers to charge forward.

"Report! Large number of hostile targets confirmed by visual inspection! Radar... radar not responding!" the Blue Force officer shouted in alarm.

Of course there was no response, because these people were holding iron pipe bombs and Molotov cocktails, which had no electronic signals!

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Countless bullets, Molotov cocktails, and homemade bombs rained down on the convoy like hail.

"Madmen! They're all madmen!" The Blue Army officer looked at the group of reckless thugs in horror. "Open fire! Kill them all!"

The heavy machine guns, powered by military technology, roared and instantly mowed down a group of vagrants.

But if one person falls, three more will rush in.

Some people drove motorcycles strapped with explosives into armored vehicles; others used cybernetic hacking devices to desperately interfere with drone signals; still others tried to pry open the hatches of tanks with crowbars and throw Molotov cocktails inside.

This is more than just a battle.

This is a war waged for survival, for redemption, for the sake of living.

Driven by money, they don't need radar or communication.

Because that tempting bounty is the most dazzling beacon.

Half an hour later.

This heavily armed, high-tech transport convoy was completely overwhelmed by a group of "beggars" using primitive tactics.

Although the homeless suffered heavy casualties, they successfully destroyed all the supply trucks and stole the few boxes of precious energy batteries.