The End of an Impatient Sniper

[Name: Multi-Mode Transforming Arm Type-2]

[Description: An upgraded version using special alloys. In addition to two heavy arms used for stabilizing combat posture, a new energy-supplying arm with a specialized power conduit has been added.]

[Function: Drawing on designs from weapons like Achilles, RT-46 Storm, and Nekomata, it uses the Centaur Mech's particle cannon concept, allowing the transforming arm to become a stretched electromagnetic sniper cannon after locking on.]

[Developer: Leo]

[Reward Tech Points: 500]

[Current Tech Points: 9000]

The final tentacle arm was the newest addition to Leo's loadout. Though it looked soft and boneless, the tentacle locked firmly onto the enemy's position.

Soon, it began a complex transformation. Hundreds of micro-gears rotated within its short 2-meter frame. Motors activated bionic hydraulic joints. It expanded, rotated, interlocked—like a precision timepiece clicking into place. The snapping of mechanisms, the motor hum, the rain—all blended into a strange symphony.

Finally, the fine armored plating locked together—

Click!

It formed a gun barrel. A 1.5-meter-long extended barrel—an anomaly in firearms engineering.

A flexible arm normally meant endless gaps—gaps that would ruin a barrel's integrity.

Only Dr. Otto's internal design, with near-perfect articulation, could allow such a transformation.

Leo set down two fuel canisters from his side and pulled high-spec power cables and a bio-energy converter from his kit.

This was a passive exoskeletal generator system—worn on the arm—that converted excess bio-energy into electricity through primitive kinetic transfer.

At maximum magnetic output, only someone running a berserker module could even bend their arm while wearing it.

Methanol-2 burned fiercely. Miniature engines roared. Heat converted to electricity through motors, climbing the precision electromagnetic coils along the barrel, building momentum, waiting—

Waiting for the signal. A moment.

[Little Octopus: Boss, ready to fire!]

Leo waited for a clearer target. The moment came quickly.

Excess serum spread through his body. Cells in uninjured areas began differentiating toward transgenic lizard traits.

With nerves reconstructed, the eyes were the next to mutate.

A new structure appeared in his vision—a nictitating membrane, allowing him to lubricate his eyes without blinking.

In the instant that the membrane slid across his eyes, his vertical pupils mutated violently. His heat sensitivity spiked, rivaling the best thermal optics on the market.

In the dark, the compressed-air sniper's residual heat shone like the sun.

Then came his arms. Tiny green scales surfaced.

Leo yanked his right hand forward like pulling an invisible trigger—

A surge of enraged power surged into the chamber. A well-crafted electromagnetic slug slid into the rails. Coils surged with energy. A titanic invisible force hurled the round from the barrel!

A streak of lightning tore across the sky.

The supersonic boom shattered the night, but there was no flame or smoke—just electrons trailing behind the slug like a lightning bolt!

Deadly. Beautiful.

At the sniper's nest, a massive man lay prone behind a wall. Behind his compressed-air sniper rifle were two enormous support struts.

These bipods housed basic AI, adapting to posture and terrain, auto-deploying to stabilize recoil, looking almost like exoskeleton limbs fused to the weapon.

That was necessary. This rifle's recoil was beyond human limits.

Based on test results, if a shooter lacked recoil-dampening augments, a single shot would shatter all their ribs and pulp their organs.

But sheer power didn't guarantee accuracy—

This sniper had missed three times.

The first shot, he'd been confident—then the rain came.

Though he missed, the impact point proved the range was intact.

The second shot—he grew heavy-hearted. By the third, the storm had nearly obscured the target completely.

His augment managed hormone control. His training kept him calm. But realistically—

At 6000 meters, under this rain, landing a shot was near impossible.

The flickering fire illuminated Morton's figure—flickering light meant one thing: the enemy hadn't retreated.

The sniper exhaled slowly, preparing another shot.

He could feel it—this time he'd hit.

His heartbeat slowed. Blood flow steadied. Every physiological detail was being regulated.

He would eliminate all interference. He would become a machine.

A shooting machine.

BOOM!

Concrete beside him exploded. A slug blasted straight through the wall!

Debris peppered his body. The round scraped past his lower back!

Just a graze, but the kinetic force punched through skin, disrupting tissue. It might not damage his mechanical organs, but it scrambled his fluids and soft tissue.

The shockwave shattered his sniper state. The heat of the passing slug burned open his skin.

His brain suddenly overloaded from tension. Blood pressure spiked—nearly bursting his aorta.

For a split second, he thought he saw his great-grandmother.

"Enemy fire!"

The sniper snapped like a taut wire. The attack interrupted his rhythm—he leapt up instinctively!

BOOM!

The second shot didn't miss.

It struck his left leg. The entire limb exploded under the force.

His range had been 6000 meters, but Leo had only been 1200 meters away.

With one leg gone, panic took over. He gave up on the rifle and looked toward a half-covered concrete structure behind him.

But he already knew:

In a sniper duel like this, once you got hit, you'd lose. Completely.

He didn't even know where the enemy had shot from.

He wasn't getting out of this.

Despair was instinct. So was flight. He'd barely stood when the third round came.

It missed—but struck the concrete above, sending shrapnel into his face.

He dropped to all fours. One leg braced the ground. He tried to dive—

BOOM!

The fourth shot hit him again—this time in the left side of his chest.

The impact flipped him over and crushed any hope of escape.

A massive hole opened in his chest. His left lung was obliterated, and several organs shut down.

Blood and synthetic fluids gushed. He looked toward the bullet hole the shot had come from.

But his consciousness was already slipping.

He had lost—

"Set a new record for longest confirmed sniper kill."

That had been his goal when he took this weapon and this mission.

He failed.

Now he wondered—if he hadn't fired at the Dewdrop Inn, maybe he wouldn't have drawn this kind of retaliation?

He was too impatient.

But how could he not be?

No one knew what crossed his mind in the final moment.

He had lost.