Chapter 158: Intense Training

"Shit, that was insane!"

Jack's eyes shot open as he let out a loud yell. Sitting on the couch, his hands were still trembling. The aftereffects of dying in the simulation were rough—even for a guy like him, shaking it off wasn't easy.

"Guess you haven't messed around with black braindances much, huh? My reaction wasn't nearly as bad. By the way, what difficulty did you go for?"

Oliver, sitting on his bed and drinking water, watched Jack recover with curiosity. Karl had brought the training chip over that morning, and this was both of their first times trying it.

Already drenched in sweat from his own run, Oliver continued,

"Karl set up multiple difficulty levels, right? Training Mode, Easy, Hard, and Challenge. How far did you get?"

"I breezed through Training and Easy. Hard was a little intense, but I managed. Challenge? Didn't last long—one of the preloaded Arasaka ninjas caught me. Both mantis blades straight through my chest."

Jack removed the chip, still looking a bit shaken, then pointed at his chest. "I swear I could feel my heart getting carved out by those damn things."

"Oh, so literally getting your heart ripped out. You did better than me—I made it through Hard, but at the very end, a New America soldier suicide-bombed me. Caught me completely off guard."

Oliver turned to Karl, who was watching TV.

"By the way, Karl—have you beaten every difficulty setting you added?"

"I only set them up after clearing them."

Karl stretched and shrugged. "Beyond this, all I could do was add more enemies, and that'd be kinda pointless. I already balanced things as best as possible. There's no better combat data available, so Challenge is as far as it goes."

"So 'Challenge' just means challenging for you, huh? Hold on—if we did have higher-end combat data, does that mean your 'Despair Mode' would just throw me straight into a killbox full of exosuits?"

"More like a mix of heavy, medium, and light ACPA units, backed by a full Militech strike team and Arasaka ninjas. New America troops patrolling the perimeter. Maybe throw in ten or so Kang Tao security mechs, and for good measure, have a seasoned Lazarus merc as a wildcard. Let's be real—just a couple of exosuits wouldn't exactly make me despair yet."

"Jesus. Who the hell is supposed to beat that? You torturing people now?"

"That's why it's called 'Despair Mode'."

Karl didn't see the issue—despair was the whole point.

"Y'know, I should be grateful there's no higher-tier combat data in this thing. Otherwise, I'd probably get turned to paste by a goddamn autocannon the second I stepped in."

Oliver was still talking when Jack casually handed him the chip.

"Want another go, Oliver?"

"Of course."

Without hesitation, Oliver grabbed the chip. "No way I'm letting Hard Mode stop me. This time, I'm ditching that piece-of-shit SOR-22. It's nowhere near as good as the Mox. Can't believe I wasted so much time on it."

"Well, there's a huge price gap between them. You think gun manufacturers are out here being generous, giving you cheap weapons that are also high-quality? Yeah, no. Okay, sure—some good budget guns exist, but for high-end weapons like sniper rifles? Don't count on it."

Karl waved him off and turned back to the TV.

Just as Oliver slotted the chip, Karl spoke up again.

"Oh, and just so you know—I preset over ten different maps for randomization. Enemy placements and compositions pull from twenty different templates. So, yeah—don't bother memorizing the patterns. This is real practice. Good luck."

"Are you kidding me? You think I was planning to cheese my way through this? I'm clearing this thing today!"

Oliver plugged in the chip with a stubborn look—he was clearly hooked.

Considering his occasional bouts of road rage, Karl just hoped he wouldn't completely fry his brain today.

"Why's a sniper getting so worked up over this, anyway?"

Jack, clearly done for the day after a single training session, grabbed a beer and plopped down next to Karl to watch TV.

"Breakthroughs and clearing enemies—that's our job, isn't it?"

"More practice can't hurt. Never know when he'll have to handle a close-quarters situation himself."

Karl glanced at Oliver again. Seeing him lying on the bed, fully immersed in the training sim, Karl extended his monowire and plugged it into the TV port beside the couch, switching channels.

"Karl?"

Jack, puzzled by Karl's action, quickly figured it out the next second.

What had been a boring broadcast of news and ads suddenly changed to—

"Oh, hell yeah~"

Jack grinned as the screen now displayed Oliver struggling in the simulation—pinned down by gunfire, refusing to activate his Sandevistan out of sheer stubbornness.

"Damn, third-person spectator mode?"

"Hacked the feed. Also ordered breakfast delivery. Figured we could watch while eating. Beers and drinks are on the way too."

"Shit, this is way better than any movie."

What could possibly be more entertaining than watching a friend suffer?

The only thing better—was doing it while eating and drinking in comfort.

By the time Oliver had died four times, their food arrived.

Jack and Karl casually ate as they chatted.

"How many tries do you think Oliver will need to clear it?"

Jack asked, and Karl thought for a moment before answering.

"Oliver hasn't been on the streets as long as you, Jack. Even after forming our crew, his close-combat experience is still kinda lacking. If he keeps at it, I'd say under twenty tries."

"Twenty? That many? I think fifteen at most."

BOOM!

On-screen, Oliver once again got blown to pieces.

If it weren't too much effort, Karl would've added a "YOU SUCK" overlay just for fun.

"Man, you're really eating a lot today, Karl."

"Watching this kind of shit makes the food taste better. And don't act like you're any different—you're eating just as much, Jack."

"Can't help it, I've got an appetite today."

After twenty-four attempts, Oliver finally cleared Hard Mode without taking a single hit.

Exhausted and starving, he pulled the chip from his port and opened his eyes—

Only to find Karl and Jack completely stuffed, sprawled out on the couch, unable to move.

The TV screen was dark, and the floor was covered in empty containers and bottles.

Confused, Oliver asked,

"What the hell were you guys watching? A cooking show? Food porn? You were eating like it was the best thing ever."

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