"Upping the external duty standards? I’m screwed, aren’t I?"
Cheng Ye’s face paled.
Even regular external missions were deadly. Raising the stakes and getting caught in faction politics...
"Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. I’ll make sure you’re the last to die."
The promise sounded warm, but it only made the little sense of security in Cheng Ye’s heart dwindle further.
By the time they entered the training ground, he was in a hyper-focused learning mode.
Draw, shoot, fire.
The hundred bullets were quickly spent. Compared to before, Cheng Ye’s 25-meter pistol shooting had improved: ten rapid shots with a bullet spread of about fifteen centimeters, roughly 6-8 rings.
In the modern world, that’d be impressive, qualifying him as a skilled amateur shooter.
In the wasteland, it only earned a "decent" from Liu Bi.
"You’re smart, with learning ability far beyond most. You can mimic my stance to about 50-60% proficiency. But shooting doesn’t need smarts. Being a bit dumber helps. Take recoil control: you always try to predict and calculate the bullet’s trajectory."
"But a dumbass like me," Liu Bi suddenly drew his pistol, firing ten shots in a rapid burst, "when I pull the trigger, I just slam all my strength into the grip, pounding the recoil into the ground like I’m tamping earth."
Cheng Ye stared at the target, his pupils shrinking. The ten shots had a spread of no more than five centimeters, nearly all perfect 10s, Olympic-level in the modern world.
He’d mimicked Liu Bi’s stance and technique, so why was the gap so huge?
"Know why Old Ding never assigns big jobs to Harlin’s clever crew?"
Liu Bi lowered his voice. "Two months ago, in the old city, three young guys got their heads cracked open by an acid-spitting tentacle monster. It didn’t follow their so-called experience-based attack patterns."
Then he yanked open his tactical vest, revealing a gruesome claw mark on his chest. "This scar? I took it for your dad. We both calculated the infected couldn’t hear gunfire, but that bastard had sharp ears. Tell me, are the wasteland’s rules made for formula-crunching brains?"
"What do I do?"
"Forget technique. Don’t think. Let your muscles memorize the feel of slamming recoil, not your brain calculating parabolas. That’s a million times more useful."
Easy to say, hard to do.
Cheng Ye nodded dully, unsure if he could ever master Liu Bi’s method.
But one thing was clear: until he completed his external duty, survived, and overcame his fear of the wasteland, he couldn’t afford to abandon reason and become a brainless brute.
His only asset was his mind.
"Shooting’s done. Next, close-quarters combat."
The sound of strikes rang out. Cheng Ye attacked, Liu Bi defended.
Fueled by inner fire, Cheng Ye threw punches and kicks like a madman, but he couldn’t even break through Liu Bi’s defense.
If not for fear of hurting his pride, Cheng Ye suspected Liu Bi could block all his attacks with one hand.
Damn brute, damn wasteland!
Soon, Cheng Ye was panting, exhausted. Only then did Liu Bi call a stop.
"Progress. I can feel your anger. That’s right, let anger drive your body in combat, not useless reason!"
"See me as your enemy. Bite me, take me down. That’s how you improve!"
The "everything can be brute-forced" theory.
Cheng Ye didn’t argue. He’d long realized the genetic divide. Modern humans excelled at thinking and socializing.
Wastelanders excelled at fighting and "intimate exchanges" with infected.
Take interrogating survivors in the isolation zone: Cheng Ye mastered it in two months, while Liu Bi, after over a decade, was still barely proficient.
His predecessor’s combat genes were pitifully weak, a total failure compared to Liu Bi. To bridge the genetic gap, there was only effort, and more effort!
"Training’s over. Rest well tonight. I’ll cover your morning shift tomorrow."
Casual leave was another perk of the iron rice bowl.
Liu Bi lived further east at the Fertilizer Plant Workers’ Compound. They parted at the bus stop, taking opposite buses.
As the street scenery sped by outside the window, Cheng Ye felt the nameless fire in his chest still burning, growing fiercer!
The helplessness of two hands failing against one fueled his constant fear: what if an infected had Liu Bi’s combat prowess?
Surrender?
No, I want to live. I want to go home. I can’t die namelessly in this wasteland!
Get stronger.
I want to get stronger!
I must get stronger!
Countless voices screamed in Cheng Ye’s heart, urging him to grip the pendant around his neck tightly.
After tonight, the Collector would activate.
Useless trinket, if you brought me to this wasteland, do something useful!