The tenth day of the wave.
Quite a few players noticed that some strange NPCs had suddenly appeared on the battlefield over the last couple of days.
They wore orange hazmat suits and black gas masks. They did not speak to anyone, usually working in pairs to carry stretchers and haul mutant corpses away from the battlefield in groups of three to five, working from morning until the sun was nearly down.
These NPCs were highly efficient. Two of them could transport four to five hundred corpses in a day. At a glance, they were clearly professionals who did this sort of work often.
Some observant players even noticed that every one of them wore a KV-1 exoskeleton.
Although they were "bare-bones models" without welded steel plates or mounted weapons, they would still cost 800 silver coins in the NPC shop—the equivalent of four LD-47 rifles.
Leaning behind the concrete slope bunkers, the players watched the NPCs' backs and whispered among themselves.
"What kind of nonsense is the dogshit dev team up to now?"
"A new corpse-driver class?"
"Nice. Someone's finally cleaning up these damn things."
"+1, they stink way too much!"
"They can block pain, but they can't block smells? That's so damn annoying!"
Cleaning up mutant corpses was no easy task.
Given the players' imagination, they had definitely tried every method they could think of.
At first, they had discussed burning them, but reality was not as optimistic as they had imagined. Often, the outer layer would be charred black and the fire would have gone out, while the corpses buried beneath remained half-cooked.
This game was always absurdly realistic in the strangest places. One Molotov cocktail was enough to take down two or three Gnawers, but even three were not enough to burn them into ash.
The