Ayla wasn't dodging bullets; she was anticipating the shooter's aim, the range of the gun's movement, the vehicle's blind spots, the reload window, and the intervals between firepower transitions.
As long as she anticipates each step, all firepower will proactively avoid her, as if they have eyes.
She moved forward like a shadow, skimming the ground, following the craters and wrecked motorcycles, each step landing precisely in the gaps of enemy fire.
The first exoskeleton-clad giant to charge forward was as strong as an ox; one punch from him could deform a steel plate.
Ayla was forced back half a step by the shock during their first exchange, and her arm went numb.
She saw it clearly the instant the second punch came.
This modified system, designed to maximize power, pushed the drive mechanism beyond its structural limits, and the connecting pin of the right leg joint was severely worn.
It can withstand normal longitudinal loads, but when the knee joint is bent to its limit, it becomes as brittle as a biscuit under lateral force.
Ayla took the opportunity to step back, luring her opponent to lift their leg and take a step.
Just as her knee reached its highest point, she slammed into it from the side, the gun barrel striking the outside of her joint hard.
A crisp "click" sounded.
The connecting pin came off directly, the hydraulic pipe tilted to one side, and the entire exoskeleton got stuck on the spot.
The burly man's face turned red from holding his breath; he tried desperately to move but felt as if he were welded into an iron shell.
Ayla crouched down and even leaned over to take a look at the structural interface.
Why are the load-bearing components mounted on the outside?
burly man. "?"
He then swung the butt of the gun back and struck him on the temple, causing him to go limp.
They continued their charge, and at the second firing point, the bandits' old-fashioned Autogun suddenly jammed.
Ayla rushed over and snatched the gun from her hand.
I pulled back the bolt and glanced at it. The support spring was fatigued and deformed, and the feed lip had been bent crooked by someone else. It's a miracle that it's still firing.
"It's able to fight to this day thanks to the people who built it."
The bandit stared at her blankly, and before he could react, he was knocked unconscious to the ground by the butt of a rifle.
Gunshi are far more cunning than these ragtag soldiers.
He deliberately left a pump-action shotgun in his hand, waiting for her to rush close.
When he was three steps away, he suddenly drew his gun, the muzzle almost touching Ayla's abdomen, and pulled the trigger.
"Boom!"
Ayla was already dodging to the side, but she was still hit in the left abdomen and ribs by seven or eight bullets.
A sharp pain shot through her body like an electric current, causing her to lose her balance and stagger half a step.
"Bleeding, soft tissue injury, suspected rib fracture, approximately 8% decrease in mobility, but the task can still continue."
The judgments that automatically pop into my head are like cold, impersonal broadcasts.
She didn't stop; instead, she used the momentum to lunge forward, her power spear precisely piercing the transmission gap of Gunshi's mechanical prosthetic limb and flicking it upwards.
The sound of gears snapping and flying was crisp and piercing. The bandit leader screamed and fell to the ground, rolling around while clutching his broken mechanical leg.
It's a pity there's no battery to charge the spear; otherwise, the disintegration force field could have blasted the Gunshi into "rubble."
Seeing that their leader was defeated, the remaining men's morale collapsed instantly, and they threw down their weapons and shouted for surrender.
The battle ended even faster Ayla had anticipated.
She stood in the smoke, leaning on her powered spear, and her first instinct was to take inventory.
Dead, wounded, usable guns, remaining ammunition, repairable vehicles, and recyclable parts.
In conclusion, the actual losses of the settlement were slightly lower than predicted.
"Success!" she concluded.
Immediately afterwards, she saw Mei running from the direction of the camp, her eyes red and her face covered in dust and tears.
Ayla stepped forward, her tone calm. "We won."
With a "smack," Mei slapped her across the face.
The force wasn't great, but it stunned Ayla.
The woman then hugged her tightly, so tightly that it hurt her wound.
Ayla could feel May's body trembling, not from anger or cold, but from fear and lingering dread.
She froze in Mei's arms, her mind racing. She was alive, the battle was won, and all the numbers were correct.
Why does a correct answer cause so much pain for a mother?
She couldn't understand it.
Ayla leaned on May's shoulder, and for the first time, she felt that something was missing from her computing system.
The war is over, but the real work has only just begun.
Ayla returned to her little nest, and the first thing she did was treat her wounds.
Alcohol, needles, thread, and hemostats were laid out in a row. She lifted her blood-stained shirt, opened the edge of the wound to check, and after confirming that there were no shrapnel fragments left, she prepared to suture it.
His movements were as practiced as if he were drinking water.
When Mei pushed the door open, she saw the woman gritting her teeth and piercing the flesh with a needle, without even flinching. Without a word, the woman stepped forward and snatched the needle and thread away.
"Lie down."
"I can handle it." Ayla was a little puzzled.
"I know."
"Then why?"
"Because you're injured."
Ayla shut up.
She couldn't understand why she had to increase the labor cost of another person when she could complete the task herself.
From an efficiency standpoint, this is completely redundant.
Ke Mei's expression left no room for argument. She pressed down on her shoulders to make her lie flat and began cleaning the bloodstains from the edges of the wound.
Without enough anesthetic, Ayla instinctively flinched as the needle pierced her skin.
Mei stopped, looked up at her, and asked, "Does it hurt?"
Pain is essentially a feedback mechanism of the nervous system, used to assess the degree of injury.
Before Mei could finish speaking, the needle tip dipped down, and she pricked her again.
Ayla swallowed back what she was about to say, gritting her teeth and remaining silent.
Mei just stared at her without saying a word.
After a long while, Ayla uttered a single word in a very soft voice.
"... pain."
The battle was won, but two people still died: an elderly scavenger in his fifties and a sixteen-year-old boy.
Ayla went to see the site of the death, squatting next to the half-collapsed bunker and measuring for a long time.
If this bunker is moved 1.7 to 2 meters to the left, the crossfire will decrease significantly, and the survival rate will increase by at least 30%.
She stood up, instinctively wanting to discuss with Mei the optimization plan for the next defensive fortification.
Before she could speak, Mei gently shook her head.
"Let's go see who he is first."
Ayla was taken aback.
Is the analysis wrong? But isn't the purpose of analyzing the causes of casualties to reduce the number of deaths next time?
She didn't argue and followed Mei to the place where the body was placed.
The old scavenger's family wept and took away his belongings.
The key point is that boy; he wasn't even a militia member.
At the start of the battle, he was so frightened that he hid behind cover, his hands shaking so much that he couldn't even hold a homemade grenade steady.
Later, he saw his neighbor carrying ammunition, hesitated for a moment, and then ran over to help.
Later, someone was shot and fell. He and two other people rushed out to drag the person away. They came back, and went again. On the third trip, a stray bullet hit him in the chest. That's how he died.
The boy's mother sat beside the body, not crying much, but her eyes were empty.
Ayla crouched down beside her and asked, "Did he know he'd die if he went out?"
"I don't know, do I?" The woman thought for a long time, her voice hoarse.
"He probably felt... he should help him out; that's just the kind of person he is."
Ayla fell silent. "We should go help them." What kind of profit model is this?
There are no rewards, no orders, no definite pay, and you might even lose your life.
Why?
What she found even more incomprehensible was that the woman thanked her in the end.
They said that if Ayla hadn't rushed out, even more people would have died, and perhaps even her son wouldn't have been able to be buried intact.
His own child died, yet he still had to thank others.
Ayla stood there, motionless for a long time.
She simply couldn't fit this variable into the existing formula.
The funeral was held in the afternoon.
The coffin was cobbled together from old metal sheets and scrap wood; it was rough, drafty, and unpainted.
But in a wasteland where human life is worth less than grass, having a coffin is already a blessing.
Dozens of people came to see him off; they were all scavengers from the camp.
They would argue over half a piece of nutritional paste, fight over a piece of scrap they found, and hold a grudge for half a month over who took up an extra piece of the shed for shelter from the rain.
They were carrying the coffin together, their steps slow.
Someone started singing a local funeral song, but it was awful, off-key, and hoarse.
More and more people joined in the singing, and just then, Ayla suddenly felt a strange fluctuation.
It's not sound, not vibration, but more like a sense of direction.
The grief of dozens of people, the heavy sorrow of dozens of people, were originally scattered and fragmented.
But as they sang, they slowly came together and coalesced into a single thought.
Life must go on.
The coffin bearers' steps came together without them even realizing it.
When someone's shoulders ache, the person next to them will automatically move aside a little to share the weight without saying a word.
Someone was crying so hard they couldn't stand up straight, so the people around them would lend a hand and try to carry the weight themselves.
No one's strength increased, and no one's sorrow decreased.
However, the team as a whole is actually more stable than when it's just one person.
Ayla stood at the back of the crowd, watching this scene, and a wave of confusion washed over her.
Such a fragile, inefficient, and flawed person.
Why do they become completely different things when put together?
The wind swept across the barren land, carrying with it smoke and dust.
She stood there, not moving for a long time.