Planetary Defense Forces. Recruit Training Manual

"Mom died," I replied with bitterness.

"Sorry, didn't know. My condolences," said Andrey, lowering his head.

"I'm the head of a special department in the GRU, with the rank of Major."

"Holy shit, so it's all true what they said about you, that the spooks recruited you."

"Yes, it's true."

"So, they sent you to replace Sergeyev?"

"What Sergeyev? And why should I replace him?"

"Well, the head of 'Zarya-1' here is Lieutenant Colonel Sergeyev, he's also from the GRU. Yesterday he was removed from his post as head, and they said a new one would be appointed."

"That's clearly not me, Andryukh."

"Why not?"

"Just because… Alright, tell me about yourself, how's Mishka?"

"Mishka…" Andrey drawled, and I didn't like that at all. "Mishka died a year ago," Andrey said dryly.

I lowered my head; it was painful to hear that my friend was gone. I decided I would find out the cause of his death and punish anyone responsible. I was filled with anger and resentment. But at that moment, I remembered…

"Budu pogibat' molodym, budu pogibat' molodym," I started singing, and Andrey joined in. It was a song by Mister Maloy, popular back when we were teenagers, and Mishka loved to hum it. By singing this song, we honored our friend's memory.

"So, how about you?" I asked.

"Well, after the FSB took us in, I enrolled in a sports institute and worked for the FSB on the side. I was an information analyst, then got promoted to senior analyst. After finishing the institute, I went into the army and served in the Airborne Forces. After my conscription service, I signed a contract with the FSB and became a senior operational officer in the physical protection department. A little over a year ago, I was tasked with meeting our agent at Domodedovo, who was returning with very important operational information from our agents in the West. Imagine my surprise—it was Mishka, our Mishka. He was the agent. Can you believe it? I was happy, and he was happy to see me. So, I decided to deviate from the instructions and sit with Mishka in a restaurant for a bit—who knows when we'd see each other again. We went to a restaurant on Kutuzovsky Avenue, sat down, ordered food, drinks, sat for about two hours, chatting about everything, remembering you constantly. Somehow during the conversation, Mishka let slip about this program, told such nonsense, as it seemed to me then… But before he could finish his story, he was…" Andrey froze, looking straight into my eyes, and I didn't look away, as I understood what happened next.

"A sniper shot him. Clean and quick work. We found the shooter's position, but found nothing else: no fingerprints, no DNA traces. In short, professionals worked," Andrey fell silent and looked at me.

"Go on," I said.

"They arrested me that same day. I sat in the cells for about a month. And honestly, I didn't care what happened to me: I'm guilty of his death, understand, Petya?! One day, Kalinin San Sanych came. Well, he told me about this base. Offered me, so to speak, to take revenge on those who killed Mishka. I agreed, of course. Mishka was supposed to deliver information about new American developments; they found something secret in the game and are conducting experiments now. Mishka managed to find out what it was."

"Stop," I said. "So, Kalinin knew all about this, knew what happened to Misha and where you were?"

"Yes, of course," Andrey replied. "I tried to find out from him once, what about you, where are you, is there a chance to meet? He sharply replied: 'You lost one friend, want to lose the second?' I didn't try to find out about you anymore, hoped you were doing well and not working for the 'firm'."

"I see," I said. "I need to go to the duty officer and get settled somewhere. Andrey, I don't blame you for Mishka's death. You were set up, and you were likely tracked from the airport itself. Probably, by deviating from the instructions, you extended Mishka's life by a few hours. Most likely, there was an ambush prepared along your route, and Mishka would have been killed anyway, not allowed to reach the 'firm'. That means there's a mole in the 'firm', and I will find him."

"Wait," Andrey stopped me. "Let me show you around and tell you everything here. Okay?"

"Alright, lead the way," I said.

"About the mole, are you serious, Petya?" Andrey asked incredulously. "Only five people knew Misha was arriving and our route through the city, including Kalinin."

"Absolutely. On the way, tell me all their names and details. Now, lead me already," I barked, and we walked down the corridor towards the bright light.

When we emerged into the light, there was a post with a military duty officer. Andrey approached him, said that he would now show me around and explain everything, and asked him to report upstairs that I would be accompanied by Andrey. The duty officer listened silently and nodded, letting us pass through the turnstile.

I definitely hadn't expected such a scale: a reinforced concrete dome—truly of incredible size. At least half a kilometer high, causing the ceiling to blur and get lost in a bluish haze. A huge number of spotlights under the ceiling created the illusion of daylight on a summer afternoon. Below was a real residential town with nine-story buildings, a sports ground, a large football field, and, standing apart, two administrative buildings, five and seven stories high. One of them was the polyclinic; according to Andrey, it had everything, even an operating room and a hospital. The second building housed the administration of the "Zarya-1" base.

"I had no idea such facilities existed near Moscow," I said, amazed by what I saw.

"And it's quite close to Moscow; we drove just half an hour from the MKAD," Andrey added. "Although there are some other secret hangars on Kutuzovsky Highway, but they are many times smaller than this one. This was built for the top brass of the CPSU, including Comrade Stalin. See what large-scale things they built back then? And now? You get a 'two-room' apartment with the area of a 'one-room'."

We headed to the administrative building. We went up to the fifth floor and entered the "conference hall". About fifteen people were already there, and although there were enough seats, we were almost late—Lieutenant Colonel Voronov on stage, in a strict business suit, was already checking the microphone, preparing to speak.

"Sergey Mikhailovich Voronov, head of 'Zarya-1' and diplomat of our faction," he introduced himself and asked for the lights to be turned off.

The lights in the hall went out, and the screen behind the speaker lit up. A humanoid, tall, lean figure with pale skin and long white hair neatly gathered on its head, wearing a crimson-red cloak thrown over golden metal plate armor, looked at us from the screen. Thin brow ridges. A wide forehead. Completely black eyes without whites. A thin nose and an angular chin. Tightly compressed, narrow, scarlet lips. The humanoid's hands were clasped on the hilt of a sparkling broad shield with a blade.

"So, I'll start with the most important and fundamental. Before you is Ruler Ahnut Pikas. He is one of the three rulers of the mighty ancient space race, the Archons, and the absolute master of vast territories in our galaxy. Including, by all cosmic laws, he now holds the rights to our native planet Earth. I understand this sounds incredible and shocking, but the fate of humanity is entirely in the hands of this being. Let me clarify immediately that the Archons are not our enemies, but rather patrons, mentors, and protectors. In any external conflict, they will, of course, take our side. But at the same time, you must remember every second that Ruler Ahnut Pikas currently has every right to refuse to protect humanity and Earth, or even completely destroy our civilization, if people show the slightest disrespect or disobedience towards their suzerains, the Archons. And he has the power to do it, believe me."

The hall became so quiet that people even started breathing intermittently, shocked by the information received. Sergey Mikhailovich waited a short pause, ensured everyone grasped the importance of his words, and then continued:

"Now that you know the current state of affairs, let's discuss the reason you were all invited. Your role and main task is to enter the virtual game."

I was probably the only one in the hall who wasn't seeing videos with aliens and Archons for the first time. Yes, that was my job at the base in Siberia: collecting and classifying top-secret information about aliens. There's much more information online than anywhere else. And news appears much faster online.

I probably wouldn't have believed in the first contact either, like millions of others worldwide. I happened to see this video last year on some American resource where there was a wild discussion about aliens and their messengers. But now, after Sergey Mikhailovich's message about humanity's precarious position, I regarded what I saw with greater attention and tried to analyze it quickly. Two 'kai' of Earth's security—interesting, how much is that anyway? A year, two, three? I didn't hesitate to stand up and ask Voronov this question.

"An excellent and very correct question!" Voronov perked up and readily began answering. "We long ago learned the time measurement system of the Archon race and know that a 'kai' translates to roughly one year in our familiar units. But there are two uncertainties we haven't been able to get answers to yet. First, we know that time flows differently on the Archons' home planet, Arkaris, than on our Earth, so a 'kai' there is somewhat shorter than it would be here. Second, we never got an answer from our suzerains about when the countdown started. There's even a special opinion that the countdown began from the moment the virt-capsule was built on Earth and the first human appeared in the virtual game."

"Virt-capsules?" some bespectacled guy in the hall latched onto the term that slipped into the diplomat's speech.

"Yes, precisely virt-capsules. In this video I showed, the schematics show the general structure of the virt-capsule, and then the step-by-step assembly process. Different projections, different details, but in the end, it all logically fits into a coherent design. The first successful assembly was achieved in the USA, in 1995. The first human to go into the virtual world was John Bake, a young engineer from an American electronics company. He became the first human to successfully enter the game and complete the training. Fortunately, the pioneer had the sense not to wander far from the spawn point and logged out, reporting his find to the authorities. Soon, several more researchers entered the game, then a whole group of thirty soldiers. And a month later, our military intelligence discovered the construction of an underground secret complex near Heathrow. Very soon, the necessary technologies appeared in our country too, after which the construction and preparation of the underground facility 'Zarya-1', where we are now, began near Moscow…"

"You mentioned training in the game. Can you clarify this unclear point?" the same bespectacled guy interrupted the speaker again.

Voronov grimaced in a displeased smile but still answered this question too:

"Yes, every newcomer, immediately after creating their character, must undergo training in the game. It's a kind of acclimatization to the virtual body, skill training, and also a test. Those who successfully escape the training within the allotted time receive additional character points for their avatar's characteristics—whichever you prefer. It's a rare opportunity to enhance your character's base stats, so this chance isn't wasted. That's why we have instructors who will handle your training and preparation, so be sure to get briefed by them before entering the game. You're given about half an hour to complete the training. You must learn to reliably reach the game's exit point or respawn point within fifteen minutes; only then will you be admitted to the virt-capsule. Experienced mentors will review the resulting 'blank' and advise which skills to take for effective gameplay and which characteristics to enhance using unallocated points."

"And where are the virt-capsules located?" the bespectacled guy persisted, although his neighbors in the hall were already shushing him disapprovingly.

"The question about the virt-capsule is the last one I'll answer right now. Ask all other questions after my speech is over, otherwise we'll never finish," Sergey Mikhailovich said displeasedly. "So, the 'virt-capsule' and its location. Each of you has only one virt-capsule per player. It's located in your living quarters and operates by drawing energy from our planet's gravitational and electromagnetic fields. But it's much more complicated when we have many virt-capsules—dozens and hundreds—and need to organize their synchronous operation. It's not enough for a newcomer to enter the virtual world; they must appear in a specific place and be correctly identified by the game world as a member of a certain faction. By the way, our faction is called Faction-2 or abbreviated H2. This abbreviation will always be displayed on your equipment; it's impossible to remove or erase this inscription. There's also the English Faction-3, USA—Faction-1, the German Faction-4, the Chinese got their own Faction-5. Returning to the 'virt-capsule'… The Archons suggested the technology for placing virt-capsules—a kind of structure with clearly defined attachment points for individual cells and placement relative to the Earth's center. Your virt-capsule number is easy to understand from your individual numbers: your 'virt-capsule' is the number of your room in the dormitory."

I pricked up my ears, expecting to hear important information about some limitations on the number of players per faction and related difficulties, but Voronov's speech was unexpectedly interrupted by a deafeningly wailing siren. A vile, disgusting sound, piercing to the bone, resembling an air raid siren, sending shivers running all over my body. Then, an amplified voice echoed under the dome: "Attention, alarm! Our second outpost is under attack! Threat of a breakthrough through the Black Hills! More than four hundred attacking NPCs! To arms! Everyone to the virt-capsules!!!"

Chapter 4

And with that, the meeting for the newcomers was over. The general alarm had sounded, so the head of "Zarya-1" postponed his presentation until 7 a.m. the next day.

Sergey Mikhailovich did not answer the barrage of questions about the Archons, the number of outposts, or the general game situation. Instead, he turned around at the door and ordered all newcomers to go to the residential blocks, check into the dormitory, familiarize themselves with the daily schedule and the base rules, and then start studying the game information presented on the terminals in their rooms. And at 7 a.m. tomorrow, they were to finally listen to the introductory information, practice generating their characters, and actively enter the game.

I left the building where the meeting was held. The siren was blaring everywhere, and many people in uniform were running in the same direction.

"Sounds like a really serious fight is going on. Maybe we should join in too?" I asked my colleagues, but found no support in their eyes.

They all started parroting that we had been given clear instructions on what to do this evening and we needed to follow them. I sighed heavily and trudged after the other newcomers. The path to the residential blocks was short; I went up to my floor and entered my room. A standard room: a small bed in the corner, a nightstand next to it, an armchair with a desk, an information terminal on the wall, and a combined toilet/shower cubicle. Everything was arranged quite cozily, but it didn't feel like home. There was another room with a glass door; my capsule was presumably in there.

I generally trust my intuition; it almost never lets me down. And right now, I could feel it in my bones that I needed to start familiarizing myself with the new game right away, without wasting any time.

Cautiously, expecting an angry shout from one of the local observers at any second, I headed towards the capsule. The door wouldn't budge. I twisted the handle, pushed, even thought about kicking it down, but then decided against it… I went to the information terminal and decided to look for information there. I turned on the terminal; it immediately asked me to register. After registration, a menu with capsule settings appeared. After fiddling with the terminal settings for about half an hour, I managed to configure access to both the capsule and my room. After that, I went back to the capsule—the door opened by itself as I approached it.

My eyes were met by a short corridor leading to a small, glass-walled room. In the center stood an oval metal couch with a transparent lid, and on the wall, among other things, my number "1333" was displayed. I stood for a while, examining this high-tech structure and openly admiring its smooth, flawless curves. The lid slid upwards easily as soon as I touched it. The couch was covered with a very beautiful material, like in an expensive business-class car, and seemed to invite me in.

Cautiously, still in my boots, I stepped onto the softly springy surface. It was fine; it held my weight. I lay down and reached for the lid, but it was already moving on its own, starting to close. At the same time, the material, which had seemed like glass from the outside, abruptly lost its transparency and looked completely black from inside.

"Perfect, it's just perfect!" was all I had time to think before the world around me changed.

I was standing in an oval room. The walls were covered with some kind of luminous material that shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. The ceiling and floor seemed to be made of some very strong frosted glass, as nothing was visible through them. Just two or three steps in any direction, and I bumped into an invisible barrier.

A life-sized screen appeared before me, an image projected onto the wall that mirrored all my movements and grimaces, but also allowed me, if I wished, to mentally rotate the image and examine myself from all sides. Which I did, critically inspecting myself and grimacing with dissatisfaction: yeah, I'd put on some weight at the Siberian base; there were definitely a couple of extra kilos on me.

The next moment, my reflection in the mirror showed me with a neat, short haircut, fit, and with an athletic build. Wow! And what about this: a side-swept fringe, shaved sides? Obeying my desires, the image changed dutifully. Okay, and what about changing eye color? No, don't like it, change it back.

After playing with the hairstyle, I moved on to the body. Now for bulging muscles, tall stature, broad shoulders, and everything else… I was planning to sculpt for myself the flawless body of Apollo that would please all girls without exception, but here I was met with a "bummer-bird"—I could only change the skin tone within certain limits and add or remove moles and scars. Ah, too bad. But alright, what's next?

"Your character's name: Starkov Pyotr Nikiforovich," the inscription appeared above my image in the projection, and I shook my head in dissatisfaction.

No, that won't do. Do I really need everyone I meet to know my real name? So… I managed to shorten the name to Stark… Stark? Like from "The Avengers"? Am I going to be Tony Stark? Laughing, I erased the name completely. I had this nickname online, "Mrak Petrovich," and I was quite fine with it. Like when I played online shooters, after another headshot, kids would write: "Dude, go raise some kids." It was funny. Okay, good, let it be "Mrak"; why not: it's intimidating and inspires fear and respect. What's next?

Available player classes to choose: "Scout" or "Translator."

What? Translator? From what to what am I supposed to translate? Why no "Assault," "Sniper," "Hunter," finally? What kind of restriction of my rights and possibilities is this? What if I wanted to be a tank operator, a reconnaissance officer, or a pilot? I tried to expand the selection of offered professions or go back to the name and appearance menu, but nothing worked. Damn… Okay, and how do they differ?

"Scout." A specialist in detecting and finding valuable items. As the character's level and skills increase, so do the chances of finding unique loot.

Primary skills: scanning, reconnaissance, working with explosives.

Class limitations: Cannot use heavy and powered armor. Cannot use heavy weapons, missile systems, and powered defense systems.

All the necessary information was displayed on the projection over my image. Okay, understood. So what's the gimmick of the "Scout" then? Instantly, obeying my mental query, different text appeared on the projection:

"Scout." A specialist in discovering hidden locations, anomalies, and useful items using scanning systems. As the character's level and skills increase, so do the detection chance and the value of the loot.

I didn't even bother looking at the "Translator" class; it's just not for me, and in school, I barely scraped by with a C in German. So, I wanted to choose the "Scout."

And although I was intrigued by the words about finding hidden locations and anomalies, the "inability to use heavy weapons" was very concerning. At long sniper range, such a character is no fighter, and the same goes for the "Translator." At medium and close range… Well, that was unclear. I knew too little about this game so far and had no idea about the existing weapon types there. Perhaps there was something, and quite suitable for harming all the nasties. I wonder, are there cheaters there? Or maybe not…

I pulled up the information on the "Scout" again. It seemed like a more balanced class, and this path seemed logical for me, considering my training, work in the agencies, and the knowledge I gained there. I was just about to make my choice when my gaze caught on the combination of words "specialist in extraction" and "bonus to volume."

So what does that mean? After discovering useful minerals or ore veins, will I be forced to mine the found valuables myself, just because the character has a bonus to extraction or search? I shuddered at the bleak prospect of spending the next two years of my life with a pickaxe, toiling in some mines. That would be enough to go crazy from monotony and boredom…

Screw that, I'm definitely not going to work there; that's not why they sent me here. And I made up my mind, settling on the "Scout."

The image dimmed sharply, then reflected the following table with character information:

[Character Table would be inserted here in the original text. It typically includes stats like Strength, Agility, Stamina, Intellect, Spirit, Health, Mana, Armor, etc.]

I carefully read the resulting characteristics. It was hard to tell right off the bat. And the zero magic wasn't encouraging either, but it seemed there was a choice after all, and that was cool. It's not that I expected the "Scout" to have any magical abilities, quite the opposite, but if such a characteristic existed in the table, it meant that someone *did* have magic!

By the way, I could read brief tooltips for all characteristics. Things like "Strength" affects the weight the character can carry, the throwing range of various objects, and the damage dealt by melee weapons. Or that the number of health points depends on the character's level and some multiplier, individual for each game class. Regarding magic, it said that the amount of "mana" depends on "Intellect," level, and a coefficient related to the game class. Apparently, for the "Scout," this coefficient was simply zero.

Overall, I didn't discover anything new for myself; all the character stats were familiar and had been encountered in other games one way or another. The only thing that raised questions was "Fame"—it was unclear how it was calculated and what it affected. Was it some kind of "karma"—positive or negative—where depending on your previous actions you could find good loot or find nothing at all.

I quickly confirmed that it was impossible to edit any parameters in the table, and I had to accept what the game system had created for my character. The only choice the game offered me was to confirm that I had familiarized myself with the introductory data and was ready to enter the game world, or to wait and think some more.

In an ideal world, I should exit the virt-capsule now, wait until tomorrow, listen to the introductory briefing, then study the game system, and only then continue. But can you imagine how hard it is to tear yourself away from a new toy you've just been given to try, especially with such realistic graphics! Damn, what kind of servers do they have here?