Dead Man Walking: Living By Day, Dead By Night

Their power armor\'s built in helmet cameras detected a sudden ice storm, and then there was nothing. Utter darkness. By the time the reconnaissance teams found what remained of the Marines and their corpses. It was as if the entire section of the city had been hit by a missile.

Because of this, those in charge of the Remnant were scratching their heads, trying to figure out just what the fuck had happened. Needless to say the President of the United States, or so he called himself was having an absolute meltdown at the Governors of the Oregon and Arizona bunkers.

"Can someone please explain to me how even with their advanced equipment, we still managed to lose nearly 3,000 men engaging these outlaw forces? I was assured that the power armor was the answer to dealing with the threats from the outside world.

And now I\'m being told that during both engagements with the enemy, our forces were wiped out by the last man. So tell me, please. Because I\'m dying to know just how this could have happened to our men?"

Power armor was durable no doubt, and the weapons capable of wielding by such marines were indeed powerful. But the problem was the unpredictability of an awakened human\'s ability, or god forbid the superhuman nature of a Horde King, which even a Tier I Horde King would have no problem sending a battalion of power armor equipped marines straight to the afterlife.

The Remnant had invested a significant amount of time and resources into designing and manufacturing power armor. And it was not like they had the access to raw materials that they used to. Each set of power armor that was lost was a significant blow to the stockpile of resources that the Remnant had hoarded in their bunkers.

Something that could not be easily replaced. To lose 3,000 men was a significant blow to the Remnant. But to lose 3,000 sets of power armor in addition to this? That was something they would never be able to financially recover from.

It was a disaster of epic proportions. It was already bad enough to lose the 1,200 or so men sent to deal with the Elysians. But adding another 1,200+ on top of that in Vegas? The Remnant could not afford to sustain such losses.

Another defeat like this, and it would be the end of at least one of their chapters. Because of this, the President was quick to declare in the meeting with all the Governors that any strike team sent out to engage targets from then on would have to be approved by the President and his Cabinet beforehand.

And this was a serious blow to the previously established autonomy of each Remnant Chapter. And in doing so, the President had created a vast sense of resentment towards him from the various governors who were each quite powerful in their own regard.

But the fact remained that the outlaws in the wasteland had proven much, much, much more resilient than they had initially anticipated. And if they wanted to regain control over the wasteland, they would need to find more subtle ways to deal with these settlements.

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While the Remnants were undergoing a state of crisis. The Amazonians were not much better off. Not all of them had perished during the attack. But their home had been thoroughly laid to waste. And their numbers were significantly reduced in size.

Given the chance, the other factions in the area might just launch an assault of their own in an attempt to finish off the overtly hostile and crazy faction of feminists who would attack any man they saw in sight. Or any group that had men free among its members.

They were left with little choices on how to proceed. On the one hand, they could pack up what remained of their belongings and hightail it out of the ruins of Las Vegas, hoping and praying that somewhere out in the wasteland was a safer region they could call home.

Or… They could fortify the ruins of their settlement, and fight against whatever may come their way. The Amazonians, or at least what remained among their ranks argued ad nauseam about the best course of action.

They, of course, had no idea who had targeted them, and even if they were aware of the identity of the culprits, they had no means to retaliate. Their strength had been thoroughly shaken by the attack on their home.

Nobody really expected to see artillery employed in this day and age. And to such devastating effect. There had been a form of arrogance among the awakened, that the weapons of the old world no longer had any effect on them.

And while this might be true for those like Elena and the girls who had surpassed their human limits to some extent. To the point where they could easily evade a shell, or even survive a direct hit. Depending on what state they prioritized.

The reality was that they were the elites of humanity, their growth fostered by Zane, to the point where the next highest level of humans west of the Rockies were a full five levels below them at least.

Most awakened who had survived this long were still within the level 15-20 range. With only the exceptional among them being between level 20-25. Anyone above level 25 was either an urban legend, or was one of Zane\'s five lovers.

And because of this, those below such superhuman status were starting to realize how mistaken they actually had been. At least among the Amazonians. Ultimately, their debate about how to continue would be interrupted by a small group of undead. Whose desire was to profit off of the recent attack.