Arknights: Mobile City

"They're here, huh… the Food Chain."

Obsidian's bodiless consciousness drifted above the City, watching the endless insect tide in the distance, his tone calm, contemplative.

This time, he hadn't called Texas. He didn't plan to.

There was no need.

This battle—he could handle it alone.

If he couldn't handle it, then dragging Texas into it wouldn't make a difference. Better she get as far away as possible.

But… on the flip side—if he survived this crisis, then he'd have to push forward with everything he had. There would be more threats after this. Stronger ones. They'd never stop coming.

"Heh… Two fallback plans. Let's hope one of them actually works."

He murmured under his breath. At this point, all his Doubts had been built—430 in total. Of those, 400 had been deployed to the battlefield.

He hadn't counted the number of bugs. Frankly, he couldn't. He glanced behind him and saw a vast, orderly phalanx of robots.

But compared to the oncoming swarm, it looked like a speck of dust.

Truth be told, Obsidian didn't have much hope that the Doubts could defeat the enemy. But even so—they had to try.

"Prepare for combat."

He clenched his fist and gave the command, voice steady.

"Begin the assault!"

The moment the words left his mouth, the entire formation surged forward. Metal feet pounded the earth, kicking up dust and grit. The battlefield erupted into a chorus of screeching insects and grinding steel.

Contact happened instantly.

The front ranks of Fresh Food were torn apart.

Their exoskeletons weren't particularly strong; a few precise jabs from the Doubts' arms were all it took to kill them. Left, right—another one down.

The kill efficiency was impressive. But no amount of precision could stop a tidal wave.

If only I had a flamethrower...

Obsidian sighed, a shadow passing through his expression.

There are just too many of them.

Even if every Doubt killed one bug per strike, each Doubt was being swarmed by at least ten. Every action resulted in a barrage of retaliatory hits.

Not even iron-forged bodies could hold up forever.

Still, the Doubts managed to hold the line—just barely halting the swarm's advance.

But Obsidian didn't feel even a flicker of relief.

Instead, his gaze shifted toward the massive figure looming in the distance.

The Food Chain.

That thing had yet to enter the battle.

And only when it did… would the true fight begin.

Obsidian's face hardened as the enormous creature slowly approached the frontline.

The instant it arrived—the tide turned.

The frontlines collapsed almost immediately under its bulk. Even groups of four or five Doubts working in tandem couldn't stop it.

That… was the Food Chain.

Born of dusk, a walking catastrophe for all that sought the dawn.

It crushed everything.

There was no hope—just raw, unrelenting pressure.

Obsidian exhaled slowly. The frontline was disintegrating before his eyes.

So it really is like this…

Even if hundreds of Doubts swarmed it, the best I could do is serve up a buffet.

This approach was doomed to fail.

"But if it's that hungry…"

He whispered—and immediately gave the order to retreat.

Roughly 300 remaining Doubts began pulling back. Obsidian raised one hand.

He'd spotted something.

The wave of enemy bugs had surged so intensely during the last push that their formation had been pulled into a dense knot. A chunk of them had already been wiped out. Now, there was a gap in the swarm's lines.

That—was the window Obsidian had been waiting for.

At his command, a second wave of Doubts arrived from the rear. They weren't empty-handed.

Each of them carried bundles of soft, pale paste.

It was food. Food made from the Food Conversion Unit.

All ten tons of it.

Passed hand-to-hand by the Doubts, each one now held a substantial portion.

And in that moment, the Food Chain turned its gaze toward them.

Obsidian issued the final order.

"…Run."

"Break through the gap. Get as far as you can!"

The Doubts obeyed immediately.

Before the swarm could close back in, they poured through the opening in a stream of movement—one after another.

This was always the plan.

If I can't beat it, I'll outmaneuver it.

Obsidian had never believed the Food Chain was something he could beat—not with what he had.

So from the beginning, he'd focused on delaying it.

All he needed… was time.

If they were going to eat—then fine. Let them.

Let them eat.

He'd send out a wave of Doubts, each carrying a mountain of food, and lure the entire swarm away from the City—deep into the Outskirts.

That was the real goal: to draw them away. To earn breathing room. To buy time to develop.

When Obsidian snapped out of it, he saw that most of the Doubts had already broken through, leading the swarm deeper into the wilds.

Even the Food Chain seemed to be following—its massive head turning toward the fleeing units, enticed by the concentrated scent of nourishment.

The horde shifted direction.

Chasing after the food.

Chasing after the bait.

Obsidian stood there for a long moment, staring.

Then he let out a long, exhausted sigh and dropped down to sit on the ground.

The tide was receding.

He'd pulled it off. He'd survived. His plan had worked.

He'd bought himself time.

Eventually, Obsidian got to his feet, shook his head to clear it, and turned back toward the City.

His steps were quick.

If everything went well, the Doubts would lure the enemy away by at least fifteen kilometers.

Lowering his eyes, Obsidian returned to the cabin and immediately resumed his work.

The danger hadn't disappeared—it had just been moved farther away.

But that lingering sense of dread remained sharp in his chest.

He exhaled once more and narrowed his eyes, steadying himself.

The City was still moving. And ahead…

Lay Kazdel.

"All right…"

Obsidian stepped to the window and gazed at the distant sky.

A quiet murmur escaped his lips:

"Let's see what kind of game we play next."