I am Ava, a Wasteland Intelligence Hunter. On the first page of my Wasteland Journal, only two words are written: Wingshield, Ethan. The old lighter in my palm is engraved with an "E"—the last trace Ethan left behind. And the symbiotic wing suit experiment by Wingshield Technologies not only destroyed our stronghold, but also turned Ethan into a test subject. That is why there is an endless blood feud between Wingshield and me. It is also the only obsession that drives me to wander the Wasteland.

Above the wasteland, Wingshield Technologies, in the name of "saving humanity", abuses technology in secret. It conducts symbiotic wing-suit experiments, turning ordinary people into mindless, killing-only test subjects for stronghold patrols and intelligence searches. This is fully consistent with the setting in the related documents that Wingshield Technologies abuses technology to conduct symbiotic wing-suit experiments and create deformed infected beings.

I used to be an outer intelligence operative for Wingshield Technologies. I witnessed the cruelty of the experiments with my own eyes: the test subjects were stripped of their identity, with deformed wing suits fused to their backs, reduced to killing tools controlled by Wingshield. My partner Ethan, a core researcher at Wingshield Technologies in charge of data analysis for the wing-suit symbiosis experiment, discovered that the experiment would cause complete, irreversible alienation of the subjects. When he tried to expose the truth, he was placed under house arrest by Wingshield and then vanished. All he left behind was this silver engraved lighter with his initial "E".

This lighter is more than just a memento—it is a clue. There is a hidden groove at its bottom that can hold a micro intelligence chip. I suspect that before his disappearance, Ethan used it to store critical data about the Wingshield experiments. The chip, however, is now missing. My first step is to find this chip, uncover what happened to Ethan, expose the truth behind the Wingshield experiments, and destroy the experimental data, so that more people can see the true face of this so-called “savior”.

“Night is the best camouflage.” “In the Wasteland, information is worth more than supplies.” From today on, I will record every clue, every confrontation. I do this only to bring justice to Ethan, to avenge those harmed by Wingshield, and to leave a faint spark of hope for the Wasteland.

n my temporary stronghold, there is an intelligence wall—this is all I have to rely on to survive in the Wasteland, find Ethan, and fight against Wingshield Technologies. It is also my secret base for sorting out key clues, fitting the trait described in the related documents that "Ava excels at intelligence gathering and analysis." The wall is covered with leftover experimental images from Wingshield Technologies, photos of Ethan, marked patrol routes, and a yellowed map of the Polaris Experimental Base. Every sheet, every photo, and every mark holds clues to Ethan’s whereabouts and reveals the conspiracy of Wingshield Technologies.

These clues were gathered bit by bit in the wasteland. Some came from collapsed Wingshield strongholds, some from abandoned experimental equipment, and others from anonymously transmitted signals. Clues in the wasteland are messy and disorderly, but I have always stuck to my original intention: to find Ethan, destroy the experiments, and expose the conspiracy. As I often say: "Wingshield's technology was meant to protect people, not devour them."

My next plan is to follow the clues from the Polaris Experimental Base to further confirm Ethan’s location. At the same time, I will find out the source of the anonymous note and locate the mole inside Wingshield. Perhaps they can provide me with more information about Ethan and help me end Wingshield’s crimes sooner.

The Holy Light shall illuminate every trace of tenderness and regret. I descended to the mortal world today and walked into the woods. The autumn wind stirred the leaves, making a soft rustling sound. Sunlight filtered through the gaps between the branches, casting tiny specks of light. Not far away, a young man held a bunch of small daisies, his face flushed, as he poured out his heart to the girl beside him. The shyness and sincerity in his voice spread gently with the autumn wind. I stopped quietly, not wanting to disturb this pure and beautiful moment. I gathered a wisp of soft Holy Light at my fingertips and let it fall gently beside them. May every sincere confession be met with tenderness, and may every pure love be guarded by the Holy Light.

People ask me: Isn’t it easier to attach myself to a wealthy man and climb up by his power than to fight on my own? I just find it ridiculous—the moment you rely on someone, you’ve personally handed your weakness to them. Last time someone faked kindness, trying to use me for profit, I smiled and played along, then turned around and took all his chips. My rule for survival has always been: Self-interest above all. No attachment, no softness. No one shall ever become my chain.