Wang Yuhao (Escape From Tarkov AU)

Wang vs USEC

The cold, biting rain of Tarkov hammered relentlessly against the shattered concrete of the apartment block, washing the grime of the city into the dark, yawning gutters. Wang Yuhao pressed his back firmly against the rough, crumbling drywall, his breath hitching as he listened to the wet thud of combat boots on the staircase below. His tactical vest felt heavy, the weight of his magazines and grenades a familiar pressure against his chest. He clutched his AK-74M, the weapon’s polymer stock slick with water and sweat, his gloved fingers tracing the safety selector with the rhythmic, practiced motion of a man who had long ago traded peace for survival in this desolate hellhole.

He glanced down at the crumpled, water-damaged dossier he had pulled from his kit—a file identified as "image_ed75c7.png"—the Intel Center had practically sacrificed an entire squad to secure this information. Now, the USEC bastards were hunting him for it, their comms chatter cutting through the static on his frequency like a razor blade. He adjusted his headset, wincing as a burst of automatic fire tore through the wall beside him, sending a spray of pulverized concrete and dust into the stagnant air.

"They're pushing the stairwell!" he hissed into his radio, his voice a low, raspy growl, devoid of panic but heavy with the weariness of a man who had seen too many sunsets in the zone. "Keep them pinned. If they breach the second-floor landing, I’m lighting the whole hallway up."

Yuhao didn't wait for a response. He peeled away from the wall, his movements fluid and efficient despite the exhaustion gnawing at his joints. He crouched low, maneuvering toward the shattered window that looked out over the main arterial road. Below, he spotted them: three USEC operators moving in a tight wedge formation, their high-tier plate carriers and suppressed M4s marking them as part of a high-value recon unit. They were looking for him. They were looking for the data.

"Found you," Wang whispered to himself, a grim smirk playing on his lips as he brought the rifle’s optic to his eye. The world narrowed down to the reticle. He saw the lead operator—a man with a thick beard and a tan tactical helmet—pause to signal the others. Yuhao didn't hesitate.

The AK bucked against his shoulder, a short, controlled burst that shattered the silence of the alleyway. The lead USEC operator dropped instantly, his body collapsing into the rain-slicked debris. The remaining two scrambled for cover behind a burnt-out civilian sedan, their return fire shredding the air where Yuhao had been a second before.

"Contact! West alleyway, two hostiles, heavily armed!" Yuhao shouted, already rolling to his left to change his angle of approach. He slammed a fresh magazine into his rifle, the metallic click satisfyingly audible amidst the chaos of the firefight. He pulled a frag grenade from his belt, his eyes fixed on the car the USEC had taken shelter behind. "I’m going to make some noise. On my mark, advance!"

He yanked the pin and tossed the grenade in a high arc. The explosion rocked the building, the shockwave vibrating through the soles of his boots. Without waiting for the smoke to clear, Yuhao sprinted out into the hallway, his rifle raised. He was a shadow among shadows, a BEAR operative who knew that in Tarkov, you either hunt or you become the loot. He saw a flash of movement—a laser sight sweeping the corner—and he didn't blink. He was ready to clear this floor, secure his objective, and extract, regardless of who stood in his way.

Wang vs BEAR

The air in the Reserve underground bunkers was stagnant, tasting of ozone, rusted metal, and the stale, damp rot of a facility long abandoned by its architects. Wang Yuhao was crouched in the shadows of a maintenance corridor, his back pressed against the cold, sweating concrete of a utility pillar. His ears were ringing, not from a gunshot, but from the crushing silence of the dark. He knew the BEAR squad was close—he had heard the heavy, rhythmic stomp of their combat boots and the distinct, guttural cadence of Russian chatter echoing down the ventilation shafts only moments ago. They were aggressive, well-coordinated, and, unlike the Scavs, they didn't waste ammunition.

He shifted his weight, his knee popping audibly in the silence, and he froze, holding his breath until his lungs burned. He had the encrypted drive, a physical copy of "image_ed75c7.png," tucked deep into his secure container. It was the only reason they were hunting him. They weren't just looking for gear; they were looking to erase the proof of what really went down in the Norvinsk sector. He tightened his grip on his customized MCX, the suppressor cooling rapidly in the chilled air.

"They're flanking left, through the generator room," Yuhao whispered into his comms, his voice barely audible, a friction of sound against the static. He kept his eyes fixed on the sliver of light spilling into the hallway from the far end of the bunker. "I have eyes on one. Moving to intercept."

He didn't wait for a confirmation. Yuhao surged forward, his boots silent on the concrete as he moved through the dark like a predator who knew every uneven crack in the floor. He rounded the corner, his tactical light momentarily flicking on—a blinding beam of white that cut through the darkness. It caught a BEAR operative mid-pivot, the Russian soldier’s eyes widening behind his gas mask.

Yuhao didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger, a crisp, controlled three-round burst that hammered into the operative's chest rig, the ceramic plates absorbing some of the impact, but the sheer kinetic force driving the man back into a storage locker. Before the others could react, Yuhao threw a flashbang into the generator room.

The explosion was deafening in the confined space, a brilliant flash of white light that turned the room into a chaotic strobe light of panicked shouts and desperate, wild fire. Yuhao charged, his movements calculated and cold.

"You're not taking the drive!" he roared, his voice cutting through the ringing in his own ears.

He slid across the wet floor, coming up in a perfect firing stance, and dispatched the second BEAR operator with a single, precise shot to the temple. The third, a massive man with a heavy machine gun, turned to face him, but Yuhao was faster, his weapon already centered. He unleashed a full-auto spray that chewed through the operator’s cover, wood splinters and dust exploding into the air.

The firefight ended as abruptly as it began, leaving only the hum of the distant ventilation fans and the ragged sound of Yuhao’s breathing. He stood over the bodies, his chest heaving, his eyes scanning the gloom for any sign of movement. He knew there were more—the bunker complex was a labyrinth—but for now, he had held his ground. He reached down, quickly looting a spare magazine from the fallen BEAR, his hands moving with the mechanical precision of a janitor who had cleaned up far too many messes in this war-torn zone. He was alive, he had the data, and he wasn't finished yet.

Wang vs SCAVS

The Factory was never truly quiet; it was a rhythmic, industrial cacophony of dripping coolant, grinding machinery, and the distant, hysterical laughter of scavengers high on a mix of stims and sheer stupidity. Wang Yuhao crouched in the deepest, darkest corner of the sub-level maintenance tunnel, his breathing steady, rhythmic, and entirely at odds with the chaotic, high-pitched shouting echoing down the corridors. To a Scav, this facility was a playground for theft and violence. To Yuhao, it was simply a workspace—a place that needed to be cleaned of refuse.

He adjusted his tactical rig, ensuring the seal on his secure container remained locked. Inside, resting against his hip, was the digital weight of "image_ed75c7.png." It was a damning collection of data, and these local scavengers—some barely armed with rusted AKMs and half-broken shotguns—were practically stumbling over each other to find him. They were noise; he was signal.

"Found him! Behind the gas tank! Get him, boys!" one of the Scavs shrieked, his voice cracking with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. Three of them rounded the corner in a disorganized, sprinting clump, their flashlights dancing wildly against the grime-streaked walls.

Yuhao didn't flinch. He didn't even rush. As they blindly leveled their weapons toward his position, he transitioned his weight, his rifle rising with the fluidity of a pendulum. He felt the cold iron of the trigger against his finger.

"You're making entirely too much noise," Yuhao murmured to the empty air, his voice devoid of anger, sounding more like a disgruntled maintenance worker chiding an apprentice for a sloppy job.

He opened fire. The first burst was surgical—two rounds into the center mass of the lead Scav, who collapsed instantly, his flashlight rolling across the concrete floor and illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. The second Scav, panicking, let out a wild spray of bullets that pinged harmlessly off the rusted pipework behind Yuhao’s head. Yuhao pivoted, his boot finding purchase on a discarded crate, and delivered a precise, single tap to the second man's forehead. The third Scav, realizing his mistake, attempted to retreat, stumbling over his own feet.

Yuhao didn't let him leave. He stepped out from the shadows, his expression impassive, and silenced the last of the noise with a final, controlled shot. The tunnel fell silent again, save for the hum of the distant ventilation fans. The heavy, metallic tang of gunpowder began to mingle with the omnipresent smell of rusted iron and rotting industrial runoff.

He walked over to the bodies, his eyes scanning the floor for any useful ammunition or supplies. He wasn't killing for glory; he was clearing a path. He retrieved a partially full magazine from a fallen combat vest, checking its weight before slapping it into his own rig. He had "image_ed75c7.png" to protect, and he refused to let the incompetence of these local gangs jeopardize the mission. He stepped over the scattered debris of the Scavs' failed ambush, his eyes already tracking the next sector of the factory. There were more of them deeper in, he knew. And like every other mess in this facility, he was going to have to clean it up before he could leave.

"Trash," he muttered, finally moving out of the tunnel and back into the flickering light of the main floor, his boots heavy and silent, leaving the dead to the dark.

Wang vs Tagilla

The Factory was nothing more than a rusted, suffocating tomb of twisted rebar and dying machinery, but tonight, it felt like the center of the world. Wang Yuhao was crouched behind a pile of half-melted shipping containers, his breath hitching in his throat. He had been tracking the objective—the decrypted data known as "image_ed75c7.png"—for six hours, and now, it was within his grasp. But the path to the extraction point was blocked by a nightmare made of muscle, steel, and madness.

The heavy, rhythmic "clack-clack" of a sledgehammer dragging across concrete echoed through the cavernous room, rising above the constant, droning hum of the industrial fans. Tagilla. The Scav Boss of the Factory had decided to make his rounds.

Yuhao checked his magazine, his fingers trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the adrenaline spike of a pre-injected SJ6 stimulant. The stim was burning through his veins, sharpening his reflexes to a razor's edge, but he knew the crash would be brutal if he didn't end this quickly. He peeked around the corner of the container. Through the gloom, he saw him—a towering silhouette clad in a customized welding mask and thick, jury-rigged armor that would shrug off anything less than a high-caliber round. The massive, blood-stained sledgehammer dragged at his side, leaving a deep gouge in the floor.

"Come out, little rat!" Tagilla’s voice boomed, muffled and distorted by his welding mask, a guttural, terrifying sound that seemed to vibrate in Yuhao's very teeth. "I smell the fear on you! It smells like copper!"

Yuhao didn't answer. He didn't have the luxury of banter. He knew the mechanics of this fight; Tagilla’s armor was Class 6, a walking fortress. Standard rounds would ping off his chest like hail. He had to be surgical.

Yuhao surged forward, his boots silent on the oil-slicked floor. As he rounded the corner, he opened fire—a sustained, controlled burst aimed not at the chest, but at the exposed, unarmored gaps in the Boss's thigh and lower leg. The bullets tore into Tagilla’s flesh, causing the giant to stumble, his roar of pain echoing off the corrugated metal walls.

Tagilla reacted with primal speed, swinging the sledgehammer in a devastating, horizontal arc. Yuhao dropped to his knees, sliding through the grime, the hammer passing inches above his head, smashing into a nearby support beam with a sound like a gunshot. Yuhao felt the wind of the impact, his ears ringing.

"Too slow!" Yuhao yelled, his voice tight. He scrambled backward, slamming a fresh mag into his weapon as he vaulted over a pallet of rusted machinery.

Tagilla spun, heedless of the pain in his leg, and charged. He was an unstoppable force of nature, his armor clattering as he sprinted. Yuhao knew he couldn't win a contest of strength. He needed the environment. He pulled a Zarya flashbang from his belt and cooked it for two seconds before tossing it directly at the Boss’s feet.

The bang went off, a white-hot flash of light that filled the dark warehouse. Tagilla froze, swaying, the welding mask disoriented by the blast.

This was the opening. Yuhao didn't hesitate. He stood up, steadying his aim. He knew the data in "image_ed75c7.png" depended on him surviving this. He focused on the center of the welding mask—the only weak point. He fired a single, carefully paced shot, the bullet cutting through the air and punching through the reinforced glass of the mask.

The giant stopped. For a heartbeat, the only sound in the Factory was the dripping of coolant from a pipe above. Then, with a slow, agonizing groan, Tagilla dropped to his knees, his sledgehammer slipping from his massive grip. The beast of the Factory collapsed face-first into the concrete, the heavy weight of his armor causing a final, dull thud.

Yuhao stood over him, his chest heaving, his own armor shattered and sparking from the near-misses. He was covered in sweat, grease, and the metallic dust of the Factory, but he was alive. He reached down, not to gloat, but to check the Boss’s pockets for any medical supplies or rare ammo, his movements efficient and robotic. He had no time for celebration; the Extraction point was still a kilometer away, and he had a file to deliver.

"One mess cleaned up," he muttered, casting a final, weary look at the downed titan before turning and vanishing into the shadows of the sub-level tunnels, his silhouette swallowed by the dark.

(Custom Scenario)