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Chapter Text

Sergeant Elizabeth Stroud had one hand on the coaming around the portside hatch on the IMC Goblin dropship designated Zulu One while her other hand gripped a C.A.R. submachine-gun. Along with three other Pilots in the same dropship she had been tasked to team two. Two more Pilots followed in Zulu Two. Fifteen seconds earlier they had arrived over the Fracture facility via short range jump. The hatch had opened and Graves had the pilot circle the perimeter of the facility. It was an old pumping station, but the machinery was fully functional, and had appropriate transmission gear to send any processed fuel into orbit—either via tender, or direct warpfall conduit.

One of the other pilots nudged her, and Sergeant Stroud noticed that Vice Admiral Graves had begun talking. He had to shout to make himself heard over the wash of the Goblin's VTOL engines.

"In space, fuel is life, and the Militia Fleet is running low. Only seven planets in the Yuma system can replenish a fleet of that size. This is one of them. We've set up turrets, like this one, just in case the Milita decide to pay this site a visit," Graves waved towards a heavy auto-turret atop a large, open building with a collapsed roof. "That's Charlie"—he waved out to a half buried control complex, and those on the dropship could just make out the bunker entrances to the complex—"this one's Bravo."

"Vice Admiral Graves, Zulu Three shows multiple jump signatures three klicks out," the dropship pilot's voice cut across the intercom. Graves response was immediate.

"Blisk, tell Riggs to get his squad on the deck—now."

Three Militia Crow Dropships jumped in formation, micro-jump drives still cooling as the boom of their entry echoed across the landscape. All three made a low altitude pass over Charlie, hovering above the terrace. The auto-turret froze in place, deactivating before it could track even halfway towards the dropships. Three Pilots fell from each of the leading Crows, while a full squad of Militia Grunts ziplined from the trailing dropship.

All three Zulu dropships had hovered around a long, low building with another Goblin sitting on the landing pad, surrounded by maintenance equipment. Between that structure, reinforced with a heavy auto-turret, and a half-destroyed IMC control center, captain Riggs was booting his Titan. The captain curled into a ball as the Titan's massive hand lifted and deposited him in the Atlas's cockpit.

"Come on Elsa—Stroud—boots on ground," Corporal Duke Laski clapped her on the arm as he leapt from the dropship, stirring up a small dust cloud upon landing. Sergeant Stroud followed him a moment later, landing so softly she barely disturbed the grass beneath her feet. She knew Laski would be the one to find the only barren patch beneath the dropship. He was just like that. Blisk's voice echoed over the comm.

"Sir, our forces have assembled at rally point Alpha."

Graves stood in the open hatch of the slowly ascending Goblin. "Pilots, today, you have a chance to establish peace on the Frontier. Make it count!"

Elsa was already sprinting as she heard the familiar whip-whumpf of dropships departing via short range jump. Her weapon was braced at the ready even though she was sprinting at full speed towards a large pair of generator housings. Powerfully enhanced legs launched her halfway up, and a quick blast from her jetpack finished the ascent. An instant later she was leaping onto a nearby balcony, sweeping instinctively for both hostiles and useful paths. With the former absent, she launched herself at the wall to her left, jetpack putting out a constant thrust to keep her steady against the surface. She still hadn't surrendered any momentum. To her, motion was life, and she planned to live.

She still planned to live when five Hemlok rounds ripped through her left side, spraying the roof beneath her with bright red blood. She stumbled and rolled, hitting her Stim booster as she rose, Adrenaline coursing through her veins, fast-burn nanites knitting her skin and organs back together as she launched herself from the edge of the roof towards a rocky precipice, a blast from her jetpack just enough to carry her to the lip, quickly using her arms to scramble up onto the dusty surface. A line of impacts cratered the dirt beside her, and Elsa launched herself at the cliff face behind her, sprinting for the transport array in front of her before leaping sideways into nothingness, fifty feet from the ground. Blisk's voice crackled in her ear.

"Hardpoint Bravo's in that building up ahead. Get inside and patch me into the terminal."

She somersaulted in mid-air, using her jetpack to sail closer to the bunker entrance of Bravo, on the grassy hill beneath her. Another blast from her jetpack ensured she hit the ground at a survivable speed before she dived through the entrance. She managed a quick sweep, her gun following her gaze, firing instinctively as she saw the Militia Pilot raise his weapon. Three rounds made it downrange before a wall of lead slammed into her chest and stomach, and Elsa knew no amount of Stim would be bringing her back from this one. Her body hit the floor with a wet thud, but her mind was already gone.

There was a violent disconnect, a surge of light and sound reaching an insane crescendo, and suddenly Elsa was sucking in a deep breath, her body whole and complete—and different. She grunted, rubbing her side at a phantom pain, and lifted another C.A.R. from the rack, strapping a P2011 pistol to her right hip as she slung the submachine-gun over her shoulder. An Archer missile launcher was the final element of her weaponry, also slung across her back as she gripped the C.A.R. and racked the slide, barreling into the warpfall conduit at the far side of the chamber. She landed just outside Charlie, on terraced, overgrown steps. Blisk's tactical update rang in her ears.

"All units, the turrets are online for Charlie. The Redeye is taking some heavy damage." It was followed shortly thereafter with: "We just lost Alpha."

Elsa took off at a dead run, charging through Charlie, past the terminal, and through a lower level corridor out to the verdant expanse between there and Bravo. She made a split second decision to avoid the exposed hilltop, despite the path between a slightly damaged building offering an excellent vantage point. She was a runner, not a marksman. She burst through the entrance to the unmarked bunker, barely noticing the floor, and a painting fallen from the wall to her right. There was a shimmering movement ahead of her, and her gun rattled, spitting lead as she sprinted into the fray.

The Militia Pilot fell without a sound, blood pouring from a dozen impacts on his chest, his weapon skittering across the floor of the bunker. He'd had no chance, but, like her, he would be back in the fight in seconds. Both the IMC and the Militia had Ripcord technology—the ability to create an instantaneous engram upload that contained everything a person ever was, and download it into the next available body. Pilots were immortal, their minds deathless, beyond even the enhanced capabilities of their flash-cloned and gene-enhanced bodies.

Another Milita Pilot sprinted from the upper exit of Bravo, leveling her R101 Carbine at Elsa. Both Pilots fired at the same time, Elsa hitting her Stim, and blasting forwards, throwing off the Militia Pilot's aim while maintaining her own. The other woman dropped in a hail of lead, letting out a small whimper as her body collapsed. Elsa surged onwards, scanning the entrance before vaulting the balcony to get within range of the hardpoint terminal below. Spyglass began the counter-hacking procedure immediately—simultaneously giving her a status update on her Titan. Two minutes before she was cleared for Titanfall.

She sprinted for the ruins between Bravo and Alpha, hearing Blisk's call for Pilots to defend the hardpoint. Jetpack pinning her to the high wall, she sprinted forward, Stim active, and was firing before her mind fully registered the pair of Militia Pilots in front of her, diving for the lower entrance to Alpha. The first pilot fell like a sack of bricks, the second turning, Spitfire LMG already roaring. Elsa dived sideways, a round still catching her in the shoulder. She drew her pistol as she rose, C.A.R. mag empty, and fired on the run, bullets kicking up the dirt behind her. With her free hand she tossed an arc grenade for good measure, and the Spitfire armed Pilot finally fell.

Blisk's tactical updates cut across the network, informing her that both Alpha and Charlie had fallen to the Militia's hackers. That meant the fleet in orbit was taking on fuel at an enormous rate, despite the damage being inflicted against it. Full ships had to be jumping out, cycling new ships in to suckle at the planet's resources. The Redeye was still taking damage, but it was far from serious yet. Elsa sprinted through the door to Alpha's terminal, then launched herself at the wall, hanging on in midair with the help of her grip-gloves and jetpack. She swept the mezzanine with her gun, and found it thankfully empty. The hardpoint was back in IMC hands, and she could hear the heavy auto-turret overhead banging away at the fleet above.

"You Titan is ready to drop," Spyglass's smooth, artificial voice echoed in her ear. "Signal when ready."

Elsa threw the signal beacon out the balcony door ahead of her, uplink instantly established with the IMC Sentinel in low orbit. Diving out the window she looked up, a pinprick of fire arcing through the sky above her. Five. She cleared her C.A.R. and leapt from the balcony. The trail of fire grew larger, thick smoke visible as it fell. Four. She fired the jetpack and flew through the air, landing just short of the projected fall zone. Three. The pod overhead split into four, like a violent flower revealing itself to the world. What was left of the heat shield would burn up before it hit the ground. Two. The Ogre continued to fall, onboard AI bracing the reinforced leg joints against the coming shock. One. The Titan slammed to the ground, making everything shake and stirring up a large cloud of dust and debris. The dome shield flickered to life, enfolding the Titan within its impenetrable embrace.

Elsa darted through the shield, the harmonic signature of her jumpsuit allowing her safe passage. She grabbed the rail on the side of the cockpit, using it to throw herself into the pilot's seat. The hatch closed with a soft hiss, and as the display booted up the massive Ogre drew the Plasma Railgun slung over its back and loaded the first power cell.

"AI offline, Pilot mode engaged."

"Alright Marshmallow, let's do this!" And the Ogre took off at a ponderous run, slowly building momentum as Elsa began searching for targets. There, in the distance, between the buildings bracketing hardpoint Bravo. A Stryder, shields low. The Plasma Railgun hissed and cracked as it fired, a trail of superheated, ionized air following the packet of charged particles, back-tracing to the muzzle of the weapon. Downrange the round impacted the Stryder's reactor with enough force to make the Titan stagger sideways, critically damaged. A sweep of her hand and caressing a different trigger sent a quartet of Multi-Target missiles streaking towards the Stryder. It dashed sideways at the last second, missiles slamming into the building facade behind the Titan. In return it fired a heavy cluster missile straight at Elsa.

Her vortex shield caught it, and redirected it towards a squad of Militia grunts, but by then the Stryder had popped smoke and disappeared behind a building. Elsa didn't catch which one, so she strode forward purposefully, ground shaking with every step her Titan took. She was thundering over Bravo before she realized it was being taken. A dash and a snap turn saw her Ogre sail over the destroyed entrance, facing into the bunker. Crouching to get a better view, she sighted on a Militia Pilot who thought she was hidden behind the hardpoint terminal. When the railgun round hit her, there was nothing left, just a red mist.

Elsa thumped a button on the side of her cockpit, and it hissed open, allowing her to disembark. The Titan's AI automatically took over, stepping back and sweeping for nearby enemies. Elsa skirted the terminal, watching the progress on her HUD as Spyglass once more hacked the hardpoint, disabling the fuel pumps and re-engaging the turrets. Blisk's voice crackled across the tactical network.

"Well done Pilots, the Redeye's at 75% hull integrity and decreasing."

Elsa sprinted from the bunker, launching herself at her Titan, now facing away from her and engaging an enemy Atlas. She landed hard, sliding between the Ogre's legs as it lowered a hand to scoop her up, heavily armoured fingers protecting her as she was deposited safely in the cockpit. Chaingun rounds rattled off the hull as the Atlas closed, and Elsa swung instinctively, before the cockpit displays had time to come online. The steel fist of her Titan connected solidly with the armoured torso of her assailant, driving it back into the wall of the cliff behind it. Elsa used the momentary reprieve to dash out of line with it as she aimed carefully with her railgun. The round flashed between them in an instant, slamming into the Atlas's torso, driving it back.

Her Vortex shield engaged as the medium Titan dashed sideways, opening up with its chaingun once again. Rounds pattered off against the projected energy field, claimed within its strange embrace. She ran the shield to the redline, waiting for the Atlas Pilot to reload his weapon. She released the collected rounds as the drum fell from the other Titan's weapon. Just before impact a wall of energy intercepted the blast, turning from green to red with the strain of absorbing that much damage.

There was a hiss, and high pitched whine, and Elsa saw the core of the Atlas glowing white hot, surging through its weapons. A rocket salvo threw her aim off, stripping what little shields had managed to regenerate. The chaingun ripped into the hull of her Titan, shredding it in seconds, coring her reactor. Elsa hit the failsafe as she pulled the ejection handle between her legs at the front of her seat. A burst of energy from the dash charger blasted through her jetpack, launching her a hundred feet in the air as her Titan's reactor went critical.

The blue-white glow temporarily flash-blinded her as shell fell, but she watched with grim satisfaction as the Atlas was torn to pieces by the explosion. Take that, you bastard. The IMC still only held Bravo, and Elsa adjusted her descent to land closer to Charlie, surging forwards as soon as she hit the ground. She was running over the exposed hilltop, and then suddenly she was back in the Ripcord chamber of the Sentinel.

"The fuck?" she stumbled forward, closing her eyes and demanding a replay from her didactic implant. The battleROM software projected fuzzy green outlines before resolving into the viewpoint of her assailant. Another Ogre, armed with a 40mm cannon. She watched, pissed off, as a single cannon round blasted her previous body into tiny chunks of meat. But it hadn't been a deliberate shot. The Pilot had been aiming at a cluster of Spectres guarding the entrance to Charlie—but something had thrown his aim off, some random impact, and the round had hit her instead of the Spectres.

Duke was also in the Ripcord chamber, gathering his preferred weapons and pulling rank on someone, getting his Titan pushed to the front of the build queue. Elsa snorted in disgust, gathering her weapons and pulling an Amped Archer from the rack she had loaded earlier. It was getting heavy on Titans down there, and she was eager to settle the score. The warpfall conduit deposited her outside Alpha, another update from Blisk crackling across the tactical network.

"The turrets for this hardpoint are back online, and we are engaging the Redeye!" He continued, static temporarily interrupting the transmission. "All units, we've got the upper hand for now, but it's a close fight. Don't let your guard down."

Elsa was already moving, sprinting for the upper entrance to Alpha's mezzanine level, launching herself, using her jetpack to gain height and land softly on the balcony. Then she was sprinting through Alpha, leaping from the enclosed balcony at the far end of the building, jetpack just carrying her to the generator housings. She was following the same path she had at the start of the battle. The voice of Spyglass sounded in her ear, informing her her replacement Titan would be ready in thirty seconds. She hit her Stim, sprinted from the roof, and arrowed towards the bar entrance to Bravo. She landed softly with the assistance of her jetpack, gunning down a trio of Grunts holding the area.

Grunts didn't come back, but she felt no remorse at the killing. Grunts didn't even have personalities. They were clones, like Pilots, but only implanted with combat instincts and experience from the best templates. They were, in short, expendable. Even more so than Pilots or Spectres. IMC Pilots would often joke it was a sad day when a Militia grunt managed to kill them—usually after a duel with another Pilot left them weakened. More grunts would always arrive, either by dropship or drop pod, depending on who controlled local airspace.

Elsa ignored the bodies, hearing Blisk's call to get closer to the hardpoint so they could take it back. She caught another grunt staggering through the bunker entrance to the field, and a Militia Pilot with an R101 walking down the stairs covering the corners. Her reaction was immediate, and in the firefight Elsa felt at least half a dozen impacts against her vest. The Militia Pilot suffered worse, slumping to the floor, dead. Elsa finished the grunt with a snap-kick that shattered his spine, made possible only by her enhanced physique. As soon as the hardpoint was recaptured, Spyglass informed her that her replacement Titan was ready to drop. Seconds later she was inside it.

"Come on, Marshmallow," Elsa thumped at the side of her cockpit for good luck. "Time to move out."

The Ogre ran ponderously onward, down the narrow road that circled past the ruined building between Bravo and Alpha. Elsa urged her Titan onwards, almost missing the yellow warning sign on her HUD. Titan grenades. Someone near Alpha was using a Triple-Threat. Three grenades slammed into the Ogre, and Elsa lowered the shoulder and bulled through, sweeping across the perpetrator with her Multi-Target missiles. A full pack of ten slammed into the Stryder, staggering it and sending its final launch wide, grenades scattering behind the Ogre. Elsa risked a snap-shot with her railgun, and watched with satisfaction as it cored the lower section of the Stryder's cockpit, punching out the back of the lighter Titan.

"Warning, threat level high." The Titan's AI rang in Elsa's ears. "Warning, another Titan is attacking you. Caution, you are outnumbered two to one."

Shit. That was Elsa had time to think before attempting to at least finish off the Stryder in front of her. Dropping the railgun, Elsa took hold of the Stryder, ripping it's left arm off in a spray of sparks and hydraulic fluid. Then she brought it crashing down on the damaged cockpit of the enemy Titan. The Stryder fell in a heap of scrap, the Pilot inside crushed to death when the cockpit stoved in from the blow. AI all but screaming at her, Elsa knew it was too late to save her own Titan. She hit the overload button and yanked the eject lever, sailing into the air. The explosion caught the Atlas shooting her in the back off guard, nearly obliterating it.

Armour scraped and blackened, systems exposed, Elsa was surprised to see the tell-tale flicker of shields powering up on the Titan beneath her. She landed hard, then hit her Stim, chasing the Titan along the wall, boosting into the air and scrabbling over its shoulder, ripping open a critical access panel. Holding on with one hand, a grip-glove, and help from her jetpack, Elsa emptied a clip of C.A.R. rounds into the Atlas's internal systems. That did the trick, the Titan lurching forwards as Elsa jumped back, boosting to the roof. The Pilot ejected, but Elsa lost sight of him as he rocketed into the air and cloaked.

She turned back to Alpha, intent on completing her original task. Blisk gave an update as she hung from the wall opposite the mezzanine level. "This hardpoint's secured, but I'm detecting hostiles nearby. Don't let them near that terminal!" His voice crackled on the tactical network a moment later. "Excellent, the Redeye's now at 25% hull integrity. Let's finish her off, eh?"

A Militia Pilot armed with a shotgun decloaked as he rounded the false wall opposite the balcony, and Elsa barely had time to react as he threw something past her. As he fell she heard an ominous beep, and felt her damaged body being torn apart in a massive explosion. Satchel charge. Dead-man trigger.

She staggered out of the Ripcord chamber, going through the motions of collecting her weapons. Her Titan was ready. She scrambled out the far end of the chamber, into the Titan assembly line. The cockpit of her Ogre remained open, Plasma Railgun slung across its back, a Multi-Target missile system being quick welded onto its shoulder in a shower of sparks. She leapt high into the air, twisting sideways so the jetpack's thrust carried straight into the padded seat in the centre of the cockpit. She reached up and pulled the cockpit hatches closed, initializing all onboard systems. The whole Titan rumbled as the drop-rack held it in place.

Elsa looked down, the bay door beneath her sliding open. The rack released her with a resounding clang. The displays blacked out as she crossed the shock layer, the roar of descent deafening. The heat shield split open, and the Ogre slammed into the ground with tooth-jarring force. She rubbed her jaw for a second, getting her bearings. Somewhere near Charlie, middle of the road, next to an overgrown cliff. Blisk's voice crackled in her ears.

"Blisk to all remaining units: the Militia have a slight edge, and the fight is nearly over. You've got to turn this fight round before it's too late!"

"Alright Marshmallow, lets do this!" Elsa shouldered her Titan forward, crashing into Charlie, Spyglass hacking the terminal in there through her Titan's interface. Two Titans faced her, pinning her in the building. A Stryder with a Triple-Threat, and an Atlas armed with a chaingun. The same ones she'd fought earlier. Her vortex shield slammed the Stryder's cluster missile back at it full force, rocking it back and forcing it to dash into cover, deploying smoke as it went. Her own missiles, direct at the Atlas, met with a particle wall, almost destroying it. She dashed forward, steel fist slamming full force into the Atlas, sending it staggering backwards.

Then the Stryder was attacking from her right, and Elsa forced the Ogre she was piloting to backpedal. Her Titan's AI helpfully informed her she was now outnumbered three to one. The horrendous visual distortion across her screens told her that this assailant was armed with an Arc Cannon. A railgun shot stripped what was left of the Stryder's shields, and a follow up shot tore through the agile Titan's torso, leaving a superheated hole in its wake. The entire armour panel glowed with heat, and the Pilot wisely decided to seek cover.

"We've been defeated, prepare to evacuate," Blisk's voice cut bitterly across the tactical network. Elsa looked at the Atlas in front of her, then dashed backwards, spinning to fire another railgun shot at her newest assailant. It was another Ogre, still at full health. She heard a breach in her Titan's reactor core, and knew it wasn't worth saving. Not anymore. She slammed her fist against the safety override and yanked the ejection lever, angling herself towards the evac point as she flew into the sky. She didn't bother looking back, she knew anything that survived the blast would be following her.

She hit the ground hard, activating her Stim and sprinting between a narrow cliff face, jumping from one wall to the other, building momentum as she ran. Her feet hit the ground for only a second, and she was flying through the air again, sprinting across a low wall before launching herself towards the roof of the ruined building between Alpha and Bravo. Several high calibre impacts tracked behind her up that wall. She surged forwards, diving through the open hatch of the evac ship, securing her jump harness. Weapons fire rocked the dropship, but a moment later there was the familiar whip-whumpf of a short range jump, and the whine of a jump engine cooling down.

"Hmph, we didn't even kill half their fleet. 54 ships destroyed. That's it," Blisk sounded bitter as he finished his report over the tactical network.

"How many of those ships were civilian?" Graves's smooth baritone was distorted only a little by the commlink. Elsa felt her blood run cold. They'd been firing on civilian ships? That was against almost every rule of war she could name, but she couldn't tell if Graves was admonishing Blisk or merely confirming information.

"Today's civilians are tomorrow's Militia. Sir. What do you want me to do? Wait?" Elsa listened, mute, as Blisk rattled off some kind of justification for their actions. Elsa unloaded her gun and safetied all her weapons. But even as she did so another thought was forming in the back of her head. I'm fighting for the wrong side.

"Start a search. I want that fleet found. Graves out." So Graves had just been looking for confirmation. Elsa closed her eyes, and hit the manual activation system on her Ripcord.

She was lying in her cabin aboard the IMC Sentinel. She was on top of the covers, the pillow only half under her head. She swung her legs over the edge of her bed and sat up straight. This was the real her. Elizabeth Stroud's cosmetic body—a much more accurate clone of her original physique. She wore a loose, white t-shirt, and black boy-leg briefs. Comfortable. She looked at herself in the mirror. Finely structured face, strong cheekbones and jawline. Platinum hair—a trait neither of her parents had shared—strung up in a loose braid hanging over her left shoulder. But most of all it was her eyes. A piercing shade of icy blue. She sighed, patting herself down, trying to find triggers for old and new phantom aches. Thankfully nothing presented itself. But now she had a bigger problem—if she was going to defect, how the hell would she escape?

And if she did, what about the Ripcord system. She would have to disable it. She would have to risk actual, eternal, death, in order to make a clean break. Then… then she might even wind up literally fighting herself, if the IMC decided to restore her consciousness from a previous Pull. The whole situation was fucked up on more levels than she even cared to count. She had no idea if the Militia would even accept her either. They might just decide to shoot her on the spot, not knowing her Ripcord would be deactivated. And wouldn't that be a wonderful kind of irony? she thought bitterly.

Elsa dressed in her normal off-duty clothes, pulling on a faded pair of old jeans, and a fur trimmed mini-jacket in IMC blue. There wasn't a whole lot to do—she knew she would have to attend a debrief on the battle later, and she would also personally review her own performance from the battleROM data. Right now, however, she needed a drink, something to bring her down from the rush of combat. She could always lose herself in the moment, on the battlefield. It was the way of many Pilots. Past and future ceased to exist. On the battlefield there was only now, and motion. A moving, eternal, present. It was a rush like no other, and she knew several Pilots who treated it like a drug, testing their immortality to its limit.

She looked at the tumbler in front of her. Fuck. Only soda, because she was still on duty until Graves gave the order to stand down from combat status. Well, at least that means the debrief'll be postponed too. Small mercies. Elsa chugged the drink anyway, giving a slight hiccough when some of it went down the wrong way. She swallowed hard, thumping her chest, eyes watering. Even her drink was trying to kill her today. She didn't want to wake up in yet another clone. Especially not a cosmetic clone—they were expensive, and rare, needing to be gene-tailored to each individual over a period of months or even years. The Sentinel's clone bay still managed to keep at least one spare cosmetic clone for every Pilot onboard. War clones numbered in the dozens, and Grunts numbered in the hundreds, kept floating in nutrient tanks until they were needed.

"Rough day?" Duke asked, sitting next to her. He still wore a vaguely ridiculous looking moustache. He also appeared almost comically short next to Elsa's lithe frame.

"Some of those ships were civilian, Duke."

"We signed on for this tour to get a job done. The Militia has been terrorizing colonies all over the Frontier in the past few months. Don't lose focus here, Elsa. We have a real enemy, and they pose a real threat."

Elsa just frowned at him.

"It's not our fault they use those colonists as human shields. But hey, we nearly got the Redeye, that's the First Fleet's flagship. They're going to be smarting after that one. Orbital cameras show just how fucked up it really got. I'm surprised it still managed to jump at all—but it managed to drag a number of tenders with it, and you can bet they were filled with stolen fuel."

"Then why didn't Blisk just target the tenders, wouldn't it have made more sense on a strategic level?"

"Yes and no, from what I've heard going around. Those ships are mostly empty space, designed to hold bulk stores and fuel. If they'd been damaged enough they might have used them like fire ships. You remember the Outpost 84 incident?"

"How could I forget?"

"Oh, shit. Sorry. I forgot your father was on that Outpost when it got hit."

"Old news, Duke, but thanks."

"Anyway, imagine what half a dozen heavily damaged tenders like that could do if they managed to break in next to the Sentinel or the Colossus."

Elsa mulled that over for a long moment. It would have been catastrophic all right, but that still didn't give Blisk good reason to target the civilian ships trailing the Militia fleet. Planting her hands against the bar, Elsa stood stiffly, turning to leave. Duke didn't try to stop her. He knew better. She just got like this sometimes. It was hard having strong morals in what was essentially mercenary corporation under the jurisdiction of Hammond Robotics. Corporate interests everywhere. Duke didn't mind at all—the money was too good.

Elsa spent the next two hours wandering through the Sentinel, taking a conditioning run, and doing several sim exercises focused on agility in combat. Her mind still hadn't cleared, and Graves still had yet to stand the fleet down from combat status. Stripping off her slightly sweaty clothes, Elsa folded them into a neat pile, preparing her uniform. She had finally been called for a debrief despite the fleet still being on alert—apparently all the Pilots were going to be thoroughly debriefed after the Militia raid had proved so successful.

Freeing her hair from its confining braid, Elsa ran her fingers through her platinum locks, turning on the shower, adjusting it to the right temperature. As the water washed over her and she scrubbed herself clean, a single, desperate thought overwhelmed her. What am I going to do?

Chapter Text

The IMS Sentinel hung in the blackness of deep space like an ancient monolith. Viper class strike dropships jumped in and out of local space, ferrying combat probes to unexplored systems. Sharp, angular Phantom class fighters swarmed around the great ship, forming a combat air patrol. Both light vessels shared the same hull, one trading lift engines for ordnance pods. The remainder of the IMC fleet was mopping up in the Yuma system, taking on supplies and returning to the main fleet when their tasks were complete. The IMS Colossus held command in Yuma, the Spyglass presence there in constant communication with the Sentinel's instance.

Onboard the ship, sergeant Stroud was just waking up. The debrief the previous night had been rough, but she was cleared fit for duty. She'd managed to conceal what she needed to. Suppressing her emotions far more than was probably healthy. She didn't care. As a Pilot, on the field, emotion got in the way. There could be no time for thought, only action. Momentum. But her horror kept returning; remembering Blisk admitting to shooting down civilian ships—and his flimsy reasoning behind it. She had joined the IMC to fight for the expansion of the Frontier. She hadn't known the true cost, nor the true character of those leading the charge.

Well done Elsa, she chided herself. Make daddy proud, and here you are: Accessory to the slaughter of hundreds of innocents. I hope you're happy. But she wasn't happy. She'd never really been happy working for the IMC, but it seemed like the thing to do at the time. She'd shown aptitude for the Hammond Robotics Pilot program. She'd excelled in that field, in fact. One of the early generation Pilots, the first few series of Ripcord Pulls. To say the tests were violent was nothing. The program had a 98% fatality rate, although that tended to be because the final test pitted the candidate against at least four AI controlled Titans in a survival challenge. Then four more… but they only counted surviving the first four.

Elsa remembered her test clearly, having managed to rodeo one Atlas Titan, and to kill an Ogre with her Archer. She recalled feeling her spine shatter, and having every internal organ smashed to a pulp. She could almost feel the Stryder's knuckles as they erupted through her chest and tore her body in half. Then there was light, darkness, a horrible, jarring sensation of disconnection. And just like that she had fallen from the clone vat, in the wrong body, wearing different clothes, and feeling violently ill. That her cloned body had eaten nothing made no difference, she still vomited all over the floor. Then she screamed when she saw something not herself through eyes that were not her own.

She remembered the smooth, artificial tones of Spyglass too. The AI had calmed her, helped her understand; had told her of the cosmetic clone being grown for her use. She remembered all of it from the required reading material for the Pilot program, and she thought she had been prepared. The sense of dislocation had just been so violent. Her first death had been traumatic—because she could recall in her unguarded moments that she had wanted to die there. Wanted to stay dead. She had caught a shadow of her father's face, an echo of his voice, right before she had been ripped back into the land of the living. Spyglass had called it a hallucination, but she wasn't so sure. Death was still the great unknown. And now every time she died, she was aware of something that watched, something that pushed her away. Something she had a strange kinship with.

Shaking her head, Elsa began pulling on her duty uniform. Graves's voice crackled across the PA channel.

"All personnel, this is Vice Admiral Graves. As you know, the Militia fleet remains operational in the wake of their refueling raid in the Yuma system, and we have deployed probes to a number of sectors. Spyglass will brief you on the results of the search."

The smooth, artificial tones of the tactical AI overlaid the Vice Admiral's final words. "Pilots, I have scanned all possible destinations within jump range of the Yuma system. I have detected life forms in sector Bravo 2-1-7. Militia forces may be hiding there. I recommend an advance team lead by sergeant Blisk investigate with a suitable complement of supporting units."

Elsa sighed heavily. She knew exactly where this was going. Still only half dressed, she lay back on her bunk. Graves's response to Spyglass's suggestion was immediate.

"Very well. So ordered. All Pilots, gear up and stand by for deployment. Sergeant Blisk has command on the ground. Good luck, Graves out."

Elsa hit the manual activation system for her Ripcord, feeling the familiar sensation of a non-violent transfer—knowing this was the last time she'd ever see this particular body. It was like moment between sleep and wakefulness, where everything and nothing was real, images and sounds covering emptiness. But for her the emptiness was just one more layer—it covered something else, some greater secret. She was sure her father was in there, somewhere. And all of a sudden she was in the Ripcord chamber, arming up, selecting didactic upgrades and enhanced weapons for the coming battle. An Amped C.A.R.—she left that on the rack next to her Ripcord cell. A Decisive Action chit, earned from the previous battle, given to her during the debrief. She could get Marshmallow pushed up the build queue by 40 seconds. And lastly, a Double Agent IFF transponder. Anything that wasn't a Pilot would ignore her completely.

Then it was time to get to the launch bays. The dropships would launch as soon as the Sentinel completed its jump to the unnamed planet. Once the dropships were clear, they would jump to combat altitude, deploying the Pilots they carried. Several Vipers were being loaded with Spectre racks, and techs hurried to finish attaching the slings and locking the inactive robots in place. Elsa shivered slightly. If she was going to carry out her plan, she would have to avoid the Spectres—and there were going to be a whole lot of them.

Lance Corporal Annalise Corazon shifted uncomfortably in her bunk on the Redeye. Even with her eyes closed she could see the slight perspective shift jumps always caused. Asking for five more minutes was unlikely to help, so, with a tired groan, she sat up, rubbing her eyes. Bish was talking on the intercom, and when Anna glanced at the clock she saw she'd managed to oversleep. Again.

"Listen up crew, the good news is we're still alive. The majority of our fleet survived the raid with enough fuel to run for another month. According to the tactical computers, the operation was a success. But we cannot continue to trade human lives for fuel. If anything, we need to recruit more to people to our cause, wherever we can find 'em. Sarah—"

Sarah's voice quickly replaced Bish's more even tones. "Two hours ago we received a distress call." She played the call over the PA system. "We're a small colony. What the hell are these things? We need help! Hit the distress beacon now! They're getting through the doo—"

Corazon shivered, sweat beading her shoulders and forehead. The Redeye had been running hot with all the damage it had suffered in the Yuma system, but that static-laced and panicky transmission was enough to make the young woman's blood run cold. She remembered running in to something tagged as Spectres during the refueling raid. AI based combat troops, and tough as nails to boot. Bish was still taking several apart in the maintenance bay, trying to understand how the metal monsters worked.

Sarah was still talking, and lance corporal Corazon forced herself to concentrate on what was being said. "The origin of this signal is from a sector that isn't populated. It's not on any chart. There is the chance it could be an IMC trap. That's why we're sending you to check it out first. But if these guys are homesteaders and we help 'em out, they might just join our cause. Good luck Pilots, signing off."

Grunting in discomfort, Corazon sat on the edge of her mattress, unwittingly sitting on half her uniform. It wasn't going to matter this morning—her war clones would be already dressed, ready to go. She leaned back, consciousness departing her true body, emerging in much heavier version of a female body. All muscle, just as strong as any of the male clones, and just as agile. It simply looked different. Gene therapy and soldier boosts ensured gender equality. No one would hit the deck with an inferior clone.

With fluid, practiced movements she loaded her Spitfire light machine-gun, checking the safety remained on and the bolt held open. On one hip she slung her RE-45, a low damage, high fire rate autopistol, while across the other hip she cinched the bandolier of satchel charges she was carrying. On her back was a Sidewinder rapid fire rocket launcher for taking down enemy Titans. She also took the time to swap her spare ordnance pouch for parkour didact. Mobility was going to be important. She commed down to the maintenance hangar, telling the techs to leave the Guardian Chip in place in her Titan. Then it was time to select upgrades for the coming fight. A pre-built Stryder sounded like a good idea. Satellite Uplink, to scan for nearby enemies. Hmm, something new. Spectre Camo—another one of Bish's experiments. Worth a shot.

The IMC Goblin dropship jumped above the colony outbuildings with a soft whumpf of displaced air. Blisk held the grab rail as the side hatch opened, taking in the scene below. A Spectre held a colonist on her knees, then another unit shot her through the back of the head. Elsa turned away, disgusted. Blisk thumbed his mic, talking to Graves in his thick Afrikaans accent.

"Sir, we haven't found any Militia, just a handful of civilians!"

"Copy that, keep looking." Graves sounded disinterested. He didn't ask what was happening to the civilians.

"But I like the way these Spectres kill, eh!"

How easy it would have been to draw and fire; Elsa knew she could have stopped it right there—but at heart she knew she couldn't kill someone in cold blood. Not someone without the benefit of a Ripcord, even if it might solve a lot of problems down the line. Just one more reason to get out while she could. The situation was even better than she'd hoped, because she might be able to pass as a survivor of the attacks. Getting the Militia to trust her was going to be a lot harder. And Blisk was still talking.

"Next-gen automated infantry's the future, but taking out a bunch of civilians is hardly a test."

In the distance Elsa could see a Militia dropship streak in, completing its jump. The Goblin's pilot saw it to, his voice crackling across the intercom.

"Sir! It looks like Militia ships! They're deploying ground forces at the north end of the village."

"Now that's a real threat, Deploy three more racks of Spectres!" Blisk sounded disturbingly happy.

Elsa slipped from the dropship hatch, launching herself forward and over the nearest rack of Spectres, climbing over a small solar charging station. All the buildings she could see were made of darkly coloured corrugated metal, with a few holes cut out for windows. It was like some kind of shanty town—except there were ordered streets and avenues here. Something that spoke of serious forward planning. This was far more than a simple colony. Whoever these people were, they had been here a long time. Judging by the tracks over the southern part of the village, this place had extensive trade with at least one other settlement on this planet.

Her thoughts were wandering. It was a bad sign. Especially since she thought she'd just seen a Stryder dash around that corner. There was a tower in the centre of the colony that would serve as an excellent vantage point, only three rooftops away. Elsa scrambled over the roof of what was probably a vehicle hangar, launching herself through the air, a blast from her jetpack carrying her towards the nearest house to the east, an 'L' shaped construct of two stories with a peaked roof and reinforced walls. Boots pounding the corrugated metal, she hit her Stim, surging forwards and landing hard on the peaked roof of the next building in the chain. Down the far side, then a blast from her jetpack and she was against the wall of the tower. She used her jetpack to simply hang there for a moment, sweeping the ground beneath her with her main weapon.

It was definitely a Stryder, circling the outside of the settlement, lightning erupting from its Arc Cannon and arcing through half a dozen tightly clustered Spectres. It turned to face her. Oh, Shit! Elsa released her hold on the tower as a cluster missile slammed into the metal above her, submunition explosions pocking the metal and raining shrapnel on the hapless Pilot beneath them. Sprinting for cover, Elsa saw a Militia Pilot decloaking ahead of her, and a dozen rounds from her C.A.R. had ripped through him before he had time to react. That didn't help the Grunts slain by his Smart Pistol, but Grunts were expendable; eminently so.

Elsa ran into the nearest building, noting two large silos atop the roof. Out the far end of the building, through an open door, she could see the base of a tower perched on top of a small rocky terrace. A generator building stood off to the left, and as she ran to that building she looked up, noting that the tower had a full landing pad on top. Something up there was still burning, sending smoke into the air like a pyre. There was an ominous click behind her, and the world exploded in fire.

"Steady Anna, you'll jam the feed." Kristoff placed a hand over Anna's, steadying her. "What's got you so worked up anyway?"

"I don't know, Sergeant Bjorgman," and she thumped him on the back. He nearly fell out the hatch in surprise. "Something about this possibly being an IMC trap?"

"I don't think these people wanted a war—that's why they settled an unexplored sector."

Any further conversation was stalled by Sarah's authoritative voice. "Bish, start playback."

The transmission was laced with static, but everyone could clearly hear the rising panic in the broadcaster's voice. "Mayday, mayday! We are a small civilian colony on planet Troy. We are under attack from IMC forces and require immediate assistance. Please send help. Embedding coordinates."

"That distress call was four hours old," Bish spoke from the first Crow in the formation. "Okay… first squad on the ground, they have eyes on the distress signal coordinates."

Sarah called to the pilot of the dropship Anna was riding in. "What do you see 3-2? Anything by the tower?"

"Nothing," the reply was curt. "The tower looks abandoned. We got dead colonists in the streets. No sign of the others."

"Got it. Pilots, let's find out what the hell happened here. Fan out through the village and we'll meet up by the south gate. Be careful down there."

Anna stumbled from the dropship, rolling to cushion her landing. The Grunts around her did the same, unclipping from their ziplines. They didn't have the advantage of jetpacks to slow their descent. A moment later Anna rose, Spitfire swinging into line as a Spectre slammed into the dirt in front of those Grunts. Even as she was firing at the Spectre she was calling in her Titan. A pre-built Stryder chassis. She swept the area nearby for other threats, taking out another Spectre with her Spitfire. The third fell to a jetpack-boosted kick that snapped it in half. Four seconds had passed. Anna could hear the rumble of displaced air, the basso roar of a fiery descent.

Loose dirt kicked up all around her, and the outside world turned a hazy blue as her Titan's dome shield sprang into existence. She threw herself into the cockpit, pulling the hatch closed with her left hand as her right grabbed the controls, scooping up the Arc Cannon dropped with her Titan. Both hands on the controls now, she gave the cannon a half-charge test. Lightning arced from the terminals, grounding through a nearby steel fence. A devilish grin crossed her face as she spoke to her Titan.

"Hey Olaf, what's say we toast some robots?"

"That's not healthy," Kristoff's gruff tones answered her. She'd left the comm circuit on. Again.

"Tell that to Sven," she shot back, gleefully trampling over a pair of Spectres. She had circled halfway around the perimeter of the colony, searching for more of the metallic troopers. Half a dozen were clustered together, their dropship jumping to safety. It didn't help the Spectres, lightning arcing between them, melting armour, fusing joints and scrambling delicate electronics. There was a high tower, a lookout, in the centre of the colony. An IMC Pilot was currently hanging from it, sweeping her weapon around. The cluster missile corkscrewed through the air before she was even aware of firing it, slamming into the base of the tower, several metres above the Pilot.

Then Anna was off again, urging her Titan through the narrow streets, hunting for targets. Grunts, Spectres, Titans—if they were IMC they were fair game. As she darted between the buildings, shaking off one daring Pilot with her electric smoke countermeasure, Sarah's voice cut across the tactical channel.

"Bish, any progress on tracking the remaining colonists?"

"I'm picking up an incoming transmission, but it's garbled," Bish paused for a moment, obviously working on something. "Give me some time to clean it up."

The Stryder was proving to be a real menace, decimating IMC support forces throughout the battle. No one yet had Titan authorization, and it was running roughshod over them, spitting blue-white lightning at every turn, killing Grunts and Spectres with almost reckless abandon. Elsa launched herself at the south wall of the tower building, sprinting along it with the aid of her jetpack, launching herself full force at the Titan hunting her erstwhile comrades. She wanted to get out of the IMC, but for now she would have to fight. She landed atop the Stryder, ripping open the maintenance hatch on top of its hull. The Pilot inside popped smoke, and Elsa hit her Stim and bounded away, losing sight of the Titan. Nothing for it.

She landed hard, lobbing an arc grenade towards a pair of hacked Spectres and was rewarded with the sight of them moving jerkily before collapsing, smoking and useless. There was a little alcove, two walls and an open gate, between the tower building and the next structure. Elsa collected her thoughts, momentarily still. Thirty seconds to Titanfall, and—

"…we're falling back to higher ground… we're falling back to the carrier… the Odyssey is our only chance…" it wasn't any voice she recognized, but it was being broadcast over every channel.

"That's the voice of a dead man," Disbelief filled Graves's voice. "Find out where it's coming from."

Elsa was moving again by the time Spyglass started talking. She flipped from the wall of the building into the muddy street to her left, once again directly in line with the landing tower. Something told her it was more important than she'd first thought. Spyglass's words only seemed to confirm it.

"Sir, the broadcaster is using an unknown encryption format. I will require more time to triangulate his position."

Then a Shard of Spyglass cut through on her personal channel. "Titan online. Signal when ready."

Elsa threw the locator beacon towards the tower, sprinting for the rocks, looking to the sky as she did so. She caught a glimpse of a Militia Pilot with a Longbow designated marksman's rifle crouched atop the silos she'd noticed earlier. Two rounds from her C.A.R. slammed into him, drawing blood before he ducked out of sight, a small metallic disc sailing through the air. It detonated with a noise like an arcing power cable. Elsa stumbled, vision shading red. Nanites caused the tint, a visible sign of just how much damage she'd suffered. Another hit and she'd be dead. A heavy round chipped the stone in front of her. She turned, jumping backwards, and threw her last arc grenade towards the silos.

Her Titan caught her in mid-air, gently shoving her into the cockpit. She pulled the hatch closed, enabling all primary systems and checking the reactor's safeties. Unslinging her Plasma Railgun, she took aim at the Pilot that had tried sniping her out. The hypervelocity round missed, barely. Sometimes pinpoint accuracy worked against her, especially when attempting snap shots at agile Pilots. Her target was gone by the time the chamber had cycled the next round. That was fine, she had a Stryder to hunt—the one ripping apart the IMC forces.

One round fired with a sharp whip-crack, stripping half the shields from the Stryder on the far side of the village. The rocks beneath her Ogre gave Elsa just enough elevation to properly target the enemy Titan. After taking that hit it dashed into cover, behind one of the larger buildings to the south. The Ogre stepped forwards, inertia building into a ponderous run that shook the ground with every step. Several unfortunate Grunts failed to make way in time, crushed beneath enormous metal feet. Elsa rolled her shoulder, throwing the left control column forward. Her Titan followed her movement, steel fist slamming into a Militia Pilot trying to jump over her Titan in a rodeo attempt. Then, plodding forwards, she made her way into the field at the south east end of the village, a large vehicle hangar the only cover left before the perimeter fence. An empty container steadied her Titan when a cluster missile slammed into, submunitions exploding all around, draining her shields.

Elsa swept her reticle across the Stryder, achieving full lock with her multi-target missiles. Ten self-guided missiles launched in circular formation, spiraling towards the Stryder. The enemy Titan dashed sideways, the missiles correcting course at the last second. Only half of them hit, but combined with the railgun round it was enough to strip the shields of the smaller Titan. Disruption static arced across her screens and Elsa cursed, waiting for the image to stabilize. Arc Cannon. Of course. But the Stryder had dashed backwards, not sideways. Elsa's next railgun round pierced its cockpit, punching through the back of that space to graze the reactor beyond. The Titan staggered with the hit, its shot arcing wide, grounding into the field several metres from the Ogre.

The Stryder surged forwards, metal fist slamming into Elsa's Titan with enough force to stagger it, sending crashing into the vehicle hangar she'd noticed earlier. Her own counterpunch nearly toppled the Styrder, sending her railgun round through its shoulder instead of its torso. Heavy grenades slammed into the Stryder from behind, staggering it so badly it fell to one knee. The smaller Titan turned, unloading everything at this new threat. Duke's voice came across the comm as the Militia Pilot ejected from her doomed Titan.

"Thought you could use some help there. Didn't think a Stryder would give you that much trouble."

"It didn't." Elsa's voice was icy. Her Ogre still had 80% armour, and her ordnance had just reloaded. The Stryder would not have lasted much longer.

Falling from the sky, Anna cursed, activating her cloak. The enemy Titans were too far to rodeo now. She'd have to hunt other Pilots and IMC support forces instead. Kill enough of them and maybe they wouldn't want to come back. If she was good, she would help end the growing war that much faster. If the IMC lost forces at an untenable rate, they would have to withdraw from the Frontier. But then another fleet would come through Demeter, and it would start all over again. Those were the thoughts that filled her mind as she let rip with her Spitfire, riddling a full squad of IMC Grunts with holes, reloading as they collapsed.

She dropped the box, whipping her RE-45 up as a Spectre landed in front of her. Twenty rounds riddled its metal chassis, and the AI trooper collapsed in a smoking ruin. Anna slammed a fresh clip home, then picked up the box feed for her Spitfire, locking it in place, feeding the belt through the breech. She cloaked, stalking forward, looking for new targets. It would be a few minutes before she was authorized to drop another Titan.

"Sarah, I got a positive ID, but it doesn't make any sense… this guy fell off the radar 15 years ago," Bish's disbelieving voice cut across the tactical channel.

"Spit it out Bish, we're running outta time," there was a definite note of urgency in Sarah's voice.

"His name's MacAllan. He was already a legend when I was just a rookie—only not on our side."

And Anna remembered that name from training. MacAllan had fought in the Titan wars; the first such conflict in the core. He was a first generation Pilot, not blessed with an enhanced physique or the unique advantage of the Ripcord system. The only way to control a Titan back then had been a neural link—technology that led to the development of the Ripcord system. But it also led to a unique type of brain damage that prevented effective Ripcord Pulls. First generation Pilots were held in awe because they risked everything when they fought. They could also make a Titan do the impossible—the neural link was far more powerful than the onboard AI. But the cost in Pilots had become too great.

Anna stumbled, her thoughts returning to the present just in time to hear the ominous report of a Kraber anti-material rifle. She felt the round pierce her right shoulder, carry on through her ribcage, puncture her heart and exit through her left arm without slowing down. She was dead before she hit the ground, her consciousness rippling into renewed existence aboard the Redeye. Except she wasn't in her own body. Or any body, for that matter. She was now inside a machine. It felt weird. There was no feedback of any kind, but diagnostics overlaid one corner of her vision, informing her of everything going on around her, how her metallic body was reacting to various stresses, and where each part of her was in relation to the others.

She was a Spectre. Another one of Bish's crazy experiments, but she'd signed up for it. She felt stronger, faster, tougher. The Spitfire felt lighter in her new hands. Definitely some kind of improvement. Then she was in the Warpfall stream, crackling into existence on the western border of the colony.

One last Archer missile slammed into her Ogre, and Elsa cursed, the reactor going critical as she yanked the ejection lever. Her Titan detonated in a spectacular fireball as Graves began speaking on the tactical channel.

"Blisk, turn that colony upside down if you have to."

"Who is this guy?" came the thickly accented response.

"His name is James MacAllan, former IMC commander. He's wanted for mutiny. Find him." Graves's tone was matter of fact, but there was a current of real anger beneath his words. Elsa remembered the circumstances of his disappearance; concurrent with that of the IMS Odyssey. That had happened fifteen years ago, she'd been six at the time, and could recall her parents talking about it in hushed tones.

That was ancient history, and her battle was only just beginning. Or ending, in this case, the Militia seeming to have a significant edge in battlefield control, taking apart IMC forces almost as soon as they landed. Try to hunt them as she might, Elsa could not seem to find any Pilots. Only Grunts and hacked Spectres. A Pilot sprinted from the side of a low building in front of her, south of the tower. A Kraber round tore through the Militia Pilot, killing her instantly. Elsa glanced over her shoulder to see Duke jetting down from the landing tower. Sprinting forward, she launched herself at the windows to her right, scrambling into the second storey of an arcade style building. The two Grunts inside absorbed far more rounds than were necessary to put them down. Elsa reloaded, climbing the stairs for the roof.

And between two air con units she found the Longbow marksman that had evaded her earlier, picking off IMC targets with some satisfaction. Her enhanced strength snapped his neck with a full 180º twist, the body crumpling at her feet. A 40mm round slammed into the stairhead beside her, and Elsa launched herself from the roof. Now was not the time to get caught outside. Ripple-fired rockets swarmed over the roof, sailing into the distance.

"Blisk to all remaining units: the Militia have a slight edge, and the fight is nearly over. You've got to turn this fight around before it's too late!"

Elsa risked a glance at her battle tracker. 296 to 245, with the IMC trailing. The numbers were a limit to the losses they could sustain over multiple battles. 300 was the usual limit, with Pilots being worth 4 points, and Titans 5. It was a system she'd never really understood, but then again it had been devised by Spyglass, and it held up under all simulation conditions. The counter ticked over to 300. Moments later Blisk was back on the tactical channel.

"Vice Admiral Graves, I have the enemy transmission. Patching in."

"We didn't want any part of your war so you brought it to our doorstep?! Those were civilians getting slaughtered!"

Elsa sprinted for cover. She wasn't even going to bother making a run for the evac Goblin. This would be where she and the IMC parted ways. Permanently. It was the biggest risk of her life. More so than joining the Pilot corps in the first place. One wrong move here—hell, someone with an itchy trigger finger—and it would all be over. Forever. There would be no redemption, no reawakening, and no guarantee she would see her father again either.

"MacAllan," Graves's voice was even just long enough to get the name out. "Spyglass! Open a channel!

Inside the lower level of the building due south of the watchtower, Elsa jump-kicked a Grunt, stealing his clothes. She disabled her Ripcord, erasing all the data since her last Pull. It required creative use of an arc grenade as a directed EMP charge.

"Yes sir," the AI complied with Graves's command. "Channel open, Vice Admiral."

Elsa struggled into the loose fitting combat fatigues, pulling them over her combat clone's slighter frame. It wasn't a very good disguise, but with her Ripcord down—and her IFF system disabled—it might just work. Or it might get her killed. She had accepted that risk. Now she had to convince the Militia she wasn't a threat, and that her intentions were honourable. She had some useful information about IMC practices, and several access codes—which would likely be revoked the instant her treachery was discovered—but she wasn't sure how far such things would get her with the Militia leadership.

"You should've stayed gone, MacAllan," coming from Graves, it was more than a warning. Elsa shivered, knowing someday soon she might be hearing the exact same thing from her former comrades.

MacAllan's response was cold, but strangely questioning. "Graves—you're still on the wrong side, aren't you?"

Elsa started, wandering slowly from the building she was in, falling in line behind another Militia Grunt, searching desperately for any civilians she could try and blend with. But MacAllan's words had struck a chord. Whose side is he on now? He had certainly seemed angry enough about the Militia fighting the IMC in this location, but… He knows Graves. What haven't I been told? There was a loud crack that interrupted her thoughts. Pain erupted through her left side as another crack sounded, a second round piercing her chest, higher than the first. She keeled over, her Stim package unable to heal that level of trauma. It was the Pilot with the Longbow, and if she didn't miss her guess, an Echo Vision didact upgrade.

"We're soldiers Mac. You're dreaming if you think you can sit it out," Graves's voice sounded hollow and distant. Elsa saw boots in her field of view. Heavy boots, tilted sideways. No, she was tilted sideways—lying on the ground, bleeding to death. She reached out weakly… the Pilot in front of her had to understand.

"No… Rip… cord…"

The last thing she heard was MacAllan's final broadcast, obviously directed at Graves. "I'm awake now, you son of a bitch."

"You are," an all too cheerful voice informed her. "Fucking heavy. Do you know how much a Pilot weighs?"

I'm in hell. I died and went straight to hell. Then Elsa had to force her eyes open. The first thing she noticed was the braids hanging over her. Twin braids, strawberry blonde—ginger. Being dead she figured she didn't have to be polite about things anymore. And she hurt. Everywhere. Definitely hell.

"Fuck."

"Well, least we know you're alive. Kristoff's sorry for shooting you in the back, by the way."

Elsa's world was composed primarily of pain, and an annoyingly chatty ginger haired girl that—when she saw the young woman's face everything stopped. Someone so bright and pure should never have been involved in combat in the first place, let alone become a Pilot. Especially not for the Militia. Then again, maybe this is hell for the ginger. For all the pain she felt, Elsa was surprised to find that she wasn't scared. She was dead, she was beyond caring—although she'd just heard something about being alive. Some odd trick.

"You're an idiot, too. There are better ways to defect than just frying your Ripcord system—though Bish says that was actually pretty smart, because it erased the Pull, and destroyed the tracking system on you as well."

"Bish?" Elsa slurred, feeling drunk—and rather less pain. Drugged. They were keeping her drugged. Another level of hell, she was quite sure.

"Bishamon, aka Cheng Lorck. If it has wires he can hack it," the garrulous redhead paused for a split second. "Hey, I didn't ask what your name was. Sorry, that was kinda rude."

"I am in hell," Elsa mumbled, barely coherent.

"No you're not," the overly cheerful voice assured her. Elsa could barely feel the hand pressed against her shoulder. It was probably supposed to be a friendly gesture, but it felt all wrong. Because you're still in your Pilot body, idiot. That also explained why she could still feel some pain despite likely being drugged up to the eyeballs. Which meant she was emphatically not in hell. But she was restrained, although no doctors were nearby. No one except the annoyingly cheerful ginger.

"I'm alive?"

"You seem a little surprised. You told me you had no Ripcord, I called for a Crow about three seconds later, and Kristoff helped drag you inside. We jumped for the Redeye—of which you are now an occupant—and ran for the med bay. Most surprising thing is you're not the only ex-IMC officer to join us. Ever hear of James MacAllan?"

"Graves hates him."

"Anyway, he built this colony here, with scrap salvaged from the Odyssey. Hell of an operation, but there were half a dozen colonies down there on Troy. Fifteen years, and we never knew; suppose you guys didn't either."

"Am I a prisoner?"

"For now. Until Sarah gets some time to question you. We're helping MacAllan get his people off-world. Freeport Raiders are only a few jumps from here, and they've got the capacity."

"Why telling me?" Elsa fought to maintain some semblance of coherency.

"Not like it's classified. Anyway, thought it might be bad to wake up in an empty cell, strapped to a bed. 'specially seeing as how you're still in a war clone. Dangerous. You could probably kill half a dozen people without breaking a sweat."

"Settle for you…"

"Oh, play nice, mysterious ex-IMC Pilot. I'll see you later. After we've helped MacAllan get his people to safety.

The ginger was by the door before Elsa had the sense to say anything. Her voice cracked, but she didn't care. It was probably the drugs, sedatives and painkillers doing it anyway. Maybe even making her less icy than usual. "Stroud… Elizabeth Stroud."

The Militia Pilot paused in the doorway, leaning against the frame, braids falling past her shoulders and over her chest. Elsa couldn't help but notice the way she filled out that uniform in profile. Or the odd quirk her lips gave before she started talking again. "Beth; no. Bessie; definitely not. Liz; maybe. Ellie—it's Ellie, right?" Elsa shook her head, trying to get rid of the annoying young woman. "Elle; maybe? Am I close? Maybe it's not so common. Oh, oh… what was that one? Umm… Elsa?"

Elsa's eyes shot open and the ginger grinned in triumph. "Elsa. I'm Lance Corporal Annalise Corazon. You can call me Anna if you like. They assigned me to watch over you while we run the integration program. We'll get you a generic clone as soon as Bish can figure out how to install a new Ripcord system in you—oh, and he said something about not liking the way you fried this one because he could have gotten a lot from the third gen systems the IMC are using now."

Elsa sighed. Does she ever shut up? As the door closed and locked behind the overly chatty lance corporal Corazon, Elsa decided the answer to her question would have to be a resounding 'no'. But at least they were thinking of bringing her back, as soon as they managed to get a clean Pull from her they might even accelerate the integration process. But she still had at least two Pulls and an inert cosmetic clone on the Sentinel. She hadn't had time to arrange some way to erase them, so Spyglass would soon know everything—and would know why she'd been so cold and noncommittal during that debrief. Keeping herself detached allowed her some secrets. She'd buried her desire to defect, to breakout, with her desire to see her father again—to die, and stay dead. Spyglass would probably see past it in less than a minute, but it was the best thing she could think of during the debrief. Obfuscation of her endgame, as best she could at the time.

Lying back, Elsa let the sedative work on her enhanced metabolism. The pain was there, fading slowly. She closed her eyes, intending to sleep—trying to figure out if combat clones even needed sleep—and what she saw wasn't the expected blackness. It was Corazon's face, framed by those fiery braids. It was a bad sign, because it meant she was… Even when she closed her heart off against the outside world, the world found a way to torture her anew. She was now living in a very special hell. And just before she did fall asleep, she uttered a single, highly annoyed word.

"Fuck."

Chapter Text

Annalise Corazon tilted her head to the side, taking in the tail end of Sarah's briefing. They'd just recovered two former IMC officers during the battle for the colony, and now the Militia was going to launch another operation less than a day later. She was all for the action, but she wasn't sure it was entirely necessary. Until she heard why they were fighting.

"Our dropships are standing by to rescue the surviving colonists," Sarah's voice was frank, all business. "Pilots, your job is to hold off the IMC at the old shipwreck until we've recovered the colonists, and their leader, James MacAllan. His last detail was first mate of the IMS Odyssey. That's where we're headed."

Bish added a little input of his own, clearly having done some digging into MacAllan's past. "MacAllan's an ex-IMC officer. He used to be one of their best pilots and tacticians. He's agreed to help us fight the IMC. If we get his people out safely. So let's get it done people, lock and load."

Anna sighed, hitting the manual activation system on her Ripcord. She stumbled out of the Ripcord chamber next to Kristoff. She retrieved a Spitfire LMG while he slammed a magazine home in his Longbow DMR. Four other Pilots selected for the mission were arming up around them, but Anna paid them little attention. She was actually more interested in the IMC Pilot they were keeping prisoner, the one who had disabled her Ripcord in order to defect. Without seeing a face Anna couldn't be sure how much she liked the other woman, but she had an engaging personality—or she would have, if she talked more, Anna was quite sure. That, however, was a project for another time. Right now they had a battle to win.

"You're thinking about her," Kristoff admonished her.

"Am no—okay. Fine. She's interesting," Anna admitted, jogging towards the nearest Crow.

"She's dangerous. She's defecting, but we don't know why. She never told us, and we haven't got a Pull from her yet, Anna. Her war clone could have killed you so easily," Kristoff jumped into the dropship, turning to offer a hand to his companion.

"But she didn't. And anyway, she was restrained," Anna took that hand, letting herself be dragged into the cabin before the hatch hissed closed. Bish sat at the opposite end of the bench, glowing lines of text scrolling up his face as he accessed every file he had on MacAllan's history. Anna tried reading it over his shoulder, and was disappointed to find it was all in an ideographic script. Complex ideograms, not letters or glyphs. Spoilsport. But she hadn't been that interested, just something to pass the time until they completed their jumps.

The Crow hovered at the edge of a sheer cliff. A hundred metres away, off the nose of the dropship, rested the immense bulk of the IMS Odyssey. Cargo lines, cutting rigs, cranes and other salvage gear littered the area. The far side of the ship was much the same, running down into a gully that went beneath the overhanging stern of the ship. The bow was half-buried in the cliff wall rising further into the mountain plateau where the ship had first landed.

James MacAllan stood near the edge of the cliff, quietly contemplating the rectangular pile of stones he'd just finished placing there. Two sticks were tied in a cross with a long red ribbon. As the Crow drifted closer, the hatch opened, allowing all inside to see the former IMC officer. Bish leaned around the hatch coaming, shouting first to the pilot, then MacAllan.

"There he is! Put her down at the edge of the cliff!" a brief pause. "MacAllan!"

MacAllan turned slowly, a flash of sadness in his eyes before his face hardened into an angry mask. "They don't know what they've started…" he turned to Bish, already taking command of the situation. "You! Get me to the top of that carrier!"

"You got it," Bish wasn't about to argue, not when this man, who used to be the very best the IMC had to offer, was about to help them strike a blow for the Frontier Militia.

"Deploy all your forces around this area. We need to buy time for the survivors to escape!" MacAllan's voice was full of confidence as he clambered into the dropship. "Bish, I'm gonna transmit some intel from the Odyssey. I'm going in. Stand by."

The Militia Pilots on the dropship leapt out the open hatch, kicking up small clouds of dust as they landed. Anna broke left, sprinting for a generator building. Several trees dotted the area where they had landed, and she ran past a small thicket, leaping at the exposed wall of the generator building, scrambling up to the recessed roof area. To the north, her left, was another curved roof, and an elevator cage and access platform to the bow of the ship. There was another cage just forward, past a tunnel large enough to walk a Titan through.

She scrambled across the wall above the tunnel, landing hard in the cage and throwing a satchel charge through the hole cut into the Odyssey's hull. She detonated the charge a moment later, hearing movement on the far side of the hole. Her reward was hearing the wet thud of an IMC Pilot's remains slamming into the wall. She darted through the hole, Spitfire at the ready. No one else was on the gantry, and a curved section of hull plating served as an excellent gun shield. Sweeping her weapon around, she saw nothing but Grunts and Spectres moving through the mostly empty hull of the ship. Bish's voice cut across the tactical channel.

"Keep the IMC out of MacAllan's hair and buy time for the survivors to escape."

Anna launched herself at the wall to her right, running along it just above the gantry, into a section that must have been the Odyssey's back up CIC. Two squads of Grunts were exchanging fire with a handful of Spectres. Anna squeezed the trigger, feeling the punishing recoil of her weapon quickly settle into a more controllable pattern. The Spectres didn't last, and when they fell, the Militia Grunts advanced, three men taking each entrance at the far side of the chamber.

"Bish! We're taking orders from this MacAllan now?" Sarah's voice was strained.

"The guy knows the area better than we do, Sarah."

Anna kicked off as the conversation continued, sprinting to the end of the backup CIC. To her left was a tangle of cables and a narrow gantry. To her right was a narrow opening that broached into a void where the outer hull had been cut away in massive sections. Sarah was still talking as Anna ran across the gantry.

"He's ex-IMC! I don't trust him and neither should you." Which of course reminded Anna of the ex-IMC Pilot she had talked with. She leapt through the air, off the gantry and towards the massive piece of hull that had been removed, still hanging from a cutting rig on several cables. Bish's reply was laced with static.

"Maybe, but our tactics are a mess, and he's seen more combat than both of us combined. Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him. Out."

Anna stopped dead, gripping the hull plating with her left hand, using her jetpack to keep her up. Her Spitfire hung loose on its sling as her right hand threw down her second satchel charge. A squad of IMC Grunts was moving beneath her. One noisy explosion later and they weren't. Bullets cratered the metal around her, and she dropped, landing in front of an IMC Pilot, her RE-45 already spitting lead. The dead Pilot twitched, R-101 carbine falling from lifeless hands.

"Be advised, Titan ready in 30 seconds."

She had no time to wait, reloading her pistol as she sprinted forwards, deeper into the IMC's initial landing zone. A trio of Spectres opened fire at her, several rounds catching her in the side, and she staggered, Spitfire roaring death and destruction. The Spectres fell, shredded by the high calibre rounds, but Anna was seeing only red. Then she felt a massive impact tear her spine in half, and suddenly she was back onboard the Redeye.

Grabbing another Spitfire and arming up, Anna dashed through the Warpfall curtain, landing somewhere west of the Odyssey's wreckage. Two Militia drop pods landed next to her, a squad of Grunts emerging from each, covering their sectors before slipping into the nearest buildings.

"Hey, your Titan's good to go. Call it when ready."

"Alright Olaf, time to zap some IMC bastards," Anna wore a savage grin as she threw down the titanfall beacon.

Onboard the Redeye the Stryder class Titan was sealed into a Titan drop pod. A second later it was catapulted out of the ship by a powerful linear accelerator. Another second saw it hit the shock layer, the thicker atmosphere buffeting the pod and its incandescent heatshield. It was that buffeting that gave the shock layer its name, the point where density increased enough to generate turbulence due to the heat beneath the pod. Three seconds after launch the drop pod split open like a gigantic flower, heatshield burning up as it separated. A second later a powerful burst of vectored thrust slowed the Titan enough that it could make a survivable landing.

Dust billowed up around the Stryder's ankles, and Anna slid between its legs, the right hand's steel fingers grabbing her and placing her gently in the cockpit. The hatch closed with a hiss, and the displays sprang to life as the Stryder retrieved its weapon from the ground—an Arc Cannon. Anna pushed the controls forward, turning and accelerating into a swift sprint, scanning her surroundings for targets. There, in the core of the Odyssey, several teams of IMC Grunts. The Arc Cannon whined as its capacitor built up charge, unleashing it in a powerful torrent of directed lightning. Five less Grunts. Anna urged her Titan forwards, taking care to stand on a Spectre running for cover.

Inside the ship there were only two areas a Titan could fit, and even then it was tight. Perfect for her weapons. A burst of static blasted across her displays, and suddenly half her shields were gone. Anna twisted in her seat as she wrenched the controls around, executing a snap turn to try and find her attacker. Just as her displays cleared another burst of static rippled through, and it was time to move. She fired her Titan's dash thrusters, skimming forwards on raw thrust. The Stryder's leg servos re-engaged, and she was sprinting away from her attacker. No sense running in to an ambush.

She heard the thump against the cockpit roof before the display flashed up the Rodeo Warning.

"Warning, a hostile pilot is attached to hull."

"Hold still feistypants, I got him," Kristoff's voice cut across her radio. Three shots and some scratched paint later he'd made good on his words.

"Thanks mountain man," she flicked her mic off again, and started scanning the tower and gantries around her for targets. IMC Pilots especially. Like the oblivious idiot on the southwest generator catwalk lining up a Kraber shot. It was a split second decision, and by the time she was in place her Titan's fist was already swinging, armoured knuckles ringing against a generator housing as the IMC Pilot became a gory paste. She smiled. One less to hunt down.

A wave of impacts rocked her Stryder's lightweight chassis backwards, and she turned to try and draw a bead on her assailant a heavy impact wrenched the entire torso sideways, staggering the Titan. Her cluster missile sailed well wide of its mark, detonating harmlessly against the outer hull of the Odyssey. Another 40mm round staggered her Titan further and she dashed away, down a narrow alley that led to the west, near where they had initially landed. If she could draw her attacker there she could put her Stryder's superior agility to much better use.

Or she could cut through that gap to the south, jog her Titan past the wrecked car, and let her fully charged Arc Cannon tear into the rear of the Atlas attacking her. The crackling boom of the cannon's discharge was sweet music, followed by the distinctive whine of a Charge Rifle, the energy weapon carving through the Atlas's reactor mountings, causing severe internal damage. 40mm rounds smashed into the armoured front of her own Titan, throwing Anna's aim off so her Arc Cannon discharged into the catwalk supports instead of her intended target. Then the IMC Titan's fist slammed into her Titan with enough force to dent the armour of her cockpit, a narrow band of light visible through one buckled seal.

"Critical Damage. Take Cover," her Titan's OS urged her to fall back. "Warning, recommend regen."

She fired a snap shot with her cannon, just enough to chip some armour away, then she popped smoke, the charged particles arcing powerfully, stripping armour and protective coatings from the Atlas she was facing. It wasn't enough to cause major damage, but that was never the point. It covered her retreat beneath the overhanging stern of the Odyssey. She hadn't even noticed the pair of IMC Grunts she'd stepped on either. She was debating whether to let her shields charge, or press the attack and hope her enemy didn't have a regen booster.

"Three," Kristoff's voice crackled over her radio. "Keep chasing her… now."

When Anna looked up she saw the carnage of a direct Titanfall on the enemy Atlas, shredded armour plating and crushed internals spraying across the landscape. The Warpfall transmitter fell offline with a distinctive whumpf, and an Atlas class Titan with a distinctive bull's head emblem rose from the pile of scrap.

"Good job, Sven. Right on target." And with that the auto-titan turned and strode towards the point Kristoff had jumped from his perch, overlooking the western corridor of the map with his Longbow DMR. The Titan caught him in mid-air, cradling him in its steel fingers before depositing him in the cockpit. "Hey, Corazon, 'zap zap'." Anna could just imagine his sly wink. He wasn't going to let that one go. She'd said it once, once, in a fit of battle rage.

"Zap this," she lurched past him, her Titan's gyros out of balance from the beating it took. She made sure to scuff the Stryder's shoulder against the bull's head insignia on his Titan's torso. Then she was off again, cutting right to move through the Odyssey, seeing an opening a crouched Titan could just fit through out to the eastern side of the cliffs. Where the majority of the IMC forces seemed to be gathering.

A massive detonation rocked her Titan, and she knew she'd made a mistake. Her Titan's AI informed her of this in its dispassionate tones, enabling her auto-eject system. Cloaked, falling from a hundred feet, she couldn't see the bastard that had ruined her Titan, but she could see three squads of IMC Grunts making their way down the northern dirt path towards the opening her Titan had exited from. She squeezed the trigger, her Spitfire arcing up with recoil, settling into a sustained fire pattern as she hosed down eleven grunts with copious amounts of lead. She didn't release the trigger until the belt was spent, seconds later. It felt good to let rip sometimes.

She'd been advancing the whole time, mowing down the Grunts. She saw a flash of movement to her left, emerging from a covered walkway outside a small quonset style hut. Then she saw running feet as a boot slammed into her left side hard enough to break every rib and pierce every organ with the fragments left in there. Pain. Death. Dislocation.

And she was alive again, onboard the Redeye. In the Ripcord chamber was a battle tracker, and it looked about halfway done. 167. Anna had never really understood what the numbers were for though, even though Bish had explained how they were calculated at some length. The IMC's track was down near 100, and she knew that was good. They had a lead of about half over the IMC, and she planned to extend that even further. She was fighting well today, and she knew it.

Spitfire in hand, Sidewinder on her back, RE-45 on her hip and carrying a bandolier of satchel charges she leapt full tilt into the Warpfall conduit, reality dissolving around her and re-establishing itself as somewhere to the southeast of the Odyssey. The generator building where she had started her run. Then she saw the zipline to the tower Kristoff had been perched on earlier. She leapt for it, latching on and firing her jetpack to ride all the way up, cloaking as she released the line, sailing in a graceful arc to the south, and the path below the Odyssey.

A powerful whine echoed through the air, and Anna felt the sound in her teeth, a surge of power slamming through her. The whine decreased in pitch, becoming a discordant, pulsing, shuddering noise. The distinctive ping of overstressed steel followed the dull rumbling that had just set up. There was the whip-snap of tensioned cables flying loose, and the shriek of metal shearing away under intense load. Landing hard, Anna watched in disbelief as the entire aft port engine assembly fell from the ship, trailing control cables, hydraulic lines, and heaven's knew what else. The engines tumbled down the side of the cliff, crashing and banging as they went. Several long seconds later there was a muffled explosion, and Anna knew the engines had finally found the foot of the cliffs.

"Mac! The Odyssey's shaking itself apart! You sure this is gonna work?" Bish's voice cut across the tactical net, sounding frantic.

"Have a little faith Bish, we're not flying this thing. She'll hold together for what we need." MacAllan was firm, and his voice seemed somehow reassuring.

When she was sure it was safe, Anna ran for the path beneath the ship, sparks showering her, but nothing else seemed likely to fall. An IMC Pilot was sprinting along the catwalk to her left and she brought her Spitfire in line with her in a second, high calibre rounds sparking from the railing and plating behind the catwalk. Blood spatters tracked the pilot into the salvage hub beneath the ship, but she didn't fall. Anna cursed, sprinting and jumping for the edge of the catwalk, a blast from her jetpack propelling her over the edge. Bish and MacAllan were still talking as she fought.

"What we need?! MacAllan, you're crazy if you think we can take out Demeter. The air support there alone is bigger than all the Militia fleets combined."

"You don't know the half of it."

"We don't know the half of it?" Sarah's voice cut in as Anna worked her way into the salvage hub, seeing the stairs, moving cautiously up the first flight. "We've been taking the fight to them every day, while you've been hiding out in the sticks."

"Believe me, I'm not hiding anymore." MacAllan wasn't pulling his punches anymore. The IMC had attacked his people, and managed to piss him off. Badly. As a first generation pilot who just wanted to live out his life in peace, pissing him off was about the worst thing anyone could have done. Just like running from Annalise Corazon and hiding in a corner tended to be a bad idea. Normally. She heard the click as she threw her satchel charge. Arc mine, was all she had time to think before the surging electricity fried her already armed charge, pre-detonating it.

Anna shook her head to clear the nonexistent ringing from her ears, stepping out of the Ripcord chamber. Well, at least I got the bitch. She considered her options, taking her decisive action chit from the rack and putting it through the construction link. 40 seconds less until her next Titan was ready. Which meant all she had to do was survive for twenty when she hit the ground. She landed amidst a squad of Grunts, the four combat cloned soldiers splintering off, covering each other as they advanced.

An IMC Titan, Atlas chassis, dashed through the Grunts' formation, Quad Rocket firing rapidly spiraling rockets, four at a time. Anna rolled, bringing her Sidewinder up to target the Titan as she readied a satchel charge. The charge flew wide, detonating early, stripping shields by about half. Micro-rockets vomited forth from her anti-Titan weapon, and the rest of those shields disappeared with astonishing rapidity. Reloading, the IMC Pilot decided to try and preserve his mount, dashing away, around the corner of a secondary generator building behind the main tower.

"Ok, your Titan's prepped for launch. Call it when ready." Sarah's voice, a canned message, played on Anna's private channel. Anna threw the locator beacon between the tower and the generator building, leaping at the wall of the former, using it as a springboard to reach the generator building with a little extra thrust from her jetpack. She sprinted west along the roof, leaping at a large hull panel suspended on massive cables that ran to a tower in a small stand of trees to the far west of the area. Halfway across the hull plating she stopped, hanging on with a grip glove and modicum of thrust from her jetpack. Her Titan was still three seconds away.

She could see the trail of fire descending from orbit, the drop casing opening like a lethal flower, ceramic heat shields burning up as they finished their descent. Her Titan was a trail of fire, thrust pack firing to slow its descent to something more survivable. The dirt track shook, a cloud of dust stirred up around her Titan's landing point, and Anna smiled, launching herself away from the hull panel she was hanging from. She landed on the roof of the cockpit, sliding down and grabbing the egress handle to swing herself into the cockpit.

The sounds of an intense battle rang out and echoed within the hull of the Odyssey, and Anna pushed both sticks forward, urging her mount into an agile sprint, dashing into the hull of the crashed ship. Backed into a corner, his Titan half ruined, fighting for his life, was Kristoff. She watched as his 40mm cannon spat a trio of rounds at his attackers, an Atlas and an Ogre. Then he dashed back, Slaved Warheads darting from the boxy launcher in his Titan's shoulders. The Ogre fired a cluster missile, hemming him in.

The missile slammed against a particle wall, Kristoff's Titan lowering its hand. In all this time Anna's Arc Cannon had only just finished charging. Three seconds. Lightning arced from the Ogre to the Atlas, and a cluster missile slammed into the larger Titan's rear, forcing it to turn. This, in turn, allowed Kristoff to plant six rapid-fire rounds into its reactor housing; and then turn to punch the IMC Atlas he was also facing off against.

That Titan dashed forward, using its bulk to pin Kristoff's in place. Anna could see the tell-tale blue-white glow of a reactor overload. There was no way out. Kristoff swore, managing to stagger the Ogre Anna was fighting against before the nuclear ejection destroyed him and his Titan. Anna ground her teeth, incensed. Sure, Kristoff would be back in seconds, but it was the principle of the matter. Nobody was allowed to hurt her friends like that. The ejecting pilot had also taken himself out with the explosion, the roof in that section being so low. So the target of Anna's rage became the Ogre in front of her, which was suddenly smashed backwards by a steel fist before having the last of its armour torn away by another Arc Cannon blast.

The Ogre's chaingun began to spin up, peppering her Stryder with impacts, slowly tearing at her shields. This IMC pilot was determined to fight to the very last. The chaingun was tearing at her armour, and Anna surged forwards, using all of her Titan's dash capacity. She jerked her right arm forwards on the controls, and her Titan aped the movement, steel fist crushing through the cockpit of the IMC Ogre, tearing the Pilot out, still in her command harness. She looked exactly like Elsa, and Anna was suddenly haunted by a vision of what a terrifying true death this would have been had Elsa enacted her plan just a little differently.

Blood dripped from armoured knuckles, and Anna stared at the gory remains in her Titan's fist an instant before it wrapped around the grip of her Arc Cannon. She put it out of her mind as quickly as possible. She'd executed dozens of nameless, faceless IMC Pilots before, just like this… so why did it seem so different? And why did I think about Elsa? But familiar voices cut across the tactical channel before she had time to answer her own questions.

"Hot damn, this intel is a goldmine, Mac!" Bish was full of enthusiasm, until he added: "But kicking the IMC out of the Frontier? That's just impossible."

"Wrong word Bish," MacAllan's voice was calm but determined. "This scenario can work, I know it. And so does Graves."

Anna started moving again, her Stryder loping along in its agile sprint, main gun sweeping left and right, searching for new targets. Bish and MacAllan were still talking over the tactical net.

"Yeah? How?"

"Let's just say that once upon a time we worked it out together," coming from MacAllan, that sounded more than a little threatening. Anna suddenly pitied the IMC. They'd forced MacAllan out of retirement once, and now he was going to make sure they wouldn't get a chance to do it again. Ever.

"Well done team! All the survivors escaped and MacAllan got the intel." Sarah's voice crackled across the tactical net. "Now chase those IMC Pilots back to their evac ships."

Anna began her run, noting that the IMC dropship would be arriving somewhere near she had first entered battle, next to the grave MacAllan had been standing over. She was still instinctively hunting for targets, a small bolt of lightning from her Arc Cannon taking out a pair of Spectres, but her mind was elsewhere, on the Redeye. The medtechs and neurosci's have had more than enough time to get a pull from Elsa, right? and to get her a new body?

"Why are we taking orders from this guy, Sarah?" Bish echoed Sarah's question from the start of the battle. "Well, he just uploaded more intel than we've grabbed in the past year. I think we might just have a chance of taking the fight back to the IMC."

"Graves once told me we could change the IMC from the inside, but it's only gotten worse." If anything, MacAllan sounded disappointed. Maybe he'd had a noble goal once, but it had proven impossible. Maybe he'd seen the problem, and been powerless to change it. Or maybe he'd just gotten tired of fighting. Whatever his reasons, he was fighting for the Militia now—the IMC was a lost cause.

"Call the shot Mac, where to next?" Bish spoke as Anna prepared to manually engage her Ripcord system. No sense staying on the field here. The battle was done, it had no further need of Pilots or Titans. Just before she hit the Pull, Anna heard MacAllan's intended target, and felt her breath catch in her throat.

"Angel City."

Elizabeth Stroud groaned loudly, theatrically, even. Because she had a visitor. A young, petite, feisty and annoying kind of visitor. One that also seemed to lack any fear—but that might have been because they were both now in cosmetic clones. Elsa had seen herself in the mirror earlier, nothing special, just bland faced, bland looking clone, moderately attractive, modestly endowed, but brown eyes… at least she'd had time to dye her hair so something was right. The medical personnel had promised her a clone in days—she'd expected weeks, but apparently the Militia had better gene-tailoring than even the top IMC scientists. That, or the IMC had been lying to them about the difficulty of creating and maintaining cosmetic clones. Now there's a pleasant thought for keeping your crazy super-soldier population in line…

The annoying ginger ball of barely repressed energy held out her hand in a gesture of greeting, forcing Elsa to sit up so she could shake it properly. Once. Can't she take a fucking hint? I wanted to be left alone. But apparently that was no longer an option, because the young woman in front of her was now explaining that not only was she being watched—and that that was the redhead's responsibility—but that they would also be roommates. If she snores, I'll smother her, Elsa decided silently, not sure quite how serious she was.

Miss Corazon took her on a grand tour, and although the layout was different to the IMC vessels she was used to, the Redeye was not a maze. Everything was clearly marked, and the crew seemed polite enough, making way as the ginger menace plowed past them, all smiles and elbows. She got jostled a fair bit in return, but it didn't seem to bother her. Until an absolute mountain of a man ran into her, pressing her back to the wall. Elsa watched in bemusement as her guide kissed this giant's cheek and wrapped him in a bear hug—which got tight enough for him to gently pry her away.

"Ease up there feistypants, I only died like twice? Three times?" and here he received a solid thump against his chest. It didn't seem to faze him at all. "Okay then, try and break my ribs you violent little spitfire. Just remember whose up there to save your ass." The ginger pouted as he left, mockingly hurt. He inclined his head towards Elsa, offering a word of greeting, which she was forced to return. He continued on his way as if nothing had happened. He understood her desire for solitude.

"So anyway," Elsa's erstwhile guide said, opening one of many nondescript hatches along the crew corridor. "These are my quarters. Second bed folds out from the wall above mine. Communal bathing facilities. Sorry."

That was when Elsa started to notice the mess. It was like Corazon's personal effects had been loaded into a bomb and blasted throughout the room. A comment to that effect elicited only a shrug. Then there was the decor—not at all what she had been expecting. Front and centre, above the bed, was a large poster of a mechanic working on part of an Atlas. Shin coupling and shock dampers if Elsa recalled her tech manual correctly. But it wasn't what was in the picture, but rather what wasn't. The mechanic wasn't particularly busty, but she wasn't particularly clothed in that area either. Grease was smeared against her face and arms in a way that suggested maybe she had worked mechanical once or twice. She sat on an upturned supply crate, one hand resting on the ring end of a massive spanner; her other arm crossing her thigh, as if she were leaning forward to confide some raucous tale or secret nugget of wisdom.

"You like her too?" Corazon asked, sitting on her bed, leaning against the wall, stripped to the waist. Her zip-up fatigues were tied arm over arm at her waist, and she wore only a modest bra. Sweat beaded against her skin, her shoulders, chest, and face. It was hot in the small room, and Elsa urgently recalled the technicians note about the aircon still not working properly after all the damage the ship had taken over Yuma—damage she had helped to inflict, at least in part. There was sink in here at least, and a mirror—and a fold out toilet with a sliding partition for privacy. Elsa shook her head, splashing some water from the sink against her face. It was too damned hot.

"Hey, Elsa—Elizabeth—I–I asked you a question…" Elsa frowned. Corazon had been all bluster and confidence before, so why did her voice have that tremble—and why had she tried to sound firm then changed her tone almost immediately? Elsa wasn't sure, but maybe she was afraid of being too obvious, too forward about things. So Elsa shrugged off her own ill-fitting fatigues, leaving on her t-shirt, and leant nonchalantly against the wall opposite the bed.

"So you did, Corazon," Elsa spoke quietly, and somehow earned a quiet huff from the other young woman and Pilot across from her. "I don't like her. She's a fake. I doubt she ever worked in a 'shop more than a day or tow for that shoot."

"You'd be wrong, then—and call me Anna. Please."

"I'd be wrong, Corazon, please, enlighten me."

"That's Jessika Noble."

"…shit." Elsa took a closer look at the picture, trying to ignore the provocative posing. The face was right, and there was the left eye, just a shade too dark, nearly invisible seams running around the iris. The mother of the neural interface. Posing for some mens magazine, probably hounded by thousands of admirers and male colleagues to do just one picture like that. Maybe this Corazon was deeper than she looked.

"That's what most of them say. She pioneered the neural interface tech thirty years ago, feedback destroyed her left eye, and that accident later took out two of the fingers on her right hand." At that Corazon stood, tapping the index and middle finger, resting over the giant spanner. "Right there. You can just see the seams around the flesh-synthetic interface barrier."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Rumour says she could do some interesting things with those fingers." With the stress Corazon had put on 'interesting', Elsa assumed she was trying to be sultry. It just sounded a little too excited, too breathy, to be properly sultry. And then she realized that the other young woman was trying to be sultry for her benefit. Oh, was all she could think, struck by the revelation. Oh, she's gay too—and doesn't mind sharing—interesting. And Elsa put her own, very personal stress upon that word.

When she closed her eyes, trying to think, to process everything, a vision of Corazon danced in front of her. It danced in front of her and started undressing. She blinked, opening her eyes. What the fuck is wrong with me? I don't even like her—she won't leave me alone. It was that simple, a fact she might take for granted with someone else, but which Corazon seemed determined to prove just by existing, by being her main point of contact.

She won't leave me alone.

Chapter Text

Elsa staggered out of the sim, it was dark, dim red-orange activity lights overhead straining her eyes to see anything properly. The floor was covered in stacks of discarded material and new module casings alike, techs scrambling to patch the room back together after the damage the Redeye had taken over Yuma several days earlier. Still recovering her equilibrium, Elsa stumbled against a shin high crate, cursing loudly as she began to fall. She was surprised to feel lithe, strong arms catching her before she hit the deck.

"You still alright all up in there?" A familiar and mildly annoying voice asked, the owner of it tapping the side of her head. Elsa brushed at her hair, trying to be rid of the phantom touch the other woman had left there. "I saw the feeds. MacAllan is something else inside a Titan."

Anna wasn't wrong; MacAllan was insane. Elsa had been fighting him for the past two hours. He'd been fighting back, starting at two-on-one, escalating to six-on-one in Titan combat. He could do things with his Titan that simply weren't considered possible. She knew the sim had been hacked somewhat to allow him to use his first generation skills, but if that was how he really fought—if that was what the Titan Wars were really like—then maybe they were lucky he'd chosen to retire. Luckier still that he decided this ragtag bunch of misfits was worth fighting for. Then again, her former superiors had caused a whole heap of problems for him—and gone so far as to make the war personal by attacking his colonists. Friends, families, people he knew and cared about.

"You're right, Corazon, he's insane. Worse than you."

"You must be okay then, you're still rude." And Anna punched her in the arm, taking her by the shoulders. "But right now, I don't care. Oh, and you could really use a shower—you kinda stink."

Elsa just rolled her eyes, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. Of course she could use a damn shower, she'd been stuck in an overheated sim pod for two hours. It was a surprise her clothes hadn't just decided to glue themselves to her. Close enough, with the way the ship's environmental systems were still playing up. But Anna's comment—it wasn't that she'd said it, but that she'd said it in front of everyone else decanting from their sim pods. Sure, they all needed showers, but no need to be quite so blunt about it.

"Thanks for pointing that out," Elsa's tone was acid, and she huffed angrily, considering whether or not she should actually slap the other woman. No. better not. She'd probably like it.

"Not my fault our sims have these issues."

Elsa grunted in annoyance, but allowed herself to be led back to their quarters, where she took a well deserved and much needed shower. She almost didn't care how badly Anna was trying to ogle her body—even if it was only a generic cosmetic clone, and not her actual form. It was kind of flattering. Especially after getting her ass comprehensively handed to her by MacAllan. That would smart for a while. She was a good Pilot, specializing in long range Titan support tactics and anti-Titan dueling. While washing her hair she idly wondered if perhaps Corazon might have done better. She was much better at skirmish combat, and MacAllan seemed to have a preference for heavy, point based attacks and stonewall defenses. Probably not, she mused. He can move that Ogre like it's a fucking ballerina; or gorilla, swinging from the support beams like that.

Some time later, both women lying on their respective bunks, an urgent call sounded across the intercom. It was MacAllan.

"Attention All personnel. My name is James MacAllan, you have saved lives these past days, and we are all in your debt. Now I'm gonna return the favour—I'm going to help you beat the IMC. Every small victory has been offset by the IMC's superior numbers, with reinforcements arriving daily from Demeter. I believe we can bring the fight to them. I believe we can change the balance of power on the Frontier." Elsa heard a small cheer coming from the bunk beneath her. She wasn't going to cheer just yet, but she was heartened by MacAllan's words. If he believed it, so could she—and maybe she could make up for the sins of her past.

MacAllan wasn't done talking, and the way he phrased his next words made it sound like his so called friend might not be so willing to follow him this time.

"We're headed to Angel City to acquire Barker, an old compatriot of mine who believes, as I do, that the IMC's reign cannot last forever. Pilots, prepare to deploy. Let's get it done. MacAllan out."

Barker, as it turned out, was far from willing to aid MacAllan, especially after they'd had to drag him from his seat at the nearest bar to the Angel City docks. He sounded half-drunk as he shouted his protests at MacAllan.

"I'm through with the Frontier! Ya hear me MacAllan? I'm through!" It was at this point the Atlas crouched behind him lifted him by the back of his shirt. The Grunts guarding Barker turned to MacAllan.

"Damn… this guy smells. You know him or something?"

"Yeah…" MacAllan took his time in replying, as if he was trying to remember what it was that made coming all this way worthwhile after being confronted with how far off the rails his old friend had gone. "Barker was my wingman in the Titan wars."

Barker, for his part, was still complaining. "I'm gonna kick all your asses!" His shouts were laced with consternation as the Atlas holding him dropped him into the sewers beneath the city. "Hey what do you think you're doing?"

Anna turned to Elsa, giving her a questioning look. The blonde—her mind now in a war clone—could only shrug. She didn't know anything more than her erstwhile companion at this point. Anna sighed, racking the bolt on her Spitfire. She missed what Barker was complaining about, but caught that MacAllan considered him an impressively capable pilot—so not a Titan Pilot anymore. Interesting.

"Ok, let's move people!" the Atlas Pilot shouted, sealing the hatch to his Titan. "Let's buy 'em some time!"

MacAllan dived into the manhole after Barker, dragging the cover back into place with a loud clang. His commanding voice crackled across the tactical net. "Ok Bish, package on the way. Start the music."

Anna watched as Elsa took a single step forward, her weight shifting precariously until she kicked off with her back foot, ignited her jetpack, and flipped sideways through the air, landing feet first against a low dividing wall between the dockyard road, and the nearest market building. A subtle haze enveloped her friend's war clone, and her speed peaked as she surged along the wall, moving like a molten silver blur to burst through the second floor window of the market building, rolling to absorb the impact before bouncing off the rear wall and out through a hatch on the roof. In another life she would have sworn Elsa could have been a dancer. Not only was she fast, she was amazingly graceful.

"All Pilots, keep the IMC distracted topside until we get the all clear." Bish's voice crackled over the radio. "Good luck."

MacAllan's voice came across loud and clear, full of confidence in his new allies. "Good luck people, give 'em hell. MacAllan out."

"Ready, Kristoff?" Anna called out, unaware her friend was already moving to a good overwatch position.

"You get a little distracted watching someone down there?" She could just see his knowing grin.

"That obvious?" She could feel her cheeks flush slightly, but at least now her mind was on her mission—eliminate the IMC, buy time for MacAllan to extract Barker. And now she was moving, sprinting, activating her cloak as she moved from cover to cover, scanning low for enemies. There, past the central holosign column. Spectres, Grunts, and a—she didn't even think, left hand whipping past her hip and throwing a satchel charge at the cluster of IMC combatants. Her right hand squeezed the detonator just as the charge sailed over the first of the Spectres, and a punishing concussion drove her back, staggering. A loud crack from overhead told her Kristoff finished what she'd started.

A body from the highest roof in front of her landed with a wet thud. A Militia Pilot leapt from the roof, firing her jet pack in mid-air, striking the face of the opposite building—just to Anna's right—before sprinting along the face of that building, C.A.R. spewing lead at a pair of unfortunate IMC Grunts. Anna was moving again, sprinting, breathing steady with her enhanced physique. There was a doorway, and a counter in the lower level of the building the IMC Pilot had just been thrown from. There was a door to the left, and before she had time to react, an IMC Pilot charged through, firing an EVA-8 Shotgun from the hip, filling the room—and her war clone—with lead.

She blinked, back onboard the Redeye, at least for a few seconds, gathering her weapons and pondering if she should use one of her combat didacts or amped weapons. No, it's early. No need for it yet. She jumped into the warpfall curtain, emerging in a warehouse stacked with large containers. At least the sides were, the front and back had enough space to move a Titan through. Speaking of which… she checked her build timer. Another two minutes until she could call down Olaf. Time to wreck the IMC.

Elsa landed hard, staggering from the impacts against her leg, rolling sideways and using her jetpack to snap-turn, facing her attacker, an IMC Pilot armed with an R-97 SMG. Prodigious rate of fire, but poor stopping power at any real range. Which wouldn't normally have been a problem, except for the fact that her C.A.R. was dry, and she only had two mags of pistol ammo left to work with. It was also suicidal to try and close the range for a jump-kick. All that became moot when a Kraber round ripped through her spine, shattered her sternum and sprayed gore on the asphalt in front of her. As consolation the last thing her war clone saw was the tracer from a Longbow DMR passing through the IMC Pilot in front of her. Apparently they'd interrupted a sniper duel.

Grabbing her weapons, Elsa tore out of the clone bay, sprinting into the construction hangar. Marshmallow hung at the ready, slung from two points at each shoulder. The missile pod on the Ogre's left shoulder looked just a little larger than usual, but she paid it no mind. Militia Titans were, after all, not quite as standardized as IMC gear. The hatch was open, so she jumped, firing her jetpack, swinging around on the grab rail, pulling the cockpit closed. Display screens blinked diagnostics as she felt the bottom drop out of the world. Fire roared, and the thunder of transonic entry boomed in her ears.

She felt the shock of landing through every reinforced bone in her heavily enhanced body, blinking away a moment of dizziness as the cockpit displays blanked and then showed the outside world. She was in the middle of the container yard, and a quick look gave her six possible paths, only two of which were useful for actually entering the engagement. She chose neither, because her role was long ranged support, and to do that she needed space to manoeuvre, as well as cover to fall back behind if enemies advanced too close.

Pushing both joysticks forward, she powered her Titan into a ponderous run, ground shaking with every step, passing through a large warehouse with containers stacked against the outer walls. Sarah's voice cut across the tactical net as Elsa swung right outside the warehouse, pounding down the street towards a pedestrian overbridge at the far end.

"Bish, I'm tracking MacAllan's team in the sewers. They're doing OK so far. Our topside diversion is definitely working."

Bish's reply was instant. "Copy that. Keep your fingers crossed…"

It was then that Elsa saw the massive ping on her radar in the southwest quadrant of the city. The IMC had brought down at least one Titan. She knew where she needed to be. Almost at the overbridge she cut hard right, her Ogre lurching slightly left as she had to arrest some momentum as she turned. The central building to her right gave way to a courtyard with a large holosign tower in the middle, while on her left a network of commercial and residential dock buildings opened up into a large avenue with a diagonal cut and a parking area. In that avenue were three Titans—two Atlases and a Stryder.

"Warning! You are outnumbered three-to-one." Elsa didn't need the AI to tell her the odds.

Elsa yanked the controls back, hitting her boosters, her Titan slamming over a gutted car in the street, automatically correcting its balance. Her vortex shield engaged as the IMC Titans flushed their ordnance, rockets and missiles streaking across the short distance, swirling in the energy flow of the shield, momentum vectors shifting back towards their firers. At the same time Elsa swept the targeting reticle across her assailants, achieving full lock with her multi-target missiles. Then the system kept generating additional locks, and the Stryder popped smoke, attempting to break the lock, but it was too late. A split second earlier Elsa had released both triggers, and four waves of high explosive ordnance slammed into the IMC Titans, who now had nowhere to hide.

Each was down to only twenty-odd percent armour, but their combined firepower was enough to strip the shields and flay the armour from Elsa's Ogre in seconds. The first railgun round cored the Stryder, punching clean through the cockpit and the reactor behind it, dooming it. Impacts shook her Titan like a giant's plaything, but even as the warning flashed up on her HUD she was still firing, ignoring the ejection prompt. She was going to finish this. One Atlas paused to reload, and that was all the opening she needed. A Plasma Railgun round pierced the Titan's shoulder, armour falling away as the entire arm fell, hitting the pavement with a heavy thud, stirring up a massive cloud of dust.

"Enemy Pilot has ejected. Enemy Titan Down. Critical Damage. Take Cover." It was a bit late for that warning, Elsa's Titan was already doomed. She didn't need the running tally either.

Her Titan halfway burnt out through its doomed state, Elsa continued to fight, taking one step forward before throwing all her weight into her right arm. Her Titan followed suit, dropping the railgun as useless, and burying an armoured fist deep in the enemy Atlas's torso, tearing out vital control components and governing linkages. Three quarters doomed, and only then did she look down, her left hand automatically slamming the reactor overload failsafe while her right yanked the ejection lever. The telltale glow of a nuclear ejection grew beneath her, obliterating what remained of the IMC Titans, scorching the building facades down the broad avenue. She let out a ragged breath. That had been fucking intense, and the only thing she could compare it to was fighting against MacAllan.

Except his Titan would have survived.

Landing on the highest roof, just east of where her Titan had been destroyed, Elsa surveyed the battlefield. And that was when she felt every hair on her body stand on end, and a weird resonance that made her jaw ache. There was only one thing that caused that kind of reaction, and she dived from the roof, not wanting to be caught on high if she was right.

Anna staggered, putting a hand out against a wrecked car to steady herself, Spitfire roaring as she mowed down the IMC Pilot in front of her. She had rounded the corner into the street, under a covered walkway, coming from a narrow alley between two buildings opposite the central courtyard of the district. In the distance she could see what little remained of a massive Titan combat, impact marks and blasted building facades. Then Sarah's voice cut over the tactical net, equal parts consternation and deep concern.

"Bish, I'm picking up a MASSIVE incoming jump signature directly above the city. I don't know what it is, but it's… big… and whoa, heads up!"

Looking to the skies Anna saw exactly what it was, and knew Sarah had every right to be concerned about their plans. An IMC supercarrier, the Sentinel, most likely, had just executed a transatmospheric jump and was now launching fighters and patrol craft.

Bish's voice crackled over the tactical channel. "Oh great. Mac, an IMC carrier just jumped in… you better get Barker outta there quick!"

Anna ran across the street, dodging between two IMC Grunts, kicking one hard against the courtyard wall, breaking every bone in his body, emptying her RE-45's entire magazine into the other. She reloaded, activating her cloak, and headed south. MacAllan's voice, somewhat distant, sounded over the radio.

"Copy that. We're moving out! Advise fighters to target the supercarrier's aft stabilizer."

"MacAllan, our fighters can't take the Sentinel down. There's no way." Sarah couldn't believe what she was being asked to do.

"They don't have to take her down. Just hurt her."

Anna frowned behind her mask—just why did they only have to hurt the Sentinel? What was MacAllan playing at? He'd told them he would help them drive the IMC out of the Frontier, but that only worked by destroying ships, not merely damaging them.

"It's a suicide mission." Sarah apparently shared her views.

"Trust me—launch the fighters." Anna wasn't sure who to trust, but MacAllan was a hero, and a tactical genius, so he obviously knew something none of them were privy to.

"Sarah, he's in command now." Bish's voice cut over any protest, reinforcing the trust he placed MacAllan's abilities. "I'm launching the fighters. Hornets, target the Sentinel's aft stabilizer."

Overhead Anna could see Militia Raven fighters, based on repurposed Crow dropships, engaging in high speed aerial duels with IMC Phantom fighters and Viper support craft. Jump drives on the Ravens gave the Militia pilots the unique ability to Blink between two close points using a microsecond jump. IMC Phantoms countered this with VTOL maneuverability and blindingly fast acceleration profiles. The Ravens could also make longer Blink-jumps, swapping position from dueling a Phantom to unleashing everything they had at the Sentinel's port quarter, explosions ripping into the massive ship's drive stabilizer.

In the distance Anna could see the silhouette of an enemy Titan, and having had clearance for some time now, decided it was time to call in her own mount. Her hand had just picked up the beacon when she saw the silhouette fan out into four more Titans. One was separated from the others, and she leapt at the wall, running along it, Spitfire in hand. A burst from her jetpack landed her on the Ogre's back, and she wasted no time in tearing off the maintenance access panel beneath her. Rodeo attacks like this were exactly what the Spitfire had been designed for. Sure, it was useful for suppressive fire at long range, but its large calibre armour piercing rounds worked best against targets of steel, not flesh. Thirty rounds, and change. As that Pilot ejected, Anna threw her beacon into the alley—the same alley Elsa had fought in.

She clung to the wall, watching as her Titan fell from the sky, fire and smoke trailing from the drop pod. An IMC Atlas advanced menacingly towards her, bringing its chaingun up. One and a half seconds. Anna jumped out from the wall, tumbling in mid-air, watching as the IMC Pilot started tracking her movement. He should have been looking up. Her Stryder plowed through the Atlas from on high, reducing it to so much scrap, sowing shrapnel throughout the area as the dome shield flared to life. She ran, heavy impacts chipping the asphalt behind her. Inside the dome shield she crouched, leaning backwards and sliding forwards between her Titan's legs into its waiting hand.

The cockpit sealed with a quiet hiss, and all her displays sprang to life, outlining every nearby structure before locking onto the IMC Titans as enemy targets. Titans currently engaging a Militia Atlas armed with a burst fire 40mm cannon. Kristoff. Two IMC Titans, and they were no longer paying attention to their rear. Arc Cannon, Cluster Missile. Lightning arced between both Titans as submunitions peppered the area with small explosions. One Atlas turned, Triple Threat launching multiple Titan grenades towards Anna's Stryder.

"Dance, Olaf," she commanded, jetting back, then sideways.

"Warning! Another Titan is engaging you." The AI warned her, and she whirled, a quad rocket salvo slamming into her Titan's left arm. She held the trigger on the right control column, charging her Arc Cannon. An instant before she released it, the boxy launcher on the enemy Stryder's shoulder opened, cluster missile spiraling out. Lightning arced from the IMC Titan to the missile it had just fired, detonating it in mid-air, turning its effects against its firer.

The grenade danger indicator splashed across her screen, and she dashed forwards, popping smoke as she reached an intersection, cutting right and sprinting to the end of the street. Another right took her under a pedestrian overbridge, and into the dead land next to the district walls. Behind all the buildings at the far south of the docks. And following the path around there she came to a market bazaar, with a hotel and other accommodation flanking her left and right. Directly forwards, to the north, was more dead land, grassy, trash drifting in the wind, with a solitary tree next to a substation housing.

"Okay Pilots, we're doing well," Bish's voice updated them on the tactical channel. "Nothing short of a miracle will save the IMC."

Anna drove her Titan forwards, past the bazaar, into the dead land flanking the urbanized portion of the docks. An impact rocked her Stryder, stripping most of its shields. The AI informed her an enemy Pilot was attacking her, and she saw the telltale orange glow of a charge rifle. Just within Arc Cannon range. Half charge. Just over. She dashed forwards, reticle glowing red as she bracketed the IMC Pilot. Lightning flashed across the distance in an instant, obliterating the Pilot.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a dozen ships emerging from jump in wedge formation, drives still spinning down as they advanced. An unfamiliar voice crackled across every radio channel.

"All Militia Forces: Third Merchant Fleet at your service. We'll take it from here."

Every Raven in the skies suddenly jumped for the safety of orbit, and rendezvous with the Redeye. The Third Merchant Fleet advanced on the Sentinel, and Anna suddenly understood why MacAllan had said they only needed to hurt her—he needed to buy time for his reinforcements to arrive, and arrive they had. Missiles and torpedoes streaked across the sky, slamming into the Sentinel, massive chunks of the supercarrier breaking loose and falling into the ocean where she had been holding station. Heavy cannons fired, rounds slamming into the Sentinel's aft stabilizer. With agonizing slowness that stabilizer began to turn, rotating from vertical, slowly driving the supercarrier forwards as well as up. All four stabilizers were now in line. The Third Merchant Fleet launched another missile salvo.

And the Sentinel was gone. Missiles spiraled out of control, detonating as their IFF computers found no valid targets. Air rushed into the space the supercarrier had vacated with an echoing thunderclap. Bish's excited voice came over the tactical channel, the static taking nothing from it.

"Okay Pilots, our little diversion—and by diversion I mean total ass whooping—was a complete success. Mac?"

"Package is secure. See you back at the base. MacAllan out."

They'd done it. They'd taken the fight to the IMC for the first time, and now they'd won a resounding victory. Not only had they extracted Barker under heavy fire, they'd crippled an IMC supercarrier at the same time. A supercarrier, Anna realized, that had been meant to stop them from escaping or getting Barker away safely. MacAllan had known exactly what to do in order to mitigate that risk. He'd even had allied ships on standby—ships that weren't part of the Frontier Militia—standing by, which also meant… Holy shit. He knew. Anna blinked, feeling the imminent pull of a Ripcord extraction. He knew.

"Where the fuck were you down there?" Elsa loaded all her anger into a stare that could have melted steel.

"The hell are you asking?" Anna shot right back. "Just running around like a headless chicken down there."

"I take point. It's my job!" Elsa slammed a fist against the wall of their quarters, eliciting a curse from the far side of the partition. "I expect my wingman to cover me. That's what your Spitfire is for. Covering Fire!"

"Like you fucking needed any." Anna had moved dangerously close, her turquoise eyes brimming with fire, almost daring Elsa to take that final step. "I saw you. You like being alone there. You don't think anyone can keep up with you!"

"Because they can't!" Elsa closed the gap. They were so close a single deep breath could have made their bodies touch. "Everyone just goes away! I can't rely on anyone else. Not even you!"

"Bitch." Elsa blinked. It felt far, far worse than if Anna had simply hit her. She wished she had, so she could rub away the sting. It was spoken barely above a whisper, and with such bitter disappointment Elsa wondered if she'd just managed to destroy everything in this new life she was trying to start. Yes, dad would be so fucking proud right now. Elsa rolled her eyes at the sarcastic thought. She could see Anna fighting to hold back tears. The redhead bit her lip, turning away, and Elsa thought she was going to tell her to leave. She sagged against the wall, sliding to the floor, burying her head in her hands, leaving Elsa very confused.

Then she asked the most dangerous question of all.

"Why?"

Elsa didn't want to answer. Every time she'd told her story she'd gotten little sympathy, or mockery and derision. The IMC needed strong Pilots; but they didn't necessarily have to be stable. Aptitude on the field could make up for any character flaws off it. Pilots were kept apart from the general population anyway. It dehumanized them, made them better soldiers. But they had been people too, with lives, friends, hopes and dreams. They were just as human as those not lucky enough to be blessed with the right genes to take to Ripcord technology. The elite few, and it was fucking lonely at the top. Elsa cursed, placing a hand against the 'open' panel for the hatch to their quarters.

The panel glowed orange, denying her escape. She turned to the redhead, feeling less than sympathetic despite the tear tracks she saw down the other woman's cheeks. All she wanted to do was leave. Before Anna could see what she was really like and run from her forever. Just like they all did. Everyone kept her at a distance, and she held everyone at arms length. Anna had managed to get closer, and now she was clearly regretting it. But it still didn't explain why she would rather be locked in with her than as far from her as possible.

"Let me go!"

"No." Another whisper, but forceful, determined. There would be no escape.

"I'm no good to you. Here. Or anywhere. I'm just a heartless bitch."

"No." What?

"I am!"

"No. That's just what you want people to think."

"Fine." Elsa bit the word off as harshly as possible. "Are we done here?"

"No."

"What the fuck do you want, Corazon?" Elsa stared at the younger woman, not understanding why she was being held in here, not understanding why the redheaded bitch thought it better to keep her confined than let her escape and bother someone else. Or just fucking drink herself into a coma. All so she didn't have to remember. Or answer that damn question. That was when the world came crashing down around her ears—because Anna's answer was the very last thing she had been expecting.

"I want you," The way she said it, Elsa blinked, uncomprehending. "Idiot." Ah, well, that explains… wait, what?

"No, you don't." Elsa leaned back against the wall, tossing her braid over her shoulder. "No one wants me."

"I want you, Elsa. All of you. Not just the good bits. I mean, I can see them, but its like they're covered smoke and layered with so much armour I'd need a mass driver just to see what you're really like." Then she smiled, and Elsa felt the anger go out of her. She sank to the floor, putting her arms around her knees. Couldn't this woman see how much she was going to be hurt?

"Coraz—Anna. I'll only hurt you. I hurt everyone. Or they hurt me, and—"

"You are such a fucking stinker, you know that?"

"I'm what?"

"Hah. Knew that would get your attention. I care about you Elsa. I don't know you that well, but I want to know you more. I want to know you more than anything in this whole fucked up universe. I don't think it's a coincidence people like you and MacAllan are turning away from the IMC. There's something good in you. Something worth saving. Worth loving; and even if you can't see it, I can." Anna tapped at the command module she'd just dragged from her bunk. "You can leave now."

Elsa stood, wavering. She wanted to run away, escape all this madness, leave her old life behind in the ashes where it belonged. She looked to the door. Then at Anna, drying her eyes. Fuck. She wanted to leave, but she felt rooted to the spot, anchored by the words the redhead had spoken. She was… worthy. It felt so strange to have someone believe in her like that. Not for her skill, or talents, but for herself. Someone who thought it was worthwhile to know her, just for being herself. It was too much.

She stood in the hatchway, hearing Anna's shocked gasp. Clearly she'd thought she would decide differently. She paused, hand against the hatch, turning to look at the younger woman's stricken face. She just couldn't leave her like this, damn it. Fine.

"I—" her voice caught in her throat, she was only just able to hold back the tears she felt coming. "I—Can I come back… later?"

Anna gave a small nod, and Elsa disappeared, leaving to fight her demons elsewhere. She had no idea how much help Anna would really be, if only she'd let her in…

Chapter Text

It was late at night and Anna was sitting up against the bulkhead, resting in her bunk. Elsa hadn't come back yet, but she wasn't afraid that she would never return. After all, she'd asked if she could return, and that was something Anna knew Elsa wouldn't do if she wasn't planning on coming back. So she sat on her bunk, reviewing her performance during their raid in Angel City. It also let her see the better side of the place, pausing the battleROM now and then to look at the background vista.

Or the moment the Sentinel had jumped in.

Anna kept playing that sequence, scrubbing back and forward on the timeline, accessing other feeds that helped generate the tactical battleROM overlay. It was a brilliant piece of work, MacAllan predicting that the Sentinel would be there, and even better with his resolution of the crisis resulting in such severe damage to the supercarrier. What worried Anna more was how quickly the Sentinel had managed to respond to the Militia attack. The speed and precision of the jump—and launch vectors for the Phantoms—were inhumanly accurate. In fact, no one she'd heard of would have been capable of plotting such a precise jump in under an hour let alone less than ten minutes.

Then she remembered Bish's lecture on IMC capabilities. Spyglass. The AI was a key advantage, but it was also very logical. Good at responding to events, but bad at predicting them. Spyglass had probably managed to tap into all local networks, waiting for an alert signal. The Sentinel was probably the first ship dispatched to investigate. She checked the annotations on the battleROM recording. Bish and Mac had already come to the same conclusions, and more besides.

The hatch chime sounded, and Elsa staggered in, looking tired and disheveled. She huffed in annoyance. "Can't get drunk. On duty."

"Then why're you so filthy?"

"Gym." And Elsa threw a kit-bag at Anna hard enough to make her smack her head against the bulkhead. As Anna massaged her head, Elsa strode into the shower, not even bothering to close the door this time. Anna couldn't resist leaning off the edge of her bunk. So what if it's only a generic clone? She smiled. It wasn't what Elsa looked like, but how she acted. Little mannerisms, like the way she lathered up the soap in her hands and not against her body and—

"Ow!" Anna rubbed her forehead, feeling a slippery mark. For a wet bar of soap that throw had been disturbingly precise.

"Then respect my privacy," the shower door slamming shut served just fine as an exclamation mark.

The next morning started abruptly, some time around 5am, ship's time. Somebody had hacked the intercom.

"You guys are all gonna die a horrible death!" the voice was drunk, and only vaguely familiar. "All I wanted was my damn drink and you took me away from my ha—"

Anna heard footsteps over the intercom, rubbing her eyes as she tried not to wake up. A loud squeal of feedback came from the intercom and she sat bolt upright.

"Gimme that thing." MacAllan's voice. Angry. There was a half-click as the intercom shut off. Then it was on again. Elsa leaned down from the top bunk, eyebrow arched in silent question.

Barker's humourless laugh was kind of unsettling. "I know what you got planned, Mac. Knew the second you came and dragged me outta there—but that Sentinel's everywhere in your way. It's gonna kick your ass no matter what you try."

"Hold on Mac, this clown suggesting we need to take down an IMC supercarrier?" Bish was clearly confused.

"I've done it befor—"

"That's because you dunno how to fly." Elsa's head vanished back into the top bunk, but Anna could have sworn she heard delicate little giggles coming from up there. "Crashin' a carrier into a backwater planet's not the same as shootin' one on the move." Which explained the differences between the kind of Pilot MacAllan was, and the kind Barker was.

"That's why we're gonna take it down while it's sitting still." MacAllan was confident, sure in his plan.

"So that's why you sent the Hornets after it—you knew it would go back to dry dock." Sarah's voice. So that had been MacAllan's plan. He hadn't just been waiting for his reinforcements to show up—they just helped move the Sentinel along. And plant trackers on it! Anna smiled, impressed at her ability to make that connection so early in the morning. There was a moment's silence over the intercom, then Bish spoke up, finally noticing something.

"Uh, Mac, the mic's still on."

MacAllan gave a little cough, clearing his throat. "Right, for those of you that missed that, We're going to take down the supercarrier IMS Sentinel. That's it. Titan Pilots, suit up and get ready."

Anna threw her head back against her pillow. No rest for the wicked. She winced, closing her eyes, and activated the manual pull on her Ripcord.

Standing in the rear of the Crow, Elsa kept one hand on the grab rail overhead, and the other on her C.A.R.. Sarah stood just to her right, the front of her vest unzipped. The environmental control on Crows was apparently less stable than that on Goblins. Patched together from spare parts, but more durable than their IMC counterparts. Elsa sighed, letting her weapon fall against its sling as she loosened her own collar. She didn't know how Corazon could stand the heavy jacket she wore as a gunner. Unless the bitch has a cooling system running through it.

Bish's voice crackled over the tactical channel. "Okay Boss, decoy's ready."

"Here we go team. Bish, send it." MacAllan's reply came instantly.

"Decoy warping in 3… 2… 1… Mark!" As Bish spoke Elsa heard and felt the whine of a powerful jump drive spinning up nearby.

"Pilot Dropships, that's our cue, hit it!" Sarah shouted over the intercom, turning to face the cockpit. Every ship in the formation jumped in unison, and Elsa felt the normal split-second of dislocation between here and there. The rear ramp of the Crow began lowering, and a Militia warship filled everyone's field of view. Sarah continued to update Bish. "We can see the decoy—it's working! The cannon's powering up!"

The station AI began to broadcast on every channel. "All Personnel Stand Clear."

MacAllan's voice cut across the channel. "Dropships, stay clear of the blast zone."

Elsa could hear the powerful whine of ultracapacitors reaching full charge as the station AI spoke once more. "Railgun pre-fire sequence initialized."

The railcanon fired with enough force to rattle her teeth, and Elsa could only watch as the orange streak lanced across her retinas. So fast was the projectile that it ignited the very air behind it. The decoy ship never stood a chance, cored through the reactor, obliterated in an impressive fireball.

"They took the bait, we're in!" Sarah waved the Pilots forward.

The ramp was fully open, and Elsa flung herself over the edge, firing her jetpack an instant before she hit the ground, rolling with the impact. There was a low wall to her right, and a large observation dome to her left. She jumped, flipping in mid-air, placing her feet against the low wall, using the additional thrust from her jetpack to boost her forward momentum. There was a window to the right, in the distance, and a quick burst from her gun splintered it. She jumped from the wall, hit the ground, and fired her jetpack again, launching herself up and over a low storage bunker, one foot just touching the ledge before jumping again, jetpack throwing her into the damaged window. She could hear Bish on the comm as the glass broke around her.

"Clear out the IMC on the Outpost so the tech teams can get me remote access to the cannon."

Shards of glass littered the floor as she rolled, bringing the C.A.R. SMG in line with her direction of travel. Stim, and she surged forward, running along the exterior wall of the railgun's ammo and coolant facility. One jump had her clambering up one of the support struts to the roof mounting of the railgun itself. Another jump landed her just short of an unshuttered skylight section. An IMC Pilot fired his sidearm to break the glass, bouncing from the wall inside. Elsa's SMG spat lead, riddling his war clone with holes. The Pilot fell, mid-leap, landing with a thud at Elsa's feet.

She kept moving, her jetpack launching her to the lower edge of the skylight's open shutter as she scrambled higher. There was a zipline just to the left, over the skylight. It led to the roof of the main command centre for the Outpost. Elsa didn't hesitate, locking one reinforced glove around the cable while firing her jetpack at full burn to blast across the gap between the buildings. She hit the roof of the command centre, dropping the spent mag from her C.A.R., sliding a fresh magazine home as she ran to the north end of the building, crashing through a small skylight to land on a Spectre guarding the area.

Through the window in front of her she could see a large semi-circular building, and the top of the observation dome where she'd first leapt from the dropship. Atop that dome was a sniper with a Longbow DMR. He cracked off three rounds in rapid succession at some unseen target, then shifted position to the grating around the lower section of the dome. Elsa turned to the western window of the arms room of the command centre. There was an IMC Pilot running from the lower ring of the railgun's ammo and coolant facility. She was flanked by four hacked Spectres. Elsa threw an Arc Grenade and leapt from the window, firing her weapon as she fell, bracketing the IMC Pilot.

The Pilot cut right, rolling up against a parked cargo hauler, firing her own weapon from the hip. A Hemlok BFR. Elsa staggered against the impacts, falling to her knees. A second burst of five rounds killed her. Disconnect. Blink. Staggering from the pod. Elsa grunted in annoyance, collecting her weapons from the rack. She knew she should have taken that extra split-second to try and identify the IMC Pilot's weapon, but from that distance and that angle a Hemlok and an R-101 didn't look all that different. She cursed, sotto voce, and stepped into the warpfall conduit.

Anna hit the ground hard, full thrust from her jetpack not quite enough to mitigate the impact. Behind her three satchel charges detonated, scrapping the IMC's auto-turret. A trio of Grunts ziplined from the safety of a Goblin, and Anna turned her Spitfire on them, the powerful kick settling into a stable pattern after a few rounds had been fired off. The Grunts never stood a chance, torn to shreds by the high calibre armour-piercing rounds. That was what happened when heavy support weapons were used against soft targets. Beneath her helmet Anna wore a savage grin, but she wondered where Elsa was—she had complained about lacking support during their last mission.

An IMC Pilot ran past her, sprinting for cover in the core hangar at the southern end of the Outpost. DMR tracers whined off the decking behind the Pilot. Anna held the trigger of her LMG, bringing the sights over the fleeing Pilot as the weapon began to recoil. The IMC Pilot surged forwards, jumping at the cylindrical power core occupying the centre of the hangar, running across the armoured plating there. Anna's Spitfire clicked empty while her current foe was still alive.

A heavy round punched clean through her shoulder as she drew her RE-45, spraying the Pilot, the core, and a nearby Marvin with rounds. The Pilot fell, hitting the ground in a crumpled heap. The Marvin's body sparked and fell backwards. Anna felt kind of bad about that. MRVNs were simple AI's, barely deserving of the name. They were used extensively for tedious and hazardous jobs. Anything that could be easily automated.

Running out the east doors, Anna heard Sarah's voice over the tactical channel, sounding very urgent. "Mac, the Sentinel's moving. They're trying to make a warp jump."

"Bish, we gotta take out the jump drive." MacAllan's response was immediate and decisive.

There was a pregnant pause, and Anna clambered to the top of a rocky spire between the core hangar and the command center, activating her cloak. The rocks were added to make the Outpost seem a little more natural. There was even some moss around the base. Overhead Anna could see the Sentinel attempting to pull out of position, lining up for an emergency jump. When Bish finally spoke, his voice sounded strained.

"Working… got it! Firing now."

A beam of orange-white punched clean through the Sentinel's aft quarter. Blue-white explosions rippled from beneath one of her drive arrays, and a massive chunk of ship began drifting away. The ship didn't stop moving. It hadn't even slowed down. Judging by the fire raging in its aft section though, it wasn't going to make that jump anymore. Instead it was turning, angling away from the Outpost and the railgun.

"Keep it up team. We'll need a lot more firepower to take out the Sentinel." MacAllan sounded determined as ever; a promise to those fighting for him.

Sarah's voice sounded in her ear, a recording. "Pilot, your Titan will be ready in 30 seconds."

Anna leapt from the rocks, her Spitfire and sidearm reloaded, ready for action. Just in the distance she could see a slim figure, running with a C.A.R., chased by shots from a G2A4 rifle. It had to be Elsa. Anna signalled for her to drop and roll, already firing her Spitfire. Elsa took a rifle round through the abdomen, then rolled, sliding sideways, before jumping at the face of the command center, using her jetpack to run across the wall. She sprang away from the wall, landing like an olympic gymnast just to Anna's left. The IMC Pilot with the rifle had already decided staying in the hail of armour-piercing bullets was exceedingly unhealthy, scrambling through a low level entrance at the northern end of the command center.

"Thanks," Elsa's voice, on the tactical channel. She was already gone, SMG spitting rounds into the face of one Spectre while she jump kicked another, slamming it into the wall behind it hard enough to dent to the metal. Anna ducked into the doorway to her right. Elsa really was a sight to see on the field of battle, balletic grace with deadly intent. Anna wondered if the Pilot she was not so secretly crushing on could actually dance…

She woke up in the clone bay, cursing herself for getting distracted. But at least Olaf was ready now. She also remembered seeing something about experimental Titan weapons tech in her feed. She sprinted through the Titan hangar, sliding between her Stryder's legs, letting it catch her in its left hand, throwing her into the cockpit. She wrapped both hands around the grab-handles and sealed the cockpit, bringing her displays to life. She dropped her arc cannon, taking the larger, chunkier and deadlier looking version from the rack beside her, slinging it across Olaf's back.

The launch harness connected with her Titan, dragging it over the nearest drop chute as a drop pod was built around it, blacking out all external feeds. Anna began a mental countdown as she felt the slam acceleration of the drop sequence begin. Six. Silence and darkness. Five. A soft whistling growing steadily louder. Four. Heat, a vast basso roar as the retro-rockets fired. Three. Cracks of light as the pod splintered open, discarding its shell. Two. The steady roar of the retro-rockets, and the loud thunk as they detached, out of fuel. One. The whine of the reactor hitting full burn, blasting full power out the down-angled jump jets. Zero. Impact shock, rocking about the cockpit, bringing all the interface systems online.

After unlimbering her arc cannon, Anna rammed both sticks forward, her Titan sprinting from the southern landing pad into the rocky gap between the command building and the railgun's ammo and coolant facility. Halfway down the open stretch in front of her was a cluster of Spectres. Even just charging up this new arc cannon felt impressive, the distinctive whine louder, deeper. Half charge was more than enough. The arc-snap was replaced with a thunderous crash as the cannon discharged, lightning arcing from Spectre to Spectre to a trio of nearby IMC Grunts to an IMC Pilot to a Titan that had just cleared the corner of the command center.

Anna let out a shaky breath, dashing behind the cover of a rock spire. The sheer amount of destruction was… orgasmic. She had no other word for it. She dashed from cover, charging her amped arc cannon, firing her cluster missile as the enemy Atlas began to close the distance. The missile slammed into a wall of energy as the enemy Titan engaged its particle wall. The wall didn't cover the nearby Grunts though, and Anna let loose at them, her shot arcing from them, behind the particle wall, and into the Atlas she was fighting.

Heavy impacts rocked her Stryder as the enemy's slaved warheads finally locked and fired, its chaingun spinning up at the same time. She'd spent too long in the open already, the slaved warheads stripping her shields, the chaingun's accelerator module firing so fast it was shredding what little armour her Titan actually had. She popped smoke, dashing sideways and back, towards the landing pad where she'd started. She had to play carefully now, down to 25% armour.

Elsa barelled into the Atlas from behind, springing off its leg to bounce against the wall to her left, firing her jetpack to clear its head and land next to a maintenance access panel. She tore it off with one hand, using her jetpack to steady her as she emptied a full magazine of SMG rounds into the Titan's inner workings. The Pilot put his machine in a crouch, disembarking. Elsa leapt from its shoulders towards the roof, feeling a round punch through her left leg as she landed. Smart Pistol. She threw an arc grenade down at the Atlas and its Pilot, then leapt for the reinforced grating to her left, sprinting sideways along it, leaping once more to the top of the command center. There was a Stryder on the eastern bridge, smoking badly, armour torn and hanging loose in several places.

I guess I should bring Marshmallow in to play, but this area is too damn built up to use the railgun. Elsa cursed inwardly, bringing up a construction didact interface. It had been a while since she used the 40mm, especially with burst fire, but it would be better than the railgun in this case. With the new loadout primed, she threw her landing beacon just to the west. Three. Far overhead she could barely make out the black dot that was her Titan launching. Two. She could hear the distinctive whine of an incoming jump. One. A green flash overhead and the Ogre she had called slammed into the rocky layer built over the Outpost's superstructure.

She leapt from the command center's roof, landing on the open cockpit of her Ogre, rolling and using one arm to throw herself inside. She pulled the hatch closed with one hand, impressed by the speed of the warpfall system. It was definitely worthwhile trading out the Icepick dataknife for a Warpfall Transmitter. Her screens flickered to life, and MacAllan's voice crackled over the radio.

"We're part of the way through. What's our status?"

Elsa pushed her Titan into a lumbering run, turning right before the entrance to the core hangar at the southern end of the Outpost, passing a disabled auto-turret.

"Our Pilots are keeping the IMC busy and the underground tech teams are transmitting to Bish." Sarah updated MacAllan as Elsa pushed into the lower level of the railgun's ammo and coolant facility. Two Grunts ran in front of her Titan; one massive foot crushed them to a red paste.

"I got a clean signal!" Bish was clearly excited.

"What are you waiting for Bish, take the shot!" MacAllan urged the Militia hacker to act while Elsa exited the ramp at north end of the railgun's ammo and coolant facility, the large observation dome now to her right. An IMC Pilot was climbing that dome, weapon in one hand, the other kept out for balance—trying to ambush a Militia sniper positioned on the dome. Three rounds from her 40mm slammed against the dome, detonating with enough force to stagger the IMC Pilot, but not enough to kill him. He rolled sideways, avoiding the next burst, springing up to jump-kick the Militia Pilot from the top of the dome, his lifeless corpse slamming into the decking below. Elsa fired again, clipping the IMC Pilot as he jumped down the far side of the observation dome.

The station AI broadcast on all frequencies. "Railgun pre-fire sequence initialized"

A secondary window opened on Elsa's HUD, showing the naval railgun putting a round through the Sentinel's port forward engine array. The ship began to list as the entire drive module fell, a gaping hole torn in the side of the hull. And streaking from on high was an IMC Titan, landing on the far side of the observation dome.

"Alright Marshmallow, let's show him who's boss." She missed MacAllan's rejoinder about the damage to the Sentinel as she spoke, but it didn't seem important.

Her Ogre lumbered around the northern landing pad, cutting past the observation dome to find where the IMC Titan had landed. As she moved Elsa worked the controls to reload her 40mm, priming her multi-target missiles at the same time. The IMC Titan had landed next to a dented shipping container, and was already firing as Elsa rounded the corner, Quad Rocket spewing munitions at an alarming rate. Elsa swept her shaking reticle over the IMC Atlas, unleashing a full spread of multi-target missiles before firing a burst of 40mm rounds to stagger it. A swirling vortex of energy captured her missiles and cannon rounds before they could strike.

Elsa swore, throwing up her Titan's left hand as the Atlas released its void shield and fired a rocket salvo. There was enough ordnance swirling around her Titan's left hand to level a small building. Elsa dashed forward.

"Catch this."

The Ogre's left hand dropped the shield, sending rockets and missiles out like the blast from a gigantic shotgun. The enemy Atlas staggered with the impact, reduced to half armour, and Elsa took another great step forward in her Titan, throwing her right arm forward at full extension. Her Ogre copied the motion, enhanced servos turning the melee attack into a devastating haymaker, stoving in the front of the Atlas's cockpit.

The IMC Titan reloaded, unleashing another rocket salvo at point blank range, rapid firing its Quad Rocket so fast that pieces were falling off as the Titan began to burn down through its doomed state. It threw a punch of its own, then jetted back, throwing up its void shield as Elsa fired two bursts of 40mm at it. She rushed forward, attempting to execute the Titan, but its Pilot had already begun the ejection the sequence, the blast ripping armour from Elsa's Titan as she closed the range.

There was a bright streak of blue-white lightning crackling into the sky, and a sound like the thunder of an angry god. The IMC Pilot was vaporised in mid-air. An all too cheerful—and familiar—voice sounded over the comm.

"Thought you could use a hand."

"Thanks." Elsa's reply was acid. Her Titan was kitted out to destroy enemy Titans. She didn't need any help with that. It was only on foot that she really needed any support, covering fire to allow her to advance through the ranks of the enemy, or sniper support to cover her back as she shredded support forces. Her Titan rocked as Corazon's Stryder punched it, sending her reeling. She only had an instant to feel betrayed before the slaved warheads slammed into Corazon's smaller Titan, shredding the last of its armour. Elsa watched as Corazon ejected, cloaking before the apex of her launch. Turning her Ogre to face this new threat, Elsa saw an IMC Ogre with a devil's head emblem emblazoned on the hull. Duke Laski. Every time you were an ass. Elsa sprinted forward in her Titan, firing a full spread of multi-target missiles only to be met with a return salvo of automatic 40mm fire.

Automatic?

Elsa only had a moment to be shocked before slamming fist-first into Duke's Titan, sending it reeling back, slamming into the side of the core hangar at the southern end of the Outpost. Her follow up was three bursts of 40mm, her Ogre staggering under the punishing fire of Duke's automatic weapon. The IMC Ogre dashed to the side, and Elsa heard the lock warning as the first of the slaved warheads punched through the armour on her Titan's right side. Overhead a pencil thin beam of yellow-orange flashed, staggering the enemy Ogre as it reloaded. She heard a thump against the roof of her cockpit.

"A friendly Pilot is riding your Titan." The onboard AI informed her. Micro-missiles rocketed from her right shoulder, the Pilot on her back aiming for Duke's Ogre. "A friendly Pilot is engaging your target."

Sometimes AI's could be helpful at explaining the painfully obvious. Elsa ran forward, not waiting for her shields to recharge. Half a spread of multi-target missiles rocked Duke's Titan as it began firing, ripping great chunks of armour from her own Titan. Her vortex shield caught a salvo of slaved warheads, but Duke dashed forward, spoiling her aim with a punch that tore her Ogre's left arm clean off.

Tore it off and slammed it down over her cockpit as the onboard AI urged her to eject.

"No you fucking didn't!" Anna screamed, leaping from Elsa's doomed Titan, slinging all three satchel charges at the heavily damaged Ogre in front of her. A single sideways blast from her jetpack ensured she was clear of the blast.

The enemy Ogre disintegrated under the sheer power of the explosives, the Pilot not even having the time to pull the ejection lever. It was okay, Elsa would be back in the fight in seconds—but so would the IMC bastard she'd just destroyed.

"Halfway through, team. What's going on?" MacAllan's voice crackled over the tactical channel.

Anna ran inside the southern end of the railgun's ammo and coolant facility, gunning down a Spectre about to kill a Militia Grunt. Another Spectre landed on the window ledge to her right, knocking the Grunt down. The Grunt scrambled back, firing his shotgun from the floor, staggering the Spectre. Anna sprinted forward, a blast from her jetpack turning her kick into a blow powerful enough to snap the Spectre in half. Sarah's voice was suddenly clear on comms.

"The IMC's putting up a hell of a fight down here. Bish, how's the signal?"

"Nice and clean. Cannon just cooled down enough to re-fire, lemme go again." Bish was ready and waiting.

Jumping, Anna gripped the high wall to her right before leaping forward, rolling through a broken skylight window and onto the roof of the railgun's ammo and coolant facility. Up close she could see the autoloader jacking a fresh round into the breech while the hiss of escaping coolant surrounded her. The muzzle blast of the railgun was enough to stagger her as it fired, the sound loud and deep enough to make her teeth ache. The entire Outpost seemed to rock slightly with the recoil.

A secondary window opened up in her retinal implants, showing the Sentinel struck by the railgun round. Several explosions rocked the supercarrier, and its drives flickered and died, re-engaging a second or so later, firing intermittently. The ship seemed to roll to starboard, armour shredded, great rents torn its hull, massive sections of combat decks now open to space.

MacAllan was full of admiration. "Good job team. We're taking this ship down today."

Anna ran around the cooling railgun, taking the path to the west, emerging on an area of rooftop that overlooked the northern landing pad where they had first entered the battle. It was as good a place as any to call down Olaf. Six seconds didn't seem like a long time to wait as she leapt from the roof—until a heavy AP round ripped her right arm clean off and punched several ribs through both sides of her chest, ripping her apart from the inside. Her body fell as her mind whiplashed back into orbit.

"Fuck!"

She called up the battleROM replay, the Redeye's onboard computers collating data in an instant, reconstructing how she'd died. IMC Pilot, holding position on the satellite dish over the command center, armed with a Kraber AP Sniper. One shot, one kill. Under normal circumstances she might have been able to respect the kind of skill that shot took. But not now, not if it meant Bish wouldn't get the time to get another shot, finishing off the Sentinel once and for all.

Through the warpfall conduit and she landed near where Olaf was just starting to stand. His AI broadcast on her secure channel. "I am engaging an enemy Titan."

She ran, firing her Sidewinder, trying to get a good angle on the IMC Titan, another Stryder, armed with a chaingun and a rocket salvo. A Militia Atlas plowed through the engagement, 40mm cannon ripping into the IMC Titan. An Ogre boxed the Stryder in, coming from next to the observation dome. The larger Titan stepped forward and threw a single punch. A punch so powerful the reeling Stryder was knocked off the edge of the Outpost itself, falling to its doom.

"Thought you could use a hand there," Kristoff's voice.

"You're welcome." Elsa's voice, and Anna could swear she heard the other woman rolling her eyes as she said that.

Anna clambered into Olaf, pulling the cockpit closed, checking all systems were ready. She huffed in annoyance. Only 55% armour left. Elsa's Titan seemed untouched, though Kristoff's was definitely the worse for wear. On her radar she detected three Titan signatures, and closing from the central strip between the command center and the ammo and coolant facility were two Atlases and an Ogre. All IMC.

"Corazon, fall back and support." Elsa's voice was full of authority. "Bull-head, break right, concentrate on the Ogre."

Anna held back, charging her arc cannon, looking for an opening to put her cluster missile into. Elsa's Ogre was also holding back. Protecting me? It seemed unlikely when Elsa dodged, allowing stray rounds to spark from the Stryder's hull. Then Elsa flushed ordnance, multi-target missiles slamming into each of the enemy Titans. All of them were now focusing on Elsa's Ogre, ripping great chunks of armour from it as it continued to fire its 40mm, throwing up its vortex shield as its ammo ran out.

Just to the right Kristoff's Atlas was pouring semi-automatic 40mm fire into the exposed core of an enemy Atlas, his last round punching clean through the coolant store for the Titan's reactor, dooming it. The Pilot fired off another rocket salvo at Elsa before ejecting. Kristoff was now behind both IMC Titans, forcing them to turn as Elsa dashed forward, her Ogre beyond doomed. Anna unleashed a fully charged bolt at the IMC Titans, firing her cluster missile at the same time. Both IMC Titans dashed back, slamming into the Ogre as a telltale blue glow enveloped it.

Elsa streaked skyward as her Titan detonated in a nuclear fireball, obliterating the IMC Titans they had been duelling with. Anna let out a little sigh of relief as she heard MacAllan's voice over the comms once more.

"Bish, nearly done on the mission timer. How are we looking?"

Bish's reply was obscured by an arc grenade detonating on top of Anna's Titan, scrambling all her systems. She dashed back, frantically trying to locate where it had come from.

"We're too close to fail now team. We just need one more shot to take the Sentinel down." MacAllan urging them on. Anna charged her arc cannon, looking for the flicker of a cloaked jetpack, trying to buy MacAllan and Bish the time they needed to complete the destruction of the Sentinel.

Sarah's voice was all the encouragement she needed. "You heard him Pilots. Finish it!"

There. In the window slot. Lightning leapt from her arc cannon to the IMC Pilot in an instant, obliterating her where she stood.

"Warning, an enemy Titan is engaging you." Olaf's AI was helpful sometimes, and she turned to see an IMC Atlas, Quad Rocket vomiting rounds at a prodigious rate. "Critical damage. Seek cover."

A rocket salvo finished her Titan off, and Anna was catapulted into the sky, cloaking as she fell. She fired her jetpack just before hitting the ground, bouncing off a service vehicle and scrambling to the top of the Atlas, ripping away the maintenance hatch. A heavy AP round whined from the Titan's shoulder. The Atlas went in to a crouch, and Anna felt the next round rip past her. The Atlas's pilot ducked and rolled as he exited his machine, bringing his Hemlok up to target Anna as she leapt from the back of his machine, Spitfire spewing lead in his general direction. A third AP round whined from the Titan's back as Anna landed, throwing a satchel charge.

The charge detonated with enough force to stagger both Pilots, tearing armour from the Atlas's right arm as Anna turned and ran, throwing another charge just to make sure she wasn't followed. She heard the hiss of hydraulics sealing a hatch behind her. In front of her an Atlas with a bull's head emblem leant down as it ran past, catching her in its left hand.

"Need a lift?"

Anna smiled, scrambling onto the back of Kristoff's Titan, somehow still functioning despite the beating it had already taken.

Rolling as she landed, Elsa exploded into a stim fuelled sprint along the face of the core hangar at the south of the outpost, C.A.R. rounds chewing up the plating behind her. She recognized the combat style all too well. Hers. Somehow Spyglass had managed to resurrect a loyal copy of her from the databanks on the Sentinel. She leapt from the wall, landing in a crouch, throwing an arc grenade at her doppleganger. The electric detonation messed up her pursuer's implants and didacts, giving Elsa just enough time to draw her sidearm and aim as she rose and her opponent fell.

Four rounds. Elsa holstered her pistol with suddenly shaky hands, fumbling with a fresh mag for her C.A.R. It was something she'd been afraid of, and she was surprised it had taken this long to happen. The Sentinel had to die. It was the only location where her Pulls had been stored. She recalled IMC doctrine very well regarding defectors. Only local copies would be maintained, for further inspection. Once that ship's rotation was complete, any Pulls would be fully investigated, and restored or destroyed as appropriate to the Pilot's former loyalties and battlefield ability.

Elsa took a deep breath, getting centered, the battle seeming to fade in around her as everything began to happen at once.

"We're pushing 'em back Bish! Try the cannon again!" Sarah's voice was laced with desperation.

Elsa sprinted up the stairs in the railgun's ammo and coolant facility, emerging in a small control hub. She ran forward, jumping, firing her jet pack to hit the wall to her right, rolling in mid-air so her feet touched the wall first. She ran up, leaping through the broken skylight.

"All Militia Forces, we're outta time!" MacAllan called an end to the mission. "Rendezvous at the evac point and wait for pickup!"

Elsa rolled, feet striking a large air con unit before she jumped again, hauling herself up the skylight's shutters. She unslung her Archer, leaning over the eastern end of the skylight. A heavily damaged Atlas was standing beneath her. In the distance a Militia Titan was running from the railgun's ammo and coolant facility to the command center.

"But the Sentinel's still in the air!" Sarah's protest was immediate.

The Archer slammed into the IMC Titan, dooming it. Elsa leapt from the rooftop to the zipline she had used at the start of the battle, her C.A.R. spitting lead as she saw an IMC Pilot scrambling up the side of the command center.

"Not for long," Bish was firm, assured of his success.

Elsa tucked and rolled, coming up in a combat crouch, searching for threats.

"We've lost enough lives today already," MacAllan sounded deflated. It was obvious he cared for the people he was fighting with—especially those without the benefit of a Ripcord, such as the underground teams hacking into the railgun.

"I'm taking the shot!" Bish's voice overlapped with the station AI's warning.

"Stand clear, railgun failsafes disengaged. Firing."

From her vantage point Elsa could see the Sentinel. She could see the railgun projectile as an orange streak, burned into her retinas. That streak punched clean through the Sentinel, striking something vital on its way out. The supercarrier seemed to fall, but then Elsa saw that the starboard drive arrays had been knocked loose, imparting a false sense of motion to the scene. Explosions raced down the spine of the ship, and a pale blue glow enveloped the engine room. What was left of the ship seemed to balloon outwards, puffing up in impossible fashion before the stellar fury of the Sentinel's reactors tore the ship apart from within.

"Pilots, get to the evac point," Sarah's words seemed like an afterthought. Why would we need to evacuate after killing the Sentinel? That was the moment the supercarrier's fighters streaked overhead. Only the ship was down, not its combat forces. Corazon was climbing the edge of the command center as the Crow began its approach, a male Pilot with a Longbow DMR flanking her. Two IMC Pilots leapt past the satellite dish, from the eastern flank of the command center. Corazon turned to face them, shouting over her shoulder.

"Go!"

Elsa ran for the dropship, emptying her clip in the general direction of the IMC Pilots. Corazon's Spitfire thundered round after round, ripping one of the Pilots in half. The other pilot must have had stim, sprinting and jumping towards Corazon, Wingman braced in both hands. Her gun was empty and the dropship's hatch was already closing. Elsa knew there was no way to save her friend from a hard Pull. The last thing she heard over the Crow's jump drive spinning up was a single thunderous report.

In orbit she could hear Barker and MacAllan talking, something about setting course for the Boneyard.

"You gotta be kidding me. I said I'd never go back there," Barker was quite vehement.

"I know the feeling, man. This war makes liars of us all," and Elsa had never heard MacAllan sound so defeated. He'd left the IMC, started a colony, cared for his people, and lived in peace for nearly fifteen years. In less than a week all that had ripped from him, and he'd been forced back into the fight on what seemed to be the losing side. Elsa let out a shaky breath, suddenly aware that her own plight was nothing compared to what MacAllan must have been going through.

Anna woke up in her cosmetic clone. It was still lying in exactly the same 'trying not to wake up' pose she'd been in earlier that day. The last thing she remembered was being shot in the head by an IMC Pilot. She sat up and brushed her forehead, a phantom itch from the fatal injury having transferred with the Pull. Somehow it was only the most recent death that ever had effects like that. Everything else felt like a bad dream—despite the fact it was completely real. It was, she supposed, a kind of compartmentalization to help deal with the extreme action and violence of being a Pilot.

She recalled several moments from the battle, etched into her memory. One of them involved watching Elsa as she virtually danced across the battlefield. Another involved seeing Sven—Kristoff's Titan—and Elsa's Ogre coming to the rescue of her own Titan. The strangest one of course was the way the amped arc cannon had made her feel. It wasn't just the power and the echoing thundercrack of it. It was something primal, and more than a little arousing. Then again, she had a thing for machinery, and the people that worked on that machinery. That was why Jessika Noble was a pin-up next to her bunk.

There was a sharp intake of breath from above, a loud clang, and a string of curses. Anna missed most of it except for something about low bridges. Elsa's face appeared from the top bunk, upside down, braid hanging loosely as she spoke.

"Not a word."

Elsa flipped down from the bunk, landing lightly on both feet. Anna took careful note of the way the blonde was standing, feet slightly apart, hands held at rest behind her back. The way her braid fell over the front of her uniform ruined some of the formality of the pose.

"You put in a solid effort down there, Corazon," Elsa finished the sentence with a slight twitch that might have been the beginnings of a smile.

"I don't think I put in enough. The IMC fought like demons."

"The Sentinel was their home," Elsa's reply made an awful lot of sense in hindsight. "If that was the Redeye, how hard would you fight to save it?"

"I…" Anna trailed off, realizing Elsa's point. The IMC Pilots on the Outpost had been fighting to save far more than just a ship and the resources it represented. It had been their home, their safety, the place they returned to after a mission. It wasn't that different from the Redeye—still patching up the last of the damage taken in the Yuma system earlier in the week. That was something of a revelation, the pace and intensity of their recent operations. One almost every other day. They didn't take that long to complete—not more than fifteen minutes—but the time required for proper psychological recovery was much longer, on the order of days. Days they simply weren't getting.

The IMC was fighting just as hard, but Anna knew she couldn't let them win. The Frontier belonged to the Militia. They'd carved it out of terra incognita, the brave souls piloting those first astrological survey ships, and the men and women of the initial colonies. The IMC was only on the Frontier to extract taxes and profits, forcing the rule of the Core systems down the Frontier's throat. Diplomacy had come to nothing, so both sides were now searching for a definitive solution.

"Corazon, are you paying attention?" Elsa snapped at her.

"I'd die before I let the Redeye fall."

"So did they," Elsa pointed out, emphasizing her words with a simple gesture. "Several times, in fact."

"I—You know what I mean."

"Do I?" It was an open challenge.

"Well you nearly did to get here. Though I have to wonder if perhaps that arc grenade fried whatever was responsible for giving you a sense of gratitude."

"Gratitude?!" Elsa was incredulous.

"Three times I saved your ass down there. And I covered your run to the evac ship. A thank you would have been nice," Anna was standing before the blonde, forcing the taller woman to take a step back.

"I did thank you." Elsa's voice was edged with ice.

"No, you didn't."

"I damn well did, Corazon. I said you put in a solid effort, and I meant it."

"That means 'thanks' in your language?" Anna felt at least one of her eyebrows rising as a silent question mark. "You really don't know how to get along with people, do you?"

"It's not good enough for you?" Elsa took another step back, distancing herself from the redhead. "You already knew what I was like. I told you I'd hurt you. Then you'd run away, because I'm not worth it."

Anna all but pounced on Elsa, wrapping her in a bear hug as she tried to squirm free. "Does it look like I'm running away, you stinker?"

There was a long pause Elsa tried to break free, quickly discovering that Anna was actually the stronger woman. "…no."

"Then it's settled. Now how about you buy me a drink and you can tell me how much you hate your father."

"What?"

"You can tell me how much you hate my mother?"

"Your mo… what?"

"How much you hate me?" Anna furnished the end of the sentence with her brightest smile, finally releasing Elsa from the hug.

"I—I don't hate you, Corazon."

"Then start using my name."

"I just…" Elsa sighed, defeated. "I didn't want to get close. I always wind up getting hurt."

"Fine, I'll buy you a drink, and you can tell me what horrible person you are underneath it all," Anna flashed Elsa another dazzling smile. "And later we can have a wild night of drunken passion that'll keep corporal Bass awake three cabins away."

"What?!"

"Or we could just do something nice—together. Because I don't think you really want to be alone all the time, and I get bored easily. Or distracted. I'm not sure which."

Elsa facepalmed, and Anna grabbed her free wrist before she could protest, dragging her through the hatch and locking it behind them.

"We're gonna have so much fun!"

Elsa's expression, if Anna had bothered to look, said simply 'kill me now'.

Chapter Text

They were sitting at the bar. Well, at a bench with a cabinet full of liquor bottles behind it. The redhead next to her was sitting on an upturned supply crate, most of the seats being monopolized by the rest of the Pilots and the survivors of the underground tech teams that had hacked the railcannons. Everyone was celebrating a momentous victory—the death of the IMS Sentinel. But to Elsa, it rang hollow. There were two other megacarriers patrolling the Frontier, the IMS Colossus, and the IMS Ranger.

Graves would take one of those ships and convert it to his new flagship. Reinforcements would be through the Demeter gate in a little over a week. There really wasn't much point in celebrating. Elsa set her drink down, finally realizing something else the death of the Sentinel meant. The only home she had for the past five years was gone. It wasn't like she could have gone back, but this completed the act. Made things real. The Redeye was her only home now.

And she had to bunk with an annoyingly peppy ginger who just wouldn't leave her alone. She looked down at her hands and finally noticed that they were shaking. I didn't have that much to drink, did I?

"How many have I had?"

Corazon held up two fingers, frowned, then held up a third. She couldn't hear what the redhead said over the music.

"Elsa?" She didn't turn, placing her hands flat against the bench, willing them to be still. She didn't know why they were shaking. It didn't make sense. "Elizabeth?"

She felt a hand against her shoulder and immediately shied away. It was only Corazon. She looked quite concerned.

"Something wrong with the drinks?" Elsa shook her head. "Okay, I just… you're okay with… dammit, this music is terrible. Hallway."

And Corazon all but dragged Elsa into the corridor, leaving her drink on the bench. Elsa spared that drink an almost wistful look, but she was secretly glad to have been taken out of that place.

"I guess it must be kinda rough, us celebrating blowing up your old home?"

"What?" It made sense, but she hadn't expected that level of insight from Corazon.

"I mean, you must have good memories and stuff about that place and now…" Corazon let out a heavy sigh. "I could see you shaking, okay? I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I wasn't shaking—and if I was it wasn't that. The Sentinel held all my old Pulls."

"Shit. I knew there was something I missed." And suddenly the redhead was sprinting down the corridor, leaving Elsa momentarily paralyzed. She would have taken off after Corazon, had MacAllan's voice not interrupted everyone and every thing at that point. She heard several loud groans from inside the bar.

"Crew, this MacAllan. With the IMS Sentinel out of commission we have a window of opportunity to make a jump to a place that does not officially exist. Barker however, can get us there. Go ahead, Barker."

"Well, first I'd like to say this is a horrible, horrible idea." Elsa just had to smile as she heard Sarah mumbling something in the background that sounded suspiciously like 'not again'.

"You wanna go to the abandoned IMC base where I used to work?" Barker took a deep breath, distancing himself from the place. "Well, I'm not dumb enough to go down there myself, but I'll plot the jump co-ordinates from memory and fly you there. Titan Pilots, once you're on the ground, look up, and you will see a massive tower. It was—was—designed to keep out the wildlife. Past tense. I'd say don't feed the animals, but you might not have a choice, because they're a hell of a lot bigger than you are. Mac, I'll be at the bar if you need me."

"Pilots, the tower technology is still used at the airbase that protects Demeter. If we can learn how it works, we can use it against the IMC. MacAllan out."

A few minutes later, somewhat subdued—or perhaps only slightly drunk, Bish's voice came over the comm. "That's 27 jumps, Barker. Three days. That can't be right."

"It is, and that's why I'm gonna be at the bar."

The pounding music started up again on the other side of the wall that Elsa slumped against, wondering just where Corazon had got to. Like the Sentinel, the Redeye was not a small ship, so there were a myriad places she might be. She doubted the readhead was hiding, but she had taken off in an awful rush. While she might not have had any idea where Corazon was now, she knew one thing—she would return to their cabin, as always.

So, Elsa considered, the best course of action was simply to go back to that cabin and wait. She had learned patience long ago. She wasn't sad to see the back of the party either. It wasn't the Militia rightfully celebrating the death of the Sentinel that bothered her. No, as she thought back on it, it was something far smaller, and far more terrifying. It was that she'd been forced to fight herself. Not just an enemy war clone that had her physical proportions; but one that had her skills, her talent, her mindset. Her thoughts.

She looked down at her hands. They were shivering again. She ran for her cabin.

When Anna returned to their cabin, she found Elsa sitting on the lower bunk, slowly breathing in and out. It was one of the more disconcerting things she'd seen—but, she hadn't been in mortal combat with her own doppleganger only hours ago. It made sense that Elsa would be shaken up. But at least the techs had been been able to give her good news when she asked about Elsa's recent Pulls. All clear, all intact, all properly spliced for insertion into war clones, ready for the immediate and instant update of a combat Pull. So that was what she opened with, trying to be reassuring; instead of pointing out jokingly that Elsa was on the wrong bed.

"All your Pulls since you joined us have been backed up here, and off site. They're up to date as of your last Pull back to the ship."

Elsa turned to look at her. "You went… I… " The blonde closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Corazon, have you ever fought a doppleganger?"

"No."

"Have you ever thought of it?"

"No… not until just before, at the party."

"She didn't just copy me. My weapons. My style. My appearance. She had my thoughts. She thought like me… exactly like me. And I killed her like I would any enemy Pilot. And…" Elsa sighed heavily at this point. "I just don't know what that means. I'm all twisted up inside because of this. I'm relieved because the Sentinel has been destroyed—so I'll never have to face another doppleganger. But at the same time, I feel torn, because she—and the cosmetic clone on the Sentinel—was me. In all ways. I don't know how to process this."

"I do," Anna spoke softly, sitting on the mattress next to Elsa, wrapping an arm around the blonde's shoulders. "You take it one step at a time. Work out if you're more scared, or more sad, or angry, or whatever—"

"I just don't know, Corazon. It's all twisted up and confused."

To Anna that sounded like an excuse not to deal with things, but she also had to consider whether or not it was true—maybe Elsa really was torn equally between all those emotions. But the hour was getting late, and there was a simple solution—one that might just work, no matter how cliche it was.

"Alright then, twisted and confused, get off my bunk, climb into yours, and just sleep on this thing. I'll still be here in the morning if you want to talk about it—but right now, I'm having a shower."

She suited action to words as Elsa climbed into the top bunk, stripping off everything, stepping out of her underwear, and leaving it all in a messy pile halfway down their cabin. She could hear Elsa's quietly disapproving huff from the shower. She didn't bother closing the door—she had kind of maybe not so accidentally spied on Elsa the other day… it was only fair Elsa got the same chance in return. And, I'd quite like it if she saw me that way too. Anna smiled, turning on the water. It's been too damn long.

Elsa awoke to find a pair of intense turquoise eyes staring at her. Those belonged to a heart shaped face, framed by a pair of ginger braids. She almost snorted with laughter at the idea of Corazon being the ginger braid woman, but the pun wasn't that great. Neither was the fact the redhead was just staring at her, chin on folded arms, folded arms just holding her level with the top bunk. Then the younger woman slunk out of view. A quiet voice came from the lower bunk.

You were tossing and turning and I figured it was probably a nightmare given, y'know, yesterday, so I maybe brushed your hair and kissed you—I mean, I was gonna kiss you on the cheek, but you moved and I—"

"I was asleep."

"And I wanted you to be having better dreams than you were and—oh, god, not like that. Or, maybe… if… if you like that kind of thing."

It took Elsa little while to process those fumbled words, and the implications behind them. Along with everything else. Corazon—Anna—was making a tremendous effort to actually be nice to her. To be warm. And caring—and she was setting herself up for such a disaster. Elsa knew herself well enough to know that the only thing she could really do to those who cared for her was to hurt them. She'd even explained it in those simple terms to Corazon. But the redhead was stubborn; she didn't know when to quit. Or when to stop talking. There were a few times Elsa had felt like just handing her a shovel for all the good it would have done.

"Thank you, Corazon. It was… nice… of you to try and stop my nightmares," her next words were barely above a whisper, and Elsa wasn't sure if she'd wanted Corazon to hear them or not. "No one's ever done that for me before."

"I guess you didn't have a whole lot of friends."

Elsa smiled ruefully. How painfully true that was. The only person on the Sentinel she'd ever made a connection with was Duke Laski, who had nicknamed his Ogre 'The Ten-Tonne Weasel'. They didn't even like each other, but they had a grudging respect. Duke was an excellent sniper. Elsa was in the vanguard. They were worlds apart, but somehow he was the closest thing she'd had to a friend. She only knew his name, his age, and his preference for long range weapons. There were odd bits of conversation she'd picked up, but that was pretty much the extent of her knowledge. She sighed, finally confirming Corazon's statement.

"I don't think I had any, Corazon. I pushed them away before I could hurt them."

"Or before they could hurt you." And Corazon was suddenly standing in the middle of the room. "And please call me Anna—I hate how formal Corazon sounds all the time. I'm not gonna let you push me away like that, Elsa."

"But if I let you in," Elsa spoke softly, slipping gracefully from her bunk and landing in a crouch, rising to face her companion. "You could hurt me worse than anyone else."

"You think I'd do that?" Corazon stepped closer, challenging her. "You think I want to hurt anyone—uhh, I mean, except the bad guys of course; the IMC and… oh, you get the point."

"I–I don't know. I can't." Elsa shook her head, hugging her arms.

"You don't trust me," the hurt in Anna's voice was overwhelming. It had already happened. Elsa knew what came next. "You don't trust yourself."

Not exactly what Elsa had been expecting.

"Your heart's all hard and sad and you're so afraid of feeling anything; of the idea that a single crack could shatter it that you can't see that maybe maybe all that armour you put there in the past is holding you back from your future."

"My future?" Elsa frowned, arms crossed. "My future with you?!"

"I don't care who your future is with!" Corazon easily matched her volume. The redhead definitely had a set of lungs. "I just want you to have a future!"

The cabin was suddenly very quiet. It seemed like there was nothing left to say. When the redhead in front of her spoke, it was in a very small whisper, but Elsa heard every word.

"But it would be nice if you were in my future."

Elsa couldn't speak. She couldn't move, but she couldn't stay there either. Things had gone too far. She didn't have a future that anyone else deserved to be a part of. Not anyone good. She would only drag them down and destroy them. Just like she had her parents—until her aptitude for Piloting had been discovered, but by then it was too late to make amends. Her father had been killed in the Outpost 084 incident, and her mother had vanished with a civilian liner caught in the crossfire of the Titan Wars. She was an orphan of war, and death was the only thing that followed her—but now she was immortal, and so were those she hurt.

That, of course, only made things worse. She was breaking down. She needed the rush of combat to keep her head out of these dark places. She ran from the cabin she shared with Anna, heading for the gym, the sim room, the Titan bay, anywhere the redhead couldn't find her. She spent the next two days avoiding Anna, sleeping in one of the crews' hot bunk areas. They knew she wasn't like them—that she was a Pilot—and that she was hiding something. They never asked about it. Pilots were a world apart, and their problems sometimes made little sense to those without the benefits of Ripcord technology. She figured they would just assume it was something unfathomable if she never talked about it.

Two days passed, and they arrived at Barker's planet, scrubbed from all official records. Elsa made very sure she knew which dropship Anna would be on, then made sure she boarded the other. When they were planetside they would have to talk, but that would only be combat chatter. It was easier than trying to deal with everything the redhead was putting her through. Making her feel. It was easier to lose herself in the clarity and purpose of battle than it was to face the reality in front of her.

Barker's voice crackled over the intercom. "All dropships, prepare for the last jump in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Mark!"

There was the distinctive whip-whumpf of a jump and the whine of a jump drive spooling down quickly replaced by the roar of twin turbofan engines hitting atmosphere. Anna shifted her shoulders beneath her gunner's jacket, far too warm for comfort. Through the slowly opening rear hatch she could see the valley that Barker's old base was situated in. Red rock, ochre sand. Desert conditions. Even the slimline EC circuit in her jacket wasn't enough to keep out the oppressive heat.

"You know, Mac, the tower here hasn't worked in 20 years!" Barker shouted to make himself heard over the roaring whine of the Crow's engines. "You sure about this?"

"They still use these towers at the airbase that guards Demeter," MacAllan shouted over the rush of wind as the dropships reached their dropzone. "We need a way to shut 'em down." He turned to face the Pilots assembled in the rear of the Crow. "Pilots! Take the hardpoints so Bish can analyze the tower. Ready up!"

That was the cue. Anna hit the ground hard, jetpack kicking up a cloud of sand and dust as she sprinted to the south, along the eastern edge of the valley. There was a doorway—more just an opening—large enough for two Titans to fit through side by side. Above the entrance was a support stay, and on top of that, craning her neck, Anna could see a great tower covered in interesting looking equipment. That's gotta be the tower Barker was talking about.

The entire facility was marked as hardpoint Charlie. The central room was huge, easily large enough to house a full squad of Titans. Along the eastern wall was a control room, and high above that in a vaulted stone ceiling was a vast tangle of catwalks and maintenance platforms. It was clearly the most important part of the tower's support facilities. Outside the southern entrance was an auto-turret, and scrambling to stop her taking the hardpoint were half a dozen IMC Grunts.

The range was a little long, but the ferocious recoil of her Spitfire LMG could still be compensated for after it settled. Half a belt later and the Grunts were dealt with, little spots of sand around what was left of them still glowing with dull red heat from rounds that missed. A familiar voice crackled over her private channel.

"I think one or two people five miles away missed that."

"I didn't see you anywhere, Bjorgman."

The crack-snap of hypervelocity rounds punctuated Kristoff's reply. "Had to get into position. Lots of low level cover in the valley—and I do not want to know what leaves a skeleton that big."

Anna ran for the auto-turret, flipping open the console and stabbing the processor with her dataknife. It was done in seconds, the turret activating to recognize Militia IFF signals as friendly. Not a huge advantage—because the turret couldn't fire into the facility itself—but it would at least cover the southern approach to Charlie. Anna continued her run, out the southern side of the valley, noting a trio of very large generators laid out end to end. There was little time to take in the sight, as Bish's voice crackled over the tactical channel.

"Hardpoint Bravo's in that building up ahead. Find the terminal and get close to it so I can patch in."

There weren't any entrances nearby. All she could see was a narrow pass between two jagged spires of rock. Through that was the wide, flat roof of some kind of bunker. On the adjoining roof, also concrete, was a large access panel. She gave it a second look—it had been covered by access panel, but now it was a large maintenance shaft that led down into hardpoint Bravo. As she jumped into the shaft, Anna saw another generator housing set into the rocky spire behind the bunker. This one had to be the tower's primary power relay.

And the IMC had already hacked it. One of the Pilots turned, bringing an R-101 Carbine to bear as Anna squeezed the trigger on her LMG. The other Pilot was reloading a shotgun. Anna grunted in pain as rounds punched through her left leg and lower torso. The armour piercing rounds from her gun tore the IMC Pilot in half. The shotgunner fired, a wall of lead slamming into Anna's war clone. Her vision went red, fading around the edges. Adrenaline overcompensation, but she managed to get her sights on the enemy Pilot.

He was racking the slide for another shot, not more than a second after the first shell was away. Anna kept her finger on the trigger—she would go down fighting. They had to know how this tower tech worked. She was most surprised when instead of firing the IMC Pilot flew past her, folded almost double, hitting the pillar next to her hard enough to chip the concrete. Her vision cleared enough for her to see her saviour.

A Militia Pilot, female, carrying a C.A.R. SMG and a Hammond P2011 as a sidearm. An Archer was slung across her back. It had to be Elsa. But there was no time to talk. No time to ask where the blonde had vanished to for the past two days. What she'd been doing. All she could do was utter a short comment of appreciation over the open channel.

"Thanks for the save." She didn't expect a reply, and she didn't get one. Elsa was already off, flipping in mid-air to place her feet against the wall before leaping out the window to the north, clearly heading for the support facility at Alpha. It was then that Bish's voice cut across the tactical channel once more.

"Good work people, I'm getting a lot of good data about the tower. I need you to patch me into one more hardpoint to max out the download speed."

That was quickly followed by Sarah's voice on her private channel—a pre-recorded message: "Pilot, your Titan will be ready in two minutes."

Two minutes until Titanfall, but she knew Olaf would be less than useful in the built up zone between Alpha and Bravo. Bunkers, rock spires, auto-turrets and what looked like a landing pad for heavy lift dropships. Even through the AO to Charlie was dense, with only one good path to either entrance—although the hardpoint building itself offered an impressive elevated view out past Bravo into the desert sands. Heading west, she looked up and back, forgetting all of that.

The desiccated and wind scoured spine and ribcage of some gargantuan monster ran from the rocky spire above Bravo to somewhere west of, and well above, hardpoint Alpha's bunker facility. Kristoff was right. It wouldn't do to know what kind of animal left skeletons that big. Or worse, the thing that considered an animal that size food…

Elsa surged into the lowest level of the support facility at Alpha, Throwing an arc grenade at the far wall, ensuring the bounce carried it into the centre of the hardpoint area. Lightning arced outwards from the hardpoint console, grounding against everything nearby, including a trio of Spectres, a larger crate, two overhead ventilation ducts and an IMC Pilot on overwatch on a ledge just past the console.

While that Pilot's vision was still scrambled, Elsa leapt to the back wall of the hardpoint and flicked her grip glove on, jetpack just managing to hold her in place. Her C.A.R. spat lead, and the IMC Pilot fell. Bish's voice cut across the tactical channel moments later.

"Hardpoint Alpha's reset. I'm preparing the download."

Sarah's voice played on her private channel. "Hey, your Titan's good to go. Call it when ready."

Elsa jumped for the ledge the IMC Pilot had watched from, jetpack driving her further forward and up at the peak of her jump. She landed softly, throwing her drop beacon out the high entrance, jumping up to a zipline that would take her to a building halfway between Alpha and Charlie. She dropped, tucked, and rolled seconds later, one foot pushing off Marshmallow's massive shin while she dragged herself up with the open cockpit's lower grab handle. Throwing herself inside—still impressed with the speed of the warpfall system—Elsa pulled the cockpit closed, taking hold of the control columns.

"Alright Marshmallow, time to shine."

A savage grin spreading across her face, she pushed the Ogre into a lumbering sprint, each footfall kicking up great clouds of sand and dust. Inside Charlie was another Ogre, armed with a 40mm cannon. Its insignia was a shield with a bullseye layered over the top. Duke Laski. Elsa brought the Plasma Railgun up, waiting for the cell to reach full charge. The whip-crack and sizzle of the round firing and smashing right through Duke's shields was incredibly satisfying. The other Ogre turned, bringing its weapon in line. Elsa fired again, once more at max charge.

Duke's Titan staggered under the impact, his shot going wild, kicking up a geyser of sand next to the foot of Elsa's Ogre. Elsa dashed forward, throwing her arm out to full extension, her Titan copying her motion and amplifying it through multiple heavily enhanced servos into a devastating haymaker. The IMC Ogre staggered backwards, unleashing a full rocket salvo, checking Elsa's advance, the distance still so short she'd had no time to raise her Vortex Shield.

But Laski raised his as Elsa swept her targeting reticle across the front of his Titan, achieving twelve solid locks. Then she fired her Plasma Railgun from the hip, the round snagged instantly by the enemy Vortex Shield. A round that did barely any damage when it was fired back. That gave Elsa all the opening she needed, multi-target missiles tearing down what little shield Laski's Titan had managed to regenerate before he could re-engage his Vortex Shield.

Another heavy punch drove his Titan from Charlie, and Elsa followed up with a half-charge shot from the Plasma Railgun. From on high a pencil thin beam of energy pierced through the cockpit of the IMC Ogre, searing the Pilot's side and punching into its reactor. Elsa dashed back and turned to run, seeing the telltale blue-white glow of a core overload. Laski shot skyward, out of sight, as his Titan detonated in a spectacular nuclear fireball.

Elsa didn't see where he landed, but heard the rapid crack-snap of a Longbow DMR somewhere overhead. She didn't think Laski would give her any problems for a little while. And now Charlie was under Militia control as well. Bish's voice crackled over the tactical channel, congratulating them.

"Good job Pilots, we've got all the hardpoints and the data transfer is at max speed. Make sure it stays that way."

Through the large open space—it might have been a window once—Elsa could see into the desert beyond Bravo, underneath the skeleton of some great beast, and in the distance a scattering of old, abandoned drop pods. Her Plasma Railgun was hissing at full charge, waiting for a target to present itself. Something large and vaguely flesh coloured dove past the window, rising on vast, leathery wings. In its talons it held a Miltia Grunt. The railgun round punched clean through it, superheating its core body mass so rapidly it exploded, showering the desert in gobbets of alien flesh. Elsa couldn't see where—or if—the Grunt had landed, but Barker's commentary about not feeding the wildlife made a lot more sense now.

Bish's voice was full of excitement as he spoke over the tactical net. "I'm tapped in, downloading operational history and running a systems analysis… we're at 25%. Got some damaged circuits, but everything was still fully operational up until 20 years ago."

There was a loud whumpf somewhere, followed by an odd crackling noise. Elsa blinked as her Titan's visual feed struggled to overcome the scrambling effects of whatever it was that had just happened. As her display cleared she could see several of the large flyers like one she'd killed take flight. Soon all of them were in the air.

"What was that?" Sarah's voice was still laced with static, after effects of the pulse. "Pulse wave just rolled through. Effects are fading."

"You do that Bish?" MacAllan's calm assessment, only half asking.

"Yeah, the power circuits are kinda sketchy, but I had to see if they still worked." Bish wasted no time explaining the technical details. "Lemme see if I can do it again in a bit."

As the flyers settled once more onto their elevated perches, Elsa lumbered out of Charlie in her Titan, heading south, past the generators and minor support buildings. Right into a pair of IMC Atlas Titans advancing through a narrow pass. One was rapid firing a Quad Rocket while the other was laying an anti-Titan minefield with a modified Triple Threat. She hit the core overcharge button as she brought her Plasma Railgun to bear, the reactor of her Ogre doubling its output and pouring everything into shielding the Titan.

The first round slammed into the Quad Rocket Atlas, forcibly disabling its shields and chipping its armour. The Titan's left hand rose, and a wall of energy sprang into existence between it and Elsa's Titan. Behind the Particle Wall it dropped the empty magazine from its primary weapon, slotting another in place. The other Atlas fired a cluster missile, slamming into the side of Elsa's Ogre, explosions throwing off her aim so her next shot sailed well wide of the mark. She was forced to step back, out of the rain of explosions continuing to shake her Titan. She swept her targeting reticle across both Atlases, assigning six missiles to each.

A half charge railgun shot shattered the Particle Wall in front of the first IMC Titan before the barrage of multi-target missiles arrived. The other Titan popped smoke, dashing out of line. Unfortunately, in that narrow pass there wasn't very far to dash in either direction, and all but one of those missiles still managed to hit. Elsa fired again, a fully charged round from her Plasma Railgun striking the core of the Quad Rocket Atlas perfectly, shredding more than half of its armour.

Elsa's Titan staggered under an enormous impact, the onboard AI helpfully informing her that an enemy Pilot was attacking. She raised her Vortex shield, backing away. The shield core was offline, taken down by excessive damage. She only had one round left in her railgun, and an enemy pilot nearby doing enormous damage to her armour. Elsa aimed down the railgun again, waiting for full charge, hoping her Ogre's heavy armour could tank the next hit.

Barely.

"Critical Damage. Take Cover." Which would have been a helpful call from the AI had there been any cover.

The only thing holding her Titan together was sheer stubbornness, but it had survived the hit. Her reticle lay squarely over the cockpit of the Quad Rocket wielding Atlas, the round ripping away what little armour was left on that Titan, punching clean through its reactor core and out into the desert sand beyond. A half spread of multi-target missiles dented and crumpled the armour of the Triple Threat Titan before the next impact rocked her Ogre so badly it fell against the side of a generator building.

She flicked the overload switches overhead, then grabbed the ejection handle between her legs and pulled. She was airborne, looking down, trying to locate her assailant. All she could see was the slow moving blue glow of an Amped Archer missile immediately before it slammed into the auto-turret just south of Charlie. The turret deactivated, armour useless against the onslaught. Elsa hit the sand and rolled, bringing her C.A.R. in line with her direction of travel as she began to sprint west.

"Hardpoint Bravo is going down. Get over there if you can," Bish didn't sound very happy, until a few seconds later when his voice crackled over the tactical channel. "Okay, tower systems analysis is at 50%! I'm gonna trigger another pulse. Reverb profiling should help us reverse engineer the pulse wave's signature."

"Yeaaah, I'll take your word for it Bish." MacAllan's tone told those listening exactly how much he could understand of Bish's tech speak. "Keep at it."

Elsa continued her run west until she came to the pass where the IMC Titans had been. There she turned right, past an old, heavily scarred drop pod, before finding an entrance to Bravo. The hardpoint wasn't ticking down anymore—her retinal implants displaying the 'contested' status message. And that was also the point at which she was greeted by a wall of lead from an EVA-8 shotgun, doing so much damage even her Stim couldn't handle all it.

"I guess Barker was right," Anna muttered to herself, safely ensconced within Olaf's cockpit. She saw a group of flyers swoop in and abduct a cluster of IMC Grunts. Apparently the alien flyers thought of everything that moved in the desert as food.

She turned, pushing both control sticks forward, sprinting for Charlie, currently under attack by IMC forces. She pushed her Stryder between the narrow gap at Alpha, on her left the support facility and its bunkers, on the right a massive rock spire and a smaller bunker with a landing pad on the roof. In front of her was an arched rock formation large enough to let a Titan pass underneath—so that was exactly what she did, dashing through the opening, and on towards the entrance of Charlie, Arc Cannon crackling as it charged.

An arc grenade slammed into her Titan, scrambling the visual feed for vital seconds. Anna dashed forward, firing off her Electric Smoke, hoping to fry anything nearby trying to harm her Titan. From above she could see additional grenade indicators, and her audio feed picked up the soft thump of a Mag Launcher firing, and the heavier clang of the grenades as they rained down on her Stryder, each blast shredding armour and shaking her about in the cockpit. She pushed forward, towards the southern entrance only to be greeted with a wall of lightning as an arc mine detonated underfoot.

There was a horrendous ringing in her ears as a fist the size of a small car slammed into the front of her Titan, sending her reeling back through the hardpoint facility. It was quickly followed by a rocket salvo, answered by her cluster missile, forcing the IMC Ogre to break off its attack. It didn't, bulling through the explosions, 40mm cannon spitting rounds as fast as it could fire, throwing off her aim with her primary.

Doomed, her Titan's auto-eject system launched her skywards, bouncing from the concrete roof to land on an overhead gantry. Right in front of an IMC Pilot armed with a Mag Launcher. That Pilot was already drawing his primary, an R101, leaping sideways in a neat somersault as heavy rounds from Anna's Spitfire LMG tore through the deck plating of the gantry. Anna felt rounds punch through her arm and leg, vision clouding with a red washed damage warning. Her Spitfire chewed great chunks of cement from the wall of the hardpoint bunker as it tracked towards the IMC Pilot, swapping out for his sidearm as he dropped from the wall, magazine spent.

AP tracers whined from the steel pipes to which the Pilot had jumped, rolling and bringing his P2011 up, cracking off three rounds. Two missed, but one caught the side of her face and Anna flinched as blood filled her mouth and ran over her eye. But she wasn't dead yet—through some miracle of the IMC Pilot's inaccuracy—and neither was the IMC Pilot. She continued firing until her belt ran dry, drawing her RE-45 autopistol, leaping from the gantry she was on to the pipes where the IMC Pilot was crouching to line up a better shot.

She managed to get two rounds from her sidearm when a 40mm round caught her square in the chest, mid-leap. She woke in the clone bay, cursing. The tactical readout was good, sparing a glance for the overview display in the clone bay. The Militia was leading the fight with a nearly 3 to 1 advantage. Whatever the IMC was planning to do with the facility, it wasn't going to happen. That much Anna was sure of. The rest of it, the Militia would have to earn. She nodded once, grabbing her gear, arming up before diving into the warpfall conduit.

She found herself in some kind of maintenance facility, a large elevator at one end, and a busted up APC at the other. If this place had been using APCs instead of dropships then it was even more of a backwater than Barker had first implied. Unless there was something that meant they couldn't use dropships. She understood in a flash of insight. The flyers. Everything in battle had been deployed so far by drop pod. Only one or two dropships had been seen, and the flyers had battered them severely. MacAllan had talked about an airbase that defended Demeter—an airbase protected by towers like the one over Charlie.

Anna understood then what made MacAllan such a masterful strategist—he could make his own advantages, using the Frontier itself against the IMC forces. It was all making sense. Ripping the coordinates and plans for Demeter from the crashed Odyssey. That gave them a target. Recovering Barker. That gave them a route in. Destroying the Sentinel. That gave them an opening. And now the towers—taking out the keystone that protected Demeter, the airbase. It wouldn't be a big fleet that engaged the IMC at Demeter, but it would be enough to raid the IMC's fuel supply and put a crimp in their operations. Perhaps one big enough to buy the Militia some real breathing room to recover their strength and plan a proper campaign to expel the IMC once and for all.

Mere seconds had passed since her re-entry to the battlefield, and now Anna was moving, cloaking as she approached Alpha, scanning for targets. A trio of Spectres, backed up by several IMC Grunts. Two strategically placed satchel charges took care of them, clearing the hardpoint of enemies, allowing Bish to begin hacking procedures, taking the facility back from the IMC. A Militia Pilot armed with a C.A.R. and moving at a fully Stimmed sprint tore through the hardpoint, leaping for the far wall, firing her jetpack to reach the high back, sprinting east along the wall. Elsa.

Following her, shotgun chipping stone from the walls, was an IMC Pilot, turning swiftly to aim at Anna. He only got off one round before his drum magazine dropped, empty. Heavy rounds from Anna's Spitfire LMG were already tearing through him at nearly point blank as she sprinted closer, her jetpack firing to turn her kick into something that folded the IMC Pilot in two in a way that was definitively final. The tactical channel crackled with static before clearing to broadcast Bish's voice.

"Okay guys, we're at 80% on my tower analysis. I'm configuring a patch to measure the pulses. Here comes another one."

Anna blinked, scrambling effects of the pulse fading slowly.

"The Leviathans and Flyers retreat with each pulse, Bish," Sarah added some commentary on the external effects of each pulse. "An on/off switch would be killer."

"Like an icepick to the forehead," Bish sounded just a little too happy, but he was in his element. "I'm gonna try to bring it to full power one last time to confirm my findings."

Anna sprinted from the hardpoint out the southern entrance, through the bunker system that connected it to Bravo. As she ran she called down Olaf, not pausing to embark. Instead she set him to follow mode, and was going to let his Guardian Chip do the rest. Titan's couldn't well contest the cramped bunkers at Alpha or Bravo, but they could certainly make getting in there a lot more difficult.

Elsa could see Laski's Titan approaching. She knew he had a score to settle. She knew even with her Archer she stood little chance against him in the open. She also knew where he would be three seconds after she started running. A 40mm round detonated against the sand where she had just been standing, shrapnel clipping her legs as she fired her jetpack. Two seconds. She hit the wall to her left, firing her jetpack to increase her speed as she sprinted along it. One second. She hit Stim just before a 40mm round plowed through the comm antenna behind her, spraying the area with shrapnel. Zero.

She turned and leapt straight toward's Laski's Ogre, bullseye shield insignia prominent on the lower cockpit panel. As he brought his 40mm cannon in line for the final shot several dozen tonnes of armour and composite shredded his Titan into so much scrap. Not this time, motherfucker. Elsa was wearing a savage and very satisfied grin as she jumped into her Titan. The battle was very nearly over, the Militia keeping a lead of nearly 3 to 1 the whole time.

Her Ogre had landed between the bunkers at Alpha and a large, rocky spire to the immediate south. Elsa pushed forward, towards Charlie. Something heavy landed against her hull, and Elsa could see the Rodeo warning flash up on her hull. She pulled the grab handle to disembark, grabbing her C.A.R., when overhead she heard a great crackling noise and watched as electricity arced from her Titan and grounded on nearby gantries and antennae.

Slamming her weapon back into place, she canceled the disembarkation, turning to ID her saviour. Anna's Titan, a Stryder, running on autopilot. Of the feisty redhead there was no outside sign. The tactical net was suddenly swarming with activity. So much so that Elsa only caught the tail end of Bish's announcement.

"…time to make sure the numbers work out."

A massive pulse wave rippled out across the desert, and Elsa blinked, trying to clear the disruption static from her Titan's displays. It took several seconds to fade down to a level where it was possible see anything at a decent resolution. When she did she could see great flocks of the alien flyers overhead, and something in the distance so vast it had no right in being able to move flinched and turned away.

"Bish, did you get everything you needed?" Even MacAllan sounded excited.

"Hell yeah, Mac. This is exactly what I've been looking for. Building a bypass for these towers should be child's play." And to Bish, Elsa knew, it probably would be. He was the Militia's answer to Spyglass, but where the AI worked by probability and cold logic, Bish used hard won technical expertise and genius levels of intuition and intellect.

Turning her Titan, Elsa sprinted towards the western end of Alpha, the location tagged as the IMC extraction point. Following her was another Militia Titan, an Atlas armed with a 40mm cannon, and with a distinctive bull's head insignia on the cockpit. Dashing across her view, past a disabled auto-turret, came a Stryder with an Arc Cannon—Anna's Titan, with her once again at the controls. They were going to make sure the IMC couldn't extract anything from this facility—not even their Pilots. All of them would have to suffer a hard pull.

Two more Militia Titans, both Atlases, dropped in, one with an Accelerator Chaingun, the other with a Quad Rocket. As the IMC's Goblin approached the evac point it was met with a hail of fire. Two Pilots had managed to make the jump through the storm of bullets and directed energy that was tearing pieces from the extraction ship as it hovered in place, waiting for the last Pilot to make the jump. Missiles, clusters, railgun rounds and heavy slugs slammed into the unshielded underside of the Goblin, ripping out the deck and severing vital internal components. Anna's Arc Cannon fire scrambled the instruments so badly the jump calculations had to be reset.

Slugs from the chaingun armed Atlas punched through the wing root of the Goblin, tracking along the hull, chewing away the metal so rapidly it literally shredded the wing spar and the starboard drive unit. The Goblin fell, turning into a great fireball before hitting the desert sand, wreckages rolling forlornly to a halt against the shin of Elsa's Titan. She looked down and shrugged. She didn't know why, but that small victory had just felt so empty.

"Mac, how the hell did the IMC know we were gonna be here?" Sarah asked the most pointed question—something no one else had considered up until that point, except perhaps MacAllan himself.

"Graves and I ran war games fifteen years ago. How we'd fight if we were on the other side…"

"Great. Who won the most?" Bish's tone suggested he wasn't going to like the answer.

"It was even." MacAllan's answer was worse than anyone might have suspected. "This war's gonna be the tiebreaker."

When Elsa awoke from the Pull it wasn't into her body in the crew quarters. It wasn't into a war clone either. It was into a vast, claustrophobic blackness filled with a strange floating sensation like her limbs were encased in thick jelly. Some strange liquid covered her face, and she could feel it down her throat and up her nose, even in her lungs. She was drowning, and she couldn't understand what was happening.

A soothing, masculine voice sounded from a speaker somewhere in the void. "Sergeant Stroud, please refrain from struggling against the shock gel, it's in there to protect you. It's super-oxygenated, so you won't drown or choke, but I understand it can be very uncomfortable."

"Where?" was the only word Elsa could manage as a reply.

"In the Redeye's clone bay, of course. I'm going to bring the lights up, tell me if it hurts your eyes."

"Why?" Elsa blinked in the darkness, feeling a film of shock-gel coating her eyes. "Why am I in the clone bay?"

She received no answer other than the gradual lightening of her environment. Everything had a subtle greenish tint, courtesy of the shock gel. The light was bright, almost glaring, but not painfully so.

"Sergeant Stroud, are you still with us in there?"

"Yes. And please answer my question."

"Hold on. You'll understand when we uncork you."

"When you what?"

"Decant the cloning pod. Come on, have a sense of humour. We grow you lot like fine wines, so stop complaining."

"Okay," Elsa took a deep breath, nearly choking on the shock gel. She spluttered helplessly for a few seconds before finishing. "Decant me."

The cloning pod moved to the center of the bay, placed in a special cradle. The side seals hissed, and Elsa felt the shock gel being drained through something beneath her feet. Only then did it occur to her to look down. Of course she was naked—she was in a cloning pod. What else should I have expected? But there was more. She raised her arms slowly—that was in fact as fast as she could move them. Her legs were stiff, pins and needles leaving a powerful tingling sensation just shy of pain when she tried to step forward.

"Stroud! Halt!" Barked like the orders she had been conditioned to follow, she stopped immediately. "This body of yours is still weak. It has the muscle mass, but lacks tone—there's still only so much we can do with electromassage and motor neuron stimulation therapies."

"But… war clones?"

"Are very different. Very, very different. They aren't expected to live more than a few hours, maybe a day, two at the most. Their bodies and internal organs are so overstimulated with all sorts of combat drugs and biotech that they burn out within 48 hours. They do not get long—which is why we were so hasty in getting a solid Pull from your IMC war clone and putting you in a cosmetic clone we had available at the time."

"So this is a new cosmetic clone?"

"Ah, the lady understands," the tech leaned over the railing on his console and smiled down at her. "This clone is you. Please try not to hurt yourself, you're hard to re-grow."

Elsa let out a little laugh. Something about the tech's manners put her at ease. He was just doing a job. He had no stake in her life, but he cared about her—her body—avoiding damage. It was strange to think that maybe he saw her in the same way she might see Marshmallow. Strange, but not at all disconcerting. No, that aspect belonged to meeting Anna again. Not that she particularly wanted to, but it would be hard to avoid the redhead without asking for separate quarters, and she didn't think she'd earned that right yet. And a new crew mate might even be worse in some way.

Up at his console, the tech spoke again. "You can get up, but take your time, Sergeant. You're going to be wobbly for a time—but I'm the only one watching, so don't feel too embarrassed. I've seen everything before, and everyone, pretty much. I'm just here to make sure you're in good health before you leave, okay?"

"Okay," Elsa replied softly, gripping one edge of the cloning pod with each hand. It took a lot of effort to drag herself out, and as soon as she stood she collapsed onto all fours, falling forwards, retching, shock gel mixing with bile on the floor.

"Ah, we get that sometimes," the tech commented off-handedly. "About one in five have to clear themselves out, despite the IV feeding. If you need a wash down to get the last of the shock gel off, just hit the blue button at the edge of the platform there."

Elsa looked up from the deck, tracing the edge of the platform until she found a frame, and on that frame was a large blue button. At the top of the frame was a spray head. Several more were mounted in a cage down the back side. Her legs still weak, Elsa tried to stand, but found it impossible. Instead she crawled on all fours, feeling some strength coming into her arms. There were multiple grab handles in the shower frame, and she used them to drag herself into a standing position before hitting the blue button.

The water that jetted over her wasn't cold. It was actually quite pleasantly warm, and turned the shock gel filming over her into a slick puddle on the decking of the platform. She was still naked, but at least now she was clean.

"We took a look at your fashion preferences," the tech spoke up as the shower ended. "Next station along the platform perimeter you'll find several sets of clothes, sized for you. Put on whatever you like, take the rest to your quarters when you feel able to walk. If you still feel too weak to reach your quarters on your own, I can call someone to assist you. Don't feel bad about it, the Redeye's a pretty big ship, and your cosmetic clone doesn't have any real muscle tone yet."

A quiet banging sounded in the distance, followed by the door chime. A holo-screen sprang up in front of Elsa as she was fumbling with a bra, fingers still a little numb and twitchy. On that screen was a familiar heart shaped face, capped with smooth hair the colour of sunfire.

"Know her?" the tech asked, one eyebrow raised.

Elsa sighed, hanging her head. "Yes."

"Should I let her in to help you?"

"NO!"

"Okay, okay, no need to shout. Hmm, A. Corazon… she's your bunkmate, right?"

"Unfortunately," Elsa grunted, pulling up a pair of jeans that somehow managed to be a size too small despite the tech's earlier assurance that these would be her size. "Why?"

"She can help you back to your quarters then."

Elsa had been about to protest—vehemently so—when she realized it wasn't a question. The tech was telling her what was going to happen. After pulling on a T-shirt, Elsa froze. She had no idea how Anna was going to treat her after two days without any contact at all. Without any real contact during the battle either. Or if she might try to take advantage of her weakened state in some way. No way in hell am I depending on her. She still couldn't understand why Anna kept coming back—or how the redhead could fail to see how much that hurt her. One of them was going to be destroyed by this madness, and Elsa doubted it would be her friend.

But she had to face the reality of the situation. She couldn't run forever. She couldn't hide. Not when what she was running from was buried deep inside. Not when what kept hurting her was her own actions. She had to face the music, and even her legs shook and the world fell away around her, she would stand there while it played. If she actually let Anna in it ran the risk of destroying her—but if she didn't… if her armour kept her heart hardened, she might never understand. She might never stop running. She had to make a choice. She had to stop running. She had to fight—she had to have something worth fighting for.

And she did, because Anna was her friend—maybe the only one she ever really had that was a true friend; that knew what it meant to be friends with her. If Anna's fighting so hard to get in, shouldn't she at least get a sign? Elsa sighed heavily, sitting on the edge of the platform, swinging her legs idly in the air. She wants me… I think, like that. But if I let her in… Elsa sighed again, her thoughts racing around in circles. Every time in the past she'd let someone she'd been hurt. A pattern had been established. She'd driven people away because they could hurt her. She'd never seen someone so stubbornly persistent and just… good… in the way Anna was. She might be the one to change everything—or the one that finally shatters me into a million pieces.

There were two sides to the coin, but Elsa felt like she walking around the middle, eternally circling, unable to decide if the good outweighed the bad or the other way round. There was no way to know without entering into the bargain full force. Making a decision was terrifying, but at least it meant she could now do something. She was dressed, and she was weak, but she knelt and folded the rest of the outfits into a small satchel. She stood, legs still shaking, hands trembling, and made her way down three steps to the deck of the clone bay. Another five steps across the deck found her at the door.

She knew Anna would be waiting on the other side. She squared her shoulders and pressed the activation panel, the door hissing open and revealing the redhead sitting on an upturned crate, fiddling with her left braid. She looked up, turquoise eyes full of wonder. Then she stood, crushing Elsa in a giant bear hug, resting her chin on the blonde's shoulder, standing on tip toe. Elsa barely managed to choke out two words, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

"What?" Anna asked, not letting go.

"Can't. Breathe." Elsa repeated, and was rewarded with a magnificent blush from the redhead when she finally stepped back.

"Umm, sorry…" Anna's darting eyes implied she was nothing of the sort. "I just—I really missed you, okay?"

"But you've only known me a week."

"Eight days. And its enough to know I want to know you more. A lot more." Anna's voice softened, barely above a whisper. "You really scared me when you ran away like that. I was worried about you—and I was worried that I had hurt you so bad you'd never come back, and never know why. Please don't scare me like that again. I really do want us to be friends and… and…"

Elsa couldn't help herself. She pulled the redhead into a loose hug, resting her chin on that gloriously coloured hair, noticing a slight hint of cinnamon somewhere, along with a soft scent like lilies or maybe lavender.

"Are you wearing perfume?"

"Maaaybe…"

"Why?"

"I thought maybe if you really didn't like me, we could start all over—I'd get someone to scrub your memories somehow and then I'd make a really good first impression and totally amaze you with how alike we are and now I'm saying it actually sounds kinda silly and I don't think the memory recording on Pulls works like that and I'm babbling like an idiot and I—"

"Yes, you are," Elsa patted Anna's hair. "But you're my idiot. Now please let me sit; my legs are killing me."

"You gonna ask me to take your luggage, ma'am," Anna smiled deviously, taking hold of the satchel with Elsa's clothes in it.

"No."

"Too late!" Anna squealed in delight, sprinting down the hall with all of Elsa's spare clothes. Soft footfalls echoed off the deck behind her. Elsa didn't tackle her so much as simply fall on her, her extra height and weight helping pin the redhead in place.

"That wasn't very helpful."

"No, but look how far you managed to move."

"I'm weak, not crippled, you idiot." There wasn't enough malice in her words to be hurtful, and Anna only smiled, not bothering to try and lift Elsa from her. A pair of techs stepped around them, heading down the corridor. If she didn't know better, Elsa would have sworn Anna liked being under her. Suddenly Anna seemed a lot closer, putting an arm around Elsa's neck and pulling her down. Down just far enough to plant a kiss on her cheek.

Elsa's hand went to her cheek, touching the place Anna had kissed with reverence. She stared at the redhead, not fully comprehending.

"Well I don't know if you're… well… if you like other women, so, yeah," and she smiled up at Elsa. Elsa smiled back, but couldn't think of an answer, so instead she lifted her satchel of clothes from unresisting fingers and began to walk—still a little weak—towards their quarters. She didn't hear any footsteps behind her, and turned to see Anna just sitting in the middle of the corridor, looking very unsure of herself. Elsa sighed, rolling her eyes, taking pity on the redhead—she would learn later about how much Elsa liked other women. For now, she might just be helpful.

"What?" Elsa asked wryly, smiling at her friend. "You've never asked permission to help me before." And with that she threw the satchel of clothes at Anna, accidentally knocking the wind out of her. "Come on, help me home. This place is a fucking maze and I have no idea how you got down here."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Every turret on the Redeye spoke with fire and fury, raking broadsides into the IMC ships arrayed around Demeter. Those ships replied in kind, heavy cannon and missile salvos scything through the Militia fleet, but still they pressed on. This was the final battle for the Frontier, the battle for Demeter itself. Victory would see them freed from IMC oppression for years. Defeat would see the IMC home fleet rushing through the jump gates and taking station over every major Frontier planet. Losing was not an option. Dying would be better than losing.

So the Militia attacked the IMC fleet with such savagery, focused on a single point, that within minutes they had managed to clear a corridor for their drop transports—and for their flagship, the Redeye. The Redeye duelled with the IMS Colossus, broadsides shaking both great ships, ripping them apart slowly as drop capable forces readied inside each of them. Inside the Militia flagship, Elsa held the railing of the Crow's portside hatch with one hand, her other resting on the sling of her gun. Next to her stood Anna, left arm holding the railing, right arm around Elsa's waist—as much as their kit would allow.

"I'll be there. I promised." Then Anna turned to face front again, taking in MacAllan's address. Elsa took her at her word, watching the way MacAllan set his feet against the rocking from a broadside barrage.

"Pilots: All of our fight; all of our sacrifice, has bought us this one day. Every ship in the Militia's fleet is fighting in the battle of Demeter. This is the IMC refuelling hub that connects the Frontier to the Core Systems and its endless supply of reinforcements. It falls to you, Pilots, to destroy the Demeter base."

MacAllan turned, taking a step back, then leapt up onto the knee of an Ogre. His Ogre. He stood with one foot on the Ogre's knee, the other on the cockpit coaming, his left hand holding the grab rail of the cockpit hatch above him, his right gesturing as he spoke.

"I swore I'd never climb back into one of these things." He shook his head, fire burning behind his eyes. "I would never order you into the fire I would not enter myself. I will personally take command of Sarah's covert assault squad, and initiate a chain reaction of the IMC fuel cells. I ask you, Pilots, to engage the IMC infantry. If you win this battle on the ground, you will alter the course of history. Pilots, prepare for Titanfall."

The side hatch of the Crow sealed with a hiss, and Elsa heard the powerful whine of the turbines firing up. Then came the bass roar of the orbital rockets, throwing them into space. Light and dark flashed in staccato sequence, heavy shells, AA tracers, and anti-ship missiles spiralling through the darkness. Something slammed hard into the side of the dropship, shaking everyone onboard.

"Brace for impact!" The pilot shouted over the intercom.

"Everyone, hold on!" The crew chief at the back of the ship yelled, grabbing tight to his line.

"Hard right!" And the Pilot took the Crow through a violent corkscrew, avoiding something.

"Wilson, get us the hell out of here!" The crew chief virtually screamed at the pilot.

"Jump calculations haven't finished yet, we might not—"

"I don't give a damn, just do it! Jump now! Now damn it! Now!" Heart pounding, Elsa agreed with the crew chief. Getting to battle in one piece was more important than getting there at the perfect location.

"Jumping in 3! 2! 1! Mark!"

"We made it." The pilot's relief was short lived, even as the crew chief was congratulating him a surface to air missile slammed into the dropship, ripping off an engine and part of the tail boom. Including the rear hatch. The crew chief was flung from the aircraft in its wild descent.

"We're hit! Hang on!" The pilot struggled to regain control, the onboard computer screaming damage reports and system warnings at him. The dropship continued to spin, and Elsa watched helplessly as Anna was thrown to the rear of the ship, towards the open hatch. Another violent impact rocked the aircraft, and the starboard wall slammed down, into Anna's side, and she managed to grab the side rail for the rear hatch.

"Mayday mayday this is Misfit 2!" The pilot was panicking, wrestling with the controls, trying to line them up for some kind of survivable impact. Elsa braced her legs against the deck and her free arm rolled around the main rail. She was not going to be the battle's first casualty. "We're going down! I repeat, we're going down!"

"Warning. Altitude. Altitude. Altitude." The computer screamed at the pilot of the dropship as it plowed into the ground just west of the primary reactor facility.

A voice came over the radio, suddenly reassuring, as Elsa lay amongst the wreckage of the Crow. "Misfit, this is MacAllan. Hang on, I'm on my way."

Overhead she could see the fiery trail of a single drop-pod, chased by fighters and tracked by anti-air fire all the way down. Four smaller pods streaked after it. The seamlines of the larger pod glowed with an inner fire, and a second later the entire structure burst open, revealing an Ogre falling from the sky like an avenging angel. Five seconds to go. The Quad Rocket spat destruction at a closing IMC Phantom, ripping its wings clean off and causing it to erupt in a chaotic fireball. The Vortex Shield angled down—the Ogre falling on its side—collecting all the AA fire directed up towards it. Another Phantom swept past for a gun run, and was suddenly chased off by a swarm of slaved warheads, one just fast enough to hit its starboard engine, the pilot forced to eject before the rest of the salvo managed to catch up. Four seconds to go, and MacAllan released his Vortex Shield, the collected rounds slamming out like a giant shotgun blast, ripping through several of the AA turrets ringing the reactor's cooling facility.

Three seconds, and MacAllan's Quad Rocket switched to rapid fire, missiles blasting wildly at a platoon of IMC Grunts and Spectres closing on the crash site. Two seconds, and MacAllan fired the Ogre's booster, righting the massive Titan, reloading his Quad Rocket at the same time. One second. Slaved warheads struck out towards the auto-turrets north and south of the wall where the Militia dropships had crashed. Zero. The Ogre hit the deck with an earth shaking thud, the yellow glow of its shields fading to blue, then white invisibility. Surrounding him an entire platoon of Grunts swarmed from their drop pods.

"Holy shit, it's MacAllan!" Elsa heard a Grunt saying as she pushed herself up, checking her weapons. Next to her Anna did the same.

The cockpit of the Ogre cracked open, and MacAllan gestured to all the IMC forces at the crash site. "We're getting off this hill! Come with me!"

MacAllan stormed the hill, taking fire from the auto-turrets that remained active, rockets spiralling outwards towards each tower as MacAllan swung his Quad Rocket in line. Then something massive blasted past overhead, and Elsa realized that the shape was an arm. From an Ogre. Metal glowed red hot around the torn shoulder joint of MacAllan's Ogre, but still he pressed on, the auto-turrets destroyed. His Titan's left fist tore straight through a reinforced defensive wall, grabbing a fistful of rebar as it shoulder charged the wall, smashing open a breach that could have fit four Titans side by side with room to spare.

Armour smoking, shields gone, and all its power reserves spent, MacAllan's Titan fell to its knees, left arm the only thing keeping it from falling on its head. The cockpit hissed open, and MacAllan took his personal weapon—A Hemlok BF-R—from the rack behind the seat. A Wingman revolver was already strapped to his hip. He ran forward, merging with a squad of Grunts. His voice sounded clear over the radio.

"Move out and secure the hardpoints!"

Elsa leapt into the air, jetpack firing at the apex of her jump, throwing her neatly through the upper window of the fuel store that was designated as Charlie. Marvins were already coming off the racks, spilling into the room below. Bish's voice crackled with static over the tactical channel.

"This is a Hardpoint Battle. Hold points Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie so we can overload the reactor core, trigger a chain reaction, and wipe out Demeter. If we pull this off, it'll take years for the IMC to send ships back to the Frontier."

Elsa ran through the upper level and out a large opening on the roof. Springing from the roof her feet landed against one of the massive coolant lines that ran to the north, directly into Bravo. Bravo was the key. Take that, and control the coolant flow for the entire system. She dropped from the end of the coolant line, rolling and sprinting through the door, past a small staircase, spraying lead into the IMC Pilot that had just landed in front of her.

Without pausing for anything she leapt at the wall to her left, running her mag dry as she fired at the IMC Pilot on the opposite catwalk. The other Pilot raised an R-101 in her hands, already firing, and Elsa prayed her stim would be enough. Still running across the wall, impacts chasing her down, she drew her pistol. And was suddenly rewarded with a blast of lightning and blinding arc flash, and the familiar disorientation of Ripcord Pull. She rushed the battleROM recording, seeing that the explosion had taken out the IMC Pilot as well. Now she needed to get back in the fight.

Pulling an Amped C.A.R. from the wall, she punched the system for a Rematch didact. The entire armoury and didact library had been declared open for this battle. No restrictions, but demand was so fierce through the multiple battles around the planet that it could take up to 90 seconds before the desired kit became available—and even then it might only be the closest match. So Elsa leapt through the warpfall conduit with her Amped weapon, but not her requested Rematch didact. Instead the system queued her for a Double Agent didact.

"Two out of three ain't bad, Pilots." Bish's voice came over the tactical channel. "I just need Alpha to get maximum flow."

Anna raced up the stairs on the eastern side of Bravo, along the catwalk, and out of the giant building. She followed the catwalk over to Alpha, engaging her cloak as she moved over the exposed area between the two hardpoints. The upper entrance to the sickle shaped building was covered with a thick pane of glass. Anna jumped, bringing her full weight down on it, falling through in a rain of diamond shards. Aside from her, the building was empty. Well, empty save for the Marvins rushing about trying to link up the coolant systems as fast as Bish was overriding them.

The hardpoint secure Anna ran to the west, leaping out a smashed window and landing in front of a stack of crates. Several Spectres landed around her. She jumped back to the wall, hitting her jetpack to boost her to the upper level. As she moved she threw a satchel charge, clicking the detonator as it landed. The Spectres were torn apart like so much scrap, no longer a threat to anyone or anything.

Far to the west Anna could make out a Militia Pilot duelling with an IMC Pilot, both firing wildly as they closed the distance. The Militia Pilot jumped high, hanging from a catwalk. He threw a grenade, aiming to end the fight. The IMC Pilot jumped forward, boosting high over the detonation, aiming a snap-kick at the hanging Militia Pilot. The Militia Pilot dropped, slamming a fresh mag into his primary as the IMC Pilot drew his sidearm. Anna had finally managed to get sighted in on them. The range was too long for her fire to be accurate, but it was more than enough force the IMC Pilot back, and the other Militia Pilot to leap out of line, unaware that those rounds hadn't been aimed at him.

"Mac, I don't know what's wrong, but the hardpoints aren't routing enough power to the core." Sarah's voice crackled over the tactical channel. "Between that and the fleet taking a pounding, we might have to abort the mission."

No. Fuck. No. Anna cursed internally. We can't abort. We're so close… so close. Three years of nuisance raids, of nothing strategically vital, and now, after less than two weeks, MacAllan had taken them straight to Demeter—straight to the heart of the IMC on the Frontier. They couldn't lose. It didn't matter what the cost was, as long as the Frontier was out of the IMC's iron fist.

Reloading her Spitfire LMG, Anna sprinted along the catwalk inside Alpha, jumping at the billboard hung from the catwalk that headed to Bravo. Sprinting along the face of the billboard she leapt out, grabbing at a window ledge as she slammed full tilt into the wall below it, her trajectory just slightly off. Scrambling through the window she glanced at the map display overlaid on her retinal implants. Most of the fighting seemed to be centered around Charlie for some reason. She ran from the room, scrambling up the side of the massive Bravo reactor facility, hauling herself and her gun onto the roof.

At the southwest corner crouched an IMC Pilot armed with a Kraber AP sniper rifle. Seeing the slowly blinking lights next to him, Anna held back. She knew this Pilot. He was an expert sniper, and knew well how to cover his position. Anna cloaked, working her way around the large array at the centre of the rooftop, flanking the pilot and his emplaced defences. Then she took a knee, sighting in very carefully. Her Spitfire's recoil was a glorious thing to feel in that moment, the first round slamming into the IMC sniper's left arm, the third into his shoulder, and the sixth into his head. The rest of the rounds that hit his body proceeded to rip it half.

Beneath her helmet Anna wore a savage grin.

"Nice work, feistypants," Kristoff's voice came over her private channel. "Just couldn't get a bead on that bastard. Thanks."

"You're welcome, mountain man," Anna replied, leaping from the roof to the catwalk beneath her, sprinting for Charlie. Two Titans were fighting a third, A Militia Ogre against an Atlas and a Stryder of the IMC. The Ogre launched a cluster missile into the window on the north face of Charlie, at the same time punching the Stryder so hard it slammed backwards into the wall of the facility behind it, stoving the entire reinforced panel in.

Anna ran past the stairs and turned right, an access hatch giving her a good view into the control room below. She threw a satchel charge down, stepped around the hatch, and threw one down on the other side of the control room. She squeezed the trigger of the detonator, and the entire floor seemed to lift several inches before slamming back down. There was no way only two satchel charges could have done that.

Slinging the Spitfire across her back, Anna drew her sidearm and leapt through the access hatch, a scene of utter devastation greeting her. Body parts, scorch marks, the ruins of several Marvins and the twitching, sparking legs of a Spectre lay scattered about the control room. Electricity arced and skittered along the wall to her right, while to her left a weapons locker had been blasted open and the stand next to it torn from its retaining bolts. Amidst the devastation Anna heard a voice, a moment later realizing it was coming across the tactical channel.

"We're 25% of the way there." Bish, updating the team.

"We're running outta time and the fleet up there is in bad shape." Sarah, an edge of real desperation in her voice. "If you're gonna do something MacAllan, you'd better do it fast!"

"Bish! Talk to me! Gimme something I can work with!" In an overlay feed on her retinal display Anna could see MacAllan shooting something out on one of the base's security cameras, kicking it hard after firing only a single burst. The camera feed switched and she saw him breaking his way through a door.

"Mac, if you can find a way to trigger a manual overload, that'll work, even if they manage to shut down the reactor core. Except there's one problem—there isn't a Titan in the world that could protect you from against that kind of radiation."

"You let me worry about that. We're not giving up, Bish. Not yet. Pilots, you're doing great, keep up the fire! MacAllan out!"

Anna ran to the east, down the stairs and out of the Charlie facility, passing beneath the massive coolant lines overhead. To her left an IMC Atlas dashed past, heading west. Chasing it was a Militia Ogre armed with a Plasma Railgun. Elsa. A round cracked out, leaving the air around it white hot with a sizzling thundercrack, staggering the enemy Titan as it rounded the corner and broke line of sight. But past the shin of Elsa's Titan Anna saw something more immediately useful—a low level entrance to Bravo.

Bish suddenly addressed the Militia Pilots in the area. "We're losing Bravo! Pilots, get over there!"

Her mind made up, Anna ran across the street, cloaking before she'd taken more than a few steps. Spitfire at the ready, she ran up a short flight of stairs to emerge in a contested Bravo, searching for any heavy IMC presence in the reactor building. There, one on the back wall, and just to her left—she had no time, the snap kick, enhanced with the momentum of a jetpack burst breaking her back and slamming her into the wall on her right. Her body slumped to the ground as her mind fled to orbit, and the Redeye's clone bay.

"Goddamnit! Get back here!" Elsa cursed, chasing the Atlas she had been fighting with earlier.

The IMC Titan turned, firing its Triple Threat, the Titan scale grenades rolling and bouncing down the narrow alleyway Elsa found herself in. She wasn't fast enough with the Vortex Shield to catch the cluster missile fired at her either—or perhaps the angle was off, the missile striking the wall to her left, but the effect was still the same, explosions rocking her Titan and throwing off her aim, forcing her to either fall back or suffer massive damage to her armour.

She fell back, reloading her Plasma Railgun as she did so. Then she turned to the right, pushing her Ogre into a lumbering run. She knew she'd be no use in the built up structure of Bravo, but just to her left there was a cut in the road. She turned, sprinting down that cut, and out into the open field where they'd first entered the reactor facility. The Atlas was crouching there, offloading its Pilot to take Charlie. Elsa took careful aim, waiting for her weapon to reach full charge.

The round slammed hard into the auto-Titan, stripping its shields and ripping at its armour. The onboard AI of the Titan responded to the attack by turning and firing an inaccurate spread of grenades. One still detonated next to the foot of Elsa's Titan with enough force to stagger it, sending her next charged round sizzling past the Atlas's shoulder instead of into its reactor. Sweeping her reticle across the enemy Titan, Elsa toggled the safety on her multi-target missiles and let fly, dashing and sprinting forward behind the salvo, landing a devastating haymaker punch with an armoured fist as she closed to melee range with the enemy Titan.

The enemy Titan staggered back, firing twice. the range was so short it was impossible to miss. Heavy impacts battered her Titan as Elsa stepped back, aiming carefully as the Atlas reloaded its Triple Threat. The railgun round cored the enemy Titan, and Elsa turned to her left, setting Marshmallow to guard mode as she leapt from the cockpit, grabbing her C.A.R. from the rack beside her, landing softly next to the southern entrance of Charlie.

She jumped through the door with a blast from her jetpack, hitting the internal barrier wall, sprinting along it, trying to find the enemy Pilot in there. Nothing. She jumped to the opposite wall, tumbling over a toppled weapons locker and pair of crates as heavy impacts chased along the wall behind her. Her right arm shot out to stabilize her and she fired left handed, cartwheeling feet first into the far wall, slinging an arc grenade at the far end of the control room as soon as her free hand had cleared the floor.

Something hard slammed into her from behind, and as she stumbled Elsa hit her stim, turning to face this new attacker. Behind her the arc grenade she'd just thrown detonated, dealing with the first IMC Pilot permanently. The Pilot in front of her was racking the slide on his Shotgun, slamming home a new drum with blinding speed. Elsa leapt back, drawing her sidearm, snapping off two rounds before a wall of lead clipped her right side, throwing off her aim.

With her left hand she threw her final arc grenade and then jumped out the door to the north, firing a trio of parting shots in the IMC Pilot's general direction. She jumped at the building in front of her, using it as a springboard to jump back, firing her jetpack to land against the outer wall of Charlie and sprint to the top of it, reloading her weapons as she went. She jumped through a large access hatch on the roof, falling straight through another and back into Charlie's control room.

She could only hope the IMC Pilot had tried to follow her instead of consolidating his position. He had. Sort of. He turned with a frag grenade in his hand, armed and ready. It rolled along the floor with lethal intent as he raised his shotgun. Elsa jumped back, firing, but it wasn't far enough. Something caught against the damaged Marvin cradle overhead and the last thing she felt was hundreds of scything impacts as shrapnel from the grenade destroyed her body.

In the clone bay a quick glance at the overview told her the battle hung in the balance. The Militia had a slight lead, but now the IMC held every objective and were catching up fast. Her queued didacts had also expired—or been used by another Pilot, and Elsa took a moment to look over her options. Packet Sniffer—an occasional radar pulse to see through walls. No, not good enough. An Amped P2011, burst fire sidearm. Maybe, but if she was down to her sidearm things would be desperate enough already. Adrenaline Transfusion—permanent stim. Elsa took it, strapping three more stimpaks to her waist and thighs. The didact linked them all together and allowed them to function as a single, autonomous unit.

Grabbing her weapons Elsa leapt through the warpfall conduit and emerged northeast of Alpha, near a Phantom parked on the hardstand. She she ran for the hardpoint MacAllan's voice crackled across the tactical channel.

"Sarah, Bish, I've got this. Get the fleet outta here."

"What the hell are you talking about Mac?!" Sarah's confusion turned to panic as she realized she could no longer raise MacAllan. "Mac! Come in! Bish, get him back on comms, now!"

"He's still transmitting, just not to us. I'm patching into his feed." Bish's reply took a few seconds to arrive, and Elsa was forced to wonder for moment if this hadn't all been some grand IMC trap, MacAllan re-defecting at the final moment to ensure peace on the Frontier—by removing the Militia as a whole, its fleet trapped in orbit and its Pilots trapped on the surface of the most heavily invested IMC planet in the sector. MacAllan's speech shattered that theory into a million pieces.

"Open your eyes, Marcus. You could have stopped me 15 years ago. Instead, you gave me the ship."

A familiar, slightly twisted face appeared in the feed. Sergeant Blisk, his accent as heavy as ever, along with his thirst for violence. "Sir, I've got the bastard in my sights! I'm going after him! Standby!"

"Blisk, hold your fire!" Graves's voice was stern and commanding. "You're going to rupture a coolant circuit and blow the place to hell! Hand to hand combat only! Move!

"With pleasure, sir."

The feed cut out abruptly and Sarah passed one final comment on the events. "He's gonna get himself killed."

Blisk was a sadistic, violent monster in Elsa's opinion, but she had good money on MacAllan holding his own in a fight. After all, he'd managed to fight his way into the most heavily guarded part of the facility. That much was evident from Graves's warning to Blisk. Elsa blinked, shaking her head to clear the feeds, sprinting for Alpha, jumping once, then firing her jetpack to land gracefully on the upper catwalk inside the first window. She mowed down a squad of IMC Grunts without effort, the impacts from those weapons—the few that hit her—healing almost instantly.

With Alpha now controlled by the Militia, Elsa ran the length of the catwalk, springing out the window at the far end to run along a billboard, leaping from it and twisting in midair to sprint south as she hit the outer wall of Bravo, sliding down with one hand on the wall, tucking and rolling through the upper door, spraying a Smart Pistol armed Pilot hanging from the central cooling array with full magazine. The IMC Pilot fell with a wet thud as Elsa vaulted the railing, landing softly against the floor of the primary reactor facility.

"Be advised, I am engaging an enemy Titan," Marshmallow's AI informed her on her private channel. She checked her display while sprinting through the centre of Bravo. Her Titan had indeed survived, with about 50% armour, and was still standing guard outside of Charlie's north entrance, along the back alley of the whole base. She toggled his AI to follow mode, and hoped he had the armour and ammunition left to deal with that Titan facing him.

Elsa leapt for the low catwalk in the northwest corner of Bravo, hanging from the wall beneath it with her grip-glove, seeing an IMC Pilot armed with an R-101 sprint past beneath her. Firing from where she hung was lees accurate, but gave her the element of surprise, and the ability to immediately break line of sight if necessary. It took almost every round in her magazine, but the IMC Pilot finally fell, just before reaching the stairs to the southwest, clearly intending to make a run on charlie.

"Enemy Titan down."

Elsa ran from Bravo, into the open, then launched herself at a generator facility to her right, sprinting along the face of it before jumping and firing her jetpack to land on the catwalk to Charlie, hitting an enemy Pilot just running through with a jump kick that slammed her into the railing beside the stairs that Elsa reached at almost the same time. Running into Charlie, Elsa led with an arc grenade, clearing out a handful of Spectres that had been guarding the facility. A glance at her tactical readout showed scores that were dead even—and nearly maxed out in mission progress. The battle could swing either way, and it was anyone's call how it would end.

"Where is she, Olaf?" Anna asked her Titan, trying to locate Elsa, following her auto-Titan back to Charlie. "She's got to be around here somewhere."

But suddenly there were more pressing concerns as micro-missiles from a Sidewinder started plunging into her Titan and stripping shields and armour at an alarming rate. She turned, tracing back for where the fire had come from. The enemy Pilot was now sprinting full-tilt along the top of one of the massive coolant lines running to Bravo. Lightning from Anna's Arc Cannon missed by the narrowest of margins, arcing around the coolant line where it hit, sending up a great could of superheated vapour.

An extra window opened in the corner of her display, and Anna could see Sarah and Bish talking.

"Uh… Bish, I'm picking up a spike in the reactor core—patching in now."

The feed in the window cut to a security camera somewhere deep in the facility. In that feed Anna could see MacAllan using a long pole to lever something out of the floor. Something with a subtle blue glow around its base, coming from beneath the floor. Steam momentarily clouded the feed, and then it began to be laced with static, white noise beginning to pile up on the screen.

"Oh no." Sarah's voice was quiet. Too quiet. And then Anna finally understood what MacAllan was doing—he was sabotaging the reactors from the inside, crossing over coolant and heating feeds and ripping out control lines and safety circuits.

"Damn it, Mac, you crazy sonuvabitch, what the hell are you doing?" Bish's voice sounded over the tactical channel. Anna dashed back in her Titan, around the corner to the southern alley. She couldn't fight effectively and watch what was unfolding in the reactor room at the same time. It wouldn't matter who won or lost anymore. MacAllan's sabotage was irreversible.

"Vice Admiral!" Sergeant Blisk appeared in the feed, pounding on the reinforced glass in a futile attempt to break through and stop MacAllan. "MacAllan's locked himself in the reactor core chamber! He'll be bloody dead in minutes. That chamber's completely irradiated."

"Blisk, there's nothing you can do." Vice Admiral Graves, for so long their key antagonist, and now he sounded utterly defeated. "Get to your ship and get out of there."

"Marcus, I've got the reactor set to pulse detonate—and all the coolant in the system isn't gonna save this place anymore." MacAllan's body shook with racking coughs as the staticky feed showed him slumping against the wall of the reactor room. The feed blanked for a moment, and Anna felt the ground beneath her shake, even through the stabilizers on her Titan's gyros.

"All ships, the core is going critical!" Sarah took command of the situation, putting whatever it was she felt aside for as long as she could. "Lock in your jump coordinates and prepare the evac crews." Then she addressed the Militia Pilots still on the ground. "Pilots, the core is going critical. We're sending evac ships to your location. Find MacAllan and get the hell out of there."

MacAllan's feed returned, once more laced with static, and as he sopke Anna saw him coughing up blood. "Negative… Fleet, this is MacAllan. I've triggered the reactor core overload manually. Clear out as fast as you can. Do not wait for ground forces. Repeat: There is no time for evac."

There was an echoing clang against the topside of her cockpit, and on her private channel Anna heard Elsa exhorting her to take action. "Damn it, Corazon! Move! Move! Get us to the main building now!"

Anna tore her eyes from the apocalyptic feed, and punched the core overcharge button on her console. Raw power flooded from her Stryder's reactor into its dash jets, and she surged forward, barely taking a step before triggering the thrusters again and again. In seconds they were at the western entrance to Bravo. Elsa leapt from the back of the Stryder and landed hard, rolling with impact, gunning down a squad of Grunts.

Anna fired her Arc Cannon at the IMC Pilot lining up a Kraber shot against her companion. She followed up with a cluster missile for good measure as Elsa dived into an access hatch to get beneath the objective. MacAllan fumbled with something in the feed, and Anna saw him switch something to full broadcast.

"Marcus, they trusted me as an ex-IMC officer, and they're going to need someone after I'm gone." A racking cough shook MacAllan's body, and he almost fell sideways, the hand at his mouth covered in flecks of bloody spittle. "You told me 15 years ago, on board the Odyssey, to take the ship. Now I'm giving you the same choice."

Somewhere in the distance Anna heard a pained scream, and knew it could only have been Elsa. The ground bucked and shook like a live thing, sending her Titan stumbling to the ground. Blue-white limned everything, and the last thing she could see was the direct feed from MacAllan's location. "Pilots—this is MacAllan. If you're still on the ground out there… it's been an honour serving with you."

There was a great, heaving cry, and the ground seemed to fall away as the world dissolved in searing white. The explosion was visible from orbit, a vast mushroom cloud racing up and out, engulfing the entire facility, setting off the nearby fuel stockpiles in secondary explosions, blasting great chunks from the Demeter gate on the surface, and severing the orbital elevators that held the orbital gate in place.

All around the planet the other fuel facilities were starting to explode, the raids against them successful to some degree, but the core, the gates of Demeter, were the real prize. The surface gate was gone, obliterated as the pulse detonation of its reactor facility overwhelmed its shielding systems and caused a catastrophic backlash of energies that collapsed the entire structure. And falling from orbit, the high gate began to glow with fire as the leading edge of its hoop hit the upper atmosphere. Several minutes later it would come to rest on the far side of the planet, its ruins scattered and smoking over hundreds of kilometres of destroyed industrial facilities.

All that was left now on the surface of Demeter was ashes. The ashes of the fallen.

Elsa awoke in her bunk, sitting bolt upright and slamming her forehead into the ceiling with a loud curse. Bad idea. She leapt down from the upper bunk, slightly dazed, landing softly on the deck. Anna still lay in her bed. It would probably be a few seconds before her Pull was re-established. Elsa waited with bated breath as the seconds stretched out into ten. Fifteen. Half a minute. A full minute. Elsa let out a shaky breath. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. Or maybe Anna was just trying to scare her—maybe not even intentionally.

She took the redhead's shoulders and shook her violently. Nothing. Anna's body was limp, relaxed, unmoving save for the slow rise and fall of her chest in relaxed breathing. But she couldn't be asleep. Not after that. She turned to face the active screen in the corner of their shared quarters. On it she could see a montage of Militia ships fleeing Demeter. A female newscaster was talking, the picture not breaking to show her face.

"On the Frontier today, the IMC's port of Demeter was attacked by Militia insurgents. Reports are sketchy, but indications are that the refuelling facilities suffered major damage in the battle. Numerous casualties are indicated, including the mutineer James MacAllan, formerly believed missing in action. High command and the IMC could not be reached for comment."

Elsa watch as the display panned to Demeter's surface—as seen from orbit—and she could make out the fires and explosions of burning ship fuel, unmistakeable as funeral pyres. In some locations there was a soft blue-white glow from beneath the clouds. Cerenkov radiation. And suddenly Elsa knew why Anna wasn't with her. Because Cerenkov radiation was ionizing. Nuclear. It had only one source—and the pulse detonation must have been it. She waved the screen off, not hearing Bish's words of farewell over the intercom.

"You promised you'd be there when I woke up!" Elsa screamed, falling to her knees. "You promised."

The empty shell on the lower bunk made no move, said nothing, did nothing. Was nothing.

"I let you in," Elsa sobbed. "I let you in because you said you wouldn't let me hurt you."

Elsa turned to the overhead, blinking at the light, rubbing her eyes. "So you hurt me instead." Elsa sighed, looking at the deck once more. "Just like everyone else—but damn it Anna, I still want you back!"

Elsa curled into ball, hugging her knees to her chest. "We're meant to be immortal. I just want you back…"

Some time later she managed to crawl to the intercom, calling weakly for a medic. She was borne away on a stretcher, along with the empty shell of her best and only friend. "Let me stay with her… please." It was the last thing Elsa could remember saying before the nightmares reached out to claim her.

Elsa awoke with a gasp, hearing a soft, gentle beep, beep, beep around her. She was in the Redeye's infirmary. She remembered the battle of Demeter, and she could also remember losing Anna—and asking not to be separated. Her frazzled mind could put the pieces together now. The detonation of the reactors had unleashed a massive EM pulse, probably scrambling every Ripcord in the region. She had been lucky, killed by a trap left by security forces seconds before the reactor had gone up.

Anna had been killed by the blast of the detonating reactor, and her Pull most likely obliterated by the EM pulse—and she wouldn't have been the only one. Letting out a shaky breath, Elsa turned to her left. In the bed next to her lay a small, svelte body with a tangled mane of red hair. Ginger. Strawberry blonde, whatever. Elsa didn't care, she just knew that she would never forget associating the colour with friendship and warmth. The question was how much was she going to lose?

As a Pilot, Anna would have had offsite backups of her pull, but Elsa had no idea how old they would be—or even the data backup on the Redeye itself. A copy there which might have been corrupted as it attempted a pull through such heavy EM interference. Elsa let out a sad little sigh, looking down at her wrist where an IV line was positioned. They sedated me? Probably for the best. She didn't bother trying to remove the line—if she was awake and cogent, they were no longer so worried about her. One thing she didn't know was for how long she'd been sedated, but if Anna hadn't been restored from her backup—and Elsa was suddenly afraid of how much progress she might lose when that happened—it couldn't have been long. Maybe not even more than a day—a day and half, given it was the Redeye's night cycle.

Someone walked past, a mountain of a man with sandy blonde hair and a bulbous nose, sitting in the chair next to her bed. "Is she still out?" And it was obvious from the concern in his voice that this man cared deeply for Anna, and was perhaps just as scared as Elsa.

"You know, she was telling me about you a few days ago, Miss Stroud. I really hope her Pull is from after then."

"But why is it taking so long?"

"Because almost everyone lost their Pull, or got corrupted in those explosions down there. Almost no one got away unscathed."

"You did."

"40mm to the face. Fucking sniper Titan. You got a complete Pull too."

"Booby trap on the main entrance."

"I suppose you've already figured out that MacAllan didn't make it?"

"Hard not to," Elsa agreed sadly. "But even if we had rescued him, there was nothing for it. First Generation; there's no way we could have gotten a Pull."

"I know," and Elsa was startled when the man sitting next to her took her hand with a gentleness that seemed to lack the words to describe it. With one hand he dragged Anna's bed slightly closer, and took her hand as well. Then he placed Elsa's hand over Anna's and tenderly clasped them together. "We have to be strong for him—and for Anna. They gave us the Frontier."

Elsa let her hand fall, at a loss for words, watching as the massive man tucked Anna's hand back under the sheets of her own bed. There had to have been something between Anna and this man for him to be this careful and tender. And why didn't I shy away either? Elsa asked herself quietly.

"And maybe I should have asked this first, but do you mind if I sit with Anna for a while? I miss her too." He smiled, extending a hand. "Kristoff Bjorgman, sniper specialist."

Elsa took the proffered hand, shaking it lightly. "Elizabeth Stroud, vanguard elements."

A long silence fell, broken only by the sounds of gentle breathing and the steady beep of the monitoring machines. At length Elsa finally turned to Kristoff, asking the question she feared the most.

"How long, and how much longer?"

"The techs haven't found her last Pull in the library yet, but when they get it, maybe a few hours?"

"…nothing like this has ever happened before. Even during the end of the Titan Wars."

"No, it hasn't," Kristoff's voice was laced with sadness. "Would you like to be left alone now?"

"I…" and Elsa had to consider the question, and what her answer would have been only a few days ago. But not anymore. Not when she was facing the loss of everything she had started to hold dear. "No. I don't want to be alone anymore—and Anna showed me I didn't have to be." Her shoulders slumped, and Elsa hugged her arms. "I just want her back. Not some old copy. Her."

"I think you should get some sleep, Elizabeth. You've had a rough day."

"I've been asleep for days now; sedated."

"You were out for nine hours. Your cosmetic clone is still quite weak, and if you sleep, it'll pass the time you might spend worrying about the techs finding Anna's Pull. They will. And when that happens, I promise I'll wake you first, okay?"

"Okay," Elsa sighed, lying back against the pillows. Kristoff pulled the covers up to her shoulders. "Why are you being so nice?"

"Because Anna told me that if anything ever happened to her, I had to take care of you." And he smiled. Elsa rolled onto her side, her mind struggling to put the pieces together. Because if Pilots were immortal, why had Anna asked Kristoff to do that at all?

Anna blinked at the light above her. The last thing she remembered was being Pulled from Barker's planet after getting the data on the towers. Their next mission was something to do with an airbase. She blinked again, because there were faces above her, blocking the light. Kristoff, and…

"Elsa?" It was not the same face she recalled running from her three days ago. It was sharper, and softer, and more clearly defined all round. There were no dark roots growing through—the hair was a natural platinum blonde. "You look different—B–but it's a good different."

There was a long pause, and Anna finally realized she was lying in a bed not in her quarters, and not of the kind she was familiar with. "What happened? Why am I in the infirmary?"

"Anna, what's the last thing you remember?" Kristoff asked quietly as Elsa turned away, hiding her face.

"I… I remember we got the data from the towers, on Barker's planet, and then Bish was gonna make something, and then we—we have to take down the towers at the airbase. That's our next mission."

Kristoff shook his head sadly.

"Am I… am I a backup?"

It was the only way her mind and the events around her could be out of sync. It didn't explain the infirmary, unless she'd also been injured, or… she wasn't sure what, actually. But as Kristoff nodded slowly and deliberately, the world fell apart around her. Time would be missing. There was that essential disconnect for others between then and now. Even for her. Remembering the way Elsa had run off three days ago—probably several days longer now—but was now here, unable to face her for some reason. Something had happened between them, something that Elsa blamed her for, or expected from her, and now might never get. She wouldn't—couldn't—be the same person Elsa knew. And the only person who could fill in the blanks between them was Elsa herself, and Anna knew it might have been too painful. She might never know what happened.

Elsa turned back to face her, gently shouldering past Kristoff, tear tracks staining her cheeks. It wasn't anger that made talking painful for her, it was loss. Anna knew that now, and resolved not to interrupt no matter what Elsa said to her. No matter how hurtful or shameful or possibly false—or true, because she couldn't know what had happened.

"You said you'd be there for me," Elsa's voice was very small. Not whispering, but it was still quiet, almost drowned out by the sounds of the infirmary around them. "I woke up, and you weren't there."

Elsa took a shaky breath before continuing. "But… but it's not your fault. No one knew this was going to happen, least of all you."

"What happened?" Anna asked, breaking her promise to herself. Elsa's composure broke, but instead of turning aside she placed a hand against Anna's heart, just firm enough to keep her from rising.

"We took out the moon of Demeter. The towers fell, and the leviathans wandering through destroyed most of the ships. That much went according to plan. Then we launched the attack on Demeter, and everything went to hell. The fleet's in tatters now, and our insertion dropships got hit hard on the way in. MacAllan… he… he dropped in a Titan. He saved us, got us off that hill and into the reactor facility. Then… then…"

Elsa took a ragged breath, wiping away tears with her free hand. Anna had a feeling she knew what was coming. MacAllan had obviously fought with them, and being First Generation, he lacked the benefit of a Ripcord. She was not prepared for the true story.

"We took the hardpoints, but Bish couldn't make the reactor go into overload. MacAllan found a solution, and Blisk—the IMC operations commander—chased him through the reactor facility, but couldn't get to him in time. MacAllan ripped open the reactor's systems and set up a manual pulse detonation. He… he helped us take out Demeter. The IMC gates are down, and their fleet took just as much damage as ours. But MacAllan…"

"Please don't say it…"

"We couldn't save MacAllan. The radiation was lethal—and then the reactors blew. The EM pulse it–it took out everything. Everyone. I–I woke up, and yeah, I hit my head, thanks, and then I jumped down waiting for you to wake up. Waiting. I waited. And I waited. But you never woke up. Neither did a lot of our other Pilots, from the other raids around Demeter. There are a lucky few, like me and Kristoff, that got a hard Pull seconds before the reactors went up. Everyone else…" Elsa lifted her hand from Anna's chest, hugging herself. "I'm just glad you're back now."

"I wish I was there when you needed me."

"If you were, Anna, I wouldn't have."

"You–you're calling me Anna now, not Corazon?"

"You earned it, and because I really missed you. You have no idea how long a week really is while techs scramble around trying to find a Pull of your best—and maybe only—friend in the entire Militia fleet."

"And what about the guy that supported you through that time?" Kristoff looked somewhat annoyed.

"Would treasured acquaintance suffice?" and Elsa grinned at the massive Pilot.

"I'll take what I can get, iceheart."

Elsa clutched melodramatically at her chest, making a face. "That was low. And anyway, I got better."

"Debatable."

"You're taking his side?"

"You never let me in."

"I…" and Elsa foundered, because, Anna saw the realization behind her eyes—Anna did not know. Not anymore. Two days didn't seem like a lot in the grand scheme of things, but in those two lost days they had made the most significant progress of all. Now it was all gone, and Anna wondered what it had been. Elsa sighed, sitting, taking one of Anna's hands in her own. "I guess I'll have to tell you later."

A day later Anna lay in her bunk, stripped to the waist, reading something on her datapad. Elsa sat opposite her, back propped up against the poster of Jessika Noble, similarly casual, her braid tossed over her shoulder. She didn't know where to begin, but they had to talk—about the missing days. That was part of it, of course, but another part was that Anna was a stranger, somehow intruding on her own life. Elsa wasn't sure how to handle any of it, let alone all of it at once.

"I… Anna, I…"

"Take your time, Elsa, I'll still be here."

"I can't tell you what happened." I'm a coward.

"Maybe one day?" I'll break you, Anna, I know it. I'm no good for you.

"Maybe." Liar!

But there were always times words could fail. More often than she'd thought. Anna, the lost Anna, had made statements through actions, not words, and somehow, that gave Elsa just enough courage to do what she had to. She levered herself up, then virtually tackled Anna, pinning her to the bed. The redhead let out a little shriek of surprise, but didn't struggle against her. Maybe it was because Elsa was so close she could smell the subtle scent of Anna's body, and it was no use asking why cinnamon and musk suddenly entered her mind. She pulled Anna closer, and watched how those turquoise eyes widened in surprise and understanding. Then flesh met flesh, and her lips brushed against Anna's cheek.

"I didn't know how much you liked girls."

"Is that… Elsa? Is that what's missing? Did we?"

"No, no," Elsa laughed softly. "We didn't. But I did let you in after you kissed me."

"I kissed you?"

"I might have tackled you on my jelly wobbly fresh clone legs after you said something vaguely cheeky."

"That does sound like me," Anna put her arm around Elsa's shoulders, holding the blonde tight. Elsa smiled at the contact, not wanting to break the moment. "You just wanna lie here and cuddle for a bit?"

Elsa wrapped an arm around Anna's shoulders and squeezed gently. They didn't need words, they would just lie here and enjoy this one moment for exactly what it was.

Perfect.

Chapter Text

It was strange, being a backup. A week had passed, but every now and then Anna would inspect part of herself, because even knowing it was her body, it still felt different. Her fingers, for example, not overly long, but thin. Not fragile. Dextrous. Warm. And currently finding comfort in being twined with Elsa's. There was another strangeness, knowing that there were shared memories between them—but that she didn't have them. It would not be fair to call it a week of surprises, because most of the changes were actually quite subtle. It was more a week of strangeness, adjustment; slowly fitting back into the place she knew she belonged.

Being here, with Elsa, was only one of those places. The cockpit of a Titan was another. And on foot carrying a heavy weapon. She'd checked herself out in the sims, making sure her combat instincts were still honed and ready. That wasn't a problem. It was understanding the slight changes in other people's reactions, learning why things were different now. Of course, one of the biggest differences was that MacAllan was dead. He was dead, but his frontier spirit lived on, his final words galvanizing the Frontier's inhabitants.

MacAllan's final address had been short because he didn't mince words. He made his point, and then got on with the job. He lived free, and had enabled the rest of the Frontier to make a grab at that selfsame freedom. Anna sighed, wondering if perhaps MacAllan lived on in some paradisaical afterlife. If such a thing existed, of course. And then she wondered about her past life, about the Anna that had lived those three missing days—if there was an afterlife, what would have become of her? They shared the same past, literally every experience up until the time her backup had been stored. So what made the difference?

"You okay, Corazon?" Elsa asked, putting a delicate stress on the name. It used to be distant, almost insulting. The way Elsa used it now was anything but.

"Still adjusting," Anna stalled, looking at her free hand.

She had memories of being restored from a backup. A handful of such memories. Any Pilot with a respectable length of service had them. It was inevitable. But she still had to wonder what happened to the other versions of her. Had to wonder what kind of person she might have become. And wonder too about the fact a slightly dated consciousness took residence within the same body. The problem was no one knew. So many questions that could never be answered. And what might have become of it, she knew, was chaos theory gone mad. She felt Elsa squeeze her hand.

"Is it about MacAllan?" Elsa asked at length.

"No," Anna shook her head. "It's about me. Us."

Elsa laughed. "I didn't do a very good job telling that story, did I?"

"No, you did alright," and Anna leaned into Elsa's shoulder, resting her head there as well. "But I just… well… I'm a backup."

"So?"

Anna thumped the blonde on the chest then, friend or no. This was serious. And if anyone was going to make light of it it should have been her. "I still feel a little like I'm not the original; not the real Annalise Corazon."

"Trust me, if I'd met you two weeks ago I wouldn't have been able to tell the difference."

"That's just it—two weeks ago is technically my birthday, or save day, or whatever. I wasn't any different. Until after Demeter. I don't think you noticed how differently you started treating me in those three da—"

"I noticed." Elsa's voice was firm. "I made that choice. To treat you better. You were there for me. I didn't realize how much that actually meant until you weren't."

Anna leaned over to hug Elsa, and was surprised when the blonde didn't try to pull away. Instead, she returned the embrace with as much warmth as she could manage. It felt wrong. Right—in so many ways—but wrong, because it wasn't how Elsa acted. Not the cold and distant young woman she remembered at any rate. And that was something more than slightly unsettling, which was bad, because she didn't just like Elsa, and the way she was looking at her now, fear and concern mixed with a hint of anger and disappointment… it was too much. Anna turned away, and she felt a hand against her jaw, fingers brushing her cheek, gently turning her head so she actually had to look at Elsa.

"Anna, just tell me, please."

"Everything is just… unsettling," Anna wasn't sure of the word choice, but it would have to do. "A week isn't a long time for things to change—but those three missing days, then the four days of you and Kristoff trying to find my backup—things did change, and I can't see why. It's the little things that are the weirdest. Like Kristoff calls you 'iceheart', and you laugh it off. Or the EC is too damn cold. Or the disconnect in my mental preparations—we were going to strike at the airbase, and now we've already done it and basically won the war and I've only just woken up. But by far the weirdest thing is that you hug me back."

Elsa wore a wry smile. "Out of everything that could be wrong for you, you pick the fact I hug you back?"

"Well, just over a week ago—to me—you'd run off without any explanation and I thought you were gone from my life. Maybe even opting to join another combat team. I know, I know, you told me the whole story, but that's just the thing. To me it is a story. I didn't live it. Didn't feel it. It's less than a second hand experience, so I don't know it—and I really wish I did. I wish I knew it by heart, so it didn't feel strange when you hugged me. I don't like that feeling of right wrongness or wrong rightness or whatever it is. I just want to be happy when I hug you. Happy and safe and warm. I want you to feel the same."

And suddenly Elsa had her pinned to the mattress, arms wrapped around her back. And she was squeezing just a little too tight, so Anna had to fight to catch her breath. Elsa smiled knowingly and Anna knew then that it had been deliberate. Elsa loosened her grip, resting her forehead against Anna's, breath catching slightly. From the subtle smile Elsa certainly looked happy; from the way she was so close, she obviously felt safe; and from their proximity Anna could feel the warmth radiating from every inch of her. It still felt a little wrong, but she pushed it aside, struggling only slightly, enjoying the way Elsa lay against her.

"I thought maybe I should practice hugging you until it felt completely natural," she had a sly grin. "For both of us. Because having a friend is kind of new to me too."

"I'm glad you made that choice, even if it wasn't for me."

"It was for you," Elsa rolled sideways and punched her in the arm. It felt something like getting a medal. "But if you say it while we're out I'll deny everything." And the shifty eyes completed the joke.

Anna laughed, finally at ease, feeling she could try and hug Elsa again. So she did, pinning the blonde to the mattress, grinning as if she'd just brought down a mighty beast. Elsa simply smiled up at her, a satisfied look on her face. That look vanished when Anna kissed her on the cheek. In fact, Elsa had relaxed completely, her breathing carefully controlled. Anna smiled deviously, brushing her lips against Elsa's.

"Did that feel natural to you too?" Anna asked cheekily. Elsa shook her head. "Then maybe we should keep practicing."

At which point Elsa turfed her onto the floor, laughing.

"So I guess that's a no to that then?"

"Anna, I just… I'd rather be friends first. We can figure out everything else later."

"You won't push me away?"

"No, just off the bed—so I'd advise you not to try anything too adventurous while I'm in my bunk."

Elsa staggered to the showers in the gym, Anna following her. She rubbed her side, mentally questioning the wisdom of sparring against her fellow Pilot. Where did Corazon learn to fight like that? They'd been sparring both for exercise and to resolve a minor argument. It turned out that Anna really was the stronger of them, even if Elsa was faster and more graceful. They were both going to have a few bruises in the morning, but Elsa didn't mind. Not this time. It wasn't like hand to hand practice with the IMC. Or at least not the way she and Laski had fought. This was actually fun—but still, if Anna hit you, you stayed flattened. Problem was, Elsa was too stubborn to accept that, much to the redhead's delight.

Wincing slightly, Elsa stripped off her gym clothes, setting them down on the bench in a tidy pile. Behind her she heard Anna throwing her own clothes into a heap. She turned, catching an eyeful of the redhead's backside—wiggling provocatively as she walked to the showers. Elsa shook her head, facepalming. Do you have to be so blatant about it? She mentally asked her companion. Where's the seduction; the romance. Shouldn't you at least try to intrigue me?

Elsa could hear the hiss of the shower, and as she walked through she could quite clearly see Anna lathering herself up. All of Anna, in fact. The redhead was not shy. About anything, it seemed. On the other hand, her eyes were closed, and she was humming something slightly off key. There were several broad, red marks where heavy blows had landed, and Elsa was sure she could see one already beginning to bruise. She felt bad about that, but also knew she'd taken a few good ones herself.

Turning on the shower she teased her braid out, untangling her hair. Under the pounding stream of hot water she blinked as steam began to swirl around her. The warmth was glorious, but it was a little too much against the battered parts of her body, so she was forced to turn it down slightly, reaching for the soap at the same time. She heard wet footsteps behind her, not trying to be at all stealthy. The openness was reassuring, so she didn't start too badly when a slippery hand wound its way around her arm. Another hand teased at her unbound hair, and something quite soft pressed into her upper back. Right before both arms wrapped around her, pinning her arms in place, and a chin rested on her shoulder.

There were probably supposed to be some words, but all she heard was Anna spluttering as she swallowed some soapy water. It didn't take too much effort to free her hands as Anna continued to splutter, and Elsa gently pushed her from the shower. It was not that she didn't appreciate the attention—it had been a long time, after all—but her words from the other day still stood. She would rather just be friends first. They could work out everything else later. She turned to face the redhead, her voice firm.

"No."

"I didn't even get to second base," and Anna wore a frustrated expression. "It's been a long time since I got even this close."

"You think it hasn't been a long time for me?" Elsa asked, turning away from the redhead. "I told you, friends first."

"But we are friends Elsa."

"I know, and I'm thankful for that, Anna, but…"

"But what?" Anna's tone had turned accusatory. "Why do you keep pushing me away?"

"I'm not pushing you away, I'm—"

"It certainly feels that way."

"I'm just—"

"Just what; what, Elsa?"

"I'm not ready!" Elsa shouted at the wall, her voice echoing in the showers. It was suddenly very quiet, the only sound the rush of water from the shower. From behind her came a sharp intake of breath, and a very small 'oh' of surprise. Elsa closed her eyes, running her fingers through her hair. And now she'd managed to mess up again. She still had a chance though.

"I suggest you find a different cabin then."

Elsa turned, shocked. She saw a slight blush on Anna's cheeks, but no anger in her eyes.

"For the next couple of hours, at least."

Anna wore a devious smile, which only deepened Elsa's confusion.

"Because if you walk through that hatch, I cannot be held responsible for what happens to you."

And then Anna locked eyes with her, taking in everything with a sly wink and a ravishing gaze, and finally Elsa understood, starting to blush. Because apparently Anna didn't handle that kind of frustration very well, or not for that long, at least. She heard wet footsteps retreating to the lockers. Maybe it was time to explore the ship further, perhaps even take an interest in the engineering areas, much like Anna did. It also helped that those were about as far from their quarters as it was possible to get on the ship.

Sighing, Elsa lathered up her hands, spreading the soap all over her body. And again. And then just rinsing her hair, because a gym shower was not a good place for her normal hair washing ritual. She turned the shower off and wrapped a towel around her middle, walking back out to the lockers. Anna stood in the doorway between the two areas wearing a sultry grin and an artfully draped towel. Elsa crossed her arms and put on a long-suffering expression. This was better on Anna's part, but still…

"Still no."

"Can I at least tou—"

"No."

"What about a—"

"No."

"—kiss."

"Oh…" Elsa wore a chagrined smile. A kiss wasn't too much. Well, maybe too much for just friends, but she was willing to let Anna have that. Plus, Anna tasted nice. Something about strawberry lip balm. So she stepped dangerously close to Anna, cupping her head in one hand and wrapping the other around her waist. Oh yes, she definitely tasted of strawberries, and smelled of soap, but that wasn't really important. Their lips parted, and the redhead let out a panting breath.

"If you do that to me again, you will not be getting away." The way Anna spoke was somewhere between tantalizingly chilling and erotically challenging. But Elsa wasn't about to push her luck.

"Then maybe I should wait until you're done."

"I think you'll need to give me an extra hour."

"Just the one?" Elsa blushed as she teased the redhead before her. Before she could protest Anna had drawn her into a quick kiss and playfully spanked her.

"Don't come back 'til dinner."

Elsa just stared at her, eyebrows raised in silent question.

"Because I'll be asleep, and dream-you is much more fun to play with."

Elsa facepalmed, walking past the redhead to collect her clothes.

Anna fell from the sim pod, hair plastered to her face with sweat. She stumbled slightly and Elsa rushed to catch her. Almost a full month without combat operations, and it felt like she was slipping. Drop Team 4 had given them one hell of a hard fight. Hard, but satisfying. In the end Team 6 had won, but only just. Elsa hadn't been in the sim, having subbed out for a member of Strike Seven that she had covered for a few days prior. And real combat wasn't the only action Anna felt herself missing out on either.

Elsa still didn't want to—the desire was there, plain as day, Anna could tell, but the blonde was very guarded about the topic in general. Not really afraid, not really that shy, not so prudish, but somehow quite unsure of herself, or perhaps unsure of what sex would change between them. Anna had got close, a number of times, but Elsa had warned her off each time. She was honest about what she wanted, but unsure of when she wanted it. I wonder if she's one of those people that want their first time to be absolutely perfect? Anna smiled at the thought, knowing how imperfect such things generally were. She didn't say anything to Elsa, now guiding her to the showers outside the sim room.

When she was done getting the grime off herself, Anna found Elsa leaning against the wall opposite the main hatch to the sim's showers, reading something off a datapad. She was clearly scrolling through some kind of news feed.

"Third Merchant just took Outpost 210, near Freeport."

"How?"

"Hacked the base defense grid. Turrets were down and the ships could land Marines. They also shut down all the Spectres guarding critical areas. Speculation is rife in official channels about what could do that, but they don't know about the 'icepick'."

"Any other action we're missing?" Anna asked, starting to walk down the corridor, heading back to their quarters.

"Some interesting weapon mods are showing up on the black market now, at the arms bazaar someone decided to name Smuggler's Cove. Anyway, a lot of it looks like ex-IMC tech, and even more of it looks like combat prototypes. Things like automatic 40mm cannons, and deuce-and-a-half rocket salvos."

"Do you know how old fashioned that just made you sound?"

"It sounded better in my head," Elsa rolled her eyes, scrolling through another article. "Should I go put on something with frills and a hoop-skirt?"

"A what?"

"Never mind. Says here the Militia have been forced out of Yuma, and that a megacarrier has been forced to make emergency repairs on one of the outlying planets in Freeport. 'Heavy damage from naval artillery is indicated, proving that despite recent reports, the Militia fleet is not contained, and remains a significant threat'. I'm thinking it was driven out from 210 and harried by the third Merchant."

"Seems likely enough. Anything actually interesting in that feed?"

Elsa shrugged, flicking the datapad off. "No. Just more of the same. This war is nothing new to them. The only difference now is that the IMC can't bring in reinforcements, while we can."

"What about all those reports about robotic soldiers we keep seeing—you think someone's mass producing Spectres?"

"They'd have to be, just for guard duties and perimeter defense. And for the number we destroy in the average operation. Those replacements have to come from somewhere. Best case, shipping warehouse; worst case, robotics factory."

"So we blow up the factory. Or warehouse. Or whatever. Job done."

"It's not that simple. First we have to find the facility."

"And are we—I mean, the Militia, with Bish and Sarah in charge now, instead of MacAllan?"

"I did message Bish to ask about that. He didn't say anything back other than they were actually looking for a facility."

They continued on, just making small talk. Anna already knew Elsa wasn't so good at it, but it was nice to have someone to talk to. Someone that listened to her occasional rambling. Companionship—that was what it felt like with Elsa. Not just friends, or possible future lovers, but companions in all things. Companions with benefits—but that just sounded silly. Anna palmed the access panel for their hatch, stepping inside. Elsa stepped past her and swung herself up onto the upper bunk.

"Don't want to come down here and keep me company?" Anna asked, sprawling out on her bunk.

"You're trying to seduce me again." Anna nearly laughed. She hadn't actually been thinking about that, more that it would just be nice to have Elsa lie with her for a while.

"Maybe a little, yeah, but I really just thought we could lie here and snuggle together for a while. Nothing else."

"Really?" Elsa's head appeared upside down, hanging from the top bunk, her braid falling past her.

"Really. I just want to be close to you."

"You won't get hands-y again?"

"I mean, the temptation is right th—"—Anna caught the acid look Elsa was giving her—"I'll do my best."

"I guess that'll have to do," Elsa swung down from the top bunk, landing softly against the floor before climbing onto Anna's mattress.

Two weeks later and there was still no sign of any combat action. Wargames were continuously conducted to keep the Pilots sharp, but it wasn't the same. Elsa missed the freedom of battle, being able so easily to lose herself in the moment, to become one with war; a perfect blend of mobility and firepower given purpose. Even the sims felt stale now, and they were running out of plausible scenarios. Some Pilots, herself included, had taken to running through the training sequence in time trials, just to keep a competitive edge. But she was only thinking about stale sim runs and missing combat operations to distract herself from what lay before her.

That, of course, was Anna, wearing a deep green bra with lace edging, and matching panties. It was surprising she even had those, given her tenure on the ship. But Pilots were allowed eccentricities, and were still human, as far as it went, with human desires and human needs. Elsa was not immune to such needs either, and that was why she was also wearing only a bra and briefs, in ice blue—about all she could find that seemed to suit the occasion. She still wasn't sure of herself, of what would change, but Anna had told her nothing needed to change—and if they were going to be lovers, there was going to be a lot of sex, so they really should get good at it. And then Anna had kissed her with a fierce passion, accidentally smacking her head into the bulkhead behind the bunk, rather ruining the mood.

"You're totally overthinking this," Anna looked at her sternly, arms crossed beneath her breasts.

"I was just thinking maybe I should be on the bottom, so you don't use the wall to abuse me again."

"One time."

"Yeah, but it hurt—and you ruined the mood."

Anna just stuck her tongue out, and Elsa was very tempted just to kiss it and get a rise out of the redhead. Instead she lay beside the redhead, one hand resting against a well toned stomach, fingers moving somewhere between a soft caress and a sensuous tickle. She could feel Anna's muscles twitch as her hand wandered higher, tugging at the fabric of the redhead's bra, freeing just one breast to tease. Behind her own back she could feel slim, dextrous fingers unhooking her bra. Singlehandedly, in fact. It was actually kind of impressive. As was the way Anna used that same hand to pull them closer together.

All down her right side she could feel Anna, the warmth of her body and the softness of her skin—and the way the redhead's left leg wrapped around her right. She turned slightly, presenting her body to the redhead before wrapping her arms around her, locking their lips in a passionate kiss. She was a little taken aback when Anna gently nibbled on her lower lip. Anna took a moment to look her in the eyes, turquoise eyes searching for some sign of what to do. Elsa smiled but gently shook her head. Anna shrugged, pulling her back into the kiss.

And then she kissed her on the cheek. Jawbone. Neck. Throat. Collarbone. Elsa shivered, sensation tingling all over her body, a fire burning deep within her belly, and she could feel herself starting to get wet. Because those kisses were starting to go places. Exciting places. Then they trailed back down to her belly, finishing at her navel. She was suddenly very frustrated with Anna. She is fucking teasing me. Terribly. And the devious smile on the redhead's lips did not help matters.

"You want more?" Of course I do. Anna threw herself on her back against the mattress, inviting Elsa to make a move. "Earn it."

It couldn't be too hard, right? Even if it had been a long time, and she did feel a bit rusty. But Anna was new, and exciting, and very clearly waiting for her to make a move, her smile slowly fading. There was no plan. Elsa threw herself on top of the redhead, hands working the clasp at her back to undo Anna's lacy green bra. And then she was licking Anna's lips in a passionate kiss, their breasts pressing together as Elsa pulled the redhead closer. Anna found time to whisper in her ear between kisses.

"More."

Elsa let her hands roam, up and down Anna's sides, gently tickling her, leaving her breathless with another kiss. And another, and another, forcing the redhead down when she began to rise. She sat up, straddling Anna's waist, fingers trailing from the redhead's freckled shoulders to her breasts, leaning down to plant a kiss between them. Elsa blinked, because now Anna was on top of her, pinning her down, thighs against her waist, hands against her breasts. Somehow her own hands had managed to stay in contact with Anna's breasts, and she wondered if perhaps it had been planned that way.

Definitely planned. Elsa felt a hand sliding between her breasts and down her body, pressing firmly against her stomach. She could feel fingers slipping under the elastic of her briefs. Slowly getting closer to that one delicious moment she still wasn't sure she was ready for. She took Anna's wrist with both hands and held firm. The redhead gave her a disbelieving look, already seeming about to take off. Removing one hand, Elsa placed it against a freckled shoulder and looked Anna in the eye, holding her gaze as long as she possibly could.

"Not yet?" Elsa's voice sounded like a pathetic whimper—she had meant it to be innocent and questioning, but was more out of breath than she'd thought.

"Seriously?" Anna's disbelief gave way to a long-suffering look.

Elsa shifted, lying beside the redhead instead of beneath her. One of Anna's hands rested against the outside of her briefs. The other was playing with her left breast, even as Elsa pulled the redhead into a tight hug, resting her head against one freckled shoulder, smelling sweat and musk and cinnamon and something else uniquely Anna. Copper hair had been done up in braids, and now Elsa found herself worrying at those while Anna continued to play with her breasts. Something seemed to be slipping away, and with it her desire. She rested her head against Anna's, worrying at the redhead's braids again, trying to figure it out. It didn't take long for Anna to notice her distraction.

"Where are you going, iceheart?" She felt a sudden chill against her chest, and realized with a start that Anna was blowing against it.

"I–I'm not sure. Away, I think." Elsa blinked, but the moment had passed. It was as if the passion had just been frozen out of her, leaving her body cold and empty. She hated the feeling. She wasn't sure why it kept happening, but this was one of the reasons she hadn't let Anna go so far. It also wasn't something she felt comfortable talking about.

"It is so not fair to tease me like this."

"I'm sorry. I just…"

"No, no, don't apologize. I should know better by now. So should you, for that matter."

"I should know better?!" Elsa couldn't believe what she was hearing. She struggled to rise, but Anna was pinning her to the mattress. "Anna, let me go. Now."

"Not until you admit it."

"Admit what?"

"You have a problem."

"I do not have a problem!" But Anna relented, helping her up, handing her her bra that had been knocked to the floor. The redhead had a defeated look. Defeated and frustrated.

"If I didn't like you so much I'd just go and sleep with Kristoff again."

"Kristoff?" It took Elsa's mind a few moments to process the rest of the statement. "Wait, again?!"

"Before you were onboard," Anna tilted her head to the side, looking over her shoulder at Elsa. "We had a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"Friends with benefits."

"Call it what you want, but it worked for me. You… you're goddamn frustrating, and I know you want it, but at the same time you never want to go that far. It's like your afraid of it or something."

And that's a little too close to the truth. "No," Elsa lied. "I'm just not sure of myself. It's been a long time."

"It's okay to ask for help; to ask what I like—you don't have to try and figure it all out on your own." Anna threw herself down next to Elsa, one hand reaching out to touch Elsa's breasts. "And you have to stop lying to yourself. I don't know what's bothering you, but I want to. I want to help you. And is it alright if I just play with these a little longer—they're magnificent."

Elsa rolled her eyes, but didn't refuse. It was nice to be wanted. To be played with. Even if she couldn't go further. Even if Anna's hand was dipping into her green—seriously, Corazon, I'm right in front of you! Elsa removed the hand from her breasts, and stilled the one Anna had in her panties.

"Pick one."

Anna shrugged, hand returning to her panties. "If you stay you might learn something about what I like. Really, really like."

"I think the shower's loud enough to drown you out…"

"You'll have to make it a long one—and go easy on that soap. It's taken a beating these past weeks."

Elsa blushed. "You didn't have to tell me that."

"What, and miss tha—oooh, yes—that look on your face. Run along now, unless you'd rather watch…"

Elsa was torn, because, yes, she was goddamn frustrated, but at the same time Anna was her best friend, but also maybe a would-be lover, and someone who she wanted to share everything with, but they still had a right to keep some things secret, and that was supposed to be a good thing, but some secrets could be so damaging and—and if she didn't move right now she ran the risk of seeing far too much of Anna than she was prepared for. She closed her eyes, grabbed a kitbag, and slammed the bathroom hatch, only to realize she'd picked up Anna's clothes. To hell with it. She was not going back out there with that maniac—because she knew from the time she'd nearly walked in on Anna previously that the redhead was very strong, and quite possibly insane when so aroused. She turned the shower on and slammed it all the way to cold.

She fell to the floor under the icy water, hugging her knees to her chest. What the hell is wrong with me?

"You—uhhhh—okay in there?" Anna shouted through the partition, sounding somewhat distracted.

"Slipped!" Elsa shouted back. "I'm okay!"

Which was about as far from the truth as it was possible to get. Because Anna was right—she did have a problem. Intimacy issues. The closer they got the worse it felt. The more frustrated she left Anna the worse it felt. The more she pushed Anna away from trying to help her, the worse she felt. It was a horrible feedback loop, because Anna got closer, then got frustrated because Elsa couldn't reciprocate fully, and then she tried to help her, and Elsa was forcing her away yet again. Mostly physically. Elsa hiccoughed, teasing out her braid. She let the rushing water wash away her tears. The sounds coming from the other side of the partitioning bulkhead seemed a terrible counterpoint to her own morose feelings. Standing to wash the rest of her body, Elsa slipped against the soap-slick floor, falling with a heavy thud. She didn't bother getting up again. It just wasn't worth it.

"Oh, fuck it!" Elsa heard a loud thud coming from the main cabin, along with that very, very annoyed voice. Footsteps stomped their way to the bathroom partition. "You are so not okay."

Anna overrode the lock on the hatch, and roughly dragged Elsa up from where she lay curled into a ball. With her other hand she turned off the shower. "Up. Get dressed. We're seeing a medic about this. Right fucking now."

"I just slipped, Anna," Elsa protested, wrapping herself in a towel. Anna took said towel and began drying her off, paying careful attention to… everything, in fact, but especially her face. Then she used the towel to wipe some of the sweat from her own naked body, dragging a few items from the kitbag Elsa had hauled into the bathroom. T-shirt, briefs, and shorts. Elsa just stared at her.

"Put something on. Now!" And Elsa felt compelled to obey, pulling on a pair of briefs that were slightly too small, and a pair of jeans that had the same problem. "Hey, you actually look pretty cute in my jeans—and maybe I shouldn't have said that, but you really do, okay?" Anna rummaged in the bag, throwing a black ball of fabric at Elsa. "Tank top. Just pull it on and we'll go. Grab a jacket if you have to."

"I just slipped," Elsa protested. She wasn't worth this kind of attention. "I'm fine."

"No you are fucking not, Elizabeth Stroud, and I'm going to help you figure out why. Now come on, we've gotta get to the infirmary."

"I'm fi—"

"If you lie to me like that one more time, I will hit you." Anna raised her hand and Elsa instinctively shied back. Anna facepalmed, then placed her hand against Elsa's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. It felt like an injection of pure courage. "I know it's scary, so I won't leave you alone. Not ever. Okay?"

"You never did," and Elsa felt brave enough to take Anna's hand as they left their cabin.

Anna stretched and yawned, rolling over under the sheets. It was lonely without Elsa sharing her cabin. She waved the clock on, blinking tiredly at the time it displayed. 02:17. The fuck am I doing awake at this hour? Then she heard the second sharp knock against the hatch. Struggling out of bed, running a hand through her hair in a futile attempt to tame it, she staggered to the hatch and unlocked it, a small part of her wondering why Elsa hadn't used the keycode to get in.

Then she saw just how tired the blonde looked, bags under her eyes, hair disheveled, still wearing the same jeans and tank top—and jacket—from two days ago. Elsa inclined her head in a gesture to move out the door, and Anna held up a hand for time, muttering about pants, pulling on shorts and a shirt so she didn't wander the ship half naked. Then Elsa took her hand and started to pull her through the ship, down, deep below engineering and the Titan hangars.

Anna looked around, noting all the conduits and cabling covering the walls, the low ceiling, and the odd silence within the chamber. It was definitely a maintenance area, but Elsa had obviously led her here for a reason. Elsa sat on a low bench made out of supply crates and gestured to the far end of the space. It was a blank wall, black, until Elsa waved off the lights. There was a slight shimmer, and in the blackness Anna could see little points of white. Stars. She blinked. She's showing me the stars…

The shimmer faded, and colour began to bloom in the distance. Not much, not against the blackness of space, but it was there, a tenuous web of blue-green, resolving into a sweeping line well above their line of vision. The tail of a nebula. It wasn't huge or impressive, even against the infinite void. It was subtle, subdued, understated. Anna smiled, glad Elsa had shared this secret space with her. It didn't have the grandeur of the average observation deck, but that was the point. It was quiet, secluded. A place of secrets and unknowable truths.

Taking a seat next to Elsa, Anna extended her hand, hoping the blonde would take it. She did, giving it a gentle squeeze, taking a deep breath as if she was about to speak. Then she looked away, sighing, shaking her head. Anna placed her other hand on top of Elsa's.

"It's bad, huh?"

Elsa sighed again, sidling closer. She still hadn't said anything, and Anna was getting worried now. It felt like Elsa was shutting her out again. But she was also moving closer, as if she wanted something she couldn't ask for. Anna moved closer, leaning towards Elsa. The blonde didn't draw away, so Anna wrapped her arm around Elsa's shoulders and gave her a little squeeze, something warm and encouraging. She felt Elsa rest her head against her shoulder, staring out at the stars. She still didn't know what was wrong, but she got the sense that Elsa might be building up to tell her, so asking was beside the point. Encouragement, on the other hand, that would work.

"Twenty seconds of insane courage, that's all it takes."

She heard a sharp intake of breath, and Elsa suddenly broke away from the embrace. Anna turned, but that seemed to be exactly what Elsa wanted, arms hugging her sides.

"I have depression."

Then Elsa looked away, looking out at the stars, falling silent again, breath slow and shallow. That explains a few things, actually, Anna made a note to look up more about that later. But there was something she could do now. A simple question.

"How can I help?"

Elsa stood, starting to pace in front of the stars. "The doctor said you probably already had. He said this was probably a long time coming, and he's surprised the IMC medics didn't pick anything up."

"Maybe it's all the downtime?" Anna wondered aloud. "Did you ever get to rest in the IMC?"

Elsa stopped pacing, arms crossed, frowning. Her eyebrows rose slightly as she considered the question. Anna smiled, gesturing for the blonde to continue—to say something.

"Not really. We were always on deployment. Never more than a week of shore leave."

"So this is… what… everything finally coming down on you?"

Elsa sighed, hugging her arms. Anna stood, purposefully walking over to her, wrapping her in a tight hug from behind. The blonde said nothing, but turned enough that Anna could see the beginnings of a smile on her lips.

"So, would you like to sleep in your own bed for what's left of tonight?" Elsa nodded, allowing Anna to lead her by the hand back through the ship. "I'll remember this place if you ever want to be left alone, but also want me to find you."

"Thank you."

Depression was complicated. Anna was finding that out quickly. It wasn't the only problem Elsa had, but it was the only one she was willing to discuss with her—as they'd been doing for the past week. The problem for Pilots was that psychological issues really were all in the mind—altering the chemical balance within a body didn't help. Ripcord technology created a small but essential disconnect between mind and body. Software and hardware, so to speak. Something else Anna had been researching in the ship's archives. It was still better than the Link-Psychosis caused by overuse of a neural interface. Sometimes those Pilots forgot they were no longer in Titans, physically, but their minds told them otherwise. A lucky few had proven resilient to those effects; but the interface had been phased out—overtaken, really—by Ripcord technology.

Technology that allowed a mind to exist without a body; at least temporarily. Even reading all the literature, Anna still didn't really understand how it worked, just that it did. And that it made Pilots immortal. Functionally immortal, but not completely. That was why backups existed. Why she existed. She shook her head, turning the datapad off, sliding it down beside her bunk.

"You okay up there?"

"I guess," Elsa replied from the top bunk, voice flat. "I'm bored."

"We could try sparring again."

"That's… okay, yeah," Elsa landed in a graceful crouch on the deck. "If I'm gonna feel bad, may as well have a reason for it."

"No, you're gonna feel good, and do you know why?"

"Because you're going to go easy on me?"

Anna laughed. "Oh no. No I'm not." Because this was something Anna had discovered in her research. Activity was important, especially physical activity. Possibly why this problem had never presented itself while Elsa had been working for the IMC—she'd always been active. "It's gonna feel good because exercise always feels good. At least when you finish, y'know, runner's high and all that?"

"Sure." Elsa didn't sound at all convinced.

"Or maybe I'm doing it for me… so I get to see you in the showers again."

"Anna!"

"What… I read it was important to let you know that people care about you; that they want you; that they find you worthy."

Elsa didn't have a good reply for that one. Anna grabbed both their kitbags and headed for the door. Given the time the gym might be busy, but it would still be worthwhile to get Elsa out and active. Two hours later she found herself questioning that logic as she pressed her hand against several new bruises. Elsa had not held back. It was a good thing, really, seeing Elsa get so into the moment; get so close to happiness again. And of course she herself missed the rush of combat, the high it gave her, so it helped her too.

They showered without incident—though Anna did take the time to appreciate Elsa's body before hugging her in front of everyone. "Fuck what they think," she whispered in the blonde's ear. "If it makes you happy." Elsa hugged her back and they headed for the lockers, one or two whistles of appreciation following them.

Chapter Text

A week later, and Elsa found herself driven to the edge of exhaustion by endless sim runs. But these weren't the wargames that they had run previously. These were focused, targeted, purposeful. They had found a target, and now they had time to prepare a major strike. The entire mood of the ship seemed to be changing around her, weariness underlined with a sense of purpose, and a strange charge in the air. A sensation something like a coiled snake, ready to strike.

She learned a lot more about Anna, both in and out of battle, the redhead offering interesting tidbits from her past as conversation starters. It really was helping. They simmed a lot with Kristoff too, and in battle she could truly appreciate his support as a marksman, giving them overwatch. Sometimes the sims forced them to use unfamiliar weapons, experimenting with new kits. She understood the logic behind it—just because she was good with her gun didn't mean it was the right tool for every situation. She found an affinity for the Hemlok and its Starburst mod. It turned into a devastating new tool, and she made sure to prime a few war clones with the appropriate didacts for the coming battle.

Anna meanwhile, had fallen in love with combat shotguns. It made sense, considering she seemed to like the very loudest weapons in existence. Elsa had watched her experimenting with an amped Particle Wall at one point, and her sense of timing was legendary. She hadn't given up the Arc Cannon, but she had experimented with the Big Punch modification for her Titan. Elsa had laughed when Anna first suggested it, but the redhead had responded by asking how many Pilots expected to find a Stryder with that mod. Elsa had shut up after that.

Preparations wound down slowly, becoming more routine, the probable target becoming easier and easier to figure out. The discussion she and Anna had had more than a month ago had been right. Every strike now was planned to hit a Spectre production facility. Several ships from the Third Merchant began dropping off the remains of Spectres, and Bish could most often be found near the Titan hangars, working on the combat robots—working on a way to quickly and effectively defeat them.

Then, two weeks later, the Redeye itself made a jump to an uncharted system, loitered for exactly 23 minutes, and jumped out, leaving no trace it had ever been there save for an expanding lightcone. No one in the Militia command structure made comment; at least not to the Pilots. Elsa had a theory—because she knew she couldn't have been the only with misgivings about fighting for the IMC. It was entirely possible a splinter faction now existed, and had arranged to meet in a neutral system—but that still begged the question about why to expose the Redeye if there was any risk of a trap.

Sims ramped up again, almost once a day, and Grunts began cloning, new combat didacts installed. Spectres had been assembled from spare parts, and Bish had modified them to act as hacking nodes to quickly subvert the target of their strike. Titan weapons had also been modified—improved with captured or stolen IMC designs. The Militia was changing—Elsa could feel it, and it left her too busy to worry about anything else.

Nights became routine, sharing a bed with Anna. They still hadn't managed to go any further, and it was rather for lack of trying, coming back at odd hours, completely exhausted, just crawling under the covers and snuggling up to each other. It was one small constant in the world changing around her, and Elsa appreciated that more than she could show. During the night cycle the Redeye would continue to jump, along with the rest of the First Militia Fleet, now reinforced by several irregular Frontier task forces, and elements of the Third Merchant Fleet. The coiled-spring readiness could be felt by everyone.

Ninety-five days after the battle of Demeter, at 0600 ship's time, the Redeye made one more jump, hovering above a verdant, resource rich and otherwise completely nameless world. The ship and supporting elements hovered in geosynchronous orbit above a single, massive facility. Hammond Robotics, manufacturers of the very first Titans, and responsible for the development of MRVN helper bots, and Spectre combat remotes. One satellite facility at the edge of the Frontier, hidden more by distance than anything else. Elsa stowed the datapad she'd been reading from. Briefing would be in five.

Right on time Bish spoke over the intercom. "Listen up, much has changed since we fought at Demeter three months ago. With the destruction of Demeter IMC reinforcements are now years from arriving on the Frontier. Sarah."

"As the human numbers keep shifting in our favour, we've witnessed many defections from the IMC to our cause." Sarah spoke earnestly, a video feed suddenly going live. Behind her Elsa could make out an oddly familiar face. "Trust is earned, not given, and I know you are all wary of fighting alongside former foes. But this man comes with MacAllan's own seal of approval. I give you field commander Marcus Graves."

Graves stepped forward, removing his old IMC officer's cap, revealing close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. Setting his old cap down off-screen, he retrieved something from the same area. An MCOR cap, holding it so the camera would pick up the unit flash first. Two Wingman revolvers—MacAllan's weapon of choice—with a trio of bullets stood between them. Only the very best Pilots and officers in the Militia could wear the Maruader Corps badge, and all did so with pride. For Graves to wear it—to have been granted it—was a bold statement; but so was the next thing he said.

"Pilots, this is a war. The Militia are not guerrillas. We do not have to run. We do not have to hide. We stand, and fight, because for the first time, we are not trapped in their world—they are trapped in ours. Today we strike at the first of many IMC robotics factories." Graves nodded to the camera, retrieving a G2A4 rifle, racking the bolt as he spoke. "Check your loadouts and ready up. Graves out."

Anna swayed slightly as the Crow completed its jump, inserting at the northern end of the Hammond Robotics facility. One hand gripped the grab-rail while the other rested on Elsa's arm. The portside hatch hissed open and next to them Graves had to shout make himself heard over the whine of the turbines.

"The IMC can no longer transport human forces to the Frontier fast enough to defeat us! But what they have is an endless supply of Spectres, and we're gonna put an end to it."

And just like that they were off. Elsa leapt from the side of the dropship, landing virtually on the side of the Spectre transit line they were hovering above before springing forward, firing her jetpack, and running along the side of an air-con unit, leaping for the main building of the facility. In that time Anna had made a single jump, slamming into the side of the northern building, scrambling to the roof and unlimbering her Spitfire. Kristoff sprinted past, taking position above Alpha, watching over the Atlas statue and the courtyard area around it.

"This is a Hardpoint mission." Bish informed the Pilots—not that they hadn't known from the get go. "Taking control of the hardpoints will give us control of the facility and keep the IMC from activating every Spectre here. Once we have control, I'm detonating these things and crippling the facility." That last part was new though. Obviously his experiments had paid off.

Running to the skybridge that held the Alpha node, Anna threw two satchel charges towards the far end and activated her cloak, ducking into a small alcove to her left. Another Militia Pilot ran past her, blazing away with an R-101 towards the far end of the skybridge. There was the sudden report of a Wingman revolver and the Pilot fell. Anna pulled the trigger on her detonator. The satchel charges blew out every window at the far end of the skybridge, blasted aside a heavy work stand, and tore apart the pair of IMC Pilots advancing into the hardpoint.

"Good work. I've locked down this section. I'm activating Spectres near the hardpoint to help you out." Bish's words were accompanied by a strange mechanical whirring, and a handful of Spectres emerged from storage racks, taking position to defend the hardpoint. Bish's voice crackled with static. "Two outta three ain't bad my friend, but let's go for three."

Anna ran to the southern edge of the skybridge, vaulted a heavy desk and sailed down the stairs at the eastern end of the storage annex. She leapt from the low catwalk outside the building to the interior of the main building—the lobby, in fact. Lining the walls were examples of all of Hammond Robotics' finest products, caged for display, inert but still possibly useful. Her cloak recharged, she activated it when entering range of the Bravo node.

Contested.

At least one IMC Pilot was maintaining a connection for whoever was in charge on that side. Anna sprinted past a reception desk and into the upper level atrium with a waterfall against the back wall. That waterfall fed past a small planter, and from behind it came a muzzle flash. She fired from the hip, heavy AP rounds going wild as she struggled to sight in and bring her LMG's recoil under control. The enemy Pilot's aim was disrupted by the sudden fire, and suddenly he was gone, small calibre impacts riddling his torso.

Elsa slipped out from behind the waterfall, using her grip glove to arrest her downward momentum. She landed, turning to throw an arc grenade into the window on their right. Using her retinal implants to call up tactical data, Anna could see that the IMC were already taking Alpha, and had taken Charlie while she fought for Bravo.

"Putting up a hard fight," Elsa commented, sprinting for the left side exit to the atrium. Her voice crackled over a private channel as she became more distant. "Rougher than our sims."

"We got this."

"I'm taking Alpha back; you've got Charlie?"

"Already on it," and Anna was sprinting for the same door Elsa had run through, but instead of turning left, as she knew the other Pilot had, she instead vaulted the board table and jumped for the windows, angling for the zipline between Bravo and Charlie. One hand—grip glove—on the cable, the other attempting to train her Spitfire on any nearby threats. She tucked and rolled through the entrance of Charlie, coming up in a beautiful snap-kick that slammed an IMC Pilot against the upper wall hard enough to crack the tiles.

"Your Titan will be ready in 30 seconds." Sarah's voice, updating her.

Now Charlie was in Militia hands, but Bravo was falling, and Alpha had not yet been reclaimed. It seemed odd, but resistance was fierce—especially for this far out from the known conflict areas. She wondered how they had known to have Pilots here, at this particular facility. But they didn't know. I bet they spread themselves across the entire Frontier trying to figure it out; where we would strike. Which meant all these production facilities were actually far more important than they looked.

Anna leapt from the platform at the northern end of Charlie, sprinting along the translucent glass partition to her left, jumping out from the end and to her right, landing at the entrance to another skybridge, over the road at the back of the main building that housed Bravo. She jumped to the left, through a broken window at the far end of the skybridge, taking position at a window that overlooked the atrium level of Bravo. It was absolutely full of Spectres.

Her Spitfire kicked wildly, thunderous report echoing throughout the building as its recoil settled and heavy rounds began shredding the Spectres around Bravo. Her belt nearly dry, Anna threw her last satchel, pulling the detonator before it landed, the explosion knocking over several stacked crates and blasting leaves from the plants beneath the waterfall. Then she cloaked and leapt through the window, taking position right next to the Bravo node. As she waited for the hardpoint to hack fully, Graves's rich, deep voice sounded over the tactical net.

"Bish, I'd like to open a comm link to a private IMC channel."

"Uh, why would you do that commander?" Bish was skeptical, and Anna had been asking the same question.

"Why would I do it or why would I tell you about it?" Graves sounded slightly annoyed, or impatient—Anna wasn't sure which.

"Um, I'll take a little of both."

"I'm doing it because there's not too many actual humans left on that side. I'm telling you about it so you don't get suspicious."

It made sense. Obviously not everyone in the Militia high command trusted Graves, even if MacAllan had vouched for him. It also made sense as to why the IMC was fighting so hard for this facility—they needed it, for the combat troops it could offer in lieu of actual soldiers. Any response from Bish was drowned out in a haze of arc static, forcing Anna to abandon her position, her stealth systems temporarily disrupted by the damage.

The Pilot that had thrown the arc mine appeared in the window Anna had previously jumped through, aiming a Kraber AP Sniper. There was no time, and Anna felt the anti-material round tear through her right side as she made the doorway to her left, collapsing as what was left of her body stumbled, leaving a red streak down the side of the wall.

"Your Titan's good to go." Elsa heard Sarah's voice clearly as she descended on Alpha like an avenging angel, two arc grenades and a full magazine of C.A.R. SMG rounds emptying the hardpoint of any and all opposition. She sprinted through as Kristoff swung in from his overwatch position, doubling the capture rate until she leapt from the eastern window, flinging her Titan's drop beacon as she left. The air was filled with the whine of a charging jump drive, and a second after she had hit the ground next to the Atlas statue her Titan slammed to earth with a heavy thud.

Sprinting through the dome shield, Elsa leapt up at the cockpit of her Titan, swinging from the grab handles and using part of her momentum to pull the hatch closed. Her hands were already on the controls, sighting in with her railgun as the cockpit displays sprang to life. An enemy Titan—an Atlas with a Quad Rocket—stood inside Bravo, capturing the hardpoint. A fully charged railgun round made the Pilot reconsider, stripping his shields and chipping his armour. He turned to face the new threat, unleashing a rocket salvo only for it to be caught by Elsa's Vortex Shield.

She refired instantly, forcing the IMC Atlas to dodge or become the victim of its own ordnance. Then her railgun was charging again as she lumbered forward, past the Atlas statue, past the lobby entrance, and into Bravo. Something slammed into her Titan from behind, throwing off her aim so that the railgun round punched through the wall behind the Atlas instead of through the Titan's core. Her radio almost exploded with multiple calls, drowned out by Marshamallow's onboard AI.

"I'm in… shutting down all enemy Spectres in range. Keep me connected while I take control." That was Bish, updating the tactical net.

"Engaging another hostile Spectre squad. These things are everywhere!" A nearby Militia Grunt, requesting support.

"Caution, you are outnumbered 2 to 1." Marshmallow's AI.

Elsa dashed forward, toward the Atlas, throwing her right arm forward, the Ogre's servos interpreting the gesture and amplifying it into a devastating haymaker, slamming the Atlas into the far wall outside the lobby area, dooming it. Heavy impacts rattled her Titan, and the Atlas Pilot initiated his eject sequence, bouncing from the roof.

"Warning, multiple Titans engaging. Enemy Titan down." Her shield core wasn't ready, her armour was down to 15%, but Elsa knew a way to clear Bravo long enough for Bish to finish hacking it.

"You want my Titan so bad?" She asked darkly, flicking the overload toggle and yanking the ejection handle between her legs. "Why don't you come and take it!"

Beneath her the Ogre's reactor took on a blue-white glow as she sailed up through the lobby tower. Her Titan detonated in a spectacular nuclear fireball, and as she landed almost on top of the node from her ejection, Bish finally finished the hack. Then she leapt to the waterfall and sprinted along the wall behind it, heading left, to the boardroom, and the zipline that would take her to Charlie. Bravo was already dropping. Fuck, what do we have to do to keep a hardpoint?

But she had already latched onto the zipline, and Charlie was likely to be less well guarded than Bravo at this point. Better to apply force where the enemy was weak rather than trying to impede them where they were strong. She switched to a private channel.

"Corazon, you got Alpha?"

"Nearly. Holy shit these guys can fight." Her next words were drowned out by a loud explosion that left even Elsa's ears ringing.

"Corazon?"

"Close. There's too damn many of them for me to take this on my own. Mountain man, a little support?"

"Busy here," Kristoff's voice sounded over the radio. "This guy with the Kraber is good."

"Take him," Elsa replied curtly. "I'll help Corazon. Anna, hold, I'm on my way."

Elsa leapt from Charlie, flying down the zipline, leaping from the end of it to sprint along the outer wall of the main building, carefully balancing her jetpack thrust against the curved wall to land each step. She leapt out and forward, rolling along the edge of a catwalk, jumping left to plant her feet against the wall above it, jetpack keeping her up and driving her onward. She hit stim and accelerated even faster, leaping from the edge of the wall to a disabled holo-display on the right of the alley she was running above. She sailed straight through the window in front of her, tucking and rolling, coming up in a crouch, weapons ready.

She could hear the thunder of a Spitfire, and knew it could only be Anna. She sprinted up the stairs, past a row of cubicles, and threw an arc grenade clear down the skybridge that held Alpha. Then she sprinted past the other Pilot, leaping from the window, running along the outside of the skybridge to smash through the large window in the building opposite, a storm of flying shards of glass tumbling about her as her C.A.R. spat round after round at two stunned IMC Pilots holding the southern end of the skybridge.

Her weapon ran dry as she finished off a Spectre emerging from storage, and pain flared in her back, a wetness spreading under her uniform and her vision tinting red. She rolled sideways, drawing her sidearm with one hand while vaulting a heavy desk with another, snapping off three rounds in the general direction the shot against her had come from. Another round whined from the desk leaving an ugly scar as her feet hit the floor on the far side. Two more rounds from her P2011 pistol clipped the enemy Pilot, spoiling her aim.

Then a massive explosion sent Elsa tumbling back and her opponent's lifeless body slamming into the ceiling. Anna stood at the end of the Alpha skybridge, and even though she couldn't see it, Elsa would swear she was wearing a satisfied—and perhaps slightly maniacal—grin.

"Thought you could use a hand there, iceheart."

Elsa let out a breath, vision clearing. Anna threw her drop beacon out the back window, down a short flight of stairs to the south of the skybridge.

"Need a lift?"

"Sure."

Elsa scrambled up the back of Anna's Stryder as the other Pilot pulled the cockpit closed and powered up her systems. She glanced at the tactical display. Three IMC Titans were on the deck, Charlie was in their hands, Bravo was falling rapidly, and end even Alpha was going down. Anna dashed for Bravo, and Elsa unslung her Archer, readying it for the Titans she knew they would encounter in Bravo. Every sim run that hardpoint had always been hotly contested. Bish's spoke over the tactical net, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"The IMC have all three hardpoints. If we don't get them back they'll turn every Spectre against us!"

A cluster missile led them into Bravo, followed by the crackling discharge of a max charge Arc Cannon, lightning arcing between the pair of Titans holding the objective; a Stryder and an Atlas. Both had been forced to move already by Anna's cluster missile, and then she dashed in and popped smoke, further forcing the enemy Titans back. The Stryder stepped forward, and was suddenly rocked back by a titanic haymaker from Anna's Titan, stumbling into the wall beside it. Through the edge of the smoke Elsa was locking the Ogre behind them, the Archer heavy rocket crossing the distance before the Ogre had time to raise its Vortex Shield, detonating against its Pilot's insignia.

A bullseye shield.

Hands working in a blur, Elsa used her jetpack to steady her against the motion of Anna's Titan as she reloaded, locking Duke Laski's Titan again, but not firing until his Vortex Shield was drained. Drained rather quickly in fact when it suffered a full damage hit from Anna's Arc Cannon. The Archer heavy rocket that slammed into it barely had time to arm, the distance was so short. It was followed by a cluster missile that Duke shouldered and dashed his way through, a Titan punch sending Anna's Stryder reeling, but not knocking it back far enough. Another Arc Cannon hit and the Ogre sprinted forward, a tell-tale blue-white glow beginning to show—but Laski had left it too late, Anna's Titan dashing forward, one fist slamming through the damaged armour of his cockpit and ripping him from the control chair.

Elsa heard hydraulic servos whine with effort, and then all that was left of her arch nemesis was a red stain running down the steel and and composite fingers of Anna's Stryder.

"Thanks for the assist."

Elsa was about to reply when another voice cut across the tactical net.

"Blisk, this is Graves, can you hear me?"

"What do you want?"

"I want to end the war." They all did. The fighting had been going on a long time. The three months prior to this strike was the longest downtime Elsa could remember in three years. Since her father's death.

"Yeah? Then fight harder." Blisk was derisive. "Maybe you will. Quickest way to end it is to wipe out everyone who stands against you."

Anna scrambled up the framework at the northern end of Charlie, handfuls of climbing vines coming away in her hands as she climbed. Olaf stood sentry below her, AI set to guard mode. Inside the hardpoint building—one of the actual assembly plants for the Spectres—Anna could see no one, Bish's hacking unimpeded. She stood upon the platform at the northern end of the building, watching the entrance to the skybridge at the far end—an entrance masked by a work terminal and several heavy looking crates. The hack stopped, and Anna jumped from the platform, landing hard, swinging her Spitfire around, searching for a target.

A wall of lead hit her from above, the IMC Pilot hanging from the wall to her right. Her vision was already tinted deep red, but the Pilot was too close even as she threw the satchel charge, the explosion killing them both, Ripcord pulling her to orbit. She blinked, waking in the clone bay of the Redeye. She had been doing a lot of fighting through Alpha and the side rooms of Bravo. Cramped areas with little space to manoeuvre. Let's change things up, she thought to herself, pulling an amped EVA-8 shotgun from the weapons rack. She slipped a RE-45 autopistol into her thigh holster, and slung a Sidewinder across her back. Ready, she leapt into the warpfall conduit, landing somewhere outside Alpha, near where the Militia had first dropped off their forces.

The lower level of the building was ruined. Something heavy had fallen through the skylight, crushing the tiled floor, collapsing part of the foundations into the soft earth beneath it. The main doors had also been blasted apart—sabotaged, perhaps—and were nowhere to be seen. Anna began to wonder if this was the first strike that had been made against this place, or if someone—Third Mechant, or maybe the MCOR, had made a pre-emptive strike to draw the IMC's attention away from something else. She couldn't know, scrambling up the wall in front of her, taking the stairs to her right that led up into the office section just north of the Alpha skybridge.

As expected there was an IMC Pilot holding the hardpoint node, R101 in hand. Anna's shotgun spat lead, ripping through the enemy Pilot, the brutal recoil making her feel even more alive. There was just something so primal about battle, about the feel of heavy weapons. She slunk into an alcove at the northern end of Alpha, activating her cloak, waiting either for the hardpoint to finish changing ownership, or her next victim to run past. The hardpoint was captured before anyone else moved past. Overhead she heard the distinct snap-crack of a Longbow's hypervelocity rounds.

"Get your Titan to Bravo feistypants, you've got a huge fight in there. Sven's coming down now for support."

Anna didn't need to reply, toggling Olaf's AI to follow mode, knowing it would seek her out via the shortest possible route. Which, from where she had left him at Charlie, meant straight through Bravo. She ran through the skybridge, jumping past a large desk with several bullet holes in it and out a window in the east wall of the building, landing on a catwalk platform before springing to the roof above the semi-circular lobby of Bravo.

"I am engaging multiple Titans," Olaf's AI cheerfully informed her. "Enemy Pilot ejected."

Anna continued to run, noting her Titan's position on the mini-map in her retinal display. Close. She sucked in a breath, wincing. Less than 10% armour left on her Titan. No point aiming for a rendezvous. Instead she set him back to guard mode, sprinting over the top of Bravo, heading south-east, towards the Spectre maintenance room at the side of that objective. Vaulting past the catwalk railing around the outside of the Spectre maintenance room, she sailed through the window, landing atop a strip of heavy worklights that swayed dangerously under her weight. It was still a commanding position, and the IMC Pilot running through from the window at the end of the Charlie skybridge ate four shells from her shotgun as she jumped down to face him.

What was left of him. She flicked the magazine release, dropping the partly spent drum and loaded another from those hanging at her waist. The battle was really heating up now, and they couldn't have been more than halfway through. She leapt through the window that led to Charlie, cloaking as she sprinted down the skybridge and found the hardpoint contested by an enemy Pilot. An enemy Pilot clearly visible on the raised platform at the far end of the objective.

Anna leapt to her right, firing her jetpack to keep her steady against the heavy glass partition she was running against, impacts from an R-97 SMG chasing her along the wall. Two rounds caught her in the thigh as she jumped from the end of the wall, snapping her amped EVA-8 in line to aim at the Pilot, squeezing the trigger to be rewarded with a triple report of heavy shotgun shells ripping apart the IMC Pilot as he reloaded. An instant later Anna's feet found purchase on the platform the enemy Pilot had been standing on, and she let out a breath, impacts from R-97 armed Spectres scattering against the wall behind her. An arc grenade flew up, clipped the top of one of the windows on the west side of the building, then rolled next to the hardpoint node, detonating, lightning arcing between all the Spectres in the area, fusing joints and frying control circuits.

"Okay, the hardpoint is ours. Now hold your position—you got incoming IMC forces, but I can't get a fix on their numbers." Bish updated her over the tactical net. "Ok buddy, it's still a close fight, but we're definitely behind right now. There's some time left to turn things around."

Glancing at the scores on the tactical readout, Anna saw it really was a close fight. 227 to 241—in the IMC's favour. Bish was right though, there was time enough to turn it around. Anna turned and leapt out the window, jumping to the balcony of the building just north of Charlie, scrambling up the side of it to get a clear view of the road snaking around the outside of Charlie and Bravo, running back to the entrance of the facility somewhere off to the north-east. She ran along the top of the building, and Graves's voice spoke over an open channel, trying once more to get through to his former lieutenant.

"We don't have to be against each other, Blisk. It could be us against the machines."

Blisk's voice was darkly challenging. "Then how we gonna ever know who's better?"

"No person is better than another, Blisk." Anna understood that better than most. It was she tried to be Elsa's friend from the start. Why she was still trying so hard now—because the reverse was also true; no person was worth less than another either, and that was something she'd been trying to convince Elsa of too. Blisk, of course, was having none of it.

"I disagree. You kill me, you're better. I kill you, I'm better." Maybe you should kill him, Graves, Anna thought savagely. Get rid of the last IMC commanders one by one.

Elsa yanked a Hemlok from the weapons rack, checking the bolt and making sure the magazine was secure. This war clone template also swapped the tactical mobility or 'run and gun' kit for enhanced dexterity and heightened reflexes to allow faster instinctual reloading of all weapons. She still carried a Hammond P2011 as her sidearm—perhaps it was a holdover, a weapon from her time as an IMC Pilot, but it was also flexible and reliable, having the perfect balance of range, firepower, fire rate, and accuracy. It also covered the Hemlok's short range blind spot.

Around her back she slung an Archer, and at her left hip hung a pair of frag grenades, replacing her usual arc grenades with something less versatile but considerably more lethal. Last of all, before sprinting through the warpfall conduit, she queued up an amped Railgun for Marshmallow. Not so great in confined spaces, but the increased charge speed would compensate for the weapon's natural weakness.

She blinked in the sudden rush of sunlight, finding herself south of Alpha, in short field backed by cliffs that rose sharply towards the sky. To her right, off to the east, a building was half-embedded in the cliff face. It must be the main resource warehouse, mining whatever's beneath these cliffs. In front of her she could see an IMC Pilot running across the courtyard area between the Alpha skybridge and the lobby of Bravo. She paused for half a step, planting her feet and bracing her shoulders. The Hemlok in her hands spat death, a five round burst centred on the enemy Pilot's torso.

Three rounds clipped her target, and Elsa fired again, her weapon automatically following her gaze as the IMC Pilot broke into a sprint. The second burst hit full force, and the enemy Pilot stumbled a further step before collapsing in a heap, her mind flashing to orbit, and whatever ship the IMC had brought to support their defense of this facility. Elsa lowered her weapon, sprinting for the back side of Alpha, jumping through a broken window and dashing up a short flight of stairs, coming up behind a heavy desk. Several Spectres wandered the area, turning on her.

One, two, three bursts put down at least as many Spectres, and then her hands moved in a lightning blur, the empty mag falling from her weapon while a fresh one was almost halfway to the magwell, slotting in place with a distinct click, holding the weapon as her right hand charged the bolt and chambered a round. It had been been almost as fast as drawing her sidearm would have been. The rest of the Spectres through the skybridge fell as she advanced implacably forward, Bish beginning procedures to hack the hardpoint node, displayed on her retinal implants as a slowly building ring surrounding the hardpoint's identifier.

She reloaded again, dropping the five rounds—one burst—left in her current magazine. Alpha was now very nearly taken, and she moved to the window looking out towards the courtyard. Lots of movement in Bravo, and in the distance Charlie was going down. Bravo was difficult to hold for either force now, so Charlie made more sense for a lone Pilot to assault. Elsa turned, sprinting north through the skybridge, leaping out a window to her right, onto the disabled holo-display she had used earlier in the battle. The route was familiar after so many sim runs, leaping from that cage to the catwalk, half-cartwheeling with one hand on the edge so she could sprint against the wall behind it. A jump, distance enhanced by her jetpack, and launching herself again from the end of the catwalk, not surrendering any momentum.

A zipline took her to the cafeteria building north of Charlie, and she vaulted a raised section of roof, feet falling heavily against the thick glass tiles, sprinting for the window into the north face of the Spectre assembly room that was Charlie. She jumped, kicking off the wall behind her, hitting stim as she sailed through the air, leading her assault with a blindly thrown frag. It netted her nothing, but she saw an IMC Pilot hanging against the heavy glass partition to her left, Smart Pistol in hand. All five Hemlok rounds hit him and he dropped like a sack of bricks, his weapon falling from lifeless fingers.

Charlie continued to tick down as Graves spoke over the tactical net, his deep, rich voice reassuringly familiar to Elsa. She knew now she had been fighting for the wrong side, and had made the right choice. Especially if someone as powerful as Graves was willing to do the same thing.

"Blisk you fight alongside machines, but they believe in nothing. They have no loyalty. They're loyal only to their operator."

"You're gonna lecture me about loyalty?!" Blisk's incredulity was clear even through his accent, continually trying to undermine Graves's choices. "You change your uniform like you're changing socks."

Elsa leapt from the platform at the north end of Charlie, tucking and rolling, coming up in a sprint towards the skybridge that led to Bravo. Marshmallow was nearly ready to drop, and now she had to decide where. Firing as she ran down the skybridge, she turned a pair of Spectres into so much scrap, jump-kicking the third hard enough it flew from the western edge of the skybridge and into the wall behind it, leaving a decent crack in the wall where it hit. Then she turned right, sprinting for the boardroom, enemy signatures flashing on her map display.

"In the end, against faceless machines and people who fight only for a paycheck, we will win." Graves was perfectly assured, and had every right to be. The Militia was leading this battle, and if they could keep up the momentum then they would win. It was only a matter of time.

"Ha, I'll fight you for free, Graves! Hope to find you on the ground soon, eh." Blisk ended the connection, a hiss of static marking the channel being jammed.

In front of her, Elsa saw an enemy Pilot aiming an R-101 into Bravo, firing at something important. She sprinted forward just as Elsa fired, dodging all but one of her Hemlok rounds, turning to face her. Another burst chewed out the wall behind her, but the IMC Pilot didn't seem to have taken any hits. R-101 rounds kicked up chips of tile and ceramic behind Elsa, and almost before she thought of it her P2011 was in her hand and firing, putting two rounds through the enemy Pilot's torso, dropping her where she stood. Reloading her Hemlok, Elsa sprinted into the next room.

An IMC Pilot was firing a Charge Rifle through the window there at a Militia Atlas, firing back with a chaingun. A Kraber AP-Sniper was slung across the IMC Pilot's back. Elsa sprinted forward, using the Pilot's focus on the Titan to aid in her attack. She fired her jetpack at a dead run, lashing out with one leg in a beautiful jump-kick that folded the IMC Pilot over backwards, snapping his spine, and launched his body out the window. Strap broken, the Kraber rattled to the floor.

"Fuck you too, Laski."

"We're winning, but just barely," Bish voice crackled over the tactical net. "Keep it up and we'll be able to turn this factory against them."

Elsa leapt from the window, landing atop the Militia Atlas's back, jumping again to clear it and finish the capture of Bravo. Then she threw her Titan's drop beacon out to the west, through the lobby of Bravo, just short of the Atlas statue that stood proud in the centre of the courtyard. Three seconds, and she had just cleared the entrance to the lobby. Two seconds, stim on, and she cleared the main entrance, flying past a parked car. One second. She leapt high, and her Titan was right there. One hand gripped the edge of the cockpit hatch, swinging her around and throwing her against the too-soft cushions of the cockpit.

She pulled the cockpit closed, hearing it seal with a soft hiss as her displays sprang to life. She unlimbered her amped Plasma Railgun and toggled the safeties on her multi-target missiles. She was ready. She turned right, heading away from Bravo, towards the field she had landed in earlier, to the south of the facility. It ran towards a wide road that snaked past Bravo and Charlie. A road that enemy Titans tended to rush past in their haste to assault the central hardpoint.

Her forethought was rewarded when an IMC Atlas came into view up the dip at the far end of the road. She sighted in, lining up a shot with the railgun. It charged in only 2.5 seconds, and Elsa fired immediately, the round sizzling through the air and slamming into the enemy Titan, stripping its shields and staggering it as it continued forward. The Atlas began firing its Quad Rocket, missiles spiralling out towards Elsa's Titan as she lined up for another shot. It was a long way to travel, and by the time the first missiles slammed into her armour, Elsa had fired another round, stripping more than half the remaining armour from the IMC Atlas.

Then she dashed to the right, maintaining line of sight while avoiding the tail end of the Quad Rocket spread that had been fired at her. A third railgun round—perfectly aimed—doomed the IMC Atlas as it reloaded. The Pilot cut his losses and ejected, cloaking as he rose high into the sky, invisible to her Titan's sensors. Elsa shrugged, reloading the railgun, and plodded towards Bravo, her Ogre slowly accelerating into a ponderous sprint.

She rounded the corner just in time to see the expanding blue glow of a nuclear ejection. She fell six inches to the floor of the clone bay, shaking her head to clear it—there was a slight disruption in her Pull, but it cleared a second later. She grabbed another Hemlok, kitted up, and sprang through the warpfall conduit. It was time to finish this.

Anna staggered, the heavy impact throwing her to the side and tinting her vision a dangerous shade of red. The shot that would have been her end whined from a steel and composite finger of immense proportion as Olaf picked her up and gently deposited her in the cockpit. A little banged up, but still good. Anna turned, tracking the rifle shots back to the firer, charging her Arc Cannon as she zoomed in on the target. Blue-white lightning lanced out, and the IMC Pilot exploded in a cloud of superheated steam.

"Zap-zap, motherfucker," Anna wore a savage grin as she sprinted past where that Pilot had been standing; the street between Bravo and Charlie. She turned to the right, heading into Bravo from the south-east entrance, but before she got within range of the node Bish's voice cut across the tactical channel.

"We have control, I'm detonating these things and crippling the facility."

Anna watched as the Spectres around the node froze, twitching, and detonated one by one. Whatever Bish had figured out about those Spectres, it was damn useful—and powerful. Debris scattered everywhere, and the node itself was damaged in the blast, several nearby crates toppling from their stacks, and the last of the foliage on the plants underneath the waterfall being blown away. She turned left as Sarah urged them to intercept any remaining IMC Pilots. The cockpit displays showed the evac point as being located just past the skybridge that held Alpha.

Something heavy landed on her Titan, and the Rodeo alert flashed up. She dropped her Stryder to a crouch, popping smoke, and the enemy Pilot leapt away, disappearing through the cloud. She dashed forward, under the skybridge, and saw Kristoff's Titan, along with another Militia Atlas armed with a chaingun standing in wait, lining up to deny the IMC Pilots their chance at a clean getaway.

"Graves, it's useless trying to reason with that side," Sarah spoke firmly, her voice cutting across the tactical channel.

"I was on that side. It's worth a try." Graves replied. He had a point, Anna had to admit. Not everyone in the IMC could be as single-mindedly dedicated and amoral as Blisk seemed to be. MacAllan had been a good man, and had got out in time. Graves had taken more than a little urging, and time to get clear, but he had made that choice as well. So had Elsa. The IMC was made up of people, just like the Militia. They weren't automatically evil, and the Militia wasn't automatically good. It all depended on your perspective.

The IMC dropship had arrived; a Goblin holding station just above the main building to the south of Alpha. Several Pilots had already leapt into it. The Militia Titans on standby were ripping into it, but not doing nearly enough damage to destroy it. It would be on station perhaps another eight seconds. Not long enough. Anna glanced down and noticed a detail she'd missed. Hoping to raid Bravo, she'd primed her Titan to drop with a nuclear core. She patted the controls and flicked the overload toggle, yanking the eject handle between her legs.

"Sorry Olaf."

A subtle blue-white glow limned and shone from the Stryder, the core overloading as the Goblin above it spun up its jump drive. Then the Titan detonated in a spectacular fireball, engulfing the dropship. Anna reached the peak of her ejection arc and began to fall back to earth. She watched as the Goblin emerged from the fireball, only the barest hint of its armour left, structure compromised—but it was already climbing high, high into the upper atmosphere of this nameless planet. A moment later it was gone. Anna felt a great wave of relief wash over her, cut short by Sarah's next words.

"This isn't the end of the war, not by a long shot."

She landed hard, but considered Sarah's words. Because this had been the first proper battle staged by the Militia, run with military precision and meeting force with counter-force to balance enemy strengths and combat their own weaknesses. Endless sim runs had paid off in knowing the layout of the facility on an almost instinctual level. This wasn't the end of the war—this was the start of something new. Something greater. Graves's words rang out in a rich, deep baritone, and she was heartened for the future, because what he spoke was true

"No. It's just the first battle of many. But for the first time we can truly hope for victory."

Anna let out a deep breath and activated her Ripcord for one last Pull from this battle. She woke in the Pilot's briefing room to a chorus of cheers as the other teams also Pulled back to the ship. The results of five other raids were displayed on the main screen. All successful to some degree—especially an attack on an IMC prison facility codenamed 'Overlook'—but it was the return of team 6 that everyone seemed to be cheering about. She had about a second to wonder why she was lying on the floor when she felt lips brush against her own in the ghost of a kiss.

Elsa helped her up, blushing. "Umm, sorry. Got a little caught up in the moment."

Anna thumped the blonde on the arm, and Elsa winced. "Can't say I blame you."

A holo-image of Graves sprang to life next to the lectern at the head of the briefing room.

"Pilots, good work down there. We took the fight to the IMC and executed a series of specially targeted raids to undermine any control they might have had over this sector. You all know the main target was the robotics facility, which now lies in ruins, thanks to team six. Team four handled their raid exceptionally well, and with help from the MCOR have managed to extract a great number of IMC prisoners from the 'Overlook' facility—mostly the staff of several outlying bases that had intended to defect but were caught by Spyglass before they could steal a ship. A handful are your former comrades, and at least two high ranking delegates from the Frontier council.

"As I said, what control the IMC had over this sector is now gone; all thanks to you. We will strike again, and soon, until the IMC has been driven from the Frontier and your worlds—our worlds—are free to live as they choose. For now, know that we have taken the first step, and have won much. But Pilots, know also that some of those who fall in battle are not immortal as you are, and are not as simple as the Grunts and Spectres we fight with. The Marauder Corps lost good men and women in their raid, so let us have a moment of silence for those who cannot be restored."

A hush fell over the briefing room. Anna bowed her head and closed her eyes, feeling Elsa's hand take hers during the silence. What Graves spoke of she didn't often consider. Pilots were Pilots, immortal, unkillable in spirit if not in body. Grunts were simple clones, without much personality, and with bodies that would not last more than a day outside combat. The drawback to flash-cloning techniques. But the men and women of which Graves spoke, those in the military, or those in other services; they fell outside her normal line of thinking. She had not stopped to count that cost before. Not even when MacAllan had fallen—he had been a Pilot too, first generation, but still above anyone else.

This, this was something else. It made sense, and she resolved to be more involved with those who were not like herself. Pilot or not, she was still human, and it was time she started acting like it—more like it, by having mortal friends, celebrating with the crew, learning about the tasks others undertook to keep her ready and supplied with weapons and machines in battle. If the Militia was going to be a new kind of force from now on—and in all respects it seemed Graves had already started it—then she was going to be a new breed of soldier.

And Elsa would be coming with her.

"Pilots," Graves spoke softly, marking the end of their remembrance. "You have done well. Debriefing at 1630, ship's time. Graves out."

The hologram winked out of existence, and Anna turned to her fellow Pilot, still holding her hand. "You want to go somewhere?"

"Sure," Elsa nodded, gesturing subtly towards the door, and by extension, their cabin. She spoke one more word that filled Anna with hope for the future, for everything between them yet to come. "Home."

Chapter Text

Lying in her bunk, Elsa tossed and turned, trying to get to sleep. It had been a week since their strike at the edge of the Frontier, disabling one of the IMC's major production facilities. She couldn't help replaying Sarah's words in her mind, that this wasn't the end of the war. No major ops had been planned, but they were still running sims every few days, and a lot of them were based on unfamiliar locations. Elsa sighed, throwing the covers off and hauling herself out of bed. She thought she was at least a little better—and maybe she was—but her mind wouldn't stop turning things over tonight.

She slipped carefully off the mattress, bare feet feet landing softly against the deck. She could hear soft, contented snores in front of her and hesitated. Much as she wanted—needed—to be next to Anna, she didn't want to wake her either. She frowned, hands moving up to hug her arms before she caught what she was about to do. She reached out to gently shake Anna's shoulder, but the redhead didn't stir so Elsa pulled the covers back, feeling the redhead shiver.

Climbing in, Anna stirred, rolling over, and Elsa felt warm, soft flesh meeting her own near naked body. Then she pulled the covers back over the both of them, luxuriating in the warmth she felt next to her. She was warm, and safe, and content. A sleepy smile on her face, Elsa gently wrapped an arm around Anna's waist. It was enough just to be there. Soon after she was asleep, dreaming peacefully.

In the morning she woke to bright blue-green eyes and a wild mane of copper trying to entangle her. Then something pulled her closer and pressed against her lips. She smelled a hint of cinnamon and the musk of sweat. She opened her eyes after the kiss to find Anna smiling at her.

"Couldn't sleep?" the redhead asked idly, lying back against the pillows.

Elsa shook her head by way of reply. Anna pulled her close, resting her head against Elsa's shoulder, drowning the blonde in a mass of copper curls.

"You wanna just lie here for a while?"

Elsa sneezed, wiping stray hairs from her face. "If your hair behaves. Maybe I should be on top."

"Oh… you coming on to me, Stroud?"

Elsa rolled her eyes and facepalmed. Of course she would. There are… reasons… she sleeps naked, as she says.

"Well, the offer's still there. When you're finally ready."

"Maybe another time," Elsa smiled. "After we've secured MacAllan's legacy."

Anna sighed, sitting up, reaching over Elsa for something on the floor. "You're right. Now might not be the best time. Aha. Gotcha!" And she started doing up the bra as Elsa tried to think of a reply. Elsa shrugged, dragging herself reluctantly out of Anna's bunk, grabbing some clothes from her drawer. A pair of jeans, and a tee, dark navy, with ship silhouette printed on the front. Doing up the jeans she saw Anna reaching for a pair of lace edged panties. The redhead fixed her with a resigned, questioning look.

"What?"

"You were totally naked…"

"Yeah, and?"

"Nothing," Elsa shook her head, a flash of them tangled together in the throes of passion now foremost in her mind. She could feel her cheeks flush, but wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or excitement.

"Sure." And Anna fixed her with a knowing smile. Turning away to hide a deepening blush Elsa pulled the tee over head, extricating her braid from where it caught against the inside of one of the sleeves. She turned back to see Anna pulling on a tank top that seemed to be designed for someone with a larger chest. It looked disturbingly familiar.

"Hey that's—"

"Hmph, yeah," Anna shook her head, pulling the top off and balling it up. "Explains why it doesn't fit so well. Hmm… so where'd mine go?"

Elsa turned on the spot, surveying the chaos that pervaded their cabin. Unless it was inspection time—and sometimes even then—Anna's belongings had a tendency to gravitate towards the floor and remain there. Elsa nudged a pile with her foot, flicking over some older looking clothes. It would be in one of the piles. They eventually found it buried next to the washroom partition.

"Gym or breakfast?" Anna asked, her stomach rumbling slightly.

"You can have breakfast first if you want, Corazon; I'm heading for the gym."

"Sure you don't want a sparring partner?"

Elsa looked at her companion, taking in the braids, the dark green tank top and black jeans. She did look ready for action, especially with the slight frown. She was right, too…

"If you think you can keep up," and Elsa gave her friend a mischievous smile as they left their cabin.

Anna lashed out with a short, sharp jab, catching Elsa just below the ribs. The blonde let out an explosive breath, dancing back, winded. She frowned at Anna, then threw a left hook that the redhead only just managed to deflect, Elsa's fist skating down her forearm. She never saw the uppercut coming, reeling back in shock. Elsa took advantage of the opening to drive her back to the corner of the mat. As Anna continued to reel—faking a stagger—Elsa stepped back and wound up for a haymaker. Anna ducked past the blow, lightning fast, pivoting on her left foot and placing her right leg in front of Elsa's left shin. Already committed, the blonde crashed into Anna's leg and the redhead grabbed a shoulder as she sailed past, throwing Elsa hard to the mat.

"That wasn't very sporting," Elsa complained, still being pressed into the mat.

"You have to stop trying for a big finish—you see how easy it is to fall for it?"

"Okay, you made your point. Can I get up now?" Anna relented, letting Elsa up enough she could turn around—but not get off the mat. "Anna…"

"You know I like to be on top," Anna whispered, leaning close. It was too much fun to wind Elsa up sometimes.

"Corazon!" Elsa hissed, looking around to make sure they hadn't been overhead.

Anna stood, offering a hand to help Elsa up. The blonde ignored it, pushing herself up and assuming a ready stance in the middle of the mat. Good to see you so fired up, iceheart. Anna took up a stance opposite her, attacking immediately with a snap kick that Elsa danced around, one of the blonde's hands taking her by the ankle and the other—wham!

"So who's trying for the big moves?"

Anna looked up to see Elsa smiling down at her, offering her a hand up. She took it, making sure to 'accidentally' pull herself into Elsa's chest. Elsa made no comment, but once again assumed a fighting stance, this time leading the attack with a quick flurry of jabs before slipping back, just outside Anna's reach. A side kick that hit Elsa's thigh was countered with a left cross that hit clean in the centre of Anna's chest, winding her. She dropped sideways, throwing her legs out, trying to knock Elsa over so she could pin her again. The blonde was having none of it, dancing back and then planting her left foot to drop a powerful axe kick with her right.

Frantically rolling sideways Anna put an arm out to arrest her movement and turn the roll into a powerful rising punch, Elsa leaning back to avoid it as Anna sprang to her feet. Just as Anna adopted a middle guard with her fists Elsa dropped, seeming to roll backwards. One of the blonde's feet hit her fist from below. The other passed millimetres from her nose as Elsa completed the flip, landing in a fighting crouch. Anna just stared for a second, not quite believing what she had just seen. That second got her winded by a low jab and clipped by a low kick as she belatedly dodged back.

The she was on the attack again, a flurry of punches finishing with an explosive uppercut breaking Elsa's guard. Driving forward, Anna started with a knee to the blonde's stomach, winding her, and putting her even further off balance. Just as she was closing in to force the blonde off the mat Anna felt Elsa's arm wrap around hers. Then Elsa turned, her back pressing hard into Anna's breasts as she pulled the redhead's arm over her shoulder. Being connected to said arm, Anna had no choice but to follow that movement.

Sprawled flat on the mat, winded, and probably more than a little bruised, Anna nonetheless smiled. It was good fighting against Elsa; a real challenge. There was no great disparity of skill or size, but of aggression and technique. She didn't bother keeping score, and she doubted Elsa did either. The fighting—sparring—was just a way to release pent up energy. And frustrations. Anna took several deep breaths, lying on the mat, feeling her chest rise and fall with each breath. Elsa knelt next to her, also panting, offering her a hand up.

"Yeah, I'm about done too, feistypants," and as Anna took her hand she helped haul the redhead to her feet, Anna once again making sure to not so accidentally collide with Elsa's chest. "Let's hit the showers."

In the lockers Anna was already stripping off her sparring kit, throwing aside shin pads and elbow guards, unclipping her chestpiece when she felt something tugging at the side of her head, almost painfully so. She stopped, trying once again to remove the padding. Again it pulled her hair. Running her hands through it she found her hair tangled into one of the clips, maybe from that last throw Elsa had hit her with. She waved to Elsa.

"Umm, little help over here."

"Something stuck?"

"My hair"—she pointed with her left hand at the offending strands—"To this." She pointed at the clip over her shoulder.

"Oh, that's tangled alright," Elsa mumbled, gently tugging at Anna's hair to try and free it. "Seriously, how did you even manage that?"

"Actually, you did."

"What?"

"That last throw, I think."

Elsa sighed, taking Anna's hair in one hand and the clip in the other. "Sorry."

"Wha—Ow!" Anna yelped as Elsa gave both items a sharp tug, finally freeing them at the cost of more than a few coppery hairs. Anna frowned at the blonde, then just massaged the side of her head, because that had stung a bit.

"I didn't really hurt you, did I?"

There was a breathless quality to Elsa's voice that seemed so fragile, so Anna leapt up and wrapped the blonde in a bear hug. "It just stings a bit. I'll be fine."

Anna then proceeded to finish undressing, throwing her gear and remaining clothes into her kit bag.

The showers were nearly empty, only three other people in them when Anna walked in, and one of them was already leaving. Turning the shower on, Anna adjusted the temperature to as hot as possible, dialling it back until it she could bear it against the fresh bruises she knew she had. Standing under the stream, feeling the water pounding down and washing over her she relaxed. Humming a song she couldn't quite remember she picked up the soap, lathering it up against her arms and breasts, enjoying the heat and steam. She watched as Elsa walked in, still a little shy, and take the stall next to hers. The blonde said nothing, just turned the shower on and untangled her matted hair.

It had to be a sign, and as the second to last stranger left the showers, Anna made her move, slipping from her stall to Elsa's and wrapping her hands around the blonde's waist. Elsa didn't protest, or even say anything, but Anna could feel it as she let out a quiet breath. So she was still nervous, not entirely unexpected. Standing on tiptoes Anna tried to rest her chin on Elsa's shoulder but couldn't quite make it. Then she played dirty, tickling Elsa's stomach, forcing her down ever so slightly.

"Cheat," Elsa shot at her.

Anna merely smiled and kissed her cheek. Then spanked her. Elsa turned and gave her a disapproving look, then blushed and turned away again. Anna let her other hand roam, half tickling Elsa's stomach, half climbing towards her breasts. Then she felt something oblong and slippery placed in that hand and almost laughed. Soap. Elsa had just given her the soap. She could hardly see for all the steam, but standing behind Elsa she was working by feel anyway. She reached up a little higher, working the soap against a decidedly softer part of Elsa than her stomach. She could almost feel the heat of Elsa's blush against her cheek.

The last woman left the showers, sparing them an awkward look before hurrying out the door. Anna switched hands with the soap, lathering up both of Elsa's breasts, taking longer than she really needed because they were beautifully soft and so very fun to play with. And more than that, Elsa was into it, actually dropping her stance slightly so Anna didn't have to reach so far. Hot water coursing down their bodies, Anna pulled her into a kiss, stepping halfway around her, grinding against Elsa's thigh. Anna's free hand pressed low against Elsa's stomach, eliciting a moan from the blonde. Her hand slid lower against soapy skin only to be held fast before it could reach Elsa's core.

Elsa held her wrist gently but firmly, speaking softly. "Just… not here."

Letting out a quiet breath Anna withdrew her hand, turning the blonde to face her before pulling her into a tight hug.

"It's okay," Elsa's voice was still soft. "It felt nice."

Anna smiled ruefully, preparing to step away.

"I didn't say stop everything." And Elsa gave her a smile that was never meant to be seen by hyperactive redheads who valued their sanity.

Two weeks later Elsa sat on a crate in her secret spot, feet hanging several inches from the deck. Anna sat with her back to the crate, legs sprawled out in front of her, one arm wrapped around Elsa's calf. The stars in front of them shifted imperceptibly in the blackness of space as the Redeye drifted, lining up for another jump. Elsa could feel the surge through her bones, every hair standing on end, and a strange sensation making her jaw ache. This was going to be a long jump, nearly to the limit of the Redeye's range.

But everyone had agreed it had to be done. They would be returning to Troy, MacAllan's home. The evacuated colonists would be able to return to their lives, so violently interrupted. Several had joined the Militia, some as Marauder Corps specialists, and a handful had become Pilots. Two of the Redeye's Titan fabricators were being donated to make an effective defense possible in case the planet was attacked again, and a squadron of the Third Merchant would serve as an honour guard in high orbit—a mark of their respect for MacAllan—until such time as the Militia or MCOR could build a dedicated planetary defense fleet.

The hand against Elsa's knee crept higher, but Anna was only pulling herself upright. Elsa let out a quiet breath. A surge of power ran through the room and Elsa felt herself shift despite not moving an inch. Coming from portside she could just see the limb of Troy, sunlight shining through the atmosphere giving it a subtle glow. From above, no longer worried about combat drops or impending battles, she simply couldn't see why MacAllan had chosen it as his home. Rust coloured dirt, patchy greenbelt, high clouds tinted with orange. It was liveable, and no one else had found it—or left it on record. But maybe MacAllan hadn't chosen it—maybe it was simply where he'd landed, and had to make do. Barker had made comment once about crashing a certain looted carrier into things.

"Do you think MacAllan knew about this place before?" Anna asked quietly from the floor.

"I don't know," Elsa replied with a smile the redhead couldn't see. "Maybe."

"Maybe," Anna agreed absently. "You've been down here a lot recently."

"Have I?" Elsa hadn't really been keeping track, she just liked the space as somewhere quiet to go and think. Recently Anna had been inviting herself too, but here, at least, she respected the silence. The company was welcome too, despite Elsa's desire for solitude—Anna didn't ask anything of her, only that she be allowed to stay.

"You have, ever since Graves made the decision." Anna patted her leg. "I just wanted to let you know, in case there's something you want to talk about."

Elsa sighed softly, not wanting to disturb the redhead. This was where everything had really started—somewhere down there, a nameless colony that the IMC had tried to round up and execute and that the Militia had managed to save. She wasn't proud of her past—not before then. It had only been a job. Something to do while she secretly wished she could die and stay dead. Then she'd grown a conscience. She'd started asking questions—and learned she was fighting for all the wrong reasons. She defected—and there was a moment where she brushed so close against true death it seemed to have removed the desire to do so again.

Now she fought for the Militia; for her home, moving through the stars; and her new family, strange as they were beautiful. She'd found a friend—persistent, annoying, upbeat, strong and vocal. Very vocal. Such a contrast, but she was beautiful in spirit as much as she was in body. She was the reason Elsa kept coming back. Decided to stay. Really, it was all her fault. Elsa wanted to blame her and thank her for everything all at once.

It wasn't something she was willing to admit to her though, at least, not yet. She remained silent a while longer, watching as their orbit carried them through a sunrise, the containment field darkening so the glare of the star didn't immediately blind the both of them. Smiling contentedly, Elsa leaned forward and took Anna's hand in her own. There were still things she couldn't talk about, but there was something she was perfectly willing to admit.

"I'm okay. You just wouldn't leave me alone." She smiled as Anna tried to punch her leg and fell over laughing. It was enough, and it was more than she'd ever dreamed of.