Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“War… War never changes…”

The zipping of bullets. Their forms fly past heads. Heads that were owned by bodies that frantically ducked behind clay and concrete debris. Though they have achieved that, they were now subject to a barrage that now began to dig or shatter against the little barrier of protection they have. Each one seemed intent, to find their target, to erase them from the tree of life.

Occasionally, a curious head moved to peek over the mound. A tragically fatal mistake, for all this dude was given the enemy a proper target to look at… and they were swiftly punished for it. 

A bullet finally striking true on the person they just tried to wipe out. Splattering their heads to the winds and sending the body that remained to the floor.

… at least, that would have been the case. For a glow shimmered, surrounding the point of impact. Swallowing the damages, whatever the light was did what it could to protect its user. And it did it well, well enough for the person that no vital point was hit.

Shaken, yet alive, they were able to retreat back into cover.

“Is it true that war… never changes?”

BRACHTBRACHTBRACHT!

To the senders was the rapport. Bullets in horrifying rapport dashed through the air at horrifying, ballistic speed. They struck as true as their own rounds, but they were instead tearing apart the enemy that had sent the volley in the first place. Heavier, more girthy, more punchy bullets began to sail along as well.

Their purpose? To tear — and successfully doing so — apart any sort of defense that dares to get between them and their targets. Their end goal. Many of them even began to bore on through the concrete, charging on through the material and making a little bit of shrapnel. An extra amount of pain, just to tack on to the enemy.

An enemy who found these rounds striking them with the accuracy of the finest rifleman, but with the repetition and volume that would give the fastest machine gun a run for all of the money. Slicing through the enemy like a buzz saw, cutting on through them and poking massive holes in the bodies that were the target. That part of the body may as well have been reduced to a donut after that one.

”No… the feeling in war never changes. At its core… its all the same…”

”…but war evolves. Always evolves… never stagnates.”

KCH-BOOOM—!

Shells rained down from the skies and heavens themselves. Each one striking against the soil in terrible bursts, peppering the area around a little dug out. Soil, dirt, and other elements began to fly with each explosion that erupted from the impact of the munition. 

The mess that flew began to slam back into the dark metal helmets that were within the dugout. Some had their backs, covered with the promise of powered armor, now caked on mud from whatever particles or blobs that had gone flying. The inhabitants of this dugout were keeping low, their heads fearfully down. 

Rockets flew over them, not too long after, forcing them down further out of fear. Each munition’s great flame was roaring with incredible might and energy that could have threatened them a hundred times over. During a barrage, one had turned himself backwards to see what exactly the extent of the damage was.

He was then greeted by the sight of bodies that were now airborne. Their screams echoing to the little pocket they had. The little bit of safety, which was now acting as a front seat to the suffering of other forces that were in the area. He was then grabbed, yanked out of the way. 

His comrades had a hold on the soldier, dragging him away.

Though, his eyes still watched the pain and suffering of his own men and women — the ones who got struck — they were dragging this soldier to safety. He was running with the ones who still live. The troops were moving from point to point. Their rifles unleash storms of bullets, with no hesitation. 

Going down towards where the enemies are. Generous helpings, nobody was properly aiming. As long as they shoot in that direction, they are going to hit something. And to which, they succeedEd. Many foes began to be nailed, even if the aiming of some of the targets were less than optimal.

One of the soldiers was reloading his massive machine gun. He was swift, though a bit panicky. As he got the belt in, and had slapped down on the lid, he was quick to face back and return as much fire as he could. Down range filled once again with lead that aimed to try and get the enemy as whittled down as possible.

Even as they began to run, the amount of time it took for the skies to gradually start darkening was too little time at all. In fact, when it finally did happen, it was thought it was only a blink of a horrific eye. And yet in that same blink, the skies were blackened not by stormy clouds — though this may be close — but instead of bombers.

Waves upon waves of bombers, stretching as far as vision allows and undoubtedly further beyond that. Above, their engines screeched — like the heralds of death. A curtain call for this new, deadly force which had come onto the playing field to claim dominion. 

And taking the red carpet laid out for it, they began to dive. With deadly, mechanical grace, they began to soar right on towards the forces on the ground. Their target was to the mass lines. The lines of heavily armored, forces in gray who have been entranced for Lucer knows how long now. 

The enemy bombers were heading towards them. The gray mass who wasted not a breath. Wasted not a precious second. For when the enemy aircraft began to come right towards them, they had begun to disperse. They had begun their race for cover. Praying to their emperor, dearly and wholeheartedly, for his protection.

The protection came. 

In the form of fighting vehicles — some who had crews, some who did not — began to elevate their guns upwards. Barrel reaching towards the sky. Their muzzles, their open ends facing the monsters that were beginning their dive. 

Then, the fire began. Barrels kissed flames and spouted smoke and munitions. Each one screaming towards the monsters in the sky. Flak began to open up, fuses detonating and scattering explosives, force, and shrapnel all around. 

These enemy bombers were forced to pick up the pace. Now dancing a ballet amongst a storm of debris, explosions, force, and storms of bullets. A brute force attempts to try and break through the fog of destruction. Many of them were shredded when just one shell exploded, the rest of them were being forcibly turned to scrap — a rapid, surprise disassembly — that sent these demons falling.

Engines revved, far behind the lines. A brand new surprise, an additional layering of explosions for these things. These engines belonged to the right and proper air defense systems. Numerous of them, who began to position. Working together, coordinating their positioning. Their own weapons are starting to face the sky.

And soon, just like the optionally manned vehicles, they raised hell. 

A wall of fragmentation munitions began to blanket the sky. Tiny rods of death that began to further fill the mess of the skies with explosions that further continued to shred many of the enemy in the sky. Forcibly arresting them from flight and instead sending them pummeling to the ground.

Missiles began to join the party. From the vehicles and even from brave soldiers who brought up their own weapons. Utilizing the technology that was within their helmets, even the person buried deep in the trenches was joining the effort of air defense. His quad-tubed tool of annihilation unleashing an equal amount of missiles that immediately swarmed to the largest pockets of enemies.

The detonation that followed created massive holes in the formations of bombers. Big old gaps where enemy aircraft used to exist were now occupied by nothing but the air around it.

It still was not enough. Despite all of the munitions practically flooding the sky, it was not enough to totally cull the amount of enemy aircraft that was brute forcing their way through the pain and distraction. Something began to get through, something always had begun to get through.

Something began to drop, little projectiles that began to fall towards the Earth. Some weapons opened up to try and shoot them down, some of them succeeded, but there were too many that were coming down. Bombs that screamed at the top of their lungs — or whatever remained of them.

That is when… they landed. 

…yeahhhhHHHHH HHHHHH—KBOOM—!

..aaaAAAAHHHh HHHGHHHH—KBOOM—!

Debris went everywhere. Mud followed, caking over the soldiers on the ground. The shockwaves, and whatever force from the bombs. The nightmare inducing screams only heralded more bombs, each boom across the battlefield knocking soldiers on their asses, or outright sending a few of them flying.

The few that went flying slammed their noggins. A daze befalling their person. When they recovered, they were looking over the top of whatever cover they had. Some of them, however, wished that they had not. For when they peaked over, it was not an empty field.

But instead… It was a tsunami.

An absolute tidal wave of monsters that had begun to pour over the frontlines and were rushing right towards them. It was tough as it was a reach rush, like the First World War. Silhouettes of bodies that did nothing but rush at the. Soaking up bullets, eating air strikes, and even shrugging off Artillery strikes.

For anybody from the realm of Earth, this was hell. This was an inconceivable nightmare in a gift basket. Something that would haunt the nightmares of any soldier or warrior who would be in their position. Watching as these nightmares come at them with terrifying, brute speed.

But these men…. These women… they were not of Earth, were they?

Just like the enemies in front of them. Just like the monsters that were coming upon them. They had no emotions. They… were too tired to allow themselves the feeling of being afraid. They were exhausted, eyes riddled with bags. But they will press on.

These emotions, while present, were only overshadowed by the fact that most of these soldiers were tired. That their brains were lagging too much to even comprehend being exhausted. And for those who were running on Adrenaline? They were going a bit crazy, desperate for something, for action. 

They were hyper focused on the task. Filled with the literal drive to fight that chemical drug that was produced by their body in droves. They were not going to let a single bit of their fear show. They were not going to express it through any sort of emotion. 

Instead, they were going to let their fury show through their guns. A storm that began to absolutely pour towards the enemy. Bullets, slugs, anything really that began to fly to punish the enemy for starting to come at them. In response to the wave, commanders and other officers started to call in artillery strikes. Long range strikes to try and break the wave that was coming.

But it may not be enough. 

The enemy continued to creep closer. Discomfort, like somebody getting poked in the back, began to befall upon the warriors who were on the defending end of all of this. Discomfort, as though their own bodies began to feel for them entering their own souls. As though something had come in and began to suck the literal life out of them. 

There was a chance it would have been unbearable. Incredibly so. But they were saved by technology. The technology that they were wearing on their backs and bodies as armor. It was the thing preventing themselves from going fully into the dark. They were able to regulate their temperatures to whatever the user thought to be comfortable. Whatever they desired.

But they watched as their bullets flew into the blob. Tearing through multitudes of enemy soldiers. A mass that continued to race forward. Each round did what they could, over penetrating and going through each part of this horde with ease. Rumbling was heard, and the silhouettes of armored fighting vehicles followed. Their mission to break the lines underway.

And yet, in the face of all this. The threat that was pouring right at them. The only sounds that came across the battlefield, echoing off the soil, dead bodies, or whatever have you. There were no screams, no cries of terror. The only thing that was there was the rapport of guns. The melody of automatic weapons. The marching of infantry. 

Guns unleashing their angry song. Their targets being the angry mess of distorted infantry. Towards the warped silhouettes of enemy vehicles and armored fighting units.

Sharp eyes just then noticed what could be a flanking element. Sharp eyes pointing out a new development on the battlefield led. One that could have had the opportunity to complicate the front lines. They rushed to meet this new development. A squad that moved like lightning with their vehicles. Their task? To put down a new all of fire upon the hellish warriors coming to them. Laying down extensive amounts of hatred amongst them.

Accomplishing this without a single other noise breaking the song of gunfire and the artillery. However, one of the soldiers opening fire got the unfortunate pleasantry of being directly impacted by a sabot. A shell that went right into his arm and completely tore it off. He did not scream, he did not yell, he did not even whimper.

No, instead, he had placed a free hand and held his arm. He bent over and kneeled. Coping with what he just happened, he mentally blocked it out and began to move. The medic within his fire team immediately came on over with the mission to immediately administer first aid.

Foam was deployed over the wound. A substance that immediately began to harden. A medical applicant that immediately sealed the blood and prevented any more from falling out. It was a good enough measure, a genius enough one that allowed for 3 other members within this little fire team to begin to lay cover. Just enough for the medic to get to work.

She produced something. A little gift for what has happened to him. A robotic arm that she immediately gave to him and started to work on calibrating. Just something to ensure that he can fight another day. That he can live for just another day, to cull the tide against whatever that was approaching.

In another part of this endless prison they call a trench system, there was another soldier. He had his gun focused down the range of no man’s land. His muzzle flashing with the igniting of bullets that flew out at incredible speeds. Off in the corner of his eye, as he let that trigger go, he began to watch something that concerned him just a little.

A little number that was rapidly going down, down and down. Soon, it began to flash red as the number continued to drop. The number — as it appears — had corresponded to the amount of ammo that was in his current magazine, and within a second red number telling him how much ammunition he had left, and both of which, soon flashed zero. 

He had finally run out, and now he had to move again. Not over the top, no he began to move further down the line. Towards comrades. He had left his magazine in the gun and had slinked on over to a medic who was working on another soldier who had been unfortunately wounded. 

When he got there, he gave her a gentle tap on her shoulder. A soft one that told her that he was human. With her attention sufficiently grabbed, she turns her head out to him. She saw however, that he had his hand out, while his head was scanning the horizon for any new targets for neutralization.

However, she didn’t read that hand signal correctly. She just saw his hand out in a very specific hand configuration. So instead of passing him a much needed magazine… she just gave him her head, to form a heart. While her other hand was busy plugging holes that were in the body of the poor soldier she was treating.

The rifleman didn’t feel the magazine in his hand and as such, he turned to face the medic. Only, to be stunned by what he saw. Just a little beautiful sight in the horrible nature of this war. Hell, he even played along. Momentarily moving his hand up to hold it. Such a little action was enough to make the medic heat up, and let a little smile on the inside show.

Until, he pulled this hand down. The beauty ended there as he took out his magazine and gestured that he needed more of them. Embarrassed, and probably very, very red, she had taken out a bunch of magazines and gave it to him.  She went back into the trenches, her gun back up and patient treated, and began to lay down some hit.

The soldier shook his head. However, he pulled off just a little part of his helmet as well as doing the same to hers. He bent down and began to… whisper something into her helmet. Her pink cheeks, ever so slightly revealed, had turned just a little bit more red.

The 2 then returned to combat.

And it was just in the nick of time as well.

For the wall of flesh was closing in, surrounding them slowly. 

Their instincts were telling them to run , run for it. 

Artillery shells rained down even heavier upon their positions, with bombs slamming down into the hole they called protection. The screams are intensifying as they really were planning on failing back, with the skies getting darker and darker.

And yet, there was more terrible news that was sent over the radio. 

“Colonel’s down I repeat Colonel’s down!”

There was a moment of silence, as the second in command was at his post in the frontlines, and he was about to say something when he heard — from a voice that was practically screaming: “Company Alpha, Company Beta, and Company Echo has pushed to breaking point and Company Charles and Company Delta have been overrun! I repeat, Alpha, Beta, Echo breaking point, Charles, Delta, overrun!”

And with that, the new commander already can see what will happen, as everyone also knows what will happen, if they fall back. With no hesitation, he soon roared over the coms, “This is Beta Commander, I am assuming command!”

Everyone heard that and continued to hold as the rest of the companies held with baited breaths, wondering what would this young man do. The young commander stood up and stared out over the horizon, realizing what must be done as his radio became cluttered with the terrified concerns of soldiers, reverting back to the time of Mantle, fears now mounting as they tried to hold. He looked all around and saw his flanks being pushed back. 

And that’s when he made the fateful decision. The ONLY one he could really make in this scenario.

“Broken shield! I repeat, broken shield!”

“Sir, we’re receiving transmission from Sergeant Major Jackson!” 

“Sent it up, let’s hear-”

However as soon as the communications officer set it up, dread filled the room as they heard, “Broken Shield!”

The Frigate captain knew right away what must be done. What this sort of order really meant. The magnitude that a situation has to be at In order for that phrase, that Command to be uttered.

Without another word, he soon turned as everyone went to work right away, used to the tune of that word. 

Fighters and close air support scrambled into positions as radio signals blared out everywhere, locating the location of the broken shield, and contacted every artillery and aircraft within a 250 km radius from the collapsing positions.

All along the front, pilots scram towards their aircraft, with their maintenance crew helping them gear up, with briefing happening while inside of the aircraft. 

With great efficiency, the ground crews rapidly used robots to lock the missiles into the payload sections, refueling the aircraft, and making final minute check ups. 

Each aircraft pilot understands the mission, as the fighters prepared themselves for the dog fight to come. 

Meanwhile, the pilots of the Puma were double checking with their AI that all of the ground attack missiles are functional and prepped, hoping to not embarrass themselves if they require a Longsword to cover their role. 

Soon, all of the pilots are readied up as their canopy begins to encase them. They all turned and saluted their ground teams who saluted them back, before all craft hovered above the ground, before they zoomed right out towards the location. 

Above and within the skies, some pilots were returning home when they received the call. The leading pilot turned to his squad mate, who gave him a nod. 

He turned to his left and saw the same thing. Seeing all of this, they double checked their autonomous wingmen, ensuring that they had enough fuel for a limited run. 

They also double checked and see that they have the armament remaining for said run. Knowing they were in a good position, every single one of those pilots placed the location down upon their GPS, and rerouted themselves towards the frontlines.

Behind allied lines, a multi-launch rocket vehicle was standing still as the crews were working around the clock, working hard and fast while also being cautious. 

The MLRS was lined up closely to its logistics truck, as it connected with it, allowing for the MLRS to take the missiles from the truck into each individual tube. 

The crew members outside watched, making sure the missiles are aligned and pushed in safely, while a gunner was setting rough coordinates and setting a tolerance level for each missile, ensuring that it is ready to be launched as soon as possible.

And a long ways away, was a crew of soldiers hauling their ammunition magazines from the trucks and on to the sides of the self propelled artillery system, 

A soldier on top grabbed it before slamming it down into its desired location, sending the shells into the internal mag, before ejecting the external mag, letting more go in as once again, the guns and shells are being programmed to their set locations.

Far in the rear, boots are being called for, as Planetary Guards Troopers and their robotic army are rapidly being prepared, getting into their vehicles and being briefed on their way towards the frontlines, as the robots are folded up and placed into a modified fighting vehicle, which rushed ahead of their human occupied counterparts, charging towards the scene.

BRACHTBRACHTBEACHT—! 

The bullet exchange from both sides was one that nobody wants to be in the center ofas some of the Covenant managed to arrive at the frontlines, and begin to engage in melee combat. 

One of them was attempting to choke out the gray armored soldier, forcing the soldier to elbow the Covie soldier in the ribs, cracking its demonic bones as it howled in pain before it got its head grabbed then ripped off. 

And without wasting time, the soldier threw the head at full speed towards the nearest demonic being, shattering the bones of both the skull and the soldier, severely injuring the demonic being, and letting it bleed to death.

And this is just one of many examples of melee combat being used extensively, as bayonets are fixed, with soldiers brutally using anything they have, some even using shovels to combat their foes. 

But while this is going on, on an open front, the new Battalion officer noticed something on the field. 

Not a Covenant tank, or another wave of infantry. 

No, surrounded by the hellish scene of flesh, marching towards a mechanical front, and the skies slowly bleeding, was a small child. 

Just a poor little boy, running away from the horde, crying out as he didn't know what to do, with his parents now gone.

Taking a deep breath, the officer soon shouted towards his men a simple order, “ COVER ME!”  

At first, they were confused. They were bewildered as he leapt over the trenchline.

 Many wanted to ask him what he was doing, until they noticed the unicorn faunus in the middle of the battlefield. Everyone went up in arms, opening fire to suppress the enemy forces. At the sight of the little one, everybody immediately understood what their task was at that moment, and now they were going to accomplish it.

As for the officer, he just booted, using all of his might, opening fire upon those who seek death for the child, as he is on no man's land. As he continued to rush forwards, he saw that child got hit on the leg, cutting it off as the kid screamed and cried. 

The poor boy was rolling around in the mud, as more soldiers arrived, with one of them being a brute. Its maw was foaming, and saliva flooded from his mouth as the sight of young flesh. 

And the young child saw his life flashing before his eyes, as the monsters got closer, looking like they were ready to devour him, as he balled up, tears flowing as he didn't want to die. He didn’t deserve to die this poor little boy.

He closed his eyes and braced for the pain. He waited for what felt like an eternity, begging for a quick end. Just then, he felt a metallic hand grabbed him as he flinched, crying more- 

KCHBOOM—-! 

Went the grenade as now It was the monsters that were crying out in pain. Confused, he looked up only to see a helmet he used to idolize, a soldier’s faceless helmet, covering him with his body, using the bio foam that this soldier has, to cover up the wound.

He wanted to say thanks, but was losing strength, so he just hugged the titan of a man, who began to run back, not even caring about all the bullet rain as shells began to arrive in bulk. Not caring, not one bit at all.

The officer looked up and realized how dangerously close those shells are… wait they are heading his way. 

The soldier soon began to spring as fast as he could, as he bit down his lip, feeling like he was about to limp his way back. Feeling as though his Achilles tendon tearing itself apart as the sheer speed he went, all the while, holding the child with both arms. 

He was unable to protect himself, but all was null as long as he was able to solely focus on protecting this injured kid, entrusting his and thus kid's life in the hands of their holy uncle and to the soldier's subordinates.

He felt the recoiling of his armor from the shots he took on his back, with the shields rapidly depleting due to him not even running for cover, as multiple missiles rained down from the heavens. 

At first, he does not know what those missiles are aiming. Were they coming for him…?

No, they were not. For the computer within his helmet showed him the trajectory, and my oh my it was towards the enemy. He was nearly overjoyed when he saw that amount of support coming.

But just as he was about to leave, he saw a suicider, suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and screamed its deathly scream. It’s blood curdling death howl that only heralded one thing. One thing that prompted the soldier to turn his body to take what was coming.

The screams then led to the blast.

The explosion was so violent, that it knocked him from his feet, sending him towards the ground. And yet despite this and being a bit disoriented, he made it. 

He got close enough to the trench where the rest of his fire team pushed forwards a bit to retrieve their commanding officer and the child. Dragging him along even as he continued to protect the kid with his body, until they arrived at the trench.

Once back at the trenches, the commander ordered the medic to check up on the kid, and so she did as the others continued to open fire, even thought their commander is in pain, feeling his suit cooling and heating the pain locations, as he man up and just tough it out. Many tried to help him stand, but he refused, pointing towards the frontlines as he used his own strength to get up.

As they arrived at the safety of the lines and was recovering, their Air Force arrived, and had began to combat the enemy bombers, downing them by the hundreds. But there was no cheering yet, as hundreds of thousands of Covenant soldiers continued to swarm towards this, barely a thousand left Battalion, that is just trying to hold on.

But that is when they noticed a Hail Mary sent from the skies.

A frigate. 

THEIR frigate. 

It descended from the skies, and launched a missile, hurling down towards the massive wave of Covies, as they are now using their air defenses in an attempt to shoot down that missile. But that single missile only flew for a few seconds, before arriving near the targets, and bursted in the air.

A massive cloud in the shape of a mushroom was formed from the detonation, engulfing tens of thousands if not more, swallowing their logistics and spare manpower. All the while, the air was finally beaten back, firmly in Remnant hands, as close air support began to fly in, raining down shells and missiles towards the survivors.

The guns on those aircraft, begin to rev up, reaching speeds an eye can not comprehend before letting out its payload, striking the ground with high explosive payloads, creating multiple artillery shell sizes explosions, annihilating many Covenant tanks, that was reorganizing, before they rapidly banked to avoid enemy interceptors, letting the Airforce to continue to contest the skies, slowly turning the red skies bluer as the brrrrt was finally heard.

And yet despite this, a new offensive was launched by the demonic Covenant soldiers, charging into the frayl Covenant tanks begin to open fire, concentrating their firepower upon the optionally manned friendly IFVs, dwindling the numbers of heavy firepower that the frontlines can have, hoping to break the frontlines.

And still, despite the Gunships, the Covenant forces are closing in, getting nearer and nearer. But the Covenant air defenses are being attacked by a new wave of close air support that begin to conduct “Destruction of Enemy Air Defenses” or DEAD .

Ensuring that they can not reuse their platforms to strike more targets, and allowing for the third wave as well as artillery fire to begin to annihilate the Covenant artillery. They even went so far as to use drones to dive down, striking into the artillery systems so vital to pinning down Remnantian forces.

But there is still a massive wave incoming, so eager to break the nearly broken lines. Realizing this, the ground forces called the nearby AWACs, which are still working around the clock, as the crew inside was working around the clock contacting the air forces there, coordinating movements and attacks as they began to call for the United Kingdoms of Remnant’s most powerful aircraft. 

An Attack Pelican was already in the air when they received the call from the ground teams, and began to tilt itself, aiming one side of its body towards the stragglers, and began raining down shells from everywhere. Artillery cannons, autocannons, missiles, the whole ordeal, now laying waste to those unlucky few who remained.

And that was when the campaign halted, as the Covenant forces begin to split up, with troops either abandoning the offensive, only to be shot, or continued the offensive. 

They were now charging with barely the bodies needed to even damage the frontlines. A literal storm of bullets tore right through them, with officers on the Covenant side being brutally torn apart by sniper fire.

And then, the numbers game has turned, as reinforcements arrived as robots began to fill in the trenches, and opened fire with their rifles. It was successful in forcing the enemy to charge into a well defended position with superior numbers. 

Realizing this, a general withdrawal was organized by the Covenant as they made a fighting retreat back to their lines, with many stuck in melee combat. They were being torn apart by both flesh and metal alike, unable to escape their fates, but escaped their existence.

But, the remaining forces are planning on launching an immediate counter offensive to drive the Covenant back further than they attacked, with the newly arrived Rapid Deployment Force arriving and waiting behind them, their formation more of an offensively minded one rather than the defensive one these soldiers had.

And the offensive would be very successful, if it were not for the Covenant's last ditch effort. They were sending out suicider officers to summon hordes of the class of units they commanded, charging towards the ground forces, screaming even as the red skies finally became fully blue.

But there was no real major combat from this, as all of them are taken out rather quickly, as the skies are reclaimed by the brave men and women of the skies. It was allowing for an unharassed artillery to rain down shells, and aircraft to smite the futile charge, before retreating to refuel and resupply as their sorties were practically completed.

While the Planetary Guard was happy, the Rapid Deployment Force was not, seeing their window of opportunity to strike back is now gone. Realizing this, they still stayed behind to await their reinforcements and new plans to conduct a new offensive here.

As for those who remained within the Battalion, they finally got the order to rotate with the newly replenished forces as they got out of the trenches, with the commander holding the wounded child, marching out. 

As he passed an RDF Legionnaire, he felt that officer pats his shoulder and nodded, as the PG officer nodded back, as the two went their separate, solemn ways.

The robots took up position as the artillery continued to strike, now striking Covenant logistics and their prepared defenses, as everyone knew that the UKR will launch a new offensive here, just a matter of when.

The new commanding officer of the Battalion was sent to his regimental HQ where he shall officially receive his new ranking. 

As much as he appreciates the new title, what he yearns for more now, is just a place to rest. Just a little somewhere, where he can lie down and nap.

Maybe go to a planet, a planet left untouched by the chaos of this war. A planet that was all the decadence and peace that he dreamed for…

But no such planet exists like this, not in this universe…

Right?

Chapter Text

November 25th, 2051

The vastness of space was one covered by inky black with fragments and islands of order and civilization. Where dark matter flowed in an unruly manner, where light and material coalesced in dances of clouds, nebulas, and other such cosmic and celestial wonders. In the realm of black holes, ancient history - dating farther than what modern times believes, and flickering flashes along the northern quadrants of the galaxy, there was chaos against the demand for order.

Where all beings tend to go. For the chaos is not a suitable environment. Eventually, things enveloped in entropy will begin turning inward. Starting to recombine in ways that would not make sense, until they do. Following a law, an order. Something to ensure that even despite all of the unknown entropic happenings of the universe, there will be something to demand order.

Here in the Milky Way, order found a way. It was able to carve out a little slice for itself.

Hold onto it like a mother with precious holdings, ancient technology, and governance.

On one arm, spinning around a sun that is older than the worlds that fell into its gravity well, there was a marble. A marble who’s neighbors were a planet of red, one of unusual color, many galaxies, and a black-hole like entity on the direct opposite end of its existence. A marble surrounded by 3 little stones that spun in a lovely circle. A trifecta.

3 little worlds, around one large breathing one. One that chugged along its given track. Without complaint, but with silent obedience. To enjoy the warmth that the sun gave. All of its energy, like the smiling mother to her babe, was given. Fed to the blue marble of green, tan, and every color in between. A lovely little world that enjoyed the adopted cradle of its home system.

One that holds life that breathes politics, entertainment, and everything in between. A song of radios, television channels, video games, and all sorts of modes of entertainment. Of parties and action groups that point worded spears at each other, vying for power at the legislative and executive level. Of the love, the romance, the joy and hope of millions, all curated under lines on a map of this little beautiful sphere that wanted to stick it to the universe at large.

If one were to take a political map and plaster it over, this world would be a mosaic of colors. Cities and monuments that glimmered when the sun’s gaze rested, to navies that shined and shimmered across a lovely diamond of an ocean. Aircraft that screamed through the skies and spaceships that moved to touch the world beyond. An inky black world still sneered at them, even though they were enjoying the wonderful comfort of the great big fireball at the center of the system.

To defy this inky black world, banners and flags raised to crow to the sky of their nationalism, of the patriotic men and women that inhabited the world. From the crosses of the north, to the tricolors of all over. 

But there was one flag, who’s distinctiveness was deserving of all of the attention. One that stuck out, even amongst an ocean of darkness. A canvas of a federal blue, decorated with stars and blessed with red and white stripes. Famous all over; loved, hated, respected, and feared.

The ‘Star-spangled banner’ as it was known, and it flew with pride, joy, and victory. Millions lived under this flag, numbering well into numbers that have many zeros behind it. Living, breathing, abiding by the constitution laid to them by the Founding Families. The patriotic parents that declared a rebellion against an abusive empire and created a nation that went from a poor, starving colony to a Superpower of unmatched strength in its world.

A nation stretched across multiple landmasses. From the Arrowhead in the east, to the massive wing of La Isla de California. All the way north to Alaska where the cold fringes hide the ice box for many of America’s most coveted resources. To the beautiful tropical archipelago of Hawaii. And then of course, there were the people who lived here. All of them to each their own, obeying and enjoying a constitution that protected them. That was truly for them.

All creeds, races, and beliefs. Living over open grills and enjoying delicious barbecues.

Religions and tastes were not judged - unless it deserves to be judged. No choice of weapon mocked, only critiqued on how to be better. Use it better, or how to best care for it. Prayed to whatever gods that you desired. Pick a house, any house that you want. The land’s big enough for you all and there’s always something for a person out there.

Houses with unique feelings - homes that belong in the atomic age, the tribal ages, or of every aesthetic inbetween - apartments that gave industrial aesthetic. Stores and parking lots that feel like they were fit for kings and queens. Large, expansive highways that rumbled with the rolling of cars and many more vehicles going here and there. For commutes, for jobs, for parties.

And of course, the skyscrapers that reached to the heavens, glimmering in advertisements, patriotic colors, and many neon lights. A deliberate choice, that when combined with the infrastructure, made the nation look near-futuristic - with an endless surrounding of aesthetics per state or even individual count - with a still humbly All-American flair. A flair that made the nation look like a colorful, utopian landscape.

Red, white, blue; a dance of these colors with their various gradients nudged bits of nationalism and patriotism, but not so much to where it was grating on the eyes. Colors of the state flag, the national flag, and many more creeds here and there made no city look dull. Instead, it only contributed to an overall healthy mental state. This tapestry of color danced with screens and holographic depictions from advertisements.

A life saver for the mental health of many Americans. Treating them to a beautiful canvas of color. No longer consumed by despair or a greyscale that would have slowly drawn many into a special type of madness or depression, rather blessed with colors that would make them feel young, joyful, and surrounded by this happiness everywhere they went.

Cars, trucks, buses, and more were the lifeline of activity. Carrying people, goods, pets, everything and anything all of the time. Along the great long roads that line the nation, there were billboards that proudly showed off products that some may be interested in. Radios that spoke of music and news from here and around the world. And of course, in rare sections, televisions that showed off comedy, sports, and more media to the people along these roads. And who, of course, were all of these programs catering to?

The people, of course.

The people who go about their day and enjoy their cups of coffee or a snack. The ones who make the daily commute off to the offices or their factory jobs. The ones who prepare the tables, play their games, or cheer and jeer at sports games. The ones who practice fire and play with firearms, and the ones who love their country. The ones who were not afraid to demonstrate in front of government offices and corporations to show that they disapprove of what the hell they were doing.

Many of them were indulging in the pleasures that they were gifted. Of drinking off a great big paycheck or lottery, of indulging in the intimate pleasures of the sheets, making the biggest gamble in their careers, or just simply enjoying a walk or having a bit of sport with their loved ones or the besties. Something that can be enjoyed for whatever a person or their desire.

Then of course, there was the political animal of it all. This was one of the finest and longest standing modern republics to ever stand on this Earth. And to supplement it, it was November 25th after all. And around this time is when the ballot boxes are fully closed - digital and physical.

For it was time for the count to begin. People began to tune into their radios, firing up their phones and computers, augmented reality rooms or what have a family, and began to take a peak. At the thing that was going to decide their future. The elections were here after all, and it was time to see the results.

“Goooood evening America!” Sang a woman who stepped forward onto some sort of stage. Her eyes, warm like coffee and hair as dark as the drink mentioned, glimmered as she met the camera. Her uniform was immaculate, and her hands were expressive. Holograms floated around her, as well as a little dance of electricity between her fingers. Information bled from her, but as a big screen came up, she began with the main course of the news tonight. “It is closing in on 10 in the Eastern Coast of the United States and we are starting to see the last voting stations in Hawaii, California, and Alaska close up for tonight. ”

“As such, that means we are going to see the results!” She almost cheered, as screens floated all around her, showing the Time Lapse of votes from states all over. From the southern tip of Arrowhead Island all the way to California. Numbers that went high and low, in the digits of over 10 numbers of course. “The campaign season and the voting period has been an interesting one folks. ”

“Representing one of the only major parties that is contesting against the main coalition, we meet representative Samuel Hall.” An image of the man with raven hair and glasses appeared, his eyes unfocused, but still in the general direction of the camera. “He is a man described with a checkered past, but also incredible political talent. He has currently won support in states that are described to be more unusual in situations, including those with a rise in domestic terrorism and an apparent switch to more religious cults. Apocalypticism seemed to be on the menu for these states. He promised to help these states with a switch to more domestic reform and an increase in national security spending.”

“He also claims that he will attempt to tackle corruption in the U.S. Government, as well as start aiming at taking care of various political and economic reforms.” The woman then changes the picture, showing a young yet motherly lady. Her hair was nice and flowing, her eyes that spoke of nothing more than the same care of a woman of fair age. Despite that, she looks like she had an excellent amount of experience; “Former Secretary of Homeland Security, this woman was born of a Mother from California and a Father from Texas. She is the only one in her family to have earned several degrees from top ranking universities and is a fairly educated madame.”

“31 year old Mayla Hawthorne. She promises to come into America and give it good care. Nurture it into a beautiful garden for the Tree of Liberty. She offers and makes the guarantee to fight taxes, expand the industry that runs our nation, and to expand all existing companies to better their wages for employees.” The footage then changed, a brief flash as the sight of a woman, speaking with a worker is seen; “She also promises to begin assisting American families financially and socially. She has run on a platform to get the people more high-paying job opportunities and is overall touting ‘A Utopian Deal’. With these promises, she was able to win Illonois, New York, Texas, Florida, Georgia, and many states with incredible electoral college counts.”

The woman then appeared back on screen, going over and taking a position behind a desk; “The United States Senate is showing that the current ruling coalition is going to win. Formed during the years of Penelope Dugan and continued on by various members of the social conservative platforms that dominate the union. The social liberal groups that have held standing across the nation during the last election cycle are willing to peacefully concede in the coming days if Hawthorne provides solid arguments about what her platform can do.”

”She is willing to debate them tomorrow at the Los Angeles Federal Auditorium, while the opponent side wants to initiate a debate in an auditorium that is yet to be chosen, but name dropped to be within the Arrowhead Island zone.” The footage changed and it showed the numbers starting to stack up, “We will be right back folks. Rest assured that once we see our Democracy in action, then we can confidently say we live in a happy place on this Earth.”

When the TV footage turns off, a bar – lively within this part of New York. “Hey, have you heard of Grace Kennedy?” A person questions, fixing his braids with a drink in his fist, “She’s the Vice President that Hawthorne chose to run with.”

“Yeah, heard of her,” one of the women running the bar begins, “Top of her class, had a brief stunt as a Lieutenant in the military… What about her?”

“Just curious lady,” he responds, stretching in his seat, “The Vice President that the other guy chose was honestly a bad one. I just wanted to know who our potentially future president’s VP is going to be ya know?”

“I heard that she had excellent robotics and 3 Virtual Intelligence Research and Engineering degrees,” another person juts in on the conversation, ordering a fresh batch of fries with it, “She’s actually part of the teams that helped develop America’s MechInfantry, right?”

“Thank you, somebody remembered their military technology history class.”

“I heard she was a great pilot, even flew one of them F-22EXs during the ‘Satellite Wars’ right?” 

“Yeah,” somebody then leans in, “I heard that her joystick’s a little… interestingly shaped?”

“Oh yeah, that shape?” the bartender then smacks the table in amusement. She had a cheeky smirk on her face, “I mean, she has a ring on her finger, maybe it’s a little reminder of her husband ya know?”

“I’m surprised she and that big committee they have don’t talk about making robots for-!”

“They probably did,” another person joins the convo, “That’s probably why she’s running for VP, so they can get the funding for it, haha!” 

“God, I hope she wins,” somebody from the other side of the bar says, “I mean, Hawthorne and Kennedy? They’re an awesome combo!”

”Dude,” another patron said, just as there were cheers from one side, “They got this election in the BAG!” / “Yeah, just look at all the points they got!”

Outside, the calm movement of cars and marching people along the streets filled the air. Chatter from people talking business, casual, and all manner of snacks being eaten on the move. The great city above was lit by billboards, lights, and decorated with a range of colors that made the place look all the more splendid. There was the occasional tanned body of the military here and there, but other than that, the great city of New York was as quiet as it can be.

“Good evening sergeant!” 

A soldier, fixing his goggles and looking at his phone, looks up and gives a smile and a wave to a passing couple and their children; “Howdy there! Good game?”

“Haha, yeah, Danny killed it!”

“Awesome, hey, have a good night!”

“You too, Ian!”

As though that was the spark, the street bursted to life. Words and more flowing through the air, smiles and other things being exchanged all over the slang and the casualness.

”Have you seen that new movie that just came out?”

”Oh yeah I have, it’s awesome!” / “Hey, they’re apparently working on a sequel!”

“Oh I’ll be on the lookout for that!” 

“Hey, there’s that brand new car from Chrysler coming out, are you going to buy it?”

“Maybe, it looks great!” / “Taxi! Hey Taxi! Can you land over at this pad and get me over to the Bronx?”

“No problem!” 

“Tomorrow morning there’s going to be a new coffee shop open–”

“It better have some good Mocha, or I’m not going.” For life, in New York City, untouched and freshly invigorated by the political machine that has run, they were going smoothly. Life was running at a nice, steady pace. A brunette woman sighs peacefully, sipping at her coffee.

On forums, many people were speculating how the incoming President – should she win – would improve the economy. How her Vice President, with much of her experience, is going to echo a greater range of economic concerns. How her experience as a part of the “Mechanization Committee” was going to empower the average blue collar worker and improve the quality of life.

Videos on various media sharing sites with podcasters and self-proclaimed – and sometimes verified – analysts, economists, and other political scientists have further launched theories on the matter. The future of America is an important one after one.

“Lockheed Marietta just came out with a new CL-1201 upgrade!” / “Aren’t they collabing with General Atomics and Raytheon on that new air fleet?”

“Nice gun you got there in your book bag…” 

“Ohhh thank you!” there was the sound of a zipper opening and some bolt being pulled, “This is actually a gift from my dad, like it?”

“Clean the barrel, but yeah, that’s a nice gun. Here’s mine…”

A person can walk by a store, and notice that for today, there was a sale on bullets. The common 9mm and many of the others were 50% off that day and that was destined to end soon. A few people already decided to try and take advantage to get a nice ammo box full.

“There’s a limit folks, we have these government regs for a reason…”

“Also known as paperwork.” / “Quiet, Katia.”

The streets were still alive. This city barely slept after all. 

Always something going on.

“Fuck I need to go to sleep man…” / “Dude you got bags…”

“Oooo check this out Mr Police Officer!” And some kid, in front of a police officer, holds up his little hands and produces a little flame. The blue uniform chuckled in amusement, fixing his cap and adjusting his braid. He tapped his car and gave a thumbs up;

“Nice job buddy, keep up with your daily Thauma lessons and I’m sure you’re going to go far.”

“Thank you, Mr. Police Officer!”

“A new mechanized infantry unit was formed,” a recruiter managing a stand in front of a parked tank calls out, “Sign up today and get a 200,000 dollar bonus on your first year!”

“Hell yeah, I’ll sign up. Those mech suits look awesome!” / “Hey, I wanna be P.A. Infantry!”

For New York, this was life, and they loved it.

As Life continues its march across America, the scene turns and faces a lovely little patch of the Potomac River. A little plot of land close and within the confines of Washington D.C. but across the river within the state of the Virgin Queen. A large fenced off area that was guarded by a squad of Marines who sat around lazily. Within the little fenced area that was on their guard… well if somebody were to take a closer look into it, then they would realize the existence of these forces are more of a formality than they are of actual purpose. Because it is not the safety of the people within they are tasked with, no they were more or less there to protect the safety of everybody AROUND the house.

A house which was as old as the area that it was on. Built in the engineering and aesthetic of the Colonial States, given modernization and plenty of its own twists to ensure that it remains beautiful and relevant for all time to come. A large multi-door garage lined one side, and several connecting wings had lined the others. Alongside there, also seemed to be bits and snapshots of America across the entirety of the structure.

A few western style areas, to more homey rural parts, as well as a large little area for horses or exercise. If one considers using MBTs or IFVs as weights for weightlifting, then they could probably do it here. A special privilege given only to the folk that currently inhabit — and WILL inhabit — the building. The lights were slowly going out all over the structure.

But within the foyer of the main area, little feet pattered and echoed off the walls. A little somebody had entered the main area and was looking around. A little girl with hazelnut eyes, a stature belonging to a late U.S. Elementary School student, and a little puff of light brown hair and rounded glasses were her features. She was hugging a little plushy, cute little star with big white, black rimmed eyes. A cute little song she hummed, echoing back at her at half and quarter of the volume she was.

She passed by rooms, frantically looking at the numbers and names attached to each one. Delaware, Maryland, Virginia- ew no, she shakes her head. She sees the big names on the other side of the hall, and she blinks. One door was decorated with a unique ribbon. 15 Stars and a stripe that flows wonderfully to the floor. 

Her eyes blinked, sparkling for a moment. Mama! She stumbles over to the door and starts to knock on it. She doesn’t raise her voice, she just quietly murmurs for her mama. Soon, the door clicks. It slowly starts to turn, creaking just a little from the age. The little girl sees a head of wheat-blonde, unorganized hair start to poke out from the cracks. Signs of a robe, federal blue with some red, and the hints of fluffy pajamas only added to the identity.

She murmured something, fixing glasses to her faces – these one blazened with the name Texas on the side of one of the arms – and letting her ahoge stick up and spin about. The tag next to her door only confirmed to who she was to the little girl and who she would be greater known as;

Alfreda F. Jones, United States of America

“Antonneta?” she groggily questions. Her eyes, as blue as the free skies that govern America’s atmosphere, “What are you doing so late…?” the little girl scratches her nose for a second, looking up with a pleading look. One that made the woman blink in realization, a fond chuckle coming from her.

“Okay... Okay… I see,” she then opens the door more fully and bends down. As she picks up the little one, she starts rubbing the back of her head and gently whispering things to her; “Awww you had a bad nightmare didn’t you?”

“Mhmm…” Guiltily she murmurs. The mama nation just gives a little kiss to the head of the nervous state and brings her inside the room. A motherly smile adorned on her features as the little one gave a nice tight hug in response. “A really… really bad one…”

“It’s alright dear,” she sang, going back over to her bed. She passed by her desk, which had a closed laptop, a secured briefcase, and many more things. A shelf lined with books, some who’s spines were torn and broken in. She then began to reach the big centerpiece of the room, where the United States herself laid down upon and slept comfortably. 

One large, comfortable sized one that she immediately sat at the edge of. The striped, space themed bed sheets were warm and soft, something that was welcome for the little State of Rhode Island. “I know that your nightmares have been getting worse,” Alfreda slowly begins, taking a breath, “And I’m going to bother Tonia to see if she can whip up something… but you are a part of the Original 15, why wouldn’t I care about you?”

“Thank you, Mama…” the little one was then fully tucked in. Her own little blanket that America got out of the closet for her. Decorated with the Anchor of the state that she represents and bedazzled with ships and little yellow stars. She is comfortable now, snuggling into the blanket as her mama gets on in. The windows outside glimmering with stars and the beauty of the night above. It was calm, quiet in the room, the only thing flickering was the soft lights of Washington’s skyscrapers in the distance.

It was then Alfreda heard the soft shifting from the little one, and that prompted her to join in. Going under the covers and going only in her pajamas. The warmth of the mother was comforting to the little Island state was akin to a little bit of a cold towel being warmed and protected by the might of 76 stars and more. A warmth that was filling her soul against the colder nights of the Potomac.

“Mama…?” the little girl questions, her hazelnut eyes looking up to the sky which glowed with an energy that was happy and offering protection with the little glows of white like jets or clouds against the worst of it all. 

“Yes sweetpea?”

“Are… the old stories real…?” Hmmmm…?

“Which old stories?” the mother asks, curious herself now. That was a question that she has not asked in a while. A more ancient question? Sometimes her little Antonneta was curious about the name of the nation every so often, but other times she asked about things more… primordial so to speak. “Please, enlighten me, Providence.”

“The old tales… the scary stories of the great monsters in the dark…?” shakily she begins, and the nation was able to piece that perhaps what she was asking about was the… things that haunted her nightmare this time. “The evil king with an army of darkness that will rule the universe…?”

Ah… now she understands. Yes, it seems that it was the old monster that was haunting her nightmare that night. Ahh, poor little Antonneta, the mother coos, just before going to hug her baby and rub her hair again. “Do not worry about those old stories…” she slowly begins, “They are old for a reason… myths and legends in the old river of time. They probably aren’t real.”

A kiss to the forehead and little Atonneta giggled, “Promise, mama?”

“Promise…” she then thinks for a moment, a smile on her face; “You don’t have to worry about your nightmares, sweetpea, because–”

“--If the monsters are real, the big 5 states will come to the rescue?” 

Alfreda nods, her eyes closed. “That’s correct… plus, I’m a hyperpower sweetie, it’s going to take more than–”

“What about the Great, Pale Titan?”

Oh…?

“Him huh?” she couldn’t exactly hide the fond sigh she had at  his more heroic, almost mythological name. The Name of Atlas, the one the common folk and. “How much do you remember of him, Antonneta?”

“Not… a lot… sorry mama…” Alfreda giggles, holding her and rubbing her head. “It’s alright dear… how about I tell you of the time he saved the early U.S. Army, the Continental Army?”

“Ohhh yes please!”

Alfreda smiles, taking a deep, happy breath. She begins to think back to that story;

“...Once upon a time… in the north of the early 15 Colonies…”

Washington’s army stayed their ground, entrenched to fight against the British’s Magic Corps. The Commander-in-Chief himself had been forced to fallback. This was all during the winter, where casualties began to mount. The numbers turned higher and higher, painting a picture of grimness and bad times for the colonial military. 

He, who was the Pale Titan before, stood there.  He who carried the true name of Atlas. He was there as she was near harm. As Alfreda was near harm, attempting to defend her sisters. He was there when her forces were at their limit, and that they were in danger of being overrun. 

She was then hit, a volley of musket fire nailing the young nation. She felt an incredible amount of blood from her person start to bleed. But at that sight, the other nation began to freeze over. The frozen water cocooning him momentarily, covering each and every limb.

Then, like a beautiful phoenix of ice, he burst from the cocoon.

His hair, once so blonde, turned into an icy white. He began to command the snow and winter to his will, freezing the British forces and line infantry. It was just enough time, just enough for Alfreda and her sisters to escape. The continental army fired off warning shots.

But he passed out, overwhelmed with the power. They were able to pick up his body. The ice had coalesced and infused right into the very strands of hair. He would be dressed with that power forever, forever keeping him as a white haired man. That is where his strength lies…

“... and that is why he was so strong back then.”

“Whoa…” Rhode Island murmurs in amazement. Oh how Alfreda loved how the little sparkles in the eyes of her states - her children - always glow so brightly. Twinkling truly like the stars they are represented by on the flag. The mother loved it when their eyes were like that. Made them truly adorable. “That really happened…?”

She takes a breath and leans over, giving her another kiss on the head, “Yes Sweetpea, yes it did.” She then looks at the time, before helping further tuck her in, “Alright, that’s enough stories…”

“Good night mama…” the little state murmured, cuddling into the nation. Alfreda’s smile only became brighter, and she reciprocated with just one arm. With her other arm, she turned the light off with a snap of her fingers. As darkness washed over the room, she took off her glasses and placed them on the dresser nearby.

“Good night…”

Outside, to match; the U.S. Marines out there were slowly letting the flag down to rest for the night.

“...and Mayla Hawthorne will be the next president of the United States, alongside her running mate, Grace Kennedy!”

The 2 Candidates, of America’s conservative parties, have won. Los Angeles and many cities decided to go with the status quo this time around. The results are being fully processed. But that was that, the election was done.

The next president has been chosen, and the nation is going to like it or not. There are some people who are definitely decrying the results on forums, angry that their chosen candidate didn’t win, but that’s the nature of America’s democracy.

There’s always next election, and they can only hope their chosen will win then.

That is all they could realistically hope for at this time. But for now…

Good night, America.

Chapter Text

November 27th, 2051

The morning was riddled with cars and the horns of trucks. 

The roads of Austin, Texas were filled with people getting up from work and dealing with hangovers or what have them. The great city of southwestern style was glimmering with economic activity. 

Its skyscrapers reached high above, each window sparkling. The basis of each building looks like an old square saloon or town hall. And as you go higher up, it was though the turn of the industrial age decided to blend itself right in.

Large commuters, buses, trucks, and many more vehicles rumbled along the roads. EVtol craft joined the fray, delivering people here and there. Helicopters and aircraft above shifted through the air traffic, some landing, others continuing to fly over the city. The people that were in the streets, in defiance of the hot Texan weather, were wearing stetsons, 10 gallons, whatever sun hat they have to protect them. Any weapon was safely stowed away, less they wanted some unfortunate discharge to occur. This morning, the roads were not entirely filled to the brim with cars, and as such, a certain F150 began to make its way down the road. On its back right, there was a little flag of Texas that flew, flickering like a hologram.

The windows were tinted, the engine whirring like a precious turbine. The people around the vehicle just made sure to stay out of its way. No police car escorted it, but everybody knew exactly who was within it. The truck bed full of crates and a few ammo boxes always gave an idea.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” one person, from within the cool A/C of a coffee shop muttered. 

“Yeah, that’s him… off to work again, isn’t he?” 

“It’s rare for him to be in the city,” an officer from his car remarks, “So what gives for him to be here today?”

“Don’t know,” the nearby cop murmurs, an iced tea in her hands, “Maybe the State Government finally needed him for something.”

Maybe her theory was close to correct. For soon, he began to reach an avenue that was lined with tanks, and national guard. A security measure in place by the governor who began to work on trying to ensure the security of the State against… something.

For the man, he began to turn into his favorite parking spot. His car screeched as it turned into the front of the federal building that he was needed at. The car slowly began to turn off its engine, the people around the vehicle watched quietly as a door slowly turned. A boot came landing on the hot asphalt of the parking lot.

Spurs were there, as well as a fair taper that made the fabric flow nicely. Another boot landed, and a hand — protected a bit by the sleeve of a flannel shirt of some kind — moved to the door and began to slowly close it. A Stetson hat protected the brunette hair and the sun kissed skin that the young man had. 

There was a pair of rectangular sunglasses, which glistened under the sunlight. A brief case was in his right hand, and a hand on his revolver also. His shirt’s a collared, patterned shirt. One side a fair blue, the other side half white and red. A single white star rested on the blue side, while his pants — which may give Doug Dimadome a double take — were nice and pristine white.

A serious constraint with his boots, but for that young man, it was the best thing he can do for now. “Afternoon,” he opens, a tone cordial and friendly. The nearby workers, who were heading on in, gave him a nervous wave. He didn’t mind it and as such he began to move on in. His boots continued to clack and announce his presence.

He approached the doors, passing by all of the holographic signs and giving his greetings to any other worker that decided to try and say hi to him. He looked up at the doors, a smile on his face as they began to slide open for him. A rush of cool air brushed against his face, and it made him let out a satisfied and relieved sigh.

Ah… he thinks, That’s nice…

He goes on in full, his boots now against a nice carpet. His eyes began to look around, scanning for the signs that he was looking for. Office workers were going to and there, a clerk lady was busy signing a few people in. There were cubicles full of computers and holograms, processing incredible information. 

He was able to look up and see a second floor where the stairs led up to, but had a railing where a few other workers looked down at the people in the cubicles. Some of them were wearing earpieces. He takes out his card, seeing the special little emblem of a star and the circle shine in a rainbow like fashion.

He then approaches the clerk at the desk, for she had not a lot of people checking in now and he was able to go; “Howdy there ma’am,” he greets with a smile, “I’m here to meet with Ms. Clementine Jones, my name’s on there… I believe it’s under Antonio G. Jones, 11:30 appointment…?”

The woman looks up from her screen for a moment, and takes a breath. “Well sir…” she then goes over and taps a few keys for a moment, a response appearing not too soon after; “Just head on over to the waiting area that’s a floor above us and she’ll be with you in about 10 minutes… that sounds alright Mr. Jones?”

”That’s perfect,” he then gives her his card. “That there look alright?”

“Yessir,” she then scans it and a green light turns on. “Head on up the stairs, she’ll be with you shortly.”

”Thank you kindly.” The man starts to move, giving a thankful wave to the people behind for waiting and starts to go on up. As he does, he was able to peak a listen to some of the many conversations happening below him;

”Space National Guard’s going to have its budget slashed…” he heard come from 2 office workers who were sharing holograms of data to each other. “Governor’s citing it because we at present do not have a serious need for most of the big ships…”

”Huh… What about the big hitters? We’re keeping all of them missile silo ships?”

”That’s what’s being slashed.” / “Awh what? That’s stupid…”

“Check this budget, the Federal Government’s asking for us to contribute a bit more to some industrial projects happening close to Louisiana.” / “That doesn’t seem entirely bad, I mean some of those are being used as mech facilities right?”

”For mining, construction… actually we have a few 4 and 6 legged walker robots and construction vehicles also being produced there, a lot of them going to the marines and a few going to the army.” / “Nice, loved watching those things as a kid.”

Somebody else walks into that conversation; “Partner, you liked the walkers? Mine was the mech and tanks, I was around when that committee first made the mechs… man was it cool watching them march and roll down the streets of Beijing…”

”Yeah, you’re old!” / “Old man, I’m pretty sure you were there when we first made that pentagon colony on the moon!”

Antonio had to politely prevent himself from laughing at that. He looks young, young enough to be considered ripe off the tree that an apple would come from. But he has seen the days of Apollo and many other machinations within this world. 

That man, who has seen when the U.S. Army marched into Beijing proclaiming victory for the new republic? He’s respectably old for a human like him. Soon he reached the floor where the official he was looking for resided. He was able to pick her door out directly amidst the jungle of couches, water cooler towers and more. 

Not because of some special labels. It wasn’t exactly hard to miss the 2 giant pairs of legs standing at each side, armed with a weapon which seems to be a bit much – especially for an indoor area. But knowing who exactly ordered them to be there, then the fact that they were here wasn’t exactly surprising.

“Morning Jill,” he says to the one closest to where he was. One of their desert tan bodies turned, their visored heads looking directly at him alongside the cameras. A light flickered for just a moment from ‘Jill’ and she nodded in response.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jones, are you here for a meeting with your sister?” He tilts his hat in kind.

“You got it.” The 2 machines looked at each other, before simultaneously stepping to the sides and punching something into a little keypad with an equally small little limb. He smiled, going to fix his cuffs as the electronic systems purred to life. “Thank you very kindly.”

The door began to swing open, slowly to a long office room. He was greeted by an equal length carpet that led right up to a large mahogany desk. Surrounded by shelves loaded with books: Many of whom have their spines fairly worn out, some of them look pristine and untouched, and others given fresh new paperbacks. 

There were a few pillars that were on either side of him, leading up to the furnishing that contrasted against a large window that led to the Austin financial district. Silhouetted against It all was a woman, dressed in a rather stuffy business dress. Her glasses glimmering from both artificial and whatever the sun in the west gives.

He approaches, the boots clicking against the floor that was under the fabrics and he had his hands on his belts. He held no animosity towards this woman, judging by the still pleasant glances in his eyes. She had not noticed him, head still dipped and a pen going back and forth — signing off an insane amount of laws and orders that needed her oversight.

He finally stops right in front of the desk. Standing there, he takes a few moments. He heard the soft whirring of some computer, and the dull scratching of a pen against paper. She had not acknowledged his presence, but he was able to acknowledge the slightly dark blue hair that she had. Raven and almost imperceptibly similar to black.

He was able to acknowledge, however, the Stetson she had — thought it was closer to a federal fedora than it was to the all Texan hat. He brought his hand to his mouth and coughed, a bit audibly. Enough to where it briefly echoed off the walls and any other feature within the reach.

”Howdy, Antonnio,” murmured the woman, not even looking fully at him. Playfully, the rural Texan waved his hand — and yet carried a fairly shit eating grin on his features.

“Awh come on Clementine,” he teased, “Now that’s no way to free your brother now is it?” She finally looks up fully, her glasses coming back, and a hand going to pinch the bridge between her eyes. 

”It is if my brother is the damn Eastern half of this state.” She then leans back in her seat and crosses her arms. “What brings you down to my office this time?” No true ire held, just mild annoyance. Which is fine, he never comes out from his ranch other than to be the more stereotypical picture of the state.

“Well,” he sits himself down without prompt, annoying her further; “I came down this way to ask about something your big city contractors have been doing near my ranch.” An eyebrow was raised on her part.

“Did I order some people over there…” a finger went to her chin. Then, a shake of her head; “No, I don’t think I did? Hang on…” she looks over at her computer, firing it up and bringing its processor and memory to bear. “...nope, I have no contracts stateside…”

“Then I guess it’s Ma that ordered it…?” the eyes of the sister glimmered for a moment. 

“‘Suppose it is.” The 2 stopped for a moment, allowing Austin to wave his hands. In a flash of starlight, a little plate and a glass bottle were before the other woman, “Sis, come on, I know you love my cooking so here, eat.”

The woman had to restrain herself from reaching out and stuffing her face. She was shaking her head, eyes closed and a deep exhale following; “No, I cannot. I am too busy for this, and I need to figure out what the Feds are–”

Thrust–! “MPHH?!” her eyes open to see a brioche bun almost blocking her eyesight. She looked over at her brother with annoyance, but he was looking at her with thinly veiled concern behind his warm Texan eyes.

“Eat, sis. If you starve, I’ll tell Mama Alfreda, and we know she’ll be dragging you to Sam Hill.” 

Her eyes rolled for a moment, before she closed them and began to eat the delicious pulled pork sandwich. Antonnio’s pride and joy was his barbecue, and despite how much his sister tried to deny it – she damn well misses it every chance she can taste it. 

Country food always beats whatever the hell the city gives her sometimes.

… well that and not starving is also a great move, since that means her mom would get off her back.

As she began to eat, indulging in the delicious bread and barbecued pork – setting aside her work and preventing herself from starving,  she looked up at Antonio and brought out a report with the press of a button. 

“Mama wants to place some more military bases and federal facilities in areas of Texas where there’s nobody using their property to the fullest extent or is outright neglected,” she explains slowly, reading off the top of the file, “As long as there is facilities that can be utilized, she wants to put some more assets out there. Robot or otherwise.”

“Ehhh let’s not worry about that,” Antonnio mutters, “have you been able to go to any games recently? Or have you been cooped up in your office–” he then crosses his arms, “Don’t try and hide from me Celementine, I know that look on your face.”

“I have… tickets to an Astro game…?” a facepalm from the Rural man, as well as the light ticking of his tongue. Now HIS arms were crossed and he was looking at her with a fairly unimpressed expression. No, that’s not happening.

“Baseball season has not started yet, that’s a lie.” A groan and a table banged, causing him to reach forward to prevent the plate that she just hit from falling. This… yeah he expected this. Big sis always threw herself at her work just to keep the old Lone Star shining. He takes one, long breath – the only thing he can offer her now to try and make sure she doesn’t entirely collapse.

“Listen,” he starts with a slow, deliberate breath, “How about this; I do the work for you… and you can go and watch your favorite Soap Operas. Does that sound alright?” It was a sweet and enticing offer, one that he knew that she would love.A anything and everything to go watch her favorite little drama shows. If the opportunity was presented, she will always-

“Fine…” and the PC came online again. Western Texas smiled, taking his polo shirt off and putting it on the arms of his much more industrious sister. Afterwards, he takes her seat and allows her to go rest on a couch which was way off to the side in the room. Cracking his knuckles and getting himself comfortable, he looked to the screens with a relaxed expression;

“Alright now… let’s see what our industry’s looking like…”

The Texan – the Sun Belt and Southwest areas too – industries were reliant on a niche combination of Heavy Machinery, Logistics, and other such areas of engineering. With the Provisions corporation and many more heavy engineering companies coming out of the state in response to America’s desire for more and more technology to give the people a physical edge, the Lone Star state found itself as a part of the grander “4th Industrial Revolution” of this world.

As such, back during the Dugan Administration, a good number of Eastern Texan industries had found themselves changed. Companies which once only made mech suits or other walkers for industrial or construction purposes found themselves being utilized in much larger strategic scales by the guidance of the government in Washington. 

In one such facility, SteelMankind Engineers were refining a machine within the deep confines of one of their experimental warehouses near Houston. It was their most popular mech yet. A simple, yet utilitarian bipedal machine that can be operated by one pilot. It looked like an oversized American soldier with some armor shoulders and a large backpack. 

After it saw extensive use in the 2nd Chinese Civil War, it was a stable of American Mechanized Infantry. They are currently working on a new version. One that can more effectively utilize the mana batteries that many armored fighting vehicles would have.

“Careful with those things now,” somebody warned, “They’re the new batteries from Lockheed Marietta, we don’t want those to be damaged before we can even see if they work, now do we?”

“Yeah yeah, I know,” an engineer calls out, carefully wiring and plugging the batteries; “Besides, if we didn’t, OSHA would have our asses on a silver platter.” It was then a few workers ran on by, carrying the various parts that would make up the “Large Arms” rifle that the mech suit would use. Think of it as a giant assault rifle, but instead of 5.56, it uses 40mm APDS and HEI.

They worked hard, welders moving too and fro, Thaumaturgical Engineers touching up on some of the more fine parts of the construct, and a few mechanics making sure that certain parts – all of the ones that move – were in perfect working order. There was going to be a commander on site who will see if it all works and if the Pentagon’s right in thinking ‘Yeah, we should invest.’ 

The U.S. Government is still a hard client to please. They had been utilizing the fact that U.S. Army Concept Boards hired sci-fi artists to make cool new blueprints or concepts for the nation’s defense industry and it’s not exactly the company’s fault that so many artists end up making advanced concepts that would sometimes be impossible to make within a decade.

The mech suit was quick. Just borrow existing machines and it does the job. A construction company was the forefront of America’s armored infantry for a long period of time and that didn’t sit well with most of the defense contractors during that era. It was unnerving, and many of them were trying to get regulations piled on.

Lockheed Marietta actually absorbed that company – which once hailed to the moniker of Construction Titans LLC – and now Steel Mankind was born out of that. Of course, they have to compete with General Dynamics – and the Japanese Mecha market – but all was going well.

As long as they can actually get this prototype done.

“Officer on deck,” was announced by their manager. Every single worker stopped what they were doing – put down any tools they had – and gave the approaching woman a salute. That was her, the woman that decides if they were going to get their paycheck and go home and relax for a few months.

She didn’t look particularly discernable, other than the fairly long blonde hair that reached down to her lower back. She was just supposed to be some dispatch sent by the Congressional Committee that was overseeing ‘Any and All futuristic American Military developments’. A Federal paid vacation sounds really nice right about now.

It was then one of the workers noticed a 21K that was brought along with her. A MechInf Pilot if you will. Somebody to test the machine and its capabilities with the skills and capabilities to ensure that if there was failure, they could easily find a way to recover and report it.

“Alright,” she opens a tablet and brings up various holographic screens projected from it displaying a wide range of stats and a camera that was now recording; “I am here today on behalf of the United States Congress’ Committee on Mechanized and Automatic Forces. Private First Class Breckridge will assume control of the latest prototype mech suit from Steel Mankind.”

The man there saluted, his braids framing his soft face a little cutely. “These mech suits came about as a response to the lower physical strength of the United States overall, and we are seeing if the recent innovation will adapt to the newest change in our Doctrine, Advanced Thaumaturgical Tactics.” She then nods at the man, “He will be using this mech suit in this facility to test the weapons and the handling overall. Proceed.”

One of the workers moved over and hit a switch on a panel. The mech suit began to kneel. 2 legged and upright like a Japanese man preparing to sit at a low table. Its great mechanical hands were positioned in such a way that it acted more like a staircase up to the main body. The main torso was opening upwards to reveal a complex inside of systems and other limbs. 

A captain’s chair was inside, with screens that came to and fro. There were panels of buttons here and there. It looked to be a fairly comfortable seat, with a 2 handed control scheme that made the operator smile. There were omnidirectional pedals for him as well, and that is presumably to assist in mimicking a walking movement when he’s inside.

So, nothing really changed from the Mark VI M121, was his thought. At least on a practical control level. 

With that, he cracked his neck a little and moved to start heading inside. His boots clanging against the metal tendrils of the massive claws, and his helmet moving to quickly integrate. A connection was initiated, his helmet lighting up with a brand new stream of data. He was beginning to see a silhouetted outline that began to gradually be carved up into something much more. Arms, body, some little numbers that began to fire up…

The little things to ensure that the machine was in an okay position. Finally stepping into teh cockpit, he comfortably sat himself into the machine. The commander nearby was busy reading off some of the information and specifications that were given — as well as overall grading what she currently sees. Ease of entry? Good. Quick connection in under .5 seconds? Perfect.

Mechanical operation? She looks at the pilot who just finished putting on his seatbelts. He gives her a thumbs up, causing her to cup a hand around her mouth; “Clear the area!” That was the only warning they all got as the pilot began to punch in a few buttons. The torso began to close, sealing the pilot. The ventilation and other systems began to fire on. He felt the pedals and some connecting parts start hooking onto his legs, which then slowly manipulated. He felt his legs as though he was in a kneeling position, despite those limbs actually appearing like he was in a seat instead.

Outside, the engineers were speaking with the woman, calmly explaining the various functions of the new machine. “The Mark VII M121 Mechanized Infantry Unit is the latest and greatest innovation of Lockheed Marietta and Steel Mankind. It combines the recent advancements in computer and robotics technology with improved hydraulic and mechanical systems to ensure that our mechanized warrior is one of incredible agility and strength,” he then waves over at a flatbed trailer and starts pointing out something that was sort of held up on a few stands, “That right there is the SM4A2, a modern improvement over the prior rifle. We’ve decided to go with the 50mm APDS and HEI belt — commonly found on the new Bradley or Stryker turrets. We decided to go with a design based on the Israeli SCAR-H, simple and high capacity.”

”What we hope to accomplish with this is an exceptionally simplified logistics chain, since our older designs are reliant on 25mm guns,” the manager continues, taking a single breath and wiping his head, “We have decided to go with fully integrating RWS turrets in order to ensure that if these mechs ever are snuck up on, there is always at least a machine gun on the back to tell the offending assailant to back off. Oh, and we have decided to utilized 30mm chaingun rounds for things that are to act as our pistol and secondary munitions.”

”An impressive layout…” she then looks at the mech, who’s head was turning in turn with the pilot that was inside. A hand went up to her ear and a small button was quietly depressed; “Private First Class Breckridge, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear ma’am,” the man inside affirms, voice chipper and eager.

”Good, take the machine and make it stand full upright.” 

With that order, the robot began to move. Slowly, yet fluidly, it began to bring itself up. A hand went over and grabbed on to a container — deliberately placed to assist in getting up just incase. The workers watched with sparkles in their eyes, hypnotized by the movements of the machine that they had put together. One knee went up, and a hand rested on it, before finally allowing himself to go fully upright. 

When he did so, he entered a disciplined standing pose. Hands sat at the sides, while the body was as perfectly straight as it could be sustained. A little holographic projector on the side of the arms twinkled a star surrounded by a circle, while the American flag was something that was uniformly painted on.

”Excellent,” the officer murmurs — writing something down — and then directing a hand towards the flatbed. “Pick up the SCAR.” Following that order to a T, the machine began to move. It walked like a person would, its arms swinging in tandem and opposite of the legs that went forward and backwards. A mimicry of the movement of mankind by a being of metal, code, and DI controlled by one man.

Each stomp a dull, metallic thud. Think a metal boot against the concrete floor. Just more profound, as though its steps were sledgehammers knocking against the ground. The ‘boot’ bending and adjusting to make each step more fluid, more efficient on th momentum of such a machine.

”It is said that the committee that formed the machines that we know and love today was made by one Grace Kennedy. A brilliant woman who loved machines, virtual or digital Intelligences, and all manner of robots,” the manager then put a hand over his chest; “She was a good friend to Construction Titans LLC, and continues to be an avid supporter of Steel Mankind, Texan Robotics, and many more companies today.”

”Thank you for the history lesson,” the officer idly murmured. Just as the machine reached the flat bed and leaned forward. It began to pick up the large weapon, hands firmly gripping the massive grip — and foregrip. The massive empty mag well was explored, and the hammer — as large as a fridge — was thumbed and played with. “Good, now pick up that magazine and charge the weapon.“

A magazine, which was as large as the back of an average pick up truck, was grasped by the other hand. “This was also made by Colt and Springfield, correct?”

”Well…” the manager tries to say as he scratches his head; “Yes, they have—“

”Good,” she then checks something, “Then I don’t have to doubt it’s quality then.” She puts her tablet to the side and calls to her soldier, “Test utilizing a Thaumaturgical Shield, spell Sierra-119er at normal operating strength.” 

The mech snaps into a salute, before the left hand went forward towards the safer parts of the wall. To the beauty of them all, hoses began to illuminate with the bright, light blue-rainbow colored mix that was Mana in a refined form. The battery taking the solid energy within and expelling it through a converter to turn it into a small liquid.

Instantly reaching the palm of the limb and starting to project something. Like a high school projector, mixed with the power of a holographic screen. Soon, in a directed mist, the Mana was sprayed forward in a single little circle the size of a quarter. Within a split second however, it was then joined by a brief laser that ignited the end.

When that happened, the machine’s front was then protected. A massive rune-like aegis had appeared in front of the mech. It spun, with various smaller circles going around at various speeds. It projected power, it was glowing an incredible blue — and within the shape that it exhibited was various writings and so, generated by a small little laser that was keeping up the Thaumaturgically propped up shield. 

The engineers and manager were cheering — so happy that it worked after so many . The soldier within was chuckling, almost maniacally laughing. The officer looked on with a satisfied smile. The manager had come to her, his own tablet alight with notifications. Data that were telling of how the machine was doing and how its power. 

“That’s one hell of an improvement, take a look at that,” he points at some chart, and a pair of lines that the officer looked at with extreme interest, “An improvement of 150% efficiency on the usage of refined Mana from the battery, and an improvement of around 80% on the actual operator. They can use…” — he stops to quickly write some calculations that instantly gave him numbers — “…about 140 times the normal amount of spells than the prior model!”

”And look at this!” Another engineer pops in with his own tablet, with a smile that spoke of childlike glee; “It only diverts a one-fifth of the energy normally needed to sustain one spell. That means that the soldier can effectively use 2 more spells at the same time!”

“Well I’ll be…” the benefits were all adding up, piling with the hope of all here too. Better energy efficiency, better efficiency on mana usage. Increased fluidity of movement, ease of control — with minor changes to allow for easy retraining…

The soldier stopped with the shield, the officer clapping with that smile that was still on her face. She then brings her hand out to the manager, her eyes sparkling with barely contained joy and admiration. 

The man, enthusiastically moved to shake her hand, barely able to contain the goofy smile that he had as she said the very next words that echoed off the walls and around the facility with the shake of her hand and the rising of her voice;

”Congratulations, you’ve won the 500 billion dollar contract .”

The effect was instantaneous. 

The sudden rise of cheer from engineers and scientists all over the facility.

Some are going to hug, others are breaking out the drinks. Claps and yells from down the hall.

The ones on that floor were going up to their big machine and hugging the legs — with the soldier inside laughing joyfully and pumping a large metallic fist into the air.

“Holy fuck it paid off!” / “Whoooo—!” / “Party time ladies!”

“That new power plant from Honeywell just saved our asses!”

”I’m off to Cancun, who’s coming with?!” / “Let’s go, can’t wait!”

The manager was laughing, going over to join the boys and girls of his team. The beer was already out, and bottles were flowing with the amber liquid. The officer went away, presumably to her vehicle to report her choice and approval to the Committee that was about to fill the paychecks of the people on that team for the next decade.

For the people of Steel Mankind and the defense industry, they just won a big contract and that means that they’re going to have a good time as the money begins to flow into their pockets and their accounts.

Break out the drinks and enjoy, their hard work has just paid off big time. 

All that’s left is to send the designs and their parts to the factories across America.

Chapter Text

November 28th, 2051

The great tall peaks of the Rockies towered towards the heavens. Capped with wonderful powdery snow, the various mountain ranges reached high into the sky. Dotted with green, trees, and roads that winded in and around the shape of these mighty landmarks. 

Nestled within the crevices were the towering buildings of many cities. Some were designed in such a way to seamlessly fit into the landscape. To look like the peaks of mountains themselves. Humanity’s attempt to blend into the natural world the best they can.

But that was only one part of the landscape. A bit of nature to enjoy alongside the giant domes that he knew - from heart: because one of his siblings works at one - was a hydroponics facility. Something that delivered more and more fresh food to the people of America and Colorado.

For the man who was at his desk signing papers, he only enjoyed it as a bit of a respite. A break from the normal screen and the projections that defined his more professional life. 

He just finished off affirming an order and had begun to take a fresh step out of the fairly stuffy space. With the creak of his chair, he backs out and admires the long tree line that was on the other side of the parking lot he was watching. Pushing himself out of his seat and fixing up his vest, he clears his throat and sucks in one more puff of air.

“Elenoire!” he calls out, looking at a woman in the corner of the room, “Can you quickly process all of this?” At the request; she nods confidently and moves over to his seat. Obediently, her metal steps tapped along the slightly carpet. The face that she wore – quiet and pleasant – takes the chair while he gets up and starts putting on his helmet, his vest, and starts putting on things like his gloves. He holds out his palm and lets a brief little spat of fire rise from his fingers, which he then willed away. 

“Thanks, watch the office for me, will ya?” he turns to the synth, who calmly nods her head with a smile. “Hopefully this first batch will get out to those big factories in Louisiana today.”

“Optimistic,” she mutters as he makes his way out the door, “But not entirely without merit.” The man nods, clicks his tongue, and shoots his finger guns at her. It was then he began to trudge off, entering the much larger cubicle space. The sounds of keyboards, pens being signed, and some smaller machines moving about was undeniable. 

It managed to drown out any potential noise from the outside world, only made much more prominent when the sounds further muted it. Leaving only the idle chatter of conversation to reign supreme over the entire office room. He chuckled for a moment, moving down the aisle and making his way to the door. The various gray - with powder snow white around the tops - walls gave only the loudest snippets of ongoing office gossip.

“Hawthorne won!” / “Thank god, we’ve been praying for that!” That election was fairly exciting to watch, actually. He had his money on the other guy, but eh. Hawthorne has that impressive background on her so he wasn’t exactly too salty about the loss. Hell, he’s pretty sure that when she gets in office, his factory line is going to get an extensive amount of contracts soon and that sounds okay in his book.

“Did you hear that our current president already talked with the incoming president?”

“Before even the whole procession happens?! Damn!” / “They move fast with that onboarding, I swear.”

“Can’t wait for the inauguration… sip… ” that was the last thing he heard from the office complex. For he had opened the glass door that separated the facility from the hallway. As he reached for it, he took a look outside, looking at the beautiful mountain world that was out there. He takes one more breath of fresh air and starts down the hallway. The carpeted floor did the bare minimum to mute the sounds of his footsteps and there was a slight echo that returned to him not too intensely, but just enough to remind him and any others that there was such a echo. 

The only other sounds that had such prominence were the screens nearby. Flickering and dancing with the lights that formed up many shapes and colors. Advertising to investors – who occasionally roam these halls – that the Rockies-Sierra Manufacturing Corporation is a worthwhile investment for those who are looking at specially machined parts. He smiles, rubbing his hand against a projector, looking at the pictures of jets and civilian goods – with the caption of ‘We are involved in all aspects of life!’ proudly displayed in big, dramatic words.

Hah… that was his company. 

Not a defense contractor, sure, but still did a hell of a lot for the nation to function.

Soon, and after grabbing a couple other safety related items, he reached the much heavier industrial doors. A security guard was there, trying to use some thauma to fix up his hair. “Hey there Steve,” the manager calls out with a calm hand up. The man straightened up at the mention of his name, and turned to give his superior a nod of his head.

“Afternoon, Jonathan,” he tilts his helmet and flashes a thumbs up; “Ready to check on the toys?” The manager nodded, fixing a bit of his hair and making sure it was safely tucked under his helmet. 

“Oh you know I am.”

“Fantastic!” the guard goes over to his panel and begins to twist a few keys. “Oh uh, Kenny needs to talk with you about some sort of project that he’s going to work on later. You still got that brother who owns that contractor company right?” Jonathon nods and makes sure his own helmet was very secure.

”Yeah, they’re busy till about next week. Fed’s contracted them to make some new towers in town,” the other gave a mock whine and pushed a button. “Don’t be like that,” teased the manager, “He’ll be done before dinner, they’re just some simple watch towers afterall.”

As the doors slowly came open, the guard raised his eyebrows in curiosity. “Really? No big bunkers this time?” the manager scoffed as he stepped into the doorway. He gave one more wave and his face was practically out the door by then.

“It's not like Colorado’s going to be invaded anytime soon…Alright, cya!”

“Cya Jonathan!” and with that, he made his way into the factory floor. His boots began to step along as he was greeted by the sounds and smells of machines working endlessly. Stamping out metal, machining things, pushing them down a line which flowed. Towards the empty maws of containers and readied them for shipping out to factories all over the American Sunbelt.

He watched all of this with pride, the dance of the mechanical arms, the precise movements of belts putting parts exactly where they needed to go. A dance that this old building has seen conducted a hundred times before in the past without problem and incredible production. A task that it had conducted hundreds of times in the past eras without fail and with incredible results.

This factory was producing parts, yes, but it was still a part that can be found not only on the Sherman, but on the Bradley, the Abrams, and many more modern fighting machines today. 

A quintessential part. That made many — and even the mightiest heavy tank in the arsenal of Auntie Sam today and to the brand new mechs their factory was helping produce via the parts — relied to ensure they can function.

Joints. This factory produced joints. All sorts of them in fact. Swivel, ball, universal… if you see it, they probably made it — especially for military application. There were joints on the Sherman, there were joints on the Bradley. And for the last product from Steel Mankind, this was no different. 

The smallest part is what makes even the mightiest machine out of the Military-Industrial Complex work after all. Which is why this factory was critical in their production of these joints. Everything from the arms, the legs, the head, the cockpit, and anything in between has these specialized standard parts.

He goes over to one of the lines that was producing just the bits and knobs for a few of the more basic parts. These were the ones who’s production increased significantly, and he couldn’t help but smile as he watched the dance of machines. As they swung too and fro, their sleek white forms produced the ball joints. They all flowed neatly into a crate that was then moved along to a truck by some machines that could be seen on ports in Long Beach or other major ports.

He was proud, this was the thing that was making him incredible amounts of money. He sold this part to consumer markets and to the military - not because it was a hot commodity right now - but because it was something that will forever remain in demand for as long as this factory continues to plume. 

He smiled, putting his arms across his chest just as a truck began to leave. “Fuck yeah… can’t wait for that big federal paycheck comes in,” with that bit of pride in him he turns around and continues to explore the facility.

“And that right there was the M60 folks, thank all ya’ll so much for watching!” 

At that moment, the camera turns off and a lady smiles at the lenses for a moment. “Not bad for a day of shooting…” she mutters to herself, still happily holding the american LMG in her arms. The sky above was nice and clear, sunny with just a few clouds here and there. Sweat dripped off the sides of her face, dashing against the short hair that hugged her cheeks and tickled her neck due to how sharp they are. She goes over and starts collecting the steel-brass ammo cases that just was dispensed, admiring what she just did today as well.

She saw her metal targets, some off their chains and others with large holes where the chest would be. There was just then the mound that had to take the full brunt of the punishment that she was giving some poor watermelons and soda bottles — long expired ones filled with nearby swamp water, so nothing entirely lost here. She wipes the seat off her face again — despite the cool weather of winter here, it feels as though the sun was announcing and commanding its presence with the heat today.

Nothing too unusual, this area was sometimes as bad as Satan’s armpit a good amount of the time so it’s not like she noticed an extreme difference and didn’t prepare if there was supposed to be anyways. With a quick swipe, she produces a water bottle which begins to bless her with a cool rush of liquid that reinvigorates her. With that accomplished she takes her guns – the LMG especially – and places it firmly in the armored locker of a truck bed.

Securing it all down, and then fully ensuring that the armored compartment’s cooling and protection for all of the ammo kicked in. Satisfied, she gets out of the little compartment and back out into nature. Her boots landed on wet grass that greeted her like an old fiend.

She leans against her truck, letting the buzzing of insects pass her by. Behind her, the flag of Georgia from the antenna of her car. Her light bronze body misted with the sweat and the aftermath of just having a day of pure shooting. Now, she gets to relax, enjoy all that she had been doing and let her sister from the Land of Flowers handle the editing later.

She goes over to the window and starts fixing herself up. In the fashion she had chosen to wear a simple ensemble of a sports bra, some cargo pants, and part of an CAS Uniform - loaned from that estranged auntie off the northern coast of Brazil. Or was it a gift rather… she was extremely laid back then when she was back in the days of the big ol’ split…

“Hmmm…” she then turns around and opens her door to the fairly large truck. She fixes her hair, an unusual union of springs with a bit of short hair. The sun’s grace wasn’t exactly kind forever for a good reason after all. High time for her to turn around and start making her way back to the state house near Atlanta. When the armored door came open, she felt the AC immediately flash on.

Ice power blessed her and she smiled, “Ahh…” she sits herself into her seat and relaxes; “Much better than dealing with the problem out there…” She looks at her wheel and produces her keys. Once she gets the ignition going, she straps her seatbelt on and feels the turbine purr to life. Screens began to flicker on and she started to read through the dashboard’s notifications. A little red circle with white numbering was showing itself to her and she could only imagine what exactly was prompting that.

She presses on it, drinking some more water and grabbing a trucker’s cap that she comfortably fitted to the crown of her head. After a mere moment, a voicemail-like little projection came up - literally a little envelope with an emblem for sound - and without even reading who sent it, she knew exactly what she was about to be in for. She presses on the message and lets the voice recording come on through.

“Hello, Octavia here,” the voice of the infamously taunted state in the North speaks. “Big sister Georgia, what do you do when you think you saw an alien in your backyard? Cause I woke up in the middle of the night and I swore I saw something there… what should I do?!” The southern state began to laugh, fondly shaking her head as she wiped off the little microphone on the console and started preparing to speak.

“Hey there Ohio…” she pinches the bridge between her eyes with a fair bit of a laugh. Her vehicle began to move, going onto the dirt path while she moved to speak; “So… I got your message, and I’m pretty sure that your best bet is either asking Ma to give you a few marines on patrol or you get yourself a gun from Doe.” She presses send and takes full control of the truck now, making her way out.

“Play me the next messages.” 

“…you have 5 new messages from Ma . ”

”…Awh hell…” she sighs and presses on the tab, letting it warm back up. To her relief, they weren’t headed to be anything… disciplinary, just rather a few things like Are you feeding your capital right? Do you need any of your allowance money? And some gossip about the fine lady of Poland and Prussia. 

Those 2 gals… oh always a handful whenever Ma goes and have ladies night out with them and our fine neighbor to the far north.  

She uh… remembers one of the days fondly, the time when they all decided to hang out at the Colonial Home and Tonia was there… who boy anti-gravity and a drunk German, Pole, Americans, and Canadian is… a fun combination…

She got on the highway and she was already on her way. The sky above was something she had known for lifetimes. But it is always nice to see it prosperous and free. Where there were no demons or monsters threatening to take it all away.

She almost heard a car honk. 

All that told Georgia that she had gotten back to the Interstate again and that she was about to make her way back home. She hopes when she gets back, Atla made the Peach Pies already and that editing everything that she has taken today from the range was going to be a breeze.

Had she begun to look at the news for the entirety of the American South and parts of Arrowhead south, then this optimism wasn’t misplaced. Georgia’s Atlanta can be seen like a glimmering star from anybody even within the orbit of earth. Where the many skyscrapers reached up to the skies and kissed everything amongst the stars. Massive sprawling suburbs dictated the outer perimeter, while the center was dominated by the massive steel buildings that were the bedrock of the modern American economy.

The rest of the Southeast wasn’t exactly lacking either.

“Good afternoon America, welcome back to the Unified News Network of Atlanta ,” a reporter appears on television. Dressed in a nice suit with lovely feathery finishes, her bronze skin shimmered with various oils and her golden eyes dazzled under the studio lights that were bombarding her. She had a tablet in her hands and holograms flowing around her, dispensing various amounts of information right to her and her audience. WIth a bit of a bow, and fixing the microphone that rested on her chin, she continued the session’s opening with that smile;

“Today’s Financial Reports are looking good for everybody down here in the Southwest Investment Region. The States of Alabama, Louisiana, Arkansas, Manaca, Secatown, and Yuchislakwi have started to see an average GDP increase of 2.1% over the last 6 months. The Biggest Outlier has to be the Seminolia state, with a whopping 4.5%.” The information slates and pictures of the states on the board began to bombard the screen with charts showing arrows in upward, green movements with a few fluctuations.

“Virginia, Kentucky, and a few other states have happily reported a more steady 1.4%, but these states are already in good economic standing, with a state like Florida already up there with big increases in Tourism and Space-based platforms being utilized here. ” She takes a breath and started to move some tabs on her pad around with familiar ease. “On the ground, we have seen a gradual decrease in poverty, starting from its more rapid descent after Former U.S. President, Penelope Dugan’s time in office. The incredible changed is not going unremembered, for economists were cheering all over the country at every little bit of process that is given.”

Everybody remembers when Dugan came into office. America’s own Iron Lady. She was a fiery woman that won through “Achievable Promises” and “All-American Rhetoric.” Things like a new War on Prices to ensure that food remains cheap for even the lower class American, for the Impoverished to have the right to getting a fair new deal and employment that will elevate them out of that poverty line — which grew lower and lower through the correct deals and policies. Granted, the land she left America wasn’t perfect. The federal order which kept American boots on American streets hasn’t been repealed, only adapted into American culture. Nobody is bothered by the few men or women on the streets or by the occasional tank or APC that rumbles along the roads.

It somewhat made sense, for she was the only president in current history who has become president while she was in service. Or in other words, literally was on the front lines in China when she ran, and won through posting badass footage of her and her campaign speeches and promises being made while she was in a tent as ending off each and every one with her getting up, putting her helmet on and going outside — presumably off to battle. The reporter admired the woman, who was likely enjoying a nice post presidency life in Texas. Her policies revolutionized America, and began to put it in a track that would make it better, protopian if a person wills. The woman then picks up a new report, with a smile she begins to read off what was in the thing this time.

This time, a check for the Great Lakes. “Ahem… the Detroit Tank Plant and the Lima Armor Plant has seen an increase in production of armored fighting vehicles. This coincides with the 2049 ‘Defense Production Initiative: Tracks, Wheels, and Boots’ , where U.S. defense contractors were subsidized to boost existing and new production for various pieces of equipment. Namely and most memorably; the Abrams, the Bradley, the Frank, the Wolverine, the Patton, the Booker, and the Schwarzkopf.”

Pictures of the 3 senior parts of America’s modern armored gauntlet, and the comparatively young babies made past the Gulf War appeared. Each of them accompanied by 4 digit numbers that highlighted just how much was produced in the last years alone. With the classic 3 getting the most love, the most export variants — barring the constitutionally banned Schwarzkopf, and incredible success was found in their sales to nations like Australia, to Lehmuhr, to even nations like Argentina and Liberi. 

The news reporter whistles for a second, looking at her papers. She reaches for a cup of coffee and continues on. “In contrast, the southern shipbuilding and mechanized suit factories of all various sizes had seen a whopping 5 times increase in both production and contracts. This is likely stemming from several sources, namely – in recent memory – the U.S. Space Force requesting for specialized mining rigs, the U.S. Army and Marines ordering the Mechanized Infantry suits and APUs/Heavy Exoskeletons respectively, and various navy institutions purchasing brand new ships in bulk by companies established in New Orleans.”

Asteroid Mining, that is what the U.S. Space Force does in its off time. A side hobby if a person wills. When it isn’t fighting the new age of piracy out between the various space stations and threatening whatever rogue states exist out near the stations over Mars, it generates its own revenue like every other department through some service or resource they can send back to the Federal Government.

Revenue… she stops for a second, flipping the page once more and smiling, Ah… time for the plains…

“An agricultural report for the Midwest and the Rockies farming initiative…”

“…shows that our current production of Amethyst Maize and other Arcane P.E. crops have exceeded the government quota by about 200%-375% this year,” a businesswoman now speaks before a shadowy crowd. A hand gripping a laser pointer which was drawing circles around a massive, professional chart with images. Her eyes were covered by a cap, but her blonde hair comfortably rested upon her shoulder, with her skin appearing pale under the projector’s lights. “What this means is that our methods that have aimed to increase yield of both crop and energy have been wildly successful, and that the researchers who have developed these techniques must be praised for their efforts.”

She stops for a moment, allowing the rousing applause of many of the figures out in the crowd, and some in lab coats sitting up and bowing in respect. Their heads adorned with wonderful little trinkets that glowed the mystical shade of Mana. The person at the stage smiled for a moment, bringing her own hands to let out their own little claps. Images on the screen momentarily flickered, and that is when she knew to turn her pointer back on and now direct everybody’s attention.

“We must now have our attention turned to a brand new business opportunity that is presenting before us. A company that recently won the bid for a brand new Mechanized Infantry Apparatus has requested that we cooperate with some of the corporations that have their hands in on the project to provide much needed Mana.” On screen, bright red words appeared on a white background, as well as products sliding and forming in from the bottom half; “Honeywell International Incorporated has offered to partner with us and our refining facilities in order to better their Mana batteries which they utilize very liberally in the defense industry.”

Murmurs in the crowd began to kick up, the announcer thinking for a moment while a runed hand summoned a little screen before her face that she began to read off of. “The company has offered a contract that will aim to utilize 10% of our current output – which seems to be about several truck loads that we are still calculating — in order to create a battery that is more efficient than the one that is going on even the newest production variants of various armed applications.”

“This” – and as she speaks, many began to raise their voice – “is as the ArcLine Corporations and the still rising KirkAne Energy LLC was vying for contractual dominance over the manufactured and refined Mana that is used in every thaumaturgical application today.” ever since the rapid rise of these technologies following the succinct successes in 1991. Except now they want to start rapidly upgrading that rate of production in order to start meeting the rising consumer demands.”

She stops for a moment, allowing the men and women in the dark to continue their little inter-debating. Intercompany diplomacy was never a straight forward thing. Both organizations need to bring together, to bear, all of their resources and expertise in order to make a product work. But here’s the situation: One of the partners in this deal with a defense contractor.

“Would it be a good idea to partner up with Honeywell…?” / “When these new guys might show some new talent?”

“If we partner with a Defense Corporation, it would secure at least a good amount of our profits.” / “Would it really…?”

One business woman stood up and raised a briefcase, “I vote in favor of partnering with Honeywell.” At the sight of the briefcase, the person at the front began to point their laser pointer at the leather case. At that, a new range of statistics began to appear on the screen. Reports, charts, and images that showed every public development and economic improvement made by Honeywell and comparing it with the other companies mentioned.

“As we can see here, both energy companies have shown fluctuating successes over the past decades. Both of them are specialized in the department of mana refining and wanted to try and at least  capitalize on the rising battery market for ThaumTech purposes.” She explains, pointing to the various charts on screen. “Each of their technologies are exponentially experimental, even for usage and being well  made within what we currently understand. Which while groundbreaking, would mean we are treading with technology untested and more risk which wouldn’t turn out great financially if it fails.”

“Honeywell, however, has moved to utilize existing technology and has developed a battery currently more stable and with a greater mass producible capability than anything on the Market. It’s going to be hailed with respect by the U.S. military, and if we can get that amount of signal for our more conservative buyers, then we will see a steady revenue from a greater range of states.”

“What you are saying…” a new businessman speaks up, fixing his braid, “Is that as long as we just give Honeywell their minimum crop requirements per…”

“Month,” the speaker iterates, going back and checking on the exact term. “Yes, several truck loads a month, which may scale up to several thousand tons within 2 to 3 years. And they’re going to pay our agrarian organization very, very handsomely. Millions, if not billions of dollars handsomely.” With that new bit of information, the conference room was alright once again.

“That is a very good price range for what’s being offered, right?”

“Oh absolutely, that’ll increase profits and our production by 120% if we play our cards right.”

“Are you sure?” somebody challenged, “Somebody get their computer online and check that math.”

The person at the front coughed, clearing their throat and turning on a light. “As riveting as this conversation is, we need to bring our concerns back. Our report still needs to cover a few more things before we can declare this conference over.”

An image flashes on screen, now showing a brand new phenomenon that was being researched. Or had been being researched for years now. Ever elusive, this resource, found in Appalachians and the Rockies has been forever the subject of advanced Thaumaturgical and Energy-related debates across the United States. A crystalline resource found in the 2 mountains. Ancient and unusual, unstable to the point where just one little bit can power a city of billions.

“AppalRock, this is what we remember as AppalRock from the initial discovery in the 2000s, and we’ve been trying to crack the case on it harder and harder every year. Despite the best technologies, we still know jack about how it truly formed. Other than the mountains of North America.” She then taps a screen and opens what seems to be a bunch of blueprints that began to show off a new type of structure. “With this, we plan to develop a research center greater than Dark Canyon Scientific LLC. We wish to crack the secrets of this resource open, for recently, and thanks to our vigilant farmers, we have found an absolutely titanic deposit of all of this stuff under a good majority of the Midwest.”

As the conversations began to kick on right back up, the company representative at the head smiled from behind her little podium. She had begun to reach for some water as money and business began to flow as free as the corn filled freights and barges that went up and down the mighty Mississipp’.

With that done, she began to relax and step off from her duties. She looks away and begins to walk away in succinct fashion. She was no longer needed, her pager was going off and that meant that somebody else was going to take over the presentation from here.

Her boots were muted by the flowing conversations, and her fleeting presence went unnoticed by every and all businessmen and women there. When she reached the exit, an agent was there. A smile was on her face, as well as an envelope on her right hand.

“Well done, Ms. Raul.” The woman nodded, taking the white paper gift with a smile.

“Just doing what I have been asked…” she smiled, giving the other woman the laser pointer. “Now?”

The door opened soon after, and she was allowed to leave. An opportunity she takes graciously.

Let the business people speak business, so long as that paycheck gets to her pockets, she will be very happy. Wherever they sell to is not her business…

Chapter Text

November 28th, 2051

Knock… knock… knock.

Went to the front door. The knocks are slow, deliberate, attentive knocks that made the young teenager within the doors shiver. Outside was a storm, where the rain was pelting against the windows. It should be the middle of the afternoon, it was that. The clocks said that…

It should be safe out there, right? She was tightly clutching her little hat and had further entrenched herself in a fortress of blankets and pillows. Her little orange-ish hair was matted down by grime that she was not able to wash out. She was seeing silhouettes outside her home for days now, and it was only making her nerves more frayed.

More terrified… oh this poor young state may be an older one. Almost as old as the O15, but it is always nights like this that make her as small as Rhode Island and Providence… and those 2 are much older yet smaller than her!

BANG— BANG— CRASH—!

With the thunder outside, she had retreated further into her covers. Hands over her head and eyes screwed shut. She was shivering beneath the covers. Even though the heater was on full blast, even though there was a light over her that was supposed to be her nightlight and warmer. She was freezing.

It was feverish, the way she watched the shadows in the room from beneath her blanket. Her right hand nervously on a metal handle which rested under her pillow. Her eyes darted from corner to corner. She felt colder, especially when she heard the creaking of her house…

The light above seemed to flicker, and the poor little state only whimpered. Her grip around the metal handle tightened. Her eyes squeezed as shut tightly as her vision was. She only saw darkness, and the cold… oh it only seemed to get worse. She had covered her ears, saying her poor prayers to Lady Liberty.

When there was the sound of the downstairs opening, the little state now had her weapon out — barrel at the door and even the weapon shaking to the point where its internals were quivering. She was in a cold sweat, but there was nothing to compare to the encroaching darkness that was threatening to choke her out.

Nothing to hide her from the fear of whatever was making slow, deliberate movement up the steps to her room. She kept her eyes closed, but both hands on the gun that she was able to manifest. Her senses began to further reduce to only her touch, and the temperature that began to harass her.

Floorboards, her stairs. She began to hear them creak. Groan as something undoubtedly was now inside her house. What was she going to do? She can’t fully unleash her powers, she can’t just shoot and hope it goes away. It’s the monsters, they always come. 

Even when she thinks she locked down every part of her house, nice nand tight, She always has a fear that they might just break through one day. All it takes is one night. One little bit of strength. And the doors made by her fairly shitty sister to her north would break down and let the alien monsters that threaten her doorstep every day finally come in.

The aliens on her streets… the ones who make things go bump in the night. The monsters that take children, women, and men alike and do horrific things to them. She doesn’t know what they were, why they were here… all she knows is that there’s 2 types of them… and they chose her state as the battleground.

The place where 2 monsters crawl. Where they bark, howl, and unleash their war cries. Going for their prey which was either her, or her citizens. And she doesn’t like that at all… always fearing — even with the security around her home — that they will always get in… 

Within the house, there were howls, roars even. And she was only becoming more and smaller. She didn’t feel like a proud personification of the first 25 states. No, she felt so small, that it makes Samoa feel like a titan to her. 

“Please… oh please Lady Liberty…” she whimpered as her finger flicked off the safety. Her gun still faced the door. But did she trust it more than she trusted her own powers? Was she absolutely sure that whatever bullets came out the end of her muzzle was going to save her if the nightmares she had were true?

Oh her nightmares… her demons that haunt her when she should be asleep and safe. The visions of 2 monsters. Dancing and taunting her mind. Tearing at the land, the people, her cities… her pride. Caring for no one. Not the senators, not the workers, not the police officers, not even the disabled or elderly… aliens that wish to take her and make her a chess piece in something she cannot understand.

She feels the scars of their destruction every day. And mama… I’m scared…  

The floorboards outside her bedroom creaked again. And her voice, damaged under the dehydration and fear — despite literally bordering a LAKE — finally croaked out and cracked. “S-stay back!” She shivers, the metal in her hands now felt biting. Like she was holding the heart of the arctic in them now.

As though the gun that she had was nothing more than a block of ice instead of a .45 Caliber pistol. That it offered no real protection other than some spiritual protection. Was it even loaded? Did she make sure that she did her daily weapons care? Was it actually going to kill whatever walks on into her room?

She can only hope— her doorknob began to turn.

Her breath was stolen as the cold descended upon her. Her night light seemed to fail as her hinges began to cry. The silhouette of something began to poke around. She couldn’t see what it clearly was. Her entire house was blanketed in darkness and it provided her no comfort. 

The rain outside only got louder… wasn’t she just watching the U.S. Election not too long ago?! Where is mama?! There was something… whispering? Chittering? The mandibles of the monsters threatening to come and eat her alive?! her heart was racing, palms were sweaty, and dizziness was absolutely setting in. 

When her door’s hinges creak… she couldn’t take it anymore.

”STAY AWAY—!” CLAPKCLAPCLAPKCLAP—!  

Octavia screamed, her pistol unleashing rounds out. Her vision flashed with some sort of light and it only made her panic further.

A burning sensation soon befell her hand and her face, and she panicked. 

She began to thrash endlessly, and her gun began to fire with little disregard for aim or where it was all going. It was then she felt her gun arrested, yet the muzzle continued to flash.

The burning sensation did not stop, in fact it seems to have spread—

“Octavia…” came a voice that caused it all to stop. Octavia’s breathing was instantly soothed by the voice that washed over the panic that had washed over her. It calmed her, made her stop thrashing. Finally it made her stop and look out to the world with wide, curious eyes. Eyes that were blue like her mother. Her skin was red from her crying and screaming, but they were soon going to return to her pinkish baby skin soon enough.

Her form, which seemed so impossibly small, revealed to be the form of a late teenager as the ceiling lights began to come on. Her vision, blurry with tears and panic, finally began to clear. The first thing she saw was the shelf with her little Amish plushies — a gift from her neighboring state. She then saw her little cute pennant-like flag, glimmering under the ceiling fan light that had been reignited…

It was then she also began to notice the starry-like rune that had encased her own room. A lovely aura that reminded her of the Milky Way. Of the various nebulae that she used to watch back in the olden days when the light pollution wasn’t as choking. She began to feel safe, very safe. Undeniably safe with that here…

The gun in her hand was gone, floating above her In fact. It was held aloft by the same aura that had let comfort wash over her in a manner not unlike a wave. The slide was pulled back, and the magazine was out, all bullets floating in the air. The burning sensation, now that she was able to see clearly, turns out to have belonged to the bullet casings from her gun. 

Which had,.. apparently in the confined space, landed back on her hands, and on her face. A deep breath was heard, and her eyes began to further dart… She knew that voice. The one that called to her in a lovely, familial tone that made her want to crave more after this… horrific episode of weakness.

And ohhh she was happy… just so happy. For it was not the reptilian head of a monster that was standing before her bed. It was not the strange, gray big head portrayed in many of America’s favorite media — or like what Tonia claims to be — nor was it some great furry monster… though in some cases, she can be one.

”Amelia… big sister…?” She croaked out, her voice tired and raw from that single session of screaming. Her eyes landed on the woman standing before her bed. Blue eyes looked to her with familiar warmth and that tiny hint of mischief.

A hand was up, gloved of course, and there was a lovely rune floating around it. It was a rune that was glimmering like the stars. Her hair was hovering just a bit, her short blonde threads dancing as though they belonged among the stars. Her fair skin and soft face only gave Octavia further confirmation that this is who she thinks it is.

And if it wasn’t for the bomber jacket, olive green skirt, and the sports-bra like dress she had, then she would have a bit more doubt. But no, this is her alright. Her eyes had begun to glow in the recognition of her big sister. She watches over the northern states when mama can’t be there.

And she… who is holding up a few flattened bullets against star-spangled runes.

”Sister Amelia!” She calls out, and the woman kneels before the bed and immediately swings her into the stranger’s arms. Desperately, the state goes and immediately rests herself in the crook of her big sister’s neck. Her gloved hands moved up to start stroking her hair gently.

”Shh…shh…” she began to whisper. A hand going to her back and rubbing it in star-like shapes. Her eyes had closed and the little state of Ohio had begun to close her eyes too. “It’s okay, it’s okay…” the state was sniffling now, quietly crying into the comforting arms of big sister. 

“You’re safe now… you’re safe now…” she had to repeat that, a few times. Softly weaving in a few sweet nothings just to get Ohio to calm down… “The monsters won’t get you… shhhh the monster’s won’t…” And though Octavia’s exhaustion was making her slowly drift off to a much safer dream land, knowing that Amelia was here — and was likely going to stay here as usual — the personification turned around to face the door.

There, there was a U.S. Marine — dressed in fairly light tactical gear — standing there, hands on the side of her weapon and looking at the poor state with pity. They didn’t want to disturb whatever peace the state was finally able to achieve, and as such, they had opened up a little rune in their hand and formed a few words.

”Should we increase the security around her home? It might help stop the nightmares... you know?” Amelia blinked a few times, and her own star-spangled rune spawned. A return message for the marine,  so she can respond.

”Do anything you can. These nightmares have been getting worse over the past decades.” With a nod, the marine was off. And now, the big sister was able to fully direct her attention to her little state. “It’s okay Octavia…” she used her given name, not her state name when it was this bad.

With a scowl, she turned to the window outside. Slowly, she was able to get on the bed — allowing Ohio to sequester herself in the arms of the northern personification. Amelia was supposed to be heading towards the Virginia colonial home where everybody else was going to be for the next week…

But she can spend a night or a day here, making sure her little one is safe. 

Protected against whatever the hell was making her nightmares… but what could it be? 

“Go to sleep, Octavia…” and a little kiss to the crown of her head was heard. 

And at least one person was going to sleep today, even as the storm outside raged.

”Welcome back to the Cleveland 10 News Network.” A man spins around in a chair, holding a tablet that was beaming up little Holograms. The studio was alright tonight, with him at the helm and his face to a paper that was before him. “Reports tonight tell that there was a increase in the crime which had nominally blanketed the whole of the state.”

“In recent years, the nominal street violence that has plagued locations like Cleveland, Cincinnati, and Columbus.” He takes a breath, “Yes, I am talking about the increase in large scale gang violence that has hit the suburbs, the apartments, and many more areas across the state. It is a phenomenon that is baffling even federal agencies within the areas that are trying to ensure a level of order.”

“There are even reports of armored fighting vehicles in the area, although the Ohio National Guard is trying to explain that this is all just a surprise military exercise to better test the readiness of the armed forces.” He then shows footage of some of these fights, where the slums and even some fairly well off areas of the state have this conflict, which only added to an incredible aura of mystery. 

These were the hot headlines that dictated Ohio’s media for decades now. Many of the people have sworn that the gorilla being shot in Cincinnati was the only start. The catalyst for all of this chaos, if you will. This was where a majority of theories relied, and where many had pushed the blame. But as tanks were firing at each other, and organized gang violence was rising.. This reporter was only left with more and more questions.

Things he cannot easily have answers to. The media can only find what they can find. Any federal agencies in the area aren’t finding anything else either. Or at least that is what they say–

Beep–! Beep–!

“What's that?” The reporter puts his paper down and hears the little sound. 

A little notification, chirping to gather his attention. That… usually doesn’t mean good news.

He fully pauses and checks his ear piece, “What’s that Hitchcock…?” He blinks and his eyes widen. “O—Kay then,” He clears his throat and faces the camera, with a much more dire expression, “Breaking news, we have signs of conflict alongside the I-75.” 

A picture forms, and a helicopter image projects itself, “Right now, we have one of our eyes in the sky approaching the scene now…” he taps on something, and static footage begins to kick in, “We are going to see their footage live. Fair warning, what could be on screen… may be graphic.”

The camera fades, and now the footage of the screen takes over…

SKRRRRRT —!

A black SUV with an remote weapons system was recklessly driving down the highway, avoiding traffic and doing whatever it can to not cause an accident. Driving along the yellow lines and back into the main road, weaving in and out. 

Even this behavior is dangerous for anyone. Who is dumb enough to do this? And why with a military vehicle?

“Is the Package secured?” The driver asked his comrade sitting in the back, unable to take his eyes off the road, maneuvering his hands like an expert, as if he was a NASCAR racer. That would be ridiculous, right? 

A NASCAR racer driving this reckless on the roads, how ridiculous. Right?

The NASCAR driver soon got an answer from his brother in arms, as the person in the backseat was dealing with his tight suit, getting over to a briefcase, opening it up to find some sort of strange physical data storage device, looking at it and nodded. “Package secured!”

“Hang on tight!” The NASCAR racer then went to drive headfirst towards the concrete traffic barrier, before using it to ramp up on it, driving at an angle, bypassing traffic before getting back on the road again, continuing to weave in and out.

As the backseat agent turned around, he saw police cars conducting stunts that no police officer would ever do, such as ramming into civilian vehicles and continuing the chase, firing their weapons freely into the crowd, with pings flying off the beast of an SUV like it was some sort of tank.

Suddenly, he saw one of the police officers pulling out a Javelin anti tank system, poking out from the passenger side, and looked out, aiming it to lock onto this vehicle. With that, the agent went into the front seat and slammed down upon a button. 

Suddenly, surrounding the vehicle were holographic versions of that vehicle, surrounding it like a protective circle, making the Javelin lock onto the vehicle behind, where it then flies off. It flew higher and higher, as the vehicles began to move, scatter, as it pursued and eventually strike, the hologram, wasting an ATGM against light.

But they are still not in the clear as suddenly, a line was formed in front of them. The NASCAR driver attempted to maneuver out, but one of the cars blocked his path and suddenly braked.

Crash—!

The armored vehicle slammed into a not so armored large vehicle, but was slowed down enough to allow more vehicles to slam into this SUV, pinned against the wall by three sides. “Cedrick! Deploy!”

The tires turned into spikes, and began to tear into the tires of the SUV pinning it from the side, slashing it, making it practically useless as autocannons and turrets popped out, more like, was formed from the roof of the vehicle itself. 

It began tearing that vehicle into shreds, allowing for the vehicle to fully transform into battle mode, with the tailgate opening up which had revealed an autocannon, tearing into the vehicle behind, damaging it's engine. Damage that had nailed it in the front, the same thing happened also, almost giving a breathing room for the vehicle to ram through the rubble and out to safety.

That is until dozens of vehicles SLAMMED into the pile up, deliberately blocking the road, setting up defenses surrounding the vehicle, with road spikes and landmines set upon the road. Before people in suits, police officer uniforms, and even some swat units climbed out of their vehicles. They were using breaching tools to begin tearing away at the hull, not caring about the casualties taken from the autocannons, even shooting grenades at it, making it explode before hitting the vital devices.

The NASCAR driver punched the emergency button, as he and the agent was grabbing their rifles, reloading it, ensuring the charge was full, before opening ports to fire out of, sending highly electrically charged bolts out. 

BRACHTBRACHTBRACHT !

The bullets kept firing, tearing into body armor like a single ply tissue paper, firing with precision and accuracy to ensure maximum deviation, as more vehicles continued to pile up, with men and some, strange beasts, marching out of their vehicles, either securing the perimeter, firing into any vehicles getting closer, firing traffic to halt to a stand still. 

The engineers continued to work, finally penetrating the shields with overwhelming firepower, before they began to work on the hull, damaging the remote weapons systems of the vehicle. 

No matter, it's only a matter of time, till this tough but crack.

And the Earth Defense Initiative knows it all too well. 

All along the road, multiple vehicles, both big and small, halted and either safely maneuvered, or ram right through anything, driving just as recklessly yet professionally as that NASCAR racer, all heading towards the pile up. Sport cars, muscle cars, SUVs, ambulances, police cars, fire trucks, motorbikes, and trucks of all sizes, all moving towards the pile up. 

The motorbikes have their occupants signal to the group, getting the confirmation before they moved ahead, machine guns and an anti tank missile appearing out of of the vehicle itself, all going high speed, doing stunts and maneuvers only done by Hollywood in a safer environment, even climbing on top of the vehicles as people begin to flee the scene, not wanting to be apart of the carnage.

As the bikes climbed over, the occupants opened fire with the similar yet less beefy gunfire, sounding less of a brach, and more of a horrifying BRTZZZZ , unloading into the crowd, with missiles that struck underneath the defensive vehicles, sending them flying up and over, landing upon the landmines, setting them off.

As they approached the road spikes, the motorbikes tilted their wheels sideways. Dark purple air flowed around them, enabling the bikes to fly over the obstacles. Meanwhile, missiles soared overhead, fired from a dump truck like an MLRS, slamming into the rubble below. This bombardment allowed the reinforcements to take battle form and charge into the defenses.

Autocannons, cannons, missiles, all blazing in a coordinated fashion, with the speed not even slowing down. Realizing this, the Covies fired back with anti tank missiles, all of which were countered in a similar way.

And soon, the SUV was breached, and just in time, as the engineers were all shot and killed by the motorbike crews, two of which stopped to allow the two occupants as well as the package to be taken with them.

And with that, they begin to move out, pushing through the front defenses and out into the wide open road, just as the NASCAR driver, soon pulled out a detonator, and depressed the trigger, bowing up every inch of the vehicle, like it is a car improvised explosive, sending shrapnel everywhere, leaving no technology left to be salvaged.

That forced the Covies to get into their vehicles as the EDI agents slammed right through their lines, creating a defensive barrier between them, and the vital information contained within that package.

The camera footage returned to the news reporter, who faced the screen grimly. His holograms are reformed, some of them with runes around them, and he begins to speak, plainly and with his voice as measured as he can afford. “Scenes like this are common all over the state. From the eastern end to the western side, Ohio is plagued by scenes of battle and other such devastation.”

”It is unknown why the state is presently like this. Some critics claim a fundamental defeat of authority or utter disregard for it may be a part of the problem.” He then turns around and seems to face another part of the studio, with raised eyebrows, “But some people don’t believe that to be the case.” As the chase footage goes on, he taps his card a few teams, and leans over.

”I am joined here today by a Tidwell Mazinkzy, who believes that is going on is not a simple uptick in crime, but rather a more sinister happening below the surface of our great state and the great nation at large,” he then taps the table, as though he was activating a pager. 

The camera pans to a bearded individual, in a suit and tapered pants. He had his own little cards and was watching the chase scene very intently. “Sir?” And the man jumped for a moment, focusing on the news reporter, who coughed and fully got his attention. “Ah, here we go—“

”Thank you very much for inviting me to the show Ronald,” the man says, nodding his head a little too quickly. He then points out to the footage  with shaky fingers and eyes that seem a few shades too manic. “W–hat we are seeing right here is w–hat I would call a type Alpha situation.”

”Type Alpha situation…” he looks at the highway and back at the man, “Mind explaining what exactly a ‘Type Alpha’ is to the fine people of Cleveland who are listening in?” The man turned his voice to the reporter, but has not moved his eyes off the footage before him.

”We-well, what that means, Ronald, is that we are looking at a situation where they have to reveal themselves to start trying to defend something really important.” He then points at the cars and everything else fighting really and starts speaking again, “It's sh- uhh stuff like this man. Where they fight on our own soil to protect something that they deem valuable enough to where they have to do this, y—know?”

”Uhh… yes I suppose….?” The reporter nervously answers.

”No no no you don’t get it Ronald— not at all,” the man points at the vehicles and taps. “These— this is proof of those aliens, right there. They got it all. And they’re fighting on our damn highways— they’re kidnapping men, women, and children— like at that—!” He pointed to one of the strange vehicles near civilian vehicles and said vehicles instantly moved out of the way.

…ignoring the fact that this was footage from a helicopter and even the reporter was able to hear — without Thaumaturgical enhancements — the vehicles blaring their horns for the sake of the civilians. The entire time this guy was on the show, Ronald was growing more and more nervous.

”I-i mean look at all of this..” his fingers could almost RUN across the forms of the vehicles. “This is the stuff I’m talking about! All of these are too advanced… too alien vehicles… they ain’t from no defense contractor or U.S. Black Ops, I know that for sure–”

“Okay sir–” it was then the man jumped up and wildly pointed at something on screen.

“S-see, look at that! Look at all of those vehicles!” and all attention was drawn back to it.

Along the road, the massive convoy of multiple vehicles, all of them continued to maintain a perimeter around the briefcase, as the agent holding it was looking at his NASCAR comrade, who is now getting into another vehicle, he have a bright idea, and took the the device, putting it into his pocket before calling his ally, getting his attention.

Then, as the nearby agent looked, he pointed towards the helicopter, letting the guy know exactly what's going on and what to do, as it is really difficult to hear with winds this strong. 

One of the agents attached a strong laser to his rifle, and then, before taking a deep breath, began to turn it on and shine it towards the helicopter, hopefully not in anyone's eyes, but close enough to where there is the threat of it.

The news radio soon chirped; “Oh shoot, they’re aiming at us!”  

Upon that revelation, the media bird immediately began to haul on out of there.

Then the agent, holding the briefcase soon threw it towards the racer, who used his armor’s built in grappling hook, to grab the briefcase, before getting into the vehicle. And good cause they were around to get some extra reinforcements.

Driving down the road, civilians heard a loud horn of multiple vehicles blaring. As they turn back, they see an entire armored convoy waiting behind them, waiting to pass through them without being forced to ram into civilian vehicles. 

The driver of one of the tanks slammed his helmet into the front of the tank, trying to calm down. Unable to calm down properly, he began to sing the song of his people. 

“I wanna be in the cavalry if they send me off to war.”

However, hearing that, the gunner caught the patriotic fever, and “I want a good stead under me like my forefathers did before.” he spoke as he used his drones to pick out targets, coordinating the first salvo with the rest of the gunners within the armored platoon, all waiting in traffic, hoping to catch some action.

“And I want a good mount when the bagels sound and I hear the cannons roar.” The gunner and the driver looked back to hear the last person they expected to sing that, their rough and no nonsense tank commander. They stared at the scars he gained from the frontlines, and saw it moving up and down when he sang, making them all smile as they continued together.

“I want to be in the cavalry if they send me off to war!” Suddenly, everyone else who heard it began to sing, each and every single one of them within this armored fighting vehicle of the cavalry, all singing the lyrics, banging to the tune while also trying to copy the rhythm of the song.

Back in the road, many civilians saw these titans of war and were scared, obeying their commands, moving out of the way, as massive tanks, the size rivaling that of their mighty Schwarzkopf, but with speeds never seen on an armored vehicle. It was barreling forwards, trying not to hit the civilians, followed by similar sized armored vehicles, of what appeared to be infantry fighting vehicles, just moving forwards, all of them passing by smaller six wheeled MRAP style vehicles, which maintained their course, creating space for these titans to maneuver on this road, before they spotted the convoy passing by.

And just in time as multiple helicopters, drones, and the rest of the reorganized fighting force was preparing to launch another assault against this convoy, seeking to reclaim the data before it reached back to the EDI’s headquarters.

Seeing that there is a barrier between them and where they need to go, they would ram into it, paying for it later, until they saw the fact that there is a severe lack of connection between the two sides.

With no other way over, the lead tank commander turned to his gunner and shouted, “Load Dirt!” Understanding what that means, the gunner pushed a button to add a brown crystal style warhead onto the slug, and aimed it at the shortest point before the gunner said, “Awaiting perms.”

“Fire!” 

AS soon as the order was given, the trigger was pulled, and it soon fired some sort of magical shell that unleashed a substance, similar to the ever mystical Appalrock, which solidified into earthen structures, before the tanks went full speed, and ramping over the gap, landing directly onto the other road, turning it's hull towards the incoming enemy as the rest of the armored cavalry fighting vehicles landed and tank up their positions.

Following them were the remains of the armored forces, moving in to secure the rear, as two teams were being formed. As they did, they turned around and began driving backwards, with autocannons, blaring into the group, causing more devastation into the crowd as the tanks continued to open fire, moving backwards. Soon, they heard over the radio, “Split!” And automatically they soon split up into two teams, breaking formation to move to two different locations, drawing in the massive crowd, as drones was deployed, and struck true to the multiple enemy helicopters. With this, the enemy helicopters begin to pull back, seeing the flak being too strong, before the true flak was even used.

Back on the ground, the enemy forces were rapidly catching up to their respective convoys. Seeing that, they soon arrived at a choke point, and went right through, using their gravity repulsors to send the vehicles over, setting up an arch around the kill zones, just as the enemy arrived.

And it was a bloodbath. As they went through the points they were blazed up due to a single order, “Fire at will!” Shells continued to rain down through the tunnel, creating a massive blockage on the outside of the tunnel, as the vehicles attempted to go through it.

But even the stubborn enemy soldiers were not stupid enough to continue, so they cut off their losses and called for the ability to withdraw. Unable to see a way to reclaim it, their commanders ordered a withdrawal, preserving their manpower, abandoning the mission to retrieve their vital data, knowing full well what must be done now.

A similar situation happened with the other team, which used the reserve slope to make it harder for the enemy to continue the offensive before they also retreated.

This brought both halves enough time to fall back, heading , breaking up into smaller pieces before they headed towards multiple tunnels built into many mountains, hills, or abandoned buildings, disappearing into their respective positions with everything onboard. Driving down the road, they soon arrived to a single point, their headquarters, built deep under Ohio’s surface.

Once back inside of the base, the agents escorted the carrier to the intel sector, soon parked their vehicles, ready for maintenance, getting off it and automatically rushing to check for any damages, like a bunch of materialistic people checking their cars for a speck of dust.

Meanwhile, the agent, holding the brief case walked down as he sighed. ‘I need a break’, he thought as he looked back at this, hectic week, heading over to the headquarters and saluted everyone, receiving the famous two finger salute of the infamous RDF right back. While saluting, the Battalion leader went over and was handed the plans as the agent then asked, “So, what is this anyways?”

The Battalion leader took a deep breath before saying, “I'll show you”. And soon, the device was placed in a stolen decrypter used by the enemy, which decrypted it with the help of an AI, which then launched a hologram of the Earth itself, as well as multiple X spots on the map. “This is all we're given. When we decipher it, we will tell you, understand?”

“Understood.” Cedrick replied as the Battalion leader smiled.

“Glory to Humanity”

“In the service of mankind.”

The agent left the chambers and stretched his body, cracking his bones as he sighed. “Man, I need a break…” he soon looked over to his personal motorbike and smiled. 

As he walked by, he passed by the NASCAR racer, and whispered over to him, “Hey, Yuichi. How’s the wife?”

Yuichi smiled and shugged, “On a well deserved break, it’s not easy going back in time to save your depressed childhood friend.”

“Good, good, tell her I said hi, and please, make babies, Japan needs it.” Cedrick spoke as then begin to leave the area. “Good luck on the race, I'll be over at Idaho, call me when ya need me!”

Yuichi just gave a smirked and rolled his eyes. “Lucky, well, cya, and good luck. May Lucer protect.”

The agent smiled as he got onto his bike, and put his helmet on, ready to drive out, into the ground above, no longer in the shadows, for now.

When the footage returned to the news, the reporter was looking at Tidwell with confusion. This was after the news helicopter was forced to vacate the premises. “See, what did I tell you man?” The reporter leans back in his seat and takes a deep breath.

”What just happened, folks?”

”I just told ya!” the man jumps and points at the screen excitedly. “That, that right there, oh that’s the stuff!” He goes up, holding his tablet excitedly like an excited toddler. “That's really it! The aliens have shown themselves, and they had to do it because of something!”

”I just—“ he then turns away, “Is our helicopter crew okay?”

”I told you man, I told you!” He then stops and gasps, “Ohhh but what does it mean….” He taps his tablet, “WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!”

Ronald comes back and looks at the man. “What are you—“

”What does it all mean?” He questions, going to the screen, “Cause look, look at what they did just to protect whatever those cars had. Why did they have to send all of that just to protect that SINGLE car?” He starts walking around, and Ronald just lets him, cause he’s also losing his mind.

”It‘s like in them damn movies, Uhhh machines in masquerade or some shit. They got all of this advanced fighting technology and they had to bring it out because there’s some other alien faction that didn’t like them here!” Ronald then threw up his hands, he fully decided to commit himself to the chaos and murmured.

”But what does that mean then?” The reporter begins, “Who are the good? Who are the ones who wish nothing more than death and destruction for mankind then?” Tidwell starts thinking, tapping his temple.

”Just like in the movies, gotta be the ones getting chased. The ones who are chasing are the ones who wish to harm us. Wipe us out you know?” With that, Ronald thanks Tidwell and turns to face the camera.

”That’ll be all for today folks… tune in next time, and we’ll try and see if this is happening in the other states. For,” and he turns a file over, “We do have a special report on an increased level of similar acts in the State of Idaho.”

As Ohio soundly slept in her bed, something had arrived in the room. Some sort of phantom was her brand new guest. An invisible being, who has the silhouette of a titan with hair white than the rest of his body.

He was lurking closer and closer to the girl, arms outstretched towards the sleeping beauty. Not in a gesture of harm, but instead of one of care and compassion.

And he pulled her covers higher before giving a kiss on her forehead, disappearing while doing so as the room became warmer and much more comfortable.

A smile, a content and more happy smile fell upon her face.

”That’s all folks, good night.” 

Chapter Text

November 29th, 2051

When you think of the great Midwestern states, not a lot comes to mind.

The nickname flyover never applied so hard to the states whose primary jobs was to make food, products, and people for the whole country. Potatoes, wheat, corn, all of these pushed out and produced in the numbers for the people of America to enjoy. To enjoy french fries, to enjoy bread, to enjoy delicious cornbread or the various chemicals that it can make. 

However, as this America shows, not everything is as it seems. Out of many of the boring midwest, whose industries and great fields are corn and other goods, there was one who was surprisingly diverse due to its… unique culture.

One state that helped as a breadbasket of many agricultural goods as it was industrial. There were many great industries established in Idaho, a state whose mountains and sun did nothing but enrich them further and further each and every time. It was rivaled by Montana, the state that was all mountains and plateaus and buffalo.

Home to one of the grandest cities of this area, NV, it was a location of bustling commerce in part due to its connections with Canada and its pacific-hudson bay inland sea. Trade, commerce, everything runs through Idaho from the Pacific, and it further enriches them from the tax revenue they can rake in.

The state has some of the best tax incentives in the world. Business revenue was high, certain industries found an incredible market here. Fashion, dress, automotive manufacturing, sanitation robots, and other little industries found root and took it. Like the potato Idaho is revered for, these businesses found themselves anywhere they can, they got their nutrients, they got their sunlights.

Giant glimmering cities was the call of this state. Port cities of course, trading with the Pacific, with the interior, and with Canada. This was a state that prided itself on that trade, where its revenue came from the people coming and using it as they pleased, so long as they abided by local taxes or rules. Where as long as you abided by the law, you can come and enjoy yourself however you want.

The houses were plentiful and open, the apartments and condos numerous and homey. Stores built into the first couple or few floors helped keep things localized. The entertainment industry in this state thrived, though not in the same way that the Californian or the Floridian, or even the New Yorker Industries thrived.

And oh the people. Lovely, welcoming, beautiful, proud… many things that could describe them. Head to toe, some of the finest people on this side of the United States. Love them, be happy with them. This was a state nobody expected to go far, and yet here they are with something so fine that California or Texas can’t help but pay their respects.

A tilt of a stetson, or a small tilt of the sunny glasses.

Idaho was a state whose greatest numbers in production came from consumer goods and people, and it was forever going to be proud of that title so long as it lived. 

…wait, people?

Yes, people. 

Idaho has one of the highest growing birth rates in the country. Astonishingly high. Millions of Idahoans are born every year and it's a rate that keeps getting up and up and up. The state is rated to have one of the best maternal leave programs in the country, with surveys saying that it has the best state-incentivized goods, tax benefits, and other lovely things off of Auntie Sam’s coin purse.

Where many months of rest and caring for your own kin was given, out of the 13 months from January, to Radiaris, to even down to September or up to May. A lovely luxury that many people happily take whenever they finally do put a bun in the ovens. And considering the regular night activities of the state, that didn’t take too long.

But there was also a giant industry of genuinely delicious meals. Nice, hot, and filling foods that can feed a person and keep them going. Granted, because of President Dugan when she was in office, the portions were high and prices low. Well they had to be, with the highest growing population in the country, even the price ceiling here was exceptionally low compared to even the most quiet and less fortunate midwestern states.

Gun ownership was also fairly high, but the state has one of the highest trust societies in the country too. So, this is more of a polite courtesy if anything. Even in the highest cities and the most crowded ghettos, that high honor is maintained, for one reason or another.

And speaking of the cities. Not as high a population, but it is one of the few Midwest-Rockies states to have a proper Metropolitan Axis. A large city network that spans suburbs, industries, apartments, condos, financial districts, anything and everything that one city would have, but combined with other cities. One big urban center amidst the many other cities across Idaho.

And yet, the capital was not the gem in its cap. The capital was the bureaucratic center of the whole state, but it did not have the great grandeur that made everything come and go. If anything, its own influence was overshadowed by the true economic heart of the state to the south.

It was the city of the New Plateau.  

Or as it is more colloquially and internationally known; 

New Vegas.

A new city of sin, born almost of the same circumstance as actual Las Vegas. Interestingly, both were port cities because of the unique geography of North America, but it seems that both were equally popular. However, due to certain industries and development, both were very popular for different reasons that still led to incredible wealth generation.

Thus, the high attraction of people this way. For houses, for jobs, for commerce, for pleasure. Any and all things they could want, and they can come here to New Vegas and enjoy. Invest in a new facility and they will – like moths to a flame or ants to a honey spill – start pouring in the direction of Idaho. The highways in and out of the state were always busy, always with people who come for opportunity, for love, for family, or for whatever else tickles them.

A city of glamor, one with an incredibly large mall and massive companies and other startups that wanted to take a shot for the gold. Fashion, entertainment, whatever you can ask for. The parking lot was tall, always full and always active. This was a sister of the Mall of America, but it was now within the State of Idaho just a few states over from the original one. Larger, more airy, and because — by technicality — New Vegas is that Port City status, it has a lot more volume of goods coming in and out. 

Office complexes and skyscrapers fill with workers who have moved with the energy to turn economic superchargers. They were the ones who were able to pump money, investment, and labor into these economies and get them running. They were the ones who helped ring and do everything. This was the city that really put Idaho on the map, internationally and domestically.

Attention and tourists from all over. Bloggers, documentaries, anything and everything. Entire videos and essays made on the city and its heart. What it has done for the entirety of Idaho and how it affected America at large. How its port – deep within the continental USA – was quintessential for the Pacific or even as far down as the Gulf States in their importance. How WITHOUT this port, WITHOUT Idaho, the prosperity of the Midwest could have been poverty.

How in this state, because of its high needs and high rising population needs has led to Idaho having the best healthcare in the entirety of the United States. How, because of that, the quality of life was abnormally high here, with higher ratings of happiness and overall enjoyment of just living. This state may have problems, but most people were content with it all. Happy that they were living in a territory that was taking good care of them as long as they cared for it. 

Do their work and they were rewarded, as a good functioning society would.

But despite all of this, despite what the big urban centers got, there is one thing that – while it does not discredit the strength of the city of steel and pleasure – still can bring it to its knees if not properly cared for. They still need to be supported. They still needed to be fed, despite whatever politicians in the big capital buildings had anything to say. Food needed to go on plates, fruits and other goods needed to come on in, not just from water. And that is when the attention must be drawn away from the cities and towards the rural.

The countryside, beyond the suburbs and the apartments and whatever have been. That is where the true power of Idaho really lies outside of the big structures. All of that population, all of that growth which seems to spiral and continue without end or any obstacles in sight? None of it would be possible, none of it would be sustained, had it not been for the fact that the State had one of the monopolies on Potatoes within America.

The countryside was loaded with these farms. Grids and grids of these wide fields owned by the farmers who inhabited. Each of them tended to be lovely, hard working men and women. Those who desire the quiet, countrystead life that the city didn’t offer. These were those who found their opportunity in the subsidized landscape that is the U.S. Government’s Agricultural paychecks. Roads and roads, highways too, for the people who have  to go up and down from the city for their products and services.

Out here, in the countryside, is an unnatural beauty that many would not expect from a flyover state. Beautiful fields of flowers that overlaid with the rows and rows of crops that reached out to a loving sky like they were hands reaching up for the blessing of their lord. The land above, the heavens gave to the little land that was below. It was their reward for their toil, their prize. These farms are what made sure that everything that goes on in the cities without a single hitch.

Oh and the families! The ones who live out here and within the city itself!

Large, happy families inhabited condos, apartments, and suburbs across Idaho – bringing attention, joy, the comfort of togetherness – and that sense of community that can’t easily be brought together. Ah the kids, the cousins, the friends, the romance, and the fun. The fathers and mothers who were cultivating the perfect homes in the eyes of them.

The siblings and friends who go out on their own adventures to the woods or throughout the city where they can go. The teens and young adults who decide to get a bit tipsy and go and enjoy…

“Hey, Serena!” a young man calls out to a woman exiting the little Condo Complex that she lived in. She, in a lovely sundress, waves at the man who was in a business suit and going for a car. “Heading off to that lovely district?” 

WIth a bow of her head, she grabs her bike. “Why yes I am, good luck at work, Dan!” With a smile, the man got in his car whose engine roared to life. As he began to leave, the lady got on her bike and was already making herself scarce and going out.

This was a common scene, every morning. Happy folks greeting each other well, blessing each other well. Hoping that their days at their jobs were productive. That life was going to be a-okay. That single bit of reassurance, that bit of human contact? 

Just enough to brighten even the darkest suns.

What a lovely thing. These Idahoans were rated as some of the friendliest people in the country. Rivaling even the ones who come from the most polite of the Deep South. These people were to the point where if you fall, they will give you a home and allow you to rebuild your life before you can get back out there and acquire a job. A world where everything was pushed forward and given that net just in the case that something goes horrifically wrong.

The city was buzzing with happiness, with joy. Pleasure, whatever has been a person. The lights were not yet on, and the city was glowing as the sun chimmered against the creamy, mountaineer aesthetic cities. Cities that blended with the giant great features and along the lovely internal coastline that the State has.

A motorbike was beginning to go along the roads into the city. Calmly and seamlessly moving around the great busy roads and the cars that moved with many going to or from their many commutes. The occasional car honked, but everybody was mostly being civil for the most part. All of them wishing to get to work, wishing to go home, probably snacking on some food for the most hungry or those who were enjoying some other auditory pleasures on their way to their job.

Weaving in between the lanes, the motorbike was racing down the ribbon of asphalt. At times, he waved at the occupants he just passed by before he continued to speed off, trying to bypass the red lights by speeding at the yellow stop lights rather than slowing down. Which would have gotten him in trouble in any other states, but not here. Here, it was perfectly fine for Idaho does have freer highways and traffic laws.

Around him, large cars and SUVs drove with commuters and short stubby cars. The streets were filled with people, many children and many men and women. Food carts and other urban delights lined the concrete streets. Merchants, men, and other sellers were out in force, to make a quick buck. People, eager with their cash and the desire for a quick snack, drink, or a cute little trinket to bring back to the office, flocked to these stands - as the motorcycle man watched.

The tall skyscrapers above him were creamy colored. A pastel sort of shade of the mountain around them. Their glass glimmered off the sunlight which had descended upon them like little kisses and blessings. Rounded mounds at the top of each building served only to enhance the lovely, soft nature of this state.

He smiled as he soon left the main city area, arriving at the outskirts of the city. Going along the highways, he stared to watch as the massive skyscrapers began to fade away. Their tall spirals and mounds became more distant as he drove down the highway that brought him away from the financial district. Away from the masses and away from the bigger buildings. As he swerved in and out, he turned his head to the side and began to observe the lovely suburbs. A respite from the hussle and bussle of the great city center.

The highways near the suburbs were colorful, light, and spacious. More room for him to ride around in was a great experience. The houses here were large, lovely even. They were lovely little urban centers where many people lived. Where schools were laid, where police and other security forces were as pleasant and as friendly as sheriffs. If he drove close enough, he saw exits that led to sprawling parks where the trees and many open grass were being used extensively for all sorts of games and fun.

There were some entrances to the more gated communities. These little pockets of more security and more privacy than the open regular houses of the suburbs, but that is to be expected. Every man, woman and child within that area was happy. The sun above them blessing them, and the skies giving them the gift of a clear, cool day. He still continued along the highway, going further and further away. The further the metropolitan axis he got the closer he was to getting to where he needs to be. 

He got off the main highway, and began to move along the dirtier roads. Passing by many corn fields, he began to see and hear the sounds of tractors again. And that is when he began to count in his head how far along he was to where he needed to go. His motorcycle’s engine hummed, his gaze focused and determined. Yet relaxed, yet enjoying the whole experience from the city to the emptier countryside. The countryside was the thing he was the most excited to reach.

For when he saw these quiet farms, he kept a sharp eye out for one sign. This was a little farmhouse not easily recognizable by the GPS or by Road, but there was something on it that made it infinitely more noticeable every time he saw it. A little sign that approached, emblazoned with the name of the family who owned the farm, filled with color that was freshly painted. Upon it, was the declaration that this property belonged to the Carpenter family.

His family.

Soon, he drove before the farmhouse itself, looking at it in all of its beautiful wooden glory. A nice porch was there, alongside a row of windows. Lovely tiled roofs for that classic American feel, surrounded by a fence, and decorated with a lovely nest of flowers around the foundations. But that wasn’t the only comforting thing that caught his eye.

And those were the lovely belles that were upon his front porch. Each of them sat comfortably on rocking chairs, quietly resting in their overalls, with one or 2 of them even having a quaint little straw hat over their heads. He can see them all, a lovely freckled redhead who works hard and plays hard. A blondie near the front asleep with a technological wiz, a lovely soft chocolate woman who makes the best pies. There was a lovely woman who was Italian to all sam hill. And of course, a quiet, pale haired woman who was a quiet watch over the whole of the farm.

All of them, patiently waiting and quietly thinking about whatever their minds desired.

Seeing such belles, he smiled under his helmet and pulled up onto the asphalt road next to the gravel road, and smiled. Kicking down the stand with a rifle on his back, he took off his helmet, and got off of the motorbike, setting down his helmet on one hand with the other hand waving forwards the beautiful ladies helping him run the farm.

And upon seeing him, she with the golden hair smiled and began to rush over to him, running into his wide open arms, with her face buried into his leather jacket. Upon impact, he took a step back and wrapped his arms around her, placing a hand upon her head. “Good to see you too Daisy–” 

“Hiya, Hen Hen ~” she giggled, nuzzling a little into him. His voice was enough to rouse the others from their slumbered states, their eyes focusing on him, and bright smiles appearing on each and every face that lit up when they saw him. 

Soon, another pair of arms came around him – the stronger lady who has her farmer tan after working hard in the fields which already complimented her skin like the delicious creamy fudge she makes. “Hey there.”

He felt those muscular arms around his…rather muscular frame as he looked behind him, and smiled, kissing her on her cheek. “Been busy I see.” He spoke as he looked back at her gloves, seeing those heavy duty gloves. “How are they? Up to your standards?”

She chuckles quietly, releasing one of her arms and going to open and close it. “Not bad Henry,” she smiles, stretching it a little, “These things hold up fantastically when I’m handling the potatoes and everything else that needs just a touch more elbow grease, you know?”

“Yeah, I understand, thank you Charisse. And I’m glad, let me know when you need an extra pair of hands ok?” He smiled as suddenly he felt a pair of arms leaving before a new pair of arms went to wrap around him. And he looked back over to see who it was.

It was the pale girl who came up front – Daisy backing off – and she went over to give him a sleepy yet firm hug. “Welcome home, Henry.” She says, quietly. Her arms were around him, and yet he was able to feel a quiet amount of protectiveness that she exuded in small, humble amounts. “How was your trip to the city.”

“Oh, uhh, it was….unique…so to say.” He was sweating as the news from Ohio is still playing from his personal device. “Yeah, unique.” he spoke as he felt her squeezing him. She looks up at him, and gives a quiet nod of acknowledgement, stepping away. Only for an arm to wrap around his shoulders and a familiar italiana comes on in.

“Oh Henry, mi Amor!” she goes over and pecks him a few times on his cheek. “Oh how have you been? Welcome home!”

“It’s good to be home again. Say, what’s for dinner tonight?” He asked as his stomach growled a little bit.

And that is when he felt the 5th and final person come on in. A lovely freckled beauty of red hair and a body strong of labor and hard work. “Well there you are Henry~” she sang, leaning in and winking, “Day’s always brighter when you finally come back home, ya know?”

“Yes, yes it is. It’s very bright here under this Idaho Sun…” Then, he began to think of another thing. Another activity that the people of this state enjoy under the sun when they can risk it. Where the skies above only highlighted the scenes that may happen in the heats of passion.

With a little dangerous smirk, he looked at the ladies. “Why don’t all you ladies just attack me at once? I know you all are holding back now.” And tempting them more, he ripped his undershirt, revealing the body he toned up for the underground military that he served. However, that only prompted the other ladies to do the same. Overalls unbuttoned, hats stayed on but certain articles did not.

A full attack from all angles on his cheeks began right after. Arms went to Henry, and he could only bask in the love and joy of the women.They had brought him back to the front porch, allowing him to watch as the stars slowly began to come on out all the while in passion and in divine pleasure. 

The canvas of darkness being dotted with the splattering of the stars above. 

Oh the majesty of the world above, the sky above the sky… 

How or what are some of the wonders that happen up there?

Chapter Text

November 30th, 2051

‘Proceed at 10 knots to these coordinates…’

The great inky black was a location where many people once thought was an impossible zone where Humanity was never going to cross. It wasn’t a hard impossibility, especially in the days when this claim was made. When humanity barely had ships that could cover the whole world. Whose old logistics systems struggled to keep even some of the finest cities fed. When the population at large once only had cars that barely could pass around a few blocks.

‘Preparing to dock the drone, stand by…’

When humanity barely had ships that could cover the whole world. Whose old logistics systems struggled to keep even some of the finest cities fed. When the population at large once only had cars that barely could pass around a few blocks.

‘Watch the traffic…’

Made sense at the time. There was really no big infrastructure to seriously take the world off of its feet. And, at the time, there was really no big dreamers on the world and they were all mostly restricted to the ground they had.

‘Interrogative, can we get another report on just when that destroyer can get over here?”

However, when humanity is given a proper challenge, it will take its damn stake and run as fast as they can with it. The American people were first in actual powered flight, and many had joked that ‘Sure, go to the moon while we’re at it!’

Well, by God, the stars, and whoever else out there, they did.  

And they didn’t stop there. Even in the middle of the Cold War, the absolute zeal, the rush of making it to the moon ignited a wave of companies, contracts, and organizations across America to say Hey, let’s keep her going!  

The nation was swept up in the victory of Luna , and now they had been riding that fresh buzz ever since. First it was one of the moons of the earth, then they moved to make a space station and a lunar outpost immediately — once a scientist discovered that there was Helium-3 on the moon.

That was enough to make everybody and their mama in the developed world start pouring money when and where they can. Stations and platforms were set up, and once they discovered that asteroid mining is a dry viable economic solution, every economy on Earth wanted a slice (though, this did not necessarily really hit until the 2000s when rare earth materials were found.) 

There are supply centers, financial offices. Vacation spots. Anything that could be put up here. Hell, there was a healthy amount of orbital industry established up here that was making goods up here and sending it back to the planetside in large numbers. Not a lot of food production, but Zero G made products of certain processed foods were rated to be higher quality according to the USDA.

And of course, there was the fact that you need things in order for these facilities to actually be useful. The manpower, the people, everything that needs to go down there and manually start putting things together, to ensure that maintenance never falls behind. To govern, to have authority over these structures so that they can be productive.

And thus, here enters the craft that had made that all possible. Here comes the rockets, the shuttles, everything that could be thought off before the idea of a proper warship was ever conceived. Before the very first foundations for an orbital ship assembly was ever laid down. Before the ships ever started to look like, well ships!

These were the giant, rocket-like bodies of the earliest space navies. Never acknowledged AS a space navy at the moment in time, but these cylindrical beauties and strange bodies were the first things to ever be armed, to ever carry massive amounts of material and weapons — some even nuclear — into the inky black. 

America had the most, for of course they did. But interestingly enough, it was California who pushed and manufactured a great deal of the ship bodies and even a few of the weapons. The state was very, very eager — herself included — to get up there the second Apollo and then planted the American flag on Luna.

She’s been a big proponent of the space race overall. And even today, hundreds of capable companies have their hands on the latest ships that come out of the engineering offices of California. Out of the manufactured hands of the United States and from the total intellect and spirit of humanity

Spaceships started to rule above where the air force couldn’t, but up until the late 1990s or early 2000s, nobody really had a space force or designated a part of their military as a space force. It didn’t seem necessary. Most of the armed conflict was in the atmosphere of the planet after all, so why bother trying to fight out where death is almost certainly a guarantee.

Where most soldiers would probably die if even 

That was until today’s subject decided to roll along. 

”Fucking pirates!” a fire control officer barks, grasping at controls and wrangling digital crosshairs into position. Fury ached in his words as he unleashed the song of missiles and small phase-array lasers at the engines and control modules of the swarming pirates. 

Spaceships, whether somehow stolen from either private corporations or state-funded terrorist organizations, were harassing a mining institution. Small, zippy little machines with at least one big one where all of the pirates live and sleep. Where they actively hit jack the drones that were transporting asteroid materials that would have been used to go sell off to some companies on Earth or any orbital settlement.

They didn’t just steal materials, they stole technology too. They were able to yoink a french ship that had a Knudsen Device onboard and NOW there’s a bunch of pirates going around with a really cheap and deadly version of a tractor beam.  

The Department of the Space Force is not sure how the hell this all managed to happen within the first hundred years of humanity actually getting into space. Or how it really got bad post the initial opening of the War on Terror. But as such, this is why this little cadet was in a command center, opening fire on pirate owned drones.

Controlling a million dollar gatling gun — retrofit for space operations. These drones were not the ones that the department wanted to bring home. In fact, command has an unofficial competition going on for what units can shoot down the most. No no no, if there was actual pirates on any of these, they would instead be hit with the closest thing Earth has to a tractor beam and be brought to one of the 3 moons for questioning.

But still…

” Cadet Williams, ” he hears his commander get over the comms. His voice was strained, and it sounded as though he was incredibly busy. But whatever it was it was important and he needed to know;  “ Keep an eye on the ship’s 3 o’ clock, we have approaching pirates in that direction, and we believe that they should be taken care of immediately.“

”Yes ma’am—!” he grabs his controls and swings them to the azimuth she wanted him to view. Immediately, his fingers derepressed on triggers, and kinetic munitions flew outwards. They tore apart the primitive, yet annoying forms of the drones that were harassing the subject of the Orbital Defense Division of the USSF that day.

It was a convoy of military materials designated for Mars this time, and this one was something the military will not tolerate losing any of it. At all. This was a mission where the top brass was watching pretty closely, so the stress factor has increased by a significant margin.

The empty, void of space around the ship he was in was filled with ships, more drones, and various munitions or weapons activating with the sole purpose of taking these pirates down . They have been a scourge for trade ever since day one, and now they were going to seriously crack down on them before they ruin the global economy… or violate America's national security.

And neither of these zw scenarios were very good if they happened. For America’s security was something that must be taken seriously. For the good of the world and to ensure that democracies or other free states everywhere ( no matter if they’re even a backwater orbital station who has independence ) get to enjoy a life of prosperity, stable politics, and peaceful state of mind.

And with every Gatling gun that fires, he ensures that this peace of mind can be achieved to a meaningful extent. In space, the occupation of trade was lucrative. But defense of that trade was even more valuable.  Not many defense contractors were willing to take up the mantle to put billion dollar equipment up in space all the while practical testing was exceptionally difficult.

But that was no issue.

California and many more of America had decided to push the border. The United States Space Force was the first real response to these pirates. And here was one of their cadets, who was focusing exceptionally hard on fighting every single blip from the radars that pointed to the inky black. 

Numbers endlessly bled, from the Mana reserves constantly reassuring the guns to the bullet and missile counters reaching 0 before recharging at fractions of a battery’s cost. Everything to ensure that the economic costs stay low and that space is a little safer.

A little more secure for commerce. A little more sure that the average private sector 

The ship he was on — the Redding — was by far one of the finest examples in cargo fleet protection with its anti-pirateering measures. With all of its weapons, it was an excellently cheap and effective space ship that even the most destitute of U.S. States can afford it. It did its job, and that's one of the reasons that it did so well. 

Actually, it was one the largest spaceships that can be mass produced on Earth  itself and still go into space with relative ease. An easier sell compared to the rest of the space ships, the ones that needed to be built in orbital or moon space yards. Because that was thankfully one of the easier things to deal with, one of the facts that made trying to handle these terrorists in any proper, menaingful capacity an actual viable avenue and not just some suicide.

Because eventually, the pirates start running out of drones. And it seems that they have just reached that point. The radar began to report the rapid exfil of these drones away from the convoy. ”Hah, eat shit!” one of the cadets onboard the same ship yelled, “Guess the heat got too much to handle, huh?!”

The cadet leans back in his seat, letting go of his controls for just a little moment. A breath escaped him, and he had taken off his helmet to let one of his braids breath more freely. “Christ, that could have gone way worse…” he goes and grabs a bottle of water, gets the straw, and began to slurp a generous amount before going to get up from his seat. 

Despite all of that excitement, he had to go start doing some checks. It allowed him to not only listen to music, but also start eavesdropping on the comms of everybody else onboard the Redding. So, he turned up his headset, put it on his head, opened up a laptop and got to work.

”Can somebody order some 30mm ammo?” he heard, and that usually was a good start. He knew that voice, it was somebody directly on the opposite side of him, managing a different weapons platform. “My guns ran low during that entire fight and I don’t think I have enough for sustained combat if we run into them again.”

”’Them again’… it’s Las Zetela folks, isn‘t it, or whatever the fuck their name was?”

”Yeah,” another voice spoke up. “Those are the bastards and bitches we’re defending against.”

A classic pirate gang is what they knew them to be. Old, used to target the oldest cargo convoys of the first space rush. When America and Russia were the first ones into space, there was the earliest pirates that followed a decade later. 

They didn’t do much, take satellites, knock them out of the sky with the worst possible space craft designs possible. But they were manageable back then, when the USAF or Russians had to only shoot down any unauthorized launches. 

Las Zetela’s origins were still unknown. The question of whether they were rogue operators of the earliest days of the space force or some forces beyond comprehension is quickly swept aside. All this man knew and cared about was getting the cargo to where it needs to be so he can go rest in a station.

”Tell those civvies its safe to begin mining again… ” 

That was the last thing he heard before he found himself a nice spot to rest.

“…clear to resume operations…”

“Oh thank fucking god!” an operator chuckles, “Was fucking wondering when that problem with ‘em damn pirates was going to stop!” He puts his helmet back on and begins immediately working to prepare his control console. The outside void around him started to be lit up green again, with blue markers here and there reappearing. 

A young man, who lived in space for most of his adult years, feels the power of twin ion engines will come to life. He feels them rumble, their power slowly returning. The spaceship was buzzing with an energy that was coming back in waves. He immediately landed himself onto the seat, and strapped himself on. “Whooo yeah baby, I’m getting my paycheck tonight!”

A cheer that wasn’t baseless. He was going back on the move, breaking from the secure convoy that the suits threw up when it was clear those pirates were starting to overwhelm the — little by little. They were trying to do their damn job after all, and suddenly all of these guys in them zippy little boats trying to tractor beam their damn cargo.

Now, he doesn’t have to worry about all of his progress and his earnings being stolen away. He just had a few more asteroids to mine and he would be on his way back to the major space station near Luna — sipping cocktails and enjoying some pool. That is the one thing he can really hope for right now, in order to recuperate fully from the mess of dealing with a bunch of pirates.

So, he took off. The space around him was alight with the stars. The beautiful clouds, the wonderful nebula that was there, the sights of the planets all made up something that he was proud to be earning seven figures working in. The pay is so high up here, because of the fact that they were in this great void where OSHA probably can’t even police things right.

That knowledge aside, he was having a blast. Figuratively and literally. Mechanical arms of his machine went forward and lasers began to blast forward into a nice, shiny asteroid that he was aiming to harvest for the company. The wages were good, and any bonuses came from any amount of spare or additional material that he was able to draw on in. He always did his best to bring in more. Always, never settled for less, always went for more.

And he always profited, so why the hell wouldn’t he do a good job and get a fatter paycheck because of it? There was practically no incentive NOT to! Get himself a fatter paycheck so when he goes home to his mama, he can shower her in as much gifts and as much food as she’d like.

“Ahh…” he hears and watches as the other machines move. “Finally man, we can get our shift done and we’ll all be back home arguing about who's going to pay for some new booze that we got shipped on.” He was all giddy thinking about it, mining and adding some more mass to his vehicle’s cargo hold. He mined and mined away, gathering so much resources.

By the end of his shift, his cargo hold was practically overflowing, and he had to resort to using a net to catch more and more. So much so that when his little asteroid mining barge finally began to feel the stress, he was carrying over nine times what would normally be allowed.

How did he land this job? He wasn’t sure. But it was really damn easy. He just needed some more basic gravity training as well as some other zero-g policy inductions, and that was all that he needed. As well as, of course, training on the piece of equipment that he was using. 

His drones were starting to have problems. The things floating around and were tasked with carrying the net was carrying a sack of asteroids not only in that drone’s not, but also in the massive parts of his cargo bay. He was already salivating at the thought of the amount that he was going to rake in. And as such, it made him begin to head home with incredible haste.

Not home home, but home in space. The closest thing that’ll he’ll get while he is out here. At least his family was here, so when he gets off of work, he can catch the next space flight to the station where they all live. He chuckles, grabbing his comms and going on the company channel — watching as the military spaceships leave. 

“Manager!” he cheerfully calls — ignoring the vague oh no… in the back — “My ship’s all stuffed and ready. Can I come in now and take the rest of the day off?” The man on the other end sounded as though he was in labor, but he grabbed his own comms and gave a rather fairly audible noise. 

”Yeah yeah, Keith,” the man on the line mutters. “Alright, I hear ya. You got all of the asteroids and all of the materials you want, start heading back in.”

”Awh hell yeah.” Keith starts punching in some inputs on his touchscreen and saw that the coordinates and navigation results started to come back in. “I’m bringing in one hell of a big haul, you boys better be ready for it!”

”Oh god help us. ” was the last thing on the other line before it completely closed for the southern asteroid miner. He felt his engines kick to life, as they began to activate whatever protocols they had that began to bring him back to the station. “Yeeeeeeehawww!” the southerner cried. 

His engine flew him a great distance to the station. One large, rotating megastructure somewhere close to the great red planet of Mars. Ships flowed in and out of it, like an endless stream. Drones moving from intakes to outtakes like ants at their hill. Each of them carried their bounty in loads greater than some of the cargo ships on earth… mostly because they decided to follow the crackhead example of one of their coworkers.

Yes, that means there was an endless amount of people entering that station with incredible amounts of material. From his perspective, at least the perspective of the common man who was working to bring all of this in, this was practically a dream come true.  So many big paychecks, surely the guys in finances probably like all of those, right?

Unbeknownst to him, a lot of the guys in the department he was talking about are fuming seeing so much enter the equation. They accounted only for a certain amount of asteroids being mined this week, nothing about the current rate of production accounted for the sheer problem that was coming. Each extra asteroid was another htey have to account for stoering — and they don’t have enough capsules to store all of these minerals.

But he didn’t think of that, instead he was busy still thinking of that sweet sweet paycheck. He grabs his communicators and opens it up: “Hey hey, Ronnie! I see you got yourself a whole lotta uranium!”

“Is that you Keith?”  a friendlier tone compared to the other guy that was speaking about Keith coming on the station. “Awwwh man, you got yourself some titanium!” Smiling with pride, the man looks at his cameras and sees the orders which his drones laser marked with the scientific emblem for the resource.

“Yeah I did, and it’s looking good for me man!” He punches in a few values and smiles when some big multi digits come back at him. “Load’s estimated to be around a few ten million, ooooo baby it’s going to be good when I go in!”

“Nice!” Responded Ronnie whose ship began to glow. “I’m heading on in… I’ll grab a beer for you man when you come inside. Ellis brought his games along this time and whoobooyyy I’ve been itching to kick ass!”

“Ha, just wait till I get over there boyo!” he teased, bringing his ship into teh designated lanes that would allow him entry into the massive station. He looked up in familiarity, at the cylindrical body and the many ringed habitation and recreation zones within. Yes, she was an ugly baby up in space, yet that was where his family is. That is where his life, his new opportunity all laid. 

In that big metal land in the sky. He found himself within step — zippering into position with the other transports. He couldn’t help but maintain the jovial expression that dominated his features, for that little slip of numbers was a near front with what he did with his own drones.

Things were great, and he hoped they would stay that way too.

Space, as a frontier, was also a great place in which many of the sciences are explored in an isolated environment. A playground where the lab coats and the engineers can try all sorts of new inventions and principles in a great big empty. A vacuum where the variables are fully in their control. Many inventions found themselves birthed here.

For it turns out, working in zero gravity means you have the ability to test and play with everything. Look at a tool from all sorts of angles, make it move in ways that ere thught impossible in regular gravity. What this does is allow for that 3d look. The additional perspective that was once not considered, and perhaps test a few mechanics that would never once be cosnidered in the moment or time of just doing it with the flat and steady ground.

Experimental ground must be broken afterall. You cannot build a world of experiments without just a little bit of deviation. A little bit of curiousity, whatever it may be, was just enough to set things in motion which were once considered improbably or impossibly dangerous to even think of attempting. But that was a fear that was not forever the reign. For when a new breakthrough needs to be made, there must be a challenge.

With a challenge, there was no reward. it makes anything earned feel increasingly hollow. A little victory giving in a fruit basket that was passed out as mere participation trophies and not actual scientific achievement. That if sense of winning because it was hard is removed, it doesn’t feel extraordinary. Which is why, every day, each and every practicioner of teh scientific principle always gives themselves a brand new task — always harder than the last.

And the challenge, for one ship and one scientific institute that was making their way, was a curiously biting one. Given to the lovely woman who was in her captain’s seat, commanding a fine crew of the finest minds and a couple of jarheads. On paper, the task seems simple, sounds simple even. 

But when you really break it down, then it actually has a range of impossibilities that would make current, modern attempts to try and understand it seem incredibly out of reach even for organizations with government funding and resource backing.

”Figure out why there’s some sort of dark hole on the opposite end of Earth’s orbit in the Solar System,” repeats the captain, who sets down the tablet with the memo on it. “That is the task that we were given, and that is what we are going to set out to do.” Always on paper, it always sounds so easy, something so bite size and manageable that it would be done in a moment if brought forward to some individuals with just a little bit of work and a little camera.

But this crew knew, that this mission was not going to be one so simple, so easy.

”We can’t exactly call it a black hole, right?” the soldier onboard that was to guard them murmured, watching the cameras that led to the outside world. “I mean, it ain’t sucking up the sun like a teen with a milkshake and we can see it as clear as day, so it’s gotta be something else, right?”

”That is the correct rationale, private.” A scientist responded, grabbing a computer and bringing it for the man to understand. “While I wouldn’t put it like that, it gives off more of the gravity of a planet that is similar to us, however it appears more incredibly like a dark gaseous celestial being.”

The soldier looks, as the captain continues to check the navigation charts and made a few minor micro adjustments to ensure that the ride is as smooth, yet quick as possible. Catch the gravity of the sun and slingshot their way to that celestial body was the goal. A simple maneuver, even easier with the likes of computers.

They were moving quick, thankfully, and they were probably going to be at the body within the hour. The private they had defending them was on his phone, checking news from his state back on Earth, while every other scientist was in the middle of preparing their equipment and instruments. 

“Do you think we’ll need a high-magnification camera?” 

“Are the Mana batteries fully charged?” / “Yes ma’am…”

Every little thing was being prepared for the curious little marvel that was on the other side of teh solar system of where Earth was. They wanted to learn more, they wanted to try and guess how that entire thing got there — how and WHY it exists. So, as time went on, they had to run a systems check on everything but that high magnification. They were confident, as they went past the sun, that they had enough tools and sensors to gather all of the relevant data that they could need.

So, by the time they actually reached the orbital region of the unknown body, they had everything prepared. Every scanner and sensor activating. There was a scant few meals prepared for those that were hungry, but everybody else was more giddy to see their latest equipment be put to the test against the anomaly. “They called the thing Anomaly-4” , explained the Captain, her arms crossed and a small stew-like meal in her hands. “Early satellites trying to survey it always came back with inconsistent or unusual returns that yielded so little results.”

“Today,” she says, clearing her throat, “We hope to finally put the mystery to rest and bring the entirety to light. Finally point out the things in the dark, and finally give it some reason, a semblance of order. Something that can be quantified with numbers, data charts, and stat sheets. We wish to demystify, and that is what our job is.” The ship made a turn, and the cameras slowly started to come to life.

The private was standing with the scientists, watching the with the equal attention of a hawk who was not sure of the danger — and yet should be fully aware of it regardless. The starry field was the only thing on, but they were waiting. “Turning to Azimuth…” reported the captain, the scientist getting their fingers on the control panels that governed. The ship’s cameras started to lay eyes on two things.

Two twin moons. Near perfect mirrors of each other, caught the eyes of the scientists. “Woah…” their soldier murmured, his eyes widening enough to cause himt o remove his goggles. “That’s…”

”Incredible,” finished one scientist, going to start a refresh on the high-magnification camera and prepare scanners. The other scientists began to kick to life, all the while this ‘egghead’ started tapping a few things. “I don’t remember there being 2 moons in this part of our solar neighborhood!”

”Log that!” orders another scientist, who was busy tapping away at their panel. “I am getting an incredible amount of gamma radiation readings, check the X-ray sensors—!“ It was then, to the soldier who was allowed to be away because of his profession as somebody not of science or some other intellectual position, so he was able to watch and marvel as the anomaly finally came into view. The object of the challenge of scientists today had finally reared its head and showed itself.

It started with a little bit at the edges. Like a ray of the sun when you close your eyes and see the lines. Except, it was dark, it consumed the light of the stars that was supposed to be behind it, and yet wasn’t enough to fully make them disappear. Instead, what was happening was these stars and lights coalescing and forming some sort of cel shade around the anomaly. A pin that became thicker and wider the closer they began to look at the source. It was then, the jaw of the young private dropped, as he was finally able to see it.

Finally able to see the anomaly itself. It… looked like an eye. The shape of one, not an actual eye mind you. The darkness which had the almond, teardrop like shape of an eye that had begun to assert its image. One of domination and mystique. Appearing so unusual, as the private watched it fully manifest before the screen which began to show interest. The scientists were already on the move, their hands and bodies moving to get everything possible on.

Every scanner possible was now working overtime.

“Give me some more readings…” / “Check the radiation…”

”It…” the soldier murmurs, “it looks so weird…” The captain steps down. She got up to the screen looking over the giant celestial entity — for what other descriptor can match this thing that was before the ship? 

“This is what has baffled the space force and NASA for decades now.” She explains, hand behind her back and being careful of all of the scientific crew that was now running about like golden retrievers on caffeine. The 2 were marveling at the body, who now had billions of dollars worth of equipment now staring it down. “Something that followed the so-called Counter-Earth theory and existed outside of our scope for so long now. And yet, here we are, pointing the latest in scientific instruments at the anomaly. If only the Foundation can see us now.”

”Yeah, yeah…” it was then the soldier got bored, going over to one of the consoles — the high magnification camera — and started turning it on. “You don’t mind if I screw around with this, right?”

”Go ahead,” the captain murmurs, going to her other scientists. “It’s not like you’re going to see anything but darkness…” And as the private finds out, she was right. She was right to an extent. Every time he zoomed in on the thing, he did not get any real returns that spoke any of real volume to him. All that he would have legitimately seen is some soul sucking darkness that would not give him any real sight to work with.

Nothing, that was supposed to be what he got.

Just an empty abyss that stared at him, and he at it.

And yet, something twinkled amidst the sea of pure black. Something that caught this trained soldier’s eyes. Something that made him look very carefully and started to repeatedly mash the magnification button to ridiculous extremes.

An action that caught the attention of the scientists. One of them came to him and repeatedly tried to tug at his arms. “What are you doing?!” She harshly interrogated, “That camera you’re playing with is more expensive than anything you probably would have used in 10 years!” 

“I saw something glasses!” The private swears, figuring out the stabilizer and just focusing on the magnification. Making the picture clearer? More focused. He saw something, a flash of tan, a little thing out of place in the darkness—

“Private!” Warned another scientist, “I recommend you get off of that instrument now!”

“This ain’t no damn tuba—“ he then grabs something and effectively places the screen of the console he was on and put it on one of the “cockpit” screens. “Lookit, you see it glasses?!” He calls ours jabbing his gloved finger at the screen. “Right there, you see that?!”

The camera was revealed to be viewing a very specific patch of the great circular darkness that was staring back at them. Yet, in this great perfect circle of darkness, the scientists began to see that there was just a tiny little crack in this great citadel. The unknowable mystique finally showing just a little bit of the magic show just beneath.

And… “Is it a desert?” Questioned one of the scientists; looking at what they were seeing with genuine disbelief. The high magnification camera was faltering just a little, but they could not deny what they were seeing. Dunes, the grant implants, the unusual seems and shapes… yes.

That was a desert. 

“What the hell…” one scientist murmured, taking the footage and taking a much, much closer look at what they were going to be dealing with now. A brand new curiosity. Interest brings excitement, and excitement brings results.  

“It's some strange desert in the middle of that entire thing of black. A little strip that was able to form dunes…” reports one of the scientists, furiously scribbling away at some record keeping program she had. “It’s so strange…”

The soldier huffs as all of the eggheads start going back to their readings and pictures. Snapping away so fast that he was practically getting whiplash. So, out of boredom, he continued to watch this little strip of sand carefully—

“Is that a… a landship?”

And all of a sudden, importance was given back to that screen.

Given to the world hidden away by the dark body that encompassed it.

Chapter Text

No one would believe that there was a second, inhabited planet in this strange world that they lived in. No one would even conceive that there was. To think that above that great blue sky of inconsistent stars was home to a greater world than they could ever imagine. A realm of possibilities so alien to the linguistics of this rock.

A rock whose own people swear to this day that it is fake. That the skies above is nothing more than a great facade to hide some secrets. Little classified unknowables that makes astronomy and other fields of related sciences completely irrelevant or unworkable in many circumstances, completely robbing them of all the nuance and interests of the stars.

But that does not mean that their world is idle. Despite the whole riff and raff of a fake sky that couldn’t be penetrated or hiding unknowable secrets, life on the surface still marched on without the care and philosophy of that knowledge. Cities were still built, even as the forbidden rock befell and damage reigned over entire counties and nation states.

Ah, those rocks. The rocks, which were dubbed Originium , befell from the skies as a great catastrophe . Great natural disasters that dominated and even created entire classes of people from them. This was a world not as connected as some of the best, but they were incredible in their own diversity. Diversity of thought, diversity of life… but more intriguingly, diversity of species.

What of this world? What is this world who seems to be choked, yet still breath with their own variations of life? Whose angels and devils walk amongst each other? Where the wolfs, where sea creatures, and all have human form and make their cities — their claims as pioneers in a world whose entire nature seems so hostile to them?

This is Terra. A super continental world is what it may be — with some outlier out east, but it is one where such a fact has been taken advantage of for incredible purpose. All of was a catalyst for something beautiful. From the crystalline debris and scattered ancient ruins of some lands, entire countries and capitals were formed from it. Genuine political dynamics sprouted out of it, communities, cultures, and more. A nation was formed in a mafia like manner, while another went through hell and made itself a revolution.

There was even one nation who lorded over a sect of the seas. A nation whose great royal navy was of massive tracked behemoths that rolled across the lands with battleship grade guns. Small, city state nations who were happy where they were. Then there is the one example of a Republic, surrounded by empires, kingdoms, and other nations.

The cities, because of the unique issue of natural disasters, were not the traditional soil cities. The term ‘ sedentary settlement’ was near dead on Terra. Instead, in response and as a necessity, there is the presence and existence of the ‘Nomadic Settlement’. The Nomadic City, the popular and realistic solution to a world whose very existence seemed to hate everybody that lived on it. Where the entire center of millions — perhaps billions — can be placed in one platform that can adjust and move at will if the weather starts becoming a bit too uppity.

But ohhh the people who live on this planet, they don’t demand pity. Even as the world around them crumbles and reveals a political state so fragile. They were a tough bunch of many races, but they still hail to themselves as human.  

For they were, in a sense. Bipedal, 2 hands, a head. At that core, that does not make them different from any human. They had a mind, a heart, lungs, thoughts, ideas. Dreams, even. They dreamed even in this cruel world so cruel. And yet, despite that they are identifying as human, there is one major difference that makes them different.

And that is their animal features. 

It doesn’t seem egregious, but these differences both benefit, differentiate, and deploy a level of cultural formation that makes things difficult for the lesser open minded. Some are naturally stronger, some are more naturally attuned to the world’s Arts. But these features are what caused them to be separate, to be different.

A term exists to describe this particular race of Humanity. Kemonomimi , coined by the Higashi — and Japan according to Cohen —  was how to describe the people of Terra. ‘Human, but with the features of animals or other creatures.’ And Terra was happy to wear that title as a badge of pride.

There were billions who lived on this little planet, existing and procreating in all the ways they could. They lived, they loved, they died, they fought, they enjoyed. That is the circle of life as it should be for that world. Living, surviving, whatever they can. They made the most of the lives that they had and ensured that not a single part of it went to waste.

And how could they? Unfortunately for some that was a reality they had to face. There were some who couldn’t make it past the great barrier of life and perished in the process. Through fighting, through war, though bloodshed many have suffered. There was almost always the promise of peace and good times at the end. But just because they met their end, does not mean that their end was always bad.

Well, back then, it used to be. Once upon a time, well not even a few years ago, that was not the case. The case of dying peacefully or in a way of combat that would have actually made some sense or brought comfort to the loved ones, it was not a case that was available to everybody. 

Years ago, this world found its social divide. Species yes, undeniable in that they discriminated against each other. But back then, there was one more thing they divided themselves over. It was stupid in hindsight, but because of the genuine economic concerns — it terrified lawmakers all over and dominated the politics of superpowers.

Oripathy.

Thousand years this name plagued Terra. And yet, in the coming age, it is no more. Why? Because of one brilliant little faction, one brilliant little bunny, and her beloved, hooded Doctor.

“Requesting CEO Amiya to the main office.”

Across a great and expansive landship this announcement rings. Through its many corridors, many floors, and permeating many rooms, a voice — now iconic as some may call a “hag” —  rings out. Commanding, authoritative, a tone of finality that is expected of the individual who is one of the great leaders of this organization. A strict voice, cold yet caring, calling out for a certain young bunny.

She was in an office somewhere closer to the one of the medical bays. Her little brown ears flicked at the sound of her name. It was not a call that she would associate negatively like how W would do it. Her eyes turned to the wall speaker, blue like an endless crystal ocean, blinking in pleasantry and surprise. The bunny who adorned a white dress under her normal jacket now — larger and flowing with synthetics and silks.

On her fingers were many rings, each one as blue as sapphire, yet glimmering with the shine of a tinted diamond. Tapping against her chest, what little accessories she does have barely gave a chink nor clink. 

“That means it must be time!” She sings, getting up from where she was. Her seat almost went flying back, but she was alright with it. She reached out excitedly for the folder that was in her table. The rook piece of Rhodes Island Pharmaceutical and Paramilitary reached out to her. Medicine and protection. Protect the innocent , heal the weak.

Written in or not, that was the motto of Rhodes Island now. And it was a message that reaches even the farthest ends of Sargon, to the highest mountains of Yan. Their teams, medical, logistical, and whoever they can muster, all hail from around the world. Amiya couldn’t hardly believe how it went from just a pharmaceutical company that had to beg for resources from lungmen, to now a corporation with such reach and influence that they could actually be a small army if ever nationally aligned. 

She exits her office, smiling one more time at a cute little picture that she had on a shelf closest. It was a photo they took a year ago, but it was still her favorite one. It was taken in Siesta during one of the days of vacation they had to the nation. There were 3 figures in it on a beautiful canvas of sand, gemstone salt, and a backdrop of blue that glowed like the purest crystal. One of them, in the center of them, was her. 

Happy little Amiya, enjoying the sun. To her right, the familiar silky green haired lynx carried a small umbrella that she used to shade herself and the other 2. She was in a sundress that was an emulation of her regular clothing, yet made with materials more comfortable. 

She looked neutral as ever, but yet there was the slight glow of warmth in her green eyes. A little bit of a tilt in her lips that went upward, and her posture — despite her colder nature — was relaxed. She was happy.

And of course, the 3rd and other person… I am going to see him soon, anyways!

She goes through the doorway, and she is immediately thrown into the lovely bustle of the Landship as a whole. Rhodes Island, this day and at this happening, was a realm fervently alive and well. Operators and workers moved along like a calm stream. 

Many of them are going away from the larger cafeteria area and heading off to the training center. Her eyes caught the view of many familiar operators. Faces who she knew for years, decked in new kit and new equipment. All of them are natively made by the company, produced and designed too.

Well, of course she can’t fully credit it to Rhodes Island on one thing. The Design. The design wasn’t truly of the full organization, though it was accredited appropriately thankfully. All of it, these new communicators? Better weapons for the reserve operators? Amiya can draw their origin point to the mind of Rhodes island’s most brilliant tactician.

She marvelled at each one. Each little device that was crafted in the mind steeped in ancient tactics - as Saria pointed out to her once - yet brimming with potential that can and has revolutionized the modern age. New weapons that can allow even the most destitute and physically poor to fight with incredible efficacy, yet still not fully detract from the skills and abilities of the more specialized operators.

“Good morning, Amiya!” the Cautus’ ears perk. A voice called out to her from down the hall behind her. That voice, cheery and bombastic, and its owner was rapidly approaching from behind. And all she could do, this cute CEO can do, is just let it happen. Because she knows who this is, and she let the Feline have her way. Her strong arms surrounded her, tail whipping around. An aura of heat, the scent of battle and good times.

There was no denying who this was. One of the finest Elite amongst Rhodes Island. Famous for her confidence,  her desire to jump out of aircraft into the battlefield with incredible ferocity, and outright chainsawing through walls or whatever obstacles remain in her way. The same woman who would unashamedly go and hug her right out in the open. 

With a smile, she addresses the kitty who had launched her attack. “Operator Blaze, you’re doing well!” she speaks out, immediately forgetting about whatever she was holding – placing it down where she can – and returning the gesture with her own hug. Not as tight, but as affectionate as she can afford the Feline who has been with them for so long. “How have you been? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you!”

“Haha,” the woman finally pulled away - internally Amiya is grateful that this time she didn’t need the intervention of anybody for the Feline to do so. That bright smile and her own eyes as blue as a free sky met Amiyas and she knew that it took every bit of the Feline’s power to not go and nuzzle the top of her head - out of respect, of course. “Oh, you just know it was crazy! Been running around everywhere and seeing a whole lot of action. How about you? Landship’s not giving you any trouble, right?”

”No, but that same door still gives W nightmares!” Amiya jovially says, causing the Feline to laugh. “Have you been eating the proper diet that we’ve been giving you? You know how much Folonic and Gavial have been egging you on for that, ever since you took on that injury from Londinium!”

The feline stopped in her laughter and slowly backed away just a little. Amiya watched her retreat, and she stomped her foot behind her. “ Blaze , are you following the proper diet?”

“Ahaha…” she tried to turn around, a gesture that Amiya did not miss. “About that—“

She felt a tug on the very back of her harness. 

A great grip on the feline’s back that forced a gulp onto her. 

She shook a little, slowly turning her head. 

Her eyes went playfully, yet horrifyingly wide when she saw the bunny CEO. 

Or rather the monster that was in place of what SHOULD be Amiya.

Instead, she was looking at glowing red eyelids. A miasmic aura of red and black that waved and swirled . Something that consumed the leader and made the EO fear for her life. 

Made each tail, each little thin prick on her blue tail stood up straight. Sweat dripped down the sides of her temples, and — oh there were other operators watching.

Well, more like observing. They did not wish to be next in the face of Amiya’s wrath.  Something that was barely withheld nowadays when it comes to the care of all operators that hail to Rhodes island.

Especially with the increasingly dangerous missions that have been going on around the world. A necessary tasking that is sending operators everywhere to do jobs that pose greater and greater risk.

”Blaze, are you eating your diet that Gavial gives you?” Was the question again, pointed like a bayonet. And not even the fiercest and most fiery feline of the best of Rhodes Island could try and shy away from her fury.

That was something that she always, always began to worry about. How is an operator? Are they okay? Are they mentally well? Are they healthy enough to be on missions?

Questions that she still had when she was first CEO. However, as the march of time went on, these feelings have only continued to intensify. Reaching incredible heights when Londinium happened, when they entered a full national war against Kazdel.

“Ahaha…” she slowly reached a hand up and scratched the back of her head, the palm immediately finding itself drenched in a cold sweat.

She had to choose carefully. Amiya when she was this ‘mother rabbit’ was by far the most terrifying she could ever be. “I may have been, uh, neglecting to eat right when it came to those rush missions?”

That was… good enough . …

Or not. That was what Blaze thought before she felt the hallway go cold.

”Why?” Amiya’s voice ever so rose. The aura around her escalated and it only made the Feline more and more scared. Like she was just a little kitty and not the operator that made some of Yelena’s or Patriot’s best run with fear.  

”Aha…” Blaze began to murmur, gulping as Amiya’s face got closer. ”W-well—“

“No well,” the Cautus warns, forcing a gulp. ”I will bring you down to the medical bay myself so Gavial can knock some sense into you—“ That is when there was a tug, and the feline started to feel herself move against her will.

”Wait, no please don’t—!” 

Whether that was being playful or genuine fear, Amiya could not tell. 

But it was too late. 

Blaze was being dragged by the harness near her neck . Dragged away from the offices and to the fear of the operators who were quite literally in full view of this woman handling of a well known elite operator. Her heels digging into the metal floor just a little, creating sparks that flew like a fountain.

“H-hey, you don't have to take me to Gavial, Amiya. Before I go on to my next op, I’ll be sure to eat whatever the Archosaurian gives me!“

Yet, she knew that the words were futile. Especially when she saw the sign for the medical bay pass by. The big recognizable emblems that flashed were not like a welcoming sign to some bar or a well known diner, but more like a warning call for what the hell she was just about to get into.

Amiya’s feet had stomped the entire way to the area. So loud and so hard that each movement, each impact between the shoes and the floor was akin to the ringing of a bell. The one that tolls for somebody who has reached the point of no return, awaiting their judgement.

The judge? It was the CEO of Rhodes Island herself. 

The Jury? The people that were in the medical bay — to Blaze’s dismay — were her normal squad that came with her on operations. 

And the Executioner? Gavial, who had flinched when the Cautus first came in, especially when her footfalls were as subtle as Skadi.

“Yo, Amiya!” She tried, her voice staying as confident and natural as ever. “What brings you in looking like somebody just tried to steal some of your kin?” Wordlessly, and through tightly closed eye lids, the Cautus brings forth Blaze.

Blaze, who was somehow being held up by the CEO who was normally much shorter than her, like a kitten to a mother cat awaiting for its discipline. “Hi Gavial…” she nervously addresses, waving her hands a little.

“…oh no, what did you do this time?” The barest glimpses of worry from Gavial did nothing to soothe Blaze, whose expression gave no further comfort as Amiya began to communicate something to her.

“She has not been eating the diet you’ve given her for a while now.”

… why bunny why—

It was that simple announcement, that cold deceleration that turned the Arhcosaruia’s amber eyes turn as hot and as angry as embers. Eyes that focused dead on the cat’s own that began to shrink with terror.

”Hey Amiya,” she begins, through teeth that were so tightly clenched that Blaze swore they were cracking. “Do you mind leaving me with her? I think I need to have a very pointed talk with her to remind her the importance of making sure that she eats right before she goes to her next fight. ”

Gulp—

Amiya stepped away from that room in particular. Leaving Blaze to her demise. 

When she leaves, and that door shuts behind her, the sudden rising of an angry Archosaurian’s voice is muted by the glass. But enough to where her great ears can make out the yells of “ WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DID NOT EAT PROPERLY–?!”

Followed by a string of Gavial’s favorite words to express displeasure.

Words that Amiya does not wish to hear for the sake of the much younger side of Rhodes Island who was just a door away. A room that she visits every so often, because it reminds her just how far the medicine of the company has gotten. 

For before, there was one thing that plagued not only Blaze, but operators like Ms. Saluzzo, like Eyjafalla, and countless others before and with. That damned disease that caused a near irreparable divide between the people and the infected.

How the scars and memories of what it caused still haunt many to this day.

From Captain Fang of Operator team A1, to even the likes of that same Elite Operator she was just doomed to physical lecturing by Gavial. 

And yet, before her own eyes, she was watching all of the troubles fade – at least for the few who have an appointment today. Oh how she can’t help but smile. Let the anger, though brief, of earlier fade away and be replaced by soft joy. A happy rise within herself, something that made her indulge in just a peek through the glass wall.

Within, she watched as many of Rhodes Island’s medics prepare to administer treatment to one of their many infected operators. A treatment that was almost a decade in waiting, and was deployed not too long ago. Just a few years if she asks.

And yet, as she watches the injection happen, watching as a syringe slowly pushes a liquid that has been tested again and again and against the very worst enemy of all of humankind on Terra. 

The thing that ruined jobs, that tore communities to bits, and sent nations into a spiral. And yet here she was, watching as a special liquid was being sent into a person’s body. Not as a treatment, but a cure.

A right and proper cure made by them. Something created in their own labs, by their own research and development department. Brought on by minds across Terra, tested once, twice, and thrice. Not a margin of failure was to be tolerated, it must go right or else.  

“… once you rest for a few days, take some supplements and return to the training…”

Amiya was content. Why would she not be? She just witnessed a poor little caster, who was suffering for years at this point, now get the medicine that she deserves.  

An effective, stop gap cure that works.

Produced by none other than the Doctor himself. 

Granted , Amiya began to ponder, The ingredient that makes this all work is located within his blood . Something that was in that soup of Iron and other nutrients that made up his body that worked swimmingly as a cure. 

Closure was trying to always acquire more, but because of the limitations they can draw it from — which was his body, this cure was not going to be the one that lasts. Although, and Amiya really did need to study this, how is it able to effectively cure, yet still keep our operator’s Arts aptitude still up?

Was it something from his biology? That was a working theory that Closure had. 

But another issue stems is that the ingrediatnt came from the Doctor.

The CEO moved, stepping away from the door to the colorful treatment room and allowing the various medical operators to slowly pour out.  Each of them sweating, or utilizing their fingers to keep their eyelids open.

Despite the seemingly straightforward process that the Cautus witnessed, that did not always mean that it was how it was done definitively. There was a massive dance and backstage for it to work in any reasonable capacity. 

For example, the fact that this resource — the ingredient that makes it work — has to be carefully managed by a team of operators who specifically joined to handle the boring bureaucratic issues of making this cure. The handling to make sure that it doesn't leak or that an actor doesn’t gain knowledge of this pricelessly fluid without them knowing.

Amiya herself, as she congratulated many of the medical operators who just helped make the impossible possible, remembered seeing a stack of papers that was on her desk specifically to handle the movement and transportation of—

Ah! that reminds her. 

Yes, the P.A. called her earlier, she was needed in her main office a floor above her. She straightened up at the realization, and gave one hug to the smaller of the medical operators that was passing by. A warm, comforting one — accompanied with gentle caresses to the young woman’s head. 

“You’re doing great,” she tells them, voice soft and forever kind again. “Another lives on today.” With that said, she begins to step away. Reminded of her original task again, she moves closer and closer to the the big administrative complex. The big office area where she was needed. Where she was summoned of course. 

That is where she was needed the most. Where Kal’tsit explicitly desired for her to come because there was something worthy of her attention. Well, she shouldn’t exactly phrase it like that. But something important was happening. And thankfully, she knew exactly what it was.

She was always excited about this. Always happy to leave the office she had that as so close to where every of the operators were and go up into this realm of paperwork, of computers, and of bureaucrats that do all of the unnown internal work that keeps the company running. These were heroes in their own right, and there is no reason to steal that away from them.

Without them , Amiya quietly remarks, watching a few papers be submitted to a faxing machine. Some of our orders and our supplies would never arrive on time. They were the Lawsends who made sure that the pen and paperwork of the good of Rhodes Island can be done without getting in the way of any missions.

Though… and she giggled walking away from those winds and into these more comfortable halls. There is always operators who somehow manage to add a little bit more work to these poor delicate office personnel. And that’s okay. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it does not. It doesn’t hurt the organization too much.

And if it helps him more, then all the more for it.  And speaking of him… 

She was close, so close again. Her eyes landing on a familiar decorated door in his own style. It spoke simple, yet tactical to her. A little beautiful thing that showed security through those features, but also joy and comfort from the little stickers and operator-placed decorations all around its rim. 

The lights on the door were bright and shined with endless power, a fitting little addition to who she was meeting today. A photo of who he is was present on the centerpiece of the door, surrounded by trinkets given by the operators who were the closest to him. The ones that were the happiest closest to him.

A little apple pie sticker, part of a pocky box. A little bit of a black crystal. Part of a bottle of Rhodes Island’s own supply. Bandages, little flowers, muddied stones even. There was no denying that they loved him. That they — even evidenced  with the little blackened crystals — that they were all ready for him any time.

That realization, one happy one she has been seeing for years now, always gave her the silliest reasons to smile. The happiest motivation to reach forward to the handle. The goofy confidence that allowed her to turn that handle with pure confidence, eyes shut in joy, and call out within the walls of the room. 

Something she has said thousands of times, and will say it for thousands more.

”Okaeri, Dokutah! ”

Chapter Text

November 31st, 2051

Down the hallways they went. Excited boots and heels moving with vapid joy. The angel leading the hooded leader through halls full of people. “Good morning Doctor!” Was a voice that passed by him, a Liberi office worker who was gripping a folder that was likely full of great spreadsheets. Each line has many things, finances, reports on operators. Everything critical to the function of Rhodes Island.

And yet, despite this incredible responsibility, here she was. A woman, in a nice dress with suit and tie, working with operators and smiling like she’s living the dream. It was such an unassuming image, this person who probably only knows the desktop and the computer.

There’s a certain hilarity to that.

Not working for a pharmaceutical organization with an armed force that would make some of the smallest and even major countries of Terra shake and tremble at the idea of even mobilizing. Such a cognitive dissonance that was to be expected. How can this kindred woman come from a company that claims to be a medical company, and yet have a small armed force that will give the rebels of Bolivar a little bit of a scare.

Exusiai continued to bring him along. The distant signs and the glowing lights that illuminated their path being decorated with the range of operators and pupils who were trained in an incredible range of skills. But, as the gun angel was reminding him, he was not going to worry about that. 

As Amiya on his trail made her step, he was enjoying the simplicity of it all. Being moved along, passing by people who worked for the organization that he loved. That he was under, sure, but that he dearly loved. Each and every person, he devised strategies so they can all come home, come home safe. Come home with as minimal casualties as possible.

Everything that ran through the esoteric landscape that made up his mind. Each flash of life being added to the growing memory bank that worked in the recesses of his mind. Each smiling face, each hand tilted to drink coffee, each person in the office windows that worked to make lives better around the world. 

Here he was a big part of it, for it was his mind - whose body was being dragged along by the angel - that was able to decide the lives and deaths of many people. It was then, Amiya was able to get in front of the two, she was giggling - laughing as though they were playing a game.

“Slow down!” Called the Cautus, whose hand reached for the Angel’s free grip and took hold of it. “If you go any faster, you might hit somebody!” A flourish of the wings that lined the back of the playful woman greeted the bunny. 

”But we’re almost there!” She said in reply, “And plus they have that brand new apple turnover I want to try!” Was her argument in reinforcement. She continued her leading of the group, Texas now joining them in moving him forward.

A scent began to waft towards them, sweet smells akin with a Columbian breakfast. Honey, syrup, bacon, sugar. The distant sound of cooking flames, shifting dishes, and rousing conversation… oh, he began to think, we’re almost there.

The door and signs that led to where all of the food in Rhodes Island is prepared. The smells of good cooked meals — hot, ready, and being served on mass — was incredible. It was then the Angel’s halo glowed that golden shine, a response natural for her — for any Sankta really. 

Columbia’s breakfasts were always a treat of sugar to challenge the sugarcube laden streets of Laterano. He remembers them to be such an excess that will manage to make even the most sweet loving race try and consume smaller amounts than they normally would.

”Yahoo~!” Exusiai yelled as she stepped around the doorway, the Doctor almost slinging around and towards the other door. Thankfully, this time Texas was able to catch him — by catch she meant to completely blunt him by standing in the way. “We made it!” Was her cheerful declaration, holding up the Doctor’s hand as though they just ran and won a marathon.

An ironic thing considering how many of them probably could outpace even the best athletes from some of the finest private trainers across Terra. Texas alone — as he occasionally observed whenever he comes across her — can and probably have beaten out the fastest feline runner in Victoria.

He took a good whiff into the air, and smelled something from of the dining hall, a good reminder of what time it was. Breakfast time.

Texas soon placed a familiar tin tray and a new coffee mug within his hands, as the two materials clinked against his chestplate. He looked down and noticed that one of them has some cute familiar stickers to an academy, smiling as he looked up. As he done so, he saw that unforgettable winking face holding the frying pan, a little ursine who loves to cook.

However, he knows why she loves to cook, which almost made him upset if it wasn't for the fact that she felt important doing it. How she is fully committed to using her skills, her coping mechanism, to ensure that this organization got the best meal they ever got. As he walks up to the station, he knows that he will see that cook face to face soon as he waits in line, as he begins to think about what is going to add to his tray for his nice hot meal.  

“Hah?” he heard suddenly, as eyes that belonged to the sticker began to look at him now. The youthful, full voice rivaling Amiya in just how cute she was he began to eye the familiar bed of golden haired ursine ears. 

“Doctor!” She calls out excitedly, a smile growing to tilt every corner of her lips up and up. It took the arm off another line chef to stop her from going forward and trying to hug him over the plexiglass protection there. The little gum wrapper accessory that rested in the soft brushes of her hair. 

“Good morning!” Excitedly she cheers. “Are you hungry?” As enthusiastically as she prepared to serve him, the metal came forward with a deliciously sugary aroma. Before him, on the skillet was the fluffy body of a delicious pan pastry that was already covered with all of the berries and syrups that he liked. 

Fresh red strawberries out of Gaul and a special syrup from a territory north of Columbia. A recipe that – thanks to one of his offices telling him of an infected situation - Rhodes Island is able to produce it with confidence. In such volumes that they were paying royalties to the original parent company.

Because it was a damn good syrup. A lot of it was sold to Laterano and they made-

He shook his head, as it's not important for him to remember right now, there is more important matters at hand, as he have his reassuring smile, with a soft reply of, “Yes I am, thank you, Lemuen.” A little spark that made the young woman’s heart pulse and a toothy, silly grin filled every of her features. There we go, he tells himself, smile everyday. “Do you mind giving me another of your delicious pancakes?”

Bright joy radiated from her, a giggle coming as she grabs another frying pan and deposits to him a freshly made pastry. “There you go, Doctor!” he nods, reaching over and giving her a head pat. Soft, gentle - mindful of the ears. 

“Thank you again. You know how much I love your pancakes.” He complimented, and he never lied whenever he referred to the meals that she put on his plate. Seldom have they ever been bad, always made with love, joy, and care. No shortcuts, no substitutions. She always gave him 100% everywhere.

As all operators did for him, he did it for them as well. The effort they gave, he returned tenfold in rewards, in care, and personal attention from him. Ensuring that each operator operates at their best, while giving their best, and maintaining that best. That is what gave him success, that is what caused many to succeed in Rhodes Island.

“Hehehe… enjoy!” was her wish to him, allowing him to move along the line, being ushered by an Exusiai who was so joyful and happy. Eying the great deal of food that has been blessed by the very thing that makes the Angels of Terra sing with joy. 

”Whoaaa~” she lets out, her eyes sparkling in parceled with the glitters and glows of her eyes. “She placed way more berries in that one than she did for mine, she must really be in a good mood today!” A giggle, sneaky but joyful, nonetheless came. 

“That she must be…” he remarks, a smile painting his own features. Everyday when his operators were happy was almost always a good day. This is almost being on account of caution. There was always going to be something that ruins it, or just makes it into as great as expected, and that’s a given at this point with how Rhodes Island operates a good amount of the day to day.

That was something he had to worry about. 

As he was grabbing some toast, bacon, and other fixings and piling them onto his plate, he was also concerned about the nature of his relationships with the other operators. His concern was about each and every person that willingly put pen to contract and came aboard the landship.

Were they happy? All of them unified in a way that would ensure their maximum Efficiency and attachment? That they were valued? That everything they do makes sure that they get rewarded their proper due? He has pioneered this, again and again every time he even tries to grab some toast and prepare for some basic breakfast.

Nobody seemed to mind him. In fact, Amiya nearby was rubbing his shoulder and back a certain way. One of the few responses she has to moments where he has entered the intriguing twirl of sparks and mental dancing. She always lets them happen, for at the end of it he is always overwhelmed by a clarity and lucidity never before seen. 

It is because of moments like these that show off the brilliance of Rhodes Island. There, entering the unique frontier that makes up the mind of himself, he was able to discover and make solutions to problems and future threats that sometimes not even Priestess could fully predict.

”I think Lemuel’s here…” Exusiai wandered near him, her plate piled high with everything that came out of the Sankta managed area of the cafeteria. A sugary, dripping mess of cakes, donuts, and other sweets that enticed him. A familiar sight, with how often the Sankta was with him anytime he went with her to eat. “Yeah, she is!” Cheers the star Sankta of Penguin Logistics.

With a quick gesture of her ungloved digits, his attention was brought to a table towards the center. There, seated comfortably in a fairly cushioned chair, was the pink haired step sister that cared so dearly for the Strawberry hair gun enthusiast. The older Angel smiles as she spots the little group that the Doctor was in. 

“Come,” she gestures with the subtle flick of her wrist. “Come and bring my sister.” 

The Doctor smiled at the woman, who seemed content enjoying her morning sweet soup. Yanese Tong Sui, that is what she was feasting on today with something from Kjera that was loaded with all sorts of fruits. Glazed in a delicious caramel coating, sprinkled with sugar… a familiar slice from a great capital of Terra’s religion.  

Not the great capital, for Laterano still holds dominion on that title. So long as the pope is there and that the Apostolic Knights are in power, Laterano’s position as the teller of the Law will remain incredible. But besides the geopolitics and setting them in the back of his head, he was going to focus on speaking with her. Sitting down and having an Honest to the Law conversation with her.

”Ah, Doctor,” she speaks, her tone calm and smooth amidst the tides of song and cheer. She looks up from her simpler meal, staring towards the fine strategist who helped her walk again with a steady warmth in her eyes. “Please, come take a seat.” An offer that he was willing to take since thanks to the fairly empty table that she was at, there was enough for him, Amiya, Exusiai, and Texas. 

The scraping of a rubber foot against tile immediately was his report, joining Lemuen with a breakfast he began to eagerly dig into. “How have you been?” The Doctor asks her, listening as Exusiai scrambles to help Texas into her own seat. The sight of the angel and the Doctor caused a subtle radiant glow from the halo and wings that made up the calmer pink haired woman. Her mood improved… good.

”I’ve been doing well, thank you so much o’ leader of Rhodes Island,” her response was laced with teasing. A respect for his authority, combined with the carefree nature of a Sankta like her. She sat up, making herself more comfortable. Sitting up, which she never thought she would be able to do for a long time. 

Although, he idly wondered back to some anecdotes that he had heard from Exusiai. How, even in a wheelchair, Lemuen had the dexterity and cunning to be able to snipe at enemies while within her wheelchair… “How are you, I must ask?” She questions, eating a caramelized apple that brought a smile to her face, “This company has only gotten busier since I last visited from Laterano, so i would like to know.”

He smiled and leaned back within his seat, not hesitating as he responded with a suave, “Same as always, my lady.” Soon enough, he begins to chip away at the lovely panned sweet treats. His fork melted through the softness and started to bring tastes of it to him. His teeth sank into the soft, yet crispy goodness and his tongue lapped at the nectar that sweetened the deal. “Ever since we started to move with Columbia against Kazdel, it got really busy then.”

”Hah, I heard,” the Angel states — though her tone suggested that the comment was in approving tease by the way her head tilted to the right. “Went across the world. You were everywhere.”

”That he was!” Merrily Cheers Exusiai who came to his side, after finishing a tart and a conversation with Amiya — the Cautus quick to pivot speaking with Texas after exiting whatever she just spoke with the Sankta about. “Hey there sister!”

”Ah…” Lemuen’s gaze turned to her and she brightened up further. The glow was so radiant and so happy that he could feel its warmth — its blanketing, delicious warmth — bless him. Bless him, haha…  To describe a blessing from such a wonderful individual… “Hello there, Lemuel.”

“Hey hey,” she winked at her step sister, flashing a thumbs up as illuminated and lively as the sun itself. Her eyes scanned, glowing when she saw the lack of the artificial support that haunted Lemuen for a greater segment of her life. “I see that your new legs got you out and about again!”

The two sisters instantly reconnected, their halos flickering. The little shards that made up the wings that they glide on glimmered with the hope and the connection of family. That reminds me, a little thought that came to him. Wrapped In a little gift basket of memories, he remembers administering the treatment that gave Lemuen her freedom again.

It was a rather pleasing and blissful affair. An explosive adventure that helped bring her mobility

”And it’s all thanks to you, Doctor.” Cheers the Angel. Her hands had clapped together and her eyes shut in a dramatic follow up. “Who has seen his work everywhere, yes? From the lovely shores of Siesta to even Bolivar’s civil war torn countryside. You have been everywhere, Doctor! I think you would have such a long list if you tried to remember each and every location that you were at.”

”Where haven’t I been in is probably a shorter answer,” was his amused response. An honest one at that. His repertoire of locations and happenings. “I think the farthest west of Columbia is one of them…”

“And the far south of Sargon,” Amiya pipes up, liberated from her meal that she just finished — taking up stock so the Doctor can continue the consumption of his own meal. “We have seen creatures that most of the world doesn’t know about, and we have fought nightmares that come from the very deep.”

”Oh, that reminds me I have heard that the Doctor was able to visit even Aegir?” Lemuen excitedly asks, her plate and bowl thoroughly finished — almost leaning over the table. “Exusiai said that you brought her along for that mission, so how was it?”

The Doctor leaned back in his seat, resting his arm on the backrest of the bunny CEO’s seat. “It was… interesting,” he recalled, letting his mind back into the halls of his memories to run. “We actually got artillery support from a leader named Clementia, a lovely technology consul that we are still in contact with. The seaborne was wiped out in seconds when the shells fell.”

”Wow…” 

“Yeah,” Exusiai butts in, all smiles and jumpy, “It was sooo cool! Some of the explosions got too close to even Lappland!” As she began to explain, Amiya tugged on the arm of the Doctor.

”While we wish we could sit and listen to you 3 all day,” she says. “Me and the Doctor need to meet Kal’tsit within the Medical bay soon, sorry we have to cut this conversation off…” Lemuen glowed, not out of offense, but quiet understanding.

”Oh no, it is fine!” She explains, keeping that warm smile — rubbing the back of her head. The woman, in her nature, brought Exusiai - “Hey!” - in for a hug with a smile. “All that gives me is more time to catch up with my beloved sister!”

A happy little compromise then. The Doctor is satisfied with that knowledge, since these happy Sankta can speak with each other once again. Mostima is probably not too far away, knowing her, so the Doctor will probably hear from the red haired gun angel once those 3 are done…

Or maybe from Texas. She was always keen, always ready to listen. Amiya helped him from his seat, lifting him up despite the exoskeleton. “Come on Doctor, let’s go meet Dr. Kal’tsit.” A little upstart to his day that he looked forward to. To see the old girl who has been working for so long, working so hard…

Fully upright out of his seat, he turns and gives Exusiai and Texas a proper farewell. “I will see you all next time,” he reassures with a smile, bringing Exusiai and the Lupo to bid him their goodbyes.

”Hey, next time Doc,“ promises the Sankta, “I’ll bring you my new recipe for Apple-Blueberry pie!” She winks at him, flashing him a thumbs up. “I promise it’s going to be amazing!”

”Can’t wait,” the man says beginning his move, “See ya!” He and the CEO began to exit the lively atmosphere. Leaving, he witnessed happy calls of many operators. The chatter which intensified around him. He eyed every source, every horned warrior, every helmeted operator, and the hooded reserves who were here and having a good time. These are the ones who came for opportunity, and they received.

As he stepped away, he kept that in his mind. Kept a picture and memory of what he was seeing. Each smiling face was all possible because of what he did. His mind and tactics… and a little bit of charisma. Entering that hallway, they were back into the rush of it all.

”About Kal’tsit…” the Doctor begins to ponder. His eyes going over to Amiya who walked next to him with a noticeable bounce in her step. She turned to him with a lilt of her head, a smile on her lips. “Yes, Dokutah ?”

He felt warmth rush through his being, and in response he wrapped a hooded arm around the CEO. It elicited a giggle from the young woman, who easily sought out the familiar heat that he gave her. With them close, waving at the many individuals who marched on by, he found it easy to begin conversation again. 

“What do you think she wants to do today?” He began to theorize, his free hand to his chin while nodding his head at a few workers from the Karlan Trade Co. that were visiting today. 

“I mean,” says the Cautus, “we know at this point that you reporting to the main office is just her way of saying come to me wherever I am, right?” She huffed, a cute exaggerated thing. “I know it, Blaze knows it, most of the elite operators know it. It’s just what is it this time?”

Always a question, yet it’s always a fun one to try and decipher. Because one has to ask, what exactly is she panning for them today? She always has something new for them; an event, a deal, or maybe a new operation - something always awaited whenever she says “CEO Amiya, report to the main office” over that intercom.

Or sometimes it’s just another mundane day. Anything was essentially possible beyond that point; and he had to be prepared for any request, any report, and any emergencies. Though, the amount of emergencies had been duly mitigated thanks to more operators and a greater organized network for their command. An upgrade to PRTS if one wills.

“Is she in the medical bay right now?” The doctor’s intuition speaks to him. Appearing to him like a detective, him in another life if he has to believe one of his more telepathically aligned operators.. ”That is where she has been taking us for the last four times around.”  

“Maybe she can be in the meeting rooms,” another side of him predicts, “Rhine Labs is getting progressively more busy after all…” All of them were valid theories on her whereabouts. The Lynx, in tandem with what that side thought of that company, is always working. Here and there, she was: instructing new workers, working on files, or even getting her hands dirty in the labs…

“Where do you think she is?” The Doctor asked Amiya in turn, whose ears twitched playfully. her head rearing in one direction, eyes laying on a familiar red cross emblem. The Doctor stared at it for a moment, smiling as he realized that he entered, essentially, her domain. Where most of her power and knowledge is concentrated.

The Medical Bay of Rhodes Island. That is where they are now. The simple and biggest part of the company. It was in its name, that was the entire biggest industry on part of what made them a big name. Treatment, and even the eventual cure of Oripathy. A disease, a tumor on the societal structure of the world.

And here, if Amiya’s intuition is correct, he will find Kal’tsit within. He gave a nod to the bunny, before beginning to punch his credentials into a holographic keypad. Drawn up from his memories, it was a simple number sequence that anybody could remember with just a little bit of effort. He always had to know this one, it was part of his duty after all. 

He’s a tactician, yes, but also he is a Doctor after all. And what kind of doctor would he be without knowing how to treat the people he was working with. “I hope that she has something fun for us to talk about this time,“ Amiya hoped, her eyes sparkling. “I remember you two talked for hours after having a delicious hot stew from Lungmen.”

”Was it really for hours?” He questioned, playful skepticism lining his tone as he brings her in and plants a soft, but affectionate kiss to the crown of her head again. “I recall Blaze telling us to knock it off once it barely even reached half an hour.” 

A smile reached him, “I remember her exact words that she told us, and I think she was drunk too: ’Hic’” he mimicked as the code was being processed by the pad - I think this was the door W was complaining about…”’stop talking so loud you two, everybody on this floor can hear ye all!’” The recollection made Amiya almost burst into laughter, especially when she remembers that she had to deal with the aftermath of that.

The door hissed, and the two continued their conversation. “Oh yeah , ahaha!” Amiya began to giggle, holding up the tablet she was holding and beginning to press through it. “Oh, I remember, Blaze came to my room not too long after and filed a complaint .”

“Haha… that must have been fun,” the man remarks, thinking about how ridiculous that must have looked. “Went across the entire landship, all to come complain to you about that…” They were laughing about it, themselves light and their spirits high. Their entrance into the medical bay was not unnoticed, with the Doctor readily being approached by a few individuals.

”Congratulations, Doctor,” the lead says, her Liberi feathers ruffling for a moment. In her hand was a clipboard, lined with green check marks all the way down the column that matters. “Thanks to that new formula, we were able to systematically eliminate Oripathy in 7 patients. They’re expected to be fully healthy within the next week if their recovery goes well!”

”That’s good, that’s really good…” it was then he looked through the windows within the hallway. These windows lead directly into large pharmaceutical labs and testing rooms, each room filled with personnel who toiled tirelessly, yet with smiles on their faces. Knowing that their efforts could make the difference.

Of course , the Doctor began to think, his eyes focusing yet softening all the same. You cannot do all of this without training. Without a head to guide the new generation the methods to make it all happen. And that is where she stepped in. That is where this woman, of unimaginable wisdom and age, shows her strength.

And when she felt his gaze on her, her head gracefully turned to face him. The snowy white, pure as marble strands flowed like silk. Her green eyes glittered like emerald jewels in the desert sun. Her body, her skin, smooth constructs of incredible care that she imposed on herself.

She was in the middle of handling students of course. Teaching them the basics, bringing them through the loops. She had been stern, she had been professional, enshrining the idea that these that she taught were ready against any potential point of failure, Ready to correct, ready to adapt.

Yet, despite this instructor level behavior she was showing now, it was eclipsed by the softness she adopted upon the sight of him. How her shoulders relaxed from their normally uptight finish, her eyes - sharp like the crystals - became soft like the leaves. He saw her, and she saw him .

And she smiled, a small one that barely registered to her students. But to him, to Amiya who was speaking with the doctors, the little tilt of her lips was undeniably there . Ah, her eyes seem to say, There you are.

There you are. 

The Doctor saunters to the door, slow deliberate steps as though he was walking down the aisle again. His memories bring back to the pews and the whiteness that awaits the newly re-kindled. Opening the door, he hears the song of pipes and the singing of Sanktans. A floral scent reached his nostrils, like petals tossed by the youth. And though he entered a room full of students, he cannot help but feel he has entered a room of family and good friends.

Like he has done it before in a matrimony. Entering the door and allowing the students to leave left only the desks, the equipment, and soon the Cautus who was set to enter. She followed behind, hands and the tablet modestly resting before her stomach, so she can be witness to the intricate slow dance between the two leaders. The Doctor stood before her, who offered the full front of herself to him with a smile only he got to see.

It never stopped being beautiful for him, how he felt warmth seeing the old lynx smile like that. How she felt her heart race again, and her body relaxed. Staring at each other, blinking slowly and letting time come to a crawl. 

They never stopped enjoying this, did they? Every day, every morning. Slight variations each and every time. But they always end the same. The slow, deliberate approach into the room that she was in. Each and every beginning he had with her since that day, the two sauntered to each other. 

One - looks like Kal’tsit’s leading this time - reached a hand out and began to gently caress and rub against his shoulder. Slow, her digits a gentle tap from the pinky to the index. The thumb after a couple of cycles. He responded as he would. His hands slowly came around under her arms and slowly embraced her. His hands massaging the in between of the shoulder blades. Slowly, tapping near where her spine is which made her buzz with a gentle appreciation.

Tapping his shoulder was then greeted by her reaching her other arm. Slowly around his head her hand went. Her silky digits slowly caressing the back of hiis neck, and the soft tufted highlights of his hair. Body heat began to be exchanged as the two squeezed, the couple finding themselves closer once again. 

The smile of Amiya was near to them, and despite the Doctor resting the underside of his chin on Kal’tsit’s crown - a gesture she has been willing to accept for a long time now. She looks up at him, tasking in one breath before letting it out in one phrase she adopted.

” Okaeri, Doctor .” 

And it brought a smile to his face hearing that.