Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

JUNE 7, 2044

The wind rustled through the empty valley, smoothly passing over the decrepit base situated between the mountains as the soldiers defending it milled about in what could be seen as ‘anxiousness’. There was a tentative calm behind the walls of the massive stone walls, one that was sure to not last much longer.

Still, that didn’t mean that Stronghold 5-5 wouldn’t enjoy it while they could.

Three Dominians, three Nusians, and a Guesan all went about doing their own things, mostly involving taking stock of their situation and preparing for the inevitable siege that would come knocking on their nonexistent gates.

A Dominian in a boilersuit diligently checked up on their machines every now and then, making sure that everything important was in working order as he placed buildings here and there. As soon as he was satisfied with what he saw, he made his way over to a F.A.S.T. and teleported to higher ground.

The marksman situated on top of the hills didn’t flinch as he heard the teleporter come to life beside him. “Do our weapon printers still work?” the Recon casually asked, scouring the plains with his H15 as he had been doing hours ago.

“Yes sir,” the Engineer replied, looking around as he put his hands on his hips. “You know, I really wish we were allowed to keep that platform for a bit. Would’ve been pretty nice to have a walking artillery piece patrolling around here.”

Lu Ten sighed as he finally glanced back at him. “Yes, I’m sure a walking artillery piece in the middle of a narrow valley would be perfect.” He sarcastically chuckled at the thought. “No, it was definitely for the best that we handed it over to the rest of the Dominion. With our luck, they’ll start rolling platforms out of the production lines in no time, and we’ll finally be able to give the Republic a taste of its own medicine.”

The other Dominian grinned at the thought. “Yeah, now that you mention it, it would be amazing seeing the looks on their faces when we use their own tech against them.” He whistled as he made his way back to the F.A.S.T. “Well, I’ll be heading back. Later, sir.”

The Recon waved him off as he disappeared in a flash of light, leaving him alone on the hills surrounding the base once more.

Elsewhere, a Nusian, a Guesan, and a Dominian were standing on top of the gates, enjoying the wind on their faces as the three of them took a long-deserved rest. “Gotta say, it’s a bit weird for the brass to just send us away from the front like that,” one of the three men remarked.

The Nusian hummed to himself as he looked at the empty ( So far ,) plains ahead of them. “They’re probably not very happy about us having three Nusians in our ranks, with two of them being former prisoners taken from the enemy and all that.” He shook his head. “You’d think being in a losing war would open their minds a little, but I guess you can’t change how politicians think, no matter what country they may hail from.”

The Dominian in the orange uniform finally chimed in. “They did open their minds when we told them about how they could benefit from this,” he replied. “They wanted us to hand over all of the prisoners, including Gaia and Tempest.” The Medic crossed his arms, staring at the sky. “If we didn’t manage to capture almost all of their equipment intact, we wouldn’t have been able to convince them to let us ‘take care’ of the two brats.”

The Guesan snapped his head towards the Medic. “You seem to really not like Gaia even after she started working with us,” the Assault mumbled.

“I don’t trust that easily, and so far she only seems to have joined us out of a sense of self-preservation.” He narrowed his eyes. “She’s going to need to commit a lot more than that before I start believing that she really is on our side, and not just because it’s convenient for her.”

There was a sort of tentative silence after that, with none of the three breaking it, too engrossed in their own thoughts to bother.

“So, how fast do you think the Dominion is gonna crack the code and start sending those bad boys out to our weapon printers?” the Guesan finally asked. “I can’t wait to have my own tesla cannon, did you see the damage that thing did to the field when the kid used it on us?”

The Medic gave a sarcastic chuckle. “You’re daft if you think I’m going to let you get your hands on one of those. You’re annoying enough to constantly hover around and heal as it is.”

The Scout, meanwhile, placed a hand to his chin, thinking. “Probably less than a month. We kept those things as intact as we could, and both of the kids told us everything they knew about their gear.” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. Why the fuck was Nusia making teenagers field test their own shit?

And then he remembered that something like that was partially the reason he left the Republic in the first place. Nevermind. I’m not surprised.

“Hm.” The Guesan stretched his arms, yawning as he did so. “Well, I’m beat. Gonna go down and might check our stuff, I wanna remember how many Reserves I have saved up.”

“See ya,” the Nusian said, watching him slide down the outer wall in the corner of his eye as he continued to stare at the fields below.

“Remind me again how this is better than being in Nusia?”

Gaia rolled her eyes, trying to come off as sarcastic as she fiddled with her new medic bow (something that the actual Medic in Stronghold 5-5 had been forced to teach her how to use, much to their shared displeasure). “For one, we aren’t stuck in a materialistic, brutal republic trying to use us to do their bidding.”

“Yes,” Tempest snarked, giving her a smile of suppressed irritation, “we’re just stuck serving a militaristic empire instead. What a vast improvement this is.”

The young woman gave him a forlorn look. “Come on, at least we’re not Nusia’s special fodder now. We can make a real difference, do some actual good!”

“Mhm, and we’ll die trying since you put us on the losing side of the war.” Tempest gave a heavy sigh, closing his eyes as he leaned back and held his brand new H94 to his chest. “You can barely handle that bow they made you use, and I was just a truck driver in the Guesan civil war!” He moaned as he put his hand to his face. “How am I supposed to keep the two of us alive if neither of us have the only weapons we were ever trained to use?!”

Gaia looked away, feeling the guilt dull her anger as she let her shoulders sag. Didn’t think this through. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Maybe parents were right. She sighed, finally looking back at him as he pursed his lips and stared at the sky.

“You two bickering or something?”

Both Nusians turned to glare at the newcomer, a Guesan with a tacky orange helmet and goggles that were definitely not fit for actual combat. “I just got here to check on my Reserves, but you two are uh, pretty distracting.”

The 19 year old cocked his eyebrow at the other man. “I’m sorry, are you just going to pretend like I didn’t try roasting you and your friends alive in Luo-he?”

“Wow.” The Assault gave a wry grin. “Someone’s mad. Yeah, I will. You’re stuck with a gun you don’t know how to use, and you’re stuck with us, since the alternative was getting tossed into prison as P.O.W. Besides, no use in hard feelings. I did cut some of your squadron up in self-defense.”

Tempest narrowed his eyes at the Guesan from behind his goggles.

The Guesan coolly stared back at him from behind his own goggles, crossing his arms as he leaned back. “You know, I did also cut like three of her escorts down in Luo-he way before you arrived,” he said, gesturing at Gaia, “and yet she’s not complaining.”

“ I’m not complaining because I had way better reasons to insult you and the rest of the squad back then,” she grumbled. “I think I still do now.”

The man snickered as he walked past them and towards the machine. “Yeah, sure. Go sort your shit out, lovebirds. I’m not cut out for therapy sessions anyways.” And with that, he began to operate one of the weapon printers, checking his arsenal for anything that he could upgrade as the two Nusians glared at his back.

“Are you just stupid or what?” The 19 year old Nusian took a deep breath. “We’re NOT DATING!” Tempest yelled at him.

“That’s what they all say,” the Guesan replied, staring at the screen in front of him as he typed away.

“I see him as a big brother, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Gaia hissed, pointedly ignoring the surprised look on the other Nusian’s face as he glanced at her.

“My bad,” the Assault mumbled, putting his grenade launcher in the machine and hitting enter. “How about I just call you that just to rile you two up? It’s hilarious!”

Tempest took a deep, calming breath. “I will kill you,” he simply said, feeling the wind whistle through the field dramatically at his statement.

“You’ll try.” The Guesan looked back at him. “Hey, since you wanna be such a little bitch about not having your weapon back, how about I let you use something close to it while you’re busy coddling her?”

“What’re you-” The Nusian was cut off as he was forced to let go of his rifle to catch the grenade launcher thrown at him. “Are you fucking insane!? What if I… accidentally…” He held the grenade launcher up, staring at it in disbelief. “How is this thing going to help me?”

The Assault walked over to him, taking the grenade launcher out of his hands in one swift movement. “You hold it like a shotgun,” he said, demonstrating it for the younger man, “and you load it in this breech here, in front of the trigger, below the barrel.” He placed his other hand on the underside of the launcher, before quickly searching his pockets for a dud and loading it.

“Now, remember, this thing drops, it’s no lightning bolt of death like your old cannon, but it should do a similar amount of damage if you hit every grenade.” He aimed at a bush in the distance. “You can also split it up into four grenades that deal more damage together than a normal one, but deal less damage individually. So don’t miss more than two grenades.” Then, he fired, and the dud split into four dummy rounds before disappearing into the bush.

The Guesan looked back at Tempest.

The 19 year old Nusian stared at him, slack-jawed at the demonstration. He kept staring at him, even as the other man walked over and held one hand out expectantly. Finally, Tempest blinked himself out of his stupor. “Wha-?”

“Give me your grenade launcher,” the Guesan ordered.

Tempest robotically took out his grenade launcher and placed it in the soldier’s waiting hand. He didn’t pull his hand back until the pump-action grenade launcher was back in his clutches, pulling it to himself as the other man briskly walked back behind the confines of the wall.

“...what was that about?” Gaia mumbled under her breath.

The other Nusian looked at the weapon in his hands. “Dunno. But hey, if it means some form of familiarity…” He trailed off, remembering how horrifying it was to kill someone with that cannon. Breathe, damn it. I’m a soldier, and I can- I WILL use this. Even if I… have to blow my fellow countrymen… to bits…

His face fell as he held the grenade launcher close to his chest, as if he was holding his old tesla cannon again. It wasn’t comforting in the slightest. Not that it was before, but at least it was familiar. This would take another month or so to get used to.

Fuck. My. Life.

Back on the hill, the Recon carefully watched the plains ahead, calmly surveying the area for the… He’d frankly lost count at this point. Sighing, he was just about to get up and go rest, when something moved in the corner of his scope.

The Dominian marksman immediately honed in on it and saw several flashes of blue, yellow, and green, all moving towards the base. He hummed to himself in displeasure, tapping his headset to make sure that it was on. “Everyone, back inside the walls. We’ve got Nusians moving in on us,” he warned.

With that out of the way, he prepared to fire on the advancing infantry… only to see them raise their N2A2s threateningly at the fields below. “Oh,” he muttered, realizing who exactly they were aiming at, “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Down in the fields, Tempest grimaced as he and Gaia hid behind the small hill. The small hill which was the only thing standing between them and certain death. He held his breath, hearing the footsteps slowly inch closer and closer to their ‘hiding spot’. Blowing someone to bits with a grenade was starting to seem slightly more appealing to him by the second…

Thankfully, he was spared the difficulty of making the choice as bullets began raining down on the infantry, causing them to turn their attention elsewhere. ‘Elsewhere’ in this case being the top of the outer wall, as there was a Governor PDC (that wasn’t there a minute ago) swiveling around, firing at the closest soldier it could lock on to.

He almost let out the breath that he didn’t know he was holding when a Nusian soldier ran up to them, likely not expecting anyone since he immediately stopped and pointed his rifle at them. “What the- HEY! Why are you two using Dominian equipment!?” he barked.

Tempest was about to reply (with a grenade) when the other Nusian’s head popped like a yellow, fleshy balloon. It took everything in him not to dry-heave at the grisly sight. Instead, he forced himself to remember why he was stuck here with her in the first place.

So before anything else could happen, he grabbed Gaia by the arm and hurriedly led her through the base’s archway, getting them to safety as the rest of the squad mopped up the remaining troops. As soon as he was sure they were in the clear, he breathed a sigh of relief and looked around.

It didn’t take him long to realize that they were right in front of another infantry squadron, and that all of them had their guns drawn at them.

“S-Special Infantry Private Fulgur,” one of the soldiers stammered out, “you and Private Gaia are to be taken in for-”

The man’s words trailed off as he heard the hiss of a jetpack high above. All of them looked up at the sky, watching as a lone figure began descending from the heavens. Suddenly, Tempest felt his grenade launcher get wrenched out of his grip. The young man turned to look at the thief-

His ears rang as the infantry squad in front of them exploded , sent to the afterlife in multiple pieces from four cluster grenades. The 19 year old blinked the dust out of his eyes, rubbing at his face as he instinctively backed away from the gruesome scene before him. He could faintly hear the sound of something being pumped and an empty container clattering to the ground behind him.

Beside him, Gaia shoved the grenade launcher back in his arms, breathing heavily as she stared at what was left of the Nusian squadron. “...fuck,” she mumbled under her breath.

“W-wh… what have you done?” Tempest struggled to ask, turning to look at her with a horrified expression.

“I saved us,” Gaia quickly replied, though it was obvious that she was also trying to grapple with the consequences of her actions. “If we were dragged back to Nusia, they would’ve killed us or done worse for being captured.” She left out the part where they were both also now serving with the enemy’s military, since Nusia already had enough of a reason to want them dead.

The young man gulped, nodding tersely as he looked around them. “Nobody else here?” He immediately jumped as the Scout landed next to him, glancing at their ( Gaia’s ) handiwork with an impressed hum.

He looked back at them and nodded. “Not bad,” he remarked, “but I won’t always be here to distract them for you two. You need to get used to your new allegiance.” And with that, the other Nusian flew off, heading to the other side of the base and leaving them by themselves.

Fulgur took his goggles off and wiped his eyes, taking deep, calming breaths as Gaia did the same next to him. Then, once that was done, he put his goggles back on and steeled himself for whoever they would kill next. “I’m ready,” he said, loading another shell into his weapon’s breech.

Gaia nodded, following him as he went after the Scout. “I hope so,” she grumbled, her eyes darting left and right.

And it was good that she did, because he would’ve gotten his bones broken if she hadn’t seen what was coming. “Cloaker!” she hissed, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him back right as that godawful droning blared from his left and rushed past him.

The yellow blur screeched to a halt a few feet to his right, turning to face them just as quickly as both of them took a cautious step back. “Fulgur Salamasi! You and Private Gaia Evergreen are guilty of desertion, assisting enemy combatants, and stealing Nusian equipment!” The cloaker began to close in on them, her goggles glowing more intensely the longer she spoke. “For your crimes against the Republic of Nusia, you two are to be brought back to Dracstor and court-martialed! So surrender now, and I’ll make this quick.”

Gaia looked at him. Tempest frowned in response, trying to calm himself as he stared the cloaker down. “And if I refuse?”

“If you refuse,” the other Nusian replied, “I’ll break every bone in you and your cohort’s body so that neither of you can run. You better turn yourself in while you still can, kid .” She cracked her knuckles and hunched over. “I’m more dangerous unarmed than you two rookies are with your new guns.”

The 19 year old gulped. “P-please don’t make us do this,” he mumbled to no one in particular.

The cloaker tilted her head slightly. “Excuse me? I’m the one who should be saying that. It’d be a damn shame if I had to bring you two to the brass on stretchers .” She snorted. “Come on, kid. Drop the grenade launcher and come quietly.”

She suddenly shot to the left in a burst of speed as a glowing green arrow pitifully whizzed past her, missing its mark entirely. “Tsk. Goddamn it, kid.” The cloaker shook her head in disappointment as Gaia hurried to nock another arrow in place. “Fine. Be that way. I warned you two!” And with a loud screech, she sprinted at the two as Tempest frantically raised his weapon.

The world seemed to slow as she jumped into the air. He could see Gaia’s panicked expression, could see the green, pervasive glow that seemed to draw closer and closer with each passing second as the weight in his hands became level. He could feel his finger press down on the trigger, could see the grenade that came out split into four more shells as they flew towards her boots-

For a moment, it felt like he had revisited one of his first missions. That horrible, sinking feeling in his chest was back, and the look of fear that replaced the rage on the cloaker’s face reminded him of the dozens of Dominians that he had to kill with his tesla cannon. He had to remind himself that those kills were in self-defense. It was him or those Dominians, and now, it was him or the cloaker. Not just him, but Gaia, too.

It wasn’t like he could wind back time and put the grenade back in the barrel it shot out of, anyways. Even if he really wished that he could, he would never be able to take back what he had done. He would just have to keep doing this to protect the people he fought beside, the people he cared about. And he would do it with no regrets, even as the grenades disintegrated in front of him and-

Tempest and Gaia were both thrown back as the grenades cooked off, one after the other in quick succession. The 19 year old did his best to remain upright, shielding the younger Nusian from the worst of the blast as the shockwave washed over them, whipping at his face and kicking up dust that his goggles were just barely able to keep out of his eyes.

His ears were ringing, and everything hurt. But he was still alive.

As quickly as it had happened, it was over. Tempest immediately stood up, reaching behind him to help Gaia up as well as he looked around. The cloaker was gone. In her place was a massive scorch mark, and-

The 19 year old quickly averted his gaze, squaring his shoulders to block the other Nusian’s gaze as she tried to look at the aftermath. “Wh- Fulgur!” he heard her faintly hiss. “Move, you loser!”

Tempest didn’t reply, trying to steady his breathing as the ringing in his ears subsided. He could hear everything again. Come on, you big baby. You’ve made more mutilated corpses than this. It’s just a bunch of… limbs… and… He shook his head, muttering something under his breath.

Gaia stared at him, somewhat concerned and no longer trying to peek over his shoulder. “Fulgur? Did you… What did you say?” she quietly asked.

He cleared his throat, standing a little straighter as he robotically ejected the empty casing and loaded in another grenade. “We should probably regroup with the Dominians before we get jumped again,” he stiffly replied.

Then, before she could protest his decision, Fulgur took her by the arm and led her away, marching back the way they came and leaving the carnage behind. As they were leaving, Gaia glanced behind her, letting out a soft gasp as she saw what was left of the cloaker. “H-holy shit…”

In response, Tempest walked a little faster, pulling her along with him. She didn’t protest as they left the bodies behind.

Upon making it to one of the buildings in the base, they were met with the sight of the Guesan and the Medic waiting for them. “Oh, hey,” Gaia muttered. “What are you guys doing here?”

The Medic looked the two over, not saying a word as he seemingly pieced together what had happened. “You two look like shit,” the Dominian man remarked. Without any warning, he shot Gaia in the arm with his vitabow, loading another arrow as Tempest glanced at her and firing before he could protest. “There. All good.”

The 19 year old Nusian didn’t comment, feeling injuries that he was sure weren’t even there disappear in seconds. Guess that’s what I get for standing so close to two explosions , he sardonically thought to himself.

A cough brought him out of his thoughts, causing him to direct his attention to the Assault. “You two ran into the rest of the Nusians, didn’t you.” It was a statement, not a question. The ensuing silence caused him to sigh tiredly. “Damn, if only I’d followed you both instead of bailing you out. Scout said he saw you cornered by a squad of infantry before your girlfriend-” the Medic elbowed him, “ friend blew them up.”

The two Nusians glared at him in sync. He chuckled in response. “Not bad for your first mission without your special tech.” The Guesan stretched his arms. “Well, I’m gonna go and chat with the Scout. You three, have fun,” he said, before turning around and disappearing as he rounded the corner of a building.

The Dominian Medic turned to look at them, opening his mouth to say something when their comms interrupted him. “We’ve got more Nusians inbound,” the Recon warned. “Stay together, watch your backs. I’ll be on the hills picking off whoever I can.”

And with that, their comms went silent once more. The trio stared at each other, fidgeting in place and looking around. Well, Gaia and Tempest did. The Medic, on the other hand, simply watched them, tilting his head as the seconds ticked by. “...Well, you heard the Sergeant.” He jerked his head to the right, where the Guesan had gone. “Follow me, and keep close. You,” he said to Gaia, “watch and learn.”

The Medic walked off, clearly intending for the two Nusians to follow. Reluctantly, Gaia rolled her shoulders and took a step forwards, prompting Tempest to do the same as they both went after the Dominian.

This was going to be a long, long siege.

And it would only get longer…

“Sir, it’s been a day of nonstop fighting, and the Dominians are still holding out!” The Nusian soldier gestured wildly in front of the older Nusian sergeant. “Our shielders can’t even get into the base before being sniped, and our cloakers keep running into their melee before they can find the marksman!”

The Nusian man scratched his beard, narrowing his eyes behind his goggles as he looked the group up and down. “You’ve been having trouble with… fuck, what’s their name again?” he muttered under his breath.

The infantryman took a deep breath. “Stronghold 5-5, sir,” he replied, looking down as the words left his mouth. As a result, he wasn’t able to see the beanie-wearing man’s eyes widen as he continued to speak. “Nusia wants them dead and is redirecting forces to attack this worthless, empty base even though it’s mostly out of the way, simply because they were found to have been relocated there.”

“...I see,” the grenadier mumbled. “Alright then. I’ll help.” Not that I have a choice in the matter, since Nusia’s gonna have my head if they find out I let this opportunity slip through their fingers. He sighed as he opened his flask, taking a swig of alcohol to calm his nerves.

The soldier looked almost grateful as he nodded. “Thank you, Sergeant Pacet. I’ll let the others know help is finally on the way!” And with that, he ran off to alert the other unlucky conscripts about to be sent into the fray.

All the while, the Nusian man looked around with half-lidded eyes, lazily wrapping his hands around his grenade launcher as he began to walk. He clicked his tongue, trying to go over what he would say to the rest of his comrades when he found them.

The skirmish finally drew to a close as Stronghold 5-5 mopped up the stragglers that remained. Considering what they had just survived, finishing off lone infantrymen or cloakers was child’s play for the Dominian squadron.

After making sure nobody was left, the rest went their separate ways to get their affairs in order while they had the time. The Recon, in particular, was working near the radio, checking his Reserves and wondering if he should swap his trusty H15 out for something better. He could use it for other, more important things, and the rifle already worked well enough…

“Stronghold 5-5, are you there?” The unmistakable voice of Hotel-Tango took him out of his thoughts as he hurried over to the radio. “Come in, Stronghold 5-5.”

The Dominian marksman quickly picked up the receiver and gave a response. “Stronghold 5-5 to Hotel-Tango, what’s the news?” He looked around, noting that he was the only one in the area to receive the news.

The pilot on the other end clicked his tongue, not saying anything for a few seconds. When he finally spoke, the news made Lu Ten’s shoulders sag in exhaustion. “We’ve spotted a Fusilier hot on your trail. If you are directly hit by one of its grenades, waste no time pulling it off and throwing it back.”

The Recon grimaced, letting out a sigh as he stared at the radio. “Fusilier? That Fusilier? Why is he here?” he muttered. “I thought this base was meant to be away from the front.”

“I’m sorry. The Republic likely received word that your squadron was stationed here, and after their humiliation at Luo-he, well…” Hotel-Tango trailed off, letting him fill in the blanks.

Lu Ten shut his eyes. “How much longer before the Dominion can start fielding the Nusian equipment that we captured?” He bared his teeth. The sooner they could start turning Nusia’s weapons against it, the better their chances.

Hotel-Tango gave no reply, seemingly checking something else as the silence hung in the air for several seconds. Then, he finally said, “Dominian scientists are making great progress on replicating Gaia and Tempest’s weapons. They’re taking the time to remove any flaws before mass production.” He almost sounded as relieved as the Recon was to hear the news. “Tell your two new recruits that they’ll be getting their weapons back soon.”

The marksman let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” the Dominian replied. “Stay safe, Hotel-Tango.”

“Good luck, Stronghold 5-5. Hotel-Tango out.”

The radio went silent as he moved to tap his headset.

“Stronghold 5-5, we’re about to be in the presence of some explosive company. I hope you’re ready for this.” He frowned, sprinting to the F.A.S.T. and teleporting back to the hills as he got into position. “Engineer, be prepared to place down a barrier when Fusilier shows up. Can’t let anyone be hit by his grenades while fighting off the accompanying soldiers.”

Right as he finished giving out the order, he spotted small, quadrupedal forms racing across the fields, hiding in the grass as they made their way to the base. Lu Ten grimaced as he realized what they were. Rangers. Of course.

The Scout weaved from side to side, easily avoiding the small bombs sent his way as the mechanical mongrels closed the distance and initiated their self-destruct sequence. With a burst of his jetpack’s thrusters, he grabbed the closest ranger and threw it at the other one, letting the two blow each other up as their timers hit zero.

He didn’t watch the following explosion, instead choosing to duck as bullets flew past him and into the night. “You fucking traitor!” the Nusian could hear one of the soldiers yell. “Come on, get him!”

The rapid mechanical footsteps told him everything he needed to know. The Scout rolled, dodging the bombs as the ranger came to a stop in front of him and began to self-destruct. Still not panicking, he grabbed the ranger and used his jetpack to propel himself towards the squad, tossing the robotic hound at them as they raised their guns.

The Nusians immediately realized what he was planning as the machine landed on one of their squadmates. “You- NO! Everyone, scatter!” one of the soldiers yelled, trying to get away as the Scout flew off and left them to their fates.

Due to the warning, none of the Nusians were killed by the ensuing explosion, with only some being injured as bits of shrapnel cut into them. As they were recovering from the attack, a single grenade flew over them, before splitting into four more as the soldiers watched them fall.

One of the infantrymen felt his throat dry up as he felt the seconds tick by. Too late to move, too late to get out of the way, simply too late to do anything but accept their fates. At first, the grenades seemed like they were going to harmlessly bounce against the ground, until there was a bright flash, blinding him as his skin burned -

-and this time, none of them survived.

On the roof of the building that the grenade came from, Tempest swallowed dryly, swiftly ejecting the empty casing and inserting another shell as he looked for his next target.

He was about to peek over the side of the building he was on when a shotgun blast nearly took his head off, causing him to scamper back and raise his grenade launcher threateningly. “I see one of them, he’s on the roof!” The 19 year old grimaced as he looked around for any sort of cover.

Nothing. He’d have to face these shielders by himself, when all he had was a single shot of four grenades. Fuck me, why did we split up…

The footsteps were drawing closer…

He took a few steps back, only to realize that he was on the edge of the roof and that one more step would mean he’d fall to his death anyways.

Tempest could see the gray silhouettes of their shields peeking over the ridge…

And then the shields disappeared as the soldiers shouted and turned their attention to something else. The 19 year old heard the familiar sound of a katana slicing through someone’s arm mixed with frantic shotgun blasts.

Taking the opportunity to do so, he ran to the ramp, pausing for a second to watch as the Guesan literally carved a path through the line of shielders. All of them had their backs turned to him.

He immediately swapped out his grenade launcher for his H94, aiming at one of the shielders and firing. The soldier dropped like a sack of bricks as the bullet punched through his helmet. This alerted the other shielders, prompting one of them to aim at him with his shotgun, preparing to avenge his comrade.

Not that he’d get the chance, because the Guesan leapt over the two shielders he was fighting and stabbed the third one in the back of his neck, killing him instantly. The two Nusians turned around, about to retaliate, when a cluster of grenades arced over him and fell right on top of them.

The ensuing explosion sent the last two shielders flying off the ramp in pieces. The Assault hissed as he stood up, ignoring his injuries to give Tempest an approving nod. “Good job, kid,” he remarked, giving a thumbs up before jumping off the ramp to look for more Nusians to kill.

Tempest remained at the top of the ramp, trying to catch his breath from the amount of near-death experiences he just went through. “Holy… fucking shit,” he mumbled to himself, taking his eyes off of the limbs strewn over the ramp.

Gaia flinched as the infantry laid down suppressing fire on them, keeping them pinned behind cover as the Medic next to her muttered something into his radio. “Shouldn’t we be moving out of this death trap!?” she shouted, giving the Dominian man a fearful look.

The Medic calmly returned her gaze with half-lidded eyes. “We should,” he evenly replied, “but I need to get our teammates to come to us so that I can save us the effort of fighting on the move.” He glanced below him as something small and round rolled next to his feet. With a casual sweep of his hand, he picked up the grenade and threw it back at the Nusian soldiers.

Gaia stared at him as the gunfire gave way to panicked shouts and an explosion, then, silence. “...so do you finally trust me?” she quietly asked.

He shrugged. “I trust you as a medic to do your job, and right now, I think you’re doing well enough for someone who’s completely new to doing it the Dominian way.” The Medic didn’t even turn his head as the Guesan rounded the corner. “Hi.”

“Yo,” the Guesan greeted, placing his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. “A little help?” He was somewhat injured, though interestingly, most of it seemed to be from shrapnel rather than bullets.

Gaia aimed her bow at him and let go of the arrow, hitting him square in the knee. “Ow!” he hissed, recoiling as the arrow was pushed out of the wound it had made. “You… Gah, fuck it. I deserved that.” The Assault ran past her, muttering a quick, “Thanks!” as he set off.

“...So is he just…”

“Mhm,” the Medic replied, noting the lull in the fighting. “He’s the one who gets hurt the- get down !”

Before she could process what he was saying, the Dominian grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down, narrowly avoiding a hail of bullets sent their way. He was about to return fire when he noticed a man in a beanie staring at them with a grenade launcher drawn.

His eyes widening, the Medic immediately ran behind a corner of the building, dragging Gaia with him before the Nusians could shoot at them again.

Fusilier narrowed his eyes as he watched the two make a run for it. So the reports are true. Gaia’s gone rogue. He frowned as he walked after them with his soldiers right behind him. I hope that kid Fulgur isn’t with them.

It would be a shame if I had to kill two teens for fighting on the wrong side.

As he entered the base from the other side, he couldn’t help but wonder what was it that had given the previous infantry groups so much trouble. Surely five- seven people couldn’t have put up such a fight against an overwhelming… force.

Fusilier huffed as he looked around the decrepit Dominian base. Dominian forces weren’t summarily executed for nothing. Nusia didn’t think they could keep them locked up in cages without a massive breakout happening down the line.

Clearly, the only good Dominian was a dead Dominian. They were just too dangerous to be kept as prisoners.

He idly rolled the cylinder of his grenade launcher as he made his way further into the outpost. Not much happening… yet. And Dominian squadrons were notorious for being difficult to surprise.

The man paused as he listened to the sounds around him. Behind him, the soldiers of his squad stopped, looking around nervously for any sign of the enemy.

“...get back,” Fusilier ordered. Still, he heard nothing behind him. Scowling, the Nusian turned to glare at his subordinates. “Get back! We’re gonna walk into an ambush if we push any further!”

Finally, the infantry turned around and started doubling back, walking a little faster as the tension started getting to them. Fusilier walked behind them, glancing around to make sure that there wasn’t anything sneaking up on the group as they retreated.

His eyes caught the glint of Guesan steel in the darkness, hiding behind the buildings. The man slowly brought his grenade launcher up, still walking back with his group when he noticed something flying overhead.

Fusilier immediately switched targets and fired at the shape in the sky, forcing them to dart to the side with their jetpack to avoid the grenade sent their way. He gritted his teeth, looking back at the building just in time to see a Guesan charge at him with his katana drawn.

He was about to fire at the other man when one of his grenades landed at his feet with an almost comical ‘tink’. Instead of panicking, he promptly kicked the 40mm shell at the sprinting Guesan, causing him to screech to a halt in an attempt to avoid it.

Fusilier turned and made a break for it, yelling, “Go, go, go!” to the other Nusians as the Guesan behind him began to run in the opposite direction.

The grenade finally exploded, covering him and his squad’s retreat and hopefully distracting Stronghold 5-5 long enough to keep them from pursuing. Fusilier didn’t stop running until all of them were a good distance away from the base.

As soon as they were in the clear, he doubled over, leaning against the terrain to catch his breath. “...Fuck,” he muttered to himself, looking around to figure out how his squad was faring. “We’re going to need more firepower if we wanna take on that Dominian squadron.”

The accompanying soldiers simply nodded at him or gave a few thumbs up, not really wanting to protest his decision to wait for backup.

Fusilier wiped the sweat off his brow with a gloved hand. How the hell are we supposed to clear ‘em out in that… fort… His eyes widened as the answer came to him. Oh, wait. I’ve got it!

“Radio,” he ordered, beckoning one of the soldiers over. “I’ve gotta make some requests to command. Think I might know how to deal with Stronghold 5-5.”

The Guesan sucked in air through his teeth as his friend pulled him into one of the buildings. “What the fuck was that?” he muttered, keeping one of his eyes closed as the Nusian walked into his field of view.

“Fusilier,” the Scout simply replied. “You shouldn’t have charged him so soon. We could’ve hurt him a bit before he retreated.” The man looked around before staring at the doorway.

“Y-yeah, well nobody told you to throw his fucking grenade at him while I was attacking,” the Assault grumbled, before craning his head to follow the other man’s gaze. “Oh, hi doc.”

The Dominian stared at the two, dusting his orange uniform off as he walked in and aimed his crossbow at the Guesan. “Next time you wanna suicide charge a special infantry unit,” the Medic remarked, shooting the Assault in the knee and eliciting a howl of pain from the man, “do it when you’re sure he’s alone so that I don’t have to waste arrows patching up the holes in your chest.”

The Assault cracked his other eye open, recoiling back as if offended. “But he was alone!” the man protested, pulling the arrow out of his knee with a hiss. “I… think he was.”

The Nusian turned to glare at the Guesan. “Do you really think these kinds of special infantry waltz into the field on their lonesome with no escorting soldiers?” he deadpanned.

The Guesan slowly blinked. “...Yes?”

His friend slapped his palm against his face. “We don’t live in a video game,” he mumbled under his breath. “Nusia makes some harebrained decisions sometimes, but they wouldn’t ever do something like that unless they had no other options. They’re not that suicidally overconfident.”

“Damn.” The Assault leaned back, sighing as he stared at the concrete ceiling.

Chapter Text

After Fusilier’s first encounter with the squad, the fighting mostly died down around the base as both sides recuperated and licked their wounds. Or rather, Stronghold 5-5 licked their wounds. Nusia was just waiting for more soldiers to arrive so that they could come knocking on the Dominians’ doorstep one more time.

Gaia stared at the screen in front of her, trying to figure out if she should upgrade any of her equipment or not. “This sucks,” she mumbled to her companion.

Tempest gulped, fiddling with the grenade launcher in his arms. “I’m honestly starting to get used to this, but we probably should’ve gotten some actual training with our other weapons instead of…” He paused, before trailing off. “I have no idea what the Dominians are even doing with our gear.”

He quietly admired the Dominian tech in front of him, wondering if this was similar to the stuff his brother’s old team had to use during the Guesan civil war. This stuff’s a game changer, I’m glad Nusia only has a few captured because these would win them the war even faster. The 19 year old shook himself out of his thoughts. “I think I’m gonna get an RPG, I need something close to my old tesla cannon to work well.”

The young man moved to the weapon printer, tapping the screen a few times till he found what he wanted. One press of a button later, and his Reserves were gone, as a brand new RPG was deposited by the machine.

“...sweet,” Gaia commented, watching as he propped the launcher up on his shoulder. “Don’t point that thing at me, thanks.”

Tempest chuckled despite himself, slinging it on his back as he went back to holding his grenade launcher. “Would never dream of it,” he replied, before looking up at the early morning sky.

He squinted as what appeared to be Nusian cargo planes broke through the cloud cover. “...That can’t be good,” he mumbled, before immediately tapping his headset to radio the rest of the squad. “Guys, they’re gonna drop in some armor!”

“Yeah, we saw it.”

The Engineer sighed as his Governor PDC fired at the cargo planes, forcing them to take some sort of evasive maneuver to avoid the shells zipping through the air around them. Still, it didn’t keep them from opening their ramps to let their cargo drop.

The Dominian frowned as the shapes fell through the air while the planes retreated. He promptly activated his comms to warn everyone else. “Steer clear, they’re dropping mechs.”

“‘Mechs’!?”

Before he could repeat himself, the APUs made landfall, kicking up dirt and debris as they landed right in the middle of the base. “...Of course,” the Engineer grumbled, preparing to pull out his RPG when his Governor abruptly swiveled around to fire at some newcomers on the hill.

The Dominian scowled, placing down a barrier in front of him as the autocannon made quick work of the advancing infantry. “Son of a bitch…” he grumbled to himself, turning back to the base to look for one of the APUs.

Said APU was now peering over the ridge, its pilot staring at him as he slowly tried to bring the rest of his mech up the hill. The Engineer stared back at the Nusian, robotically pulling out his RPG as the pilot was finally able to hoist his mech’s upper half over the ridge.

The pilot only had a few seconds to get his head out of the clouds and realize his mistake before his APU was reduced to a heap of slag sliding down the mountainside. The Engineer casually reloaded his RPG, glancing back to the right to look at the Nusians still trying to get past his turret.

One of the Nusians aimed a launcher at the sky and fired. The Dominian slowly backed away, avoiding the resulting cloud of tear gas as the canister landed between him and his buildings.

The grenadier’s head promptly erupted into bits of gore as the Recon on the adjacent mountain turned his sights on the Nusian infantry, having been alerted by the commotion on the other side of the base.

As the tear gas dissipated, the Engineer moved to resupply his Governor, uncaring of how the shielders and surviving infantry tried to cut their losses and retreat. His autocannon’s rounds had more than enough power to penetrate their thin Guesan shields, and his superior was thinning their numbers by the second.

He looked back at the mountain where the sergeant was, nodding as he felt the other Dominian’s eyes on him from far away. This was a piece of cake.

And then an explosion dismantled his Governor.

“Shit!”

The Engineer made a run for it as another grenade destroyed his barrier. He didn’t stick around long enough to make himself a target for the infantry, knowing how defenseless he was against that grenadier without his buildings.

The Recon was about to shoot at Fusilier when the sounds of Nusian planes overhead alerted him to a second wave. “There’s another group inbound!” he shouted into his headset, narrowly ducking to avoid the lasers zeroing in on him.

Of course it can’t ever be that easy , the marksman thought to himself, looking around in case any Nusians were sneaking up on him. Once he was sure that there was nobody else coming, he exposed himself a bit and scoped in, searching the fields for the enemy snipers.

It didn’t take him long to spot the bits of blue and yellow hidden in the greenery. Found you. One pull of the trigger, and one of the snipers fell to him.

A laser immediately pointed itself at him as the sound alerted another sniper. Instead of hiding, Lu Ten whirled the H15 around, aiming at the source of the laser and firing as soon as he was still.

The laser blinked out as its source took a bullet to the eye.

Finally, he dropped back down, disengaging for a moment to look around. Something flew above him with a jetpack.

The Recon aimed at the sky with his DMR, only to see the Nusian in the sky get tackled by his squad’s Scout, causing his rocket to go off course.

With that problem taken care of, he was about to continue dealing with the snipers when his ears picked up the sound of light footsteps nearby. The marksman paused, slowly glancing off to his side as he prepared to swivel around.

The footsteps stopped.

Lu Ten immediately swapped his H15 out for his submachine gun, spraying at the floor and letting the resulting explosions tell him where his targets were. As expected, he heard the cloaked saboteurs grunt and curse to themselves, having been disoriented by the high explosive bullets striking the ground near them.

Not even a second later, the Nusians flickered into existence, their cloaking devices having been knocked out by the explosions going off around them and them subsequently stumbling around. The Recon promptly brought his SMG up and unloaded the rest of the magazines into the duo, quite literally ripping holes into them with the explosive filler before they could turn invisible.

With that taken care of, the Dominian didn’t even spare their mutilated forms a glance, simply looking around as he heard their bodies fall to the ground. As his eyes scanned his surroundings, he reloaded the submachine gun, throwing away the empty drum magazine and inserting a new one without even glancing at his weapon.

There was nothing left around him.

Satisfied, the Recon looked back at where the enemy snipers should have been. There was nobody in sight, not the glint of another marksman’s scope nor the telltale red laser that they used to lead their shots.

He narrowed his eyes. Now why would you retreat all of a sudden? I was busy dealing with… those… two… saboteurs… The sergeant threw himself to the ground as a jetpacker fired above him, his rocket narrowly missing as the resulting explosion kicked up a large amount of earth and smoke.

The jetpacker landed on the mountain, slotting in another rocket as he stared into the cloud of dust. He waited for a few seconds, looking around to make sure that he had backup when a flash of yellow broke through the smoke. Then, less than a second later, as he was turning to look at the source of the muzzle flash, the RPG in his grasp exploded, the man unable to even scream before the fireball consumed him.

As the smoke cleared, the Recon slowly staggered out, wiping the dirt off of his face before lightly tapping his headset. “Medic… to the mountain… I need assistance,” he mumbled, struggling to get the words out before he collapsed.

“Well,” the Medic remarked, shooting another green bolt at the 17 year old adjacent to him, “we are fucked.”

Gaia screeched, trying to keep the bullets from clipping her shoulder as they took small chunks out of the wall she was hiding behind. “You think?!” she sarcastically asked, yelping as the firing intensified, drowning out the lumbering footsteps slowly advancing to their position. “How the fuck are you gonna get to him!?”

The Dominian man sighed, shaking his head at the other medic. “I didn’t say ‘I think we are fucked’, I said that we are.” He nodded to her. “By the way, we’re just luring them here so that Tempest and the others can get some room to breathe. Not that we have a choice in the matter, but you know.”

Gaia would’ve screamed in frustration if the deafening hail of bullets wasn’t overwhelming her. Before she could, however, the gunners suppressing them abruptly stopped firing, creating an uneasy lull that alarmed the two medics. They glanced at each other, wondering what made them stop for the moment.

Multiple footsteps began advancing through the middle path, threatening to cut the two medics off from each other. The Medic’s eyes widened behind his goggles as his mind raced for a solution.

The hulking figure appearing behind Gaia sent all his hopes crashing down, though. “Game’s over, kid,” the operator in the APU sneered, as the infantry finally appeared between them and trained their weapons on the two medics.

One gunner and APU for each medic. And between the two of them was Fusilier and his infantry squad, all eyeing them contemptuously as they all aimed their N2A2s at the pair. Meanwhile, the grenadier simply kept his grenade launcher aimed at the ground, clearly not seeing the duo as a threat with how outgunned they were.

The Medic grimaced as the Nusians began closing in on him. “I can’t believe it took us so long just to bag two of their medics,” one of the infantrymen grumbled, narrowing his eyes at the Dominian in the orange uniform.

Fusilier glanced at him, staring for a few seconds before looking at his left, towards Gaia. “You picked the wrong side, kid,” he simply said. “Should’ve gone with the special infantry when you had the chance. Or better yet, just never showed up ever again.”

Gaia looked down, the comment clearly wounding her as the soldiers walked over to her. “Alcoholic,” she mumbled under her breath.

Despite obviously hearing the remark, the grenadier simply shook his head as he looked away. “I almost feel bad for you, but I have a job to do. I’m sorry, but you knew the consequences when you defected from Nusia.” He looked at the Medic.

The Medic glared back, slowly raising his hands in surrender as the soldiers drew closer and closer. “Heh, no more last second bullshit saves for you!” another Nusian mocked. “You’re fucked!”

His compatriots didn’t share the sentiment, with most groaning or clicking their tongues in disapproval. “Don’t tempt fate,” one of them grumbled.

Fusilier let out a sigh of relief as he looked at the sky. “Alright, show’s over. We’re taking you back to-” He abruptly cut himself off as he saw something on the walls overlooking them. “GRENADE!”

The Medic was just barely able to throw himself to the side when multiple explosions decimated the tightly packed infantry, cutting off the shouts of alarm as the grenades detonated above them. He looked up, seeing Fusilier’s outline as he struggled to his feet and ordered anyone who survived back on their feet.

More alarmingly however was the shadow of the APU aiming its turrets at the top of the wall to retaliate, having been spared from the explosion by both its armor and distance from the blasts. “Tempest,” the Dominian found himself shouting before he could stop himself, “get outta there!”

The APU consequently turned its guns on him instead as the presumably-pissed operator prepared to take his anger out on the defenseless medic. Before its weapons could fire, though, a yellow blur latched onto its back, punching through the glass as the mech stopped while its operator tried to get a sense of what was happening.

Then, there was shouting, barely discernible over the mounting chaos as everything went to hell around him.

He was, however, vaguely aware of Fusilier’s surviving escorts taking aim at the Scout, trying to get him off their comrade while the APU feebly tried to swipe at him with arms that were too long and underpowered to carry their own weight.

Thinking quickly, he grabbed an N2A2 off of one of the fallen infantrymen and fired a wild burst at the group, hitting none of them but succeeding in drawing their attention as a few swiveled around to face him. Before they could return fire, another quartet of grenades descended upon the Nusians, forcing them to throw themselves to the ground or be shredded by the shrapnel as the explosives detonated in mid-air.

“Oh, for Builderman’s sake!” Fusilier shouted, firing a grenade at the 19 year old on the wall. Judging by the fact that a body didn’t fall next to him shortly after the explosion, Tempest had retreated in time to avoid it. “Get back! Fall back, now!”

The Nusians began to withdraw from the outpost, leaving the APU operator to the Scout’s mercy as he was thrown out of his vehicle. “Pah!” The operator grunted, struggling to his feet as Gaia ran over to him. “You fucking trai-” He was cut off as the young woman kicked him in the face as hard as she could, knocking him out cold.

Now that things were calming down, the Medic slowly stood to his full height, slinging his stolen rifle and looking at the devastation around them as he walked over to the 17 year old. She was looking around anxiously, glancing at the dead Nusians and the incapacitated operator every few seconds.

“...Are we-”

“We’re keeping him prisoner,” another voice interrupted, its owner boosting himself to the duo and coming to a smooth stop in front of them. The Scout brushed himself off, picking shards of glass out of his arm as the Medic looked around for his crossbow. He got his answer when the Nusian picked something off of the ground and shot himself with it, sucking in air through his teeth as the glowing bolt embedded itself in his side.

The Dominian quietly watched as he pulled the bolt out before tossing the crossbow over to him. He caught it, feeling somewhat relieved to have his weapon back in his hands as the Scout walked over to their newest capture. “Where do we keep him? We can’t just leave him out in the open, he’ll get killed in the crossfire,” the man remarked, crossing his arms.

“One of the empty buildings?” Gaia suggested, before glancing to her right as footsteps approached them. “By the way, thanks for the save, Fulgur.”

Tempest sighed, stretching his arms as he blinked tiredly. “You’re welcome,” he replied, before looking at their prisoner, then the driverless APU still standing in its previous position. “What’re you guys gonna do with that mech?”

The Medic looked at the APU, activating his headset as he did so. “We’ve captured an operator and an APU in relatively good condition. Engineer, please get over here and claim your new weapon of mass destruction.” He then got off comms, meeting the two Nusians’ incredulous looks with a stoic face. “What?”

Gaia snorted, trying to keep herself from laughing. Tempest merely blew at the air and placed a hand on the 17 year old’s shoulder, leading her away as Stronghold 5-5 prepared to… recuperate.

Immediately remembering the last order given to him, the Medic raced over to the F.A.S.T., teleporting to the Recon’s position as he quickly loaded in another healing bolt. If he was aware of just how badly he fucked up, he didn’t show it on his face, instead focusing all his thoughts on finding the other Dominian and treating his injuries.

Finding the mass of gray in the brown terrain was easy enough. He aimed, fired, and waltzed over as he reloaded. Then, he fired again, just to make sure he was healed as the marksman began to stir.

“...Took you… long enough…” the Dominian in the gray camouflage grumbled as he slowly got to his feet. He glanced at the Medic as he began to treat the rest of his injuries, wordlessly staring at the other man as he got to work.

We’re going to need reinforcements fast if this keeps up.

Fusilier rubbed his chin, uncaring of the beard that was in the way as he sat next to a campfire and their only way of communicating with the rest of the Nusian forces stretched out across the continent.

Okay, so Tempest joined the Dominians, so they likely have his tech and whatever info he gave them along with it. The alcoholic slowly shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose while he tried to figure out where they went so wrong. And we just abandoned a fully-intact APU without destroying it, meaning they now have a murder mech in their inventory.

He straightened his posture, sighing and clicking his tongue as he grabbed the receiver and began to fiddle with the radio. This will not continue. Clearing his throat, the grenadier began to speak, praying to Builderman that he and his squad wouldn’t just become another pair of dog tags for the brass to collect.

“Fusilier to Nusian F.O.B. no. 7, when can we expect support against Stronghold 5-5? We’ve been driven back again despite the arrival of APUs and more specialized units. We need more.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Each passing second made the alcoholic’s mounting anxiety worse and worse until, finally, someone replied. “Sergeant Pacet, help is on the way. Special Infantry Force no. 3 will be dispatched to your location, along with a few tanks.” The other Nusian paused. “The 63rd Armored Battalion and 131st Mechanized Infantry will be returning from Luo-he, they’ve been given orders to take a detour to your location in order to provide fire support. They won’t get there for another day or so, however.”

Fusilier gave a sigh of relief. “It’s fine, I… thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Is there anything else?”

“...Special Infantry Unit ‘Sparta’ will be arriving with them. We hope this will be enough to crush this Stronghold once and for all.”

The man gave another sigh of relief as he imagined the swordsman fending off both their Guesan and that fucking traitor with the jetpack. “God, yes… Thank you, that’ll be all.”

“Good luck out there, Sergeant.” And the line went dead.

Fusilier leaned back, preparing to go to sleep as he thought of how to break the good news to his men. We aren’t totally fucked, at least. The sooner those Dominians fall, the sooner this war ends… He tried to push away that nagging feeling of guilt as his mind wandered to the two kids. They made their choice, even if it was the wrong one… I shouldn’t feel bad. They’re… old enough to know the consequences… of their own… actions…

Fusilier dozed off as that train of thought came to an end.

The Recon glanced at the radio beside him, electing not to sleep as he still had much to do for the night. “Say again? When can the others arrive?” he sternly asked, not liking what he was hearing.

“I’m sorry, but the Dominian army is still figuring out the logistics of our new equipment. That, and they’re trying to solve the glaring design flaws that the Nusians completely ignored…”

One of his eyes twitched behind his goggles. “That’s not important. We need help now, why can’t the MoD just send a group out right now and test it on the field alongside my squad?”

Hotel-Tango sighed on the other end of the line. “I know your position is precarious, but it’s better that we figure this out now and push the Nusians back as far as we can instead of rushing it and showing our hand too quickly, when it’s not yet… Look, you’ll be fine. You’ve survived months of fighting in Luo-he, and I’ve read the reports of what happened to the army sent to capture it after you left. Your squad will live.”

“You have an awful lot of confidence for someone not fighting on the field with us,” the Recon retorted.

“I’m sorry, but I’m just a helicopter pilot. I can’t exactly take on an army by myself, not like you or your squad members.” The other Dominian clicked his tongue in displeasure. “Do you have anything to report or not? I’m not here to be your verbal punching bag, Lu.”

The man forced himself to keep a lid on his temper as he looked off to the side. “We captured an APU operator,” he slowly said, watching as their Engineer walked around in the mech, trying to get a feel for the controls, “and his APU, completely intact.”

Hotel-Tango sputtered. “Y-you have one of their APUs? Intact? N-nobody destroyed it?” he asked.

“Mhm.” The Recon hummed to himself. “We could always capture another one, but they’ll eventually start destroying their mechs themselves, so…”

“I want you to keep that mech in working order for as long as possible before help arrives. If you can, capture any more APUs or even set their wreckage aside so that we can salvage their tech.”

The marksman watched as the Engineer clambered on the mech’s arm and started building something on it, smiling as he imagined the look of horror on the Nusians’ faces when they inevitably encountered it. “Count on it,” he simply replied, before getting off the radio as he prepared to get a little more info out of their new prisoner.

Hopefully, this’ll even out the odds long enough for help to arrive.

The tracked vehicle slowly drove through the fields, its railgun aimed dead ahead as the archway came into view. Behind it, several IFVs came into view, all following the lead tank as their comms buzzed with nonstop chatter.

Fusilier slowly got out of cover, watching with bated breath as the Nusian armor finally rolled into the valley. He wiped a bead of sweat off his face before checking the time on his watch.

Early morning. The Dominians wouldn’t be prepared for such a massive assault.

He reached for the flask on his leg, taking a large swig of liquid courage as he stared at their objective. The fortress. That squadron.

Those two traitors.

The man wiped the alcohol off of his face as he pulled out his grenade launcher. “Alright,” he muttered, before glancing at one of the soldiers next to him. “Give them the signal. We’re launching the assault now.”

A few minutes later, gunners, infantry, and shielders all began disembarking their IFVs, quickly moving into position as the tanks stayed behind. Once everything was in order, the Nusians began moving into the outpost, keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of the Dominian squadron.

Someone in a jetpack whizzed overhead, dropping little green orbs on the dense groups of soldiers as they marched. A few looked up just in time to see a flash of yellow retreat to one of the rooftops.

“Do we have any Jetpackers deployed?” one of the gunners nervously asked.

Others, meanwhile, looked down and searched the ground for the objects dropped in their midst. Several more savvy troops quickly dispersed from the group as the realization came to them before their comrades.

One of the shielders felt his heart skip a beat when he managed to see it in the darkness. “GRENADE-!”

Before any of them could do anything about his revelation, the grenades detonated, sending limbs and equipment sky-high and taking out a good chunk of the Nusian infantry.

This time, the IFVs rolled in, rushing to support the now-disorganized troops as gunfire erupted around the outpost. Bullets harmlessly pinged off the composite armor as the turrets rotated, their thermals struggling to highlight the shooters as their optics were struck by round after round.

Just as one of the infantry fighting vehicles found a target, a few autocannon shots ripped through its hull, causing the ammo to cook off and illuminating the surrounding Nusians in a blaze of orange.

The soldiers looked around, hiding behind the IFVs and their comparatively pathetic shields. The darkness made it impossible to figure out how many there were, even with the muzzle flashes.

In desperation, one of the infantry radioed their ace in hole for support. “WE NEED ARTILLERY FIRE! NOW! JUST- JUST SHOOT AROUND US!” He ignored the outraged shouts his comrades gave at such an impulsive order. “IT DOESN’T MATTER! WE NEED FIRE SUPPORT RIGHT FUCKING NOW !”

Standing a good distance away from the frontlines, the newly-arrived platforms raised their massive cannons to the sky as the crews and AI zeroed in on their targets. Then, after a brief confirmation from one of the pinned down Nusians, the cannons fired in near sync, lobbing high explosive shells into the air that began arcing down towards the outpost…

The bullets stopped a few seconds after the call went out. Then, a few seconds later, parts of the outpost were demolished as the heavy artillery shells made landfall one by one, tearing apart anything unfortunate enough to be caught in the blast.

As soon as the artillery fire came to a close, the infantry began to move out, sweeping the outpost as the IFVs drove past the craters and the rubble.

For a few seconds, it seemed as if the platforms had done their job, destroying the squadron’s heavy hitters before they could relocate.

Their hopes were quickly dashed when a black and white figure started running through their formations, cutting down anything in his way with a long, red blade. “CONTACT!” one of the shielders shouted, aiming his shotgun at the advancing Guesan.

Before he could fire, something red flashed in front of his eyes. Half of his shotgun’s barrel slid off, falling to the ground. A part of his shield followed it on the way down. Then, his hand slid off just below the wrist, blood spurting out of the open vessels as he stared at it in shock.

The Guesan delivered another slash, taking off his head before he could scream. He then ducked, avoiding a volley of bullets sent his way as he quickly retreated behind the wreckage of one of the buildings.

“Fucking Guesan!” a Nusian soldier yelled, throwing a grenade after him as he disappeared around a corner. The grenade exploded, but it was clear that its target was long gone as the red, shimmering blur appeared somewhere else in the outpost. “Someone get him out here, we’re being massacred!”

One of the IFVs finally rolled into view, its door opening behind it as its turret swiveled around, searching for a target. It paused, its gunner seemingly spotting something in the darkness of the outpost before he started firing away.

A cluster of grenades was the reply, emerging from the shadows as the unseen target moved out of the way. The grenades exploded, doing absolutely nothing to the IFV’s hull other than scorching it.

The same could not be said for the autocannon, which was now a useless, dented piece of slag.

After a moment, one of the IFV’s missiles fired away, the orange light streaking through the darkness as it flew to its target. It exploded against a wall, illuminating a Nusian with a grenade launcher in his hand as he was in the middle of making a run for it.

The accompanying infantry wasted no time in training their guns on him, but before they could fire, a loud ‘crack!’ sounded next to them. One second later, three orange orbs appeared out of the darkness, seemingly floating around the hostile Nusian as he was dragged to them, his arms restrained by the cord wrapped around his body.

He struggled to no avail, gritting his teeth as he was brought closer and closer to the other Nusians, who all looked at him in shock and recognition. “Is that… the kid with the tesla cannon?” one of them muttered.

Tempest was about to give a snarky reply when he felt a weight on his chest as the cord stopped dragging him through the ground. He looked up, staring at the dark, reflective visor as the grappling hook’s owner leaned in.

There was a tense silence for a few seconds as the two Nusians stared each other down, with Tempest doing his best to not look away, even as his breathing started to become louder than that of the man in front of him.

Finally, the man leaned back slightly, huffing to himself as he looked around. “That’s one defector down,” he said to the infantry surrounding them, “now we just need the girl.”

Tempest tried to stand up, failing as the boot on his vest pushed him back down. “Don’t you fucking dare!” he hissed, ignoring his fear in favor of glaring at the special infantry unit’s expressionless visor.

The older man chuckled humorlessly, putting more weight on his boot as Fulgur ground his teeth. “Kid. You knew what you and the drug addict were getting into when you didn’t surrender the first time we sent people to take this outpost.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “I can’t say I don’t pity you, but the people in charge of sentencing you won’t see it that way. You should’ve just surrendered when you had the chance.”

Tempest, against his better judgment, took a deep breath, then spat at the man’s visor, glaring defiantly as the wad of spit slowly slid down the one-way glass. The surrounding infantry gasped, with a few cursing as they were sure that the kid just signed his own death warrant.

Instead of responding the way he expected him to, the Nusian simply wiped the spit off with his glove, clicking his tongue as he took his boot off of his chest. “You’ve got balls, kid. Too bad you picked the wrong side.” He hummed to himself. “You’re with me until your friend’s back in our clutches.”

The man turned to the surrounding infantry. “All of you, move out. Find the 17 year old, bring her alive .” He paused, glancing at a still-fuming Tempest on the ground. “And preferably with as few injuries as possible,” he added, pretending not to see the way that the young man’s shoulders sagged as he heard the order.

As the soldiers began to disperse, he looked back down at the 19 year old, humming to himself as he got him back on his feet. “Alright. Now you are going to follow me, and I swear to Builderman if you try to run I’m gonna break your legs.” He chuckled at the disgusted look on the younger man’s face. “Relax. I’m kidding.”

Tempest sighed, reluctantly following him as they began to walk out of the outpost. “But if you try to run, I might not be able to stop the others from shooting you to death.” The Nusian paused. “So, just, don’t, alright kid?”

“Sure,” Fulgur grumbled under his breath. “Why not.”

And with that, he followed Trident all the way to the archway, unaware of the other Nusian tailing the duo under the cover of darkness.

“Lu Ten, they brought fucking Trident in one of their IFVs.”

“What? Can you intercept them before they make it all the way to the Nusians outside? And why the fuck isn’t Hotel-Tango warning us?”

The Scout frowned, trying to stay quiet by using his jetpack as little as possible as he soared through the air. “I’ll try, but I can’t do it alone. Where’s the Engineer?”

“Busy keeping his buildings up to deal with their infantry. Why?”

He watched as the two got closer and closer to the tanks waiting outside. “Yeah, well I need him to use the APU in case I can’t just grab Tempest and run. Because there are tanks out there, and Trident’s a good enough shot to grab someone in mid-air with a fucking grappling hook.”

“Shit. I’ll tell him, but- wait, you can see their tanks?” The Recon on the other end swallowed dryly as the realization of how utterly fucked they were started to dawn on him. “Damn it. Alright, do whatever you can to get him out of there.”

The Scout narrowed his eyes as he aimed himself at the two Nusians. “Roger.” Less than a second later, he shot through the air in a burst of speed, closing the distance and tackling them to the ground.

Immediately getting back on his feet, he grabbed Tempest (who was still sprawled out on the ground), before turning and jumping into the air with the help of his jetpack. As soon as he was airborne, he looked behind him to see the heavily-armored Nusian already on his feet, reeling his arm back.

The Scout quickly flew downwards, narrowly avoiding being lashed by the grappling hook as it flew past the top of his head. Consequently, he crashed back down, groaning as he struggled to regain his bearings from the hard landing.

There. Tempest was a few feet away from him, thankfully not that hurt. If he could just-

The Scout yelped as the grappling hook’s cord wrapped around his leg, cutting into his skin before abruptly pulling him in the direction of the ex-police officer. He gritted his teeth, pulling out a grenade and pulling the pin before tossing it at the other Nusian.

The grenade sailed through the air before being batted away a few seconds later by a fearsome-looking chainsword. Trident didn’t even seem fazed when the grenade exploded a few feet off to the side, instead continuing to pull the Scout closer and closer as he slowly brought his chainsword up, revving it.

Suddenly, the grappling hook unwound itself from the man’s leg before returning to the other Nusian. The Scout gave a small self-satisfied smile, unclenching his fist to reveal several crushed bits of orange glass in his palm.

Before Trident could react, the Scout flew at him in a burst of speed, having used his jetpack to propel himself at the man as soon as he was free. One moment later, the former riot control officer was sent staggering back, his visor cracking from the sheer force of the blow as bits of glass were sent flying around them.

He took a deep breath, putting a hand to his cracked visor before looking up at the other Nusian. The Scout stood before him in a battle ready stance, his fist bleeding slightly from punching him right in the visor. The man’s eyes narrowed as he returned his gaze.

Not about to be shown up, Trident whipped his arm back before throwing it forwards again, his grappling hook lashing out in response to try and catch the agile Nusian. Instead of wrapping around fragile, yellow skin, the razor-sharp cord cracked against empty air, its target flying beneath it with the help of his jetpack as he closed the distance once again.

This time, Trident was prepared. Before his fist could land a second hit, he brought his chainsaw forwards, parrying the blow and sending the Scout flying up as he recovered from the impact. As soon as he looked up at the airborne Nusian, he whipped his grappling hook out, catching him this time before slamming him back down to the ground.

The Scout hit the ground hard, and this time he didn’t have the strength to crush the orbs as he was slowly dragged to the exhausted ex-police officer. Trident huffed, watching as the rogue Nusian twitched and weakly struggled against his bonds as his back scraped against the ground. “Give. Up,” he muttered derisively. “Don’t make this any harder for you. It’s over !”

“No,” a new voice shouted, “IT ISN’T!”

Trident whirled around, narrowly managing to block a strike with his chainsword as a long, bloody katana suddenly occupied his field of vision. The katana’s wielder gritted their teeth in rage, glaring furiously at him from behind their visor as they leaned in to try and break the lock.

His chainsword revved, feebly kicking up sparks as it strained to activate against the long blade of Guesan steel currently locked between its teeth. Trident’s eyes widened behind his visor as he tried his best to stand his ground.

Luckily for him, someone slammed into the Guesan, sending him staggering to the side as the newcomer twirled their machete around menacingly. “Would you look at that, now we’re gonna have three prisoners of war.” The grenadier clicked his tongue as their opponent got into a stance. “Should’ve cut your losses and made a run for it.”

Trident shook his head as he slashed at the air with his chainsword. “You made a mistake coming here alone, against two special infantry units backed up by a horde of tanks. What were you thinking?”

The Guesan made a face as he looked behind them and at the figures of the Nusian tanks, just barely visible in the darkness. Then, he smiled tenaciously, returning his gaze to the now confused duo. “I’m not alone,” he mockingly corrected.

Beside him, Fusilier’s eyes widened as he quickly thought of the implication. “Shit, get those tanks to back up- !”

Before he could finish, explosions rocked the tanks as something fired at them, tearing through the weak roof armor and cooking off the ammunition inside. The suddenness of it all caused Trident to stagger forwards, and as he looked up, he saw the Guesan’s sword above him, about to swing down-

CLANG!

-Fusilier’s machete locked against the larger Guesan blade, the alcoholic just barely able to hold it up as the Guesan grinned maliciously and put more of his weight on the Nusian grenadier’s weapon-

CRACK!

-Trident’s grappling hook lashed out, striking the Guesan in his unprotected legs and causing him to cry out as he lost focus and gave Fusilier the perfect opening to overpower him. Fusilier pushed him off, swapping out the machete for a grenade launcher and barking out orders as something large stomped over to them.

“Do- do we have any APUs active?” Trident urgently whispered to him as the Guesan got to his feet.

Fusilier swallowed nervously, glancing at the burning row of tanks behind them, then back at the Guesan (who was now smiling) as he replied, “...No.”

A large, vaguely humanoid shadow stood above the Guesan, barely illuminated in orange by the flames of the wrecked tanks behind the two. It looked like a Nusian APU, only it had what looked to be modifications of some sort on its arms.

The Guesan picked his katana up, twirling it as a younger Nusian bolted out from the shadows to shoot green arrows at the Nusians on the ground. Fusilier would’ve fired at her if it wasn’t for the fact that the definitely hostile APU had its guns trained on them, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.

“Well,” a voice originating from the APU said, “how the turntables.”

The four stood in a tense standoff as the Nusian medic on the side healed her compatriots, talking with one of them while the tanks kept burning behind the two special infantry units. Trident glanced at Fusilier behind his cracked visor, gripping his chainsword tightly.

“Do you have a plan?” he whispered to him.

Fusilier scowled. “No,” the alcoholic replied, not breaking eye contact with the APU or the Guesan. “Don’t you have any escorting squad?”

The disgraced officer grimaced behind his visor. “No,” he mumbled, wincing at the look on the other man’s face. “I don’t suppose you could ask yours to help us out right now?”

“I appreciate you two bonding over how fucked you are, but I’d rather you do it after we’re done putting cuffs on the two of you.” The Guesan scoffed as he pointed his katana at them. “Unless you want a firsthand demonstration of our own APU?”

This time, Fusilier turned to glare at the former officer. “Do you think Samurai Jack here is going to let me reach for my fucking radio?” he hissed, before looking at the Guesan and groaning tiredly. “How do I know you aren’t just going to have your friend fire at us soon as we drop our weapons?”

“I’m lower ranked than him,” the Guesan deadpanned, lowering the katana. “But good idea. Drop your weapons and I might not pay you back for what you did to our Scout.”

Fusilier huffed. “Is he your boyfriend or something?”

The Guesan chuckled. “Hah. Hah. Drop the fucking grenade launcher .”

The two exchanged a glance, and for a short moment, Trident contemplated taking his chances and seeing if he could take the Guesan down with them by pulling him in. A loud clatter quickly shook him out of it, and as he looked down he saw Fusilier’s grenade launcher tossed at his feet.

With a sigh, the ex-police officer reluctantly dropped the chainsword and the grappling hook, letting it completely uncoil from his arm before raising his hands and slowly walking over to the Guesan swordsman.

“You must feel so proud of yourself,” he grumbled under his breath as he stopped in front of the other man.

The Guesan simply looked at both of them before beckoning one of his comrades over. 

Without any warning, something slammed into his back, causing him to double over as the butt of something hard hit the back of his skull again and again. Fusilier gave an alarmed shout next to him, but was presumably forced to do nothing at gunpoint as the unseen assailant kept beating him even as he tried to cover his head with his arms.

The Guesan sighed. “Alright Tempest, that’s enough. Doc would be pissed if he had to waste healing bolts on these two losers because you roughed them up too much.” 

Trident blinked through the haze of pain as he processed what he had just heard. Oh , he numbly thought as a hand roughly grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to his feet. The face he was met with was young, had a pair of goggles hiding its eyes, and was silently fuming at him as its owner scowled at his visor.

After a tense staring contest, the two were brought out of their thoughts as someone cleared their throat. “So, what are you gonna do with us?” Fusilier asked from the sidelines, once he was sure that the 19 year old wasn’t about to start brutalizing his comrade.

The Guesan took it as his cue to answer. “You’re going to be our prisoners, obviously,” he said, pointedly looking at Tempest as he did. Tempest clicked his tongue, letting go of the former officer’s collar. “Now, we would very much prefer it if you did defect to us, but I can totally get why you’d rather not throw your lot with us, even though I’d really hate having to kill you after you inevitably try to escape.”

Trident blinked at him. “Why would we defect to your side?” he asked. “You’re losing. And Nusia’s our home country, anyways. We won’t be welcome in the Dominion even if we did help.”

He glanced at Gaia, who was standing near the APU, conversing with the Medic. Then, he diverted his attention to Tempest. “Why are you and the kid helping them? You know what Nusia does to traitors.” The man frowned behind his cracked visor. “Don’t you have a family back home?”

Tempest glared at him. “I do . But most of my family’s dead, thanks to the Republic.” He sucked in a deep breath, likely recalling some painful memories as he tensed up. “My brother died in the civil war. A civil war that happened because they took over Guesa the way they did.”

Fusilier perked up. “Your brother? Arden Salamasi?” Upon seeing the surprised and confused looks the others gave him, he muttered, “What? I didn’t get Sergeant just because I was dicking around all day instead of doing my homework. Besides, my mom was NSC Special Forces too.”

The 19 year old scrunched his face up at that. “Yeah. Him. He was… part of the same team as your mom, wasn’t he?”

“...Kind of,” the grenadier mumbled. “My mom used to be in Fireteam-6 before being transferred to Fireteam-1. And then she was sent with two others to scout a Dominian PMC stronghold…” He trailed off, letting his silence about her fate speak for itself.

Tempest sighed. “Him and his team did so much for Nusia in dealing with the insurgents. So did your mom’s. And what did they do for him once he kicked the bucket? What did they do for all of our dead family members?”

Trident idly tapped his index finger on his thumb as the memories of suppressed protests came to mind. “Nusia threw the families of Special Forces members under the bus, not giving them proper compensation. There was a whole scandal about it, people didn’t like it but the government wouldn’t budge.” The puzzle pieces clicked into place as he stared at the two Nusians in front of him. “That’s why you… ah. You needed the Nolics to support yourselves and your families too, didn’t you?”

Fusilier’s gaze darkened momentarily. “No, just me,” the alcoholic muttered. “Had nothing, wasn’t able to put my skill with explosives anywhere, couldn’t get a job in construction as a demolitionist because I…” He cut himself off. “Anyways, I guess… I…”

“...hang on a second. What about your family?” He looked at the 19 year old, taking a step forward as he did. “Are you just going to abandon them to the Republic’s mercy just like that? Isn’t the whole point of you becoming a soldier to support your family? What do you think they’re going to do with them if they find out that one Fulgur Salamasi fucked off to join the Dominians with his girlfriend?”

Tempest’s placid expression gave way to a thunderous rage as he stomped over in front of the older Nusian. “I’m not abandoning my remaining family to Nusia,” he growled, leaning in. “As soon as we can, I’m going to get them out of that place. And Gaia is not my girlfriend .”

The alcoholic didn’t back down, staring him in the eyes as he stood his ground. “Then, what is she to you? Why care enough to defect to the Dominians to keep her safe?”

The storm of fury melted off of his face as he slowly leaned away. “...practically a sister to me,” he mumbled, barely audible to Trident with how quiet it was.

Fusilier’s expression softened just the slightest bit. “...what would your brother say?” he quietly asked him.

The 19 year old’s mouth broke into an enraged scowl for a split second before falling back into a thin, neutral line. “To fight for my family,” he simply replied.

The grenadier smiled humorlessly at that. “Then for their sake, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Tempest looked at Trident, who had been quiet for the entirety of the argument. “You should defect. I heard about what you did, how everyone cast you out for it. It was on the news for a week.” He pivoted his body to stare at the former officer. “Don’t you hate Nusia for forcing you into this position?”

Trident quietly drummed his fingers against his palm, trying to control his breathing as he stared back. “...I’m thinking,” he tersely replied.

Before any more could be said, the Scout walked up to the group and ushered the forward. “Well, keep thinking about it. You’re coming with us.” He gave Trident a pointed look. “You have my sympathies, but I can’t shake the feeling that you’re just buying time until you get rescued. That ends now.”

“I’m not,” the ex-riot control officer replied. Still, he complied with the defector’s demands, walking alongside him as they left the burning tanks behind. After a few seconds, Tempest and Fusilier followed suit, getting closer and closer to the Dominian APU with every uncertain step.

But suddenly, without warning, bullets began to fly around them. Trident, acting on instinct, ran to Fusilier and tackled him to the ground, looking around them as everything descended into chaos. Stronghold 5-5 momentarily ignored them, their members going in separate directions to fend off the attackers as the APU aimed at the blaze behind them.

The reason why became apparent as a railgun fired through the flames, narrowly missing the APU as it broke through the holographic shield that appeared to intercept it.

Trident’s eyes widened as he took in the modifications to the APU. If the Dominians could mass-produce that, Nusia would be forced to change its tactics as their own machines were used against them. And if those were the upgrades their Engineer could do to it, on the field no less…

He was shaken out of his thoughts as the APU fired at the tanks with a Governor PDC attached to its arm. Holy shit , he couldn’t help but think, seeing it quickly silence the machine gun fire in the direction that it aimed at.

The APU then took a step back, narrowly avoiding a rocket aimed at its feet from above as the Engineer inside looked at the sky. Trident followed his gaze, quickly spotting two agile shapes soaring through the air with jetpacks on their backs and RPGs in their hands.

Before they could fire again, one was dropkicked by the Scout as he flew into him, and the other was shot out of the air a moment later by an unseen sniper. His breath caught in his throat as he saw how well the Dominians coordinated.

Like a well-oiled machine…

His attention was drawn back to the ground as he heard soldiers shouting his and Fusilier’s names. The man’s eyes widened as he looked at the archway, seeing a group of infantry and sappers run towards them while a pair of gunners stood back and fired at the APU.

Ignoring the fusillade directed at the APU behind them, he grabbed Fusilier and got up, sprinting towards the Nusians as soon as he was on his feet. But before he could reach them, he stumbled, tripping over something and falling visor first into the ground.

Trident cursed under his breath, already knowing that Stronghold 5-5’s attention would be on him and Fusilier as they tried to make their escape. But what did he trip ov-

Before him lay the grappling hook that he used to reel people in. The chainsword that they gave him. Likewise, Fusilier’s grenade launcher lay a few feet away from his equipment.

Fusilier grabbed his grenade launcher as he ran into his field of view. Then, as soon as he saw that Trident wasn’t moving, he barked, “GET THE FUCK UP! GET YOUR WEAPONS AND LET’S JUST GET OUT OF HERE ALREADY !”

Snapping out of it, Trident retrieved his weapons and made a break for it, passing the infantry group and causing a few to break away to cover their retreat, while the rest ran towards the APU to try to destroy it.

The Engineer clicked his tongue as he watched the two get away. He had heard the argument with his APU’s finely tuned audio receptors, and it seemed like Tempest had gotten so close to convincing them to turn traitor, too. Shame.

Well , he thought, aiming his guns at the infantry and cloaked sappers as the barrier kit flickered into existence, soaking up the machine gun fire meant for his cockpit. We’ll get them next time.

The APU’s built-in guns and the Governors on his arms made short, bloody work of the squadron trying to distract him. Then, once that was done, he focused his attention on the gunners on either side, noting with some amusement that they were now trying to retreat. “Get back here,” he calmly ordered, aiming one arm at each gunner.

The gunners paused, looking at each other before looking back at him. The Engineer smirked behind the glass. “Good!” he said, his voice amplified by the APU’s speakers. “Now…” He trailed off, darkly wondering if he should let them go or kill them.

Not that he was going to be able to make a choice, since two IFVs immediately rolled up to block his view of the two Nusians. The Dominian frowned as they both fired with everything they had, letting their ATGMs fly and trying to hammer away at his holographic shield with their puny autocannons.

The missiles exploded in front of him at the same time as he fired the guns on both arms, shredding the IFVs and making quick work of their crews. Not that he could tell with the clouds of smoke obscuring his vision.

The Dominian APU waved the smoke from the ATGMs away, its pilot looking around at the devastation that he had caused during the short skirmish. The two gunners probably got away, but he didn’t care about that. “Whew,” the Engineer whistled, staring at the burning wrecks of the IFVs and tanks in front of him. “Lu Ten, is that all of them?”

“The rest retreated, we’re in the clear for now.” There was a sigh on the other end. “They have Trident and Fusilier back. We could’ve had them if you and the others brought them into one of the buildings instead of letting them talk in the open.”

The Engineer shrugged, still surveying the grisly scene in front of him. “Eh, whatever. We tore through most of their heavy armor, didn’t we? That’s several less tanks and IFVs to deal with later, once they try… that.”

There was a brief silence as they both mulled over the implications. There was no way the Republic would let them get away, even if they had to lose everything in this region to do it. An all-out desperation attack.

The Recon clicked his tongue, breaking the silence. “I’ll ask Hotel-Tango if he can finally get the MoD to bail us out of this mess. Check that APU for any damage, repair it if you see any. We’re gonna need the firepower once shit hits the fan.”

The Engineer sighed as he slowly walked further back into the outpost. “Yes sir,” he muttered. It’s almost over. I just hope we can hold out until then.

Gaia stared at Tempest as he anxiously checked the weapon printer for something. “What are you so worried about?” she asked.

The 19 year old didn’t reply, frantically scrolling through the selection of weapons as he bit his lip.

She slowly tilted her head, realizing what he was looking for. “I thought you hated having to use it. I mean I wouldn’t mind having my medigun back, but you-”

“I don’t hate using it to protect you,” he quickly replied, his eyes still firmly glued to the screen.

Neither of them said anything after that.

Fusilier groaned as he was patched up by his squad’s medic. He looked the group over, ignoring the other Nusians milling about as they tried to take stock of how much they had lost fighting the Dominian squadron. “...fuck,” he muttered under his breath, noting that his squad was a member short. “Did we-”

“We lost one, another’s incapacitated and won’t be able to fight.” The woman shook her head. “It’s alright. You had to try to save Trident, and it kind of paid off.”

The sergeant smiled mirthlessly at her. “We lost several good men and women, a dozen tanks, and most of our IFVs doing so.” He clicked his tongue. “And for what? To find out that the Dominians took the APU we left to their mercy and upgraded it. Just brilliant.”

She stared at him for a good few seconds, unnerving him slightly with her cold, hard look. “That wasn’t all you found out though, was it?” she asked.

Nurem Pacet stared back at her, his mouth a thin, tight line.

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t trust us with it, Sarge,” she grumbled, going back to patching up his injuries. “But at least give us a warning if you’re gonna do something stupid.”

He thought to himself for a moment, rubbing his face tiredly as he recalled the little heart-to-heart with the kid earlier. “Get me Trident,” he muttered, ignoring her questioning look. “I’ll tell you and the others about it after I talk with him.”

She shrugged. “Sure, boss,” the medic snarked, leaving to go fetch the ex-riot control officer.

Fusilier frowned a little as she left. This isn’t going to go over well, is it?

After a few minutes, the medic returned with Trident in tow. The two locked eyes, then Fusilier glanced at the woman and jerked his head. “You can go now, this is between me and him.”

The medic shrugged, walking off with a small salute and leaving the two special infantry units by themselves.

After a brief silence, Fusilier reached over to his leg and grabbed his flask, uncorking it to take a calming swig of liquid courage. “So,” he began, once he was done drinking, “about what happened earlier in that outpost.”

There was no response. Still, the sergeant continued. “Do you think…” He paused for a moment, thinking his words through. “Do you think they stand a chance against Nusia?” he instead asked.

After a few seconds, Trident gave a small, imperceptible shrug. “They did fight both of us off, and we attacked in the middle of the night, with lots of heavy armor, while their eye in the sky was still asleep. What do you think?” Despite the visor obscuring his expression, the grenadier had a feeling he was giving him an unimpressed look.

Fusilier clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he did so. “I think we’re completely fucked if things keep going the way they do. They already have Gaia and Tempest’s prototypes on hand. And you saw what just one engineer was able to do with an APU. I get the feeling that they put that captured platform to good use.” The grenadier shuddered at the thought.

After a few seconds, he cleared his throat. “Anyways, I’m asking because I feel like you’re… contemplating taking the kid’s offer.” He gave the other Nusian a pointed look. “How do you think that’s gonna go over with Nusia?”

Trident stared back at him, as emotionless as ever. “What will go over with Nusia? They don’t need to know anything.” The ex-officer rolled his shoulders. “Besides, he’s right. What did they ever do for both of us?”

“I don’t have any surviving family to worry about,” Fusilier interrupted him. “But you do. What about your-”

“Estranged family.” The slow rise and fall of Trident’s chest was the only indication that the other Nusian was alive and not just an inanimate statue. “Not my problem anymore.”

The grenadier gave him a disgusted look. “Are you fucking serious?” he quietly muttered.

Trident shrugged. “I don’t really care. Numbed myself when it came to my family long ago.” He made a ‘hmph’ noise. “Besides, the Republic wouldn’t do anything to them, knowing it won’t hurt me at all. I know how they work.”

Fusilier gave him a long, hard look. Trident didn’t budge.

After a tense minute of silence, the grenadier let out a frustrated exhale, raising his hands as he rolled his eyes. “Alright. Fine. But aren’t you worried about how the Dominians are going to treat us?”

“They seem to be getting along just fine with the two teenagers,” the other man replied, looking around to make sure that nobody was eavesdropping.

“They had valuable tech to give the Dominians to convince them to let them do whatever. What exactly do we bring to the table, huh?” Fusilier narrowed his eyes. “What, a drunk demolition man and a self-loathing former riot control officer who left after getting his hands a little too dirty? You think that’s gonna fly with the side you wanna defect to?”

Trident leaned back, considering his options. “I’d honestly deal with whatever shit the Dominians would dare to throw at me than go back to Nusia. If they want to piss off the people trying to help them, fine. Prove Nusia right, why not.” He shook his head. “If that happens, I’m getting as far away from this war as possible.”

Fusilier clicked his tongue, wondering to himself why exactly he was so okay with discussing plans of desertion with this depressed ex-cop. “I’ve been thinking about it myself, I don’t really know if I should tag along or not.” He didn’t know why he was voicing his concerns to this man, of all people, but it wasn’t like he could talk about his thoughts with his squad.

His fellow special infantry unit gave a small huff as he turned to look at him. “Do whatever you want to do. But I’m seeing the way the wind’s blowing. Sooner or later, this whole war is going to blow up in the Republic’s face. I don’t want to be here when that happens, and if you’re sane and rational, neither should you.” He idly wrapped his grappling hook’s cord around his arm. “We’ve been given a way out, and I can’t exactly force you to take it, nor do I want to. Not worth the effort to fight you on the matter, just like how you’re choosing to talk about it with me instead of trying to strongarm me into staying.”

Fusilier took it all in as he uncorked the lid of his flask. “Yeah, well, fine. Fair’s fair, I’m just thinking it’s not such a good idea to do it when there’s a massive Nusian presence in the area, and it’s just gonna get even bigger from here on out.” He took a massive swig, gulping it down before putting the lid back on and setting the flask aside.

Trident cleared his throat. “I’m not stupid. Not going to cement my decision until… you know.” He suddenly glanced to his right, noting that there was a Nusian soldier approaching them. “Yes, what is it?”

Fusilier suddenly felt a cold sweat roll down the side of his head as he wondered, for just a second, if the infantry heard enough to construe it as treason.

The Nusian gave the two special infantry units a salute. “Sirs, we’ve gotten word that backup has finally arrived. The last infantry groups just got here after resupplying at the F.O.B. They’re trying to surround the valley so that we can besiege the Dominians from all directions.”

“ Great to hear,” the grenadier suddenly found himself saying, relieved that the infantry apparently hadn’t heard so much as a peep about their potentially treasonous conspiring. “Is this the part where we finally get a real game changer to help us wear down the Dominians in one last push?”

The infantry nodded, oblivious to the tense atmosphere shared between the two men. “Yes, Sergeant Pacet. Special Infantry Unit ‘Sparta’ has arrived to take charge of the situation. He brought the rest of the 63rd Armored and 131st Mechanized with him. Command hopes that this’ll be enough to bring down this elite squadron once and for all.”

Fusilier gave her a smile as he nodded. “Excellent. I’ll be waiting for him. In the meantime, please, debrief the rest of the units scattered around the valley. We’ll give those Dominians everything we have.” And then some.

She saluted before running off to do his bidding, leaving the two men alone once more.

They both gave each other a knowing look. If they ever decided to defect, they would have to deal with Sparta. The honor bound swordsman would never allow the two to toss the Republic aside like it had done so with them and so many others.

Fusilier jerked his head, already hearing the sound of tanks driving over to them in the distance. Without so much as a word, Trident turned and walked off, preparing to greet their reinforcements.

He grabbed his flask and put it back in its strap on his leg. Mom would be so disappointed if she knew what I was really worried about right now. Ah, well, too late for regrets, he supposed. Time to throw himself back into his duty.

Chapter Text

The Recon scowled as he scoped in on the shapes in the distance, already having a good idea of what they were going to be up against. “Hotel-Tango, do you copy? How much longer before friendlies arrive to relieve us?”

Static buzzed in his ear. “Just a little longer, hold out for as long as you can, please. They’re mobilizing as quickly as they can, and our engineers are already working on updating the databases for the weapon printers.” And then he was gone.

He pursed his lips as he commed the rest of his squad. “Everyone, the Nusians are preparing to mount a large-scale attack on this outpost. Get at least one upgrade from the weapon printers.” The marksman paused for emphasis. “That’s an order . Do it immediately, I don’t know if we’ll be able to reach each other once the fighting starts.”

Down below, Gaia was with Tempest as she anxiously paced around, waiting for him to finish whatever he was doing. “Still nothing?” she asked, glancing at the screen without waiting for him to answer.

“...no,” the other Nusian muttered in defeat. “Our weapons still aren’t there.”

The 17 year old felt a chill run up her spine as she looked around them. The outpost felt deathly quiet, almost like the calm before the storm… “M-maybe you could… keep trying? Or, fuck it, let’s just fight near the weapon printers! I don’t want to… I…”

Tempest took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly. “I know, I know.” He gritted his teeth as he looked around at the outpost that they were in.

“I won’t be going anywhere.”

The Scout flew down to one of the weapon printers, almost missing the two figures standing near it as he typed away at the keyboard. It was only when he took off his jetpack to insert it into the machine that he realized the two other Nusians were there next to him.

He stared at them both, noting that the younger Nusian was holding his hand like it was a lifeline. “Why are you two just standing there?” he asked, glancing at the screen as his jetpack slid into the printer.

The goggled 19 year old shrugged. “I… can’t find my own weapon,” he muttered dejectedly.

The Scout licked his lips, feeling them dry with each passing second as he held a hand out to the machine in anticipation. As soon as the upgraded jetpack came out, he grabbed it and put it on, securing it to his waist before turning to Tempest and making a ‘give it to me’ gesture with his hand.

Tempest blinked dumbly at him.

“Your RPG,” the defector said, “hand it over. I’ll upgrade it for you.”

The day was as tense as ever as the Assault briskly walked through the empty outpost, making his way over to the weapon printers to get his mandatory upgrade before the battle began in earnest. He pulled out his defibrillators, humming to himself as he reached his destination.

He pointedly ignored the three Nusians talking to each other as he inserted them into the machine and picked an upgrade. Once that was done, though, he did have to wait a bit before it spat out his upgraded item, sooo…

The Guesan turned to look at the three Nusians. “What’re you guys doing?” he asked, glancing at the Scout, then to the two newbies and the brand new four-barreled rocket launcher that was in one of their hands. “Oh. Upgrades, right?”

The Scout gave a terse nod before looking back at Tempest. “I’m telling him how to use the upgraded RPG I picked for him,” he said, “because he needs something as close to his old cannon as possible to protect him and his… you know.”

His friend hummed to himself as he turned back to the weapon printer. “Makes sense,” he replied, grabbing the upgraded defibrillators as soon as the green light emerged from the slot. “Good luck, I’ll see you guys… hopefully later!” the young man shouted as he ran off.

The Scout waved him goodbye, not that he was able to see it since he wasn’t even looking in their direction when he ran.

The Medic was in the middle of upgrading his defibrillators in the middle of the open field when he heard the telltale sound of propellers above the clouds. The Dominian paused for a second, then put away the defibrillators as he made a mad dash back into the outpost.

He was not about to get caught by an APU dropping from the sky, thank you very much.

The Engineer hummed to himself as he checked the Dominian APU ( I need to come up with a name for this thing , he idly thought) when he too heard the sounds of cargo planes in the air. Acting quickly, he set aside his tools and clambered into the cockpit, securing himself in the seat before powering up everything on the modified mech.

The APU’s weapons and its attached kits had just finished powering on when the radio in his ear crackled with static.

“Stronghold, we’ve confirmed an Eagle Cry.”

It felt like the outpost had stopped breathing.

“They’re sending all they’ve got left, give it all you’ve got.”

Even from this distance, he could hear the sounds of tanks and IFVs rumbling closer to the outpost, along with the loud earthshaking footsteps of the Nusian platforms getting into position.

“ HOLD THE LINE !”

The Engineer wasted no time in making his way over to the rear archway. If he was to keep his teammates alive, he would have to cover their flank unless he had to move in to assist.

Besides , he thought as he saw the railtanks finally come into view from the greenery of the valley, I gotta test the armor upgrades I added to this thing. And what better way to do that than by tearing through their heavy armor?

Taking aim at the horde of vehicles charging towards the outpost, he opened fire with the Governor PDCs. The armor-piercing rounds flew through the air towards their targets…

“Shouldn’t you be on the lookout for any cargo planes dropping APUs into the outpost?”

The Scout held his finger to his earpiece as he flew through the air, looking for any Nusians to pick off.

“Nope, cargo planes didn’t try dropping them this time. Maybe they’re waiting until later, or they dropped them further out.” He could hear gunfire and a disorienting amount of explosions on the Engineer’s end. “Either way, I can’t try and shoot them unless they actually try dropping anything, I’m a little busy covering your backs.”

The defector hummed in response to that as his eyes scanned the battlefield. “Fair enough,” he replied, before spotting a group of infantry trying to advance and flying over them. Before he was even above them, he already had his hands on two grenades, pulling the pin on both before letting go as he used his jetpack to soar off.

The infantry below looked at the small trail of red flames zooming away in confusion. Then, they looked at the ground, and had all of three seconds to try and scramble away before the grenades promptly exploded.

The Scout nodded in grim satisfaction as he heard the screaming fading away beneath him. He just had to keep up the work until the Dominians could come in and they’d be all right. Hopefully.

Static crackled in his headset. He frowned, dropping another cluster of primed grenades as he waited for communications to come in.

“Stronghold 5-5, Hotel-Tango has… oh, shit.” The defector pursed his lips as he heard just the slightest twinge of fear in the helicopter pilot’s voice. “I-I’ve encountered a H-”

He winced as the voice abruptly cut off with a shriek as bullets tore through the helo’s fuselage. The sound of alarms going off on the other end almost overpowered the din of battle around him.

“I’m hit, I’m hit! They have a-!”

The Scout quickly looked up as he heard something crash into the mountains, not far from the outpost. He paused, then quickly turned around and flew in the direction of the smoke as the sound of rotorcraft retreated back to Nusian lines.

The Medic swore under his breath as he fired at a few advancing shielders, making sure to aim for the gaps as he heard the urgent transmission. “Damn it… I need support here!” he hollered, already sensing that the Nusians were going for him specifically.

Why did my squadmates just leave me to fend for myself?

His prayers were promptly answered as a black and red blur crashed into a sprinting cloaker, taking off his head while he was still on the ground as the Guesan ducked and weaved through the hail of bullets meant for him. “Gonna need to try better than that!” he mocked, before slicing a shielder that got too close.

The Medic watched his teammate work, thankful for the brief reprieve in the fighting for him. As he breathed, he watched the Nusians quickly fall back, and his mind couldn’t help but wonder what exactly they were planning.

And then he saw the tear gas grenades arcing into the air.

“Above you!” the Medic shouted.

The Guesan looked up and quickly scampered back, steering clear of the gas clouds that formed as the grenades went off above him. He scowled, spinning his katana as he glared at the thick, dark clouds blocking his view.

“What are you waiting for!?” the Dominian hissed to him. “Get back!”

His charge chewed his lip and clicked his tongue, but ultimately gave in as he turned and retreated with the Medic further into the outpost. “You know, I’m surprised their platforms aren’t firing yet. We don’t exactly have Hotel-Tango to warn us about them anymore, either…”

The Medic smacked his back. “Stop tempting fate, thank you.”

Tempest gritted his teeth as he fired off another volley of rockets at the marching infantry, taking out a good amount of his fellow Nusians but not exactly thinning the horde that was trying to take him and Gaia prisoner.

Or kill them. Either way, the Nusian Security Council would have their heads on a silver platter. He couldn’t allow that.

“Get back!” he shouted, hastily reloading the Rocket Stormer (as he’d taken to calling it).

A shielder walked out of the smoke, defiantly marching towards the 19 year old as he took aim with the rocket launcher. Before he could fire, another Nusian suddenly peeked out from behind the shielder.

The gunner aimed his LMG at him. He was a moment away from pulling the trigger when a glowing green arrow punched through his gas mask’s right lens, causing him to instead fire wildly at the air as he fell, spooking the shielder he was hiding behind.

Another arrow shot out beside him, striking the disoriented shielder in the knee and causing her to drop to the ground with a cry of pain. A third arrow put her out of her misery.

He glanced beside him. Gaia looked back, somewhat somber as she robotically nocked another arrow.

The smoke cleared in front of them. Tempest quickly looked back in front of him, aiming his Rocket Stormer at the sight that greeted them.

Fusilier and Trident stood in front of the duo, their weapons drawn but not pointed at them.

A tense silence permeated the air as the four Nusians stared each other down. “...where’s your squad?” Gaia quietly mumbled, narrowing her eyes in suspicion at the grenadier.

He shrugged. “Told ‘em to stay back,” the man casually replied.

“Did you come to us to finally defect?” Tempest asked, allowing himself to feel some hope.

“We-” Before Fusilier could finish his sentence, a shot rang out, kicking up dust in front of Tempest’s feet. The two teenagers scampered back in alarm while the older Nusians tensed up, before they all turned to look at the source of the gunshot.

A group of infantry glared back as one, walking over to the four with their N2A2s aimed at the two traitors. One of the soldiers stepped forward, looking at Fusilier specifically. “ Sir .” The word was said like a curse. “You’ve got some fucking explaining to do.”

“Have you found Hotel-Tango yet?” The Dominian scowled as he turned another line of Nusian armor into scrapheaps with his guns.

“I haven’t, he’s so out of the way that I don’t think even the Nusians are gonna find him before the battle’s over.” The agile Nusian sounded somewhat morose as he sighed to himself. “I’ll need to get back to the outpost, you guys look like you’re being pushed back, and besides, Hotel-Tango will be found by the Dominians when they finally reach us. In the meantime, a replacement Aerial Recon should be on the way to replace him.”

The Engineer scowled as he avoided another volley of artillery fire, just narrowly getting out of the blast zone as the massive shells struck the earth around him. “I’m still busy fighting off their armor, if I don’t keep occupying these platforms then they’ll have all the guns they want aimed at the rest of our squad!”

He shifted the APU’s head to avoid a railgun shot before smashing the tank’s roof in with the mech’s reinforced arm. If that thing wasn’t unmanned, then he’d just crushed 2-3 Nusians inside their vehicle.

Ah, well. Not like I have the time to think about it. The Engineer blocked several more ATGMs with his barrier kit, closing the distance to the reversing IFVs in a few strides as he did. Then, he aimed one arm and swept it in a wide arc as he fired, shredding the lightly armored transports in seconds.

With that done, the Engineer turned the APU around to make his way over to the platforms when rounds started impacting his mech. The barrier came to life as the Dominian APU raised its arm, its pilot frowning as he looked at the imposing figures marching over to him.

“Oh, so that’s where they dropped their cargo.” The Engineer grimaced as his APU raised its other arm and began to engage its unmodified counterparts. My modifications should give me an advantage, at least…

He heard the boom of the platforms firing their guns on his position again. The Dominian’s face fell as he began to charge at the other APUs, his barrier lighting up from all the return fire it was soaking up in response.

God, now they’re even desperate enough to fire near their own mechs!

Guesan steel sliced through Nusian alloys as the katana found its mark in the shielder’s neck, freeing her head from her shoulders with a sweep of the blade. The Guesan swordsman grabbed the lower half of the shield (still intact) and raised it, blocking a few shotgun blasts as he charged at the rest of the shielders.

He was perfectly aware of the bullets grazing his skin or even punching right through the bits of flesh unprotected by the shield, but he didn’t really feel it that much. What with being too high off of literal bloodlust and whatever drugs those crossbow bolts were pumping into him every time the Medic shot him.

The Assault smirked as he rounded on his next target, a gunner with a deathwish and an LMG pointed straight at him. “Go on,” he said, twirling the katana in one hand as the gunner began to depress the trigger.

As soon as they began to fire, the Guesan slashed horizontally with his katana-

-the long Guesan blade interlocking with two shortswords as someone flew over to intercept-

-and then he was kicked back, staggering a little as he stared in shock at the new arrival. Another Nusian, one with a sword in each hand and tattoos trailing up his arms. Multiple panels, presumably shields, popped out of his back from mechanical joints, preparing to block anything that he couldn’t catch from the front.

The Guesan and the Dominian stared at him in silence, slowly backing away as the enemy swordsman glanced at the gunner behind him, saying a single word. “Go,” he ordered, with a somewhat deep, commanding voice that had them sprinting off to rejoin their allies.

Then, the Nusian swordsman turned to look at the two members of Stronghold 5-5, gripping his Khanblades tightly as his eyes narrowed. “So, you’re the infamous Stronghold that the Nusian Defense Council sent me to that city to deal with. I’m almost impressed with how quickly you turned that place into a death trap before fleeing to this outpost.”

Just then, their comms crackled to life in a burst of static. “Showtime 11 has spotted a Sparta. Be quick on your feet and don’t hesitate to move!” And then their eye in the sky disappeared, completely unaware of how late his warning had arrived.

Sparta chuckled. “Let’s see if your squadron will live up to its reputation, Guesan.”

The Guesan felt the all-consuming tide of bloodlust slowly ebb away, replaced by surmounting terror as he swallowed dryly, getting into a stance while the special infantry unit squared his shoulders. Behind him, the Medic slowly backed away, looking around them for any friendlies that could bail them out of this predicament.

Alas, there was nobody nearby.

The Dominian looked back at the Assault. “We gotta run,” he whispered.

The monk scoffed, baring his teeth as his jetpack flared to life. “You aren’t running anywhere ,” the man spat. And with that, he flew at the Guesan, forcing him to bring his katana up to block as the two Khanblades tried to stab straight at him.

“Goddammit, where the hell is the Staff Sergeant!?” the Medic shouted, firing a bolt at the monk that promptly ricocheted off one of his shields as it popped out to block. “We need some help here, they brought fucking Sparta !”

Tempest stared at the infantry that surrounded them, contemplating dropping the Rocket Stormer as they all kept their N2A2s at the ready, all the while one of them was talking with Fusilier, clearing out some… misunderstandings between him and his squad.

“Sir, why the hell are you not cuffing these two traitors?” the soldier hissed, giving Fusilier a nasty look as the grenadier fidgeted in place. “And why didn’t you tell us you were taking another route?”

The alcoholic looked off to the side, briefly locking eyes with Tempest as he bit his lip. Not that this went unnoticed by the surrounding infantry, but thankfully nobody opted to comment on it. “We… were doing just that,” Fusilier quickly replied, jostling Trident’s shoulder as the two teens took a step back.

“Woah, woah, what!?” Gaia sputtered, her face morphing from shock to anger in the span of five seconds. “You piece of-” Before she could take aim and fire, Tempest quickly placed an arm on her bow, forcing her to lower it as he gave her a look. The 17 year old stared at him in surprise. “ Tempest! ” she hissed.

Tempest looked back at the squad surrounding them, his eyes landing on Trident’s emotionless visor as he quietly breathed out. “Let’s just go along with them,” he said to her. “ For now, ” he added, whispering it to the medic as the infantry closed in.

While their arms were restrained behind them and their weapons were confiscated, the former conscript looked at Fusilier, noting the conflict on his expression as he clutched the grenade launcher in his hands tightly. Beside him, Trident continued to watch the two, his stance the same as it was earlier as if he was totally unaffected by what was going on in front of him.

That was all Tempest was able to gleam, before he and Gaia were forced on their way by the Nusian infantry.

The Recon swore to himself as he picked off the Nusians trying to form a perimeter around the close-quarters battle, narrowly avoiding another sniper’s bullet as he took down a grenadier attempting to assist the swordsman.

“Sir, he’s barely holding on down here! Someone has to come bail us out!”

The Dominian marksman growled as he aimed the H15 at another group of infantry about to chuck some grenades or do something about the fact that their beloved swordsman was getting two-on-one’d. “I’m a little busy making sure that Sparta is the only thing you have to worry about right now!” He pulled the trigger, reducing one of the soldiers to a corpse as their headless body fell to the ground.

“W-what about the Engineer then!? Like at least have his APU lay down some cover fire so that we can escape!”

Before Lu Ten could reply, the other Dominian did it for him, his voice barely audible over the burst of static and gunfire that came with the response. “ BUSY !” the Engineer tersely replied, before disappearing as quickly as he came.

“Well then who can help us!?”

“ Me .” 

The Scout wrapped around the small circle that had become the fighting grounds for the two swordsmen and the Medic, gritting his teeth as he watched Sparta lock Khanblades with the Guesan once more, forcing him on the backfoot. The Nusian monk leaned in, grinning at the sparks that flew as their blades grinded against each other.

As soon as he was at a good angle, the defector activated his jetpack and flew right at Sparta. The monk quickly turned his head, surprise etched into his face as the shields on his right propped themselves out to take the brunt of the blow.

His fists met the monk’s shields at an impressive speed, with enough force to cause the swordsman to stagger off to the side, giving the Guesan some much-needed reprieve. The Scout watched Sparta recover for a second before glancing at the Assault. “You good?”

The Guesan huffed as he stretched his arms, giving his friend and savior a strained smile. “Dunno how much longer I was gonna be able to hold out.” Then, the smile faded from his face as he turned to look at Sparta, who was now back on his feet and glaring at the two with a disgusted expression.

“You know,” the swordsman muttered, twirling one of his Khanblades as he spoke, “I was going to fight you and your healer myself, even though you had an unfair advantage by having someone constantly heal your wounds.”

He scowled as his eyes landed on the traitorous Nusian. “But this? Bringing a third person into this duel to save you from the fact that you’re a worse swordsman than me instead of fighting till your last?” Sparta chuckled humorlessly as he locked eyes with the defector. “Sooo much for Dominian honor.”

The Assault sneered as he got into a stance. “You just gonna talk us to death or actually go back to fighting?”

Sparta gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I think… I’m going to even out the odds just a little bit, to make this fight fair for both of us.” He tapped the side of his head. “I want every cloaker to converge on my position, right now.”

The Scout’s blood turned to ice.

“After all,” the swordsman said over the cacophony of unholy screeching that got closer and closer, “you’re skilled enough to take on cloakers with your bare hands. Surely you can do the same while still trying to attack me, yes?”

The Assault worked his jaw as he saw several cloakers appear on Sparta’s flanks, a few looking at him for their next orders as their goggles glowed an intense, unyielding green.

Sparta nodded his head at the trio. “Get them,” he said.

The cloakers surged forwards as one.

The swordsman crossed his arms, content to watch the cloakers rush down the trio as the latter brought their weapons to bear. Then, in less than a second, the fighting started up once more.

The Scout ducked and weaved between the cloakers attempting to dropkick or hold him in place, delivering some strikes of his own that took down one of them at a time, temporarily at least. He knew he couldn’t really do well against the horde if he was surrounded, and so…

With a burst of speed, he tackled one cloaker and used them as a makeshift ramp, propelling himself into the air with his jetpack as he looked down at the group fighting him. As they all glanced up, he maneuvered himself so that his jetpack’s thrusters were pointed at the sky behind him.

The cloakers immediately realized what he was doing and moved to scatter, not wanting to be caught in the resulting shockwave. Unfortunately for them, despite their enhanced mobility, his reflexes were still faster.

His jetpack propelled him down onto the ground as he brought his arms and legs up, making a sort of ball shape to speed up his already rapid descent.

Bodies and debris flew into the air as the Scout smashed into the ground before ricocheting back into the sky. As he glanced down to see if his teammates needed help, he noticed Sparta still standing in the same spot as before, staring at him in surprise and… slight approval.

Instead of pondering it any further, he quickly switched gears towards more pressing matters, namely the cloakers that were about to overwhelm the Assault and the Medic while he was airborne.

With another burst from his jetpack, he smashed into the thick of the horde, wasting no time in finishing off the ones that were still able to get up as several green lights pivoted towards him. Before the closest one could attempt a dropkick, a bloodied katana pierced her through the side of her head, causing her to go limp as the Guesan whirled around to cover the Scout.

Now that they were reunited, the two men slashed and struck out at the attacking cloakers, beating them back with some difficulty and forcing them to draw back as the Medic healed any injuries they sustained.

“Is it just me, or are we fighting an endless horde of cloakers here!?” the Assault exclaimed as he parried a cloaker’s fist with his blade.

The Scout grunted, narrowing his eyes as he avoided another precise strike. “I don’t…” Before he could finish, he noticed the cloakers spreading apart, as if to make way for another player. “Oh, now he decides to fight!”

Sparta immediately charged through the opening in the horde, Khanblades stabbing out on each side like pincers as he grinned almost maniacally at the two men. As he flew, the cloakers closed up the gap behind him, following suit despite the heat from his jetpack still trailing behind.

The Nusian defector grabbed the Assault and took to the skies with his jetpack, just narrowly avoiding being speared by the monk as he closed the gap just a second too late. He looked at the Guesan. “I’m gonna throw you now.”

The color drained from the Assault’s already-pale face. “W-what?”

Without giving him any chance to protest, the Nusian used a little bit of his jetpack’s fuel to spin himself around before throwing the Guesan as hard as he could at the mass of cloakers staring up at them. 

The Assault screamed in primal fear and rage as he held his katana tightly, moving to slash at as many of the cloakers as he could as he hit the ground.

Sparta watched all of it with mild shock and interest as his shields blocked yet another pitiful bolt from the Dominian Medic. “Fascinating strategy,” the monk mumbled, observing as the Scout slammed back down to earth close to where the Guesan had impacted the group of cloakers. “I’ll admit, they’re putting up quite the fight. Almost makes up for their…”

A glancing bolt tinked off the side of his helmet, causing him to furrow his brow. “...unwillingness to a proper duel.” He dismissively slashed up with one of his Khanblades, intercepting another green bolt that would’ve hit him in the side. Then, he turned to look at the Medic, giving the man a confident, smug smile as he moved to jump back into the fray. “You’ll get your chance, healer. Later.”

With those parting words, Sparta used his jetpack to propel himself into the thick of the battle, using one of his Khanblades to block the Guesan’s katana as he tried to cut down one of the cloakers. “I thought you wanted to deal with me,” he mocked, relishing the alarmed look on the Assault’s face as he brought his other Khanblade up from the side.

Before he could strike, another Nusian dropkicked him from the side, causing him to break the lock as he turned to look at the interloper. “Cloakers!” he bellowed, grinding his teeth at being foiled in the exact same way yet again. “Deal with the traitor!”

The Scout was promptly forced to separate from the Guesan as the cloakers doubled their efforts against him, taking to the skies once more and leaving the Assault to fend for himself. Sparta smirked as a few cloakers flanked him. “Finally, a proper duel.” The monk tightened his grip on his Khanblades. “I hope you don’t mind the small escort.” And then he and the cloakers charged as one.

BANG!

Sparta forced himself to stop as two of the cloakers on his left dropped dead, their heads reduced to fine red mist before him. The monk’s head snapped to the Guesan. “A fourth combatant?” he ground out through gritted teeth. How dare he. How dare he.

The Guesan gave a nervous chuckle, his katana shaking as Sparta’s expression darkened.

First it was the Medic. Then that traitor . And now this? A sniper? This swordsman can’t even accept his honorable death, instead hiding behind all his allies to prolong it all?

“That’s it. I’ve had enough of your tricks.” Sparta put a hand to his ear. “Fusilier! Trident! I-” 

He was cut off as a bullet struck one of his shields hard enough to make him stagger. The warrior emitted a frustrated growl, looking at the mountains that he knew the sniper was definitely firing from. “ I WANT EVERY JETPACKER AND SNIPER IN THE AREA TO KILL THAT WRETCHED DOMINIAN MARKSMAN!!! ”

“Sir, what the fuck!? You just pissed him off even more!”

The Recon nodded, watching as the fuming Nusian turned his attention on where the Guesan was a few seconds ago. “Yep, but I bought you time, didn’t I? Was I supposed to just let him spear you and not do anything?” He snorted. “You, the Scout, and the Medic better run while he still doesn’t have a lead on any of you. Try regrouping with the rest of the squad, I can handle myself just fine.”

The only response he got was panicked cursing and the fuzz of static. Lu Ten rolled his eyes, before focusing back on Sparta as he flew off in search of more targets.

The Dominian looked off to the side, then immediately threw himself to the ground, narrowly avoiding a hail of sniper fire as the red targeting lasers blinked off simultaneously. Guess Sparta has his priorities straight. The Recon would’ve smiled in amusement if he hadn’t happened to look up and see multiple jetpackers coming in from several directions, all of them getting into the perfect positions to bombard him with rockets.

Staff Sergeant Lu Ten wasted no time in getting up and running for the F.A.S.T., the blue light enveloping him and teleporting him to safety right as rockets began to explode around him. Not even a moment after he had gone, the F.A.S.T. was directly hit with two well-aimed rockets, destroying it in seconds.

The man with the riot helmet slowly looked at the grenadier walking alongside him, the two men sharing a look as Fusilier cleared his throat. “Sparta? Do you mind repeating that?”

“Rendezvous with me. We’ll mop up these Dominian rejects once and for all, and we’ll finally bring our missing special infantry units back to Nusia while we’re at it.” The swordsman sounded thoroughly pissed off. “And if you see a Guesan swordsman or a Nusian with only a jetpack, engage them.”

Fusilier knew exactly who the man was talking about. That didn’t mean he was eager to needlessly throw away his squad’s lives when he already saw what the two were capable of alone . “Got it,” the sergeant replied, before clicking off his comms and glancing at the teenagers they were escorting.

Trident stayed close to him as they walked. “You should tell the rest of your squad what you’re up to now, clear up any miscommunication before this gets ugly,” he whispered.

“But I don’t know what I’m up to,” the grenadier mumbled, his face scrunching up as he felt the conflict swell in him again. “I don’t know if they’ll even follow me. What about their families?”

The former police officer looked behind them, staring at the stoic infantry marching alongside and behind their prisoners. He turned back to his fellow special infantry unit. “They’ll follow you through thick and thin. You personally trained them. You know them. They know you.” He let the silence hang in the air as they walked. “You don’t have to tell them to go with us right now. They can go back to Nusia, get their families, and escape in all the chaos as the news of another staggering defeat reaches the capital.”

Fusilier pursed his lips. Trident pressed on. “Tell them to just follow your lead, and they’ll follow. Trust me. Better that you deal with this now than later.”

The grenadier halted, prompting the other Nusians following him to stop as well. He let out a deep, exhausted sigh. “Alright. Fine.” Fusilier turned to address his squad. “Special Infantry Force no. 2? We need to talk.”

The Guesan panted as he ran through the ( Empty, thank God ) outpost. I can’t believe I got away from Sparta ! He wheezed as he slowly came to a stop, leaning against a wall for support while stabbing his katana into the ground. Shouldn’t have fought the big scary swordsman. Shouldn’t have fought the big scary swordsman. The Assault, having had enough of staring at the ground, slowly looked up. Shouldn’t have… fought…

Several Nusians stared at him, most of them armed with N2A2s. Normal infantry. That wasn’t what gave him pause though. What made him start shitting bricks was the sight of a grenadier with a beard and a beanie and a riot officer with a chainsword standing in front of the group, looking at him in shock as they both turned around.

…was that Tempest and Gaia in the crowd?

He grimaced, pulling his katana out of the ground as the infantry all simultaneously trained their guns on him and got into position. “Wait, wait!” Was that Fusilier? “Don’t shoot him!” The Guesan slowly looked up at the group, keeping his katana lowered but still holding it tightly as he gave a confused glance at the grenadier.

“Sir, he’s-”

“I know! I know.” Fusilier turned back to the Assault. “You’re running from Sparta, right?”

The Assault slowly nodded, still unsure of what was happening.

“Go to the other end of the outpost. I can hear your Engineer friend wreaking havoc on our tanks trying to advance. Tell the rest of your squad to follow you there. Sparta’s going to meet with us, and if he catches you or your friends alone…”

He didn’t need to hear him finish it to know. “Okay…” the young man mumbled. “But why should I do what you’re asking?”

Trident ominously popped up beside him, his dark visor appearing in the Guesan’s periphery being the only warning that he had snuck up on him. “We’re not asking. Go.”

The Guesan nervously nodded, quickly walking past the group of infantry still watching him like hawks as he felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck. Then, he paused, turning to look at Gaia and Tempest. “What about them? You took them prisoner.”

Fusilier shook his head. “Sparta already knows we captured them, he’s going to be suspicious if they suddenly managed to escape. You and your friends are gonna have to rescue them once you’ve regrouped.”

He slowly nodded, taking a step back as he narrowed his eyes at the Nusian. After a few seconds of contemplating, he turned and ran off, deciding not to ask a stupid question for once.

Besides, the man’s actions were answer enough.

Sparta growled as he stomped through the outpost, taking to the skies more than once in his pursuit of the squadron’s missing members. “Where are they!?” he asked, more to himself than his subordinates.

Just then, his comms flared to life. “Sparta, we see you. Get down here, we need to talk.”

The monk rolled his eyes at the disrespect but nonetheless obliged, flying back down and landing as gracefully as he could in front of the grenadier’s personal squad. “Ah, Fusilier. Trident. Good to see you made it.” He looked between the two Nusians. “Did you encounter any of Stronghold 5-5 on the way to rendezvous with me?”

Both men shook their heads. “Negative,” Trident muttered.

“No,” Fusilier said, clearing his throat. “We still have Gaia and Tempest in our custody, at least.”

Sparta’s face scrunched up in thought as he walked past the two. “Interesting. I thought they’d be more protective of the two traitors, knowing what we would intend to do with them.” He clicked his tongue as his eyes landed on the two aforementioned teenagers. “You two do know why we wanted to capture you, right?”

The two Nusians looked at him with dull eyes and emotionless faces. Gaia blinked tiredly.

Sparta decided to address her first. “I have to admit, I do feel the slightest twinge of pity upon reading your file. It’s a shame you decided to throw in your lot with these Dummy savages.” He elected not to mention the way she frowned at the slur. The girl didn’t need any more harsh words than what was needed. “You could have made a fine healer back in our village… Oh well.”

He then focused his attention on the 19 year old conscript. “Tempest. You decided to rebel in the worst possible way. Most of your family died after joining the army, and you decided to desert after being conscripted yourself? Do you know what could’ve, would’ve happened to your family if you had gotten away with your desertion?” The monk scowled in disapproval. “If we hadn’t caught you, your family would have paid the price for your rebellion. Consider complying with us the only good thing you can do for your family now.”

“...sir.”

Sparta slowly turned around to look at the former riot control officer. “Trident? Do you have anything to say?” he asked, arching a brow as he did so.

“They’re just children. You don’t have to do this,” the man quietly said, his visor obscuring his features as he stared back at the monk.

Sparta licked his lips, biting them before frowning and turning away. “They knew the consequences when they deserted. We can’t all be bleeding hearts.” They don’t deserve this , a more humane, emotional part of him quickly added. He stomped on it and silenced it with a blade before shoving the carcass into the recesses of his thoughts.

The Nusian swordsman quickly shook his head and looked at the two teenagers. “I hope you know why I’m telling you all of this.” When there was no reply save for more dead-eyed staring, he added, “You might not die. You might not be executed by the Nusian Security Council. But you’ve both already deserted and you’ve given the enemy valuable prototypes to reverse-engineer. Your punishment, however severe it might be, won’t fall on your families.”

I promise you that.

His earpiece crackled to life once more. “Sir, we’re starting to get worried about the APU they hijacked. It’s still kicking after everything we threw at it, and now it’s being supported by the rest of the squad.”

Sparta’s lips became a thin line as he stared past the two prisoners. “Stop engaging it, have some of your vehicles go around and try the other entrance. It’s clear. And thank you for letting me know where the rest of that fucking Stronghold fled to .” He didn’t miss the look of fear the two teenagers exchanged as he bared his teeth and walked past them. “Everyone, on me. We’re finishing this.”

“They’re pulling back!”

The remaining original five of Stronghold 5-5 slowly stopped firing as they watched the battered, remaining tanks reverse away, their railguns going silent alongside the IFVs and damaged APUs retreating beside them. Without wasting so much as a second, the Recon glanced at the Engineer still piloting the APU. “Are you sure they aren’t just pulling back to pound us with more artillery fire?” the marksman asked, biting his lip as he sorely regretted not upgrading his H15 for something more powerful.

The APU didn’t move, its pilot thinking to himself as he looked up through the cockpit’s bulletproof glass. “Naw, otherwise we’d be hearing them fire by now. Something’s up.” The man in the boilersuit turned to where he knew the Scout was perched. “Do you mind flying around the outpost real quick and checking out where they’re going?”

“I don’t see why not,” the Nusian replied, before crouching and shooting himself into the sky with his jetpack, with small, red flames trailing behind him as he flew off.

The rest of the team anxiously waited for his assessment as they all got back into defensible positions. The Guesan was on the ground, waiting behind one of the buildings to deal with any infantry while the Recon was on the roofs, ready to assist at a moment’s notice. The Medic was with the Guesan, since they synchronized the best together and it wasn’t like the Recon or the Engineer would be getting hurt any time soon. He let out a sigh as his hands relaxed on the controls. “Scout? See anything?”

At first, there was no reply. “I’m seeing Sparta, Fusilier, and Trident all making their way to us, they seem to be coming from the other end of the outpost.” The man’s breath hitched. “Those tanks just finished relocating, I can see them blocking the other side’s archway.” He could hear him quickly flying out of the way as explosions and gunfire began to sound behind them. “AND I’M BEING SHOT AT BY JETPACKERS AND SNIPERS!”

“Lead them to me, I’ll deal with them,” the Engineer rumbled, pivoting the APU around as he went deeper into the outpost, and away from the archway littered with the wrecks of burning vehicles and shredded APUs. He was confident that most of their armor had left the killzone that was their end of the outpost anyways. That left the platforms, and those were probably on the move too, with only a few staying to bombard them if needed.

Several seconds passed before the Scout finally whizzed past the Dominian APU, zipping around it to hide behind a building as the sound of several jetpacks in the skies reached the group’s ears. The Engineer watched, stone-faced as the tiny dots that were the Nusian jetpackers streaked in above them, coming in from several directions with their RPGs immediately aiming at the first thing they saw.

Which was the gray Dominian APU looking up at them with its arms idle. As soon as their eyes landed on the seemingly vulnerable mech, the jetpackers aimed down and fired almost simultaneously, the rockets streaking down at the APU as the rest of Stronghold 5-5 took cover.

The Dominian APU brought one of its arms up right as the rockets closed the distance. The rockets immediately exploded, enshrouding it in a thick cloud of smoke as the jetpackers all landed on the balcony of the archway behind it.

Most of the Nusians stared at the cloud of smoke that used to be the APU as they lowered their RPGs, with a few even high-fiving each other and congratulating themselves on a job well done.

The smoke finally dissipated, revealing the APU still standing as the glowing blue barrier shielding it flickered off. Then, the mech pointed both arms at the now-horrified Nusians, who had begun to back away after realizing how utterly fucked they were.

“FUCKING SCATTER!” one of them shouted, before being cut down in a hail of autocannon fire as the Governor PDCs on its arms activated. The remaining jetpackers, not wanting to share the man’s fate, immediately flew off in different directions, forcing the Dominian piloting the mech to swivel around and spray rounds into the air to deal with the fleeing rocketeers.

“Guys?” the Engineer muttered, struggling to take down most of the jetpackers even with the sheer volume of fire he could put out with just one of the APU’s arms. “A little help?”

One of the jetpackers he was aiming at was shot down. A blur of yellow and red crashed into another. The Dominian breathed a sigh of relief as he managed to shoot down the last one in the trio. “ Thank you,” he said, stressing the ‘thank’ as he aimed the now-free arm at the other group of jetpackers.

With both arms firing everything they had at them, it wouldn’t be long before he cut them down like wheat in a field. One less threat to deal with later on. He smiled in grim satisfaction as he let the rounds fly.

“THE APU HAS A FUCKING SHIELD! IT HAS A FUCKING SHIELD AND FOUR GUNS SOMEONE PLEASE HELP US-”

That was all he could hear before the transmission cut off. He could hear it all the way from their side of the outpost, actually. If he strained, he could hear jetpacks flying closer to their location, running back behind friendly lines to recuperate.

Sparta furrowed his brow as he looked up and saw five smoke trails streak over them. He had seen twelve chase the scout. Seven had successfully fallen for the little trap. The swordsman scowled as he used his jetpack to fly onto one of the building’s roofs. He tapped the side of his head. “I want the platforms to start bombarding that APU. Make those cowardly Dominians come to us.”

He then turned to direct his attention to the two special infantry units following him. “I want you to maneuver our men to attack them in a pincer movement. There should still be a significant force attacking from the center once both flanks make their move.” The swordsman jerked his head in the direction of the APU as he made himself a low target. “I’ll go first, see if I can distract those greyskins and make an opening for the troops.”

Before he could leave, a protest shook him out of his thoughts. “What, now?” Fusilier gave him a concerned, mildly disturbed look. “But you just ordered the platforms to barrage their position! You’ll get caught in the blasts, and then what?”

Sparta paused, narrowing his eyes at the grenadier as the distant booms of the mobile howitzers sounded in the distance. Then, the monk smiled, all-teeth as he replied, “I’ll be perfectly fine,” before turning around and flying off with his jetpack.

“Oh, now their platforms are firing on us.” The Engineer frowned as the APU slowly backed away from the archway. “I don’t think those jetpackers were able to give their artillery any good coordinates, but I wouldn’t risk it if I were you guys. You should go.”

His teammates didn’t need to be told twice as they ran for cover. No sooner than the first shell had struck, the APU raised an arm and activated the barrier kit attached to it, shielding it from any shells that might actually land close enough to damage the delicate Nusian machinery inside.

He still wanted to be able to get the APU back to friendly lines to be inspected, thank you very much. And the better its condition, the sooner it could be handed over back to him for further combat while the Dominion rolled out APUs of their own.

The Dominian man was brought out of his thoughts by an alarmed shout and the sound of gunfire nearby. Frowning, he slowly walked over to the source, ignoring the artillery shells landing too close for comfort as dirt and debris flew several feet into the air around him. Before he could ask what was going on, a yellow and black blur shot out from behind a building, with a bullet ricocheting off of the shields on its back as it turned to look at him.

The Nusian swordsman smiled at him.

His comms screamed to life. “IT’S FUCKING SPARTA !” Someone, probably the Guesan, yelled.

“ Hello ,” the monk curtly replied with a twirl of one of his blades.

The Engineer wasted no time in bringing both of his arms up and firing at the swordsman. Before the rounds could even hit the ground, the Nusian shot at him like a bullet, his jetpack propelling him to unnatural speeds in the time it took for him to breathe. A moment later, and the man had stabbed both of his Khanblades into the APU’s arm, trying to disable it by carving a circle over the length of the mechanical limb.

Before he could do so, another yellow blur tackled him off in a streak of red, forcing him to tear the Khanblades out instead of keeping them stuck in the arm as he did a flip, landing on his feet back on solid earth. “The traitor,” Sparta derisively noted, scowling at the other Nusian.

The Scout was about to reply when he looked up, hearing something about to fall on his position. His eyes immediately widened as he turned and used his jetpack to fly at Sparta, dropkicking him and causing him to drop both Khanblades from the force of the impact.

Not even a moment later, the Dominian man saw a massive explosion engulf the space the Scout used to be standing in, causing him to curse as he turned to look for his teammate. Crazy fucking monk , he thought to himself. Who the hell attacks during a platform bombardment?

The APU paused as it saw the two Nusians duking it out on one of the buildings, both men using their jetpacks to try and launch themselves at each other and put more force into their attacks. It kind of reminded him of the cartoons he used to watch as a kid.

Shaking his head, the Engineer placed a hand on the controls, raising one of the mech’s arms to fire a short, controlled burst that forced Sparta to break away from the Scout. “Coward!” he spat, “You can’t even fight me by yourself while I’m unarmed!”

“I’m not the one using handouts from the Republic to fight, Sparta!” The Scout raised his fists as he prepared to lunge. “Unlike you, I don’t need a weapon to fight!”

“That’s your mistake.” 

The Engineer realized too late that the bombardment around them had stopped.

The swordsman snapped his fingers. “NOW!”

The reason why became apparent as multiple bullets pinged off of his APU’s hull, forcing him to activate the barrier kit to block in case any managed to actually penetrate the cockpit’s viewing port.

He looked around, cursing his luck as he noted that he was surrounded by infantry. “Can someone please force Fusilier’s goons to back off?” He could probably get away with gunning them all down, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood to piss the grenadier off and see the damage he could really do against his mech.

Then, a few seconds later, the shooting stopped. The Engineer looked around, noting that the infantry were making a run for it as the Medic and the Assault were both — inaccurately — shooting at them, forcing them to flee rather than risk being shot at. He just hoped that Sparta wouldn’t notice the Assault using anything but his katana.

Where is Sparta, anyways?

“Fusilier, Trident!”

The Engineer suddenly whirled the mech around, grimacing as he saw Sparta kick the Scout to the ground and catch both of the Khanblades that were thrown at him. As soon as the swordsman had his blades back, he moved to execute the defeated Scout, only for his coup de grâce to be interrupted as a katana clashed with his twin swords.

“ Sparta !” the Guesan yelled, gritting his teeth from the exertion as he actually managed to force the monk back a few steps.

Sparta growled back, baring his teeth at the Assault as he shifted on his feet. “ Brat !” he retorted. He then kicked the Guesan back, breaking the lock as he got into a stance. “Thank you for saving me the trouble of finding you, I’ll be sure to keep you from running off this time !” And before the other man could react, he lunged forwards and this time, managed to stab both Khanblades out quickly enough that he couldn’t block in time.

The Guesan slowly dropped the katana, looking down at the two black swords now stained with his blood, the crimson mixing with the yellow lights as Sparta pushed both blades in deeper. Then, without any fanfare, he kicked the Assault’s body off of his swords, unceremoniously letting it slide off the Khanblades and slump on the ground.

The Engineer’s jaw slackened, his hands shaking on the controls as the battlefield became muted around him. He was pretty sure he heard multiple voices call out the Guesan’s name as the body fell.

Sparta looked around, before his eyes landed on the Dominian piloting the APU. He slowly smiled at him. “You’ll join him soon, dishonorable dogs.”

Before his mind could even catch up with him, the Engineer brought both of the APU’s arms up, firing everything they had at the swordsman as he quickly flew off to avoid being hit. Still, he didn’t let up, trying to lead his shots even with the monk being impossible to track due to how quickly he was zipping around. It wasn’t long before he was in front of the APU again, this time managing to stab a Khanblade into the cockpit, nearly shattering it as he raised the other sword above his head, smiling like a maniac.

The Dominian man growled at him in subdued rage, swatting him off with a swipe of the APU’s right arm and forcing him to leave one of the Khanblades stuck in the glass. Not exactly a reassuring sight, but at this point, the Engineer could care less about the sword mere meters from his face.

He. Killed . The Assault!

Something latched onto the APU’s back. The Engineer grabbed his shotgun, aiming it at the roof of the cockpit as he fully intended to blast Sparta the moment the banana-skinned prick peeked at him from behind. Long, metallic black shone overhead…

As the Khanblade slowly appeared from behind the APU’s roof, a sniper shot the sword out of the monk’s grasp, causing him to yelp as he withdrew his hand and ducked behind the APU’s back. The Engineer was about to smack the little shit with the APU’s left arm when a jetpack flew past him, with the person using it audibly punching Sparta off the mech as he did so.

The Engineer turned the APU around, his fists tightening around the controls as he watched Sparta back away from the Scout swinging one of his Khanblades at him — only to be hit with the full force of a sniper round to the shield, causing him to stagger back into range of the furious defector. It was only through sheer skill that he avoided being skewered a second time, and through pure luck that he didn’t get hit by one of the crossbow bolts sent his way as he weaved past the melee attack.

Sparta looked around, noting how the odds were against him yet again. “Trident, Fusilier! Don’t just stand there, help me!” He then tensed up as he saw the APU point one of its arms at him.

“You keep ranting about how much you hate people running from worse odds, yet you won’t hesitate to call for your allies now that you’re surrounded?” The Engineer sneered in disgust as he locked eyes with Sparta from behind the cracked glass. “You’re a fucking hypocrite. I guess I should ask you for your last words, before I turn you into a fucking smear on the ground. So, do you have any?”

The Dominian slowly began to manipulate the controls as he watched Sparta look around, his expression shifting with his posture as he did. “...yes,” the monk quietly replied, locking eyes with him again. “You shouldn’t have bothered with the grandstanding!” Before any of them could react, several grenades flew at the members of Stronghold 5-5, forcing them to evade as they exploded around them. Sparta promptly used the distraction to tackle the scout, grabbing his Khanblade before propelling himself towards the APU and retrieving the other from the viewport.

“Thank you for holding this,” the Nusian said, giving a mock salute before reaching over and slicing the barrier kit on the APU’s arm in half with a single stroke. And before the Engineer could react, he flew off, leaving him to turn around and see Fusilier fire all of his grenades into the mech’s limbs.

The Dominian screamed as the war machine’s joints were reduced to slag, crippling it as it took a jerky step back, its arms barely functioning as he tried to lift even a single one against the opposition. For his part, Fusilier simply looked back, morose as he reloaded the grenade launcher in his hands.

Sparta flew back down behind Fusilier, grinning confidently as he twirled his blades and walked up to the grenadier. “Excellent work, Sergeant. I’ll put in a very good word for you after this battle, I promise.” He patted the alcoholic on the back, seemingly not noticing the way his expression wavered beneath his praise. “True servicemen like you deserve a hero’s welcome back home.”

The Engineer was painfully aware of the fact that they were now surrounded by infantry and gunners all pointing their weapons at the group, aware that no amount of bullshit would get them out of this alive even if he was able to use a single one of the APU’s weapons. It was all useless if he didn’t have the barrier kit to protect them from the onslaught of bullets. He gritted his teeth. Useless.

Beneath him, the rest of Stronghold 5-5 stood their ground, their weapons all pointed at the group of Nusians that figuratively had them up against the wall. Sparta chuckled, then beckoned the infantry over with a wave of his hand. “Bring the prisoners! Show them the price that Nusia’s enemies pay for their insolence.”

He tried not to let the despair show on his face as he saw Gaia and Tempest be led out in cuffs to look at what had become of them. The latter two were not so successful. Gaia looked like she was on the verge of tears, and Tempest looked like he was about to have a panic attack.

“Tsk. I can’t believe this is the vaunted Stronghold 5-5 that held off an entire Nusian army group in Luo-he for several months. Pathetic,” Sparta remarked, his tone dripping with disappointment. “Now, children, we will show you what happens when you make yourselves sworn enemies of the Republic. Remember this for the rest of your lives!” He turned to Stronghold 5-5, grinning sadistically as his arm fell down. “Fi-!”

The monk was cut off as the sound of electricity surging emanated from the body next to him. Before any of the parties could react, a black hand grabbed the katana off of the ground and swung it in a wide arc, managing to catch Sparta off-guard and causing him to stagger to the side, holding the gash in his stomach. “W-what!?” the monk sputtered, watching in shock as the Guesan slowly got to his feet. “How!?”

The Assault wiped the blood from his mouth, before digging around in his vest and pulling out a defibrillator. “Bitch.” He then stuffed it back into his vest, getting into a stance and seemingly not paying any attention to the gunners that were now turning their LMGs on him.

Sparta paused for a moment, staring at him before holding his hand up to the sky. “STOP!” he barked out, grinding his teeth as he let go of the gash (despite the pain that it caused him) so that he could dual wield both Khanblades once more. 

The monk locked eyes with the Guesan, giving him a nod that could almost be interpreted as respect as he grasped his swords tightly. “I’ll put him down myself !”

The Assault narrowed his eyes at Sparta as he slowly began to close the distance. “Seems pretty unlike you, deciding to duel me one-on-one when you have an entire death squad watching your back,” he derisively remarked, doing a very good job of not showing how much his injuries really affected him.

Sparta scoffed, circling the Guesan instead of walking straight to him, watching him like a bird of prey. “I’m only willing to humor your request to go out in a blaze of glory since your teammates are in no condition to interfere this time around,” the monk replied. He stopped circling the other man, standing up to his full height as he did. “Now, are we fighting with words, or our swords?”

In lieu of a reply, the Assault charged first, unsheathing his katana quickly enough that it almost took the Nusian by surprise. As it was, he was able to bring both Khanblades up to block in time, but the action clearly took him some effort, judging by how hard he was gritting his teeth and how many sparks were flying between the three interlocked blades. “Not bad,” Sparta muttered, before kicking the Guesan away and preparing to fly at him with his jetpack… only to switch gears at the last second and fly off to the side, still facing the Guesan.

The Guesan watched carefully as Sparta shot to the right, then to the left, then to the right again, this time at a more extreme angle that caused him to close the gap a little more. Then, he flew to the left, before suddenly flying straight at him as his jetpack fired off in the middle of his maneuver. The Assault brought his blade up to block, only to see Sparta fly straight up instead of clashing blades with him once more. Sparta looked down at him, grinned, then propelled himself straight down at terminal velocity.

The resulting shockwave sent the Guesan flying, causing him to part ways with his katana as it clattered to the ground in a separate direction. The young man grunted, slowly getting to his feet as Sparta recovered from his crash landing far faster than a normal person would have, should have been able to. As soon as Sparta noticed him getting back up, he charged forwards with his jetpack and kicked him as hard as he could, sneering as the Guesan went sprawling from the force of the impact. “Pathetic,” he muttered, twirling one of his blades as he locked eyes with the defeated Assault. “So much talk, just to fall in minutes. I’ll make sure you’re remembered for your gall, at least.” The monk slowly raised one of his swords, smiling in satisfaction as he saw the Guesan close his eyes and accept his fate.

Before he could bring the Khanblade down, a grappling hook lashed out and wrapped around it, nearly pulling it out of his grip and causing him to stumble backwards in an attempt to hold onto it. “What the-” Sparta sputtered, regaining his balance and quickly whirling around to look at what had snagged his sword. Three orange circles stared back at him when he looked at the Khanblade. His eyes wandered, following the black cords that the spheres were connected to, then the long, durable metallic cord that made up the main body of the whip, before finally landing on the Nusian that still firmly held the handle in his hands, staring at him with an expressionless visor that obscured all his features. “ Trident . Explain yourself.” Sparta struggled not to grit his teeth and yank on the sword as hard as he could. He had to be civil about this. He was sure the other Nusian had a very good reason for interrupting his execution.

“That’s enough, Sparta.” Trident’s grip tightened around the grappling hook. “You’ve won. We can take these men prisoner, bring them back to the Republic to figure out what exactly they’d given the rest of the Dominians.” He spoke with so much conviction, the monk almost wanted to believe him. Almost.

Instead, he scoffed and gestured with his unrestrained Khanblade to the rest of Stronghold 5-5, still held at gunpoint. “For what reason? You know how fearsome they are, how they fought against us with such vigor, such determination. They won’t stop until they’re dead. They won’t give up no matter what ,” he muttered, spitting out the last sentence like it was a bitter poison. “We can get all the information we need from the healer and the boy. They’ll be easily pacified if they try anything. We cannot extend that same courtesy to the Dominians. Them being alive is a security risk. Or did you forget why I was sent to Luo-he in the first place?”

The former police officer didn’t budge. “No. You’re not doing that. We’re taking these men prisoner, we’re in the perfect position to take them alive. They’re weakened. Exhausted. They couldn’t fight back even if they wanted to, and we can all see that they clearly want to.” The man leaned in, hunching over slightly as he did so. “Lower your swords.”

Sparta’s eye twitched as he pulled back on the Khanblade, trying to free it from the cords wound around its sleek exterior. “Don’t give me orders, lowlander . You forget, I’m your superior. I’m the one calling the shots, not you.” He let his teeth show as his grip likewise tightened around the handle of his sword. “Let go of my sword, Trident. I’m ordering you as your superior. And besides, since when did you care about applying just the right amount of force?”

The silence was so thick, you could hear a bullet drop.

“ What .”

“You heard me. I read your file. You didn’t hesitate to beat a protestor’s face in until his skull caved, back when the riots were still ongoing.” Sparta was probably imagining it, but he could feel the cord slightly shaking around his Khanblade. “You didn’t hesitate to maul all those Dominians and Guesans when you were deployed. All those people, dead by your hand, ripped to pieces by your macabre weapon. And now, now you hesitate? You think you can grow a spine now and hold yourself to a better standard?” He was hoping that the infantry around them were all listening intently to him, because he knew he was right. They would all have to accept the compromises they made to survive in this world, sooner or later. Adapt or die. “I will kill every single one of them, and you will either be a good soldier and stay out of my way , or you can join me .”

Trident’s breathing hitched as he shook in place. Whether he was trembling from the onset of a panic attack or genuine rage, Sparta didn’t know. What he did know was that Fusilier was looking at the other man in concern, and that Fusilier’s squad was conspicuously absent from the now-much smaller group of Nusians escorting them.

Sparta narrowed his eyes at the inconsistency, his mouth hanging open somewhat as he tried to figure out what was going on. Not that he’d be able to, anyways, since what happened next quickly pushed all of his thoughts aside in favor of survival.

Before he could ask Fusilier about his squadron, the Khanblade was suddenly yanked out of his grasp, flying into Trident’s hand as he raised the sword like some sort of trophy. “Trident,” Sparta began, only to be cut off as the former riot control officer revved the chainsword in his other hand, the sound echoing throughout the outpost almost as a declaration of his intent. “TRIDENT!” the monk yelled, taking an alarmed step back as the other Nusian began to run at him with the revved up chainsword in one hand and his Khanblade in the other. “W-what do you think you’re doing!? Stand down!”

Trident yelled back with an incomprehensible insult, more of a war cry than an actual retort. As soon as he closed the distance, he swung the chainsword at the swordsman, narrowly missing him by a hair, as Sparta managed to sidestep the rage-fueled strike. “Trident, I am giving you a chance to put your damn weapons down and think!” Sparta took a few steps back, avoiding another heavy strike — this time from the Khanblade still in his hand — as he fought down the urge to fight back, to let himself dissolve into the flow of battle. Instead, he called for the only other neutral party in the fight. “Fusilier, help me out here, damn it!”

Fusilier, who up until now was watching the two fight, still watched them, though his eyes remained on the monk as he made a pained expression. “Trident,” he began, only to instinctively take a step back when the other man directed his gaze to him with a turn of his helmeted head.

Reflective glass met conflicted eyes as the former riot control officer wrapped the ends of his grappling hook’s cords around the Khanblade’s hilt. “Your choice, Pacet. Back down and scamper back to Nusia, or be free with me.” He then turned back to Sparta — who had tried getting close to steal his Khanblade back while he was distracted — and forced him to back off with a swing of the whip, the Khanblade cutting through the dirt as it was flung into the air, before being pulled back into Trident’s waiting hand.

“Fusilier? What is this unhinged lunatic talking about??” Sparta asked, taking a moment to glare at the grenadier as the ex-police officer began advancing towards him.

Fusilier stared at the ground, before looking at Sparta with a steely expression. Before he could say a word, though, his eyes quickly wandered to Stronghold 5-5, and he gave the group a confused look as Sparta followed his gaze to see what caused the words to die on his tongue.

While they were busy arguing, a few of Stronghold 5-5 had their fingers to their headsets, conversing with someone on their comms. Sparta worked his mouth as soon as he saw them completely not give a shit about the threat of certain death looming over them. He didn’t know what he was going to say. He didn’t know if he was going to berate Trident for distracting him, if he was going to order the gunners to open fire, or if he was going to indignantly order their prisoners to take their hands off of their heads.

Because before he could decide on any of those things, the sword end of Trident’s makeshift lash smashed into his back, scraping against his shields as he was thrown to the ground, on his stomach. And as Sparta got up, grinding his teeth, gripping his remaining Khanblade, preparing to finally fight back, it happened.

An explosion rocked something in the distance. The sound of metal crashing to the ground made him picture a platform being brought to its knees. Sparta felt a cold sweat travel down his back as he turned to the archway and saw one, then three, then four Dominian APCs all roll into view, coming to a halt as its passengers hurriedly disembarked.

“ATTACK SPARTA!”

The fusillade began almost immediately after someone gave the order. All hell broke loose as the gunners made a hasty fighting retreat, firing on the Dominians before turning and making a run for it through the outpost while the Dominians charged onwards, fearlessly chasing the Nusians down despite the numbers disadvantage. Sparta, for his part, ignored the pinging of bullets ricocheting off of his shields as they propped themselves up to protect him. Instead, he focused on carving a bloody swath through the Dominians, cutting down anyone who dared to get close to him as he tried to reach the original two prisoners in the chaos.

He saw them, being freed by the Dominian troops, about to be given perfect replicas of their original prototype weapons. “You don’t deserve to wield those!” the monk shouted, before soaring towards their rescuers with a burst of his jetpack in one second and spearing the Dominian woman in the neck in the next. Without so much as a scrap of hesitation, he pulled the Khanblade out of her throat, leaving her to gurgle on her own blood as he turned to look at Tempest. “ Both of you are coming with me ,” he growled, before grabbing another Dominian who had unwisely chosen not to flee and gutting him like a fish, tossing him aside as soon as ribbons of red started to show through the gash in his stomach. The weapons, perfected and yet discarded on the ground, were of no concern to him. He would bring them back home soon enough.

Tempest slowly backed away, his hands searching for a weapon as the swordsman slowly walked over to him, like a harbinger of death. As soon as his hands wrapped around the familiar shape of a discarded sidearm, he aimed the dinky little pistol at Sparta and fired several times, trying not to wince each time he dodged or blocked the shot with one of the shields on his back. The 19 year old tried to reload with shaking hands, only to realize that there were no spare magazines nearby, and that Sparta was right in front of him now, smacking the pistol aside with his free hand as he loomed over the younger Nusian.

“ Fulgur Salamasi .”

Not thinking straight, Tempest tried to kick Sparta, only to yelp as the monk grabbed his leg and dug his fingers into it, scowling in disdain at the display before him. “You know, maybe if I cut your leg off, Nusia will be more inclined to spare you from the death penalty. After all, caring for a crippled traitor like you would be punishment enough for your family to bear.” And with that, Sparta pulled the offending limb up, raising his Khanblade to the sky as he did so.

Tempest watched with tears in his eyes behind his goggles, his mouth moving but not making any sound as Sparta locked unsympathetic eyes with him. His breath quickened, but he didn’t struggle. He couldn’t. The blade went down.

BZZZZZZTT!

“ AUGH !” Sparta screamed as he was sent tumbling to the ground by a powerful blast of electricity, blue lightning arcing from his body to the ground as his shields popped out of his back to block the brunt of the attack. Then, as soon as he was forced back enough, the beam of lethal volts stopped, allowing Tempest to lower his arm and look at his savior.

Gaia looked down at him with a soft expression, with a power pack on her back and a tesla cannon larger than her in her hands. Then, just as quickly, she looked back up at Sparta and morphed her expression into a hateful glare, standing her ground even as he gave her a murderous look. “Back. Off,” the medic growled.

“YOU! BRATS!” The monk flew at her in a burst of speed, propelled by his jetpack as he raised his remaining Khanblade. Fighting through the pain, he used his jetpack to propel himself sideways, avoiding another blast from her tesla cannon as he closed the gap. Gaia saw him through the cyan light show that her weapon was creating and gasped, taking her finger off the trigger and ineffectively trying to bring the cannon around to aim at him as he closed in.

Sparta would have smiled in sadistic triumph if he hadn’t smashed face-first into a purple shield before he could even touch the ground. The monk bounced back, staring in shock at the source of the barrier as he slowly got to his feet and began to walk forwards. Tempest glared back, gritting his teeth as Sparta tried to brute force his way through the medigun’s shield to no avail, instead being forced to step back lest he crash into the glowing purple barrier once more.

“Stop hiding!” Sparta shouted, narrowly avoiding a third blast from the tesla cannon-toting 17 year old. “Just surrender already, and your families won’t pay the price for your betrayal!”

A grenade exploded against his back, causing him to stumble forwards even though his shields took most of the blast. Alarmed, Sparta flew to the side with his jetpack, just in time to avoid having his arm lopped off by Trident as he swung the chainsword down where he used to be standing. The ex-riot control officer turned to glare at him as the group of traitors advanced. “Leave them out of this, Sparta. You know Tempest betraying the Republic isn’t their fault!”

Sparta used his jetpack to fly into the air, avoiding another grenade from Fusilier as he looked down at the three traitors. “Don’t preach to me about accountability, pig! These brats knew what the consequences for their families would be when they turned their backs on-” He was cut off as a sniper round punched through his side, eliciting a cry of pain from the swordsman as he unceremoniously fell back to the ground in a heap. Struggling back to his feet, Sparta looked around, grimacing as he saw the Recon in the corner of his eye racking the bolt of his H15.

Before he could act on this information, a yellow blur nearly crashed into him, only stopping when he managed to point his remaining Khanblade at it in time to force it to halt. As soon as the defector forced himself to stop, he instead swung a fist at Sparta, actually catching the monk off-guard and causing him to stumble backwards in a daze as the other Nusians continued to close in. “What’s the matter, Sparta? Injuries finally getting to you?”

Sparta glared at the advancing group, meeting all their sneers and disdainful and disapproving looks with a stubborn, strained frown of his own as he got into a stance and held his remaining Khanblade up. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Guesan being tended to by their Medic, being dragged to safety now that he was occupied. Sparta sneered at the sight, his body straining from the bullet wound in his side as he did so.

Trident suddenly paused, revving the chainsword in his hand before sighing as he stepped back. “Come on, Sparta. Give it up. We have you outnumbered and we have two medics. You’re surrounded by Dominian troops on all sides and your backup fucked off and ran.” The man let the silence hang in the air as everyone looked at him. “Drop the sword, and I’ll try and keep the others from breaking every bone in your body.”

The group looked at him in shocked silence, only for their attention to be drawn back to Sparta as the monk began to laugh in disbelief. Once he was done getting over himself, the monk shook his head and gave Trident a flat, insulted look. “...fuck. You.” Sparta narrowed his eyes at the crowd of traitors.

Trident held his hand up, keeping the group from advancing as he saw Dominian soldiers surround Sparta on all sides while keeping their distance. “I’m not the one you’ve gotta worry about, you self-righteous, snide piece of shit.” As if to emphasize his statement, the greyoids all raised their guns at the swordsman in near-sync.

Despite the perilous situation he found himself in, Sparta managed to force himself to smile. “Neither am I.” And before anyone could say another word, he shot into the air with his jetpack. He could already feel the Recon lining up his sights on his body as it lingered in the sky for those scant, few seconds.

He found himself on the cold metal floor of a Nusian gunship, barely aware of the ping! indicating that the Recon took the shot and was sorely disappointed by Hermes’s timely arrival. “Lima-Papa, obliterate those assholes,” the monk mumbled through the pain of his wounds. Not that he needed to, since the sound of the helicopter’s minigun told him that the pilot made quite the opening statement.

“Negative, Sparta. Command’s orders are to bring you back to friendly lines, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.” The helicopter immediately ceased fire and turned around, beginning the short trip out of the outpost and ignoring most of the ineffective small-arms fire sent their way, while taking a few evasive maneuvers in the rare cases that the Dominians did fire something that could actually punch through the helo’s armor. Still, the Hermes unit did return fire a couple of times, letting loose some of its fire-and-forget missiles as it whizzed over the Dominian positions. “What happened down there?”

Sparta groaned as he forced himself to sit up and lean against one of the seats. “I… I’ll explain later, why aren’t you setting us down outside the outpost? I need… I need to organize the counteroffensive…”

“You’re wounded and aren’t thinking straight, and I saw you only had one of your Khanblades on you. Shit must’ve really hit the fan for you to need a rescue from me of all people.” The Nusian pilot licked his lips as he hovered high above the battlefield, far enough that they shouldn’t be at risk of any anti-air attacks from the Dominians. “You’re free to observe from up here and direct troops if you want, though.”

“Ugh…” The monk slowly got on one of the seats, staring out the window as he watched the ongoing battle in the distance. “Sparta to any remaining Nusian forces on the ground, come in. I have urgent news to report…”

The Nusian tank rumbled forwards as the Nusian infantry units formed a perimeter around the gate, its railgun aimed at the empty archway as its crew anticipated the arrival of Dominian armor at any moment. “So, what’d Sparta say?” the gunner quietly asked his fellow crewmen.

“Fusilier and Trident both went rogue, former’s squad is clear at least so we know they weren’t involved. Feel bad for them, but we can’t focus on that right now. Our orders are to shoot the two on sight.” The commander rubbed his chin as he observed the grassland through his commander’s sight. “Dominians also finally came in to relieve Stronghold 5-5, we’re expecting to fight more of their shitty little APCs with anti-tank guns peeking out the roofs.”

They all shared a laugh at the reminder of the joke that was the Dominion’s mechanized infantry. “Oh, wow. Shouldn’t we have our platforms butter up the Dominians before they even try going out through this exit?” the driver asked, referring to the giant walking artillery pieces waiting not too far behind the Nusian mechanized infantry guarding the front.

Her commander shrugged. “We’ll bombard them into paste once we’re done clogging up the front with the bodies of their dead soldiers from the failed push.” He narrowed his eyes as he heard rumbling in the distance. “Hey. Do we…”

Their radio chatter significantly picked up as the sight of massive four-legged steel beasts appeared on the horizon. “Oh, yeah! Platforms managed to sneak up on the Dominians, probably have some friendlies escorting them too! We’re going to encircle and wipe this shitty little Stronghold out once and for all,” the gunner remarked, grinning to himself as he jittered in excitement.

His fellow crewmen quietly kept going at their duties, not really knowing what to make of this sudden development. The tank commander, after a few seconds of thought, decided to radio their superior to know what was going on. “Sir, we’re seeing platforms in the distance on the Dominian side. Can you confirm if they’re friendly assets arriving to encircle the Dominians?”

The tank commander could hear Sparta’s heavy breathing on the other end. “...sir?”

Sparta’s voice was panicked and urgent. “I want everyone in that formation to scatter, now! Retreat, fall back, don’t bother engaging, just leave!” The non-standard terminology and the swordsman’s nervous demeanor had the Nusian scratching his head as he looked to his crew for answers.

“Sir, I’m afraid I don’t copy. Are those platforms not ours , or-”

The platform’s guns sounded in the distance, and they sounded off. Far too much of a kick in them.

Before anyone could react, a group of infantry to their right exploded in a plume of dirt, debris, and scattered limbs. The tank’s crew froze as they all processed the grisly scene. Then, as soon as the panicked chatter came in and the disorganized retreat began, more explosions rocked the earth near their tank as dirt, pieces of people, and their equipment flew into the air, completely eviscerated by the massive shells raining down on their position. The night sky was illuminated in orange, yellow, and red as the Nusian vehicles alongside their occupants exploded. The sound of creaking metal and massive legs giving way, accompanied by massive explosions told him that their own platforms, lurking behind the formation, were being pounded into slag as well.

That was also when the tank commander noticed that the platforms’ silhouettes looked different from what he was used to. The gun was different, for one. It had a few new attachments to the underside of its chassis, and its top was seemingly redesigned.

But most glaring of all was that with each flash of the shells being fired from their guns, they could all glimpse the true colors of the platforms in the distance. Flashes of orange and yellow light illuminated their hulls, revealing gunmetal gray.

Dominian gray.

“-THEY’RE ALL DOMINIAN PLATFORMS ! RETREAT IMMEDIATELY! THIS OPERATION IS LOST!”

The driver reversed the tank without waiting for the order, and they all held on for dear life as the tank drove backwards without looking where it was going, all the while shells kept landing around the vehicle. If there were any infantry left alive after the initial bombardment, they would’ve left them behind long ago as they hitched a ride onto other vehicles, with drivers that were far quicker on the uptake than theirs was.

Not that they could blame her for freezing up, seeing as the shells seemed to be zeroing in on their position with each landing. Then, to their horror, an explosion, too close for comfort, took out one of the tank’s tracks, rendering it immobile. A sitting duck forced to wait out the barrage of shells sent their way.

The commander felt a cold sweat travel down his brow as the artillery just kept going. Was this how the Dominians felt when they first encountered the platform?

Builderman, please forgive me for my sins. Please please please please. Please don’t kill me and all my crewmen-

Sparta gritted his teeth, squinting as he watched the routing Nusians leave the wounded and the dead behind in their attempt to escape the ongoing bombardment. He growled as he watched the Nusian platforms fall as one, their burning forms nearly unrecognizable as the once proud Nusian yellow, blue, and green melted into dull, featureless brown, like dried blood. Their flames illuminated the scenes of gore around them, allowing any observers to clearly see the massacre unfolding. Bits of paint being quite literally blown off the shattered hulls, revealing the gunmetal factory gray beneath. Gray… 

His eyes wandered back to the platforms responsible for the massacre, nearly crushing the receiver in his hand as he watched those grayed out parodies of Nusia’s platforms pound their troops into specks of dust flying in the wind. “Lima-Papa-”

“If you’re going to ask me to try and attack those platforms, no. I’m just- are you trying to get us both killed? Do you really want to test out whatever modifications they added to the platforms they created after reverse-engineering the one from Luo-he?” the helicopter pilot asked rhetorically.

“...no,” the monk muttered in defeat.

“Good,” Lima-Papa replied, turning the bird around to fly back to the F.O.B. now that the battle was, in a way, concluded. “I’ll get you back to base, you’ll probably get some time off to recover from your injuries after the report, and then I’ll probably be forced to be on the lookout for Stronghold 5-5 in case they decide to chase after the retreating, battered remains of the army. Sound good?”

Sparta buried his face in his hands. “I hate my life so much.” The shame of returning from a crushing defeat…

His savior chuckled humorlessly as he focused on piloting the helo through the dark of the night. “You and me, boss. You and me.”

The tank commander didn’t know how long it had been. The bombardment had stopped long ago. He didn’t know how much time had passed. It had been late at night when the battle had come to a close, so it was likely morning now. And they had tried radioing other Nusian units in the area to see if anyone else had survived.

Nothing. No response. No voices. Nothing but empty static filled the air of their tank before the Nusian had wisely put the receiver away to accept their fates. Accept it with as much dignity as they could, anyways.

He and his crew were simply waiting to die in their vehicle now, none of them really wanting to go outside and check on the no doubt smashed remains of their comrades. Nobody wanted to venture out into the cratered wasteland that used to be filled with formation after formation of blue, yellow, and green. Especially if the Dominians were checking for any survivors to finish off.

The Nusian tried to keep himself from shuddering as he imagined vengeful Dominians forcing him and his crew against the hull of their own vehicle. He didn’t want to be on the receiving end of the same brutality that he and many of his fellow tankers had given to their beaten enemies. He knew they deserved it, but he wished they’d go out with a little more dignity than that.

Starving to death in their own vehicle was karma enough, anyways.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sounds of voices outside of their tank. Alarmed, the commander sat up, sharing a fearful look with the rest of his crew as the voices got closer and started clambering on top of the disabled war machine. Maybe if they got back into their positions quickly enough, they could mount a last stand, die in a blaze of glory by fighting back against their would-be executioners.

…but they had borne the brunt of an artillery barrage for the better half of an hour or two, even. Whatever was left working in their tank now wouldn’t be sufficient for even a pitiful burst from their roof-mounted machine gun.

With a defeated sigh, he leaned back and tried to relax as the tank’s hatch slowly opened.

They all held their breaths as the morning light finally poured in from outside, illuminating a good amount of the turret’s dim interior along with the two turret crew’s faces. The screens in the turret had long since gone dark, they had decided to play dead and not bother trying after the artillery barrage had apparently smashed the other Nusians into dust and bloodied limbs. And besides, the silence had been more comforting than the facsimile of life around them when the tank was still running, still deluding themselves into thinking that any moment now, they’d be rescued by Nusians hitching a ride on another tank or an IFV that had somehow survived the massacre.

Alas, they had no more time to think, for a figure peered into the tank from above, blocking out the tranquil, blue light and casting a shadow on the faces looking back at it. After a moment of silence, during which the Dominian (for who else would so brazenly inspect seemingly intact vehicles for any survivors) became confident that they wouldn’t be shot at, they cleared their throat and began to speak. “Are any of you going to fight back?” the woman asked.

A simple question. One that left no room for negotiation. One that told them that even she knew the battle was lost for the Republic. Why else would she be so confident, and bluntly ask them if they still had any fighting spirit instead of asking anything else?

“...no,” came the weak reply from the gunner. After a brief pause, he added, “Are you going to kill us?”

The woman’s face betrayed her thinly-veiled pity. “We wouldn’t,” she answered honestly. The earnestness and surety in her reply hurt their pride more than any bullet ever could. “We aren’t the Nusian Army. Now, climb out of the tank and don’t try anything stupid.”

The commander blinked at her slowly. “Shouldn’t we surrender any weapons we might have, or are you that confident in your army’s abilities that you don’t even care?”

“I’m not confident in your ability to get away if you try to kill me or succeed in doing so. C’mon, you’re surrounded by Dominians on all sides and saying your tank is crippled is an understatement. Just get out of the vehicle.” She stared back at him with unimpressed eyes, brushing a strand of hair aside as the Nusians looked at each other.

He ducked down to call out to the driver. “Did you hear her?” he simply asked.

“...sir, I just wanna get out of this fucking coffin,” the driver shakily replied, clearly fighting back tears as her voice wavered.

The commander stood back up to look back at the Dominian watching him. “We’re surrendering.”

She shrugged. “I already knew you were going to, just needed to confirm it. Enough people died today. Now, take my hand.” The woman reached out to him, offering a hand to the once-proud Nusian.

After a few seconds of hesitation, he took her hand, climbing out of the tank with her help before turning to do the same to the gunner. Once he was out, the two men climbed down from the tank, dusting themselves off as they looked at each other. “Hey, what about your driver?” the Dominian asked, prompting them to look at her.

The sound of another hatch opening closer to the front of the tank answered her question. “She has another way out,” the commander replied, frowning as he walked over to help the shaking Nusian woman.

“I-I’m fine, sir,” the driver mumbled, leaning against the tank for support as she looked around them. “...holy fuck.”

He followed her gaze, unable to suppress a gasp as the real scope of the devastation around them began to sink in. All around them, he could see the wrecks of Nusian vehicles, scattered equipment, and mangled soldiers caught mid-evac. The man swallowed dryly as his eyes lingered on a burnt four-legged walker on a knee, unmistakably one of their platforms after being hit with counter-platform fire.

The sound of footsteps brought them out of their stupor. The commander turned to look at the Dominian woman, fighting hard to keep his eyes off of the gray vehicles towing Nusian armor and being loaded with dead bodies behind her. “So, what now?” he asked, watching as the woman in the black shirt and tan pants put her gloved hands in her pockets.

“Now,” the volunteer said, as two gas mask-wearing soldiers clad in Dominian gray appeared on her flanks, “you guys get cuffed and brought back to our base to be interrogated.” She paused as the two soldiers stared into the Nusians’ souls. “Not the one that your comrades trashed in an attempt to wipe out Stronghold 5-5.”

His breath hitched as he stared at the Dominian volunteer, not even fighting back as the two other Dominians got behind them to zip tie their arms. As the second soldier proceeded to do the same to the driver of their vehicle, he finally found his tongue. “Y-you aren’t going to execute us? Torture us? Pay us back for everything we did to your people???”

The Dominian, who had already turned to walk away, slowly pivoted on her feet, giving him a death glare as the air turned frigid. The soldier gripping his wrists tightened his grasp, almost as a warning as his fellow Nusians looked at him in subdued horror. “...Like I said, Nusian ,” she muttered, turning around and walking off to rejoin her comrades, “we aren’t you. We have standards. Now, take them away.”

And so they were escorted to a Dominian APC and forced inside. It was an awkward, quiet ride. The three didn’t want to talk to their captors, and their captors were content with not conversing with the tank’s crewmen.

…I wonder what happened to Sergean- Fusilier and Trident , the commander thought to himself. It would do him well to take his mind off of things for a while, since it seemed like they would be on quite the long trip… Did they strike a deal with the Dominians?

“You’re not off the hook for your crimes against the Dominion,” the officer bluntly stated. He adjusted the green beret on his head, trying to appear composed in front of the frankly terrifyingly silent Nusian standing before him. “Just because you helped Stronghold 5-5 now doesn’t mean you didn't attack our troops multiple times and contribute to our high casualty rates before this mission.”

Trident breathed quietly, meeting his gaze behind his visor as he relaxed his posture. His whip (with the Khanblade still tied to it) was secured to his hip, along with his chainsword, though the Dominians were thankfully confident that he wouldn’t raise a hand against them after such a bold display to the Republic.

Attacking a commanding officer was quite the resignation letter, after all. The Dominion, obsessed with honor as it was, was probably fawning over his open rebellion… if they weren’t still so hung up over his previous operations against them.

The same went for Fusilier, who was standing beside him, anxiously fidgeting in place while two of Stronghold 5-5’s number watched them, making sure things were going smoothly. The former police officer cleared his throat. “Gaia and Tempest were allowed to join you because they gave you access to their prototypes and told you everything they knew about them. What about us? We’re relatively more experienced than them. We have more information to divulge to you.”

His verbal opponent tilted his head. “Information such as what? And the two children were allowed to join us because their list of crimes against the Dominion of Pinzhao are significantly shorter than both of yours. You and the alcoholic have served the Nusian military longer than them. You’ve both earned quite the negative reputation, and you’re going to need to give us a good reason not to lock you up.” The officer turned to look at Fusilier. “You. You were in charge of a Nusian squadron, correct?”

Fusilier nodded, seeing where the other man was going with this. “Let me guess. You want to lock us up because if you let us go free without giving a convincing argument for why, your men are gonna be pissed that we’re just allowed to fight alongside the same people we’ve been blowing up and hacking to pieces not even a few months ago.”

The Dominian winced at the blunt description, but nonetheless nodded in agreement. “Correct. We don’t need to let you fight alongside us, you know. Gaia and Tempest are both soldier enough, young as they are. Why should we let you fight alongside us?”

Nobody said anything for several seconds. One of Stronghold 5-5’s squad members, the Nusian defector, caught Trident’s eye, giving him a knowing look as soon as their gazes met. Trident slowly turned to look at Fusilier.

After a few more seconds of nervously tapping his fingers against his side, the grenadier finally spoke up. “I know a lot of Nusian positions that the Republic won’t be able to evacuate in time before your newly-equipped army can strike. You’re already capturing a ton of Nusian equipment from this battle, and your elite squadron’s modified APU is mostly intact. I can tell you more about that APU’s weaknesses so you can further refine it before mass-producing it for your undermanned army.” He took a second to breathe, meeting the former riot control officer’s eyes as he did. “Trident’s a former cop, and he’s already been exploited by the Republic of Nusia. He can help convince more Nusians to defect to your side, show them the truth that the Republic doesn’t care about them and that your Dominion will treat them and their families right. He’ll be an excellent negotiator to have in your arsenal, and he’s an invaluable defensive asset due to his experience as a riot control officer. Give him one of your best shields and he’ll have most of his bases covered.”

The taller Nusian frowned at that but didn’t object, instead watching as the Dominian officer took it all in and nodded sagely. “Yes, yes, that could work. Very convincing arguments… I don’t think the bit about your expertise on blowing up a tall mech with the most blatant weakspots known to man will be of any use to us, but everything else, I could see the MoD accepting.” He held out his hand. “Very well. I’ll inform my superiors in the MoD, and you’ll both be handed over to another Dominian squadron to keep Stronghold 5-5 from being too bloated. We’ll take whatever equipment you have that’s worth reverse-engineering so that we can start fielding it en masse for our troops.” He eyed the lash on Trident’s hip. “That includes your grappling hook, and Sparta’s sword. Such fine craftsmanship… I’m sure our melee units would love being able to use the weapon of Nusia’s most feared swordsman against their soldiers. The irony would not be lost on anyone.” The officer chuckled.

Trident held out his hand, paused as it twitched, then took the other man’s hand, shaking it as he allowed himself to smile behind the visor. Then, the officer withdrew his hand, offering it to Fusilier, who shook it as well with a small, genuine smile on his bearded face. The former police officer would be lying if he said he didn’t find it somewhat endearing. “Alright, we’ll be taking your weapons now, for further inspection.” Two Dominian volunteers appeared right on cue, taking their weapons and walking off without another word.

“It is with great honor that I welcome you two to the Emperor’s Army. Good day to you men,” the officer said, before turning and walking after the volunteers. That left the three Nusians and the other Dominian in complete silence as they turned to look at each other.

“You really had to convince them to make me carry more shit,” Trident muttered under his breath, finally letting himself glare at the grenadier.

The alcoholic scoffed, crossing his arms as he scowled at the taller Nusian. “You wouldn’t argue for yourself, what was I supposed to do?”

Before the two defectors could fight, the Scout butted in, walking between them as he loudly cleared his throat. “Fusilier, where did you order your squad to go before you and Trident officialized your defection?”

The grenadier paused, scrunching his face up as he was reminded of the uncertainty of his squad members surviving. “I told them to retreat and make up a story about how they were being ordered to pull back. As far as anyone should be concerned, they didn’t know we were going rogue and had the wool over their eyes the entire time. I don’t know where they went after the battle, I just told them to run.” He shuddered, exhaling loudly as he put a hand to his head. “I know they can’t leave with us because of their families, so they’re probably back in Nusia by now… or they’ve made a run for it, hoping we’ll save their families for them or that they’ll be presumed dead and won’t be punished for desertion.”

The Scout quietly swore to himself. “Worked out so well for me,” he muttered under his breath.

Fusilier’s head snapped towards him. “What was that?” he quickly asked.

“Didn’t say anything,” the Scout said, dismissing his question entirely as he turned around. “Staff Sarge, please warn these two about what they’re gonna be doing in their new squad and how the Dominian military works. I need to see if Hotel-Tango’s recovering from his impromptu landing, and if our favorite swordsman is recovering from his two near-death experiences.” And with that, he activated his jetpack and shot into the morning sky in a burst of red, flying off towards the Dominian field hospitals that were being set up.

The Recon clicked his tongue, slowly walking over to the two Nusians as he gave both of them a look. “Alright, how much do you two know about how Stronghold 5-5 operates?” he asked.

Neither man replied.

“...alright. Okay, so here’s how things are gonna go for you guys from here on out…”

The Nusian man in the formal uniform stared at the initial reports laid out in front of him, taking a deep, shuddering breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Get out,” he quietly said, fighting hard to keep his anger beneath the surface.

Sparta wordlessly turned and limped out of the room, closing the door behind him as he left.

General Reznik angrily slammed his fist into his table, cursing the Dominians and cursing those two brats for betraying their homeland in such a manner. Those scumbags perfected our prototypes… they’re making their own platforms… THEY HAVE ONE OF OUR APUS!  

He took a moment to compose himself, still silently swearing that he would put Stronghold 5-5 to the sword of the Republic soon enough. It wasn’t like the Dominion could suddenly turn its military situation around to make use of its good fortune. Guesan factories and Dominian craftsmanship couldn’t possibly make up for the embarrassment that was the Dominian Ministry of Defence. Still, the ones responsible for this military blunder had to pay.

With a deceptive calm, the General wrapped his hands around the phone, dialing in a number and putting the receiver to his ear as the call was picked up. “Send out an order to detain the families of the most recent Nusian defectors. They will be listed in short order.” As he continued to speak, he couldn’t help but mull over how fitting it all was.

Gaia’s family was rich and was alright in the Republic’s eyes, and so they would be immune from any drastic measures normally taken against the families of deserters. They were pure-blooded Nusians, too, so that was at least one point in their favor. It wasn’t like they supported their daughter anyways, he was sure they would be more angry than sad that the brat had run off to the enemy’s side to play peasant.

Nurem didn’t have one. Pathetic whelp’s parents didn’t have anyone else for him to run to when they died in the Guesan civil war.

…Fulgur and Sebate’s families did not share that same luxury. They would be easy pickings. And Fulgur was half-Guesan. Guesan blood tainting the superiority of his Nusian ancestry . The way Reznik saw it, he was doing Nusian society a favor, getting rid of the impurities in their society’s bloodlines.

…Private Fulgur ( Former Private , his mind mockingly supplied) was the one who personally volunteered to go as soon as Stronghold 5-5 revealed that they captured Gaia, after all. He and the medic always seemed close, almost like family. Reznik had allowed it, as it had meant at least someone was willing to treat the situation in Luo-he with the gravitas it deserved. But now, after months of making his fallen brothers and sisters proud by serving Nusia, he turned around and cemented his betrayal to the Republic so that he could fight alongside her. I hope it was worth it , the General mused, as he finished giving out his orders.

He smiled as the call was hung up. Think you can escape your punishment by hiding behind the Dominians, hm? No. I don’t think so. Desertion is a crime that warrants the most ruthless of responses from the government scorned.

And no one escapes justice .

Chapter Text

JUNE 11, 2044

“No more war! No more war!”

The Nusian woman sighed as she pressed a button on the TV remote, switching the channel to something else to drown out the endless stream of news about the resurgence in the anti-war protests that everyone knew wouldn’t do anything. It was useless. It didn’t help. Nothing did.

The Republic of Nusia was too steadfast in its imperialist stance to change, so why would they change now? She frankly wasn’t too up to date on why there was a sudden resurgence of these riots, so-

“We interrupt this broadcast to bring you urgent news. The Nusian Security Council has just published official reports on the situation about the Nusian-Dominian war.”

She paused, taking her finger off of the remote’s button as she slowly set the device down. Her eyes were glued to the screen, her chores for yet another monotonous, meaningless day forgotten as her heart stopped at the mention of the war.

It was one thing to hear about in passing, but if she worked tirelessly enough to provide for her mother, she could ignore the ache in her heart over how much their family had lost to further the Republic’s greed for more. Her husband. A son and a daughter. Her having a house, with empty, sterile rooms dotting its three floors, didn’t matter if nobody else lived in it. The books and toys that they had accumulated over the years were worthless if there was nobody to enjoy it. Who would she lose now? Who else?

Her heart was gripped with fear as the broadcast continued to play.

A well-dressed Nusian appeared on the screen, wearing a uniform with the same scheme as the Republic’s tricolor flag. He cleared his throat, motioning to the display behind him with one hand, as a stack of papers was held in the other.

“These reports have been made with data compiled from several infantry reports over the past couple of days, and from accounts by multiple sources in the Nusian military. This has been approved for declassification by the Nusian Security Council, as President Siroe Latem has decided that it would be prudent for all citizens of the Republic to know about the ongoing crisis in the Dominion.”

Her eyes widened at his words. ‘Crisis’? The use of the term was foreboding, to say the least.

The screen behind him changed, showing a blurry image of a mighty war machine on four legs, with several gun emplacements on it. She recognized it as a platform, the staple of Nusian engineering and a testament to the innovation of the bright minds wasted to better wage the President’s war.

...she had to wonder why he was showing them a photograph of a platform, and why it was so blurry. And it looked… off, to say the least.

“What you see before you is a platform, similar to those deployed by the Nusian army. However, this is not a Nusian platform.” He paused to take a deep breath, though it felt more like letting the sentence hang in the air to emphasize the gravity of what he was implying. “This is a Dominian platform, reverse-engineered from a captured platform back during the failed siege in Luo-he.”

The Nusian woman put a mouth to her hand as she silently gasped in shock. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she pictured Nusian soldiers being pounded by artillery fire, ground into dust by the merciless Dominian onslaught. That didn’t mean she had love for Nusia’s rampant imperialism. No. But she felt for the soldiers that would have to suffer, to die in droves in order to counteract this new advantage. No doubt the Republic would throw more men at the problem in an attempt to solve it. So many young men and women, their lives cut short by a war without reason…

How?

The official, or representative, abruptly looked up from the papers he was reading, staring at the camera with a dead-eyed, almost shell-shocked expression. “The siege of Luo-he was a military disaster for the Republic of Nusia. We had lost countless men and vehicles in a slow, gradual siege of the city, underestimating the elite forces hidden within it, as we presumed numerical superiority would win out. We had gotten cocky. Overconfident. We lost a Disaster Squad in the last days of that siege.” He took another deep, calming breath.

She felt her heart ache for the many young souls that died in yet another military blunder, seeing her son and daughter in every faceless casualty on the screen. The screen then abruptly changed to a scorched, ruined city, with more rubble than buildings, being patrolled by a few Nusian formations marching in lockstep.

“Special Infantry Unit ‘Gaia’ was captured by the Dominians. The Dominians that were defending the city were known as Stronghold 5-5, a small, elite five-man squadron consisting of three Dominians, a Guesan, and a Nusian who betrayed the Republic.” The man on the TV swallowed dryly as his eyes went back to the papers he was reading off of. “Gaia was a 17 year old who enlisted in the army voluntarily after setting out to forge her own path in life. As she had a surprising proficiency with medicine, she was given prototype Nusian medical equipment, which was then stolen by the Dominians to fuel their horrific war machine.”

The Nusian woman could do nothing but watch as the man continued to speak.

“They strong-armed the Nusian Security Council into halting the siege of Luo-he in order to negotiate her release. Bombarding them into oblivion with platform fire was not an option. Overwhelming force was not an option. Luo-he was such a tough nut to crack that almost all Nusian units around the area had been depleted and were awaiting reinforcements. All the while, the Dominians were merciless in their wanton slaughter.”

This… Stronghold 5-5… a fearsome opponent for the Nusian army indeed… The widow’s face scrunched up as she wondered where he was going with this report. But what do they have to do with this dire situation? So far, they had seemed mostly unrelated, and this Luo-he report seemed like a tangent… but she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread welling up in her…

“Special Infantry Force no. 5 was volunteered to handle negotiations.” Her heart stopped. “Private F- Special Infantry Unit ‘Tempest’ and his squad were dispatched to the city on one of the remaining platforms in the area, in order to keep the Dominian Stronghold from vacating the city. Negotiations had gone smoothly until on the third meeting, where Stronghold 5-5 reneged on their agreement and apparently opened fire on Special Infantry Force no. 5.”

Oh, God… Fulgur… The mother of three felt tears well up in her eyes as she stifled a sob. No, no, no, please … Not my baby boy… We lost so much already, please, not him as well… Arden. Caída. Her husband. Why, why did the world have to take everyone she held dear away from her?

“After losing contact with the platform and Tempest’s squad, an army was assembled and dispatched to Luo-he as soon as possible. We encountered a few Dominian vehicles on the way to the city, but they gave us no information.” He didn’t even need to tell them what was done with their occupants afterwards. It was an open secret, and a truly evil one at that. “When we arrived to Luo-he, it was empty. It was a death trap. We lost countless men and equipment to the cowardly trap at Luo-he, their corpses burned and unrecognizable as the fires raged for several more hours.” The screen briefly changed to show a photograph of the same city, lit by oranges and reds against a dark night sky while several Nusian soldiers stared at the blazing metropolis. “It was a shocking defeat. The first, and only one so far that the Republic has suffered at the hands of the Dominion.” The representative closed his eyes in respect for the fallen.

Then, after a few seconds, he opened them again, glaring at the camera as his mouth curled into a frown. “This failure has convinced us to shift our strategies to prevent further unnecessary casualties, and we would soon have the perfect opportunity to see how our change in stratagem played out.” “We received reports of Stronghold 5-5 retreating into the Dominian mountains. Seeking righteous vengeance for the lives lost at Luo-he, Nusian forces chased the squadron responsible for this humiliation into the canyons of Dominia, eager to make them pay for their crimes. And then reports started coming in about two extra members fighting alongside the original five of the elite squadron. A 17 year old in a beanie, and a 19 year old wearing a light vest, a helmet, and a pair of goggles.” His gaze hardened, seemingly glaring at her through the screen as she stepped back in shock.

My… Fulgur? N-no, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t! He knows what would happen to us… right? W-what about the sacrifices our family made for-

“We had no way of confirming these reports, and we didn’t want to act rashly based on the accounts of soldiers in the heat of battle, trying to stay alive. So Special Infantry Unit ‘Fusilier’ was dispatched with his squad to verify these accounts and help deal with Stronghold 5-5.” He licked his lips, frowning. “It was not enough. We lost several APUs to the Dominian squadron. We had no reports from Fusilier. Special Infantry Unit ‘Trident’ was dispatched to assist. Again, a complete failure, one that incurred even more casualties than before. Millions of Nolics in equipment, lost.”

Despite the serious accusations being thrown against her son and the danger to her family, she couldn’t help but stare disbelievingly at the man on the screen. ‘Millions of Nolics’? That’s your concern here? Not the thousands of men and women being wasted to chase down a seven-man squadron? Still, she had to move quickly. As soon as this report was over, she would have to pack her bags, find a way to clear her name- oh, who am I kidding. Their entire family would have to find a way out of the Republic, away from the Security Council’s pervasive grasp. All two members of it would have to fight to survive. A widow who had lost all her children to this damned war , and an elderly grandmother with nothing left to her name and nobody left to return to.

Why would the Republic do this to us? What did we do to deserve your wrath, Latem?

The Security Council’s representative continued to speak despite her internal struggles. “Finally, units from the failed assault on Luo-he arrived to reinforce the small army besieging the Dominian outpost. Nusian armor arrived in force, with Special Infantry Unit ‘Sparta’ leading the charge. His mere presence caused Stronghold 5-5 to briefly pull back in fear of his abilities, retreating deeper into the outpost and leaving their two new members behind. The tide had finally turned against the Dominians. And once Sparta arrived to take stock of the prisoners, their identities were verified.”

Her mind swam. Her world spun. The TV screen was the only thing that stayed in place as her heart pounded in her chest and as flop sweat flowed down her golden skin.

“Private Fulgur Salamasi, 19 years old. Private Gaia Evergreen, 17 years old. Both were assisting Stronghold 5-5, and given their refusal to surrender to Nusian forces when given the chance several times, the Nusian Security Council has concluded that they were brainwashed into defecting from the Nusian army. The Dominion’s evil knows no bounds, twisting the minds of these young promising soldiers into accepting their demonic ideals.”

…Oh, Builderman save me and my remaining family. Fulgur…

The tears flowing did a lot to blur the new image on the screen behind him. They, however, did nothing to keep her from recognizing the shape of his hair, the look on his face, or the youth in his frame as he appeared in front of her.

Fulgur stared back, the image that was once used for his file in the Nusian army’s database now the face of a deserter, a fugitive to the Republic. The young man and anyone associated with him would now be under intense scrutiny, if not dealt with outright by the more proactive members of the Security Council. Beside him was a miserable young woman, much shorter than him, with brown messy hair and a beanie atop her head. It was all too clear now.

Her baby boy had defected to the Dominians to keep his lover in the military safe. Young love. It was almost like with her and- No. Don’t think about his name. Don’t let the memories flood back. Please, I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to remember it.

Love made you do many stupid things. Unfortunately for her and her son, the stupid thing in question was now directly endangering his remaining family. She prayed to Builderman that he and his partner would survive till the end of this war, because she knew for a fact that she likely wouldn’t.

The Nusian Security Council would do anything to get some semblance of justice over his betrayal. The most she and her mother could do was run and hide, and hope that they survived long enough to be reunited. But that would likely never happen.

She felt tears flow down her cheeks as the report continued in the background. Fulgur… please, keep her and yourself safe for me. Make your mommy proud… She sniffled. Don’t join your brother, sister, and your father in the grave… Don’t join… me and…

Everything suddenly became clear as the picture on the screen changed, showing several silhouettes in the distance, some firing the guns on their backs and all of them facing the general direction of the camera.

“When they finally confronted Sparta, Trident, and Fusilier, victory was assured. The three Special Infantry units were able to methodically pick apart the Dominians while keeping Nusian casualties to a minimum, seemingly killing one of them and cornering the rest while their stolen APU was mission killed by Fusilier. Truly, the Dominians were no match for the best of the Special Infantry force. However, things quickly took a turn for the worse as Trident and Fusilier both abruptly chose to defect, turning their weapons on Sparta as they had been preyed on and manipulated by the greyoid scumbags, who knew that only a Nusian could stop another Nusian’s onslaught. Dominian reinforcements then flooded the outpost, and in the confusion, Sparta was gravely injured and forced to retreat. He did, however, see Gaia and Tempest being given copies of their original prototypes before he intervened. The implication is clear. The Dominians have reverse-engineered these powerful weapons of mass destruction, and we will likely be seeing use of them across every front as the databases for Dominian weapon printers are updated with these new schematics.”

…at least the Republic will finally be given a taste of poetic justice. It has been long overdue.

The representative briefly paused for several seconds, breathing heavily and wiping his brow as he struggled to keep his expression neutral. “Dominian platforms appeared after Sparta was forced to retreat, and Nusian units held their fire, believing them to be friendlies coming in to encircle the Dominians. They could not have been any more mistaken.” He shook his head as he read the reports. “Despite Sparta's best efforts, the army at the Dominian outpost was practically wiped out. Casualties are still being recorded, the Dominians have likely taken any survivors prisoner to torture further information out of them, and are likely working on further refining any captured equipment.”

He tried to straighten himself as he looked into the camera. “However, this does not change the fact that Dominian logistics are still severely strained. The Nusian Security Council predicts that the Dominians will have fewer platforms than the Republic, even with the staggering losses from Luo-he and this failed attempt to hunt Stronghold 5-5 down. They simply cannot out-produce Nusian factories, and all it will take is a few kicks to Guesan steel refineries in Imperial Guesa to send the whole rotten structure crashing back down.” The Nusian man gave a salute. “The foul Dominians may have our technologies in their grasp, but Nusian superiority will win out in the end. The cancer that is Stronghold 5-5 will be considered a priority target, and the Dominion will fall !”

His voice rose as he lowered the papers, now fully lost in his patriotic fervor as he gave the Nusian salute. “Enlist now, to avenge your fallen-!”

She turned the TV off before anything else could be said. With a deep breath, and with shaking hands, she quickly walked around the house, gathering any essential belongings and packing them into whatever bags she could find. The woman gave a mournful look to the empty rooms and hallways as she walked, knowing that this was the last time she would ever see her home again. But it had died long ago already. All that I’m doing is abandoning a rotting corpse.

The Nusian widow found her mother and set her aside. “Mom,” she said, making sure that the elderly woman’s eyes were on her and her alone. “We need to leave. The Nusian Security Council will be after us.”

Her mother’s eyes instantly widened, the color draining from her already-pale face as she tried to work her mouth. “W-why? What did we do?” Still, she wasn’t fighting back, which was good. Her mother at least understood the gravity of their situation.

“We didn’t do anything. But… Fulgur did.” She sucked in air through her teeth as she grimaced. “We’re leaving, I’ve already packed most of our stuff.” And without another word, she let her go, walking around the house and bringing their bags to the door as her mother followed suit.

“Where do we even go?” the older Nusian asked, giving her daughter a worried look.

The widow turned back to give her some form of reassurance. “We-”

The doorbell rang.

Neither of them moved.

Three knocks on the door.

The woman slowly turned to it, hesitantly reaching out for the knob as her mother shrank back into the hallway she had emerged from. She turned it. The door was pulled open from the outside, forcing her to let go.

Three Nusian men stared back at her, all of them in formal clothing, wearing dark, imposing sunglasses that obscured their eyes. “Mrs. Salamasi,” the one in the middle began, as his compatriots looked over the bags behind her, “you’re coming with us.”

She slowly took a step back, her chest feeling tight as black and yellow closed in, blocking the path behind the lead agent. “O-on whose authority?” the woman asked, testing the waters as she felt all eyes on her.

He leaned back slightly, tilting his head as if she’d asked the stupidest question on the Baseplate. “By order of General Reznik,” the man robotically replied, “those suspected of harboring treasonous intentions towards the Republic are to be brought in for questioning and pacification.”

The Nusian glared at him, nearly reaching for a sidearm that wasn’t there before stopping herself. Don’t provoke them into drawing their guns. “But me and my m-”

“Your son is a traitor to the Republic,” he interrupted, his curt tone betraying the disdain hidden beneath the surface. “As his mother, you should have taught him to be loyal to the government that housed him. That housed you . That did everything in its power to-”

“To ruin my life!” she snapped back, unable to contain the rage bubbling within her with every fucking word that praised the Republic that was in name only. He took a step back, finally showing something other than professionalism and apathy on his face. Shock. “My husband is dead because of the Guesan civil war! My son and daughter died to help you pacify the ins- no, the freedom fighters trying to liberate their home! And now my last remaining child in the world is several battlefields away, finally doing what his brother and sister couldn’t and taking off the shackles that bound him into following the orders of this evil ‘Republic’.”

She leaned in, grinding her teeth so hard that she swore she could feel sparks flying around in her mouth. “And you have the audacity to tell me that I taught him wrong? That I am at fault for the actions of your Republic driving him away from your grasp? How? Am I the one that killed his brother? His sister? His father? Please, tell me how any of this is my fault. I’m listening , something that the Republic is clearly incapable of doing to its citizens.”

The air stood still as all eyes remained on her, all of them wide with shock at the vitriol in her words.

Finally, after a few seconds, the agent closed his mouth, giving a frown as he adjusted the sunglasses on his face. “You clearly taught him to rebel against the Republic. You are directly responsible for his defection.” He took a deep, calming breath, glancing at the older Nusian over her shoulder before meeting her gaze once more. “And to answer your other question, you didn’t kill any of them.” The man paused, letting the sentence hang in the air as the rage slowly melted off of her face. “But you did kill your mother. Seize her.”

Her eyes widened as the two men in the background suddenly walked forwards, casually bumping past her as she looked at the agent in front of her in terror. “Wh- wait-” She whirled around, hearing her mother let out pleas and begging as the two younger, much stronger Nusians grabbed her by both arms and forced her to start walking with them. “No, no please-”

The woman turned around to look at the apathetic Nusian agent. “Don’t! Please, don’t, she’s all I have left!”

He hummed to himself, casually fixing his cuffs as she glanced back at the three Nusians behind her. “Well, now she won’t be everything you have left, because now you’ll have nothing,” the man curtly replied. The woman turned back to face him, giving him a horrified look. “You should have thought twice before letting those treasonous, defiant words spill out of your mouth. Now we can’t trust you to be good on the way to your new home. Maybe killing your last living relative in the Republic that you loathe so much will make you simmer down.”

“I won’t do anything to the Republic! I- I served in the military, please I gave this country so much already, I’ll take it all back! Don’t-”

“Oh, we know.” He sighed, shaking his head as the older Nusian was brought before him. “You know what, I’ll spare you the anguish of waiting for her to die.” The man calmly reached for his side, pulling out a small pistol, not that much different from the kind that policemen used on the streets. “I’ll just kill her now, so you can be spared the pain of talking to each other before the inevitable.”

The older Nusian quietly cried to herself, closing her eyes as she was forced to kneel in front of him, facing her daughter.

The former soldier quickly shook her head, reaching for her before one of the accompanying agents pulled his gun on her, forcing her to back off. “Say your goodbyes,” he gruffly said.

“There’ll be no need for that,” the first agent replied, almost sounding… chipper despite the situation that all of them were in. “I want you to watch when I pull the trigger. Ready?”

She worked her mouth as tears streamed down her cheeks, but nothing came out. She couldn’t even find it in her to say goodbye to her mother as the other woman slowly opened her eyes, trying to give her a comforting smile as the gun barrel pressed against the back of her head.

“Three.”

The black, shadowy figures that were the Nusian agents seemed to grow with each millisecond, the darkness of their suits overpowering their golden skin.

“Two.”

I failed my entire family.

“One.”

She sharply looked at the Nusian man beside her, quickly reaching for his pistol-

A brown blur crashed into the agent behind her mother, causing him to stumble to the ground as he dropped his pistol. The two other agents turned to look at figure as it rose to its feet, giving her the chance to wrench the pistol out of the other Nusian’s grip and fire it into his chest several times.

Oh , she dimly thought as the well-dressed body fell to the ground, their guns were silenced.

The other agent, hearing the gunshots and the sound of his comrade’s body dropping, turned around, drawing his own sidearm at an impressive speed. “Drop the fucki-” Before he could finish, a sword pierced through the back of his head and went out the other end, causing him to drop the gun as his body went limp. Wet gurgles momentarily came out of him as the sword was just as quickly pulled out of his skull.

She slowly lowered the handgun, staring in shock at her cloaked savior as they turned to look at her. Her eyes lingered on the shadows obscuring their face, then the blood, brain, and bits of skull on their sword. Then, before she could react, the swordsman turned around and kicked the handgun out of the other agent’s grasp, causing him to fall on his back as they quickly walked over.

“W-who the fuck-!?”

Her mysterious savior pinned the man down, their one shortsword hovering in front of his throat as he stared into the hood. The Nusian’s eyes widened. “You-” Before he could finish, the assailant slashed his neck open, his words tapering off into gurgles as he choked on his own blood. It didn’t take long for the agent to expire.

The swordsman slowly turned to look at her. She could see a single eye, peering at her within the shadows cast over his face. His sword, still coated in Nusian blood, was lowered, meaning he wasn’t a threat to her.

The woman finally allowed herself to breathe as she quickly checked on her mother. The older Nusian had ducked and wrapped her arms around her head, desperately trying not to get caught in the crossfire of the brief scuffle. She hugged her mother, whispering into her ear as she closed her eyes. “It’s alright, mom. We’re safe. You can… you can open your eyes now.”

After a few more seconds of shaking, the older woman slowly stood up, reluctantly opening her eyes to take in the scene around her as her daughter helped her up. She shuddered at the sight of the corpses, especially the ones made by their savior due to how merciless they were in their… help.

The former soldier slowly turned to look at their savior. “Who sent you?” she tersely asked, being sure to point the handgun at the ground with her finger off the trigger as she studied the taller Nusian’s posture for any tells.

The swordsman breathed out. “...nobody,” they- he quietly replied. “I came here of my own volition after hearing the news of what was to be done with you and your mother.” He knelt down, wiping the blood off of his sword on one of the dead men’s suits.

Her mind raced as she watched him clean his shortsword. The news only came out several minutes ago… that means he must be in the military. She pursed her lips as he stood back up to his full height. “You know that the Republic would retaliate against you if they find out about this, right? Those agents had to have reported in by now.”

The man looked at her, then glanced back at the Nusian corpses surrounding them. “Yes, which is why time is of the essence and why we have to go, right now.” He had an accent that she couldn’t quite place, but it definitely wasn’t from any of the metropolitan areas. She watched him in mild suspicion as he walked past her with a slight limp, sheathing his sword before grabbing some of their bags and lifting them with ease. “Where were you intending to run off to?”

She walked over to him, grabbing the remaining bags and straining to carry them as she replied, “I didn’t… really know. I was just hoping I could find someone that did know a way out of this Republic.”

He sighed, the cloak shifting as he tilted his head. “Well then, you’re in luck. I just so happen to know someone willing to get people away from the cities.” The swordsman slowly shuffled past her, looking around for a few seconds before nodding in satisfaction. He was probably checking for any government agents in hiding. “Follow me.”

The Nusian woman turned to her mother, sharing an uneasy look with her, before looking back at the swordsman, who was now standing a few studs away, waiting for her. “...I suppose we don’t have a choice,” she said, letting her mother wrap her arm around hers before walking after the man.

“Sir?”

“What is it?” the Nusian man snapped, giving his subordinate a harsh glare that caused her to shrink back. “If you’re going to waste my time, just-”

“I-it’s about Tempest’s family,” she nervously stammered out.

Suddenly, his expression softened, changing into a soft smile as he heard the news. “Oh, excellent.” The older Nusian licked his lips. “Well then, what have you to report?”

The woman breathed in, carefully watching his posture for any change, before breathing out, noting that he was still smiling expectantly at her. “Th… the team sent to his family’s home hadn’t reported back in for a while, and we sent some people over to check their status. Reports were that gunshots and a struggle were heard a while ago…” She trailed off.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he looked away. “So the traitor’s family is dead? Disappointing, but at least that’s one less-”

“N-no, sir.” She swallowed as he turned back, his eyes landing on the Nusian woman, feeling like they were peering down at her through a microscope. “We found several belongings missing from the house when we checked.”

The air around her suddenly felt cold. Dangerously cold.

The man gave a slow, controlled blink. “And the agents sent to retrieve her and the grandmother?”

“...found dead…”

BANG!

She jumped as the older Nusian whirled around, slamming his fist against the wall as he growled in rage, acting more like an animal than another person. Her brain screamed at her as he looked at her, baring his teeth in a snarl as if he was about to jump on top of her and bite the flesh off of her neck. “ GET OUT !” he shouted.

Not needing to be told twice, the woman turned and ran out of the room, whimpering as she slammed the door shut behind her. She wouldn’t have noticed that she was instinctively crying in primal fear until after she had already finished running down one of the hallways from his office.

Meanwhile, the man fumed to himself, kicking around one of the chairs in front of his table and smashing his fist against the walls in unbridled fury. “Damn you. Damn you, damn you, DAMN YOU!” he screamed, beating against the walls of his office as he focused his attention on one of the reports on his desk.

He was just about to send the desk flying when he thought better of it, momentarily calming down as he took a few steps back before turning to a bookshelf. Then, like a switch had been flipped, the General suddenly melted back into a hateful mass of green, yellow, and blue, angrily tearing books out of their places and throwing them around as his mind and body both screamed.

“GODDAMNED COWARDS !!!”

The woman stared at the snowy landscape around them, her body shivering from the cold as she tried to take a deep breath. Behind her, the swordsman was talking to his contact on a stolen phone, though she couldn’t really understand what he was saying as he spoke. It wasn’t like it really mattered, anyways. She knew he could be trusted, now.

They had been traveling for just a few days now, but it felt longer than that. They had to work hard to avoid being spotted by the government’s lackeys or anyone loyal to the Republic. They had to work even harder to escape the city, but once that was done, the journey had gone as smoothly as it could have.

A comforting hand laying on her shoulder alerted her to her mother’s presence. She slowly turned to look at the older woman, giving her a warm, reassuring smile. They would escape the Republic. All thanks to the man that went through all the effort just to get them to the mountains to the south.

The sound of boots unevenly crunching against snow alerted her to the man in question limping over to them, causing her to glance at him as he approached. He slowly handed the phone to her. She took it. “Crush that phone once my contact arrives, you’ll know it’s him when you see a gray SUV drive up to you. In the meantime, you can wait in the cabin, there’s enough supplies to last you for several days.” The man motioned to the small wooden home behind them with his thumb.

The accent that he was trying so hard to hide still bled through, even after all this time. “...I see,” the woman muttered, watching as he slowly trudged away. “You’re not going with us?”

The swordsman shook his head as he stopped walking. “I still have… things to do in the Republic,” he slowly replied, his cloak billowing slightly from the wind as he glanced at her. “You can manage after this, he’ll take you far away from the war… as far as humanly possible, anyways.”

She nodded, having a good idea of what those things were. Behind her, her mother turned and walked to the cabin, their bags having already been placed inside by the mysterious swordsman minutes ago. “Then I suppose this is goodbye,” she said, giving him the Nusian salute to send him off.

The swordsman nodded, saluting back before turning and walking off, disappearing into the night as easily as if he were a shadow. She knew better, though. She had seen him fight, had seen him dodge those police patrols as if he had memorized their routes long beforehand. No movement was wasted as he knocked out anyone that could report them with ease. Even with his apparent limp, he was simply experienced enough to deal with any problems that got in their way. And that sword… not to mention the way he flew into the agents trying to apprehend them…

Salamasi gave a small, knowing smile as she saw the silhouette of a person shoot into the air in a small burst of flame. 

“Thank you… Sparta .”

The door suddenly opened with a hiss, causing the large man to look up from the computer screen as another Nusian slowly limped in. “Oh,” he muttered, causing the other man to look up at him as he leaned against the wall for support. “Where were you for the past few days? You were supposed to be resting,” the man chastised, narrowing his eyes as the monk looked away.

“I had to go clear my head,” the swordsman muttered, the single Khanblade in its sheath jostling with each step he took. “Why are you so concerned? You know I’ve handled worse injuries than this.”

“It’s still too risky for you to be out and about literally days after being shot with a sniper round,” the armored giant replied, shaking his head as he watched Sparta limp past. He slowly flipped the screen down as the other Nusian shot a glare in his direction. “Need any help with that?”

“I’ll be fine. Nusia won’t be satisfied if one of its very best can’t handle a single bullet wound. I have to… prove my loyalty somehow,” the monk hissed, biting his tongue as he turned and made his way to his quarters.

“You’ve already proven your loyalty enough!” the other man called out, though all he got in return was a distant groan as the monk presumably tried to go to sleep. With a sigh, he flipped his computer screen back up and went over the document’s contents again.

He frowned as he finished rereading it for the fourth time, before glancing at the short walk that led to Sparta’s quarters. After a few seconds of staring, he turned back to the laptop, his fingers hovering over the keys as he pondered his next course of action.

He smiled in satisfaction as he leaned back, the chair creaking slightly from his weight as he did so. The large man turned to look at the room where Sparta was sleeping, giving a slow nod before turning and shutting the laptop off.

It technically wasn’t treason. He did have the authorization to do this after all, and the Republic would likely cover his… actions up anyways if they found out. It wouldn’t do well for their image if they had to punish one of the faces of their vaunted Special Infantry Forces for the crime of looking out for his fellow Nusians.

Well, Sparta , Ares thought as he slowly stood up, I hope you still know which side you’re on.