The Galaxy is Dark [FT, Maintenance, Invite only]

[Auman]

Bosporus-Caine Imperial University, Remus, Earth.

"I find your claim preposterous, Doctor." The words sliced through the auditorium like a cannon ball, splashing across the intellectual bow of Azimuth Manderly. Doctor Reid Peloton grinned smugly from his podium, knowing full well that he'd found the right place to twist his knife... Directly in his rival's ego.

"You assert time and again, fallaciously I might add, that humanity is better off having colonized the galaxy. The facts, however, do not line up with reality. The truth is that leaving caused more harm... More pain and suffering, not just among the xenoi but in humanity as a whole, than staying on Earth ever would have." Peloton laid his cue cards down and sipped a glass of water. This debate wasn't as much about proving his points to be correct, but rather allowing Manderly's personality to destroy his own position. Peloton could see his opponent's anger rising, the way he pinched his lips and worked the muscles in his jaw, clenching his teeth. The blood rose in Manderly's face, turning it as pink as the center of a rare steak.

Manderly breathed deeply through his nose and exhaled through his teeth, the rumbling of the air and the whistle deep inside his nostrils audible to every student and luminary assembled in the hall. He was about to lose it.

You ignorant fucking savage. Oh, you philosophical reprobate, if we were in the field I would tear your leg off and beat you with the wet end. It's only what you would deserve, cretin. Fucking foolish fendersnape! Where did you even get your masters, the University of Arizona Nova? Feh... Manderly's thoughts raced ahead of his mouth, though he caught them before they peeled from his lips. One inhalation, a single exhalation. The oxygen perfusion amongst his cells was exquisite, cooling his anger for that outrageous simpleton.

"Truly, Earth is the most powerful single entity in the known universe. This is impossible to debate and anyone who would dare to attempt it would be quickly proven an imbecile. I am not, I will not debate this... However..." Manderly jauntily sipped his own water, "The reality, the absolute, stark, undeniable and horrifying reality, the facts that you seem to ignore in your scribblings, is that Earth simply could not have survived had we not colonized the Milky Way. There's no getting around that Doctor Peloton. For we have seen, time and time again, the wholly destructive nature of our galaxy. The threats that you habitually brush off as "non-factors" or even outright deny, such as the Rethast Pathogen, would have eventually come here... And no matter how militarily powerful the Stratocracy of Remus may be, nothing in this closed system would be able to survive. Not alone, not without a back up plan. Our collective ancestors were wise to leave this place, the forethought has protected you and your world countless times."

Peloton guffawed and shook his head in condescension.

"Where is the proof, Doctor Manderly? You Spheroids come from off world and lavish us all with grim faery tales of monsters from outerspace, but there is no independently verifiable information available. Every warning comes directly from your government. Every warning comes with a request for... Annexation... Taxation... The loss of basic sovereignty that we Remans hold close to our hearts. You come with talk of demons and in order for us to find salvation we must give, give, give! There's no science here, only speculation and graft. You forget that I am an evolutionary biologist, sir. I know for a fact that your claims are nothing but lies."

Manderly's brow flashes with incredulity. He twists his head and stares at his notes sideways. Peloton presses his attack.

"A naturally occurring virus that turns people into living weapons... Where would this leap of fantasy have even come from? Under your bed, from inside your closet or was it from your Overlord's posterior?"

The hall was silent and Peloton could see Manderly's temper return. He laughed and said...

"And I quote the Vascilia Times Tribune... 'Enormous infant destroys world.'"

"You're taking this out of context and you know it."

"Vagina spiders."

Manderly threw his notes over his shoulder and they wafted to the floor like leaves in fall. A muted chuckle bubbled from the seats.

"Had your nation the ability to build a starship, you could go and see it for yourself." Manderly's words drew hisses and boos. One man even shouted at him, though he couldn't quite make it out... Something about a rocketship and his mother. Distasteful rubbish.

"Remus can build starships, we can do many things, Doctor Manderly... But as a nation and a people with common sense, we choose not to." Peloton adjusted his wedding band with a flourish.

"Since you choose not to listen to reason, how about you come with me to see it for yourself?" Manderly's eyes narrowed towards Peloton who smirked at the challenge.

"So the Sphere offers all expense vacations to imagination land, do they?"

"Yes, but this would be nothing like your pie in the eye day dreams about Earthnoid isolationism and armed supremacy... It would be an expedition into your darkest nightmare."

Peloton laughed. The auditorium echoed him. Manderly's debate was flaming on the runway. But still, his eyes had never left him. The offer was genuine, so it seemed. Peloton was suddenly filled with a rush of trepidation. He had never been off world, though he had built an entire career upon refuting what he referred to as 'false data' from the galaxy at large. The idea thrilled him as much as it caused anxiety to brew in his gut.

"Well, will you venture with me into the jaws of hell or are you to much of a coward?" Manderly drummed his fingers on the podium, impatient and angry.

Peloton nervously twisted his glass and stared at his feet.

"Do it, Doctor Peloton!"

"End this charade once and for all!"

The auditorium erupted into patriotic attestation and chants of encouragement. Peloton realized now that he must take Manderly up on his offer, lest he appear to be a coward as was claimed to be.

"Fine," Peloton raised his hands to gain the quiet of the crowd, "I'll do it, Manderly. If only to shut you up and get your Sphere to run back to the Gamma quadrant with their lies and propaganda."

"That's Major-Doctor Manderly, my friend."

[Fenvaria Republic]

Remote Trade station
Outside of the Thalduhm Empire

---

The station’s Home Guard commander looked over the report and frowned, putting down his folder that held one of the more recent reports. The report was from several cargo caravans that had been mauled on the way to the station, several of them reported unidentifiable ships harassing the trade lines and passing caravans. The worst part was that the attacks were increasing in number and slowly traveling towards the station, from what the commander saw it was an incoming pirate raid. Which was something to be worried about, but he was confident in the station’s defenses, which ranged from large anti-ship cannons, smaller defensive stations, and platforms. But there was one thing he was worried about and that was the lack of a proper fleet to help defend the station, the fleet was mostly made up of a few destroyers and a handful of cruisers. Granted he was more reliant on the occasional passing Navy patrol but the nearest one was a week out, not something that he was really fond of.

He then sighed and lifted up the data pad once more and kept reading it as he read further into the report he raised an eyebrow. It showed a number of projections that were formulated by the station’s AI unit. In these projections, it showed that the possible pirate raid wasn’t going to hit until almost a week from now. That was a sigh of relief as it gave him time to prepare for the incoming raid, that is if it was coming. However, the old saying of being on the safe side never hurt you. He kept reading the report which included possible configurations of the raid, possible known weapons, as well as hypothetical statements about what criminal or pirate faction that the raid belonged to. However, there was a thing that really bothered him with the theory was that there wasn’t a positive identification on the pirates, instead most of the notes about identification were below fifty percent. Meaning that this was either a new fenavria pirate or criminal crew operating in the area or a new xeno pirate crew in the area, there is also the idea that this is a newly discovered species. However, he tossed out the last theory as it wouldn’t make sense, why would they attack now instead of when they were constructing the station ages ago. Though he supposed that this xenos could have just expanded into the area and didn't know whom the station belonged to, plus the station was also quite defended. Maybe they mistook it for a defense platform? No, there were ships going to and from the station most of them were marked as merchant ships, either way, whoever they are, they are out for blood.

After finishing the report the Home Guard commander closed the folder and placed it down on the desk next to his computer terminal. With a sigh he then leaned forward and buried his face into his hands, rubbing his sore eyes with the palms of his hands. He would take a few moments to sit there and try his best to relax, which was nice as for the few moments that he had to himself he was able to just breathe, take his mind off the report and this incoming raid. But then, there was a knock at his door and he slowly dragged his muzzle through his hands and looked up at the door, he had a sort of annoyed look on his face as he stared at the door.

“Enter.” replied the commander with an aggravated tone, he then waited for the door to open and seconds later the door would open up and he walked in. His second in command and his senior lieutenant.

“Report, Senior Lieutenant.”

“Sir, do you remember the incident where one of our patrols caught a suspect attempting to gain access to the communications station.”

“Yes, I think remember that....” replied the commander in a surprised tone, he then straightened up a bit as he looked at the Senior Lieutenant. “That was yesterday wasn't it?”

“Yes, sir here is a refresher. He was able to kill two Guardsmen with a concealed pistol, both of them died with a single bullet to the head. One was injured from a knife, however, the other two guardsmen were able to kill the suspect. After he took several shots from the guardsmen’s rifles and submachine guns, by the time the EMS crews got there the body was riddled with bullets.”

“I remember now, the department was able to keep things under wraps and a full-blown autopsy was ordered.

“Two hours ago sir.” replied the Senior Lieutenant as he tapped on the folder. “I was informed of this only an hour ago when one of my sergeants passed a report up to me and flagged it as ‘High Priority’. Once I got it I went to find you, only to find you well....in the middle of a meeting.”

“I see,” he said with a sigh, in a visible sign of annoyance and anger, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his muzzle then rubbed the bridge of his muzzle. In silence the two sat there, the Senior Lieutenant waiting on the Commander to relax and control himself. After a few moments, the commander stopped and sat back, slowly he crossed his hands, then placed them in his lap. “What do we know about this suspect?”

“Not much, one of those traveling merchants, human, relatively healthy, however a heavy drinker. No priors, relatively clean record, other than that nothing to suggest that they were violent in their past. However, there is one other thing...”

“What is it?” questioned the commander as he leaned forward and clasped his hands together.

“The suspect showed several dozen surgical marks upon initial inspection of the body. The weirder part was that the scars were all over the body, some of them were fresh like several weeks fresh. Indicating that the suspect underwent some sort of surgery prior to the attack.”

“This sounds more and more like an attempt at a terrorist attack on the station.....between that and the incoming pirate fleet...I think there might be something going on.” replied the Commander as he looked at his Senior Lieutenant.

The Senior Lieutenant raised an eyebrow and looked at the Commander for a few moments. “How so?”

The commander nodded and looked at the Senior Lieutenant with a bit of a serious face. “What if this attack upon the communications room was in conjunction with the incoming raid like they wanted to knock out our only way to call for help. Thus making the raid on the station much easier.” replied the Commander as he leaned back a bit. “We don’t have all of the details but....it is a possibility. It seems far from a coincidence that these two events happened so close to each other.”

“So what do we do?” asked the Senior Lieutenant as he looked at the folder and then back at the Commander.

“For now, quietly bunker down, if anything these pirates have agents somewhere else so it is in our best interests to start fortifying but not to tip them off.”

He raised an eyebrow at what the Commander was saying, it seemed a bit odd and well like he was trying to get them all killed. “You sure? I mean, wouldn't it be better to get the word out that we are bunkering down to scare them off?” argued the Senior Lieutenant.

“No, then they will be expecting heavy resistance if we do that. Not to mention it would be harder for us to dislodge them if they were prepared for it. The best way it seems to beat them would be to catch them off guard once they board the station, make it seem that they caught us off guard and then we throw everything we have at them.” the commander sighed “Yes it might seem suicidal, but we are outgunned by a sizable margin, the station was never meant to hold up against a full-blown pirate raid. If anything it was made to fight off maybe a small patrol of pirates, either way, this seemed to be a fight to the death.” stated the Commander he then slowly got up from his chair and walked to the small window that was behind him. With a frown, he looked out of it and into the void. “Now, Lieutenant I’ll send out a message to the militias and the guardsmen to muster their forces. In the meantime, I’ll have other lieutenants see if they can get any other intelligence. Also, any news on those black market cybernetic mods?”

“Sir, I have a source that says that he has figured out the precise location of where the mods are coming from, I have forwarded the data to you.”

“Good, now go get some sleep. You need it.”

“But, sir! I want to see this when it goes down.”

“No, you will go home and get some sleep, that is an order!”

“Yes, commander.” replied the lieutenant in a bitter tone, the lieutenant then leaned back on his heel and spun, doing a crisp 180 before they walked to the door. A few seconds later the door chirped as it opened and then with a swoosh it then closed, an eerie silence hung in the room as the commander kept looking out the window into the void where he would think to himself. Playing over the moments of the conversation and the possible ramifications that might happen out of his decision, all of them looked grim. If they were able to fight back the pirates the station would suffer dearly, a good portion of the population would die. But the pirate raid would be thwarted, however, if they failed then they would lose the trade station, the entire population and so on.

On the outside of the office the lieutenant kept walking towards the door of the building, on the way out he would quietly talk to a few sergeants and tell them to be aware of some increased pirate activity so just prepare their guardsmen. Other than that he gradually made his way out of the building and onto the avenue of the station, talking a moment he took in the low blued lights that hung on the outside of the station’s Home Guard station. There was a bit of sun peeking in through the time controlled blinds that were around the station, the lieutenant raised one of his hands to cover the incoming light, it seemed that it was the early morning. These blinds are there to help simulate day and night cycles on the station one of many ways that made it feel like the population wasn't living on a station. Once his eyes adjusted to the light he then pulled out his patrol cap and placed it on his head, once he was set he then took a few steps forward and turned left, heading to the downtown area of the station.

As he headed downtown the lieutenant passed by neon lights blinking in the rising sun, most of them advertising bars or clubs. Holographic displays buzzed around him, some of them having commercials on them going on about new products and the latest fashions, or the occasional sports team update. He really didn't care for them as he was heading to his apartment so he could sleep, as he walked down the street he reached up and rubbed the bridge of his muzzle. He was beyond exhausted, he had worked a 12-hour shift and on that shift, he had to work on three murders, file more than a dozen complaints, and respond to at least five calls.

As he was heading down the road to his apartment he would come across a group of people gathered around what appeared to be a soapbox prophet. The lieutenant just rolled his eyes and walked over to the crowd as he got closer he could hear what appeared to be a Dracoian call out, his gravelly voice croaking about some long lost prophecy and the coming of the great one.

“The Great One comes! His blessed glory comes to purify us of our organic limits!” cries out the dracoian as he waves his hands around, holding what appeared to be a flyer in his hands. As the prophet talked there was a certain charm in his voice, like a sort of spell, a thought that would linger in the back of the viewers' minds. Our time has come to embrace the cold steel of cybernetics, to help us advance our civilization to embrace the warmth of the Great One! To show him that we are ready for his divine guidance and his divine will! The Reformed Cult of Draco has foreseen his coming and has tried to warn and guide the other Dracoians to embrace his will, his eternal warmth, his ever-watchful guidance! Now that he has come, the ones who have followed our guidance will ascend! It is not too late for you, join us in the brotherhood of cybernetics and you too will ascend.” he held out the flyer which had the seal of the Reformed Tech Cult on it. However, the flyer also had the benefits of cybernetics on it and the benefits of joining the Reformed Tech Cult. He then handed it to one of the nearby viewers, the viewer looked at the flyer and frowned “Go ahead brother, sign the flyer and secure your place in the Great One’s light. Secure your own preservation in the coming doom, show him that you are faithful to him and only him.”

The viewer looked at the flyer once more and frowned even more before he gave the piece of paper back to the prophet, like that he turned around and headed away from the prophet. The prophet frowned and sighed, as he took the flyer he lifted his head and said a short prayer.

“May his spirit be blessed and the Great One shows him mercy.” replied the Prophet as he looked at the rest of the crowd, with a bit of a saddened expression, disappointed that he wasn’t able to save one from the incoming storm. He then handed the pad to another person and nodded “How about you, will you save yourself from damnation and embrace the Great One?”

The woman looked at the flyer and then up at the prophet, she then looked back at the paper for a few moments as she sat there and thought about it. Thought about if this was a real thing or if it was just a sham, the prophet did seem like he knew what he was talking about. With a sigh and not looking back she signed away at the pad and then handed back to the prophet. Carefully the prophet took the pad and nodded, with a faint smile he looked at the lady, then surprisingly he bowed before the lady then proclaimed.

“Another one has seen the path and has been saved from damnation.” he then looked at the rest of the crowd, most of them had dispersed save for a few of the more interested people, the lieutenant was one of the ones that stayed behind. Not so much as interested but more so see if he does anything illegal. After a few moments, he came to the conclusion that the soapbox prophet was doing nothing wrong so he moved on, heading back to his apartment. However, the prophet saw this and after signing on the last of the few he got off his soapbox and walked over to the lieutenant. “Greetings lieutenant.”

The lieutenant raised an eyebrow and looked over the dracoian, he was a head taller than him, however, the lieutenant was much more built than the other. However, the lieutenant was cautious as seeing he was a member of the tech cult that means that he probably has some sort of cybernetics going on, most likely some that have slipped through the Public Health Ministry. But he was more interested in what this man had to say to him. “Greetings'' replied the Lieutenant plainly. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing lieutenant, it is more that I can do for you?” replied the dracoian “You probably heard about the coming of the Great One?”

“Yes, I say your speech about it.”

“It is the truth, however.”

The lieutenant shrugged and looked back at the dracoian. “Ok, sure.”

“Mm, you may not believe but I know he is coming. Anyway, what brings you here lieutenant?”

The lieutenant crossed his arms and frowned, with a sigh, he then replied “I was heading home, I heard you preaching so I kinda stopped to make sure that no one was going to assault you. As well, it is my duty to keep the peace.”

The dracoian shook his head and chuckled a bit, placing a hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder. “My dear boy, peace is subjective...and well an idea that we mortals seek but can never achieve, for some we gave up on that a while ago. Peace in this galaxy? That will never happen, there will always be conflict, and I fear more will come....more innocents will be lost in the coming wave of conflict.”

The lieutenant raised an eyebrow and looked at the dracoian’s hand, was he alluding to something coming up in the future? Still looking at the dracoian’s hand the lieutenant shifted himself a bit, uncomfortable in how this was going, it seemed like the priest knew more than what he was telling. “Sir, can you please let go of me?”

The dracoian nodded and let go of the lieutenant. “Very well, I bid you well lieutenant.” with that the dracoian bowed and like that walked away, with nothing better to do the lieutenant left as well. Heading back home, passing more and more neon signs, street vendors, and other sights of the street. He then came to his home, a small but quiet apartment complex, walking to one of the far towers he then took the elevator up. Which was quite uneventful, as elevator music played in the background, then with ding the elevator stopped and the doors opened. The lieutenant stepped into a well lit and slightly bland hallway, the dark color of concrete was offset by the slightly wider than a normal hallway. As he walked down the hallway, the words that the priest said played in the back of his head, it was like a never ending thought and idea. He placed his hands in his pockets and started to look for his room keys, as he did so he started to think about it more, what if the priest was right about this coming. Well, surely that if it was the end of the galaxy no one would be safe from it, so the lieutenant shrugged and then pulled out his key as he got to his door. With a soft sigh, he then opened the door and walked in, closing the door behind him. In the little hallway, he took off his chest piece and placed it on the armor stand next to the door. After taking off his chest piece he turned and headed to the couch in the living room, which was basically his bed, however, instead of going to the couch he went into the kitchen and into the fridge. Pulling out a bottle of beer then walking over to the couch where he sat himself down and turned on the nightly news, hours passed by before he finally passed out.

Elsewhere on the station
Hours later

---

In the lower-income area of the station, a single light shone in the dark, slowly it got closer and closer, soon a figure could be seen walking. Behind him, there was a small group of people, around five or so, most of them lacked any sort of cybernetics. Their leader was a different story, cybernetics flowed from his body, as quite literally every bit of him was cybernetic. His cybernetic eyes adjusted to the darkness that was the underbelly of the station, soon he saw two more lights and they got closer, it wasn't long before two lightly armored but also cybernetic beings stood before him. Both of them smiled and looked at the five individuals behind him.

“More of the cause?” asked one of them

“The priest surely knows how to draw them in.” replied his friend at the door, he then looked down at his folder, then back at the group. After a few seconds, he motioned the five newcomers to walk forward, the five stepped forward he asked them to tell them their name and why they joined the cult. One by one the group told the one with the data pad who they are and why they joined. Most of the newcomers where dracoian, which didn't really matter to him but he knew that dracoians were a bit more superstitious than the evandari and fenavria. Making them slightly easier targets for their cause and to bring the Great One into the universe. After he got everyone’s names and demographics he turned to his buddy and pointed to the dimly lit door, indicating for the new recruits to head that way and follow his buddy. Without question the five followed the other figure down the path, there was a clang as the heavy metal door closed behind them, the figure with the data pad turned to the figure that brought in the five.

The guard with the data pad looked at the figure and then back to his folder. “I am guessing next week you will be bringing in another group.”

“Yes. That is if nothing goes uninterrupted, I am sure that they will be helpful when a commander of the Great One comes next week. I think we would have enough to overrun the station’s initial defenses and the Home Guard.”

The figure with the data pad frowned. “Those Home Guard boys will be something to deal with, they're not like the militias, they are almost on par with the military.”

“I know.” replied the other figure as he crossed his arms, as he started to tense up. “I am not that much of an idiot, plus we got a few contacts in the Home Guard. So I think we have ourselves covered in that department...so when He does come we have some inside support.”

The figure with the data pad shook his head and sighed. “Still you underestimate the ability of the HG, some of these officers are hardened troops. Either way, yes, we will be able to overwhelm them in sure force and numbers...” he then shook his head and looked around “Here let's head inside, I don't like being out in the open. Call me paranoid.”

The other figure shrugged and then the two walked into the old building, inside the building there was a rather large congregation of people of all sorts of races throughout the Empire. But the vast majority of the building was made up of dracoians, seeing as the tech cult was one of the more dracoian centric religions in the Empire. Everyone in the building was armed in some way or form, guns, knives, bats, anything they could get their hands on; however they lacked the more heavier weapons that could be found with the military. As the two figures moved through the crowd of people they headed to one of the central rooms, which was the prayer room, inside they would see a rather old looking dracoian in religious attire leaning over what appeared to be an operating table. In one hand he was holding a religious text, in the other, he held some incense which was slightly burning, creating a relaxing order throughout the room. Near him, there was a doctor, with what appeared to be a bloodied surgical knife and apron. On the table there was a person, around the age of 18, they laid there motionless as if they were under a trance. The room was packed as spectators watched the ongoing initiation ritual, most of them chanting along with the priest as he read from the book. As the priest chanted and prayed, waving the incense around in a twirling motion, the doctor would start to cut into the person on the table. Blood spattered all over the doctor and on to the table, oozing down the groves of the table and into the drain. For a second there was a brief scream of pain or pleasure it was hard to tell. Slowly, the doctor went to work, bloodily cutting away the person’s old and frail organic limbs and replaced them with stronger cybernetic ones. He first started with the eyes, carefully removing them and placing them off to the side, he would then reach over and grab a pair of cybernetic eyes to replace them.

“Children!” started the priest, his voice bellowing through the room. “In order to embrace His light, we first see through his eyes!”

“His sight is pure and flawless, let Him guide our sight with his gifts of sight.” replied the crowd in unison. “Cast away our frail and organic sight, His sight is pure!”

As the crowd chanted away the doctor replaced the person’s eyes rather seamlessly, the figure on the table would blink a few times as they tried their best to adjust to their new eyes. Slowly the figure looked around them and gasped at all of the information that he could see with his new bionic eyes. In surprise and happiness, the figure was able to shout. “I can see! I can see! His gift is pure! I see the world in a new way!”

“Excellent, you see his way....” replied the priest as he looked down at the figure. “Now, the rest for your enlightenment.” the priest would return to his chanting and so did the rest of the room, the doctor went back to his bloody work, now cutting off both of the person’s hands only to quickly replace them with cybernetic hands. The priest’s chanting only grew louder and deeper, as raw intensity and passion started to embed itself in the ritual. “His gifts are powerful and strong! We must make sure our hands are holy and pure in order to hold them, in turn, we must make sure our hands are pure for him so that we can touch his powerful gifts. Our old hands are too weak and fragile for his gifts! So we must embrace cybernetics to hold these gifts.”

The priest would go on for several minutes about how their old bodies were weak and fragile, not meant for his light, or his appreciation. So in order to embrace his light and his appreciation they must ascend through the use of cybernetics. As the priest went on the two figures from the front would watch in interest, months ago that was them, laying on that very same table. Going through that very same procedure, however, there were a lot fewer people at that time. One of them would shift their weight and look at the other. For a few seconds there was a silence between the two, then the one that was holding the folder spoke.

“How do you think the traditionalists are reacting to us?”

The other figure shrugged and looked around. “Probably not positively, since our....ways aren’t you know...peaceful.”

“But surely they believe in the great one.”

“They do, just that the Welded....are not him. If the Welded were revealed to the Traditionalists then they would dismiss them as the Great One, they would view the Welded as an abomination rather than a gift. ”

“Ah” replied the one with the folder. “Unfortunate”

“Indeed, so for now we must keep quiet and hope that we can get into a position of power where we can easily squash the Traditionalists.”

“Hopefully-” started the one with the folder.

However right at the moment, there were sounds of several heavy motors, then there was nothing for a split second, it was soon violently followed by the sound of breaking metal and an exploding wall. People flew across the room as the force of the crash shot them in different directions. As what appeared to be an IFV crashed through the wall, the IFV was a steel grey. The IFV was also clearly marked with the words ``Home Guard '' as well as the symbol of the Home Guard, on top of the IFV there was what appeared to be a 40mm autocannon. Eluding to the fact that the Home Guard is here not to mess around and mean business. The IFV then lurched forward, metal fragments falling off of its hull and onto the floor, where they would be crushed under its tracks. Then four more IFVs would crash through the wall of the building, sending more metal fragments flying through the air and onto the IFV. As the IFVs rolled forward, the air was then filled with the crunch of tank treads on the metallic floor. The IFVs rolled forward a few feet, clearing the entrance they made. Then there was the sound of ramps dropping and hitting the metallic floor, followed by the thudding on boots hitting the ramp as the Guardsmen disembarked their transports. Soon heavily armored guardsmen in navy blue and black uniforms streamed out of the IFVs and began to flank their IFVs, the Guardsmen had access to the same weaponry and armor as the military. So they were using modified, all black Mk VI body armor that fitted over their navy blue fatigues. Along with the armor, the guardsmen also wore full helmets or ski masks with open face helmets, several of them wearing glasses or single eyepieces that were transparent and had information scrolling up and down them. The Guardsmen were of different species, however, a majority of them were Fenavria and Evandari, their canine and feline features and statues were quite small when compared to the few Draocian Guardsmen that were present.

When the guardsmen started to take up positions and flank their IFVs, they would raise their weapons and point them at the cultists. The commander of the Guardsmen slightly stepped forward and looked at the cultists, taking a few seconds to breathe before she opened up her mouth to speak. “Hands up! Drop your weapons and surrender!” silence would then fall onto the room as the Home Guard and the cultist forces stood there, waiting for the other to make a move. However, a single Guardsman then spoke.

“Surprise motherfuckers!” Then there was a second pause as the two sides again fell to silence, the Guardsman that yelled out the line was then quickly smacked on the back of his helmet by another Guardsman, who then quickly cursed out their partner.

The priest had dove behind a stone slab when the IFVs and the Home Guard crashed the party, slowly he raised his head from behind his cover and shouted. “They have come to squash his light and silence his herald! Do not let them desecrate this holy site!” Shouted the priest as he pointed to the Home Guardsmen. The cultists stood frozen for a few seconds before they pulled out their weapons and opened fire at the Guardsmen without mercy, bullets from older conventional rifles whizzing by the guardsmen and pinging off the thick hulls of the IFVs. It was then time for the Guardsmen to return fire, the lead IFV swiveled around its 40mm cannon and opened fire, filling the room with deep thumps of autocannon fire. The anti-personnel shells ripped through the soft flesh of exposed cultists, sending chunks of flesh and body parts flying, blood splattering to the floor and walls of the room. The thump of the autocannons were followed by the high pitch cracks of automatic rifle fire, submachine gun fire, and handguns; in the mix of the cracks, there was also the deep bang of shotgun shells. Empty shell casings pinged off the ground, creating a deadly chorus of a firefight. The Guardsmen soon started to push up and into the cultist lines as the autocannons ripped through the cultists that dared pop their heads up or get out of cover, however, the guardsmen didn't advance without facing heavy resistance from the cultists. Several guardsmen fell, injured from the sustained fire with one actually being killed. In the mists of the chaos the priest and the doctor would slip away from the fighting down one of the hidden tunnels.

“How did the Home Guard find us? I thought we had a tight hold on their information line.” started the doctor as he looked towards the priest, who was frowning and seemed quite mad. He was quite upset that the Home Guard had found their hideout. He then turned to the doctor.

“I thought we did too, hopefully, once we get to the comms room we can see what is going on, however, I think they are here for something else, not us.”

As the two walked down the hall they came across two other cultists, both of the cultists bowed respectfully towards the two. “Your holiness, what do you require of us?” asked one cultist as they looked up respectfully towards them. The two looked at each other and then back to the two high ranking oligarchs, unsure what to do at this point.

The priest looked at the two and then spoke. “Bring us to the communications room, I require an audience with the High Decoder, we need to figure out what the Home Guard is after.”

The two cultists nodded and led them down the winding hall, which was dimly lit by a few walls mounted lights. Some of them flickered, casting shadows and making the hall seem creepier than before. But, the four continued walking in complete silence, with the occasional drip of water echoing through the hallway. Behind them, they could hear the low thumps of autocannon fire, the screams of fallen warriors, the clatter of automatic weapons fire, and so on. One of the cultists turned to the prophet and to the back end of the hall, only to then turn forward and look at the rapidly approaching door. The prophet noticed this and looked at the cultist who looked at him. “Is there something going on Acolyte? You seem a bit distressed or worried.”

The acolyte looked back at the prophet and frowned, then looked forward. “I am just worried about what will happen once the Home Guard takes the building.....I know the Empire is not fond of possible terrorists or hostile internal forces.”

The prophet paused, the acolyte was right, at the first sign of a violent group the Empire moved in and squashed them with full force, often sending ISM, Imperial Security Ministry the black ops and intelligence organization within the Thalduhm Empire. This organization was well known in the Empire as a sort of boogeyman, as they just appear from the shadows and leave nothing but bodies. But, what puzzled him the most was that they haven’t shown any signs of hostility until now, so why are they now going after the cult? However, soon that will be figured out, keeping that thought to himself the prophet but on a brave face and smiled. “I am sure that we will be fine.” lied the Prophet. “The only thing that we can do is protect our faith and keep spreading his word. The Empire may want to squash our faith but they can not squash his true word, sooner or later judgment for them will come.”

The acolyte nodded and then looked forward as a feeling of relief rolled filled his mind knowing that one day the mighty Empire might be brought to its knees under the weight of The Great One. For him, it was an odd feeling but a welcomed one, it was the time that he helped the galaxy see the wisdom and power of The Great One. Soon the four would reach the communications room, which was guarded by two more cultists and a thick blast door, the two cultists looked at the prophet and the doctor and bowed.

“We weren’t expecting you to arrive, your holiness...” replied one of the guards. “What can we do for you?”

The prophet frowned a bit as he shook his head. “I need to talk to the High Decoder, it is official business.”

The two cultists at the door looked at each other and frowned, with a pause they stood there unsure what to do, moments passed by before one of them turned around and unlocked the door. With a pop, the door opened slightly and then hissed as it began to open wide enough so everyone could walk in. Clouds of smoke and steam rolled out of the room and onto the ground, as the group entered into the room they were welcomed by the overwhelming smell of spoiled alcohol, preferably what smelled like sweet wine, several days old to be exact. One of the cultists gagged and then coughed, threatening to throw up from the smell of spoiled alcohol, another cultist would throw up, heaving the contents of their stomach onto the ground. As for the prophet he just stared at the chair that the High Decoder, even more, displeased with how the High Decoder was presenting himself. It was bad enough that the compound was under attack, but now the High Decoder decided to waste himself away with a drink. Lazily the High Decoder turned around in his chair and smiled at the Prophet, it was a pathetic smile but still a smile. Having enough of this the prophet walked over and grabbed the High Decoder by the robes and pulled him up a bit.

“What the fuck is going on? Why is the Home Guard here? What do they know? Who brought them here?” exclaimed the prophet as he yelled into the face of the High Decoder, fangs bared and showing his rage. The High Decoder just kept smiling and laughed in a drunken haze, lazily he reached for another wine bottle, however, it was just out of his reach. But that didn't stop him as he kept reaching for it and failing. It would be a few moments before he gave up and then started talking.

“The Home Guard is here for the illegal cybernetics and the illegal cybernetic surgeries.” stated the High Decoder, plainly.

The Prophet looked at the High Decoder and he could feel the rage building up inside of him, he started to tighten his grip onto the fabric of the robes a bit. Rage was starting to build in his eyes as he looked at the drunken man, furious he was about to yell at the drunk, then the drunk kept talking.

“However they do not know about the further details of the plan, they think we are just giving people illegal mods. I am sure that the Great One’s forces are on their way, so they will have no time to look further into the manner His forces will soon be landing.” Smiling, he shook his head. “Don’t worry, I covered our tracks......”

Still a bit angry but not enraged, the Prophet put down the High Decoder back into his chair, taking a few moments to look over the man, then smiled. With that he turned around and started to head for the door, only to stop and say something. “Thank you, you have served the Great One well.” turning around he pulled out a pistol and fired three times at the drunk, the three large caliber rounds impacting the frailish body of the decoder and shook it violently. It was followed by the soft pings of the shell casings hitting the metallic flooring. Blood spurting everywhere as the rounds impacted, the body twitched a few times before it finally stopped, soon the decoder was sitting in his chair lifeless and cold. A little trail of smoke billowed out of the barrel of the pistol that the Prophet was holding, with a satisfying noise he holstered his pistol and walked away.

“Now, let us leave, gather as many followers as we can and get ready for the Great One’s coming.....this place has been exposed and we are now unprepared.”

The four cultists and the doctor nodded, then followed the Prophet out of the room and down the hall, they would gather a small band of survivors and a decent amount of arms before they would disappear into the depths of the sewer system...

Next Day

---

The Home Guard commander was less than pleased, while their intel on the illegal cybernetic modification back-alley hospital was correct they have discovered something a bit more disturbing, it seemed that these surgeries have been conducted with a bit of a ritualistic feel to it. He sat at his desk and scrolled through the after-action report on his clipboard, reading everything that was written down, he wanted to know everything that the Guardsmen had come across. Everything was important, every little detail can tell them why this was happening. With a sigh he took a break from the report and placed it down on the steel and glass desk, he leaned forward and placed his face into his hands, letting out a deep sigh of frustration. There was so much that the Guardsmen had collected from the firefight, that it was too much new data about what was going on. It seemed that this sect of the Dracoian tech cult was doing illegal cybernetic surgeries for some odd reason, there was also a mention of a figure called “The Great One”. The commander had no idea who this deity was but the tech cult seemed quite interested in them, who was this person and what was their end goal.

At that time, one of the lieutenants knocked on the door, lifting his head the commander told them to enter. The lieutenant entered the room and saluted the commander, who saluted back and asked the lieutenant for an update. The lieutenant stood there for a few seconds before she started to shift a bit as if they were uncomfortable with something. The commander raised an eyebrow and glared at the lieutenant that was in front of them. “I want an updated lieutenant, what have we found out?”

“Nothing really sir, however, there is one thing that I think you need to look at sir. It seems that the pirate fleet has sped up, those few weeks have now turned into hours.” replied the lieutenant, they then pulled out their own data pad and handed it to the commander. Taking the folder, the commander looked it over, flipping past the recent intel reports. His eyes went back and forth as he read each line and stared at each report from the sensor stations that were on the edges of the system. Once he was done he handed it back to the lieutenant, the commander had a furious look in his eyes. The lieutenant quickly took back their folder and held it close. With blinding rage the commander lifted his fist and slammed it down on the glass and steel table, quite quickly. The glass cracked from the force of the commander’s fist, creating several thin and large fractures in the transparent surface. A bit of blood started to drip out onto the surface of the table, either he didn't realize it or didn't care but he continued on. He raised his bleeding hand and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Any idea when they can arrive?”

“Hours at most sir. It is hard to tell.”

“Damn.” cursed the commander, he then leaned forward and folded his hands together. Staring at the ground he thought about what he could do to help save his station and those on it. He started to run several ideas and evacuation plans through his mind, all of them would end in transports being lost or captured. Not to mention not that many would even get on the transport ships, so it seemed like the best idea was to stay and hold their ground.

“Orders, sir?”

A moment of silence hung over the room as the commander and the lieutenant sat there waiting on the other to speak. The lieutenant was unsure if they should press the commander for an answer or to wait and have the commander answer when he was ready. The commander then shifted back and looked up at the lieutenant, after those few seconds of internal deliberation he finally had an answer.

“We hold, have the fleet move out and do their regular patrols.....make it seem that nothing is wrong.”

“Yes sir.”

With that the lieutenant did a 180 degree turn and left the room, the door slid open for her and then slid closed once she walked out. This left the commander in a room all by himself, he turned his chair around and looked out of the window that was behind him. He stared out into the void of space, looking at the hundreds of stars that twinkle in the void. As he sat there he thought to himself, he wondered if he had been a great commander. Has he been a good leader? Is he doing the right thing for something like this? And finally, will he even survive? The last one he was unsure about as he didn't know what these pirates were like, what weapons they had, or well anything about them. With a sigh he turned back around and started to stand up in his chair, slowly he made his way to the door. Where it would slide open and he would walk out into the crowd of Guardsmen that were passing by and collecting their gear. A few of the guardsmen stood there and watched him, however for the most part the rest of the guardsmen just went back to collecting their gear. Picking up their weapons, body armor, communications gear and so on readying themselves for the upcoming battle. As the commander placed on his armor an aide moved through the several guardsmen that were around him also putting on their armor, the aide stopped and looked at the commander.

“Sir” started the aide, the commander looked over at their aide and frowned, he had a feeling that the aide was going to say but he let the aide speak. With a nod from the commander, the aide straightened up and took a deep breath, calming himself for a few seconds as he again spoke. “Sir, they just entered the system.”

“Good, prepare the Home Guard and bring up the militias.......this fight is going to be a long and bloody one.”

“Sir, we also have some reports of unrest in the lower levels, something about the coming of the great one.”

The commander frowned and sighed, he then placed on his helmet, turning to one of the squad leaders. “Get a few squads down there and snuff out any sort of armed resistance, lethal force is authorized and recommended if you encounter armed combatants.”

“Yes sir” replied the squad leader as he saluted the Commander, with that the squad leader turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

The Commander then turned to the rest of the squad who all had gathered around him after they put on their gear. They were a merry band of misfits, ranging from basic humans to the fur covered Fenarvians, ranging from short to tall and so on. These were his people, everyone on this station was his responsibility and to an extent a part of his extended family, he didn't know all of them but there was some sort of bond between him and the ones here. Taking a few moments he walked over to the arms locker and opened it, pulling out his rifle, he inspected it and slapped a magazine into it and finally cycled the bolt. A metallic click rang as a cartridge was pulled from the magazine and into the barrel, a soft metal on metal scrape rang out in the room as he then turned to a group of guardsmen. “Alright let us go greet these pirates.....show them what it is like to face Empire Home Guardsmen!” With a cheer the guardsmen yelled out and raised their fists or rifles, confident and prepared they marched out of the armory and headed to their prepared positions.

Hours later

After hours of fighting the station was barely recognizable, wires sparked across the station, holographic signs flickered on and off, holographic advertisements flickered and sputtered. Burned out cars littered the streets, some still burning and others completely abandoned and still powered. Weapons ranging from rifles, pistols, shotguns, SMGs, knives, swords and other weapons. Shell casings littered the street as well, in the dim and scattered light they glinted in the flickering, grim lights. Bodies littered the streets of those who decided to fight off the so-called pirates, most of them torn to shreds, missing limbs or riddled with bullet holes. However, to their surprise these pirates were not pirates, instead they are something much more terrifying and dangerous, hordes of cybernetic entities followed by more nightmare horror contraptions. The force overwhelmed the guardsmen in the first few moments of fighting, however, stubborn and determined the Home Guard kept fighting, slowly losing position after position. Falling back further and further into the station, setting up traps and rear-guard actions as they withdrew. At the same time the militias that have been called into action also helped out, however they too would be overwhelmed and pushed back alongside their Home Guard allies. For the Home guard each block lost was pushing them back further and further, however they made sure that each block was as bloody as possible to take. Several blocks were leveled as few remaining outgunned and outsupplied Guardsmen and militiamen would simply detonate the charges that were placed on the supports for the apartment buildings. If it wasn't apparent to the invaders the Thalduhmians fought with animalistic vigor, defending their territory to the death, unwilling to accept capture in these times.

If things couldn't get any worse for the defenders then they certainly did, as the unrest in the lower levels had exploded and the dracoian tech cult that was on the station soon allied themselves with the invaders. They overwhelmed the few squads of Guardsmen that were sent to deal with unrest that was occuring in the lower levels, however this had been a distraction, drawing a few Home Guardsmen into the levels and ambushing them. Killing squads that were sent and then taking their armor and weapons so they can continue to arm the large recruit pool. As the cult started to attack their Home Guard opponents and push them back, they would be shouting scriptures about the coming of the Great One and how they were going to remake the galaxy. However, they have chosen the wrong path and their forth are missing a great opportunity to better themselves. The news of the tech cult turning coat quickly reached the rest of the guardsmen and in a mix of anger, that feeling of betrayal and

In the end attempts to hold off and repel the ‘pirates’ were fruitless, it now turned into a life or death situation with some squads fighting to the death in an attempt to take as many as they could. Killing a few dozen of these gribblies was like shooting into the tsunami wave, a few deaths didn't matter as there was more than enough to fill their place. However, the Guardsmen and their allies fought and died doing so. By the start of the second day, most of the station had been taken, with a small pocket of Guardsmen and militia personnel, however, this was quickly extinguished a few hours later, at the end of the day there wasn't a single remaining soul. The once busy streets were now empty and filled with bodies, rubble, and debris. The once vibrant sights of the station, where cold and depressing, nothing moved, nothing lived, only the deathly silence and the occasional movement of the cybernetic entities.

The Welded, is what they call themselves, a cybernetic force that wishes to assimilate the rest of the galaxy, through the cold steel of cybernetics and the blood of warfare. They are crafty, infiltrating civilizations and shifting their internal politics to their needs, their hunger for more.

However, a distress signal was sent out from the station in the waning days of the last pockets of resistance, the distress signal was nothing really detailed, just a simple SOS. The prophet looked at one of the encoders that now sat at the communication hub, blood splattered across some of the screens with a still corpse on the nearby table.

“Sir, it seems that the station was able to send out a signal calling for help.” commented the encoder as they craned their head back towards the prophet. Slowly the prophet walked over and looked at the encoder for a few moments before they then looked at the screen.

“How did they send it? I thought we jammed their communications?”

“That is what I thought too, however they are using a different server, and it seems that this signal is not coming from here, but rather a previously unknown secondary command center that has been automated to send out a distress signal when this command center falls. Also they seem to be running on a different frequency.” replied the encoder as they typed away on the holographic keyboard. “Also the coding is much different, as well as arguably harder to crack. From the looks of it, this is ISM coding and an ISM frequency.” stated the decoder in a slightly confused and worried manner. With a frown the prophet just looked at him and the back to the screen.

“Keep me updated.” replied the prophet, and with that he turned to the door and walked out, heading back into the wrecked streets of the station.

[New Dornalia]

OOC: The long awaited part 3. All prior content warnings apply.

IC:
….until it was blasted out ot the Doctor’s hand, with a spectacular burst of gore and fingers. As McGillicuddy yelped and clutched the remnants of his hand, he shouted:

“What--HOW!?”

As the syringe landed on the floor, a large number of pops and bangs and flashes of light occurred. Goncharova, like the others, was highly disoriented by the blinding light, the concussion and the sounds.

But, as her vision came back to life, she saw them.

The people who had decided to interpose themselves into Goncharova’s current predicament were a large number of individuals. They appeared to be from the military no less. They had navy blue coveralls, with powered exoskeletons, combat vests, and M1 helmets, all in the same shade of navy blue. Goncharova recognized their getup--they appeared to be ICBA operators, although she didn’t know any ICBA units that exclusively employed gatas that all looked suspiciously the same. Then again, she didn’t know too many gatas in the first place.

The cavalry which had arrived was well armed. They certainly acted like military types. You had a pointman rushing in ahead with a M9 shotgun, followed by two guys with M3 blasters and one taking up the rear with a rather large directed energy weapon of some sort she recognized as being a Meltagun of some sort, with a backpack mounted setup. All of them had grenade launchers and undermounted proton torpedo launchers, and they all looked unwilling to bargain, issuing orders in a Yorkshire accent to “GET DOWN! SHUT UP! DON’T FUCKING MOVE!”

Goncharova noticed that the cavalry come to save the day were lead by a much different young woman with cat ears and a tail and a French braid who was darker skinned with Filipino-Mexican-Mayan features, and had a more heroic bearing. Different, because her uniform was not like the others. Unlike the professional, smart ICBA getups the others had, this woman had a black BDU setup which looked like it had been patched with leather patches around the elbows and knees, and also had other touches as well. It had the badge “Policia Federal” and other wargear such as a tactical vest. She had a rifle in one hand--a rifle with a brown polymer stock--and plenty of bravado behind it.

The woman imperiously dashed forward, and without any hesitation, aimed the barrel of the rifle at McGillicuddy’s neck, challenging him in a speech in a language she barely understood as being Spanish. The tone was impassioned and challenging, the movements stern and showy and bold, as if she was from an old melodrama.

There was a nebbishy man next to her, who began to translate.

“My friend here wants you to let the lady go. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

The Doctor growled at the translator.

“I habla Español! Thank you.”

Turning to the woman, the Doctor smiled and asked, his tone growing icy:

”All that ruckus has...made it hard for me to hear you. Tell me, what is your intention?”

***

Consuela raised her rifle at the abomination in front of her. She had to give the creature this much credit. It spoke to her in her own tongue. Then again, any small comfort she had from that was quickly drained by the fact she recalled from her days in school that the Devil would do anything to further his agenda. She steeled herself, and aimed her rifle at the horror, finger on the trigger.

With an authoritative voice whose tone was an icy, firm strident tone, Consuela challenged the abomination with a stern warning:

”You speak my tongue, scum? Then know this. My intention is only that you let the woman go, and that God will judge you for the horrors you have made here.”

The creature stirred, and then laughed for a few moments with a reedy, mocking tone, as if rejecting the significance of Consuela’s challenge. Then, the creature frowned at Consuela, and with a smirk on its face, said simply:

”You don’t give me much choice. I have no incentive to release the woman to you, if that will be the case. Better to have God come in and judge me and her and you. After all, He always seems to have problems with people like me. People merely trying to make the world a better place. Why should I let her go?”

Consuela refused to indulge the creature’s mocking tone, and certainly refused to allow even her face to comment on the grotesque smirk the thing developed, as if to challenge her to strike. No, there were too many creatures around her and her team. Rather, Consulela merely steeled herself, with an icy glare at the thing daring her to pull the trigger:

“This is not a negotiation, demon. This is an order. You will let her go because I will it. You will let her go because God wills it thus!”

The creature was quick to issue its own reply, dismayed at what it seemed to believe was Consuela’s impertinence. It lowered its syringe, and turned fully to face Consuela with a mixture of dismay, curiosity, and annoyance.

“I will give you credit. You have quite the mouth on you. A fascinating display of monomania--religious monomania, at that. Demons? Divine will? Sense of self-righteous judgment? Textbook case. But all nothing, compared to the Welded Process. My work here will bring forth a new age of productive glory. It’s a shame you can’t see that in your superstitious madness.”

Smiling, he then said, raising his syringe again, ”Madness which of course, I can cure using the Welded Process. When I am done with the specimen here of course--”

With that, things moved quickly.

***

Consuela leapt into action. Like with so many horrors she faced before, she began pulling the trigger on her rifle, unleashing a flurry of 7.62x51 NATO shots into McGillicuddy’s neck. The Doctor stumbled back as his neck exploded in a shower of gore, barely being held on by a few sinews of misbegotten tissue and some bone rather precariously.

The prisoner then kicked and struggled against the horror holding her hostage, and then was able to find the strength to toss it aside just so, that Consuela’s second burst of gunfire hurt thing holding Goncharova enough for the prisoner to flee to friendly lines in a low run.

Meanwhile, the nekos next to her began opening fire in earnest, as the creatures--human, animal part, and all--began to rush them with a uniform howl.

The bright orange glow of the meltaguns began to light up the room and raise the temperature considerably as the creatures assaulting the nekos to a droid were faced with a rather sudden and focused spike in temperature. Joining the cavalcade was a symphony of gunfire and violence. Shotgun blasts delivered in rapid succession could be heard. Blaster bolts crackled in the air like lightning and flew towards the hordes with brilliant red light and the smell of ozone. SHouts of “CONTACT LEFT!” and “CONTACT RIGHT!” could be heard as the nekobots, the nebbish and Consuela fired into the horde with violence. The nebbish himself dragged Goncharova behind him as he fired at the enemy.

Of course, as the action rose in tempo, so did the casualties. As Goncharova watched, one of the nekobots was seized by a horde of the spider things, followed by being struck by a sucker punch from one of the assimilated power armor zombies, falling to the ground with a scream. Another neko was struggling mightily in melee, as zombies threatened to tear the neko apart. Goncharova noticed something unusual about the neko though. Namely, her damaged, ripped flesh...was only skin deep, and a synthetic skin at that. Rather, she saw a metal exoskeleton underneath, which was coming under fire.

The scene of course, was interrupted by a blast of melta fire, which consumed both the nekobot and the horde of creatures. Goncharova turned, and now made aware of the true nature of her saviors, began noticing all the signs--no wonder why they looked similar. They were droids.

Still, the whole assembly was locked into conflict, and as the fighting went on, more of the nekos fell--but at the same time, if the sickly sweet smell of charred flesh and the piles of atomized ash and burned parts were any indication, the creatures were also falling. The air became thick with the efflua of battle, and Goncharova was actually becoming quite overwhelmed by the experience.

Amidst the violence, Goncharova saw the lead nekobot from earlier engaging targets with swift, aimed precision. A burst of fire there. A quick aim adjustment there. She moved fluidly, like an action hero. At one point, one of the creatures tried to rush her. At that, the nekobot let her weapon fall out of her hands--it was on a sling--and quickly pulled out a rather large knife, shouting, “HIJOPUTA!” as she sliced it’s head off in one fell backhanded swoop, followed by bringing the bladed down with a chopping motion (having quickly manipulated it with her hand) on another one of the spider drones, breaking it in two with a shout. Then, came a punting of another spider drone into the chest of an enemy, followed by a tossing of the knife at the drone and the enemy, sticking them together before the lead nekobot pulled out her rifle and executed a Mozambique Drill, downing the monster with two shots to the chest and one to the head, before swiftly removing her old knife. All this, whilst deliberately wading into fire, shouting curses at the creatures.

Goncharova saw the nebbish screaming at the lead nekobot in Spanish. Something about how they had to get out. Now. The lead nekobot nodded, and then motioned for the others to fall back. Soon, Goncharova found herself roughly being shoved out the entrance so made by the nebbish, who screamed “GO! NOW!”

Running outside, she saw the greatly thinned Nekobot force sending explosives and meltashots downrange, roasting more and more of the creatures. Meanwhile, the sound of violence could be heard everywhere. Blaster shots crackling and leaving ozone. Meltashots whining and whirring to life followed by sending out long streams of orange, fiery energy that lit up the night like a second sun. More and more law enforcement personnel and nekobots rushing in, dealing with the creatures.

And finally, the piece-de-resistance once they reached friendly lines. What looked like a series of lights from the sky flying down at the plant, slamming into it with great force, causing the ground to shake and lighting up the night as the explosions tore the plant apart, setting it ablaze.

Babushka’s had become a warzone.

***

Goncharova woke the next day, in a hospital bed, She saw no police officers, merely the nebbish and the lead nekobot. THe nebbish introduced himself,

“Hello, I’m Lieutenant Petersen. We have a few questions….”

***

Somewhere outside Babushka’s

Frankie Jimson played his harmonica and sat around the campfire on top of a crude stool fashioned from a discarded paint can and a ratty, smelly sleeping bag. Living the life of an itinerant hobo wasn’t easy, but when life seemed to offer little other options….well, sometimes, one had to make the best of a bad situation. So, he had been traveling around the country in an increasingly beat up Lada station wagon, which now was home.

Dinner tonight was a meal of pork and beans, augmented by a few bits of doktorskaya kolbasa some guy at the Babushka’s meat plant had given to him a few days ago. It was kinda like baloney, although the guy who gave him the meat was very upset at the comparison. Hey, whatever helped him sleep at night. As far as Jimson was concerned, it was food. And said food was cooking in a small cooking pot, stirred by some metal chopsticks he had gotten from a church tag sale.

Jimson smelled the beans. They held great promise.

Then, he turned and saw a figure approaching the camp. Jimson turned and went, “W-who’s there!?” Jimson pulled out the small snubnose .38 he had on him, and aimed it at the figure.

JImson then squinted, and gasped.

It looked like a man in dirty, bloodied, burned clothing, clutching his stomach and holding onto his neck with a death grip. The man himself looked like he had been through hell as he approached the campfire. Glasses were okay, but otherwise he looked like he had suffered massive burns and gunshot wounds.

The figure raised the hand clutching the stomach and said, “It’s okay, friend! I’m not harmful, not at all.” He spoke in a rather fancy tone--kinda like those rich assholes on TV. JImson grumbled, and went, “Jesus, buddy. You fuckin’ scared me, and I don’t look like doctor. The fuck do you want?”

“A place to sit down, I saw your campfire and smelled your victuals” was the guy’s reply. Jimson raised his eyebrow, and the man said, with a sigh, “Food. I smelled your food.”

“Oh! Yeah, that shit. Well, shit. I may not have medicine, but I have booze and beans. C’mon in.”

With that, Jimson offered the stranger a seat, and by that he spread out a ratty towel and placed it on the earth. “Ain’t got no other chair, son. Sit here.”

The man did as Jimson ordered, and as he did so, Jimson asked, “Looks like you’ve had a helluva night.”

“Well, you could say that,” the man said, flashing a devilish grin. “Evidently, some people do not appreciate the good that other men do.”

“Hmm.”

Jimson stirred the pot, and looked at his guest. He seemed ugly before, but now, up close, in the fire, he was downright….well, Jimson just knew that men like this guy normally weren’t walking and talking and acting cute. Something stood out to the man--the man’s neck. It looked like it had a series of stitches on it, tying up what was likely a very nasty wound of some sort. In fact, to Jimson’s horror, the man’s neck was not only stitched up, but it looked like there were metal bits hanging off of it. With an alarmed raise of the eyebrow, Jimson asked, “Well, fuck. That must have been some day at work . The fuck happened to your neck?”

“Gunshot wounds. Multiple shots fired in quick succession from a 7.62x51 NATO rifle into my neck at point blank range. My neck barely held together, but well, I managed to fix it well enough.”

Jimson laughed.

“Suuure, buddy. And I’m the Queen of Lalaland.”

The man grew annoyed.

“You doubt me? I will have you know that I did indeed survive gunshots to the neck and then some! I am a doctor--my knowledge of medical science makes the impossible possible!”

Jimson winced and went, “Jesus, fuck. FIne, buddy, whatever. Just calm your tits. I believe you.” Well, Jimson didn’t but he didn’t want to start a fight with this guy. Lord knows he didn’t need to flee another town.

The man though continued, apologetically, “Sorry for the outburst. It has been quite a rough night.”

Jimson nodded, stirring the pot again. He then asked, “It’s cool. We all got shitty days. Dunno what kinda shitty days a doctor has though.”

The man laughed.

“Try being persecuted because you discovered a great medical breakthrough and used it on your patients, only to be cast out and violated with gunfire! I gave that plant years of my life. YEARS!. And they repay my efforts with police raids, gunfire and explosions.” The man fumed and went, “Ingrates! All of them!”

Jimson raised his eyebrow again, glad he had his .38 revolver.

“You had something to do with that shit I heard last night?”

The man nodded.

“Indeed.”

“Fuck me, you must have done some shit to make that racket happen,” Jimson said, with a sigh. “Hell, since that time, there’s been cops all over the place--in town, on the roads, everywhere. Some of ‘em in armor, some of ‘em without, all of ‘em actin’ like there’s a war on. One of ‘em came to me this mornin’, said I needed to come to town for a checkup. Said the Feds placed some sort of quara-quara--ah, fuckit, well, they declared some sort of emergency on the planet, said they’re checking up on people. Making sure they ain’t sick or something. Told the coppers to fuck off.”

The man seemed intrigued by this development, and muttered, “Hmm...of course...CDC would try to suppress the truth about my discovery! THE BASTARDS!”

“Thefuckyousay?” Jimson said with a raised eyebrow.

The man leapt up and turned to Jimson, grabbing Jimson by the shoulders and went, “Tell me. These “feds”--did they have a badge on them marked CDC? Did they have men with big meltaguns?”

“Jesus--what gives? DIdn’t see none of those, it was just them local cops.” JImson then slapped the man, and said, “Look buddy, I think you better fuck off. You’re acting like an asshole.”

The man sighed, and said, “Sorry. I’m just concerned that men are now working to stop a momentous scientific discovery. One which will increase productivity, and save the Republic.”

Jimson grumbled, and went back to his beans, stirring them--they looked just about ready now. Sarcastically, Jimson asked of his new companion:

“You got a name for this miracle cure?”

The man replied in a way which seemed to be unusually happy about the snark. The man smiled and said to Jimson, “The Welded Process. A process I learned by mastering the Secrets of the Weld. A glorious technomagical creation that when injected into a man, cures him of all his ills and makes him into a more productive, useful citizen!”

Jimson shrugged, and focused on ladling the beans into a couple of bowls he produced off from the side. The man then said, “It is my masterwork--I, Doctor McGillicuddy, have created a thing of beauty--and a miracle indeed.” McGillicuddy then asked, “Say, my friend, do you have anything that ails you? Anything?”

Jimson shrugged, and handed the man some beans.

“Nothing, Doc.”

McGillicuddy then said, smiling widely, “Anything? YOu sure?”

“Positive.”

McGillicuddy shrugged, and sat down, alongside Jimson, and began eating the beans. After a while, Jimson then said, “Well, come to think of it...I have been a little gassy recently. And the damn rabbits have come back. Along with the shakes.”

McGillicuddy nodded, going, “Well, the Welded Process can make them go away. It can fix that.”

“It can huh?” Jimson shrugged, and went, “You got some of this shit on you?”

Producing a massive syringe with signs of charring and damage which seemed to glow a sickly color, McGillicuddy said as he developed a cheshire cat grin, “I do indeed.”

Jimson raised his eyebrow and began backing away from Dr. McGillicuddy, and said, “Um, maybe later, man...I’m kinda in the middle of eating.”

Dr. McGillicuddy ignored the hobo, as he began transforming from a merely burned, injured man to a gigantic abomination. Orthopedic equipment sprouted from his torso, neck and body, and a large cow’s head began sprouting out of his skull. JImson gasped and dropped his bowl of beans, going, “MOTHERFUCKER!” Pulling out his .38, he said, “Fuck off, man!” and opened fire at the transforming creature. Jimson looked at the revolver, and said, “Fuck,” realizing it was empty.

At that, McGillicuddy smiled and went, with a serene smile and an unusually joyful tone, “Sorry, my friend. But I have work to do and tests to run. You volunteered to be an excellent test subject--and there are no takebacks!”

With that, Jimson screamed as McGillicuddy leapt upon him and jabbed the syringe into his neck. Within seconds, the hobo began choking and screaming, his screams replaced with a tinny metallic shriek as his mouth began growing a speaker. Meanwhile, metallic tentacles and circuitboards began growing all over his body, fusing his ratty coat to his person.

McGillicuddy stood up and smiled with a nonchalant smirk, as the Welded Formula took effect.

[Alexzonya]

The Holy City, Leos Prime, Gamma Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy
Thunder 2, an Artillery Platoon of the GRA Starfleet Marine Corps

“Fire mission, fire mission!”

The radio in the platoon command Bruiser squawked, causing the weary GRA artillery crew to hop to as the assistant commander begins passing a ready-up to the other two surviving guns in the battery.

“This is Thunder 2 Actual. Identify and go ahead fire mission.”

The radio etiquette wasn’t precisely correct, but the back-and-forth between the beleagured Leosian Army, the NEGL Auxiliary Surface Corps forces, and the half-dozen GRA Starfleet Marine Corps elements that the orbiting group had hastily deposited planetside just before the starside engagement kicked off wasn’t always precisely to regulation. The crazybirds needed arty, and the Marines would oblige. It was really all they could do safely; the augmented Alexzonyans couldn't stay too close to the enemy for more than a short while without turning into more enemies.

“Lientenant Xan’Qui-Lr. Enemy armor in the open on the attack! Sector Kilo-6, 17.4 by 45!”

The assistant commander passed it along, and then linked the communications systems. The commander glanced at the platoon status board, and then pressed the communicator.

“Target Kilo-Six, seventeen-four by forty-five-zero. Load H-E, two rounds. Range set… Thunder 2, fire at will!”

Cracks open in the pavement below the Bruiser hover carriages as the gravitics transfer the recoil to the ground below. There’s a series of flashes as the 3 guns throw two shells each towards the target coordinates.

“Lt Zan-Q-R, target status?”

There’s no answer. The line had gone dead.

There’s an ear-splitting blast, and Thunder 2-2, the center gun in the line, ceases to exist in a cloud of debris and shrapnel that glances off the shielding and armor of the surrounding vehicles.

“Counterbattery! Thunder 2 displace and move! Move, move, move!”

The gravitics whine as the two remaining GRA guns take off from their position. Normally, the unit would have several logistics vehicles, but the vehicles had been borrowed to assist in the evacuation of the city. The Holy City, the capital of the Leos Mandate, would fall sooner or later. The Welded and the League still fought bitterly for control of the orbitals, but the Welded presence in the Holy City was overwhelming. The Leosian Army and the Auxiliary were fighting, but it was a delaying action, buying time for evacuations and for the preparation of defenses elsewhere on the planet.

The radio crackles again. “Thunder 2, this is Eagle Actual, do you copy?”

“Rodger, Eagle Actual, this is Thunder 2 Actual. What do you need?”

“Thunder 2 Actual, enemy armored units are advancing along the primary transportation corridor along blocks Kilo and India, now in Kilo-5. Move to Kilo-1 and establish anti-armor overwatch, exact positioning to your discretion.”

There’s a pause.

“Thunder 2, aye-aye. We’ll do our duty.”

The two Bruiser gun carriages moved at best speed through the remains of the city streets, to the Kilo-1 square. Kilo-1, where the main transportation artery met the High Temple compound. As the two vehicles approach the highway, their sensors light up.

“Alright, boys! Load AP, depress for direct fire! Engage at will as targets enter our engagement envelopes.”

The two gun carriers flit sideways onto the highway; benefits of a gravitic drive. At a range like this, over open terrain, the long-barreled guns of the Bruisers would have the advantage... at least until the enemy closed. They stop for a moment, just long enough for the crack as their 125mm guns are put to their original purpose, throwing anti-tank shells downrange towards the advancing enemy armor. Then they’re strafing again, as the gunnery computer starts reporting back; two hits, two destroyed enemy tanks. There’s a pause; another salvo, then the whir of the autoloader and the hum of the drive as they start moving again. A series of flashes in the viewport; the enemy armor was returning fire now, though they were still on the move. They pocketmark the highway, as the Alexzonyan vehicles keep firing. Another enemy vehicle gone, this time a troop carrier. A pair of misses. Another enemy armored vehicle, though this one is just a mobility kill and its crew hastily dismounts. Another... loud boom, as Thunder 2-3 is shot through by an enemy slug and her reactor fuel ignites.

2-1 is the last vehicle in her platoon left fighting. They send another shell downrange; this one misses also, narrowly, as an enemy tank jukes unexpectedly. A glancing enemy shell is deflected by the gun carrier’s shield projector; the 125mm chirps again, and a Welded grav-vehicle lists hard to one side, flips, and then skids to a stop inverted. More enemy fire; one shell detonates just below the carrier a moment later, throwing shrapnel into the gravitic drive. There’s a loud whine, and then 2-1 hits the pavement. The world shifts and the floor screeches as the vehicle is thrown backwards along the pavement; the gunner got one last shot off with the gun, hitting nothing, and the incapacitated chassis now slides into a ditch, moving the enemy out of the fixed gun’s limited horizontal traverse.

Thunder 2 Actual, Lieutenant Cassidy Rouce, only takes a moment to recover, before he reaches behind him and grabs a Moland Carbine off the wall. He throws it to the assistant commander. “Up and at ‘em, Corporal!” He grabs a second carbine for himself, his 40mm launcher already in its holster. “I’m not becoming a toaster today, that’s for damn sure!”

[Auman]

Approaching Bariny Field, Megaslava, Gamma Quadrant

Dr. Reid Peloton was absolutely awe struck by the journey, though he did well to hide it behind a mask of casual disinterest. He couldn't allow that propagandist, Dr. Azimuth Manderly the opportunity to see him gawking at his beloved Earth like a child watching scenery pass by whilst on a holiday drive with his parents.

He looked up from his newspaper to see the grinning, snaggle-toothed face of Manderly staring back at him, which made him feel awkward and creeped out in equal measure. Peloton tried to ignore it, but he could feel Manderly's greasy eyes on him. He folded up his newspaper and laid it in his lap.

"What do you want, Azimuth?" Huffed Peloton.

"Peep through the looking glass, good doctor, and tell me what you see." Manderly said in a feign of good cheer.

The men disliked one another immensely, whilst acknowledging their respective skill as scientists. Peloton believed Manderly to be a government stooge akin to a salesman hawking warbonds and recruitment pamphlets for a foreign state bent on absorbing his motherland. Likewise, Manderly felt Peloton to be an altogether overly patriotic fool, bordering on blind jingoism for a nation that, as far as he was concerned, was a rogue entity that belonged in the Sphere. Both loved their nations dearly and only wanted what was best for their people.

Peloton turned his head lazily toward the porthole, sipping his coffee and cream, relishing the velvety texture, before turning his eye toward the void. His eyes damn near bulged out of his head. A blue-green orb dominated the sky, white clouds twirled about its atmosphere. Clouds and oceans and green, green, vegetation... This wasn't his Earth, it was something different.

"Megaslava is a curious world, one of many quite like it... As far as Earthlike terrestrial worlds are concerned it is unremarkable aside from the incredible abundance of uranium. Its only selling point, mind you, is the cheapness of the fissile element. Beyond that, it does nothing that hundreds of worlds, many of which lay unoccupied and wanting human attention, in the Sphere don't do better." Manderly's rambling monologue didn't reverberate with Peloton. Perhaps it was the first planet of it's kind that the Reman doctor had ever seen outside of Earth, but the fact that it existed at all amazed him... And the knowledge that there were thousands, or even millions, more overawed him. Peloton was brought openly to tears at this point, as much as he wrestled against them.

It was all so beautiful.

It was nothing Manderly hadn't seen before.

"This world," Manderly continued, in the cramped and utilitarian interior of the S-42 Hypercube that the Fleet had lent them, "While nothing special to me or our people, has been a thorn in the side of the Sphere for decades. For Megaslava has a crude and anachronistic culture that had embraced the long defunct ideology of Leon Trotsky. Surely, the people here are Aumanii like you or I, the only reason the Sphere pays them any mind at all... But they were corrupted by the covetous teachings of a bearded German. For many years they struggled in vain against our power, to spread their belief system. This single, unexceptional, planet alone had the potential to destroy Remus from orbit. This single, impoverished, world was defeated by the Sphere before it could ever pose a threat to you."

Peloton's feeling of fascination for the world turned into annoyance at Manderly. Reid was a committed socialist, afterall, and despised the fact that Manderly had taken an otherwise poignant moment for him and turned it into an indictment of his beliefs. Manderly had calculated this entire trip, however, to be an assault upon everything Reid Peloton believed to be true.

Manderly carried on.

"Megaslava was suffocated in the cradle. A memory quickly forgotten, lost in the mosaic of galactic happenings. While the Sphere is great and has interests in every flap and fold of interstellar intercourse, Megaslava is singular and irrelevant. They had nothing but time to dwell upon their own indignities and, ultimately, created a monster they hoped to become our demise... Only to have it turn upon them, a machine intelligence of their own making, feasting upon the meat of man as if it were a succulent pig. The Welded are here now, a plague upon our whole galaxy, a new threat where none existed before, festering as it will in the forgotten spaces until such a time as the disease reaches a terminal climax, where-upon it will become an unstoppable blight."

As if to highlight Manderly's grim portent, a series of bright flashes erupted upon the dark side of Megaslava. Peloton peered towards the explosions through serious eyes. Atomic detonations, clearly... No mistake at all.

"To alay your doubts which may still linger, my dear Dr. Peloton, we shall venture down onto the surface of hell itself so that you may understand the dire nature of this situation... Which is merely a sample of the horrors that exist in this Milky Way galaxy that you call home. We shall go forth so that you may see for yourself the want and the need of your assistance, for while the Sphere and her allies are strong, my friend, we cannot do this all alone."

[Vipra]

Landing Site Twelve, Grevon
Dorvon System, Spinward Brithiske

The average Kromachus Hovertank was an image of Vipran imperial might. It was a sturdy and reliable vehicle with the endurance to keep fighting despite heavy punishment. The hull may have been wide and long, tall too, none of that helping its profile in regards to targeting, but the armour plating was thick enough to shrug off almost all known small-arms fire and it could all be replaced in under half an hour in a machine shop if they had the parts. The main gun, a one hundred and fifty millimeter railcannon with one hundred rounds, gave them both staying power and enough punch to take out most vehicles in their own class, and with some practice even shoot down aircraft. The coaxial eighteen millimeter autocannon was nothing to snigger at either, nor the six separate grenade dischargers. But it was the crew, stalwart and stoic, who were the pride and spirit of the Vipran warmachine.

At least, that was, in most cases.

“Go go go boys!” Johon Fuhler smacked the side of the controls in front of him, blue eyes flashing with mischief as he urged the rest of the tank crew on, “We’re going to get left behind if we take any longer you laggards!”

Grumbling in the driver’s position, Darwood Undertun was already bringing them out with smooth and easy pulls on the controls as he shook his mop of dark hair and clucked his tongue at their commander, “Best not to cut in line, sir, I’d think the brass’ll have your ass if we cause a kerfuffle before we’ve even got a shot off.”

“Yeah boss,” Vestley ‘Twitchy’ Hapers’ voice cracked as he joined in, watching the readouts for the sensors and the turret even as a smile curled the lips of his gaunt face, “if it helps I can fire a round off and say I saw som’thin.”

“You do that you little thit and they’ll thlit our throath!” came the heavy lisp of Arick Ahvood, the tiny engineer shaking his multitool menacingly below scowling grey eyes, “Mark my wordth.”

Darwood sniggered, “We would if you could say ‘em right.”

“Pith off.”

“Yes, I am pithy aren’t I?” Darwood grinned, never taking his eyes off the readouts as the hovertank glided over asphalt and left small cracks and hissing burns in its wake.

Johon laughed, a quick and controlled trio of chortles that were one of the marks of Brithiskan aristocracy, “Lay off our engineer, Darwood. You of all people need to stay in his good graces unless you want him to remove some of those little ‘upgrades’ you had him doing.”

“Oh shit you saw that? Uh, I mean, haven’t the foggiest what you mean, sir.”

“Just make sure you brew some for the rest of us you alleyrat,” Johon said, winking at the concerned driver before turning his focus back to the comms.

The hum of the reactor and hoverplates grew louder as they pushed along in the convoy, the external sounds dampened to a dull clamour of shouts and distant rumbles, and though they could see the detonations of airburst munitions and sparkle of counterfire it was lent a distant, otherworldly quality that made it feel as though it were worlds away rather than directly overhead. Buildings crumbled, orbital precision strikes created columns of fire as wide as city blocks moments after turning stable matter to disapparated dusty atoms, and missiles streaked alongside fighters and gunships in the battle for air superiority. Whose was whose was hard to tell, the IFF tags that had been commonplace during training turned off to avoid that particular targeting red flag, and they moved at such a pace in their dogfights that they were like so many flies swarming frantically above the city and dancing between explosions that far too commonly sent craft careening into architecture already scored by the battle.

Only when they heard the rattle of the tank getting tickled by falling debris from one of the many destroyed aircraft were they brought back to reality proper.

Not that they particularly seemed to need to as they followed the convoy from the landing craft. Walkers pounded the concrete, armoured vehicles of all sorts glided in the column, and soldiers in closed hovertrucks slid along beside them as they made their way to the front. Further beyond the debris strewn road were civilians being herded by soldiers in powered armour. They were titans amongst the meek and wounded, the military police from the brigade holding shock-batons and pistols at a subtle readiness as they scanned the shuffling crowd. The crew didn’t watch them for long however, the dirty and desperate masses more depressing than the gut-tightening vista of the firestorm they were riding into. Fear and anxiety they could bluster and bravado out of, at least.

All too soon they were at the front with the constant reverberations of the conflict rattling the tank hull and their joking attitude had gone to rest. Johon read the data-feed while Darwood and Vestley were glued to their viewscreens with various overlays to pierce the billowing dust, Arick sitting nervously and checking the reactor readouts. Ahead of them was almost a solid sheet of blooming heat, an inferno of artillery and missiles at the periphery where the effective interception ranges of both sides met. Buildings were rubble, the streets craters of mud and broken concrete were they had collapsed into the sewers from the continuous pummelling. Yet advance units and PDF were setting up guns behind mounds of detritus, clearing out corpses and laying a steady barrage of mortar fire from mobile pockets. Not that they seemed to add much to the din of war as PDF soldiers hit the deck when another calamitous explosion roared nearby and sent a trio of skyscrapers shattering towards the ground. They split from this and organized into spearheads, and waited.

“What now, boss?” Darwood spoke up without looking away from the camera feeds.

Johon checked the digital timer on the heads-up-display of his visor before responding, “Now we wait for orders.”

“Waiting is gonna kill us before these Weldy fuckers ever get a chance,” Vestley complained.

“I think waiting ith for the betht,” their engineer lisped, “Better than getting thot at.”

Johon shook his head, “You need more valour, Arick. If you get shot at you get stories to tell! And besides, they aren’t going to politely ignore us if we don’t attack. We’ll just get shot with our pants down instead of shooting back. Wouldn’t want to go out like that would you?”

“Thure thing, thir,” Arick rolled his eyes.

The tank commander stopped the conversation by raising his hand, nodding to himself, then spoke up again, “Orders have been sent. We are to make a thrust to the besieged PDF command center. Let’s roll, boys.”

“We hover, boss,” Darwood chimed in.

“You know exactly what I meant, now get a bloody clip on!” Johon slapped the metal beside him and the tank began moving, joining the spearhead of armour and walkers as the hail of artillery and missiles intensified four-fold. Gunships, fighter interceptors, and drones filled what air overhead wasn’t shuddering with explosions and shrapnel. Nine other main-battle tanks, two tank destroyers, four scout walkers, and six heavy walkers stormed along with two dozen infantry fighting vehicles over the hill of debris into no-mans-land with them. They were immediately met with counter-fire from equivalent emplacements on the far side of the filthy rift, their tank rattling with small arms fire and larger anti-material round that scored against the hull. All those with viewscreens cringed as a neighbouring tank erupted in flames the instant after a harsh flash that, had it not been softened by dampeners, would have been blinding. Split in half, the metal and ceramics melting white hot, the concrete was sliced for a good fifty meters behind the dead vehicle. Not to mention the crew, their ashes and charred stumps of limbs tumbling from the cleaved hull.

“Target, thirty three degrees, fire at will.” Johon called out sternly, his console calculating where the tank-splitting weapon had fired from by the trail of smoke.

“Mark,” Vestley responded as the turret spun around at a moment’s notice, setting its sights upon a distant blot. Magnification made it clearer, a hulk of sloped armour covered with bloody etchings and banners of flayed skin with a turret mounting an oversized, red-hot cannon spouting steam and smoke, “Fire.”

The inertial dampeners recalculated as the mechanisms was triggered and the whole vehicle up-massed significantly so that the recoil of the cannon didn’t send them skidding as it erupted from the barrel and tore through the air towards the target, joined by the cacophony of the other tanks joining in for concentrated fire. The round arrived in a blink, only the line of combustion along its arc giving notice that it had been there at all, and collided with the shields of the Welded vehicle in a sudden, lightning snap that was repeated four more times in almost instant succession before it was overpowered and the other rounds, moments behind, carried through and gutted the vehicle in explosive collisions and sent its crew of disembodied organs and brain matter splattering and heavy plates careening through the air.

Then five more blazing shots were sent their way and two of the walkers and three IFVs were sundered, occupants either mercifully charred or boiling to death inside superheated crew compartments sealed shut by the sudden temperature expansion. More of the armour-killing Welded tank-destroyers revealed themselves in the act, and a crush of small arms fire belted out from emplacements to constantly hail upon the vehicles. Small missiles collided, weakening armour and wearing down components, and crew-served guns chattered at them in a storm of grinding metal. Their own emplacements behind the line tried to assist, but only added to the noise as mortars were sniped from the air and direct fire was blunted by so much debris and cover.

“Keep moving!” Johon commanded, rather unnecessarily as they pushed ahead at full speed. Rubble and remains, the mix of concrete, metal, bone and scrapped augments charred by battle, were crushed under the press of the hovertank, popping and cracking as it ploughed ahead, firing every second as the spearhead thrust, smoke canisters popping to provide cover that they cut into the sensor-fog just as the second volley from the tank-killers began bursting forth. One must have passed nearby though, because Arick began shouting and displays turned red. The whole tank shuddered, the air inside the crew compartment heating rapidly as the environment control struggled.

“We lotht a chunk of our armour!” Arick shouted, “Reactor ith clothe to thhut-down from that temperature thpike! Forward panelth are theverely damaged!”

“No shit,” Darwood shot back, “we got clipped. I’m fucking cooking over here!” the metal air around them shimmered with menacing heat, fans and thermal regulators doubling down while the environment packages in their skinsuits tried to stop them boiling with varying success.

“Just keep moving,” Johon said, all wit lost as he focused on the screen.

They burst from the smoke a half second later and fired. Having calculated relative placements they scored a hit, not that it was hard with how the shields of the Welded vehicles tended to bubble out. Another flurry followed after them, gutting the tank-destroyer while the walkers unleashed a deluge of missiles and added their own fire to the mix as they cut down two more of the Welded vehicles. Their own tank-destroyers decided to add their firepower as well now. One of the tank-killers’ shields suddenly bloomed like a solar flare before a second strike cut a perfectly circular hole through its belly and caused the unnatural innards to slough out. The last of the vehicles assailing them went up in a blaze of expanding fire as air-support broke through, the battle in the sky turning in their favour as similar thrusting flights of gunships and fighters surged ahead.

That seemed to turn the tide, the Welded unpacking their garrison and melting away except for a few surprises in the form of mines and other treats that managed to cripple an IFV and damage three other vehicles. Air-strikes managed to break through the interceptive-fire from the vehicles and air support as well to turn one tank into three separate spreads of wreckage connected by a vague red smear. On edge and sweating even as the climate-control brought them back to regular temp they carried on in their wounded tank, a good quarter-foot of armour sheared off the front of their vehicle with drips of solidified metal where it had melted.

They came upon the base just as a strafing run was lighting up a line of Twisted that had torn through a wall and were piling into the base, the payload laying down a coating of nanothermite that ignited and flash-fried the teeming mass of flailing and screeching monstrosities. Not that so many more didn’t fill their place, clamouring with flailing limbs of metal and flesh. With a rapid whud-whud-whud the co-axial gun fired into the surging bodies and dismembered several at a time, the main cannon booming and ripping apart several dozen as the spearhead focussed fire on the breach. All at once the swarm turned and changed direction, the entry forgotten as thousands, tens of thousands, of bodies started rushing towards them.

The vehicles refused to slow, and when they met the front of the wave they waded in, hover-panels pushing them back and crushing those who became trapped underneath into fine smears. They leapt though, flinging themselves onto the vehicles and latching on with unreasonably strong grips that, in some cases, was stronger than the bonds of their limbs to their bodies. They piled on and on, using the messy remains of their fallen brethren as handholds, and scratched and cut and screeched. Inside the tank they became blind and deaf as cameras were physically covered, sonar interfered with by the intentional cacophony and press of bodies against sensors.

Darwood broke the impasse inside the crew compartment, “We’re blind here, boss!”

“I can see that,” Johon grumbled.

“Don’t worry, I can fix this!” the gunner exclaimed, “Just hold on tight.”

Nobody had too much time to do that before Vestley had fired the cannon, without mass-compensation. The tank rocked back, hard. The sudden change in velocity and direction sent two dozen bodies flying from the top of the tank and the round itself had been angled into the horde in front of them at a slight downward angle, turning a line of them into chunks. Inside, Arick was wailing about a broken thumb and Johon had banged his head.

“More warning next time, but smart move,” Johon declared, refocusing his vision on the cameras before going wide eyed, “Hard turn, hard turn now!”

Darwood was only partly through the motion, bringing the tank around when a six meter tall twisted goliath crashed against the side of their vehicle. The hover panels were not enough to force it back, only a few skulls in its agglomerated mass cracking and popping to spill out jellied brain matter, and so it latched on and bellowed with a roar that they could hear inside their tank unaided. Their co-axial chattered and chewed away chunks of the vaguely humanoid construct’s shoulders and torso, even sawing through what was approximately in the position of a head and sending the bundle of heads connected by a crown of wires tumbling. Nothing seemed to stop it however.

Smashing its fists against the tank, it hefted and flipped them on their side just before their main cannon could come to bear.

Darwood was scrambling in his seat, putting the hover-panels on max, “What the fuck do we do boss?”

There was heavy scratching and screeching as the panels were ripped off of the hull. Johon jumped from his seat and squatted on the wall of the tank, grabbing the hatch lever and began spinning frantically, “Bail, bail, bail!”

“There are fucking gribbles out there!” Vestley shouted, nearly a scream, “Like hell we should bail!”

“That’s an order!”

That seemed to shove some them into line, Arick grabbing onto the lever and spinning it with Johon until it popped with a distinct clink. Pushing hard with their shoulders, the hatch swung open and they toppled out into a mess of crushed gore and scorched remains. Around them dozens of Welded tanks and chicken-walkers were mixed in the fray, behemoths soaking fire as they rushed, one further away catching a missile from a walker in the gut and exploding limbs in every direction. That would have been a relief if they hadn’t already begun reorienting and wriggling in the air before they had even struck ground like the abominable spawn of the hydra.

Johon scrambled to his feet, almost slipping on spilled intestines and copper wire as he reached back into the tank and grabbed onto reaching arms. He yanked Darwood free, sending him sprawling into the bloody muck before thrusting back in. He felt a hand, he could see Vestley’s face, and he pulled hard. The behemoth was faster though. Vestley was halfway out the hatch as it hauled the tank up like a gorilla with a toy car, the sudden force snapping the hatch down with crude force and severing the gunner in half at his midsection after ripping off the back of his skull and most of his spine.

Falling back with what remained of Vestley flopping on top of him wide eyed and croaking a bloody death rattle, Johon only barely noticed as the tank they had crewed was tossed some eighty meters to crash against another and spin out.

[Auman]

John was scratching at the pad of his thumb, absently. He stood in front of the door to Ms. Anne's house on the outskirts of town for awhile. It's not that he was afraid of going in, he had nothing to fear from anyone, it's that he knew going inside would be incredibly unpleasant. Inside that tiny home at the end of a dirt road was the woman he loved and the personification of everything he had lost. He couldn't even bring himself to look her in the face. Maybe the itch in his hand was just his unconcious trying to distract him from his thoughts... He appreciated it, in a way, even though it was starting to feel like a bee sting. Regardless, there was work to be done and knowing that he must speak to Dr. Janet Harekka, expert from the ABCD, and not Mrs. Janet Harekka, the love of his life and the woman he needed most in this universe, was a small consolation from the pain.

He knocked on the door three times, firmly and officially. He could hear footfalls opposite the frame. A deadbolt came undone and then a chain. A woman peaked out from the glass portcullis. It was Ms. Anne. John felt the muscles in his shoulders loosen by a fraction as the door crept open.

"Ms. Anne."

"Sergeant John."

They nodded politely, John holding his hat in his hands.

"Here to speak to... The doctor?" Asked Ms. Anne.

"Yes, please."

John stepped inside, the floorboards creaked and his boots clomped loudly. There was a sense of dust about the place, it seemed to him that this home wasn't often lived in. The owners, Anne being one, were off world most of the time, running a freighter that ran supplies to Hope Valley and to a few other places jn the sector a lot like it. They were space truckers. Making just enough to live, but not enough to thrive. Though, if one were predisposed to Frontier life, you could live like royalty... In context. This was no Vascilia City mega mansion, but for Hope Valley, having a home of your own and a job to keep the pantry full put you firmly in the one percent.

Ms. Anne, in a pair of faded blue jeans and a worn out plaid button-up shirt, called down the stairs to the cellar, "The Sergeant is here to see you!"

There was a moment of silence, hesitation probably... Maybe she was just distracted, but a moment later Dr. Harekka called back, "Send him in!"

John took that as his cue and headed down the warped stairs, careful not to bump his head on a thick beam that was built a bit too low for him. When he got to the bottom, he was blinded by a bright light strio that was illuminating a stainless steel desk. Janet was buried in her work, a pair of magnifying glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she admired a sample that reminded him of a pink pipe cleaner.

Janet looked his way, her blue eyes were like blue oceans in those glasses. She took them off hastily, stifling a chuckle because she knew how silly she must have looked to him. John couldn't help to smile at that. They locked eyes for the first time in a long time and the smile that threatened to break on her lips receded into sadness. John squared his shoulders and slipped into his policeman's mask. Whatever they had just shared was over.

"I just got back from Sunny's. Did he by any chance send you his reports on what was happening over there?" John said.

Janet nodded and hefted up a computer tablet, "Just finished reading them before you got here." Her eyes were conspicuously downcast.

John approached her, Janet's posture stiffened. He hesitated and she stood up, still looking at the ground. It was quiet and awkward. He was starting to feel like he had her cornered, like he was threatening her and it made him feel like a monster. He may have left her life so long ago, but he never wanted to hurt her. Janet's eyes flicked up to his chest and stayed there for awhile, her shoulders were heaving with anxious breaths.

"He had your eyes... Your lips... Your ears. It hurts too much to even see your face because every time I look at you, I see him and it breaks my heart." Janet's voice was tight and ragged.

John took a step forward and she turned ever so slightly away from him. He took another step and this time she didn't flinch. Another and one more and before they both knew it they were crying in each other's arms. It hurt, but to the both of them it was a good kind of pain, the kind that brought relief. He placed his hand on her cheek and she brought her lips to his, it was euphoric.

My God did he need this woman.

He ran his hands up to her hair as their lips found one another for the first time in ages. All the thoughts and recollections of the time before slipped away. There was no more war, no more death, no Gata'Ja... Bradley, their son, remained, held in state by the love they held in their hearts. His memory would never die so long as they lived and their love, so long repressed by this tragedy, blossomed anew.

But it was strange that Janet's hair now felt sticky, like damp cotton candy. The itch in his hand flared into burning and then John called out in pain. Janet's eyes rolled back into her head and they collapsed onto the floor.

[New Dornalia]

OOC: Credit to Vipra for the ending idea.

IC:

Sevoroville
Michael’s World
New Kazakhstan County
Six Days After the Babushka’s Incident

Warrant Officer Joseph McDonald, New Kazakhstan Citizens Forces--and now currently assigned to help Dr. Jon Kasabian of the Centers for Disease Control dispose of the bodies of victims on Michael’s World of the ever growing Welded crisis--stood in his blue powered suit of soft material with a NBC system and a powered exoskeleton meant to keep gribblies away from him as he paused to take a breather.

All day--since 0600 local time--he had been moving around bodies upon bodies. There were a lot of bodies now residing inside the Dyatlov and Sons Funeral Parlor’s morgue room. They were all inside of the special, man sized pouches with yellow and black checkered pattern flags with prominent biohazard symbols, with other sigils upon them that hummed and glowed. Each bag had an ID tag on it, with any and all information known about the deceased, and a barcode which WO McDonald quickly scanned before putting the body on a gurney. Unless of course, they had nothing, whereupon they were given the clever--in a morbid, dadjokey sort of way--the name of “U.N. Owen.”

These were the standard CDC Body Bags, and they contained casualties great and small of the disaster now infecting the people of Michael’s World. Casualties picked up by the various alphabet soup parties outside--both federal and New Kazakhstani--that searched for survivors, attempted to keep order, and policed the dead and put down those that got back up. All as part of a Quarantine and Shelter-in-Place Order imposed on the world not but six days ago, because some creepy asshole had decided to subject everyone on Michael’s World to what he called the Welded Process.

Oh, and the alphabet soup people brought a whole unit of nekos that didn’t need NBC gear, for some reason. He and the other Citizens Forces guys keeping the peace here and helping the men in white coats run their quarantine of the world had a lot of questions about them, and all got the same answer. They were some sort of droid.

Anyway, a batch of the bodies had recently shown up not but fifteen minutes ago, escorted by guards--soldiers, cops, and those nekos--with meltaguns and blasters and protective gear. It had taken some effort to lift the bags and place them neatly, with a modicum of dignity. It was hard to do so, given the fact that the corpses were coming in fast and furious, like cordwood. The Dornalian funeral industry’s use of pattern buffers to store the dead was a boon, but still, the bodies were coming in--sometimes, too fast. It could tax a man.

As he rested, Joe saw teams of the women with cat’s ears and tails, with BDUs and M1 Helmets marked with Red Crosses within White Discs. The teams worked in a simple manner. They came in with hovering gurneys, after the bodies had been scanned and tagged. They picked up one or two or maybe even four of the body bags. Then, they would leave the room. What the nekos did with the bodybags was above his paygrade. Sometimes, they would go to guys like Dr. Kerabatsos, the CDC guy who was leading a team trying to find a cure for whatever was fucking with this world. Other times, the corpse would, after a quick administration of the relevant religious rite and identification by next of kin (who were duly warned the moment he scanned their loved ones onto the rolls using the barcodes), get unceremoniously incinerated in the funeral parlor’s cremation processing units. Dyatlov and Sons had a green chemical cremation “pressure cooker” for a lack of a better word--three of them, to be precise--and they were *all* working overtime.

So, he saw the nekos working, and so far, things seemed to be working out. Well, as well as they could he in a place like this.

Then, he heard it.

A breath.

Joe stood up, and looked around. That wasn’t his suit, was it?

Then, he heard the breath again.

Joe turned, and saw one of the bags he had on the table. Bag Number C-24601. It was moving, shuffling about. Normally, he was trained to ignore those signals. But something about this one compelled him to come closer. So he did.

What he saw caused him to gasp. The tag on the bag read simply:

LAST NAME: McDonald
FIRST NAME: Myrna
ADDRESS: 8901 West Circle Development Drive
TOWN: Sevoroville
PLANET: Michael’s World
COUNTY: New Kazakhstan
TIME OF RECOVERY: 0421 HRS, 10/3/01

WO McDonald looked about, and then shouted at the bag.

“Myrna?”

No reply.

“MYRNA!?”

Now, a reply.

“...J-joe? Is that you?”

WO McDonald then said, panicking, “Don’t worry, baby, I’m coming!” Looking around, he found the strong, industrial strength zipper with the sturdy metal lock upon it. Frantically, he looked around at the lock, which was glowing red. He then began tugging at it, with the lock unable to be opened, muttering “Damnit!” as he struggled to get the bag open.

Then, he had a flash of insight. WO McDonald saw, off to the side, what looked like a rather short weapon, resembling an oversized machine pistol such as an Uzi. However, it had a rather large battery pack, and it was bedecked in markings such as “CAUTION: EXTREMELY HOT PLASMA!” and “FOLLOW ALL INSTRUCTIONS” and the Mitsubishi triangle symbol with the words “Mk90 HandyMelta”. Picking up the weapon, he plugged in a powercell and cocked the top handle, fiddling with a knob on the device to the lowest setting, as the front end began to show telltale heat distortion lines. He then rushed over to the bag, and said, “Hold still, baby. I’m coming!”

Positioning one end of the bag carefully, and carefully aiming the Meltagun at the lock, he fired a long stream, unleashing a hot, firey gout of energy out the front with a WHOOSH that fried off the lock....and set off every fire alarm in the building.

The young woman inside the now opened body bag coughed as she looked at her rescuer. WO McDonald leaned in to take a look at his newly-liberated bride, and seemed horrified.

Myrna seemed to be struggling to breathe, speak or do something with her mouth. Her form was covered from head to toe in circuit boards and electronics, and a leg was replaced with what looked like a speaker system. The soft rains of the sprinklers went pitterpatter over her form, somehow not short circuiting the electronics now consuming her body. Her eyes seemed to twitch, her mannerisms seemed herky-jerkier than usual. Well, McDonald figured, it was just the infection talking--right?

The woman weakly said, from beneath an encroaching mass of circuits and electronics growing like a tumor from her face--”Joe….”

McDonald leaned in. He stayed his trigger finger from the Meltagun, and raised his eyebrow. He looked over the twisted form--and gasped. There was something familiar about it, even under the cybernetics and tics. But the voice confirmed everything.

“B-baby? What happened?!”

The form smiled and weakly said, as it drew in a labored breath through an increasingly growing mass of cybernetics:

“I was...going to pick up Jack from school...I dunno where he is….all I know is that I was attacked by those things. And now, I’m here.”

McDonald then became overrun with emotion, at the prospect of losing his son and his wife all due to this plague. He shouldered the Meltagun, and shouted, “It’s okay, baby. You’re safe here, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Leaping close to Myrna, the soldier cradled Myrna in his arms, as he asked, overjoyed and pleading, “Baby--please, talk to me--please. Can you hear me?”

The form smiled, weakly and drew herself closer, somewhat stiffly.

“I can--you big sonofabitch.”

With a maddened ecstasy, McDonald laughed and went, “Hot dog! It’s gonna be fine, baby, it’s gonna be fine--”

“No, it won’t..”

McDonald turned around, and saw the stern form of Dr. Kasabian, wearing his own environmental suit, but this one plastered with the logos of the Centers for Disease Control upon it. Kasabian had his arms crossed, and glared at McDonald. McDonald got up and said, shocked at the response, “B-but Doc--”

“That thing down there is no longer Myrna.” Kasabian said with a curt tone.

McDonald exploded at that, letting Myrna go as he turned to confront Kasabian.

“No--NO.”

Gesturing wildly at the piles of corpses with toe-tags, and then gesturing to Myrna, McDonald said, “That’s bullshit. There’s a mistake. Those other things are dead. Myrna is fucking alive!.” Pleading, and pausing, McDonald said, “Look. You gotta believe me. She’s alive. I mean, can’t we--”

Kasabian cut him off, with a shake of the head and a stern, “She’s dead to the world, son. There’s nothing to do.”

“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!”

McDonald caught himself, as he realized what he had done. Kasabian glared even more at that, replying, as he walked forward to McDonald as if to challenge the man, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

McDonald then said, with an angry tone, “You don’t know that she can’t be cured. Hell, wasn’t Dr. Kerabatsos working on some sort of vaccine or cure for this crap? He was telling me that just the other day. Hell, I’ve had doctors and soldiers and command people tell me repeatedly we’re working on a cure.” Pausing, McDonald got close--within kissing distance of Kasabian--and thrust his index finger into Kasabian’s face, going, “Well?”

Kasabian paused. Then, he spoke.

“Kerabatsos was terminated and cremated yesterday night. Turns out he had some undeclared herniated disc surgery. You ever see a man turn into a fucking stereo! BECAUSE I HAVE! Kondraki joined him soon after. We’re working on a cure as fast as we can.” Kasabian then thrust his finger at the corpses in the room, and shouted, “But in the meantime, there’s nothing we can do for these people. We don’t burn them, they’ll devour every man, woman and child surviving on this ball of rock.”

Kasabian then stepped back, and looked around, sighing as the firealarms went off around him. He then glared at McDonald, and said simply:

“Look, Mr. McDonald. You’ve done enough damage here. I’m down here because someone decided to misuse a meltagun to save his waifu, and we captured it on the security cameras. Or something, I dunno what fucking possessed you to do it.” Shaking his head, he then pointed at Myrna, who was beginning to get up, rubbing her temples, “Look. Joe. This is Jon. Remember? Jon from the wedding? Reasonable Jon? Well, I’m being reasonable right now. And my reasonableness commands you to kill that fucking thing before it infects us by fucking with any augs that we have!”

McDonald shook his head.

“No, Jon. I won’t do it. We need to give Myrna a chance.”

“Myrna’s had her chance. She’s one of them now.”

McDonald then looked over at Myrna, who looked plaintively, begging McDonald to intercede with the best Bambi eyes she could muster--the right one was a bit on the lazy side, and the pout seemed a bit off, as if influenced by Bell's Palsy. Still, there weren’t words--there didn’t need to be. There was only the implied call to spare her life.

McDonald then turned to Kasabian, and shook his head. He pulled out the Meltagun, and aimed it at Kasabian.

“No. We are giving her a chance.”

Kasabian’s eyes widened, and his tone grew confused, and shocked.

“We-we’re seriously doing this right now?”

McDonald nodded. His tone grew icy as he kept the Meltagun aimed at Kasabian.

“I don’t see curing. I see killing, and burning, and no fucking progress. NONE You guys are fucking CDC. You’re fucking doctors. Get off your fucking asses and fix my fucking wife.”

Kasabian stood there for a few moments, before shaking his head and trying to calmly explain to McDonald what the situation was.

“Joe, I just said, we’re working on a cure. We’re doing what we can. We’re not miracle workers. And hell, even the miracle workers we have are at their limit. I’ve got Ordermen keeling over due to exhaustion and diabetic shock, trying to find ways to cure people. That’s how bad it is.”

Joe then stepped forward, and said, politely but firmly:

“Now, let’s stop panicking. Please? Put. The. Gun. Down.”

“Fuck you, Jon.”

“Put. The--”

“FUCK YOU JON!”

“PUT. THE--”

Myrna then went, in an unusually flat tone, “Joe, please--”

“YOU’RE NOT FUCKING TAKING HER YOU FUCK!”

At that, McDonald fired a stream of meltafire, as Kasabian rushed to tackle him. As this occurred, the shot went wild, ripping open a hole in the ceiling as Myrna began to scream an unholy scream, mixing panic with metallic screeching, as the two men brawled on the floor, trying to gain position to seize control of the Meltagun. McDonald then headbutted Kasabian, sending the doctor staggering back as McDonald tried to get off another shot. Then, Kasabian delivered a swift kick to the head, disorienting McDonald as Kasabian seized the Meltagun. Then, Kasabian, trying to hold back McDonald, aimed at Myrna and opened fire with a long stream of Meltashot--only to see McDonald leap in front of the Meltagun at the last second, to Kasabian’s horror.

***

The sheer thermal energy of the Meltagun wasn’t the most creeping concern on the mind of Joseph McDonald, as he experienced his last few moments. Besides, at temperatures that hot, you couldn’t really feel anything as nerves and other fleshy bits became so much atomized carbon. And no, the sudden outbreak of violence from an old colleague wasn’t the most creeping concern either for McDonald. It was horrific that a man who had attended his wedding and was a family friend was burning him alive, yes. But not the worst of it.

No, the worst of it was yet to come. For in the last few moments of life as McDonald fell to the ground, his body a flaming wreck, he saw Myrna--who herself was heavily damaged, her right shoulder and right arm hanging by leftover meat and circuitry and wires--move with sudden, animalistic ferocity. For a second, McDonald thought Myrna was going to rescue him. Or intervene on his behalf. She had panicked beforehand. Right?

As it turned out, that wasn’t quite the case as he began to blank out. For he saw Myrna leap out of her bag--but not to assist McDonald. No, Myrna screamed, and with a mighty, inhuman roar, overturned a cart full of body bags with her good arm onto Kasabian’s direction--the doctor evaded the attack--before contorting her body and extending her neck in dramatic fashion, like a piece of HVAC tubing.

McDonald uttered a weak, “M-myrna? MYRNA!? HELP!”

McDonald’s cry would go unheeded. Spotting a vent, Myrna leapt on top of one of the pattern buffers, and then ripped the vent open with her good arm. Then, compressing her body into a very, very tiny almost spiderlike shape, and with tentacles to cradle the damaged limb, Myrna skittered into the vent.

The last thing Joseph McDonald ever said was a simple, disbelieving, “M-myrna….?”

.***

Kasabian was stunned, to say the least. He could only look apologetically at McDonald, as he crossed himself and said, “Sorry, old friend.” Suppressing his inner horror and shock, Kasabian ran outside, Meltagun in hand. He had a job to do.

On the outside, he encountered a group of people--orderlies, cops, and soldiers in T-60 Armor--who were wondering what was going on. Standing there with Meltagun in hand, he turned to the first available orderly, and shouted for the man to “SEAL OFF THE GODDAMN BUILDING! WE’VE GOT A RUNNER!” before running down the hallway.

As he did so, Dr. Kasabian noticed his hands were shaking and barely holding the Meltagun, and his thoughts were filled with Joe’s last moments--and a strange sense of pity for Joe, and a sudden urge for something to forget it all after this job was done for Jon….

[Fenvaria Republic]

One week later
Scout Alpha
Enroute to Imperial trade post

---

At the edge of the system, three FTL ruptures were detected and then three ships dropped out of FTL, a trio of destroyers. They were sent to respond to the week-old distress signal, as well as several complaints from shipping companies about lost ships that had ventured into the region. Concerned about this, the local fleet had sent a scout; three ships, to investigate this region. Most of the local command structure and local media believed that the raiders had knocked out communications and the station was still undergoing repairs. It was believed the lost ships were a result of transport ships being raided by the remaining pirates in the area.

However, HiCo was under a different opinion. Something was going on with the trade station; a trade station like that would have reported back in after a few days. But a week had gone by and not a single word. What made it even more strange was the fact that those cargo ships and other civilian ships that had gone to the station had also disappeared, no sign of them afterward. So that was why this scout was sent to investigate what happened to the station and the ships.

When the ships dropped out of FTL the commander of the scout, Senior Captain Lutwig, looked around on the bridge of the lead destroyer. The bridge crew was performing their tasks while the AMI units would oversee them. The bridge crew was also quite small, a fraction of that used on the larger ships of the Empire, after all these were scout and light escort ships. They could pack a punch however they are tiny compared to the rest of the fleet.


“Sensors, do we have a read on the station? Or the missing ships?” asked the Senior Captain as he flattened the front of his double-breasted uniform jacket.

“Negative sir,” replied the sensor officer. “Sir, I am getting a lot of other signals......a lot of smaller contacts sir.”

“Hostile?”

“Negative sir, it looks like....pieces, Thalduhmian origin sir.”

“Damn...” the Senior Captain frowned and looked at communications. “Anything on the communications line?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the communications officer grimly “We have picked up distress signals...”

“Good, how many?”

“At least half a dozen sir.....some of the signals are getting smashed together and garbled.”

The Senior Captain sighed and placed a hand on his chin, thinking for a few moments about what was just given to him. Then, what his options were. On one hand, he could call in for back up, but they still didn't know if the pirates were still in the system. But he didn't have the firepower to take on a pirate fleet. Just the three destroyers. Considering his mission, he was to scout out the system. If there was an absence of pirates, he was then clear to investigate the station. With a sigh, he looked towards the communication station.

“Communications, can we get a signal out?”

“Barely sir, too much interference sir.” Replied communications, looking back at the Senior Captain.

“Damn, alright, well send out a message anyway. Report everything that we have found and tell them that we have found the station. Proceeding to evaluate the station and find the lost ships.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Navigation,” started the Senior Captain “Bring us further into the system.”

The ships slowly rumbled further into the system and made their way towards the last known orbit of the station. As the scout moved further into the system, they happened to be greeted by wrecks of ships. Most of the wrecks were excessively twisted and battered, making them far from recognizable. But, some of the wreckage was identifiable as Fenvaria cargo ships, and the station’s Home Guard fleet. Few wrecks stood out, however. Unlike the Thalduhmian ships, these wrecks had been tossed together into a random hodgepodge of hulls and weapons. These must have been the pirates that had attacked the station, or the wreckage of their stunt. The others must have fled after the attack, leaving the station to its fate.

The Senior Captain frowned as he looked out of the viewport. Such barbarism from these pirates didn't leave a single intact hull. Everything that was floating in space had been blown to bits and they were still having problems with the communications line. Even sensors were being obscured due to the amount of debris and junk that was floating around. Whoever these pirates where their fates would be much worse than what they did to these ships.

“Senior Captain,” began one of the officers. “Our sensors have found the station, portside sir. Approximately 900,000 miles away from its intended orbit and she is not looking, good sir.” With that, the commander looked out the window. Slowly, the station came into view and the officer was right, she was in a state of disarray. Most of her decks were obliterated during the fighting. Two of the four arms on the station also had been snapped in the fighting, leaving two wrecks of the arms floating in space. Red lights flashed all across the station, blaring out into the void. However, they said nothing. Frowning, the Senior Captain lowered his head and sat silently.

“Orders, sir?” asked navigation

“I want two ships to dock with the station, then have the troopers sweep the area!” ordered the Senior Captain as he looked at the station, his eyes narrowing.

“Aye Aye.” replied communications and navigation. After a few keystrokes, the two flanking destroyers slowly moved in. The lead destroyer would also follow. However, the Senior Captain’s ship would hold back to act as a command ship as well as a response to any straggler pirates.

---

Station
Agile Victory
Alpha Squad

---

As the two destroyers moved in closer, slowly the damage to the station became more apparent. It was worse than what the Senior Captain had thought. However, it seemed that for the most part the docking section of the station was intact and the two destroyers slowly rumbled to the docking ports. Each destroyer had a trooper complement of about three squads worth, most of the time these troopers acted as internal security or a defensive force against boarding forces. But, they also had equipment for missions like this.

Pack Sergeant Beuwolf stood at the edge of the docking tube, the finishing bit of his cigar in his mouth. He looked around at the rest of his pack, ten other troopers sat and stood there, all of them checking over their equipment. Most of them were veterans of past pirate incursions, so they had an idea of how they worked and how predictable they could be. But there was something different about these pirates, something that he couldn't put his finger on. With the last drag of his cigar, he flicked it into the trash can that was near the end of the corridor. He then grabbed the helmet that was clipped onto his belt and held it with one hand while the strap of his carbine was in the other.

“Alright, troopers! Helmets on! We are disembarking in two minutes.” yelled Beuwolf, putting on his space rated helmet. It created a seal to his black glove suit which sat under his regular fatigues that included the BDU and the cloak, and his armor. The troopers then followed in suit, placing their helmets on and checking each other to make sure they made a proper seal. The troopers did this by tapping the other’s helmet to make sure everything was working inside of their helmets. They then gave a thumbs up and checked their partner’s helmet, repeating the process.

Once all of the troopers checked their equipment they lined up; forming two lines of five before they stacked up near the doorway. Beowulf nodded at his troopers and then addressed them. “Alright, listen up grunts! Once this door opens up, we are going to split off into scouts. Then search the area. We search the right side of this wing, while the second pack searches take the left side. Make sure to move fast, get civilians onto the ship as quickly as possible. Do I make myself clear?” bellowed Beowulf

“YES SIR!” replied the troopers.

With that, Beuwolf slammed his fist into the door latch, turning around. The door slid open, the troopers rushed down the ramp, into the reception area.

As the troopers thundered down the ramp, they happened to witness something straight out of a horror film. Twisted and deformed bodies littered the floor. Blood liberally splattered across the walls and floor. Most of which was long dried, brown, and flaking. The area had the lingering smell of stale rot infecting the air. Without their helmets, several of them vomited due to the absolute power of the smell. The odor of death could not make its way through the filters on their helmets. Beowulf frankly just frowned and walked forward, with the troopers following up behind him, securing the position and the ramp. As he stepped off the ramp, he landed with a soft thud onto the blood-stained floor. The flashlight on his helmet illuminated the area. In the light, he looked over the bodies in better detail. Surprisingly few bodies where intact, some of the bodies present had been torn to ribbons. Arms; legs, heads, and other limbs had been scattered across the room. Several of them also had been gutted open, their rib cages were torn open their hearts ripped out. Intestines chewed and pulled out, creating a sort of grizzly spaghetti mess.

Among the mess was a few Home Guardsmen their bodies, shredded and riddled with bullet holes. Beowulf knelt and ran his hand over one of the Home Guardsmen then looked over the body. Half of their face had been torn off while the rest of their body was riddled with bullets. The Guardsman was also missing their left arm and several chunks of their legs. Beowulf looked up and then around trying to find the other guardsmen.

“Sir,” asked one of the troopers, walking over to the Pack Sergeant. “Whatcha looking for?”

“Nothing, just trying to figure out what happened....” he paused “Find the other Guardsmen corpses. I wanna know what they were doing.”

“Yes sir,” responded the trooper as he transferred the order to the rest of the pack. Several of the troopers then started to look around, eventually coming across four other guardsmen corpses. So a total of five Guardsmen, a standard scout formation. Most of them stayed near the door to defend from the pirates that had attacked the station. Then, the pirates broke through the door and slaughtered everyone. The scout leader must have known that this was a final stand for his scout. That there was no way they were going to survive. At least they went down fighting and protecting the innocent.

The room felt cluttered and chaotic, as weapons littered the area. Near the guardsmen, their rifles and swords laid next to them. Broken and twisted from the fighting. Shell casings littered the floor and glinted in the light. Even the civilian corpses had weapons near them, mostly ranging from pistols to swords.

As one of the troopers walked through the bloodied mess of the room, where they then stopped and stood over one of the bodies. They reached down, picking up an item that was near the body. This object was a stuffed animal; its soft grey fur soiled from the pool of blood turned a bloody brown. The black beady eyes were lifeless just like the body. The trooper frowned under their helmet, before becoming lost in his thoughts. When the Pack Sergeant looked up from the guardsman's body, he watched the soldier in question. The soldier knelt and placed the toy back. He then looked at the Pack Sergeant, saying nothing. Standing up, turning around and saying nothing to the Pack Sergeant as they walked away.

With a sigh, the Pack Sergeant watched the remainder of the pack as they patrolled through the corpse littered room. Just then another trooper strolled up to the Pack Sergeant and they stayed silent at first. Then they spoke. "Sir, from what it looks like they were corralled and then butchered. Like animals." With a pause, the trooper sighed, still standing there. "This appears to be more than just a raid; this was a massacre."

“Indeed Corporal," replied the Pack Sergeant, turning to face the corporal. "They were expecting heavy resistance from both the Home Guard and the civilian population. So they just killed everyone they found leaving no survivors," replied Beuwolf standing to his feet, he then looked around and then back to the corporal. "Have the troopers look around, let's see if we can get some intelligence on what kind of pirates we are facing."

The corporal nodded and looked around before walking off to search the bodies. Beowulf said nothing and knelt back down once more looking at the guardsman body that he was looking at beforehand. Then finding the Guardsman helmet he picked it up and examined it. He flipped it over to the back and looked at it. He was surprised as the video recording unit was still intact. So he popped out the chip and inserted it into his helmet. A message then popped up on his gauntlet asking if he wanted to play the video he clicked the play button and soon the video started to boot up.

The remainder of the pack continued to examine the room, searching the bullet-riddled remains for some evidence that could pinpoint which organization had attacked the station. A majority of the carcasses seemed to be located by the large blast door. As they searched the bodies to their dismay, they found that these bodies had been heavily modified with cybernetics. Other troopers also found cybernetically enhanced bodies further away from the door, it seemed that it took two armed fenvarians to take down one.

“Damn,” replied one of the troopers, as he pushed one of the cybernetic bodies with their boot, the crunch of brittle bone and the squish of rotten flesh responding. “Are these the pirates?” Another trooper walked up and shook their head.

“No shit, Sherlock.” responded the other trooper.

“I don't think so,” responded another trooper as they walked up. “There are several dracoians that have been cybernetically enhanced.” the trooper paused and looked at the other two. “However, it could be the pirates, we don't know exactly what happened during the fighting. I do not think there are pirate gangs with this level of cybernetic augmentation. For that, we would need to-”

“Head to the Home Guard Headquarters, at the center of the station,” replied Beuwolf as they turned off the video. He then walked over to the group of troopers, his face stoic behind the visor of his helmet. “There we should be able to find out what happened on this station, hopefully, it is still intact.”

“Alpha and Bravo packs, what is your status?” asked the staff sergeant that was aboard the destroyer, Beuwolf then tapped the side of his helmet, clicking on the radio that was there.

“This is alpha, we just finished sweeping our side of the room, a lot of bodies, no survivors.” he then paused “Sir, we also got a lot of cybernetic entities.”

“Cybernetic?”

“Yes sir, seems like whoever these pirates are they like their cybernetics.”

“Mm, what else have you found?”

“Nothing else sir, however, I would like to take a team and search the Home Guard Headquarters. Maybe we can find something about the raid.”

There was nothing for a few moments as the staff sergeant thought about what to do, after a few moments they spoke. “Alpha, you are clear to head out and find the Home Guard Headquarters. Find what you can and link back up with Bravo. Bravo, your mission is the same, find, secure and escort the survivors.”

“Copy that.” replied the Pack Sergeant of the Bravo pack over the radio.

“Copy” replied Beuwolf, with that he turned off his radio and then looked at the rest of his pack. “Alright let's head to the Home Guard HQ and see if we can find out what happened.” ordered the sergeant as he stepped over a body and headed towards the door, the pack of troopers following him out.

---

Enroute, Home Guard headquarters
Alpha Pack

---

Among the soft thuds of their boots, Alpha Pack slowly made their way down the hall. All of the troopers had their weapons shouldered and ready. The lights from their rifles and their headlamps illuminating the hallway as they moved down the hall. They found more bodies in the hallway, several of them missing body parts. Blood appeared to smear across the walls of the corridor. Mixed in the pools of blood and the remains happened to be faint twinkle of shell casings.

As the pack pushed through the bodies, they came across more Home Guard corpses. From how the corpses were orientated they seemed to be protecting the blast doors into the docking bay. Portable cover cluttered the hallway, with remains draped over them. Two heavy machine guns sat in the corridor, one of them had its barrel blown apart at the muzzle. While the second one had a guardsmen corpse draped over the back of the machine gun. Next to both heavy machine guns, there were several large boxes of ammunition. As well as an uncountable number of shell casings, that covered the floor around the machine guns. Dozens of bodies laid around the machine guns most of them were cybernetically-enhanced but, there were a few non-augmented organics that got caught in the crossfire.

"Sarge." started one of the troopers, as they pointed to the heavy machine guns. "Seems that the Home Guard brought out the heavy weapons, whatever happened it went to shit quick."

Beowulf looked around at the scene; this was one hell of a final stand for the Home Guard. Also, something he expected from any trooper or guardsman of the Empire. To die in a hail of gunfire while protecting the innocent, was the most heroic way to die. In the Thalduhmian code, there is not a mention of surrender, that does not mean that you can't surrender. Majority of the time it is favored that the troopers fallback to the next position until there is no other option and then fight to the last soldier.

The Home Guard, in a nutshell, was a national guard and police force. Their expertise was in enforcing law and order. Then in the event of a planetary invasion, they were to support the Army in any way they could. The idea was that the Home Guard could be seamlessly integrated and unintegrated with the Army or Navy to increase effectiveness during wartime. Meaning that the Home Guard uses the same equipment as the Armed Forces, making them a fearsome second line force.

"Yea," responded Beowulf as he gazed back at the trooper. "They died like good soldiers of the Empire, hail the victorious dead!"

"Hail the victorious dead!" responded the troopers in unison.

The pack of troopers then moved around the portable barricades and cover, being careful to step on the bodies or slip in blood. Coming to the intersection of the hallway, the pack came across another Home Guard position. This one had more heavy machine guns, three, in fact, one for each corridor. The troopers vaulted the portable cover and stepped into the position, where there were a few mangled bodies, chunks of flesh and gore. There were also several pocket marks of grenades; it seems that several of the defenders detonated explosives in an attempt to kill as many pirates as possible. The machine guns were in terrible conditions, one was outright unusable due to several fragmentations in the barrel and the body of the machine gun. The second machine gun was, for the most part, operational but was knocked clear off its mount. The third one was bent and obliterated as if someone picked it up and used it as a hammer.

Once they were past the post, the pack took a right and headed down the next corridor, slowly they made their way to the Home Guard headquarters. They passed by more posts and found more grisly sites of dead guardsmen and unknown combatants. After a good half hour, the pack arrived at the headquarters; which was in a complete state of disrepair and showed signs of excessive fighting. There were piles of bodies laid before the several heavy machine guns that guarded the front door bodies where slumped up against or on top of the portable cover. Pieces of armor and equipment littered the ground as well, thick pools of dried blood also covered the ground. On the walls of the compound had been riddled with bullet holes of various calibers, scorch marks of rockets and grenades also covered the walls. At the front gate of the compound, there sat two IFVs and two light recon vehicles. Then the sides of the military vehicles had been painted in blood and ping marks from the bullets. The windows of the LRVs had been blown out, one of them was a burnt-out wreck while the other one had the driver side two doors ripped off. The troopers found one of the doors lodged in a guardsman a few meters away.

"Damn...." stated the pack corporal, shining their tactical light onto one of the armored cars. When he did, the tactical light illuminated the interior. When he did, a guardsman slumped over at the wheel, with blood covering the driver's side.

Around the whole area, there were corpses of the cybernetically enhanced. Far more of them then there were guardsmen, which was a good sign as the guardsmen might have cleared out the pirates before the last trooper died. Highly unlikely; however, it was something to look forward to too. After walking past the LRVs and the IFVs; the pack then split off into two scout formations. Where they then searched the grounds of the compound, using their headlamps and tactical flashlights to peer into bunker slits and guard posts. In the search, they would find no survivors, just more bodies and broken equipment. After searching the grounds; the scout formations would then regroup back into the pack where they then moved on into the headquarters.

By the main entrance to the headquarters, there were two sets of guardpost. First, two bunker-like structures laid on both sides of the road, making them overlook the street and presenting them with a superior field of fire. Behind the bunker-like buildings, there was a small guardhouse that held a single guardsman. Their primary job was to check identification and check people into the headquarters. The high arches of the command center were mostly destroyed in the fighting, leaving debris covering the walkway blocking some of the pack's advance.

Beowolf took point and moved in a single file; the pack walked past the debris blocking the door and into the headquarters. Where they found more bodies, slowly the troopers fanned out and secured the area. As Beowulf moved forward; he then came to a stop, his ears picked up, causing him to raise his fist. The rest of the pack stopped and scanned the area, looking for something that caused the Pack Sergeant to stop. "Check your trackers." replied the Pack Sergeant. "I got movement."

In the silence, they heard the soft pitter-patter of movement which seemed to be a floor above. After a few moments, the pitter-patter stopped; Beowulf slowly lowered his fist and pointed with two fingers to the nearby stairwell. Five troopers broke off the pack and headed over; they then stacked up on the edge of the stairs. The leader leaned into the stairwell; shining their tactical light and headlamp up. The stairs appeared to be clear; the troopers then slowly moved up the stairs. Beowulf then turned to the remainder of the pack and pointed down the hallway that was to their left.

"This is Bravo Scout." whispered the scout leader. "We have made it to the second floor; we have no movement."

"Copy Bravo, continue to sweep and clear," replied Beowulf as he moved down the hallway.

"Copy that sir." the scout leader of Bravo, clicked off their radio and motioned for the troopers to move forward down the hallway. The corridor was barely lit, a few of the overhead lights still working. The few lights that did work; started to flash on and off, making the hallway even more creepy. Blood and gore covered the walls of the corridor; there were also several sets of doors on each side of the hall. The pack leader motioned towards the doors; two troopers moved forward one for the door on the right and the door on the left. Once they reached the doorways; they then peaked inside of them, the light from their headlamps and rifle mounted flashlight illuminating the room. There was nothing to be found in the room. So the troopers pulled back and regrouped with the rest of the scout. They repeated the process until they came across the final set of doors. Once again; there was the pitter-patter of feet. The corporal held up his fist and the rest of the scout paused; scanning the area as they waited for new orders.

The ears of the corporal flicked and rotated as they zeroed in on the sound of feet, slowly the corporal turned to the right side of the hall. He then pointed to the final right-side door. The troopers then flanked one side of the door. Once in position, one of the soldiers quietly moved towards the door. Then lifting their armored boot; they kicked in the door with a substantial hit. The door pivoted open, and the trooper started to move into the room. However, when the soldier began to enter the apartment, there happened to be several flashes of gunfire. Luckily the trooper's armored coat saved him, absorbing the energy of the bullet. Coming under fire; the soldier backed out of the room, hip firing his assault rifle back at the direction of the shots.

"Contact!" Yelled the corporal watching as the trooper slowly backed out of the room. The corporal then returned fired as well, firing around the corner, attempting to keep the hostile force suppressed. A trooper on the other side of the door pulled out a flashbang and then tossed it in. With a flash of light and a crack, the unit of troopers moved in. Quickly storming the place; a figure stood in the way of one of the soldiers, who smacked the pistol out of their hand, and then whack them with the stock of the rifle. Knocking the figure to the ground; the soldier then pointed the barrel of the gun into their face.

The figure laid still on the ground as the rest of the troopers swept the room, eventually securing it. The corporal looked around and grunted at the conditions of the room; they were filthy, as they showed that this person had been living here for just over a week. Next, he marched over to the trooper that had the figure pinned down. One they got closer, the corporal got a good look at the person; who resembled a human male, in his early twenties, the figure appeared to be wearing a home guard uniform. "Off of the guardsmen private, we have a survivor. Identification, Guardsmen." sternly ordered the corporal.

The trooper nodded and stepped off the guardsman; letting them stand to their feet. As they did so; the guardsman brushed off his uniform top and started at the corporal. "Private Lewis: Home Guard, 124th Legion, 32nd Precinct."

"Good; what do you have to report." asked the corporal

"Well, as far as I can tell no one else is alive. Most of the guardsmen went down in the fighting. Section three and four had some heavy fighting with smaller pockets of resistance spread out the station." he paused for a moment. "That was two days ago; I am not sure if anyone else survived."

The corporal nodded and sighed. "Thank you. Now; let us get back to the ship....they would want a debrief of what happened here."

Lewis nodded and soon gathered up some of the things he had: his rifle, some food, and his rucksack. Once he gathered up his stuff the fireteam and Lewis left the room when they ran into Beowulf and his fireteam. The two groups exchanged what happened; Beowulf nodded and followed along as the corporal explained the events that had transpired. After which Beowulf revealed to them that the Beta team had found survivors and brought them back to the destroyer. The group then made their way out of the headquarters, back the way they came from; seeing the same bodies and the same blood splatters. Once they made it back to the destroyer the troopers stood around while they waited for the beta pack.

Soon the beta pack returned; bring back a large group of survivors, around thirty or so people. Slowly; they funneled them through the troopers with the guardsman unofficially walking up and down looking for anything odd. One of the survivors caught the attention of the guardsmen, narrowing his eyes they looked over the person. They seemed a bit too twitchy; their arms spazzing too much as they walked. It seemed like they were trying to fight something but yet hide their actions. So the guardsmen walked over to the person so they could be pulled out of line; for further questioning. However; before they could ask anything, the figure's eyes went wide and they pulled out a gun shooting the guardsmen, dead. The troopers turned around and raised their rifles towards the person that just shot the guardsmen. The figure then ripped off their cloak to reveal their fully cybernetic body, wide-eyed and grinning they then yelled.

"THE GREAT ONE BRINGS US STRENGTH, ALL SHALL BASK IN HIS GLORY." they then leveled their pistol at one of the troopers but before they could pull the trigger; a burst rang out, then followed by blood and sparks as bullets hit the man's chest. They would double over for a few moments, before slowly getting back up. A wild grin tore across the man's face as he looked at the troopers, slowly raising his pistol once more. Confusion and concern ran across the troopers' faces before they then opened fire, this time dumping rounds into the body. Amidst the firefight, the survivors turned on the guardsmen. Running up and attempting to hit the troopers with anything they had on them. Few were successful in bring down one of the soldiers, only doing so by catching them off guard. In a manner of a few minutes, the troopers had killed all of the now hostile survivors. However, they had lost a few comrades in the fighting. Little time to rest they collected themselves before the captain of the ship radioed to them.

"Troopers! We got alot of incoming enemy contact.....prepare yourselves. Captain; I think it is best we got a message to the Senior Captain, informing him of what we have going on."

“Message was already sent... fight to the death, Beowulf.”

The troopers grinned and nodded; collecting all of the ammo they could before running into the second lobby where they took control of the heavy machine guns.

---

Scout Alpha
Imperial Trade station

---

Aboard the lead destroyer, Senior Captain Lutwig placed his hand on his chin and frowned, the news from one of the destroyers was troubling news. It seemed that one of the groups they rescued turned on them and now they had enemy presence in the area. Whoever were these pirates they were well organized and had been planning this for some time. Either way, the troopers will prevail over these hostile forces. ”Of course we were too late, the damn governor was giving us too many anti pirate patrol missions. Damn shit head.” thought Lutwig

“Sir, we are getting a message from Agile Victory.”

“Patch them through.”

“Aye, aye.”

There was a bit of static but then the face of a cat like creature appeared on the screen, the uniform was a bit bloodied but as well kept as it could be. The man looked calm and ready for something, like he knew this was his last fight. “This is Captain of the Agile Victory! Hostile forces have overran the troopers, I have hostile forces inside my ship and killing my crew.” There was a pause as the one of the bridge officers pointed towards the door. The captain then turned around, and pulled out his pistol, firing twice into the doorway. The transmission then was filled with the sounds of gunfire and screaming as both bridge crew and the hostile forces fought each other. With a look in his eye the Captain then tapped away on the keyboard, entering in a code. “As the final order of this ship, I am detonating the reactor of the ship.” he then paused and saluted the camera, before turning around and firing off to more shoots before a deranged and cybernetically enhanced fenvarian assaulted the captain. Stabbing him in the gut with a sword and disemboweling him. The captain dropped to his knees, gun clattering to the metallic floor. His assailant, looked at him and grinned widely, before raising the sword once more. With a swift slice, the deranged fenvarian decapitated the captain. Only moments later the feed cut in a flash of light.

Looking out the window of the ship, Lutwig watched in horror as the destroyer then went critical. Internal explosions ripped apart the ship before finally, the main reactor overloaded and went up in a huge ball of light. He slowly took a few steps away from the window and looked back towards communications. “Get me a line to the Enduring Hope!

“Sir! We lost contact with the Enduring Hope!” reported communications frantically.

Lutwig cursed under his breath before he turned to sensors, where the AMI unit looked at him and shook her head. Lutwig nodded and then turned to navigation. “Navigation! Get us out of here! I dont fucking care of you redline it, just get us out of here!”

“Aye aye!”

“SIR! WE HAVE CONTACT” exclaimed the AMI unit overlooking the sensor stations.

“Navigation!”

“Working on it Captain!”

Lutwig was about to say something when he saw a shadow on the floor, slowly he turned around. A large hulk of a ship slowly came into view. Slowly making its way out from behind the station; it looked like a converted freighter turned into a battleship, large guns bristled the sides of the ship. Extra armor had been welded to the sides of the ship, alongside what appeared to be small undertones of flesh like webbing. Slowly the guns of the warship turned to face the destroyer. In a state of panic Lutwig turned to navigation. “Get us out of here now!”

Without a word navigation nodded and kicked the ship into high speed. The destroyer turned to make a U turn with incredible speed and agility, before finally gunning off. The salvage battleship then also gunned forward, surprisingly quick. Its turrets still locked on the destroyer, the first row of turrets fired upon the destroyer. Most of the shells missed, however a few did land, hitting the destroyer in the back. But, the destroyer was more resilient than it looked. It’s kinetic shielding taking the brunt of the impact. The destroyer then returned fire, it’s two massive railgun turrets swinging around and open fired. Then it was soon followed by the smaller auto cannon turrets that lined the hull and then finally its own missile based weapons. The chase would turn into a running gun battle as the destroyer made for the edge of the system.

“Navigation! Do we have enough fuel to jump to the edge of the system?”

“Aye aye , sir, but then we would have barely enough to jump back to the core of the Empire!”

“We aren’t going to be jumping to the core, we can't risk this warship following us. Plot random jump coordinates into FR known space, prepare a distress beacon as well. However, do not activate it until we are clear of this system!”

“Yes sir!”

Lutwig then turned to the AI unit that was nearby “Grace, do you have the jump coordinates?”

“Yes sir.” clammy replied, the AI hologram that was sitting right behind him. “I had already begun to process a jump vector when you were talking to navigation. As well as formulated several hundred different jump coordinates to take us out of the system. Both have been sent to navigation, also both offer a 60% chance of survival at our current rate. However, this number is currently dwindling, the more we are taking fire.” the AI paused and placed a hand on her chin “It is now at 58.986%.”

Lutwig said nothing, turning to navigation. Who was already typing away at their console, grinning Lutwig then looked forward out of the bridge window. There was a ripple in space then followed by a flash of light. They would later appear on the edge of the system where their drive would power up, allowing them to jump to the randomized coordinates that Grace had uploaded. Before they could do that there was a clang followed by a shake on the bridge. Lutwig almost lost his footing before he finally caught onto a chair, slowly he pulled himself up and looked at Grace. “What was that?”

“An explosion in the barracks. Sergeant Atola is on the line.”

“Senior Captain! Some of the crew has gone insane! They have started attacking us! They keep yelling about how the Welded will bring the Gods of Machine and Flesh to the galaxy. Some of my troopers have even turned! Colroy! Check your corners! Keep them out of the armory!”

Lutwig frowned and looked back at the bridge crew. “Arm yourselves, just in case these traitors attempt to board the bridge. We shall fight with glory and honor, fight to remember the ones we lost and to know we made the Empire safer for now.”

The bridge crew nodded and the AMI units walked over to the bridge arms locker, opening it up and distributing the pistols, shotguns, and SMGs that were inside of the arms locker. Lutwig brandished his pistol and pulled back on the side. With a metal on metal click, a round had entered the chamber, then with a nod he sat down in his chair preparing just in case the traitors did manage to overcome the troopers.

[Kisia]

Khlango Jiion Complex
Geimadi, Senshushya-jo
Sutaibu Directorate, Kisian League

The weeks following the Manufactory’s expedition into battle could be considered a success. Ostensibly there to help support the Federal Banner in some eclectic way, so too did they go forth with their actual intent- the capturing of individuals that had been affected by the Welded presence. Such tasks were not easy, with little experience in dealing with them, many attempts to capture any individuals ended in failure. Worse yet, sometimes officers would act erratically, snapping and killing their men before defecting over to the enemy. Regardless, the expedition went on.

They would be rewarded for their efforts. Another skirmish had resulted in the capture of a few individuals that had been ‘infected’. While most of them died, one of them survived long enough to be taken back to Khlango Jiion to be completely disassembled and studied. The results forwarded directly to both the Commandants Militant and General Jāhoharu.

That was seven months ago.

It started with a vision at first. Jāhoharu saw things, images of glory, of commanding vast armies and fleets. Visions turned to dark, traitorous thoughts. Then, it spoke to him. A voice of some kind, he knew not what it was, but he found himself inexplicably drawn into it. It could hear him, and he could hear it in turn. It was then when thoughts turned to decisive action.

He moved slowly at first. Laying the seeds of dissent, formulating a loyal cadre of officers, all these things would be needed in the times ahead. Hardest of all to convince was Executor Prime Yutari, a stoic and veteran soldier of the Manufactory- but still ambitious and emotional, such were the downfalls of mortality. It began with talks and discussions of questionable intent, eventually leading up to his fateful asking her to commit to his side utterly.

She merely asked to be excused and left. Days went by, and he began to grow nervous. Had she faltered? Had she turned him over to the Commandants-Militant to be forcibly disassembled and mind-wiped? His questions were answered not soon afterwards. One day she simply came to him, swearing her eternal loyalty. Her eyes were sharp, decisive, focused. Jāhoharu had accepted her readily, and yet again she stood by his side as his loyal second.

It was on that same day that Jāhoharu and Yukari overthrew the Commandants-Militant, with the help of his fellow traitor-officers and men. The plan was swift, the commandants disassembled and smashed to pieces, the non-abiding priesthood slaughtered down to a man, leaving Jāhoharu in charge of Khlango Jiion. His fellow traitor officers in several other complexes in the western systems had also succeeded, driving out the anti-Welded individuals and placing them firmly into Jāhoharu’s hand. He moved rather quickly after that. Experimentation began in earnest, as he toyed with how best to create an army loyal to him alone. The cyborgs and other lesser soldiers could merely be slaved via command, but how could he control the various priest-engineers and others he relied on?

The solution was simple, merely introduce them to the Welded. The process was simple, almost brutally so. Jāhoharu merely cut open the heads of those to be ‘tested’, placing Welded-affected parts- alive and wriggling with some unknown energy, into their skulls, and allowing time to do the rest. Those who survived were of the proper stock. Those who became gibbering thralls could be cast into the general rank and file to find glory in death.

It was then that he began to think of himself of becoming akin to not a mere general, but a god. He would be the one to bring the light of the Welded to Kisia, he would be the one to put all others to the sword, he would be the one to be worshipped and praised. Such were the visions that it told him.

So, he began to build a great host, hidden under the carefully orchestrated assurances to the League Government that everything was still nominal.

One day, Kisia would be his to rule.

Anthoken, Jigonaku, Zaeihothu-jo
Sutaibu Directorate Border Systems

Hinthar Aiyoko tugged at the cuffs of his uniform, muttering silently about the fit. Aiyoko was part of the Yoika Fencibles, a private unit of sorts raised for the defense of the colony, as colonial governments rarely had the funds to arrange for formal armed units; thus the Fencibles were under the command of Cadre Captain Senbuko Yoika.

The Fencibles were responsible for general policing, firefighting, and other general duties in and around Anthoken, the only real major city of note on Jigonaku. The world was rich in untapped resources, but not people just yet. Across the entire world, there were only a handful of settlements, with their combined populations just barely reaching half a million. Each settlement basically ran itself as its own local polity, claiming vast swathes of yet-explored territory as their own.

Cadre Captain Yoika was not only the commander of that unit, he was also essentially funding the entire settlement of Anthoken via a rather liberal granting of funds from his own family’s coffers and a few companies heavily interested in setting up shop there. Thus, Yoika was effectively a governor commanding his own private army of sorts- at least until the government cared enough to decide to incorporate Jigonaku proper.

But until then, he was still just a single man on a world considered some backwater colony by his nominal government, and even with his funds, couldn’t really supply them with everything needed. Their clothes were ill-tailored, their weapons from stocks marked obsolete 40 years ago, their swords and bayonets spotted with rust. Despite it all though, they persisted onwards, united by the common hardship of frontier living and a camaraderie brought on by being men and women of their beloved regiment.

“About time Aiyoko!” Jeikuo Iido, his sergeant screamed at him as he rapidly fell into line with the rest of his squad. Aiyoko tried to offer an excuse, but Iido would have none of it.

“Just be happy I’m in a good mood today. You get to carry the repair equipment.” Iido stated, jerking his head to the side. There were several bags and satchels on the ground, sporting cables, wires, and all other sorts of gear. “Put your kit in the motor-carriage, you’ll walk behind us.”

Aiyoko, already late and seeing his squadmates jeering, decided not to make a bad situation worse. “Yes sir!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, before running over to the vehicle and rapidly stripping off his gear, and scrambling to the pile of heavy equipment. They at least had straps on them, making carrying them somewhat less tedious. Several minutes of fumbling later, he’d gotten all the packs on- at the expense of being unable to move. Aiyoko was only 15, and remarkably skinny for a Kisian his age- though it didn’t curb his ambitions of joining the Fencibles, as he was trying to impress someone- someone who was headed for him at that very moment.

“Give me a few of the bags. I’ll help you carry them.” spoke a feminine voice.

“I can’t, the ones on my arms prevent me from moving them around.” Aiyoko said under strained breath. The girl merely looked at him with a disapproving glare, then a sigh of almost-pity.

“I’ll take those then.” she said, before moving to untangle the rather impressive web of straps he’d managed to make in an attempt to carry at least 100 pounds of gear on him. Sergeant Iido looked over.

“Maisharu! You’re helping him?” He asked quizzically.

“With respect Sergeant, Armsman Aiyoko is unable to move due to his severe over-encumbrance. I’m merely performing my duties in assisting him.”

“You’ll be walking with him them?” Iido continued.

“If only to keep him from collapsing and dying.” Maisharu stated plainly, with Iido simply nodding.

Though he was in mild pain from carrying all the gear, he could only think warm thoughts. He had fancied Teisara Maisharu- it was his partial reason for even joining the Fencibles. The other was a genuine call to duty- but if he could win her heart, all the better. There was a festival in a few weeks, it was his intention to ask her to it tomorrow, once they’d finished their duties today. It took a few minutes to redistribute some of the gear, but he could finally move under his own weight again with minimal issue. Finally satisfied, Iido ordered one of the other soldiers to start the truck, getting in the passenger’s side, while the rest of them piled onto the open benches in the cargo bed; save Aiyoko and Maisharu who merely stood off to the side.

“We’ll go at a leisurely enough pace, there’s no particular rush.” Iido shouted over the engine to the two, before saying some inaudible command and the truck rolling off.

“Come on.” Maisharu said, giving Aiyoko a gentle shove as to give him a little momentum for starting off. Their destination was a bit of a jaunt, on foot it’d take about an hour-and-a-half, but with motorized transportation it could be cut down significantly. This was little comfort to Aiyoko however, who after 40 minutes of walking was beginning to feel the toll of all the equipment, starting to visibly strain again. Maisharu had no such issues- or if she did, she wasn’t showing them. The soldiers in the truck were busy talking amongst themselves or playing cards.

He figured breaking the monotony of the punishment march would help, pondering what he should ask.

“So. Are you going to the harvest festival this year?” He queried. Maisharu looked at him.

“Yes. It’s required of me, considering my family is of some significance around here and their daughter not showing up would be cause for social concern.” She replied, deadpan as ever.

“Do you not want to go?” He asked again, tenser this time.

“I never said that. In fact, I’ve even picked out a couple of dresses for the occasion; I just need to find a dance partner for the evening festivities and I’ll be ready, basically.” Surprisingly, her voice was a tad warmer this time around.

“Really? I figured you’d have been spoken for already.” Aiyoko said, a smirk appearing on his face.

“My father is... stern, to put it simply. He tends to scare off most people.” Maisharu replied. Just then, the truck stopped, and Iido stuck his head out the window again. He jerked his head to the back. “The magistrate wants that thing fixed as soon as possible, so I’ll have to cut your punishment detail short for now. Get on, we need to go all-out to make up for the time we lost.”

As he said that, one of the soldiers opened the back gate. Maisharu and Aiyoko scrambled on, and without a moment's hesitation, the truck took at near breakneck speed, racing towards its destination.

Communications Transceiver Array
Frontierlands, Jigonaku

While it was a mere colony, it was still important that the place receive news every now and again from the greater league. Thus, the world had a lone communications array. It was an older model, and to save power it only pulled and pushed information every few days unless explicitly forced to from the Anthoken itself. Occasionally, the transceiver broke, which required a trip out to repair it;
adding to the issue was that particular model needed to be in a ‘interference-free’ area, necessitating it’s positioning out in the dead of nowhere.

The truck rolled up to a locked gate. There was a rather high fence as well, with several signs indicating the risk of electrocution present. Iido stepped out and punched in a code, an affirmative beep and clicking noise being the result. Iido pulled the gate open, and motioned the truck inside the fenced off area.

The transceiver itself was a big and bulky satellite with various panels all about it, with a small shed with some computers and other equipment inside. Iido started issuing orders to the other soldiers, doling out equipment and tools as needed. He gave several hefty looking books to Aiyoko and a bulky portable terminal and some cables to Maisharu.

“You two can work on diagnosing the problem by checking the mainframe, it should make this go quicker. You two are the most tech-savvy in the squad, so I doubt it’ll be much issue for you.”

“With all due respect, this operating system is three times my age.” Maisharu said, taking a brief glance of the manuals that Aiyoko was carrying. “I will do my best however.” she said, snapping a salute. “As will I.” Aiyoko said, voice muffled by the stack of manuals and holy ritual books. Iido nodded, waving them off with a quick motion with his arm. The two went into the shed, the door having since been unlocked by Iido some time ago. Inside the shed was a large bulky mainframe computer, the hard plastic cream-colored shell color having faded long ago. There were a variety of assorted ports and screens, none of them activated at the moment. Maisharu plugged in the terminal to an appropriate port and turned it on, then wandered around the room looking for a few switches.

“Go through those manuals, we might be able to figure out why nothing’s started in here.” Maisharu ordered. Aiyoko had already started on that, poring over the operations manuals, ritual texts, and looking at problem flowcharts. The two worked together and after some trial-and-error, managed to get the system running at the very least. It immediately went into diagnostic mode, which gave the two some time to talk as the machine put itself through its paces, trying to figure out what was wrong with itself.

“You mentioned your father was stern. Why?” Aiyoko asked. Maisharu remained silent for a while, with only the slow humming of the mainframe to break the silence. Eventually, she spoke.

“Many reasons. Mostly he cares about the prestige issues if I went with someone below ‘our station’, as it were. Basically, he wants it to be the son of another industrial family on Jigonaku or someone from the Governor-General’s family.”

“Ah. I see.” Aiyoko said, some disappointment evident in his voice.

“That aside, I’m sure I could make him see reason if there were someone of reasonable status that had some promise. Maybe one of the sons of Anthoken’s bureaucrats, or someone in the Fencibles. There are other options that I can make him see. He still cares for me in his own roundabout way.” Maisharu went on. Just then, the portable terminal beeped, calling her off while Aiyoko processed the statement.

“Was that some sort of invitation?” He mused, mulling the statement over. He was just an Armsman, but when he was older his experience would let him fast-track to becoming an officer in a more prestigious regiment. Surely that could count as reasonable status…

He was awakened from his thoughts to the exchange of gunfire, and the shouts of his fellow soldiers outside. One of his comrades ran inside.

“There’s movement on the forest’s edge! Iido wants to know if the system is up!” He shouted, nervously looking over his shoulder. There was a shrill cry as one of their own went down, a neat hole placed between his eyes.

“It’s close! I just need a few more minutes and I can override the system and send an alarm broadcast back to Sutaibu proper! Tell him we’re doing our best!” Maisharu replied hastily.

“Who are we being attacked by? The natives don’t have access to guns!” Aiyoko shouted out a window, picking up his revolver-carbine.

“Spike rifles! Manufactory!” someone replied. A sudden chill came over everyone.

“What in Heaven’s name are they doing? We’re on their side, damn their ancestors!” the other soldier replied. “Nevermind it, we have to stand and fight. I’ll tell Iido what you said.” he shut the door and ran off quickly, presumably back to Iido.

“I’ll stay here and guard you. There’s no hope if something happens to you.” Aiyoko stated, opening one of the windows carefully and peering over. Just as the other soldier said, he could see the fluttering burnt-orange and white robes of one of the various Temple-Complexes. He knew not which one, but only that those were indeed Manufactory soldiers from somewhere. He took aim at an enemy trying to climb over the non-electrified fence, aiming a shot the cyborgs fleshy bits. It tumbled over and fell down, inert.

Another well placed shot went through the electronic eye of yet another cyborg, it fell over screeching in a high-pitched tone then ceased broadcasting. A few stray shots flew his way, but they didn’t penetrate the thick wall of the shed. The two both noticed with concern that the sound of fire coming from their fellows was growing quieter, the occasional scream or heavy-sounding thud an indication their fallen comrades .The skirmish had only ran for a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

Aiyoko heard the unmistakable sound of a chainsword, and he looked to see a heavy cyborg starting to cut through the fence, it’s serrated blades cutting through the weak fence like a hot knife through butter.

“We need to get out of here, before they swarm us! Is that damned thing up yet?!” Aiyoko shouted, ejecting the spent cartridges onto the floor. He fumbled with his ammo pouch as he started loading several more fresh rounds in.

“Shut up! I’ve almost got it! There!” She replied. Hastily typing in one last command, the laptop emitted a shrill cry and then went dead. “Let’s go!” She shouted, grabbing her rifle and flinging the door open. The two bolted past the corpses of their squadmates, making their way to Iido, holding the line by his lonesome with a machine gun.

“I sent a Priority Zero transmission off to the capital world, then forcibly locked and shut down the transceiver. They’ll get it and send us help soon. I know this means we can’t respond back, but we can’t risk...whoever this is getting access to the greater League CommNet.” Maisharu reported to Iido, who simply nodded.

“I’m ordering you two to leave. If all of us try to break off they’ll just cut us down. Someone needs to keep up suppressive fire.” He said cooly. “The truck key is on my belt. It’s imperative you two get back to Anthoken and warn the Governor-General. Now go.”

Maisharu and Aiyoko hesitated. When he sensed that neither of them had taken the key off his belt, he became more forceful. “Carry out the order! It is a soldiers fate to die, and now my time has come! Do not shame me by failing to adhere to my final command! Leave!” Iido shouted, voice nearly breaking. Without thinking, Aiyoko grabbed the key with his free hand, pulled Maisharu with the other and made a play for the truck. A few stray shots were aimed at them, but Iido maintained fire regardless, and no harm came to them. They started the truck and fled, leaving the Sergeant alone with the remaining throng of Manufactory soldiery.

His gun started to make a rapid clicking sound as it he expended the last of his ammo. Few were left, save the heavy command cyborg with a chainsword arm and some lightly armed lesser cyborgs. He sighed as he looked at his final act of defiance. In the desperate defense, he’d bundled several grenades together on a belt, a thin cord of wire connecting all the firing pins together. A final expression of militant anger against the enemy. He presumed that if he took out that command cyborg, the rest would probably shut down. It had sustained some damage in the battle, and one more good strike should finish it. He would deliver that strike.

Iido hummed a solemn death tune to himself as he tied the suicide belt around his waist, grabbing the firing pin in one hand. From the moment he pulled it, he presumed he had about five seconds to attach himself to the enemy commander. Picking up his pistol, he fired the last bullet and threw the gun to the ground, imitating his suicide. Quickly thereafter, he peered out a bullet hole in his makeshift barricade. The cyborgs were not very smart, as they’d accepted the gunshot as his apparent suicide, and were now slowly spreading out across the area, the commander lazily making his way over. “...though if I die today, in the name of Kisia; it shall not be a regret.” he thought silently, his mind going blank except for his one goal, to kill that singular cyborg. It lumbered into range.

He pulled the pin. Screaming, he threw himself over the top of the barricade and ran as hard as he could, tackling the command cyborg. Not a moment later, the grenades went off all at once. Iido felt a moment of excruciating pain, and then nothingness, his body having been blasted into bloody pieces, just like the cyborg he took with him. Though he did not see it, the remaining cyborgs fell over, having lost their command signal and having no backups of their own. Thus, the transceiver was still safe.

In the end, they held the line.

Anthoken

The news that a rogue Manufactory element was invading the world was taken first as a terrible joke. The squad had to be pulling some sort of morbid stunt, despite the blood, their panicked visages mere acts. Maisharu’s report of sending a Priority Zero communication to the Directorate’s capital was a lie; there was no way the Manufactory could actually do something so reprehensible, they believed. It was when frantic radio communications from distant mining towns and the unmistakable sound of gunshots drew ever closer to the city, decisions were made and taken.

Defending all of Anthoken was impossible, as was evacuating everybody. There simply wasn’t enough time, and if elements of the Manufactory truly had gone traitor, then it was only a matter of time before their fleets came and decimated the rest of the colony anyways. Anthoken was the only place with a barebones spaceport and enough freighters and cargo-containers to make some sort of haphazard evacuation possible. The rest of Jigonaku would have to fend for themselves. There just wasn’t enough men, enough materials, enough spare shuttlecraft and crates to get them. So long as one person from Jigonaku survived, the legacy of the world would live on.

Governor-General Yoika ordered an immediate evacuation of the city. Civilians, the youth especially, were prioritized as evacuees; including all of the youth members of the Fencibles. Maisharu and Aiyoko, being the only two to have survived the initial encounter, were thus pressed into service getting the evacuation going, also being listed as evacuees. The adult members of the Fencibles, non-married men and women, and those who simply opted to stay behind were all drafted into service preparing defenses, making kill-zones, laying booby-traps, alongside preparing the spaceport for a last ditch defense.

The evacuation methods were hasty and risky. Children and teens were crammed into as many open dropships and cargo-holds as possible, before sealing their doors. Others were loaded into vacant cargo crates and packed into large cargo barges akin to sardines, and hastily taking off into orbit headed for the nearest major world. It was the best they could do.

The evacuation had only been going for a little while when the renewed Manufactory advance fell upon the city like a crashing tidal wave. Legions of traitor soldiery marched upon the capital, proclaiming that they would be the ‘Salvation of the New Order’, and that all those who defied the will of ‘the Prophet’ would soon come to learn only suffering. None of the defenders truly understood what they meant, but their response was clear enough. A mortar shell took out one of the more elegantly robed officers of the rebel force, followed up by several more, thus the battle began in earnest.

The defense held on as best they could, falling back in good order as they had planned, but it was starting to fall apart. The draftees started to cut and run, usually either shot in the back by the enemy or shot by one of the slowly dwindling fencible officers trying to maintain order. By the time the fighting had been driven back to the last few blocks surrounding the spaceport. There were only a few ships left, their engines roaring, some hovering precipitously off the ground, all on orders to take off as soon as the first enemy soldiers breached what little defense was left. Aiyoko and Maisharu were leading one last group of civilians to safety when out of the corner of his eye, he saw the familiar burnt orange of the Manufactory troops starting to fight their way into the area proper.

“Go! Go! We’re almost there! If we stop now we’re all going to be stranded here!” He shouted to the exhausted civilians, pointing to a nearby dropship, it’s doors half-closed, only waiting for their last little throng of evacuees. As they boarded, Maisharu noticed a little child, slumped on the ground, the fright of the world around them too much to bear. Without so much as a word of warning, she jumped back off, making an all-out dash for the child, much to Aiyoko’s chargin.

“The kid! I have to save them!” She screamed as loud as she could back to him. Aiyoko ran through a list of options. He could see the defense was failing. They had at best three minutes before this entire area was overrun. Running over to a radio that was connected to the cockpit, he picked it up. “Three minutes! If we’re not back in three minutes, take off! No exceptions!” he barked, before slamming it back down and hopping off the dropship one last time.

Maisharu had made it to the kid, and was shaking them vehemently. A stray bullet had caught the child while they were running away, which killed them instantly. She was in a state of shock however, refusing to let go of the child, simply slouched there, pleading for the child to awaken. Aiyoko ran over to her, grabbing her and shaking her. “They’re dead! There’s nothing we can do, and it’ll do you no good to die here either! Let’s go!” Aiyoko shouted, trying to tug her off the child. She offered surprisingly little resistance, instead she pushed him over. The next few moments seemed an eternity to him.

A heavy blade caught Maisharu, the slight hiss-crackle of it’s powered field emanating from it. It sliced through her like a hot knife through butter, splitting her down the middle in a shower of blood, bone, and gore. He remembered screaming, his fur being all matted and sticky from being covered in her blood and bits of bone. He didn’t remember where he got the gun from, but the vivid images of him unloading the rest of the magazine into the enemy’s chest, and as he bashed their skull in until it cracked as he shouted and yelled stuck with him. He passed out afterwards, only seeing the sight of some boots rushing towards him.

---

Several days later
Medical Bay
Seido Kangu

Aiyoko awoke on a thinly padded mattress in a fresh change of clothes. His head hurt, and he could taste blood in his mouth. Looking at his arm, he saw there was an IV drip going into it, and he was hooked up to a few machines. His wrists and feet were bound in restraints as well. An older Kisian in medical gear looked up at him, giving a warm smile.

“Welcome back to the living. We weren’t entirely sure you’d survived.” The doctor spoke. “After what you saw- that terrible incident, you went into an absolute frenzy. You killed a fair few of those bastards, actually. Some brave men decided it wasn’t your destiny to die there, and lept out to save you as well. You’re aboard the Seido Kangu, a cargo barge, and we’re headed for Togo, so we can get a warning out to the military proper.”

Aiyoko merely nodded, his eyes drifting to the restraints. The doctor sighed. “My apologies. When they brought you aboard, you were still maniac and screaming. We had to sedate you to actually calm you down. Even then, I’m sure you saw things in those lucid dreams, as you still kept screaming. The restraints were so you didn’t hurt yourself while you recovered.” He coughed, and the doctor grabbed a glass of water and let him drink slowly from it. Coughing once more, he cleared his throat. “You have my thanks. If you know where those men are, please give them my most sincere thanks as well.” Aiyoko spoke, his voice hoarse. He paused for a moment, before looking back at the doctor.

“What about Teisara- the girl?” He asked. The doctor shook his head again.

“What you saw, it happened. She was cut clean through. It was but a brief moment of agony, though she has surely been rewarded in Heaven.” The doctor produced a ring. It was a relatively intricate silver band, with a blue gem set in the center of it. It too had been cleaned and polished.

“One of the men grabbed it. They figured you’d want a token to remember her by.” the doctor said, dropping it in Aiyoko’s hand. He grabbed it tightly, veins showing in his arm from how hard he was gripping the ring. A monitor chimed a warning tone.

“Easy. Easy. I don’t want to have to put you under again. Heaven knows those screams will stay with me until the end of time.” The doctor said, putting a hand on Aiyoko. He paused, then released his death-like grip on the ring, the monitor making a happy chirp.

“I’ll undo your restraints, but you’ll be here for another day or two. You’re still a tad weak and I need to make sure you’re still ...all there, as it were. You’re a strong lad though, you’ve made it this far.” The doctor said confidently, moving to undo Aiyoko’s restraints.

“One last question.” Aiyoko started. The doctor made an inquisitive grunt, as he continued working on undoing his restraints, and checking the monitors. “How many got away? Who died? Do we know?”

The doctor made a particularly heavy sigh. “Of the half-a-million people on Jigonaku, only about two-thousand made it off alive. Anthoken was the only major settlement that any modicum of time to respond to that attack, and even then it was hasty at best. The rest of those scattered mining settlements and other towns didn’t have a chance. Governor-General Yoika, your commander as well, died leading the defense. I hear it was a noble death.”

“Ah. I see.” Aiyoko replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Besides a few other people I knew by name, I know not of the scope of the casualties. Some preliminary reports will probably be out in a few days once all the evacuated citizens report back in and they start making tallies against official registers.”

“Makes sense.” Aiyoko said, who had since sat up slowly now that his restraints were gone. The doctor had gone and got a bottle of alcohol from a cabinet, and produced a few glasses as well. He poured a bit of the stuff into the two glasses, and handed one to him.

“Though, enough sorrow for now. Let us enjoy the fact we’re still alive, yes?

“Aye. That we are.” Aiyoko replied, before downing the alcohol all at once. It burned his throat, but it was a good pain. He was still alive, and that was all that mattered right now. The doctor drank his glass as well, setting it down on a counter with a heavy thud.

“Feel free to have some more. They’re passing out tons of the stuff down below, I’m sure we won’t run dry before we hit civilization again.” He said, turning to leave. “I need to go check on a few others, but since you were the most critical out of everyone here, I’m today will be a good day.”

Aiyoko gave a weak smile as he simply grabbed the bottle and downed a bit more of the alcohol, the doctor giving a chuckle and leaving, shutting the door behind him.

“I’m alive...which means I can still get my vengeance on those bastards.” Aiyoko thought to himself as he downed the bottle. “Yes...that I can...and I will.”

[Auman]

Megaslava, Gamma Quadrant, Milky Way Galaxy

The field was dank, muddy, grey and lined with body bags. Doctors Manderly and Peloton were strolling down rows of the black sacks, speaking in hushed tones out of respect for the dead. These were the remains of the 87th Mechanized Infantry Brigade, killed in action during a Tiger operation just on the other side of a nameless river that snaked through the hilly plains of a bomb blasted region of this world. Aumanii soldiers stood a grim vigil over their fallen brothers as halftracks splashed down a waterlogged trail to the west of them. Unlit cigarettes were floating in puddles near the corpses, Peloton noticed this but was afraid to ask why there were so many. He got his answer when a two ton truck came to a halt nearby and the Magaslavan infantrymen in the beds stripped some smokes from their packs, tossing them to the dead as a sign of respect. The Aumanii guards nodded graciously, understanding the intent of it... The men died for Megaslava, the least they could do is spare them a smoke.

"I bet you didn't know this, Dr. Peloton, but the people of this world are Aumanii like you and me. Surely, their path was wayward and they were punished for taking up arms against their brothers... But brothers they are and so we are here." Whispered Manderly, crouching down over a black bag and grasping for the zipper. Peloton seized Manderly by the wrist, his eyes bulging and his mouth agape. He hadn't the stomach to see what was inside.

"Peloton... Doctor... I must show you. It is very important. As a man of science you can appreciate that we must do unsavory things in the pursuit of knowledge."

"Can't you just explain it to me, Manderly?" Peloton was almost pleading with him.

Manderly fixed Peloton's gaze with his own and sympathized with the man for a moment before saying "No." He unzipped the body bag and inside lay the irradiated remains of a fighting man, flesh melted by the flash of an atomic explosion. Peloton gagged and held a handkerchief to his mouth, briefly before vomiting.

"The stench is quite awful, isn't it?" The rumbling of combat vehicles nearly drowned Manderly out. A soldier walked up to the men, his boots splashing in the muck and grabbed Manderly by the collar, heaving him clean off the ground with just one hand.

Manderly stared into the flashing orange optics of the soldier's mask, struggling to breathe as his shirt was catching just under his Adam's apple. Peloton was afraid the soldier would kill them both, right there, with his bare hands. Manderly grabbed the soldier's fist and squeezed, just below the third knuckle of his thumb as hard as he could. The soldier growled, his voice distorted by the rebreather.

"Let me go, Sergeant Major..." Manderly gasped, "I am only doing my duty."

The soldier snarled and then lowered the scientist to his feet, before saying "You get five minutes for your creep show, Captain-Doctor. Any longer and I throw you both under the next tank that comes by."

Manderly fixed the Sergeant Major with a cold glare.

"Captain-Doctor, sir!"

"Absolutely not." Spat the soldier.

Manderly stared unblinking for a good, long, moment and said "Fair enough. Carry on, Sergeant Major." The soldier stepped back a few paces and crossed his arms, allowing the doctors to get back to work.

Peloton was amazed, as much as he didn't like to admit it, by Manderly's bravery. He had always taken the man for a coward. This wasn't so, as it turned out.

"As you can see, Dr. Peloton," Manderly crouched once again and retrieved the dead soldiers right arm from inside the bag, showing off a gruesome stump where the unfortunate's hand used to be, "The Weld is incredibly insidious. Do you remember our conversation from earlier about infection vectors for this particular pathogen?"

"Yes, I do... Quite well, in fact, because it seemed so unbelievable at the time. The idea of a cybernetic connection being made between a gold filling and living tissue is still absurd." Remarked Dr. Peloton.

"It is truly absurd indeed... So much so that, despite forewarning of the phenomenon by our allies, the military completely missed the significance. Entirely. Allowing a brigade of elite soldiers to enter into combat with RFID devices still embedded in the palms of their right hand. A small mistake with devastating consequences, for when the 87th approached enemy lines, they were subverted, controlled and dominated by the Weld. Simple RFID devices, tiny chips implanted just under the third knuckle of their thumbs," Peloton and Manderly glanced toward the Sergeant Major, whose blood was pooling through his glove now, a result of the struggle, "To manage payroll."

Manderly zipped up the bag.

"These creatures, abominations being challenged by the great powers of this galaxy from end to end, defeated us due to an oversight. They took control of a soldier's hand, that which belonged to a young Lieutenant named Khazan and detonated a tactical nuclear weapon in their midst. Moments before the launch and attack that would have liberated this valley and put it back into the hands of the sons and daughters of Auman, our nation."

"And what of these payroll chips, Captain-Doctor, what has been done about those?"

"They have been removed from every single soldier, trooper, pilot and potato peeler in the entire galaxy. Ironic, that an entire system designed to make administration and logistics simpler had the effect of nearly costing us the Sphere. Something so small and unobtrusive. Something so deadly."

[Alexzonya]

Leos 2

The destroyers of the Leosian skirmishing wing stagger under a withering barrage of fire from their Welded counterparts even as they fire their remaining weapons in a last-ditch attempt to inflict damage on the forces besieging their homeworld; 3 of the 7 go to pieces, while another pair fall out of the formation and fire secondary maneuver thrusters to move their course out of the engagement. For their efforts, two of the enemy shatter, and a third, previously an Arcadian cruiserweight before its subversion, rolls awkwardly in space, having lost power and most of its primary engines. One survivor passes through the enemy wall most unscathed; the last takes a pair of subversion torpedoes amidships. She stays in formation with her sister for a moment, as the surviving Leosian skirmishers from the formation drop back towards the relative safety of an Alexzonyan formation imposing order in their general vicinity, among the chaos.

Then her course wavers, and she starts to turn; alas for the Welded, the destroyer had gotten too close, and a series of shots from a nearby Alexzonya heavy destroyer blows off first her maneuvering thrusters with pinpoint laser fire, and then, once she’s unable to maneuver, puts a slug precisely into her rear compartment, igniting her fusion fuel into a brief atomic fireball. The Welded were getting better and better at quickly seizing control of allied ships struck with the damned subversion torpedoes, and there was little choice but to destroy them immediately lest they join the NEGL’s foes.

If the allied combatants had all been Alexzonyan, the Battle for Leos would be the largest naval engagement in GRA’s NS-1 history; as it was, the majority of the ships were elements of Northeast Gamma League’s Interstellar Auxiliary; a collection of Byzantine, Arcadian, Leosian, and Kinsari ships, with Thallians and Rengarians joining the aforementioned in the Surface Auxiliary fighting desperately to hold the remaining “blue zones” on the blue and green marble whose orbitals the Welded held in a deathgrip. Alexzonyan warships and Marines joined their allies in the fight, though of the multinational cohort it was the Alexzonyans who had the most to fear and had to fight with the most caution; the Welded, of course, preyed on those with cybernetic augments, and the entirety of Starfleet was so vulnerable.

Nearly 13,000 Welded vessels comprised the Crusade Fleet in the Leos system at the beginning; the NEGL and Alexzonya had mustered 9,000. A series of subdivisional fights and constant skirmishing attrited both sides, but the Welded could grow their numbers with their subversion powers; the NEGL could only rely on their collective military-industrial complexes and hope that no more shoes dropped.

The situation on the ground on Leos was becoming untenable. It was critical to the NEGL that the world be held, even if all that remained was a blasted hulk. Naomi had been lost, and the promise of the League had been that no more nations in Northeast Gamma would be eaten by the Welded menace. The Alexzonyans, and the League, planned to keep their promise, no matter the cost. And the cost had been great; nearly 1,500 allied warships had been destroyed despite the dearth of decisive engagements; on the ground, more than half of the NEGL, Leosian, and Alexzonyan military defenders were gone, killed or subverted into twisted parodies of their prior life by this nefarious magic.

“Look to my coming on the first light of the fifth day, at dawn look to the east,” mutters one of the Alexzonyan captains, reviewing her latest intelligence overview. “Operation Gandalf” had been marked as approved, and it was a doozy. Four thousand Numerigan warships, and millions of their personnel, were coming to join the fight. The Alexzonyans were contributing half their numbers, sending also the ARS Titan, the first Titan-class Super Monitor, with massive turreted guns that would be a spinal on any other Alexzonyan vessel, to help break the siege. So too were the Myrr; the least well-understood members of the NEGL, an empire of synthetic organisms won to the Alexzonyans’ cause with soft promises and veiled threats, the Myrr had been viewed with hostility and suspicion by most of the other League members, and even by many with their Alexzonyan government. However, the situation over Leos grew desperate, and the Myrrian Navy was, as of yet, entirely uncommitted. Nearly 2,000 warships were to be committed, together with the others finally giving the League the numerical advantage they might need to turn the tide on Leos. They just had to hold until then. The captain steadies herself as the ship begins to juke; Welded ships were moving towards them. 8 minutes to contact. “Jack in!” she orders, and she reaches for the brainjack on the back of her command chair. It was the last thing she would ever say aloud.

[Alexzonya]

Leos 2.1

“Son of a BITCH!” shouts Lieutenant Rouce, the sound mostly absorbed by his AEGIS helmet, as fragments of dirt, rock, and metal fly about, kicked up by the constant barrage of fire the Welded forces were putting into his unit’s positions. Rouce and Corporal Elliot, the second man in the Bruiser gun carriage, had miraculously managed to book it clear of the Welded advance, with a good bit of stealth, a few well-placed coilgun slugs, and a hell of a lot of luck. The pair had made it back to the High Temple, onto an evac transport, and clear of the ruins of the Leosian Holy City.

He thought he was safe then, but as it happened he, the Corporal, and the assorted other soldiers of varying nationalities in the transport had been redeployed rather than exfiltrated; it wasn’t until later he learned that orbit had been lost entirely. He had been on two other transports since then; one an Alexzonyan Osprey, the other some rickety, ancient Leosian aeroplane presumably dragged out of mothballs for the war, and both shuttling forces from one collapsing blue zone to another in a desperate attempt to keep allied forces fighting.

He wasn’t even sure where on the planet he was now, or why; only that he and Elliot and a few dozen others (none Alexzonyian) had been tasked to holding this particular corner of the world. He had gotten a crash-reminder in the basics of infantry warfare, leading his ad-hoc overstrength platoon as the only commissioned officer. Ammunition was scarce; fortunately, the Moland carbine lived up to its promise of feeding and firing anything ferrous that would fit into the chamber and through the bore; the prior day, one of his squads had taken out a Welded scout team with masonry nails fed into the chambers single-shot. 3 Twisted gone, at a loss of only 2 of their own. A small victory, but a victory.

Fortunately, they had been resupplied since, though his small arms ammunition reserves remained quite depleted and his ordnance even moreso. Their 60mm mortar had run dry two days ago; his Shortbow launcher had taken an unlucky shot from an enemy energy weapon and lost its targeting system, though its remaining 2 missiles could be dumbfired with the hope that the sensor in the warhead would acquire the right target after launch; the pair of M20s was out of ammunition entirely. There were still plenty of 40mm grenades to spare, fortunately, though most were anti-tank shaped fusion charges; the anti-personnel charges had been long-since expended. He had a 25mm Autocannon still emplaced in the immobile remains of a W7 Torusumi, though no armor-piercing shells; he had been promised a Kodiak detachment, but the vehicles had never arrived. He did have a pair of Leosian vehicles, strange open-topped pseudo-jeeps with three tracks and, irritatingly, no weapon mounts; he had improvised a treble-mount of Molands in a linked cluster at the front of each, as the Aumanii carbines seemed to be the only weapons in abundance.

The Leosian unit to the right flank was marginally more mobile, with 5 working jeeps,and ordnance for their three towed 114mm anti-tank guns; alas that the obsolete chemical-fired shells tended to bounce harmlessly off the sides of Welded armored vehicles, and Elliot had led a detachment a few hours before to help them repulse an armored advance; an effort that left a dozen Welded vehicles blasted on the field but nearly the entire Leosian company wiped out and no officers left. Elliot had remained there, to rally the survivors; meanwhile, Rouce’s turn had come, as the Twisted advanced on his position methodically, concentrating fire on each trench or emplacement in turn, for a moment, before shifting. In contrast, his team’s return fire was spotty; less suppressive, and more isolated aimed shots intended to conserve their remaining ammunition. Even among the chaos, the appearance of two bright fireballs in the sky did not escape him; Welded atmospheric attack craft, who had presumably just learned the hard way that the village 7 klicks behind his position had an anti-aircraft battery; even rarer, that battery still had intermediate-range missiles in inventory, though now two fewer than they did before.

With the air threat gone for the moment, the largest concern was a trio of enemy vehicles; one hovering, a bastardization of an Alexzonyan H6 Fencer, and two tracked and of a totally alien design. The Fencer knockoff had some absurd energy weapon on top that had already vaporized one of his fire position entirely; the two others had casemated coil guns that barked with authority, though not precision, and blasted chunks of our people, machines, and the countryside. His two track pseudojeeps, his only remaining mobile vehicles, had drawn their fire at first, but one was now a flaming wreck and the other had withdrawn to cover in the rear, its improvised armament jammed.

He tapped his communicator. “On my mark. Fox 6, fire our remaining Shortbows! Suppress that armor, hit it if you can. Fox 4, on your feet, load AP 40s. Fox 2, Fox 5, suppression fire, cover their advance. Fox 1, with me, flanking… Mark!”

His personnel scrambled to execute his orders; from a surviving emplacement, the first of 3 Shortbow rockets discharges into the air in a clumsy arc; what target the missile acquired he had no idea, but it’s rocket fired and it shot off at a blistering pace in a ballistic arc up and then well past the enemy vehicles, exploding with a decisive boom in the woods more than a kilometer away. At the same time, Fox 4, a group of mostly Kinsari, popped out of their trench and charged, 40mm launchers in hand. 3 of the 8 were shot down immediately; then the other two positions opened up. Fox 2, another infantry section, this time of Leosians, began firing; their suppression was careful volley after volley with rote mechanical precision from hours of practice, hitting every second or so in rough unison. Fox 5, his 25mm cannon; the half-emplaced remains of the W7 come to life with the bark of the Alexzonyan-designed autocannon, targeting the enemy’s infantry support; support personnel, prone nearby, open up with short staccato bursts from their carbines.

The Welded force seems for a moment taken aback, and wavers as one at the renewed fire. Rouce gestures to his own command squad, Fox 1, and jumps to his feet. He books to towards the left flank even as his forces continue their push. Another pair of rabbits die, and Fox 4 breaks short of their target, the survivors scattering or throwing themselves flat on the ground to embrace their fate. The energy weapon welded awkwardly on the Welded Fencer pivots slowly, ominously, and then with an ear-splitting zap and a pulse that polarizes the air for hundreds of meters around, his entrenched W7 and its autocannon is gone, so much dust and wreckage. The supporting infantry displace and advance, still firing, to the position formerly held by Fox 4, their Byzantine second-in-command leading the remnants of the squad after his Arcadian superior officer had died inside the gun position.

On the left flank, Rouce leads his team while he observes, as impassively as he could, the carnage the Welded advance was wrecking on his forces. Disorganized and desperate as they were, they had no right to be inflicting disproportionate casualties on the superior Welded forces, but they were; their implacable foe seemed to know that their cannon fodder were comparatively innumerable even as the allied forces dwindled in strength. Fox 1 slunk along the flank, until they were spotted by a Welded fireteam; suddenly, shots and beams scythed through their vicinity; an Arcadian went down, and the rest dived for cover as the barrage came in. The radio grew staticky, and this close, Rouce felt a familiar itching sensation in the back of his head. He knew that feeling; he was too close to the enemy, and if he didn’t disengage soon, he’d end up as one of them. The energy weapon fires again, and dirt flies as it blasts a hole in the ground. He steels himself, and pulls his grenade launcher. “Fox 1, on me! Fix bayonets if you’ve got ‘em” He pops out of cover, and takes two steps forward before he staggers, a bolt deflecting off of his AEGIS armor’s shield, which restarts its charging cycle. He continues forward as the fire intensifies; he roughly aligns his 40mm launcher and fires; the grenade is swatted by the Fencer’s active defense, but someone else on his squad had the same idea, and a glancing blast on the lower left side knocks out its turbine; it slides to the ground. Everyone is firing now; Rouce fires from the hip as he advances, until the mechanism on the Moland stops, the magazine empty. As he flips open his 40mm launcher to load another shell, he feels a punch to his lower torso, then too more to his chest. Warnings flash on his HUD, about automatic medical systems. Everything itches. Everything’s cold. As the lettering starts to change in his mind, to read something horrific, death claims him, and the Welded don’t.

With Rouce’s death, Fox 1 scatters, the flanking action collapses. None of them make it back to the ragged defensive line; killed, or captured. The Byzantine corporal from Fox 5 takes command. As the enemy concentrates their fire back on the Leosian riflemen in Fox 2, finally silencing their volleying in a hail of suppression.

“Is Fox Actual to Overlord, come in, over.”
“Fox, this is Overlord, go ahead.”
“Overlord, we cannot hold this position. Say again, cannot hold. Lieutenant Rouce is dead, I’ve only got three partial maneuver elements left and both are damaged…” There’s a blast as, belatedly, the second Shortbow missile launches. This one picks up a valid target, and smashes the front end of one of the Welded assault guns, which explodes in a glorious blue fireball. “... we’re inflicting casualties but one more good push and they’ll overrun us.”
“Acknowledge Fox. No reinforcements are available in your AO. Disengage and fallback to join up with the, uh. Air defense battery, in the village to your rear, you know where I mean?” It didn’t help anyone that names on Leos so rarely translated well.
“Affirmative, Overlord. Displacing.” He cuts the communication, and taps his communicator again. “Alright, Fox Platoon, we’re in the shit now! Fox 6, Fox 5, disengage now. Fox 2, discharge your remaining ammunition as cover and then displace.” The disciplined Leosians could be trusted to hold out without breaking.

He felt a tinge of regret as his element and Fox 6 displaced under the cover of Fox 2’s resumed rifle fire, though they paid for it; their emplacement took fire from the surviving enemy assault gun and the bulk of their infantry, and none of the soldiery would make it back to the surviving tri-track and then, piled in and riding on improvised jump seats, begin the short journey back to the rally point. Of the 86 personnel in Fox Company at the beginning of that week, only 14, from Foxes 5 and 6, made it back to the rally point, to draw another line in the sand yet closer to the core of the blue zone, to be merged with yet more survivors of other such shattered units, and put back into the fray. Help had to come soon.

[Numeriga]

Fleet Admiral Hawkins was strapped into the crash seat as the FNS East Kadota lead the jump into the system of Leos, Hawkins knew the situation had gone from bad to worse for the GRA and now the 1rst Avalon Battle Fleet of the Numerigan Star Force had been withdrawn from the GRA system of Avalon, where they were stationed as a deterrent and were now charging headlong into an assault on the cursed monsters surrounding Leos. Four thousand Numerigan ships were coasting through the system towards Leos Prime with the intent of smashing through the Welded blockade and dumping the 8th Marine Expeditionary Force on the planet where they would likely be outgunned and outnumbered but they were there to try and evacuate as many civilians as possible away from the clutches of the Welded.

“Ma’am, the GRA and the League fleets have begun their assaults in time with our arrival.” reported the ship XO. Hawkins nodded her head in affirmation, she knew the attack would be a costly one for the Numerigan Battle Fleet, she just hoped it would cost the enemy more if things went favorably.

The five task forces of the battle fleet had arrayed themselves in a massive cone formation with the Numerigan battleships leading the charge as they drew closer and closer to the enemy.
Fission warhead torpedoes were loaded and weapon contactors clicked as the main guns on every ship hummed to life as the righteous fury of the Numerigans was brought to bear upon the Great Corruption. The inky void was lit up as energy pulses were fired from the largest of the Numerigan ships as they gradually came into range of the enemy fleet.

As the Numerigan vessels closed in, some of the fleet forces of the Welded that could be spared from chewing on League and GRA forces were already repositioned and waiting for the Numerigans. Battleships and cruisers began decelerating as the first wave of Welded diversion ships sped towards the Numerigan formations, hungry to take their first bite of Numerigan flesh. As the larger Numerigan ships slowed hundreds upon hundreds of Numerigan PC boats and torpedo bombers freshly disgorged from their carriers went speeding past the Numerigan battle line forming up and into the teeth of the enemy, nuclear warheads slammed into Welded vessels and kinetic rounds chewed through Numerigan armor as if it was paper as the two vanguard forces closed into knife-fighting range. Subversion torpedoes slammed into escort vessels whose crews intentionally steered themselves in front of the onslaught before the deadly weapons could reach the main firepower of the Numerigans.

***********************************
Captain Lucy Howards knew she was fighting a losing match as she watched waves of the enemy torpedoes she knew from intelligence reports were filled with boarding crews of the enemy ship to ship combatants closing in on her ship. They were aimed directly for the Numerigan battleships and cruisers, like hounds from the abyss they seemed to come in endless waves. Deathray point defense worked almost tirelessly, filling the black space with a swift death for those that didn’t deserve it. She swung her ship about and presented the full broadside towards the enemy and unleashed everything she had.

Still, it wasn’t enough as her escort vessel shuddered from impacts from the Welded’s sinister devices.

“Enemies in the ship, seal the bridge at once and sound the alarm for all compartments to be sealed.” Howards ordered as once, the deafening clang being felt and herd as her XO Philmore slammed the lock on the door containing them inside the bridge. Several minutes past as she continued the fight, slowly though here and there a point defense deathray would fall silent as the enemy in the ship sacked the weapons crew.

“Aft compartments have been taken over, they’re heading towards the thrusters ma’am.” said Philmore.

“We’ll be dead in the water if they kill those, divert full power to rear thrusters and divert course away from our fleet on the double.” ordered Lucy. Quickly she felt the push into her seat as the thrusters surged and her ship steered away from the main Numerigan line towards the enemy. More impacts could be felt through the ship as more subversion torpedoes slammed into the escort.

“Once we are safely away, overcharge the powerplant at once, it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let some fucking machine take over my ship.” said Lucy.

As if on cue fighting could be heard outside the bridge as the ship’s marines tried to hold the enemy off a little while longer. Silence could be heard seconds later and Lucy knew the enemy was likely moments away from breaching the bridge. Seeing her target she willed the ship to go faster, moments felt like hours as she glanced towards the door and back to the radar screen.
Sweat began to bead on her forehead, she tried to wipe away the tickle as it dripped down and then cursed at the void-suit preventing her from wiping away the damned feeling.

Suddenly a burst of sparks shot through the door and slowly it began to trace up a line beginning to form. Lucy felt the thrust lighten up and she knew she was out of time. At least she was able to stop a good chunk of torpedoes from hitting her fleet’s battleships and she was going to take the bastards on the ship with her she thought as she signaled to the XO.

With a nod, Philmore took a key from around his neck and plugged into his console at the same time Lucy did. With a click that was more felt than heard the button cover popped open and both the Captain and the XO pressed at the same time initiating the overload sequence for the powerplant. Moments later the slagged open door fell with a clang and Lucy caught a glimpse of the demon aboard her ship before everything went black as the escort vessel exploded into a billion atoms.


***********************************

Ships infected from the torpedoes would quickly try to close the gap with the nearest enemy vessel, ramming into them before an atomic explosion from the Numerigan ship’s reactors being sent to critical condition and a brief flash signaling their end. Numerigan fighters focused on shooting down the accursed weapons and when mini-torps were gone and weapon lenses were melted down to where the graser pulsers no longer worked they would run into the subversion torpedoes with their own fighter craft in the ultimate sacrifice.

Hawkins watched as the Welded heavies began moving into positions as her own forces had become focused on fighting the diversion ships coming at her fleet in waves, soaking up most her firepower, a tactic she was aware from the intelligence they would try, and a fight she had tried to avoid and failed to do so. Two Alasak Large Cruisers were suddenly ripped apart as the mainline combatants of the Welded brought their firepower on the Numerigan ships whose armor was sorely overmatched by the enemy weaponry. Beam weapons from the enemy formations also began to slice through Numerigan vessels like a hot knife through butter, armor melting and ships splitting into pieces only to be easily picked of as the defenseless parts drifted through space. Breaking through the diversion line of Welded ships, multiple formations of PC boats and torpedo bombers desperately made a run at the Welded mainline combatants and salvo after salvo of nuclear torpedoes were launched, only for them to be frustratingly easy to be picked off by Welded parasite fighters.

Hawkins cursed as she watched the enemy fighters tear into the Numerigan formations, the occasional intentional detonation of a PC boat as it slammed into an enemy vessel trying to cripple it, the only real success.

***********************************

Lieutenant Commander Harkin had been in the Numerigan Star Force for nearly thirty years, in all that time he had never risen above his current rank do to a ‘misunderstanding’ with a fleet officer’s son. Harkin couldn’t care less however as his Higgins Boat screamed across the cold expanse towards the enemy ships.

“Incoming fire!’ screamed his radar operator Dorthy Wainright as they closed the gap with the Welded ships. Holes were punched through the boat’s armor as if it wasn’t even there. Harkin was thankful his hull was depressurized and he was wearing his vacuum suit as he looked up at some of the new holes in his boat.

“In range sir!” shouted Dorthy as the enemy ship loomed over the small Higgins.

“Let’s give em hell boys.” said Harkin as a grin grew across his face, relishing the danger he and his crew were in. Smoke boiled out from around the boat as multiple telephone pole sized missiles were launched at the enemy ships. Several were smacked down easily by enemy point defense, satisfying explosions still blasted the enemy vessels as other Numerigan boats and torpedo bombers scored successful hits. Harkin pushed his vessels power plant to the limit as he cranked the speed up and past the first line of vessels and into the second line, another salvo of missiles was fired and the deathray cannon from his began firing as enemy parasite fighters dipped into the fray.

“Be really nice if we had some fucking fighter cover.” grumbled Harkin as more bullets punched through his vessel.

“Rear thrusters are beginning to fail.” reported the ship’s engineer.

“Ladies and gentlemen it has been the greatest honor to serve with all of you.” Harkin said as he diverted course towards the nearest enemy vessel, he primed his missile warheads and set the fission powerplant to overload as the smaller vessel slammed itself into a larger warship leaving a gaping wound in it’s side.

***********************************

“Tell Task Group Reaper, Task Group Hellion, Task Group Hellhound, and Task Group Goblin to begin their attacks.” order Hawkins as another battleship in her formation shuddered from enemy fire before breaking apart. Having arrived days prior to the main Numerigan Battle Fleet, the interdiction force, a formation built around moving quietly into position and then waiting to pounce when told, now launched their own firepower into the fray. Having been distracted by the PC boats and torpedo bombers a number of the mainline Welded ships were caught by surprise as nuclear torpedos slammed into their hulls from multiple locations. Faced with a new vector of firepower hitting them the Welded fleet began to withdraw from in front of the Numerigans.

Seeing her fleeting opportunity present itself Hawkins ordered all ships to charge headlong towards Leos Prime, the organized withdrawal of the Welded vessels turned into carnage as Hawkins and her fleet pressed the attack. Wounded enemy ships slammed into Numerigan vessels and enemy fire raked the fleet cutting Numerigan ships into ribbons. Graser fire and nuclear warheads returned the favor as the Numerigan fleet finally broke the hole they were desperately trying for and the troopships of the Marine Expeditionary Force powered through and towards Leos Prime. With the troopships safely through Hawkins and her badly mauled fleet began their own fighting withdrawal from the engagement and redirecting towards the GRA fleet assets.

“How many were lost?” asked Hawkins her XO, Davison, as the man was trying to quickly assess the Numerigan fleet losses.

“Over half, it seems ma’am.” replied Davison. Hawkins gave an ironic smirk, she knew her forces would once again lead the charge into the enemy when the ships beginning to land Leos were filled with civilians and needing to escape into the void from the planet turning into a tomb.

“Did we at least give as good as we got?” asked Hawkins

“Nearly ma’am.” said the XO.

“Nearly isn’t even close to good enough.” Hawkins said as she limped what remained of her fleet towards her allies.

[Nazeroth]

Delta Quadrant, Near Vipran Imperial space

Gorc Destroyer: Bell of Mor'zag
Commander: Ship Lord Kurg


In between the void that separated the stars the prowling of Nazeroth's hand was present. Ship lord Kurg groaned and spit as he walked across the black decks of his ship. he was the Gorc commander of this vessel, and while it was not unheard of, Gorcs who made such a position were usually long lived for there kind and more cunning than most of the stupid rabble that fell beneath the lash. His face bore the scars of battle, a veteran of numerous raids and internal assassination attempts. His leathery skin danced with blade marks and even a burn across his leg from from laser weapon long ago. He had a slight limp to his walk on that side and even though he didn't show it, pain was underneath the scarred flesh. Screams and whimpering could be heard from slaves as the ship lords enforcers maintained compliance with the "crew" of humans and aliens enslaved to his watch. The creaking of the dark steel hull of the vessel echoed in the sometimes almost black hallways, barley lit by torches and freezing due to portion of the vessel lacking adequate heating or cooling depending on where you stood. It wasn't uncommon to find escaped slaves mummified in some dark corner of the twisted and Gothic ship, frozen or cooked from extended exposure.

The torch lights passed across his eyes as he made his way to the bridge of the vessel which was currently in the Nefarium with two other Corsairs, the front of the vessel being guided by a lower skill witch, a paranormal was usually present on these trips to help guide them through the ghastly lit doomscape covered in blueish-green flame, fog and other haze so that they could move faster than real space light. This witch went by the name Lirs, as most ship guides she used the guiding as a means to further her relationship with the entities that inhabited the realm and draw strength and confidence from them and from her dark master. To be sure a trip could be taken without a paranormal, though it would be far more dangerous relying on only the thrall-minds to guide the vessel, which could lead to many accident or nightmarish outcomes.

Kurg looked at the Witch on his bridge, her eyes staring out into the gloom of another plane, her eyes glowing from her connection. Her attention almost entirely on her mission, the Gorc ship lord simply drooling and pacing on the bridge, impatient like the rest of his race. It wasn't to much longer until the Witch spoke in an echoing voice.

" We have arrived ship lord..." and with that the world of real space tore in front of them and the vessel was belched forth along with his other brethren. They were near the edge of Vipran territory, another rival power in the Delta quadrant of the galaxy, though where they had exited into real space it was unlikely they would face a serious threat or challenge from them. There mission was quite simple, a raiding patrol, seek weak vessel then smash and grab for slave or other goods to be sent back to Nazeroth pirate port world of Kur-Ak. There luck had not been the best, with the current events of the galaxy unfolding ship lanes were changing constantly, what was once good fishing could be dry as a bone the next week or month. Kurg approached the witch, she was taller and lanky and wore a strange crown-esqe device upon her head that covered her collar and implants. She turned closing her eyes as if to try to better understand something.

Kurg spoke in the black tongue of Nazeroth to his Witch " Did you see anything else in maw gloom walker?" he said, the guttural language being diced between his mangled and sharp teeth.

The Witch looked at the corpselike Thrall-Minds plugged into the ship, there skulls acting as processors for information and they interpreted the ships scanners, they began to twitch and an alert could be heard.

" I felt something strange reaching towards my mind...it was like a great static." She said pulling up the central command hologram in front of Kurg.

The glow of space hovered at a point where the ship lord was able to see it. The floating light showed there vessels and another object out in the distance that the Thrall-Minds had picked up. It wasn't anything he had seen before, in fact, he had almost thought it was just some pick space rock. Kurg's more primitive side began to show looking at the witch, his advisor, for answers. Whatever it was, it would have be checked out or his head would be on some other Gorc's barracks.

" Witch, what is it" He gurgled out from his filthy lips, the light of the hologram glinting off one of his ear rings shimmering as he spoke. Lirs then leaned over at the dim lighting of the hologram, zooming in on the large object. It was bigger than the Bell of Mor'zag, in fact, it was bigger than all three ships together. It looked like a compacted hunk of metal, rock and roiling metal tentacles and Lirs could have sworn she saw one of it's outer parts move. Before she could issue a statement on her intuition Kurg had barked an order.

" All ships, move your scrap heaps towards that big damn space junk! I want to see what goodies I can find!" Kurg said, his look of interest now towards a greasy grin. Lirs then spoke after the ship lord had barked the order, even now the ships thrusters were moving forward and the core of the ship began to heat up from the build up. The slaves near the core or engines would be getting extra heat rations today. " Ship lord, I am not confident in approaching, we do not know if it's even a threat, it could be an ene..." Before she was even able to finish her sentence the Gorc leader barked yet again.

" Put two holes in it and we will find out hur hur!!!" The Gorc gloated before coughing up what must have been half a lung. He had not gotten where he was by being cautious, in fact, Lirs knew his reputation and knew that he was still a Gorc to his core. This troubled her many cycles at times, and it was seen as bad luck to be under a Gorc, as they were commonly a slave or warrior caste. Truthfully Kurg belonged on the edge of a whip or holding one than he did commanding a vessel, but they had vessels to spare and he was a veteran, which could not be underestimated.

Lirs remained quiet and kept her opinion to herself at this point, there was no use arguing with him, his acceptance of her input was usually only a handful of times. So, Lirs had long decided that the best way she could use her abilities was to augment her leaders. She closed her eyes and began harnessing her paranormal powers, she was starting to feel that static again in her mind, not cloudy, but annoying and the closer they got the more it became, and at this range it was not very pleasant. It could have been another pysker or some type of disruption device possibly, though that seemed unlikely. Soon they found themselves within weapon range and before the ship was able to fire an alarm went off. He growled and ran to the command hologram and there was a red signature as he looked at a vessel draped in red, but that should have been an enemy vessel not one of his corsairs. Lirs then quickly pointed at Kurg " Fire...fire now, something is wrong with them" She said getting the same feeling from the corsair vessel as from the space hulk.

" Kill that rot-back bastard Oran!" Kurg shouted into the helm as the Bell of Mor'zag void shield shuddered from the torpedoes that just smacked into his vessel. The dark void that only had the grim glow of red engines soon became a fireworks display as the destroyer and friendly escort began to pound the betraying vessel. The friendly corsair Deep of Woe took a slag round to the bridge imploding the captain and crew of the vessel, the fools failing to drop there shutters. Glowing balls of super heated slugs and scorching rockets danced back and forth as massive scars and blasts shook the ships, where breaches came slaves went, being sucked into the void to choke on nothingness. The traitorous corsair, known as the Pearl of Xith, then rammed into the Deep of Woe, collapsing them both into horrific implosions, sending shrapnel and detonated munitions into the Bell of Mor'zag. It was all over in what seemed just moments with the scorching wrecks of both ships mangled together.

The shutters of his ship came back up, revealing the destruction by the naked eye. Lirs and Kurg both looked in awe as the two ships went from being wrecks to melting and morphing, tendrils forming around them, connecting the two ships into abomination of the two former ships.

"What in Nazer-Dum!" Kurg shrieked in the black tongue, pointing his clawed finger at the sight before him, the coms chatter picking up the last comms chatter of Gorc battle cries and screeching metal. In the Chaos of moving Gorcs and slaves on the bridge and around the ship they had failed to notice the storm of strange objects that were on there way to his ship. Lirs felt the distress again and the Thrall-Minds immediately shifted the vessel, flak guns sending out fragmented shotgun blasts towards the strange "things". They cut them down easily enough, but they had already closed the gap. The boarding pods slammed into Kurg's ship, though, some of them smacked and were destroyed after attempting a part of the hull that was simply too dense, but where they did connect there was loud echoes of waxing and waning of dark steel. As this unfurled the Bell of Mor'zag then began striking at both the intermingled abomination of corsairs and the space hulk. Super heated slag rails were worked with he bony hands of slaves as they loaded the slugs and fired them, every lash with a blast. A nether nuke was sent into the mass of ships, it's detonation corroding them into motionless husks reaking of nether blight.

This was not enough to slow the attackers...

Howls of Gorcs and the ear shattering yapping of weapons fire inside the deep halls of the Destroyer could be heard on internal communications. Kurg then left the bridge to Lirs after reports of his gun crews starting to cease fire came in. Whomever had the gaul to board his vessel would pay in blood. A retreating Gorc was cut down by his blade, severing his head from his shoulder, leaving a Paster to the ship lord. He hefted the belt fed shotgun up and growled as he moved towards the gun battery's. Kurg's Gorc eyes saw them now, the remains of his gun crews, some Gorc, others the remains of his slaves, mashed together in blood and silver metallic with bits of dark steel grinding among the joints. They moved towards him in a horrific manner, unnaturally, metal tentacles whipping about with the faces of his allies hanging from flesh and wire.

Nobody could have known what went through Kurg's small mind, but it was probably scared bloodlust only natural to his kind. He squeezed the trigger of the Paster and the thundering blasts came from the barrel as the leather shell holding kept chugging into the chamber. Masses of flesh, wire and steel sprays the torches out, the liquid snuffing the flames before the weapon clicked empty. In the darkness Kurg clawed out in front of himself before being swallowed by the mob of metal and macabre, his welps followed by crunching and gasps.

Lirs held the bridge for as long as she could, the last remnants of the crew battling outside the thick doors, some slaves screaming to be allowed in. Lirs then knew it was all over at this point, whatever this threat was it was too much for them here in the moment. Lirs then attempted to send a message out into the Nether space before kneeling in the center of the bridge. She unshackled her head gear opened her heart to the daemonic energies of the Nefarium. As the blast doors were tore into and broken down she was engulfed in ghastly fire, screaming before her body was torn in half by an emerging Nefarum daemon. The fearless creature slicing at the flesh and steel golems before it. It showed no fear like it's enemy, just raw aggression, every slash of it's claws rendering it's enemies into smoking heaps of flesh before the ship smashed into the strange hulk, it's tentacles devouring the destroyer slowly. The Daemonic Nefarum could no longer fight the onslaught and with a deep bellow was dissipated back to the Nether realm that spawned in.

Evil unto Evil...now shadows fight.

[Fenvaria Republic]

One week later
Scout Alpha
Achuah

---

At the edge of the system, there was a flash of light and a single object dropped out of hyperspace. This object slowly drifted inwards to the center of the system as it drifted in it slowly tumbled as if it was lifeless. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a ship but not just any ship, a Thalduhmian destroyer. Her engines lightly sputtered in and out signaling a dying ship. Sparks flew out of holes in the ship and pieces of hull started to slowly tear away as the ship tumbled about. Inside the ship, the scene was not any better, bodies, weapons and shell casings floated around in zero gravity, pools of blood drifted about as well. Flashing red warning lights flashed in every hallway, with a stern voice saying something garbled. Everything seemed to be lifeless on the ship, except for one thing on the bridge, a lone AMI unit sat tucked in the corner of the bridge with the captain’s body draped across their lap. The captain's blood stained the AMI’s unit legs and lower body. As for the AMI unit, she was in considerably worse shape, one of her arms had been severely damaged in the fighting. One of her legs had been completely ripped off and there were two fist-sized holes in her chest. However, for some reason, she still lived, she didn't know how or why. Her robotic eyes slowly blinked every so often as she conserved her power supplies.

On a nearby console, the screen flickered with what appeared to be a system map, then two dots appeared on the screen and slowly made their way into the system. A loud chirp rang out on the bridge and notified any nearby AMI units. Just then her eyes stopped blinking and she rebooted her systems, slowly everything came back online. Her AI core quickly started to run diagnostics, figuring out what was still functional and what was damaged. Several flashing warning signs appeared in front of her AI core, but she disregarded them for now. Once her systems rebooted, shocks of pain and agony ripped through the AI core as the pain finally caught up with her, but like the warning symbols she disregarded it and pressed on. The AMI unit screamed out in pain as it’s pain receptors became overloaded, but then it died down and she started to breathe more. Groaning, the AI attempted to move, but then fell to the side, once more pain shot through her body but she had to move. So she picked herself up a bit and slowly clawed her way to the console.

As she did so a voice came over the channel. “Attention Fenvaria Navy destroyer, this is Victory, we have detected your distress beacon and are moving in. Do you require medical attention, over?”

“Thalduhmian ships?” She thought to herself “Are we truly in Imperial space?” she crawled even faster to the console, determined to respond to the incoming Thalduhmian warships. In her core she could see home once more, once more among other AMI units and Imperial citizens. After a few excruciating moments of crawling she managed to get herself to the console and started to pull herself up. It was a struggle at first as she forgot one of her arms had been damaged in the fighting, but after a few failed attempts she then got herself up. After a few more moments to catch her breath she then attempted to click on the microphone, but then passed out.

---

Victory
Type 250 Class Cruiser
Achuah

---

“Captain, the ship appears to be empty, there are no lifesigns.” reported the ship’s AI unit with a cold and callous tone, as if there was no emotion in the AI’s voice.

“Scan it again.” ordered the Captain with a firm tone as she looked at the holomap of the system.

“Captain, the odds of the scan being the same are-”

“I dont care” barked the Captain, glaring over at the AI figure. “Someone on that bloody ship piloted it here and sent out a distress signal. I fully intend on retrieving that person and getting some information on what happened to their ship.”

“Captain, do you know the definition of insanity?”

The captain stood there and said nothing, continuing to look at the holomap. There were a few moments of silence as the two just waited for the other to speak. With a sigh the captain repeated herself. “Run the scan.”

“The definition of insanity is repeating things over and over and expecting different results. I suggest you-”

“Shut the hell up and run the damn scan or else I will request a formal decommission of you.” snapped the captain as she turned around, balling up her fist. She then slammed her fist on the table with a mighty thunder and knocked over the cup of coffee that was sitting on the edge of the table.

“Captain, you aren’t-”

“Does it look like I am joking?” growled the captain as she narrowed her eyes at the AI. “I am fucking tired of your smartass attitude and your back talking. I know the damn odds, so for the love of god stop telling me the odds.”

The AI fell silent and paused, before then sighing and nodding “Very well, I will run the scan again.”

The captain sighed as well and went back to looking at the holomap. The destroyer was drifting past the second jovian planet in the system as it was making its way to them. The scout force had picked up the destroyer and its distress signal when they entered the system. So it was quite paramount that they recover this warship and extract the data they could. This destroyer was a part of the scout force that was sent to investigate the deep trade station. How did she know? Well she pulled the ship name and ran a search.

“Captain, it appears your patience has paid off. I am detecting a signal from the ship, however, it is not organic....rather a lone AMI unit.”

“Good.” replied the captain with a grin on her face. “Prepare the teams, I want them ready for boarding within the hour.”

“Yes ma’am.” The AI paused “Captain, this ship....it was a part of the mission to the deep trade station wasn't it?”

The captain didn't say anything to the AI instead gave them a death glare and went back to the holomap. “You are dismissed.”

The AI nodded and then disappeared, leaving the bridge and the captain to their own devices. Shortly after the AI left, the captain sighed and walked back to her chair. She then collapsed in it and rubbed the bridge of her nose, this AI was getting on her nerves. This wasn't the first time that this has happened, the Ai had a long and colorful record of being a hardass and defiant towards orders. In reality, the AI should have been decommissioned years ago, but they offered a unique set of skills that made them perfect for patrols. The AI was adept at sensor scans, decryption/encryption, and tracking. But for the AI’s pros, the captain couldn't let go of the AI’s attitude... maybe she could get the AI reassigned.

The captain would sit there for several minutes, looking at her folder and reading over reports that she got from the various stations on the ship. Just then the AI appeared once more and bowed. “Captain, it appears the boarding teams are ready, a full thirty minutes ahead of schedule. Should we commence the operation?”

“Yes, bring us in right beside the destroyer. Then have the teams board their dropships and head over. I want their helmet cams on my screen as soon as they touch down on the ship.”

“Yes ma’am. Anything else?”

“No”

The AI nodded and disappeared once more. The captain said nothing but frowned as she then placed down her folder and opened up the screen to the boarding operation. She sighed, god knows what the hell is on that ship. There were so many answers that she didn't know, she hated this feeling of being left in the dark, it made her on edge and snappy. Either way, she was going to get to the bottom of this.

---

Boarding Team 1
Enroute to Thalduhmian Destroyer
Achuah

---

Grinning, the Pack Sergeant slapped in a fresh magazine then slapped down the charging handle on his assault rifle; the bolt then cycled and loaded a new round into the chamber. He then slung the rifle across his chest and started to walk down the aisle, on either side of him sat a fireteam of well armed and eager troopers. Most of them had their space helmets on with their masks off and dangling around, however there were a few that had their helmets in their laps or were holding onto them.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen, enough fooling around we got a mission on our hands.” thundered the Pack Sergeant with his grin growing wider. “We got ourselves a downed destroyer, and the fly boys are sending us in to secure it. So far we have detected no life signs aside from a single AMI unit. Alpha scout, you guys are going in and heading to the bridge. Secure the AMI unit that is still active.” the Pack Sergeant paused and looked to his right, the troopers there nodded. “Beta scout will be moving to secure the reactor and FTL drive. Something guided this craft here and we are here to find out what did. Further information has been uploaded to your HUDs.”

The pilot flicked a few switches before looking back at the troopers in the cargo bay. “10 seconds!” yelled the pilot with a gravelly tone. The Pack Sergeant then walked to an open spot and took ahold of the overhead hook, with one hand he placed on his helmet. On his HUD it flashed red for a few seconds before then went to a cool orange once the helmet and the suit were fully sealed. Across his HUD everything started to green light and function, in the center of his HUD, a cross air appeared. Then off to the side appeared his rifle and his ammunition count. Also on his HUD appeared blue markers indicating friendly forces, which was his squad and the pilots. Like the Pack Sergeant, the rest of the troopers started to put on their helmets and check their gear once more before the shuttle docked with the destroyer. Once the troopers had checked over their gear they stood up and took a hold of the overhead hooks, as they prepared to disembark from the drop ship. Seconds passed by as the troopers waited, then the shuttle entered the small hangar bay and started to land.

With a thud the shuttle landed and the side doors then slid open, the troopers then thundered off and started to form a perimeter around their drop ship. The hangar was completely dark, the troopers immediately turned on their weapon flashlights and their head lamps, creating little beams of light in the pitch black. The troopers then reported back in with an all clear, the Pack Sergeant then took a casual look around. From the looks of things the cargo bay was mostly well kept and there were not any signs of foul play. No bullet casings, bodies, and so on; it was like this area had been policed.

“Beta Scout, change of plans, guard the drop ship.”

“Copy that Sarge.” came the scout leader

“Alpha Scout, we are going to move further into the ship and-” started the Pack Sergeant however, he was interrupted by the sound of a metal object dropping onto the floor. Without a second thought the Pack Sergeant shouldered their rifle and started to scan the space in front of his scout, the rest of the troopers very quickly followed suit and did the same. The beams of their lights cut through and imulinating what was before them. A shadowy figure then darted away when one of the beams just barely went over them, the Pack Sergeant then frowned and took a step forward. “This is the Imperial Army, identify yourselves or we will engage.”

Silence then fell upon the room once more as the troopers held their ground, after a few seconds the Pack Sergeant took a hand off his rifle and clicked on his mic. “Squad, engage anything that shows hostility. Consider this whole ship a hostile-”

There was then a screech and something jumping down from a stack of crates, then the thing started barreling towards them. “CONTACT!” Yelled a trooper as they raised their rifle, just then several light beams trained on the beast as the troopers took aim. The rifles then clattered off as the troopers fired in bursts, the beams of light and the muzzle flashes creating a blend of rapid flashes and still light. The beast howled in pain as several bullets struck home, but kept charging, determined to reach the trooper’s line.

However, the beast's attempts were in vain as soon it collapsed, riddled with bullets and blood oozing out of its wounds, still defiant it attempted to crawl towards the line. But one of the troopers walked over and lifted their rifle into the beast's face before pulling the trigger. The beast's face was quickly vaporized by the trooper, dumping quite a few close range bullets into it, blood splattering back and all over the trooper’s uniform. Soon several troopers walked over and surrounded the body.

“What the hell is that?” asked one of the troopers as they placed their boot on the beast and attempted to roll it over.

“Well if I had to guess.....a fen driven to madness, then hopped on some serious steroids and outfitted with cybernetics.” replied another trooper as he pointed to the liberal use of mechanical components.

“Looks like these modifications were done after death.” Replying to one of the troopers with red markings on his helmet, the trooper then pointed to several scarring tissues and patches of fur that were missing. “I estimate this body is at least a week old.”

“Mm.” started the Pack sergeant as he looked over the body. Meanwhile most of the other troopers seemed to be uneasy about the medic’s diagnosis, several of the troopers looked visibly shocked while others took several steps back away from the body. The trooper that placed their boot on the beast quickly took it off and scrapped it across the ground. However, the Pack Sergeant on the other hand didn't seem phased, and kept looking at the body. He calmly looked at the medic and continued questioning “Do we know any gangs, organizations, or groups that could have done this.”

“Well, there is always some sort of tech cult pirate band.” replied one of the few dracoian troopers. “The tech cult has been experiencing a shift in internal politics, there is a lot of need to materials and other good” the entire scout then turns to face the dracoian trooper and if they could they would be raising their eyebrows at what the dracoian was saying. The dracoian trooper looked at them and frowned “....or so my brother tells me.”

“Aren't you a part of the tech cult.” asked one of the Imperial troopers.

“Use to, I got out a while ago. Lived with my grandparents for a long ass time...they were into the whole veneration of the ancestors. I don't know, it felt a bit better....so eventually I converted over.”

“Huh.” replied the trooper

“Shut up you two.” replied the Pack Sergeant, who then turned to the medic. “What else can you tell from the body?”

“Nothing else, I would need to do a full blow autopsy.” the medic then looked around and smiled. “I don't think we have the facilities or the equipment to do that.”

The Pack Sergeant snicker and shook his head. “Alright that is fair, smartass.” The Pack Sergeant then clicked on his mic once more and spoke “Beta scout! Report in!”

“Corporal Mayers here, we are all good, I have one KIA tho. Something engaged us.”

“Copy, something engaged us here. Were you able to retrieve the body?”

“Negative, sir. The trooper was dragged off into the darkness.” there was then a pause “Something just jumped on the trooper, took him down and dragged him off behind some crates. After the engagement we searched for him.” the corporal paused once more “All we found was a pool of blood and drag marks.”

“Damn, alright. If you find the body, police the tags.”

“Copy.”

Soon several more howls echoed in the hangar bay, causing the troopers to snap around and raise their rifles. Slowly they started to back up towards the drop ship, tightening their perimeter around their only way off this boat. As the troopers backed up to the ship, the pilot heard the howl as well, curious he looked out his windows and saw the troopers backing up. Just then, the Pack Sergeant walked into the drop ship bay and opened a communication line. Feeling a sense of uneasiness as he clicked on a channel to the Victory, there was something else going on. With a sigh he then spoke, “Captain, we got a situation here.”

---

Victory
Type 250 Class Cruiser
Achuah

---

The bridge quietly and patiently waited as the boarding team left their dropship and thundered into the hangar of the destroyer. It appeared everything was going smoothly until something attacked the boarding team, that is when the bridge crew started to hold their breaths as they watched the flashes of gunfire on the trooper’s head cams. One of the helmet cameras would catch a beast landing on a trooper and started to rip into their armor and flesh, screams of the trooper could be heard in the background. As the beast tore into the trooper the camera wobbled back and forth before eventually going dark, the feed getting cut at the source. The captain frowned and sighed deeply, then pinching the bridge of their muzzle.

“God....damnit.” she said to herself, her arm dropping to her side as she stared at the screens “AI, what was the time of death for the trooper?”

“22:49 Arcadian Time. I’ll forward you the rest of the date at a later time.”

“Fine.” the captain frowned and leaned back in her chair. “Great, I already have causality on this mission, shit.” she thought to herself as she stared at the screen, in the back of her mind she was thinking how this thing got on the ship and where it came from. According to the medic it seemed like the most that they killed had been revived. “How? What sort of technology is being used? Could it be magic?” she then shook her head at the last thought, magic, she wasn't buying it. There had to be an explanation for it in some way, but magic seemed a bit far fetched. “Well if not magic....maybe divine powers? What did we do to infuriate the Great Wolf to the point of bringing the dead back to life? Was this the time of penance and retribution?” she wondered to herself in a calm manner as she continued to look at the screen in front of her, just then a figure appeared on the AI pedestal and then spoke.

“Captain, we got a situation here.”

She rolled her eyes a bit “No shit, sherlock” she thought to herself, she cleared her throat before replying. “Understood, I saw everything that happened. You are weapons free, kill anything and everything that is not friendly. We are enacting the Verteidigung Order, all data is to be extracted and this ship is to be scuttled once that is done. The only thing that matters is the AMI unit and the data from the navigation.”

The Pack Sergeant, he folded his arms and looked at the captain. It was evident that he was not pleased with what was going on. “Captain, what the hell is going on I would like to know what we are facing.”

“That is strictly on a need to know basis, orders straight down from the top, already prepared if something like this was to happen. This mission has taken a new direction, it has become evident that a hostile force has taken control of the ship, our new orders are to enact the Verteidigung Order and scuttle the ship.”

The Pack Sergeant stared at the captain and then dropped his arms to his side in a frustrated manner. He was completely dumbfounded, he couldn't believe that this was happening. “Captain, dont pull rank on me, I want to know what I am getting my troopers into.” growled the Pack Sergeant leaning forward a bit. “We are here without support! Limited resources! And I am sending my men-”

“But you have support of this ship, you have the complete arsenal of this ship and the troopers of this ship. So you are not without support. As for supplies, the ship is Thalduhmian you will be able to resupply at the arms lockers spread throughout the ship. You also have the weapons on the ship, as I recall most destroyers do have heavy weapons on board.” replied the Captain in an uncaring tone as she waved her hand in a dismissive tone, then looked back at the now fuming Pack sergeant who was ready to explode from their own rage.

“Screw off with that bullshit!” exclaimed the Pack sergeant with an enraged tone, he then raised his fist and slammed it down on the holographic projector. “I want a full debrief on why we are here and what in the Great Wolf’s name is going on. I am not sending my men to their death over some bullshit reason that won't be discussed with me.”

“You have your orders.” replied the Captain, once more with a calm tone.

The Pack sergeant sighed and nodded “Yes ma’am.” he then turned off the holoprojector.

With a click the comm link disconnected, the Captain then looked away from the projector and out into the void. As a leader she knew that this was a calculated risk, sending these troopers to their death, after all sending more soldiers onto a possibly welded infected ship would only complicate things. It would give them more bodies to harvest and use later on, that is if the intel they got from the Dornies was correct. This was giving them intel about what kinds of welded creatures were out there, could there be different types for different regions? Different species? Or even different situations? Maybe this could help them identify some sort of command structure within the welded.

Then there was also the possibility that this wasn't the welded, rather some sort of underground rebellion that was just starting off. Using the welded as a sort of cover so they would be taken seriously, a sort of copycat. Either way, this could be an intel gold mine that could help the Empirebut things together about what happened to the Deep Space trade station, then would shift the war policy to dealing with this new threat. Whatever the outcome this intel will be helpful in some way or fashion. “Lets just hope they get there and don’t get themselves killed.”

---

Boarding Team 1
Aboard Thalduhmian Destroyer
Achuah

---

When the transmission disconnected, the Pack Sergeant frowned and then proceeded to flip off the holoprojector before then walking away. One of the troopers peered in and looked up, seeing their leader approaching them, she opened her mouth to say something but then was cut off by the Pack Sergeant. “It went terribly, we are stuck on this boat.” the Pack Sergeant jumped out of the troop bay and onto the hangar floor. “And no, we arent getting reinforcements. We have to use the ship’s arms locker to resupply and break out the heavy weapons.”

The trooper then frowned and folded her arm. “Well, this royally screws with our mission.”

The Pack Sergeant shrugged “I tried to say that, but the captain is pulling rank, so cant do shit.”

“Shit.” replied another trooper, turning around and looking at the two. “So now what?”

“We continue our mission, easy as that.” grumbled the Pack sergeant in a rather callous tone as he looked at the rest of his troopers. “I don't like it more than you guys, but we gotta do it.”

A few of the troopers frowned, while a few others smiled. “Hell sarge, that's what we troopers know, kick ass and die while doing it.” one replied with a huge grin on their face as they slapped in a new magazine. The remaining troopers then turned to the Pack Sergeant and grinned, which caused the Pack Sergeant to do the same. Finally, he unslung his rifle and slapped his charging handle.

“Alrighty, lets go complete this suicide run. Rico! Fastest way to the AMI signal.”

“Sir, through the armory!”

“How do we get to the armory?”

The trooper looked around and then pulled up the schematics of the ship, taking a look at it he then pointed at the far end of the hagar. “We go down that hall.”

“Alright, pack! Mount up! HCP, take point and lead us through” started the Pack Sergeant. “Pilot! Secure the drop ship!”

“Yes sir!” came a reply from the drop ship, the troopers then readied themselves and moved out to the armory.

Later
“CONTACT!” yelled a soldier, who then dropped to one knee and took aim down the hall. The rest of the troopers soon followed suit, aiming at the dozen or so individuals rushing down the hall towards the pack. Growling, howling and flailing their limbs in an animalistic fashion as they surged forward towards the troopers, who held their ground for now. The tight corridor was then filled with the sounds of gunfire and shells pinging off the metallic floor, flashes of light splashing over the trooper’s face masks.

Several of the beasts would fall, hitting the ground with a thud as their bodies were riddled with bullet holes. However, they then start to crawl forward, determined to kill their prey. As the soldiers fired away at the beasts, the HCP unit moved up with its shield raised before then backhanding one of the creatures. The hit sent the monster sprawling, hitting the wall with a crash and a snap. The beast would then get up and lunge at the robotic soldier, its deformed mouth open and its teeth bared. The HCP struck out again with the shield once more smacking the creature with its shield and sending it flying. Before the robot could react, another beast would jump onto the android and latch onto its throat, thrashing back and forth. The HCP reached up and grabbed the creature by the throat as well then started to squeeze down on the creature’s throat, the two then started to battle back and forth for domination. But after a while the HCP tore the creature off its throat and snapped its neck, throwing it away. With oil and other robotic fluid gushing out the HCP’s throat, it collapsed down to the ground with a metallic thud, with what remaining strength it could muster, the mechanical soldier turned over. The troopers managed to get the door open and were withdrawing, two other trooper bodies laid around the doorway, as they were too slow to withdraw or were overrun by the beasts. As the surviving troopers started to withdraw, the Pack sergeant looked back at the HCP who started to pull the pin on a grenade. With its final breath, it smiled and then dropped the grenade as the door started to close.

As the door hissed close there was a thud followed by some screaming, then finally silence. The Pack sergeant turned around to the remaining pack members, there were only four of them remaining. The sergeant said nothing for a few moments as he looked at the door. “How much longer until we hit the bridge?”

“Sir, it's just past the armory.”

“How far is the armory?”

“Around the corner.”

“Good, we will resupply there and finally move to secure the bridge. From there we will extract the data from the AMI unit.” The troopers nodded and moved out, slowly heading down the hallway towards the armory to resupply there. Upon reaching the armory, the troopers quickly moved into the room and stumbled upon what appeared to be a bloodbath. However, it appeared most of the bodies had been moved, as evident by several bloody trails. Most of the equipment had been knocked out of place; weapons and loose bullets littered the floor, mixing with the carnage of the dead. Broken pieces of armor and gear casually laid on the floor or was still hung up on the racks.

“Damn.” said one of the troopers as they moved in and started to search the room. “It seems like this place got hit hard, a lot of the troopers were still gearing up. A shame really....”

“Indeed” said another trooper

“Can it troopers, resupply as much as you can. We are moving out ASAP, I dont want to be stuck here while we have those things on our tails.” ordered the Pack sergeant.

The remaining troopers just nodded in agreement and quickly went to work grabbing all of the ammo and grenades they could. Some of them would pick up a secondary weapon, something that offered more firepower, like a shotgun, personal defense weapon or submachine gun.

“Sir, I lost contact with the drop ship.” reported one trooper

“Shit.....”

The troopers just looked at him and frowned, it seemed they weren't getting off this boat alive after all. The Pack sergeant just smiled, which to some would be odd. “Troopers....it has been an honor serving with you. So, let us go down fighting.....let us meet the Great Wolf as warriors.”

The troopers then smiled as well, they would continue to gather what they could. Once the troopers were ready, they then quickly ran out of the armory and down the hall towards the bridge.

---

Boarding Team 1
Aboard Thalduhmian Destroyer
Bridge
Achuah

---

The lone AMI unit would slowly awaken, little by little gaining consciousness. Her head felt fuzzy and light, there was a dull throbbing pain in the back of her head. Slowly she started to open her eyes, there were what appeared to be two soldiers near the door shooting down it, with a third walking by them and over to her. There was some shouting and yelling from the troopers, which was followed by the roar of gunfire and then animalistic screams of agony. The third trooper walked over to her and knelt down. The trooper had what appeared to be the rank of a Pack Sergeant, the AMI unit looked up at the trooper. The Pack sergeant smiled and said something, but she couldn’t really make it out, it seemed to be muffled. Her face went from a neutral tone to a confused one.

“What?” she asked.

The Pack sergeant frowned and placed a hand on her head, before reaching back and poking something. The throbbing of her head and the muffled noise started to go away, she looked back at the trooper and frowned. The Pack sergeant then repeated himself.

“What is your name, AMI unit?”

“Grace....” replied the AMI unit in a soft tone “My name is Grace.”

“Nice to meet you Grace, I am Pack Sergeant Albert, we are here to retrieve the data that you have and to enact the Verteidigung Order.”

“Understood...” replied the AI softly. “What data are you looking for?”

“All data that the scout had collected during your mission. We dont have alot of time, we are what is left of the squad that boarded the ship.” the Pack sergeant gestured to him and the two other troopers.

“Yes, help me up.”

Albert nodded and moved the body off Grace’s legs, then proceeded to lift her up. She then directed him over to a console and leaned her against it. With a grunt, she went to work, typing away a number of commands and rerouting emergency power. After a few moments, she then looked over at the Pack sergeant. “Do you want it on a removable drive or transmitted?”

The pack sergeant looked over at the troopers, who were in a fierce gunfight with several beasts and revived Thalduhmians. A bullet ripped through the troopers helmets, splattering the wall behind the trooper in a red pink mess, the body then stumbled back and slid down the wall. The other trooper then ducked into cover and reloaded their weapon. A beast would attempt to climb over the barrier, but the trooper pulled out their bayonet and stabbed upward into the beast’s cranium. With a horrific scream the beast slouched over the barricade for a moment before then thrashing around. The remaining trooper then pulled out the knife and kept stabbing away until the beast stopped moving. The pack sergeant would raise their pistol and fired a few rounds over the beast to keep the remaining hostiles pinned as best as he could. He then turned around and sighed. “Transmitted to the Victory then scuttle the ship.”

Gace nodded and typed away on the keyboard. “Data is transmitting.”

“Good.” replied the Pack sergeant, he then handed her a pistol. “Time to make a final stand?”

“I made one before and barely survived.....this won't be any different.” replied Grace with a small smile on her face. “Plus, time to get some revenge..”

“Good.....well let's go out with a bang.” replied the pack sergeant, then he turned around and fired his rifle into the hallway.

---

Victory
Type 250 Class Cruiser
Achuah

---

“Ma’am data retrieved.” replied one of the communications officers, the senior captain nodded and frowned as she looked out onto the destroyer that was just barely in sight. She sighed a bit and turned around to the communications officer.

“Anything else with it?”

“Yes, it appears there is a text file. It says.... ‘Surrounded, lost contact with the drop ship, enacting the Verteidigung Order.’ After that it is just the data file.”

“Alright.....hold position and let us see if the ship blows up.” As she said there, the ship would flash white and then explode. Sending the wreckage all over the place and where it started to drift. The Senior captain frowned and nodded. “Get me HiCo, I want a hauler out here to secure the wreckage.”

“Yes ma’am”

---

Kar Vilkuhm, Arcadia
Roon Husila system
Several days later

---

John Frederick placed down the folder onto his oak desk and frowned. He looked at the cabinet and military leaders that sat in front of him. Most of them seemed to have a neutral or slightly worried expression, however they knew what was coming next. The Iron Emperor turned to look at the ISM Director and finally spoke. “Are these reports accurate?”

“As accurate as we know.....this footage and data was taken directly at the Deep Space trade station and later was recovered on the destroyer that managed to escape. We also pulled the video from the boarding team that went onto the destroyer....it seems like everything matches.”

“So, the welded have managed to get a foothold near our territory?” asked the Iron Emperor as he folded his hands together.

“Yes, it seems that they somehow managed to get past the Kisians. This could have been by a number of different ways.” replied the ISM director with a wave of their hand. “We need to start taking measures to ensure our own survival.”

“That has already been taken care of, as I recall, in our last meeting we started to quietly mobilize our forces. I also recall signing a new directive that called for increased ship production and arms manufacturing.” started the Iron Emperor with a shake of his head. “The only other thing I can do is start calling for a general mobilization.”

“Sir, that might not be a bad idea, since the welded have proven they are almost to our borders, we should start mobilizing our forces in a more open manner.” pointed out the Lord Marshal of the Army. “It will allow us to start ramping up numbers for conscription. Also, further producing more droid soldiers might be a good idea too.”

The ISM director nodded. “I was talking about it internally....we might see some resistance soon.”

“Do you mean the tech cult?” asked the Home Guard Lord Marshal with a raise of her eyebrow. “As far as I know the tech cult is being rather tame.”

“Yes, however, I have intel that there is alot of internal politics going on. Rumors of a schism...” started the ISM director. “It is still rumors but the informant can be trusted.”

“How far is this fracture going? Is it just a leadership fracture?” asked the Iron Emperor with a curious tone.

“It would go all the way to the core.” replied the ISM Director with a faint smile on her face. The rest of the table would turn to look at her with raised eyebrows. She said nothing for a few moments and continued “As far as I know the tech cult sees technology as controlled by something called the Great One. Who is the supreme technocrat and master of all technology, they can control any tech they please and so forth. Well, since the arrival of the Welded, two factions have popped up in the tech cult. The Old Guard, which sees the welded as an abomination and heretical....an affront to their god. The section faction is the Reformists, who see the Welded as the reincarnation of the Great one. Any sort of destruction and resistance to the Welded would be heresy and offend the Great One. In short, they see the Welded as either a gift or reincarnation of the Great One.” She then paused. “However, the downside....is that most of their followers are in the Sror system.”

“Which is a protectorate of the Imperium.” stated the Secretary of Xeno Affairs, “The Empire has several military bases in the system and we have been helping them with religious clashes.”

“Correct. We also have citizens working in the system and in the two mostly dracoian colonies. If this schism was to go violent-”

“Are you suggesting we march in troops? That would be rather....poor form.”

“It would be, however, what I am suggesting is that we be prepared for such a schism.....I have been following the recent events and it looks like things are going to eat up alot in that system.” replied the Director with a cold tone. “I rather not be caught with our pants down.”

“If it happens.” retorted the Secretary of Xeno Affairs

“No, when it happens. Cause it will happen...it is just a manner of when.” snapped the Director. “This is going to go further than just the welded, we are talking about a whole planetary culture being broken to the core. Religious in fighting and violence, then on top of that you have an out of system invasion going on. People are going to go insane and rules will be broken.” she hissed “I am trying to the best in terms of damage control that we can do.”

“No, you are looking for reason to get us all uppity and-”

“Enough.” barked the Iron Emperor with a harsh growl as he looked at the Director and the Secretary of Xeno Affairs. “We are treading incredibly close to the line here. But both of you are correct.” he turned to the ISM Director “We need to be ready for when the welded do come and for when this schism does happen.” with a pause he turned to the Secretary of Xeno Affairs “However, we need to place nice with the local governments as we are on their turf and we need to protect our interests. So for that I am calling a general mobilization, we are going to need every soldier to fight the Welded.”

[Fenvaria Republic]

So the storm begins....

---

Capital zone
Ratzu, Sror
Day 1

---

For once, it started to rain in the arid plains around the capital zone, blanketing the area in dark ominous clouds and heavy rainfall. The rain turned the dusty and dry ground soft and mushy, like the citizens in the capital zone, it had caught the ground off guard. Animals did their best to find some sort of shelter from the rain, while others took the opportunity to drink the life saving water. Two objects dashed across the night sky, the soft roar of engines soon followed. Some of the animals dashed once more for cover, but others simply just stood there and watched, unflinching.

From the lead D-50 Eagle, several Fusiliers watched from the open bay door as they approached the city, rain and wind pounding on the drop ship's hull. Inside the cabin it was rather quiet, no one really talked to each other as they waited, some of the Fusiliers just simply stared out the bay doors while others checked over their equipment. In each drop ship the pilot clicked on their microphones and spoke,

“50 seconds”

The Fusiliers straightened up and pulled up their black face coverings, those who had been looking out the bay doors turned their attention to the two now standing pack leaders. One of the pack leaders then clicked on the holoprojector while the other pulled up their GPS unit on their gauntlets. After a few seconds the capital zone popped up on the holoprojector followed by a red marker in what appeared to be the “Old district slums”.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let's start with a brief. Six weeks ago, High Command noticed an increase of Reformist tech cult chatter about an event taking place soon, code named Operation Divine Light. It wasn't until four weeks ago, this location started receiving unmarked shipments boxes ranging in size and weight. That same week Home Guard forces intercepted one of these boxes heading from a factory to this location, they found a number of small arms and explosive material.” started one of the pack leaders as they pulled up a picture of the box and its contents.

“Two weeks ago, surveillance identified a known terrorist and arsonist thought to be “The Messiah” frequenting this location.” Just then a picture of what appeared to be a human popped up, the human was missing an eye and his right side was covered in burns and scarring tissue. “We also picked up two low level Reformist officers frequenting this location as well. We have ample reason and suspicion that Operation Divine Light is an upcoming terrorist attack. This attack could be launched at the same time as the next Old Guard tech cult demonstration, five days from now. Or the next convening of Ratzu’s parliament in a week.” With a pause the pack leader looked around at the Fusiliers before then continuing with the debriefing.

“Either way, High Command wants us to infiltrate the compound and eliminate this cell before they launch their attack.” finished the pack leader, then the other pack leader pointed to the dot on the map and the map zoomed in giving a better detail of the block the building was on. The other pack leader then started to speak as she pointed to the road surrounding the target building.

“We believe the Reformists and “The Messiah” to be in compound 7-12, it is a fairly light structure with a thin compound wall. Since it is in the slums, I would expect all of the buildings aside from the main compound building to be shanites and provide little to no cover. We will also be having Ratzu Home Guard support on this mission, they will help clear out compounds 7-8, 7-9, 7-10, 7-11, 7-14, 7-15, 7-16, and 7-18.” the female pack leader paused and outlined a block around the target compound. These outer compounds ranged in size and shape. After outlining the compounds she then looked around at the Fusiliers watching as they all nodded along and some of them took notes. “Be vigilant, intel suggests that these guys do have heavy weapons, however, we are expecting to run into mostly small arms. Things like shotguns, pistols, rifles and so on. The Ratzu Home Guard is breaking out some serious equipment, IFVs and heavy weapons to help support our push into compound 7-12.” the female pack leader paused and then spoke once more “Any questions?”

“How many personnel are we expecting?” asked one evandari soldier with silver fur and blue eyes.

“Anywhere from a dozen to several dozen heavily armed combatants; as for lightly armed combatants, the number is unknown. There are just too many unidentified members moving back and forth. We are expecting light civilian involvement inside of the compound, possibly contracted work to help with the possible explosives.”

“Where are we landing?” spoke up a human soldier as they pulled out the magazine in the submachine gun and checked it.

“We will break up into four different teams, Dagger 3 and 4 will be landing to the north of the complex while we, Dagger 1 and 2, secure the southern part of the complex. Our job is to clear this set of buildings which are most likely going to contain the compound’s generator and a small armory judging by the city schematics. But, I trust them about as far as I can throw them since they are 20 years old...so prepare for heavy resistance.”

“Rules of engagement?” asked another soldier

“Take down anyone who threatens you or has a weapon, lethal force has been authorized but try to leave some of the upper leadership alive. Minimize civilian casualties as much as possible.” reported the female pack leader with a shake of her head. “Where we will hand them off to ISM agents nearby.”

“Do we know the location of the ISM agents?”

“Negative, however, knowing them....they will likely be providing some sort of overwatch and will find a number of ways to contact us.” chuckled the female pack leader. “Remember, these guys pretty much know everything that goes down within the Empire.”

The Fusiliers nodded, the addition of the Imperial Security Ministry agents made their mission rather difficult. On one hand it was good that someone else was providing a discreet means of getting their prisoners off planet. They pretty much have their grubby hands on every little bit of military and civilian intelligence out there, making it really hard to hide something from them. So they often get the nickname “Spectre” or “Ghost” since they can literally haunt a person without them ever knowing.

But, right now was not a time to think about that or talk about the politics of the intelligence community, right now the Fusiliers had one job and that was to eliminate this hazardous cell. With no more questions the pack leaders turned off the holoprojector and went back to their seats, soon they were all checking their weapons and equipment several times over. It would be moments later when the co-pilot clicked on the radio and spoke once more.

“30 seconds, get your gear together.” calmly spoke the co-pilot

At that point the Fusiliers then stood up and walked over to the edges of the drop ship’s bay doors, several of them stacking up and preparing to dismount from their transport. The dropships then dipped down just barely flying above most of the buildings within the slums. They started to pick up speed as they headed towards their target. Off in the distance the Fusiliers watched as flashes of light erupted in the middle of the slum, gunfire danced around in the dark and rain as both sides started to engage one another.

One of the Fusiliers chuckled a bit as he clicked on his radio. “Seems like the Home Guard are already engaged.”

“Good.” replied his back leader, with a smirk on her face, “That means that we are going to have one hell of a welcoming party to meet.” She then slapped a magazine into her carbine and held onto one of the overhead straps.

“15 seconds!”

The seconds would seem like minutes to the Fusiliers as they anxiously waited for the dropship to come to a halt so they could jump off and throw themselves into battle. With another dive the drop ship leveled back out, only to have a few pings hit the hull of the aircraft.

“Incoming light small arms from the southwest watchtower.” radioed the pilot “Spearhead 2, can you put some fire on that tower?”

“Copy that Razor 2, Spearhead 2 is engaging that tower.” came a voice over the radio. One of the Fusiliers leaned out of the drop ship and in time to watch as one of the IFVs launched a missile into the tower, which disappeared in a ball of light and fire. The tower then started to crumble from the explosion, sending flaming pieces of metal and wood clattering to the ground. “Razor 2, this is Spearhead 2, we have good effect on target...I repeat good effect on target. Happy hunting there.”

“Copy that Spearhead 2” radioed the pilot, just then the co-pilot clicked on the dropship radio and spoke into it.

“Dagger teams, you are good for drop....good luck.” Just then the light turned green and the Fusiliers jumped feet first out of the still moving drop ship. As they fell to the ground their jump kits kicked in and helped slow their descent down to the ground. Flashes of blue and yellow erupted out of the kits, in the dark grey sky and the rainfall seemed like falling stars getting closer and closer to the ground. However, as they fell, gunfire then started to erupt from the ground aimed towards the vulnerable and exposed Fusiliers. But the incoming fire was sporadic and wild, with many shots missing and only a handful hitting near them. The Fusiliers then opened up with their own weapons, clattering away at their targets.

Most of the Fusiliers landed on top of the buildings at the southern part of the compound while a few of them would land in the open ground near the buildings, The male pack leader landed right on top of their assailants with his knife drawn, impaling the guard and killing him instantly from the bayonet strike. Blood sprayed onto the Fusilier’s uniform and with a disgusted look the Fusilier pulled his bayonet out. For a few moments, the body stood there, frozen in time as if a spell was placed on it. Frowning more, the Fusilier gently used his boot to push over the body and watched it as it fell to the ground with a thud. the pack leader then clicked on his communication device and radioed to the rest of his pack, “This is Dagger 1 lead, all Dagger 1 report in.”

Seconds passed before a steady roll of seven other voices coming over the radio as the other pack members checked in. “Good,” replied the pack leader, “We are all accounted for and intact. Dagger 2 are you accounted for?”

“Dagger 2 lead here, we are all good and accounted for.” came a female voice over the radio.

“Good, Dagger 2 set up a perimeter and ran interference on anything that tries to-” started Dagger 1’s pack leader before a round whizzed by his head The pack leader stumbled back a bit, shocked and confused. Quickly he turned his head to the direction of where the bullet came from and quickly shouldered his weapon as a dozen or so disorganized militiamen came running down the hill. The militia were armed and equipped in a hodgepodge manner. While some carried modern weapons and body armor most simply wore pieces of a uniform and carried civilian hunting weapons or simple knives and clubs.

“CONTACT” yelled the pack leader into his microphone as he back peddled and fired a burst into the incoming horde. Two Fusiliers on the building above him quickly went into action and started to provide extra fire. One of the soldiers, who was carrying a light machine gun, set themselves up and opened up with a deafening roar of gunfire. The Imperial forces quickly combined their firepower, covering each other as the militia advanced. Below them the militia quickly realized their mistakes as the combined firepower broke their charge, tearing them to shreds. While some sought to scurry to cover they were quickly mowed down before they could make it.

Soon the rest of the pack formed up on the pack leader and the machine gun team, pouring more lead into the horde of militia forces, who began to drop quickly. A few moments later all that remained was broken and bullet riddled corpses with large pools of blood around them. The pack leader looked at the skirmish in disgust and disappointment. These were not proper soldiers or militia forces, rather a lightly armed rabble of lunatics. Whoever was commanding these so-called militia forces clearly lacked any sort of military training or coordination.

With a shake of his head the Dagger 1 pack leader clicked the mic on his headset and spoke, “Dagger 2, do you copy?”

After a few seconds a female voice gruffly replied back, “This is Dagger 2, send it”

“Have you reached your objective?”

“Negative, we got ambushed by some militia forces, so our timeline is a bit soiled” replied Dagger 2’s pack leader with an annoyed tone to her voice.

“Copy, same thing happened to us. Alright, we are going to head into our objective and light some fires.”

“Copy that, we are heading to ours as well.”

After that the communications terminated and the Dagger 1 pack leader looked back at his squad, with a nod he then readied his weapon and pointed down the lane to the first building, which sat about 200 meters away. It was a pretty simple two story reinforced concrete building, iron bars had been welded over the first and second story windows. It looked like something out of place when compared to the dozen or so smaller shacks that laid on the other side of the building. The building also was not of standard Thalduhmian design, which was tall and blocky. Often made with dark grey concrete with no ground floor windows, rather it was of dracoian design as the concrete was a blood red and on top of it, it had several skylights.

The squad then moved forward and broke into two their two teams, with one team heading towards the front of the building. The second team would walk up to the side and, using their jumpkits, hopped into the top of the building. Soon, both teams stacked up on their entrances, the first team stacking up on the front door and the second team stacking up on one of the skylights. In the first team, the Tactical Artificial Military Intelligence, or TAMI, took the lead and pulled out a satchel charge, then placed it on the door and armed it. Walking back to their position and taking a few steps back, the android handed the pack leader the detonator before activating their wrist mounted shield and facing the door. Soon the door exploded and with an ear piercing screech of metal it blew inwards with high speed and crashed through several barricades killing the defenders that were in the way of the door. The android then moved forward and quickly entered, then followed by the rest of the team. Bullets pinged off the android’s arm shield and clattered to the floor, Fusiliers every so often would lean around the armored droid and fire short bursts into the defenders, killing some or keeping them suppressed as they moved forward.

Hearing the explosion go off, the Fusiliers on the roof did the same, they placed down satchel charges and detonated them as well. The force of the explosion made the reinforced glass shatter in all directions, but the majority of it flew inwards. With their way in, the Fusiliers on the roof then jumped through the sky light and used their jumpkits to slow their descent. The broken, razor sharp and quickly moving glass shredded the defenders that were in the open to ribbons or disoriented those that were barely outside of the glass barrage. As they started to recover, some of them were gunned down by the rapidly descending Imperial soldiers while others ran for cover, a few stayed out in the open to challenge the Fusiliers. Before landing the Fusiliers affixed their bayonets and quickly moved into melee range with the surviving cultists and militiamen; using their bayonets, claws, or the butts of their weapons to stab and beat them to death. Soon it was over and the atrium of the building had been secured, with bodies littered across the room. Dagger 1’s pack leader walked over to the Fusiliers that came in through the sky light and smiled.

“Quite the entrance there, Rehn.” commented the pack leader with a huge smile on his face.

“Eh, nothing too shabby, we were a bit off on timing and most of the hostiles got into cover, I do have one dead Fusilier.” replied the rather average height female fenvarian, with a shake of her head.

Dagger 1’s pack leader nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder “It's ok, we lose soldiers, just have to figure out how to carry out the mission. They died doing a service to the Empire, so they are already on their way to the afterlife.” he then patted the side of her face and nodded “You still have a lot to learn, come on let's get moving.”

Rehn nodded and looked to the rest of her pack “Police the tags of the Fusilier and the ammo, grenades, anything useful. As for the weapon, make it inoperable.” Sadly it was one of the riflemen that had fallen in combat, but at the same time it was good that it wasn't the heavy weapons Fusilier or designated marksman Fusilier. Losing such a specialist would put the pack at a disadvantage for suppression and long range engagements. After the tasks were complete the Fusiliers moved on and continued to secure the building with incredible speed, they quickly went from room to room flashbanging each room and clearing it. Most of the rooms on the main floor were clear, however when they approached the security station at the farside of the building they encountered more resistance. The TAMI of Dagger 1 went to break down the door, but instead was hit with a hail of gunfire. The bullet thundered across his armor, ripping huge holes into the armor as the armor piercing rounds struck home. The Fusilier stumbled backwards and slammed against the far wall with a wet thud, then slowly sliding down the wall.

The second soldier pulled out a flashbang and threw it around a corner, which was then soon followed by several bangs and a flash of light. After which they then streamed in with their rifle raised and pointed straight, right as soon as the Fusilier entered the room several Fusiliers also entered. The lead Fusilier placed his sights on a militiaman that had their eyes covered and was shouting something, in one of their hands there was an older weapon. The rifle was waving about in a threatening and wild motion. Without a second thought the Fusilier opened fire, sending a burst of armor piercing, high velocity rounds into the militiaman. The bullets ripped through the militiaman, creating fist sized exit wounds and splattered blood across the back wall. While the lead Fusilier fired on the militia man, the rest of the pack started to sweep the room as well, firing short bursts into the dazed militiamen until finally all of the militiamen were dead.

“Room clear!” yelled one of the Fusiliers

“Good” thundered Dagger 1’s pack leader as he looked back to the slumped body of the android that lay against the far wall in the hallway. He let out a tsk sound before turning to two nearby Fusiliers “You two, police the memory core, ammo, grenades, anything useful.”

“Yes sir.” replied the two Fusiliers, nodding then turning around to strip the body of all useful munitions and equipment. The weapon then was rendered inoperable to make sure it didn't fall into enemy hands, from the useful gear it would also be spread out among the different Fusiliers for tactical reasons. After which the Dagger 1 lead turned to Dagger 2 and spoke

“Alright let's get moving. You guys take the top floors, we will take the basement. Once the roof has been taken we will place our MGs and DMRs on the roof.” lowly spoke Dagger 1 lead with a nod.

Rehn nodded and soon the Fusiliers were on the move again, they split off into their squads and started to move towards their objectives within the building. Securing this building was important as it provided an overwatch position to their intended target building. So the two squads went room to room, flashbanging, grenading and killing any sort of hostile force they met, which unfortunately meant that every room was hostile. Until finally the building was clear at the cost of one heavy weapons Fusilier, but they carried on with their mission and the heavy weapons Fusiliers along with the two designated marksmen set themselves up on the roof.

Moving quickly the remaining Fusiliers cross the small road from their building to the next building which was a larger and heavily armed building. Dagger 1 pack leader looked at the remaining AMI platform and then to the rest of the formation that was with him. “They might likely know we are coming, stack up and move quickly. Check your corners and don't get bogged down.” he then turned to the TAMI unit. “Hit the door”

The AMI unit nodded and walked over to the door, they slapped on a few plastic explosives like from earlier, then they stepped back and lifted up their shield. After a few seconds there was a huge explosion and the Fusiliers moved forward right behind the AMI unit checking rooms they came upon and eliminated armed militia men that crossed their sights. Soon the ground was running red as the Fusiliers tore through the building's defenses with determination and bravery. They use everything at their disposal, bullets, grenades, knives, claws, rifle butts and so on to push through and clear out the building. The militia men would put up a stiff resistance but it was no match for the weight of the Fusiliers, however, they did manage to inflict casualties within the Fusiliers before the Fusiliers managed to achieve their objective.

Dagger 1’s pack frowned as they looked back at what remained of the two squads as they stacked up on the door to the final room. What remained was; three riflemen, Rhen, and two grenadiers. This raid had proven to be more costly than they had anticipated, it seemed like someone had tipped these guys off or else they wouldn't have put up this much of a fight. That or their intel was correct and something major was going on, thus they put up this much of a fight. It could also have been a combination of both things, which made sense. Something was up and he could feel it, just didn't know what. But right now, they had one last room to breach and he could hear voices on the other side of the door.

“Yes, I am fine...however, our mission might be compromised. No, they dont know what extent the mission is going to.” came a male voice “The Messiah? He has already done his part and has been...relieved of his duties.”

The male pack leader clicked on his mic and whispered. “Dagger 1 to command, we are about to breach the final room.....sounds like Messiah has been terminated.”

“How credible is this intel Dagger 1.”

“Right now, the wall whispers but we are breaching soon.”

“Copy that Dagger 1, breach and send all intel our way.”

“Affirmative.”

Clicking off his microphone, he walked up and placed the final breaching charge on the metallic door then walked back to the formation. They waited until they heard the familiar fizzle of thermite melting before finally there was a huge explosion that shot mostly everything inward. The pack leader threw a flashbang, which clattered to the floor and went off, adding to the confusion. Without hesitation the Fusiliers then stormed forward and quickly cleared the room, shooting the few armed militiamen, ripping ugly holes in their plain clothes and patch work armor. Within moments the room was secure and the survivors were rounded up.

Out of ten people in the room, all of them were dead; two of them had been shredded by the door explosion leaving nothing but body parts and blood sprayed across the room. The other six had been shot to death by the Fusiliers, several of them missing parts of their faces or chest cavities as the bullets ripped through their skulls and chests. One of the dead was a low Tech Cult lieutenant, with several bullet holes in their chest.

“Yo sarge!” called out one of the dagger 1 riflemen “We got ourselves a fish”

Dagger 1’s pack leader walked over to the Fusilier and looked over the rather tall but slender dracoian, he pulled out a data pad and flipped through the pictures until he saw one that looked like the draconian. “So it seems......” turning to the rest of the task force he ordered them to search the room. The Fusiliers went to work ripping the room apart for intelligence and any sort of documents that could be useful. As they ripped apart the room, Dagger 1’s pack leader started to shake his head. He turned to one of the Fusiliers and pointed to the body. “Given that he has been cybernetically enhanced, see if you can hack his brain.”

“Yes sir.” replied one of the Fusiliers pulling out a data pad and transfer cables to hook up to the lizard’s body. After they were hooked up they started the location and decryption process.

“High Sergeant, this ISM commando team leader, you are under temporary authority to rip apart that building, find any intelligence. We have been sidelined and cannot reach the objective, something is going down and we need that information now.”

The pack leader then walked to the side a bit and placed a finger onto the mic “Come again? Something going down?”

“Senior Sergeant, extract the information you can by any means necessary. You have direct orders from ISM and High Command. Dagger 2 and 3 have recovered data leading to Operation Divine Light happening today.”

“Copy that.” the Pack sergeant then clicked off his mic and walked back over to the Fusiliers . “Any luck?”

“Negative, sir- hold on I got something, looks like plans”

“Good, pull it and send it to our ISM friends.”

“Yes sir.” started the Fusiliers as they started to pull the data, but at the same time started to look it over. Watching moments of the data the Fusilier came across what appeared to be a recording, he watched the recording and his eyes widened. “SIR, ISM intel was right! There is something going on today.....and....”

“And what Fusilier?!”

“We are too late.”

Saying nothing the Fusilier turned around and clicked on his mic “Dagger 1 to High Command, we have actionable intel that something is going on today, I repeat we have actionable intel on Operation Divine Light happening today.”

“High Command to all Dagger teams, you are to pull out immediately!” came a voice that was obviously quite strained but able to keep it under wraps.

Stocked, the Pack Sergeant turned to the remaining Fusiliers in the room and started to issue out orders. “We have a broken arrow! Withdraw! Withdraw!” he then clicked on his mic and gave out the same orders to the overwatch team. Without wasting time the Fusiliers scavenged for any sort of ammo or grenades they could, finding a heap of ammunition and a couple of crates of grenades they resupplied before quickly moving out of the room. Once the last Fusilier was out of the room, Rehn pulled out a thermite grenade and tossed it into the room, soon setting the room aflame. The assault team then moved down the bloodied stairs and into the main hall where they saw several militiamen taking cover behind the blown out doorway. The lead Fusilier raised his weapon and pulled the trigger.

Two, three round bursts struck home and the two dropped to the ground lifelessly. “Overwatch team, this is the assault team we are coming out of the targeted building. Watch for friendlies, give us some covering fire!”

“Copy that!” came a voice followed by the sound of automatic fire. The Fusiliers then burst out from the building and started to run towards the other building, over head the clattering of machine gun fire kept anyone pinned down just long enough for the assault team to reach the other side. Soon there was a hail of gunfire as more and more militia forces rolled down the road, the Fusiliers of the assault team then turned around and started to fire away at the oncoming horde of soldiers. The soft thumps of grenades then also joined the fight as the grenadiers launched what grenades they had left in order to level the playing field.

“Contact right! Second story building!” yelled a Fusilier pointing to the building that sat on the same side as the overwatch team. In the distance one could see several ragged armed personnel on top of the building holding tubes with some of them holding rifles. “Rocket team! Overwatch! Take them out!”

Several cracks of marksmen rifle fire pierced the air as soon the rocket team fell one by one, high velocity 8mm rounds hitting home. Also there was a faint screech of a banshee in the air, then followed by an explosion that hit the side of the building. It was soon followed by another blast and another, until there was a rhythmic thump, thump, thump hitting the ground; sending dust and dirt into the air. Rehn was thrown back on the ground, she would hit the ground with a hefty smack. Slowly she regained her senses and there was ringing in her ears, as she got up she looked around quite dazed. She watched as a Fusilier disappeared in a column of smoke and dirt; another Fusilier, a grenadier went down in a hail of gunfire. She then placed her hand down and picked up her rifle, still somewhat dazed she started to fire back into the now approaching crowd of ragged soldiery.

A muffled roar soon came to life right behind her, followed by the clambering of tracks and more yelling, soon a thump of a heavy autocannon followed. When she turned around she was stunned to see Home Guardsmen rushing to their defense; the large and proud banner of the Sror Home Guard, 9th Regiment fluttering in the wind. She was then pulled to her feet by two dracoian Home Guardsmen and then dragged behind the advancing line of friendly troops, soon she saw several Fusiliers also get pushed behind the line of soldiers, but it was so few. Out of thirty two Fusiliers, only her and three others, for a total of four Fusiliers that survived the raid on the compound.

[Fenvaria Republic]

And it keeps raining

---

Capital zone
Ratzu, Sror
Day 2 to Day 4

---

The rest of the day had passed from the raid on the compound and all hell had broken loose, while the raid on the compound was going on the Home Guard forces that had been sent in to assist the Dagger teams had been engaged by insurgent forces and overran within hours. This attack was not an isolated event, soon insurgent forces across the capital zone had started to engage with Home Guard forces, bringing a full scale war to the relatively peaceful capital. Sectors of the city soon started to fall by the time that the raid was over, the Home Guard forces either cut off from reinforcements or dealing with a nonfunctioning command system. Other Home Guard units have switched sides and betrayed their comrades in order to show their true allegiance. Operation Divine Light was nothing more than a coup against the Empire and the standing system government. During the fighting, the 9th Home Guard Regiment had been on the frontlines of the insurgency, constantly fighting block by block, but being pushed back block by block out of the slums and into the city proper. Until finally they stood in the inner city, under-strengthened, ill equipped, lacking the armored transport to protect their wounded and quickly move around. They barely had enough time to relax and resupply, but right now it was one of the few times they were able to sit and get some rest.

With a sigh, Rehn looked at her MRE and tore it open and took a look at the contents of it. It was pretty much standard issue and pretty bland; meat, hardtack, a can of mash potatoes, a dehydrated orange, ration of vodka, a small block of cheese, with a packet of cigars and gum. Starting to hum a bit she took her food over to a camp fire that was nearby and started to heat up her serving of meat. There were several other guardsmen around the campfire who had also done the same thing, some of them started to stare at her, wondering what she was doing with them. She didn't pay much attention to them as she didn't want to be in their business, also she reasoned that many of them didn't want to talk to her since they lost a number of friends and loved ones in order to save her and surviving Fusiliers.

‘Fusilier” came a voice, she then turned her attention to one of the guardsmen that was looking directly at her, his dark blue and black uniform almost blending in the night. He was an evandarian, one of the few evadnarians or fenvarians within this Home Guard regiment, which was a bit of a surprise since not many evandarians or fenavrians lived on planes like Ratzu, they tended to be too hot for them. “Take a seat, it looks like you could use some rest and some company.”

“No, I am fine, I do not want to disturb you.” she replied kindly

“I insist, you've been through hell and back....so come on and relax.”

She let out a defeated sigh and sat down with them, several of the guardsmen looking away and back at their food. She felt out of place and like she didn't belong, but at the same time she knew that she did belong as they too would lay down their lives for her.

Soon she found herself swapping stories with the guardsmen around the campfire, sharing crazy stories of times before the insurgency and tall tales of the things they used to do. For a brief moment, it seemed like she was a part of something more, finally again a part of a unit. But, she couldn't help but think about the ones she lost in the raid. The evandari guardsman noticed this and shook his head.

“Fusilier, the Great Wolf had called them home so it was their time. You did what you could and you followed your orders as best as you could.”

“I know, but I could have done more...”

“I know, but right now we have orders to get you back to headquarters alive and in one piece....at the same time we have orders to not let the enemy push forward without taking significant casualties. At first light tomorrow you will be setting off in one of the armored cars with your other Fusiliers so you can get to HQ.”

“What about you?” she asked with a concerned tone

“We will do what we are ordered, hold them back as long as possible.....or die trying...many of us are old and the best we can do is hold the line. While more important assets get out of here and receive new orders.” replied the evandari with a nod, soon several of the other guardsmen nodded as well “You did your fighting, let us do ours.”

The next day, the four Fusiliers set out in one of the precious light recon vehicles (also known as armored cars) the regiment had, they felt bad for taking it, but the commanding officers of the regiment were right, they needed to get back to command to properly deliver this data they had. Granted it was not much data, but it was still important and could help the Empire win this war. But, for now they had to evade the enemy and survive. Rehn hated the idea of running and hiding, but for them it was their best option. She gripped the wheel tightly as she drifted around the corner and then slammed on the gas letting the engine roar to life as they gunned down the street which was littered with debris from earlier fighting. The Home Guard had cleared out this section last night, but had been pushed back creating a bulge within the Guard’s lines, threatening the 9th Regiment’s position. In the passenger’s seat one of her squad mates sat, looking at the GPS of the area and trying to figure out the fastest way there, in the turret sat the corporal from Dagger 1, finally in the radio operator’s position sat another Fusilier from Dagger 1.

“I'm telling you if we take the next on ramp we can be at the HQ in an hour.” argued the Fusilier as he pointed to the GPS “We don't have to cut through these side streets.”

“No, we dont, if we take the highway they will be expecting us as it is the quickest way there, they can easily kill us with an airstrike or a roadblock.”

“Yes and they can do the same here, we are even more of a target with the debris and rubble around as there could be anti tank teams hiding behind each pile.”

“Yes, but we have more cover here if we do get engaged.”

“Plus, if we take this way we have multiple ways of getting around a situation.” added the Dagger 1 Fusilier that was occupying the radio operator’s seat. “So, this route has better survivability than the highway.”

“Ugh...fine....” replied the Fusilier in the passenger seat as he shook his head “We are about 50 miles away from Command anyway....so it shouldn't be too much of a hike.”

The four would drive for the rest of the day, carefully avoiding hotspots, patrols and keeping to the darkness. But as they pushed further and further into the bulge of the line the more they encountered enemy patrols and the more likely they were going to be engaged. But, they decided to risk driving for one more day in order to close the distance between their position and command. When daylight broke on the fourth day they once again set out, they got considerably far until they finally got into a skirmish. As the car was rolling down the war torn street a large explosion wracked across the shielding of the LRV, causing it to shake and a bit as the shielding absorbed most of the impact.

Cursing, Rehn grabbed her weapon, slapped on her bayonet and shouted “OUT OF THE LRV! Corporal! Stay on that gun and give me fire suppression at three o’clock!”

“Yes ma’am!” replied the gunner as they started slapping in a magazine to the LRVs autocannon, with a heavy thunk a round entered the chamber. The gunner peered through the sights and lined up for a shot, without a second thought he screamed out “FIRIN’!” With moments later the autocannon thumping away with authority and superior firepower upon the 3 o’clock position, keeping anyone that was there suppressed.

The three other Fusiliers then dismounted and took up positions around the armored car. There wasn't much in the way of cover but the Fusilier sitting in the radio operator chair and passenger seat Fusilier managed to find some decent cover behind some rubble. As for Rehn, she used the front end of the LRV as her cover, the shielding and the engine block providing stiff resistance to most small arms fire. Just then another rocket trail came from the unit’s five o’clock position, the explosion once more rocking the LRV. Rehn looked back and followed the trail before turning to the Dagger 1 Fusilier and pointing to the building at the corner. “Smoke trail, five o’clock, put some heat on that building!”

“Copy!” reported the Fusilier who took aim and started to fire upon the building, the bangs of small arms fire piercing the air. In the distance one could see the projectiles impact against the walls of the building and some would go through a few of the windows. While the five o’clock position was being suppressed, the autocannon at the three o’clock position managed to score a kill. One of the enemy soldiers got up from their cover and took aim at the LRV, but was torn to shreds by the auto cannon leaving nothing but the ragged and bloodied remains of a body behind.

Soon there was another kill as Rehn took aim at a duo moving around the pile of debris to her far left, with one of them having a rocket launcher. She took aim and fired at the enemy soldier with a rocket launcher, striking him in the side and then in the head. Falling to the ground, the launcher was pointed upward and the rocket it would off but would shoot upwards into the sky while the back blast knocked over his comrade. As she took aim at the rocketeer’s comrade there was a barbaric wail coming from her side, she quickly rolled to her side and leveled the rifle. What she saw was something horrifying, a person possibly a dracoian charging at her however, he was not like any draocian she had seen before. The flesh seemed to be falling off his skin to the point where you could see the metallic bone, half of the creature’s face was also missing, making it look like it was brought back to life. With another roar the creature charged at her with remarkable speed for its look.

“Shit shit shit” she thought to herself as she aimed her rifle at the beast and started to fire in short bursts, bullets impacting and ripping through the flesh and metal but not slowing down the beast. Soon there was a dry click “Damnit!!” she yelled as the beast got closer and closer, quickly she racked the charging handle back and disposed of the empty magazine, then pulled out a fresh one and placed it in. Finally she forcefully slapped the handle forward and squeezed the trigger, not letting go. Rapid flashes of light poured over her face and the non stop sound of gunfire rang in her ears as the beast got so close it could reach out and touch her, wasting no time; she thrusted with her rifle impaling the bayonet into the beast’s heart and then pulled out. She kept stabbing away at the beast as it cried out in pain and misery from the dozens of bullet holes in it and now the stabbing of the bayonet, but it wasn't dying. She then went for the head, pulling back the rifle she then thrusted upward and towards the base of the jaw. The blade went right through it, cutting cleanly through the flesh, brain and finally the top of the skull where the tip poked out.

The creature twitched and struggled for a moment, the signs of life slowly leaving their eyes, until finally Rehn jerked the rifle to the side and pulled out. The blade then cut more into the brain and retreated as she pulled away, as for the creature it just stood there for a few moments before finally dropping to its knees and falling over. Blood pooling out from the various wounds in the body, creating a large puddle around it. With the sounds of battle around her, she just sat back against the pile of debris and started to breathe heavily as she slowly recovered from the engagement. Slowly she picked up her rifle and started to clean off the bayonet as she thought to herself “I cant keep doing this....I need to rest...but I know I can't....I have to get to headquarters.” After a few moments the fighting died down and the other Fusilier from her team walked over to her, picking her up by the arm and leading her to the vehicle’s passenger side.

“Let's move! We can't stay here!” yelled the Fusilier as they placed her in the car. “Rameriz! Get your ass in the LRV, we are leaving! Cozak! Keep that fire up”

“Copy!” came a voice from the turret as they then switched to the building that Rameriz was suppressing, soon a Fusilier came racing up and hopped into the radio operator’s seat. Soon the Fusilier from Rehn’s group got into the car and slammed the door close as they stepped on the gas and sped off. For the rest of the day they made it slowly but safely to the front line that had now formed around the governmental sector, which was the last place of Home Guard resistance within the city. However, when they arrived the group found themselves looking at a mess of a line, a force in total disorganization and lacking the heavy equipment that would seem to be standard with all other Home Guard forces. The four Fusiliers then disembarked their LRV and asked one of the Guardsmen where the command center was, the Guardsman frowned and pointed towards the large and impressive romanesque looking building that sat in the middle of the line.

“There.” he said with a disgusted tone in his voice “That is the command center, however, our commander is doing his best to beat some sense into the fat shits that are up there.”

“Lovely” commented Rehn as she sighed.

“No shit, no reason why we are in this position.” grumbled the guardsmen as they went back to filling up and stacking the sandbags. Without saying another word, the group of Fusiliers walked off and headed towards the command building, as they walked by they noticed Guardsmen in various forms and having a mishmash of weapons and uniforms. Which seemed out of the ordinary for a unified planetary defense force, it looked like they had to get their stuff by themselves. Meaning that if the Home Guard was to work with the Army forces on the planet, there would be a huge logistical and mechanical problem as both forces wouldn't be able to use the same supply lines and parts for their gear. Effectively crippling the two forces and making combat operations difficult and possibly deadly.

“Ack, look at this.” pointed out Rameriz as he looked at the groupings of Home Guardsmen. “They look like a mix of mercenaries rather than a unified force.”

“It's not their fault.” pointed out Cozak with a shrug “Their planetary body has had large inefficiencies over the last few years, but they are too blind to see it or what it has done.”

“Fair, hopefully this uprising will make them see that.” Rameriz then shrugged “If not, well the Empire will come in and put in a new government.”

“Possibly.” replied Cozak and without another word the four continued their way to their objective.

By the time the sun had set they reached the steps of the capitol building, the stairs were flanked by heavy machine guns and sandbags. Portable cover had been pulled out and it seemed most of the elite troops had been stationed around the building, with most of the Capitol Guard sporting the most advanced weaponry. Rehn stared down at some of the Capitol Guard and shook her head, the Capitol Guard was only loyal to the governor and the planetary government, not any sort of military organization like the Home Guard or Imperial Army. Which made them pretty much the pawns of the system government or the governor in charge, but it was also seen as a prestigious position due to the honor that came with it, according to the Dracoians.

Getting up the stairs, they were directed to the planetary governor’s office where they would find the Home Guard commander and the planetary governor. When they reached the room they could hear heavy shouting and what appeared to be a heated argument, sounds like someone isn't getting what they wanted.

“Damn the costs, Governor! The Home Guard needs to withdraw from the city and regroup with the Army forces!” came a voice from the other side of the door, when the group entered they found what appeared to be a rather large and overweight lizard sitting at a chair with a fenavrian in Home Guard colors shouting at them.

“I will not be risking my position as governor and leader of this planet just because of a small rebellion! To lose the capital would be a political blow!”

“No, it would not! And this is no small rebellion, this rebellion is sweeping across the planet like a wildfire all because you and your cronies are doing jack shit.”

“You have your orders, Commander! You are to fight to the last man and protect the capital, if not you deny them the capital.”

“How can I deny them the capital if me or my forces are dead?!”

“I dont care, deadman nuke the capital if you have to!” roared the large lizard, slamming his fist on the table. “You will protect the city while the government officials withdraw.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I will have you arrested for treason and dereliction of duty.” smiled the lizard “You certainly dont want that.”

The Home Guard commander balled up his fists and leaned in, making the lizard lean back a bit, before finally the commander slammed his fist on the desk “If we all fucking die cause of your entiled and arrogant ass, I will make sure to haunt you for the rest of your days.”

“Watch your tongue commander...”

The commander said nothing but instead turned around and faced the Fusiliers “You must be the survivors of the slums raid. Sorry to hear about your lost and casualty list.” he then glared at the governor with a murderous intent. “What have you found?”

“The situation is worse than we expected, the enemy has been throwing everything at our line and is getting stronger as the days go by. Seems like they are indeed using welded support in some of their soldiers.”

“And the intel” asked the governor with a flick of his tongue, he seemed to be more interested in that rather than the military situation that was outside of his room. “Did you recover anything?”

“Kinda” started Rameriz quickly “We didn't have enough time to decrypt it as we came under attack and the encryption was pretty heavy. We barely made it out alive from that slum.”

“Yes, yes...but send that data to one of my techs and see if they can have a shot at it.”

“Understood”

The commander looked back at the governor and then to the Fusiliers “Is there anything else? I have scattered reports from my scouts that civilians are starting to come under attack.”

“Im sorry sir, but we haven't seen any such incidents, we just found bodies and debris. We, however, had engaged several undead cybernetically enhanced soldiers. They proved to be rather tough soldiers too, they don't register pain or emotion. It took two magazines and a bayonet to the head to kill one; alternatively a LRV autocannon makes short work of them. Granted, most of the ones we engaged seemed to be beefed up.” reported Rehn

“Mmmm, I've been getting those reports as well. If there is nothing else....please stop by my office when you have the time. I would like to discuss military affairs with your unit.”

Rehn nodded and led her group out of the room with the commander right behind them, the governor watched as they left the room and signed. If they did recover the data from that compound his support towards the rebellion would be uncovered and he most likely would see an execution for treason and a load of other crimes. But he needed to get that data, so he pulled out his private phone and flipped through his contacts before finally pressing one and waited for the person to pick up. A few rings passed before there was a click and a voice could be heard

“Governor...I didn't expect this call so soon....”

“The survivors of the raid got through your ambushes.....even through some of your elite troops.”

“I am entirely aware of the situation and that they got through the ambushes I set up, which was a part of the plan was it not?”

“No, you told me that you would be able to kill them before they got here.”

“I said it was a possibility, I didn't guarantee it. But, I did manage to pull off a rather large rebellion thanks to your help.”

“Alright, either way...we are going to have a change of plans....”

“You want me to attack the command center as soon as possible, don't you?”

“Yes. I would like you to keep your supporters within the government alive....including me.”

“My forces will try....but some might be a bit.....enchanted by the fighting. But, I‘ll make sure that they dont kill you.”

“That is reassuring.” sarcastically stated the governor with a frown “Just make sure they do not escape alive.”

“I will make sure of it.....but for now, you might want to take cover....tonight is going to be...interesting. A new world and system is going to be upon us, with you at the head. So try to stay alive for a bit long, heh.” replied the Prophet as the sound of artillery guns started to open up, the dull thumps in the distance followed by the howls of plunging shells and finally them exploding across the area. The call then disconnected and in ran the commander of the Capitol Guards

“My lord, we need to get you into the bunker....also...I am guessing it is time?”

“Not yet...we still have a few cards to play before we show our true colors....”

“Yes my lord”

Until we are all washed away

---

Capital zone
Ratzu, Sror
Several hours into day 5

---

Tilda Rehn watched from their climbing dropship as the fires and the fighting around the capital grew in strength and intensity, buildings being leveled and streets began to be pock marked with shell craters. Her orders were to pull out of the capital and return to a Thalduhmian friendly fortress city, the capital had been lost. Below her, Home Guard forces also started to withdraw from the city. However, some stubbornly stood back and helped defend the evacuating forces against the onslaught of fanactial cultists, deranged civilians and militia members that were under the control of the Reformist tech cult. The Home Guard’s attempt to hold off the wave after wave of fanatics had bought them time, but Rehn’s dropship was the last one to take off before the Guard’s line buckled and finally collapsed. A large hole in the line had been created for which the cultists and possessed flooded in, attempting to kill any guardsman that dared to engage them. The cultists used makeshift weapons ranging from melee weapons to rifles, the militiamen had some better weapons but not many. But, what they lacked for weapons they made up for numbers and continued to throw themselves at the defenders. Soon the defending Guardsmen were forced into melee range and forced back into defensive pockets of resistance. They started to use their bayonets to stab and slash at the cultists, they also used their rifles as blunt instruments.

With the dropship doors closing, she watched as each of the pockets slowly got overrun before with the last fight of defiance some of the surviving Home Guardmen huddled around their standard and were systematically whipped out to the last soldier. The Guardsmen fought valiantly and defiantly to the end, but when the final Guardsman fell so did their tattered standard. Soon the cultists and possessed started to scavenge the bodies, looting them for gear, weapons and ammo. Rehn took a step back and away from the dropship window, a look of shock and horror painted her face as she digested the images that she saw. She turned to the Home Guard Regional Commander and frowned at the crackling man.

“Funny isn't it?” spoke the man with a wild stare “How such a tumor was allowed to spread under the surface of Ratzu. How, a planetary government could be so incompetant and blind to it, then be so surprised to see it appearing on their front door.” he let out a tsk sound and then spoke more. “This is their trial and judgement, they brought this damnation upon themselves.”

“They are still your superiors.” retorted Rehn

“Where.” spoke the Regional Commander “I am fully expecting them to be killed and their bodies paraded through the streets, their vast wealth looted. Some might be killed by the cultist, possessed and the damned; others might just commit suicide like the cowards they are. A few might fight back like true warriors.” he paused

“I told you before that Ratzu is corrupt to the core and this corruption goes back even before the fenvarians showed up. This Reformist Tech Cult uprising is allowing people to take advantage of the situation to express their displeasure for the current administration; they see the Reformist as a new and possibly better administration then the old one. From their campaigns the Reformists promise to bring better stability and opportunity for all that follow them.”

“I know.” she said with a strained tone, then walked over to her chair to sit down. “But now that you are the de facto leader of the Home Guard, what are you going to do?”

“I’ll do what I can, but for now, I am like you.” The Home Guard Regional Commander pulled out a cigar and lighter, he placed the cigar into his mouth and flicked on the lighter. He lit the cigar and flipped off the lighter and put away, then proceeded to take a deep breath from his cigar before finally blowing out the smoke. “My last orders were to withdraw to a friendly fortress city and reorganize what remains of the loyal Home Guard forces to wait for Empire reinforcements who are a few weeks out. Luckily, the Army garrison on Ratzu is mostly intact and has started to set up defensive lines around their main garrison....so I think that is where we should locate. That way we have a good core of soldiers, armor, and weapons.” he took the cigar out of his mouth and puffed once more. “Cause one Imperial soldier is worth at least three Guardsmen.”

Rehn just nodded and looked back out of the window towards the now burning city, hundreds of drop ships where no leaving the city. Some of them were bullet riddled and damaged, others were in pristine condition with some char marks here and there. But soon some of them began taking anti aircraft fire from now hostile anti air positions, a few went down in balls of fire and smoke, while others managed to limp away. A few of the limping dropships would dive down and crash into the buildings below exploding into balls of fire, others crashed and survived. Only then only to be swarmed by cultists, traitors or helpless civilians looking for protection, the crews were then killed and the dropship looted for weapons or gear.

“In the meantime, we should get some rest, it should take us about eight hours to get to the Army garrison.” he sighed and went back to smoking his cigar.

Rehn nodded and leaned back in her chair then slowly closed her eyes and passed out rather quickly from her exhaustion. As she slept, she replayed the events that happened and wondered what went wrong, how could things go so wrong that this happened. After what seemed like minutes she was awoken by the Home Guard Commander shaking her shoulder, the commander had a gigantic grin on his face and pointed to the door with a cigar clutched in his fingers.

“We are here! Seems like the Army has made some significant progress and is expecting us.” the Commander smiled and placed the cigar back in his mouth. Rehn then got up and looked around, she patted herself down to make sure her armor and load bearing equipment were secure. As she patted herself down, she patted her ammunition pouches, they were bone dry and empty.

Then she started to think to herself, “Right, I threw my weapon when it ran out of ammo as I was running up the stairs.” She went to reach for her bayonet and found the scabbard empty, “Fuck....did it break....or did I ditch it, when I threw my rifle” She thought to herself as she then reached down her to her pistol holster, which was also empty as she threw it to the side when she was running for the drop ship. The pistol had run out of ammo when she was trying to clear a path to the transport craft. After she was done checking her gear she then walked over to the edge of the craft and looked out the open door, what she saw was impressive. The Army had created several hundred miles worth of entrenchments and fortified positions around their fortress which in its own right was a city of a sort that bristled with guns and fortifications.

Taking her eyes off the fortifications, she looked over and saw hundreds of drop ships heading towards the base, most of them coming from fallen cities and towns. There also was civilian craft that got intercepted and then diverted to an airfield far from the base and the main fortifications. She then heard the roar of an engine then followed by another then they got considerably closer until what appeared to be two single seat, single engine fighters appeared on both sides of the drop ship. The dropship then pitched to the side and followed the fighters to the nearby airfield. As they flew over the fortifications and descended, Rehn saw more and more of the fortifications and not to her surprise, the Imperial Army had really dug into this position as they were keen on holding it. Which made sense, the fortress here provided several combat advantages, it gave them a centralized command structure on the planet as well as secure communications, large stocks of munitions/equipment and when help did arrive, a place for them to land.

Moments later the drop ship landed and the soldiers aboard the craft disembarked, soon two three light recon vehicles rolled up and stopped. Two of the vehicles were in their standard configurations, which had a pretty standard rail assisted autocannon on it. They would take up positions in front and behind the center light recon vehicle. As for the center vehicle it was in the auxiliary variant, which got rid of the main cannon and had an expanded back section to move around troops and light cargo. From the center light recon vehicle, out stepped several fully armed Fusiliers and two officers in full combat kit. The two officers then walked over to Rehn and the Home Guard commander, the Home Guard commander quickly saluted and Rehn soon followed.

The two officers stopped about a meter and a half from them and saluted back. “Commander, good to see you are still alive, I was afraid that political moves had killed you.” commented one of the officers, the rank of Colonel was pinned to the upper right chest area of his armor.

“It's going to take more than political sack to really kill me, those political asshats sure where quick to reinstatement after the first uprising attacks

“Sergeant Rehn, good to see that you are alive as well, I am sorry for what happened to your Fusiliers and your infiltration team. But the information they gave us was considerably valuable.”

“Yes sir.” replied Rehn through clenched teeth.

The colonel sighed and nodded “I know you're pissed, but we didn't get this intel until it was too late. The former planetary government had been stone walling us for over a year about the situation and we couldn't do anything about risking our position here on the planet. Ratzu might be our protectorate, but they are still a largely independent faction that is allowing us to be here.”

“I figured.” Rehn just shrugged casually and looked at the colonel “From what the commander says about the older planetary government is that they were a bunch of hardasses to deal with.”

“Indeed.” replied the colonel then he looked around as if he was searching for something. After a few moments he gestured to the convoy. “Please, let's get going....it's best not to be in open areas right now.”

The two nodded and headed to the vehicles where they boarded them, right behind them was the colonel and his adjunct. Once they were aboard the transport light recon vehicle the convoy would set off towards the headquarters building. Upon them moving out the colonel continued.

“Yes, the old planetary government was a hardass to deal with and cooperate with since they had a bunch of internal deals. They didn't want us to be poking around too much when it came to their structure and politicians. We didn't get a full grasp of the situation that we were facing until a few weeks ago and even then they didn't provide us with the full intel that you later recovered. It seemed that this plot of rebellion was going on longer than we were informed about, not to mention several of the head government officials had been conspiring with the Reformists and separatists for their own gains.” the colonel then smiled “Unfortunately for most of them, they probably didn't get to see their power increase, rather they got to see the barrel of a gun. Such irony heh”

“Indeed” commented the Home Guard commander with a smile. “Anyway, what is our situation?”

“FUBAR.” replied the colonel with a stoic face as he looked at the commander. “Over 50 percent of the planet has fallen to the rebels, they control five of the seven major cities with that; 50% of the armaments industry, farming, and other industries. 20% remain in active combat zones and the final 30% remain under our control. In short, if we don't get Imperial reinforcements soon we risk the chance of being overrun.” the colonel then smiled a bit “However, we should be able to hold out due to the fort being reinforced over the years and its stockpile increasing exponentially in the last few years. In theory we should be able to hold out until reinforcements arrive or for at least a year.”

“That's some good news.” commented the Home Guard commander leaning back in his chair with a slight sigh of relief.

“Eh, not really.” continued the colonel, now leaning forward and clasping his hands together. “That is if they don't throw everything at us and force us into high intensity non stop combat, well if that happens, we can cut that time in half at least. I am a betting man and my theory is that once they secure what they have, they are going to throw everything at us to overrun our few holdings in order to push for a victory. Then make the reinforcements fight for a landing zone and stall them, thus dragging out the conflict.”

“It would not surprise me either if that is their plan, they have the men and material to do just that.” added Rehn “After what I saw in the capital, they overran the Home Guard line around the evac point, which the line had heavy armor support. They made the Home Guard there fight in a square around their standard.”

“Shit..” the colonel sighed. “I guess the best we can do is hold out for now.”

[Jagada]

Presidio System,
Commonwealth of Antega
July 1, 2567 – 03:47 Local Time

The mechanisms of commerce moved. Ships of all sizes followed pre-determined routes into and out of the system under the watchful eye of armed stations and prowling military vessels. System traffic controllers filled the communication networks with calls for updates, commands, and requests for information. Presidio did not receive the sheer titanic volumes of traffic that a place like Karnassus did, but it was still staggering. Just outside of the system ships would translate, as they were unable to do so closer due to an intrinsic network of FTL jammers to prevented unwanted surprises. The bulk of traffic came from beyond the official territorial boundaries of the Commonwealth, in the form of raw resources either in route to Karnassus, Mont Saluda, or Presidio itself. The planet which the system was named after was an arid ball roughly two-thirds the size of a standard world, whose population just exceeded a billion souls. Though it received representation in the General Assembly and had the official designation as a colony world none would mistake that Presidio was the unofficial home of the Armed Forces. Since its inception as a fallback colony during the earliest days, it became a hard-bitten place where rough cut individuals made a life for themselves under the watchful gaze of an equally jaded military. Life on Presidio was rough by its nature and was about to get a lot rougher.

A sudden translation of numerous vessels just outside of the system was the first sign of trouble. While hundreds of vessels a day would translate in and out, this translation represented a full days’ worth of traffic in the matter of an hour. System controllers were quick to notice this, along with the Astrofleet who began moving assets into pre-determined positions. The territory beyond Presidio was often called the frontier but that wasn’t technically true since the frontier ended at the arid world. Dozens of mining outposts existed out there along with a smattering of colonies that hoped to one day be officially recognized. But it was politics and money that kept Antega from make the call, as it would require additional military spending to secure the territories, an expansion of administrative systems to begin providing services and collecting taxes, plus the dozens of other myriad issues that would become the Presidium’s problem. It was better for everyone that the territory be considered under the “domain” of the Commonwealth without receiving official recognition. It allowed the Astrofleet to patrol the areas when and how they wanted without necessarily be responsible for anything, and it kept hostile powers from making an outright steal of the outposts as it gave Antega a casus bello for war.

System controllers sent out demands for identification and one by one the newcomers responded. Many were simply cargo-haulers of varying sizes, but a number pinged back that they were Astrofleet vessels. They also responded that some of them were heavily damaged. Identification codes were sent in from the freighters while encrypted signals were seen to the controllers to pass between the Astrofleet ships. A picture began to emerge that an ambush by separatist elements in the “frontier” had aligned itself with piratical elements and begun a major raid across the outposts. Still, system controllers awaited response from Delta Squadron (the Astrofleet vessels currently tasked with defending the system) for authorization to begin trafficking the newcomers. The approval was sent an hour later after much back and forth over encrypted channels. There’d been plenty of prep work to do during that time and controllers made the best of it by talking directly with the civilian freighters and getting a game plan together to begin processing them. A quirk began to emerge, however, since in many cases these vessels officially registered navigators, captains, or communications officers were not the same as those on the books. The higher ups were informed but a consensus that many of them must have been killed during whatever happened out there.

With authorization from Delta Squadron, system controllers went about the titanic task of bringing the outlying ships in. Several reported major damage with dozens of injured onboard and these were prioritized. The plan was to bring in the most heavily damaged vessels first to whatever orbital dockyard could handle them with medical staff on standby. Meanwhile communication with Presidio itself put the planetary government on alert about the situation, but then the military had already had them in the loop. The damaged military vessels were directed to a separate area, away from the civilian dockyards and towards whatever berths the military had available. The effort was titanic and for most of the staff the first time they’d ever experienced something like that. Mistakes were made of course with ships being sent to the wrong destinations, routes of travel getting mixed up, and other such chaos. As the hours ground by the tension began to rise.

For Berthmaster Evan Peterson aboard Orbital Transfer Station #19, affectionately known as Cicada, the whole thing seemed wrong somehow, but he couldn’t place his finger on it. He was responsible for the controllers onboard Cicada which had numerous berths, but only one available when this shit show went down. Fortunately, it was designed for a superhauler cargo ship, and his controllers were working diligently to bring the Mack-7 into Berth 28. He watched over Troey’s shoulder while glancing up ever so often at the overview screen that tracked the dozens of ships in their area of responsibility. Evan decided the Mack-7 was hiding something. How did he know that? Because either by luck or circumstance he was well acquainted with the crew of the Mack-7. The pay for system controllers was noticeable but nothing to write home about and being a Berthmaster gave him a comfortable lifestyle but not nearly enough warrant all the bullshit he put up with; so, he’d dabbled in the more nefarious side of the business with some honest smuggling. The Mack-7 was also involved in smuggling and their paths had crossed a few times in the past. None of the people he’d spoken to were people he’d remembered – not a single damn one. He knew they’d been attacked, and the Mack-7 reported a lot of damage, so it made since that some of them had died. But during Troey’s communications the voices on the other side seemed off … their accent wasn’t even right now that he thought about it. The superhaulers crew was composed mostly of Presidio folks but the accent on the other end was Mont Saludan.

“Copy that, Mack-7,” said Troey, “Standby for berth clearing verification …”

Troey keyed up a different comms channel and began to talk to the crews down at the berth directly to make sure it had been cleared and prepped for the superhauler’s arrival.

Evan took the opportunity and keyed his headset to the superhauler’s designated channel, “Mack-7, this is Station 19. What is the status of Captain Folotov?”

Troey looked at him incredulously and the commsn channel stayed silent for a moment. “Captain Folotov didn’t make it, Station 19.”

The response wasn’t exactly hard but terse. Not what you’d expect from a crew that’d lost their captain. Folotov wasn’t a bad sort either as he usually spent the extra credits he made smuggling on making improvements to the Mack-7 under its corporate overseer’s noses.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Folotov was a good man.”

Evan took a step back and motioned for Troey to continue, but as his controller went to key up Evan placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Wait a minute.”

Berthmaster Evan Peterson swapped channels and sent a request to Dockmaster Barrera. The minutes ticked by as he waited for his request to be answered.

“Stataion 19, this is Mack-7. Do we have permission to berth?”

Troey looked at him, “They’ve got injured people on board, Evan. What’s the problem?”

Something wasn’t right. “Stall them for a bit. I need to make this call.”

Troey looked dismayed but did as he was told, “Mack-7, our berth crews are finishing up a couple of last second things. Give us a bit please …”

Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Twetny minutes passed by before the Dockmaster answered him.

“Barrera here.”

“Hey, this is Evan. Something is up with the Mack-7.”

“How?”

Evan Peterson stumbled a bit. Barrera was involved in the smuggling too, cause of course he was, but they couldn’t exactly just come out and talk about it.

“The Mack’s crew and I have had gin together a few times,” said Evan. Gin was the slang term used for smuggling that allowed them to mention it over open comms. “I don’t recognize none of the voices or names.”

“They took a helluva beating out there, Evan. Probably lost a bunch of folks.”

“The accents don’t match up.”

“What?”

“Their accents uh … don’t match. Mack’s crew is native boys and these guys are Saludan.”

Seconds of silence ticked by before Barrera answered, “Alright give me a few minutes. I don’t think Admin will give a damn but we’ll see …”

Before Evan had acknowledged the link had been cut. Almost thirty minutes ticked by before Barrera keyed back up.

“Admin don’t give a damn, Evan. Military’s given the all-clear so bring the Mack in.”

“Yes sir,” he replied in resignation.

He gave Troey the all-clear. The communication was sent and the Mack-7 superhauler began its final run towards Berth 28. Bay crews were already standing by, and the medical staff had emergency teams there as well. Evan Peterson felt his innards tingling with anxiety. Something just wasn’t fekking right …

Orbital Station 35 went grey on the overview screen. The controllers noticed it immediately as alarms rolled across their screen – detectors on the station had picked up indications of an explosion. The comms went hectic with requests for assistance, cries for help, and emergency notices. Before a clear picture had gotten through a general alert sounded across the controllers screen that emergency crews were to begin responding to an accidental explosion at Station 35. Even before the message finished playing, and Evan’s team could begin giving preliminary authorization for their station emergency crews to respond, two more stations suddenly went grey. Alarms kept rolling in on the automatic system.

“What the fuck is going on?” said Evan trying to take all the messages and information rolling in.

Cicada had numerous telescopic cameras mounted on it for long-range viewing of incoming vessels. Indeed a few where aimed at the incoming Mack-7, displayed across a sweep of screens. It had many more since its load capacity was so much greater than one superhauler. Several were realigned over several long minutes towards the damaged stations: 35, 102, and 90. Magnification could only reveal so much but they could clearly see debris floating around. Speculation arose quickly that some of the ships might’ve made bad moves at their berths and instead rammed into the stations. It lined up with how hectic all of this had been since Admin had insisted that the normal traffic flow not be stopped.

“Anything from Admin or the military?” asked Evan, even though he had already commandeered an extra station near Troey and began pulling up the information himself.

“Military channels are encrypted,” replied his comms specialist, “But they’re going crazy.”

Admin had released nothing over the information network yet and his query to Barrera was quickly put on indefinite hold. The only information being released was that four stations were severely damaged. Wait … four? Evan Peterson looked up at the overview screen even as cursed filled the room as Station 11, the one closest to them, went grey.

“No fucking way,” someone said. One or two stations was a coincidence but four …

Evan keyed up the Mack-7, “Mack-7, this is Station 19. Halt your approach to Berth 28 immediately! We’ve received word of numerous accidents, including Station 11. We’re now in the emergency envelope. Power down your torches and standby for further instructions!”

“Don’t worry Station 19. We are here to save you.”

Evan Peterson blinked in surprise and then keyed back up, “Come back on that Mack 7? I repeat we’re in an emergency envelope now, cut your torches and remain on standby!”

“Praise the Prophet! Praise the coming salvation! PRAISE BE! PRAISE BE! PRAISE BE! PRAISE BE!”

Mack-7 didn’t cut its torches. Instead, it’s slow but methodical approach turned into a mad dash. Its power up was detected by Cicada’s sensors and emergency warnings blasted across the controllers’ screens warning of extremely high velocity approach. Within minutes the station’s virtual intelligence had taken control of the situation and began to take safety precautions. A general collision warning blared across the station comms while bulkheads slammed cut, isolating Berth 28 from the rest of the station. In the event of a collision, Station 19 was designed to withstand most of the impact and hopefully by isolating the berth would prevent catastrophic loss of life. Given that the berths were essentially “open” concepts there was no large bulk to simply slam shut. None of it really mattered however, as the Mack-7 reached terminal velocity and slammed through the arrestor bars that the VI had placed in its path. They were only designed to slow the incoming ship down for mitigation. The superhauler slammed into Berth 28 some seven minutes after it broadcasted its promise of salvation. Station 19 took the impact as well as it could with its thrusters burning full tilt to keep it from being pushed too close to Presidio, where it risked colliding with one of the orbit-atmospheric transfer hubs or, God forbid, into the planet itself.

Berthmaster Evan Peterson and his controllers screamed frantically as their world turned into a disaster. The impact shook everything and the sounds of twisting titanium sounded like angry beasts trying to tare their way through the armor plating. The workstations went crazy with alarms and klaxons shrieking. For what felt like hours but was probably no more than several minutes Cicada continued to violently shake. Controllers were tossed around with several receiving grievous injuries. Once the Station stopped shaking his instincts kicked in. He had experience dealing with a collision from years prior. He shouted for his first-aid responders to deal with the injured, shouted for information on how bad Cicada was damaged, what was the condition of Mack-7? What was the condition of the other vessels? Berth 28?

None of it mattered when thirty-five seconds later the engines on the Mack-7 went supercritical and detonated. It didn’t help that its cargo bays were filled to the brim with explosive materials. Cicada never stood a chance. Even its VI system was at a loss as the expanding fireball literally vaporized Berth 28, and several berths around it. The docking ring for the stations received critical damage and began to fragment and the superstructure was torn apart by the expanding fireball within. The containment bulkheads had been designed to sustain unexpected cargo-based explosions, but not a fusion drive going supercritical much less whatever energies were released by Mack-7’s pulley-based FTL drive. Across the Presidio orbital network, other controllers were note that suddenly Station 19 also went grey.

[Jagada]

Presidio System,
Commonwealth of Antega
July 1, 2567 – 10:21 Local Time

The situation was unravelling quickly. Seven orbital stations ceased reporting to system command, with twice that many sending our distress calls as the ships they were attempting to help turned on them. When Station 35 had gone dark the Astrofleet was the first to take notice. Its numerous installations in and around Presidio sent out warnings. Information flooded through the numerous VIs before being funneled to the ACS Self-Seeker, the Forebearer-class flagship of Delta Squadron. Here the greater picture was rapidly developing and the CIC, nestled deep within its armored bowels, buzzed with activity. The ship’s more advanced virtual intelligence worked with its lesser cousins from across the fleet and system installations to get a better strategic overview of the unfolding disaster, while simultaneously activating a system-wide alert, placing all traffic on lockdown, and generating recommendations to Rear Admiral Roderick Bridges, command of Delta Squadron. The civilian channels were alight with panicked comms to the point of the entire thing beginning to breakdown. Military channels had been holding well until they started shooting at each other.

Those Astrofleet ships which had been wounded and escorting the civilian vessels turned on their brothers-in-arms. A few had made it to the berths in the military-only drydocks. Emergency and security crews standing by to escort the wounded, along with repair teams to begin assessing the damage; when the docking sequence was complete, and the doors opened it was not their comrades who emerged but something else. Instead of men, creatures with kaleidoscopic eyes glared at them from the darkness of the ship, their mouths handing slightly opened emitting a pale blue light. Before any response could be given they rushed forward on their six appendages, each tipped with metallic claws which gouged into the walls and ceilings of the ship, spilling forth into the dumbstruck berth crews. Within minutes the berths were lost. Station Vis sent distress calls out while locking these areas down, sealing the monsters behind meters thick titanium doors. A grey goop emerged from these ships, slithering out like a puddle with a mind of its own. It clamored over the corpses of the fallen and began consuming them, incorporating their organic mass along with whatever cybernetic enhancements they maintained. Behind them came behemoths things of flesh and blood whose skulls sunken into their chest so that bulbous sensors could sprout from their necks, their arms replaced by hydraulic rams which seeped blood and oil, along with the other being shaped around drills or fusion cannons. Lumbering forward these behemoths took aim at the bulkhead and fired away, salvo by salvo, with their cannons or began using their drill or hydraulic rammed arms to beat away at them slowly but surely.

A handful of ships had been so badly damaged that they’d requested emergency repair crews to bring their vessels into a stable condition so they could dock. Before the disaster had broken out a cadre of frigates and destroyers had been given this task and pulled up relatively close before sending their own crews over via shuttle transports. Given the instability of these vessels it was deemed too unsafe to get any closer. The crews that were sent over went dark as soon as they docked. Requests were sent to the damage ships to explain what was happening, with the response being that nothing was abnormal on their end. Shortly thereafter, communications had been restored with crews stating that damage was far beyond expectations and additional supplies would be needed. Given that frigates carried only a limited number of shuttles, one had to be sent back to retrieve these supplies. When those shuttles landed in the frigates their landing doors opened and the same six-legged monsters came crawling out. Docking bays were immediately overrun and alarms sounded across these frigates as their Vis attempted to contain the situation. Security crews rushed forward only to be cut down or consumed by grey matter that splashed through the interior with little rhyme or reason.

Onboard the ACS Self-Seeker, Rear Admiral Roderick Bridges began to worry. Several drydocks were under attack, multiple orbital stations were gone with the number growing, and now several of the frigates sent forward to help the most seriously injured Astrofleet ships had sent out emergency distress calls asking for immediate aid due to boarding actions.

“The Ancillary, Triumvirate, and Hopeless Night have gone dark,” sounded one of the comms officers.

“Orbital command is losing control of the situation on their end. Confirmed we have one station, 81, currently falling from orbit towards Presidio. Emergency message being sent by us and them to the planet.”

“Sir, we have multiple confirmations of translations at the edge of the system! Dozens of new contacts!” shouted someone over in the sensor suite.

Roderick had prided himself on not being one of those damned stereotypical academy officers who needed to micromanage everything. When he’d been given command of Delta Squadron, he’d done made it bend to him, but rather adapted to it. Its previous commanders had put the work in to ensure maneuvers were practiced, that the chain of command was clear and understood, and had drilled a sense of autonomy into its officer corps. Roderick had only reinforced all of that despite none of it being how he preferred to do things. He decided that, that delegation was needed now more than ever …

“Contact Commodore Warrett have him take his wing and deal with the drydocks. Dispatch marine companies and retake them. Get ahold of Commodore Gonzalez and have part of his wing reinforce the frigates – he has permission to disable our vessels if they’re compromised.”

The CIC buzzed as the orders began to be sent out, even as more bad news filtered in, “We’ve got contacts on the other side of the system … and above the galactic plane!”

Rear-Admiral Roderick began to realize the scope of this attack. This wasn’t a raid intended to wound Presidio or send a message to Antega. This was far more organized. Had the separatists finally grown a backbone and decided to throw everything they had at them? Intelligence wagered they had many two dozen ships at their disposal if they were being liberal about it. The numbers running across the CIC indicated hundreds of vessels, with more steadily translating in just outside the system.

“Have 9th and 13th wings fall back towards the system star. Have them prepare to repel attacks from above, or below, the galactic plane,” he said methodically while scratching his scruffy and unkept beard, “Have the 3rd wing push ahead and deal with the incoming forward attack. Place the 44th and 19th wings under their command as support. General orders are to protect FTL jammers. If they go down, we could have separatists swarming us in no time.”

Delta Squadron enacted their plan. The 9th and 13th wings became to fall back from their station above Presidio to check the advance from above the galactic plane. At least five other wings were already scattered around the system on patrol or overseeing traffic duty. The messages had reached them all the same and once it was clear an attack was inbound they readied themselves. Meanwhile, the 3rd wing pushed forward, supported by the 44th and 19th, towards the system edge near Presidio. Ships had continued to translate in and outer sensor arrays had sent back results showing that most of them to be of unknown class, but the closest things were civilian freightliners. The crews were not idiots and reasoned that they must be slag-ships – warships cobbled together around civilian frames.

Cruisers pushed ahead of the battleships that each wing was built around, their own escorts of destroyer, frigates, and corvettes providing screening. It took an hour or more for these leads elements to reach the system edge, just as the slag-ships were entering. Particle beams glittered across the void, while hails of missiles followed in their wake. The slag-ships took the first salvo poorly with dozens of their vessels breaking apart on impact, their drives going supercritical and ending them in a brief flash of light. The return volley was entirely unexpected. Most slag-ships were able to mount a particle beam turret or maybe turbo-lasers – but the enemy responded with mass driver c-fracs. Astrofleet vessels started taking savage hits, those who had shields saw them blaze into light and their power systems begin to suffer. Those that didn’t, especially the smaller tonnages, were sheared nearly in half or blown apart. The 3rd, 19th, and 44th wings began to buckle in on themselves. Their commodores realized their peril as sensors continued to detect more enemy ships translating out in the void. Following their orders, they began a fighting withdrawal towards the nearest FTL jammer where they intended to make a stand.


Orbital Defense Platform ‘Magma’,
Presidio System
July 2, 2567 - 09:44 Local Time

Corporal Clayton Gillespie sighed heavily while taking a swig of whiskey from his flask. Everything had gone to shit quick. Today was supposed to be the beginning of his leave to Presidio where he already had a helluva time planned out. He and a couple of boys from 1st Platoon had planned their leave together and intended to drunkenly stumble from every bar they could find around the spaceport. Then hit up a few ladies of the night or pick up some local gals – militia boys weren’t quite as prime pickings as the folks in the fleet, but they were one hell of a step above those mouth-breathing dockworkers. His shuttle was literally on its way up the atmosphere when Station 35 got hit. News had begun to filter down from the brass above and it was not an accident as most at first thought. Once Station 90 got struck, his platform was now apart of the emergency envelope per protocol and so his shuttle, his ticket to freedom from this mundane shithole, redirected and cancelled all flights.

Shit got worse form there and now the whole damn planet was in an uproar. Stuck deep in the bowels of a defense platform didn’t exactly give someone great access to figuring out what was happening around them. When the platform rumbled around them for the first time did Clayton Gillespie know that they were probably fucked.

“Are they firing the driver?” asked one of his privates. He eyed Sergeant Larson who seemed to be listening intently to his comms system.

“Yep, sure sounds like it,” he replied, “The separatists got a few ships close to the planet. Or at least that’s what some of the other guys were saying.”

Over the last few hours they troop, Gold 2-3, had been ordered to take up a blockade stance along one of the main arterial hallways that ran down the platform. It was standard procedure when enemy ships got close. Anyone who hoped to invade Presidio would have to take the grid of defense platforms, all just as big and vicious as Magma, if they had a snowballs chance in hell of landing on the surface. The main hallways were heavily armored and meant to take a beating so that material and personnel could move quickly to repel borders or deal with damage.

“Copy that … staying put, sir,” said Sergeant Larson before turning back to his squad of 10 militiamen, “Alright, first platoon is taking up positions by the docking bay and third is holding the main corridor further behind us. We’re hanging out just in case first needs some backup.”

That made sense to Clayton, and even better it didn’t require them to run their asses off. Only way you could get onto the station was through the docking bays – utilized for bringing in supplies. You could try and ram into the platform but anything smaller than a cruiser wasn’t doing jack shit to the several feet of reinforced titanium.

“Still,” continued Larson, “We set up a decent blockade here. If things go to shit we fall back to Charlie and hold there.”

“Sarge … what the hells going on out there?” asked one of the privates, “Do they really think the separatists are going to make an attack on the planet?”

Larson shook his head, “I’m not getting all the information, only what I need to know. But no, they don’t think the station is going to get hit. The fleet has taken a mauling though, apparently the damn rebels managed to take out a whole wing on the system edge. Caught them off guard.”

Magma rumbled again under their feet as if to emphasize the comment. Clayton took another swig of from his flask. Larson was a good sort but dammit why tell the men all that bad news? It would just make them rattled. Then again, Larson was in his early twenties and already promoted to sergeant while he remained a corporal in his thirties …

To that point the men did look rattled and glance between each other. Clayton put his flask away and put on his hardass face. “Ain’t no point in yawl just sitting here collecting easy pay. Let’s get some barricades up dammit!”

Busy men didn’t have time to think on how fucked they might be. The barricades had been brought along once they knew their assignment and was little more than reinforced steel plates with angle supports welded into them. Ablative armor would be mag locked to them as it was carried in containers by a couple of men. The process took them the better part of an hour to finish it. The corridor was wide, enough for five men to walk abreast and still have room. Over that time Magma rumbled several more times, its mass driver cannons firing away. Clayton had been through the specialized training for fighting on defense platforms a few times over the years and if he remembered right then Magma’s mass driver had the ability to straight-up punch through anything less than battleship armor.

Once the barricades were up the squad took a deserved rest. Then the entire platform shook under their feet, the lights flickered, and were replaced by the ominous red emergency lights. Several of the men jumped back onto their feet and looked around nervously, their coilguns coming up and sweeping around. Sergeant Larson was on the radio before Clayton had even gotten to his feet.

“Fuck,” he heard Larson whisper over his breath before turning to face the men, “Platform took a hit. They’re trying to cycle the power back online. But looks like shits getting bad out there.”

Magma shook underneath them again, but this was far different from the vibrations from the mass-driver. This time it was more violent. The banter between them ceased as they listened intently and realized that the hallway was dead silent except for the creaking of titanium and steady thumping of the platforms secondary guns firing off.

“They’re in range of the deck guns,” one of the men said. The deck guns were also mass-drivers but pulled considerably less juice than the spinal cannon.

Three more successive rumbles later and the power had not yet been restored. Clayton couldn’t understand why since the fusion reactors were encased in majorium-infused armored bunkers. Personnel began to show up more and more now. Mostly repair crews that rushed down the hallway with robotic assistants tailing behind them. They swept past the barricades. Their inbuilt identification registering on the squad’s helmets.

As time ticked by things only got worse.


Presidio System,
Commonwealth of Antega
July 2, 2567 – 13:49 Local Time

The Self-Seeker was bleeding. All around it swarmed ‘things’ that its sensors could barley register. Each of them was an amalgamation of many different things. Sensors registered both organic and inorganic compounds as if they pilots had been fused into their craft. Their plasma cannons were devastatingly powerful. Worse they’d kept their comms channels wide opened and kept screaming over every frequency with their insane babbling.

“Praise Be!”

“Salvation cometh! Embrace us brothers and sisters!”

“Just give in … let us consume you! Let us bring you home!”

The ships VI had filtered it out the best it could, but it still made talking with any other ship impossible. Rear-Admiral Bridges had reverted to the nearly ancient system of direct tight-beam messages being sent to confirm the very orders he’d just shouted over the radio. Still things were starting to fall apart.

Ships all around them were locked in a death struggle with what they now firmly understood to not be separatists. The word ‘Welded’ had been repeated many times … but it didn’t become official until the Self-Seeker was contacted by the ACS Momentum, the flagship of Commodore McRay of the 44th Wing. The commodore had called upon the Rear Admiral to stop his senseless resistance. The Welded were not their enemies but their liberators. He had wept openly over the comms saying how profoundly horrified he was that he had killed his brothers and sisters on the edge of the system and sought atonement from the Prophet for his actions. His weeping had turned into psychotic babbling and finally into shrieking chants before Bridges had the link cut.

The vanguard he’d sent forth to blunt the attack had failed. Worse some of them had returned alongside the Welded, now lending their own guns. Data had been filtered in from across the system and the numerous stations which had been hit. Monstrous abominations lurked in the halls of numerous drydocks as their command centers were overrun and their crews either consumed or converted. The FTL jammers had been systemically destroyed as the Welded advanced which allowed their reinforcements to translate closer and closer in system. Bridges heard that the other end of the system wasn’t doing any better as the translation points there were also under assault. The 9th and 13th Wings stopped responding to communications about two hours ago, so he assumed they were lost.

Rear Admiral Bridges was no longer confident that victory was even possible. Defense platforms around the world had opened with their mass driver cannons, tearing apart both slag-ships and converted Astrofleet vessels alike. Bridges had pulled back the remnants of Delta Squadron to have them provide support for the platforms and prevent them from being boarded. The strategy had worked for a time, but Bridges could see that every hour the enemy drew in a little closer. A destroyer or cruiser was knocked out of the fight, forcing him to shift vessels around to prevent that platform from being attacked, only for it to weaken another part of the grid. The Self-Seeker had waded into the fight itself, which was something it had never done since he took command some years back. Its particle beam cannons fired away as its CIC coordinated the attack runs of its four-hundred fighters. Most of those fighters had already been pulled back to the carrier itself once the Welded swarms had fallen upon them. For now the fight was in their favor, as the fighters combined with the railflaks and chainguns were reaping a terrible toll, but in time they would be stripped away.

“The Holliday reports dead engines,” a crewman called out, “Enemy is making a move on the grid!”

“Show me,” he said with a growl. The holographic display showed that part of the grid that the Holliday had been responsible for, showing the cruiser greyed out. A handful of corvettes and one frigate remained in the fight but the enemy was making a hard advance. Bridges glanced around the other parts of the grid and saw nothing he could pull that wouldn’t just shift the issue. The grids around those grids also showed little to nothing either. It looked like the platform there – Magma – was going to be on its own. He pulled up the status reports on Magma and saw that it had already taken a mass driver round right into its reinforced power systems. They were running on auxiliary.

“Send an emergency message to the Warlike Spirit. Tell her she must not let Magma to be taken.”

There was precious little the Warlike Spirit could do to help Magma, but it was the closest cruiser-class ship that might possibly be able to help them.


Orbital Defense Platform ‘Magma’,
Presidio System,
July 2, 2567 – 18:51 Local Time

“Here they fucking come again!” shouted Clayton as he opened with his coilgun. Its sharp and rapid chatter joined the chorus of the guns of them terrified men around them. Bullets streaked down the hallway and into the clamoring mass of flesh and metal that hurtled towards them. Six-legged things, with multi-colored eyes, scuttled along the walls and ceilings forcing his men to split their fire. Roiling tides of grey matter mixed with clotted gore oozed over anything they killed, filling it with its substance and forcing it to rise once again.

Gold 2-3 had held the hallway for the better part of an hour now. The docking bays had fallen almost immediately, and nothing was ever even heard from first platoon. The first wave had nearly done them in. If it hadn’t been for repairmen running down the hallways screaming bloody murder and begging for help, they probably never would’ve heard them coming. The emergency power had begun to falter as Magma took more and more hits. Word from above trickled down slowly: first the station was probably going to get some light skirmishers on it, then it was going to be a serious boarding action, and now it was an existential fight for their lives against unholy abominations. What the actual fuck was even going on anymore!

Private Moore reloaded his light machine-gun, itself a rail-assisted platform, and began rapidly firing down the hallway. The six-legged monsters were chewed up by the automatic fire their frames a mix of man and metal being unable to resist heavy caliber rounds. The grey oozes kept splashing forward. Clayton ordered the last of their grenades to be used. The powerful blasts ripped into the oozes, tearing them apart. To their disbelief the ooze simply seemed to melt into the doors and walls – likely to fall back and regain its strength.

Clayton keyed up his comms in the very brief downtime they’d won, “Gold 2-1, this is Gold 2-3. We’re running out of ammo up here, request permission to begin falling back.”

Gold 2-1 had taken up positions further down the hallway. Per standard doctrine each squad was meant to whither as much of the enemy away as possible, using tight corridors to eliminate any numerical advantage the enemy may have. Once their strength was spent, they’d fall back to another squad and repeat the whole process again.

“Confirmed Gold 2-3. You may begin falling back!” replied raspy voice of First Lieutenant Kenzie Vall.

Clayton didn’t waste any time. He rallied the men and began making double time back to Gold 1-1. He glanced over his shoulder at the mangled corpse of Sergeant Larson. The poor bastard had died in the second wave, hit by one of those behemoths with their heads sunken into their chest. Larson had taken a direct hit in the chest and stood them dumbfounded for a moment before something “opened up” inside of him and nearly tore him to pieces. The men had nearly broken right then and there if Clayton had put his hardass mask back and began shouting orders.

[Fenvaria Republic]

---

Strike Force Delta 221
System X-889, Aumanii Fringe
Operation Hammerhead
Glorious Victory, Direwolf Class Battleship

---

Commander Adin watched as the fleet jumped out from FTL on the edge of the system with a crackle of lighting and light. Once they had exited the FTL rift they started to dumb the built-up heat from the long trip here to prevent the ship from overheating. With a frown the Commander then looked to his crew as they quickly moved to their battle stations; their expressions were a mix of dread, anticipation, revenge, anger, and frustration as they knew what kind of enemy they were fighting; the Welded. Ever since the rebellion on Sror, the Empire had been placed on alert and started enforcing lockdowns of cities, towns, planets, and so on. The fleet had been stretched quite thin due to the massive force needed to take Sror as well as the sizable increase of patrols and retaliatory strikes, like Operation Hammerhead.

“Commander,” reported the communication station’s AMI unit, who snapped to attention and gave a quick salute. Despite being an AMI unit she looked quite like a regular evandari, silver fur with grey streaks and ice blue, but soul-piercing eyes. “We are picking up several SOS signals from this system, thanks to the key that the Aumanii gave us; we were able to make out several transmissions about Welded incursions. It seems we are in the right spot.”

Adin raised an eyebrow and looked at the AI unit for a few moments before then reclining back in his chair and folding his hands together. “Source of the transmissions?”

“Multiple signals across a single planet; the Aumanii Army was here and got pushed back. I am picking up a single active transmission from a nearby ice world. A few thousand feet below the surface.”

“Mm...” pondered the Commander as he sat back, he understood his mission which was to enter into this system and rescue the Aumanii survivors. Granted, he also understood that this mission had its roots in national politics and favors. But, he had access to some of the top-secret information about this system; in short, it was a military black site system and the Aumanii could not let the Welded get their hands on some of the gear that was stored here. So, it was best to deny the whole planet and site to the Welded. Preferably; blowing it up from the inside with a several-kiloton nuclear warhead. However, they first needed to evacuate the survivors; if there were any survivors.

"Are there any Welded ships in orbit?" questioned Commander Adin as he leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs.

"Negative, sir. It appears that there are no Welded ships in orbit of the planet. However, we are picking up wrecks of several starships in orbit of the planet." replied the sensor station AMI android as she turned back to look at the Commander.

As the AMI android looked back at him, Commander Adin then stood up and walked to the railing at the end of the platform. Leaning on the rails, he then looked out into the void of space before turning to the bridge crew. "Navigation, bring us in slowly and carefully. Gunnery, I want all weapons online and ready for combat. Sensors, amplify our sensors. I want to know if something sneaks upon us. Systems; bring us to battle stations readiness."

Once the Commander finished, the bridge was alive with several responses as the bridge crew carried out their assigned tasks. Then several moments passed before the blare of alarms and, red flashing lights took over the bridge as the ship readied for battle. The sounds of sirens and flashes of red light soon resonated through the ship, bringing the whole ship to battle stations. Naval crewmembers ran about heading to their stations; gunnery officers slipped on their helmets and crewed the fire control centers. Troopers raced around, pulling out the deployable cover and started setting up defensive positions at hallway junctions and other sensitive lanes or areas.

---

Strike Force Delta 221
System X-889, Aumanii Fringe
Operation Hammerhead
Later, planetside

---

“Incoming flak fire! Hold onto your supports!” barked the scout’s leader over the drop pod’s radio as they hurled down to the icy surface of the planet. The scout leader then tightly gripped onto their supports with the rest of the drop pod was doing the same as they then hit turbulence. The pod then jerked to the side, slightly adjusting their course as they headed down to the planet, making sure to avoid incoming flak fire. Alongside the evasive maneuvers, the pod’s outer ablative hull had started to peel away; causing the hostile ground forces radar to explode with contacts in hopes of confusing the enemy SAM sites.

“Sir! We are off course!” yelled one of the troopers over the radio as the pod once more shook as an anti-aircraft shell exploded off in the distance.

“Tell me something I do not know!” yelled back the pack leader. Just then out the small window on the door of the pod, another pod exploded as it took a shell straight to the underside, killing everyone aboard instantly.

“HOLY SHIT” yelled another trooper in complete surprise and worried amazement as they watched the bright fireball through the window. “That was the rest of our pack!”

Pushing his worry to the back of his head, the scout leader then looked over to his timer and his distance meter. It showed that they were rapidly approaching the surface of the planet despite the defensive positions and the incoming storm. He wished that this storm would not fuck up their plans or their advance to the compound; cause they could not afford any delay. “Good, we are making decent progress.” he said to himself, he then turned to the rest of the scout and shouted; “10 seconds until impact! Check your shit and get ready!”

One by one, the troopers quickly checked over their gear as their pod got closer and closer to their newfound landing site. Which was at a base of a snowy hill which was next to a frozen lake, on the hill sat some light fortifications and just beyond that sat a surface to air missile site. The vessel then shook once more as another shell exploded next to it, and soon the pack leader was counting down the seconds until impact. For a few moments, a sense of clarity or determination hung over the troopers as they headed for the surface. A thought to fight for whatever they believed in, but most importantly to fight back this menace and protect the Empire.

Then once reaching the final second until impact, the scout leader closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It seemed time had slowed down or completely stopped, the calm before the storm, some would say. But then it was all over as with a dull crash; the pod impacted the snowy surface of the planet. Throwing snow high into the air and created a crater around the drop pod, inside the troopers then went to work. They placed on rebreathers, looked over, and collected their gear before then stacking up on the door.

"Once you are outside of the pod, head for the top of the hill. Do not stop or else you will be torn to shreds. Clear that trench and set up for a counter-attack. Do I make myself clear, troopers?"

"Hell yes!" collectively replied the troopers as they placed on their bayonets and readied themselves. Grinning at the rest of the scout, the scout leader then slammed his fist on the door release and faced forward. With a hiss and a bang, the door flew off and landed several meters away. Without wasting a second, the scout leader jumped out of the doorway, into the snow and started to move forward. Soon the rest of the scout followed suit and made their way through the snow towards the hill. Around them: gunfire rang out, bullets whizzed by and pockmarked the snow, soon other drop pods landed nearby, then other troopers streamed out. Debris from blown up drop pods also rained down upon them and on the hill, killing some indiscriminately. While; others had been cut down by the retaliatory fire of the Welded defenders. But the troopers bravely marched on through the snow and the gunfire, firing their weapons as they went or seeking cover to support their fellow soldiers. Eventually, the troopers made it close enough where they started to throw grenades into the fortifications, softening them up a bit and knocking out emplacements. With the soft thuds going off, the louder crashes of mortar fire soon joined in, sending dirt and debris into the air. Several banshee-like wails barely pierced the roaring thunder of the mortars and grenades as the Welded defenders inside of the fortifications were blown to bits and tossed about like rag dolls. After several moments of nonstop thunder and explosions, the troopers once again raced up the hill with renewed vigor to capitalize on the moment while the enemy was hopefully dazed.

Instead, they found a still stalwart enemy, hellbent on holding this location. It was a bloodbath as the troopers relentlessly pushed into the fortifications and sustained heavy casualties, from going toe to toe with the cybernetically enhanced or deranged humans. The Imperial soldiers used everything they had at their disposal; rifles, knives, axes, bayonets, grenades, shotguns, and other items to kill these deranged and blood lustful monsters. In the end, the hill fell into the Empire's hands and the scout leader walked through the light fortifications surveying the damage. Out of forty-something troopers that attacked the objective, only twenty-something remained. These Welded were not like the ones the reports from Sror described, these cybernetic monstrosities were different. More deranged and sturdier, able to take on two to three troopers at once with ease. He was concerned like many of the soldiers here about their chances of survival against this foe. But, above all came the mission they had to deny the Welded this black site at any cost. Including selling their own lives to make sure that their purpose had been achieved.

"Turn around those MGs! Prepare for a counter-attack!" came a booming voice of a lieutenant as they walked up and down the line, holding a rifle with one hand. "I want everything you got on that line and ready to fire! Mortars! Set up and start shelling the living hell out of that SAM site!" The lieutenant then turned to the scout leader near him and frowned. "What is it, Corporal?"

"Nothing, sir, just wondering when our heavy armor is coming down."

"They ain't coming down until we knock a hole in the Welded AA screen." gruffly replied the lieutenant as they slapped the bolt handle down on their rifle. Just then, a trooper further down the line yelled out, informing the platoon that the counter-attack was coming. The lieutenant then looked over the trench and smiled at the corporal, then placed his rifle on the edge of the fortification, "Here they come!"

As the horde of monstrosities advanced on the hillside, they were forced to endure a never-ending wave of gunfire, mortars, grenades, and rockets. Explosions wrecked their ranks, sending bits and pieces of the monsters up into the air before they came crashing down once more. Those that survived the explosions started to crawl their way towards the troopers, blood, and fluids pouring out of them. They did not feel pain or fear; instead, they kept marching towards the soldiers. As if they had been possessed by unflinching demons. Nothing except the combined firepower of the troopers seemed to stop these monsters from advancing. But the Welded also fought back; some of them still had function over their weapons and proceeded to return fire and run for cover, while others ran forward like animals.

Several troopers would die or be wounded as the two sides exchanged fire, the Aumanii Moland rifles using their high rate of fire to overload the trooper's shielding units. But at the same time, the large and heavy rounds of the Empire's rifles tore large and gaping holes in the former human soldiers. Frustrated, the lieutenant pushed himself off the fortification wall and grabbed the radio operator, pulling out the phone and radioing up to the fleet.

"This is Spear 221; I need heavy CAS on my location, grid 33-2-Alpha-1!" bellowed the lieutenant into the phone as he looked back at the troopers, flashes of gunfire and explosions still erupting in the distance. Just then, a loud boom erupted behind him and threw him to the ground; he then scrambled to pick back up the phone and shouted into it. "Be advised! We have not eliminated all of the AA guns on this grid. We will LasGuide for effect!"

"Copy that Spear 221, heavy CAS is outbound and heading in your direction, ETA.......40 seconds.

“We don't have 40 bloody seconds!” bellowed the lieutenant into the phone as his face started to redden. He then looked back at the line, as the troopers practically were pissing into a hurricane of hell. Barely, they were holding back the horde of flesh and metal as it slowly moved forward, slogging its way to his position.

“Sorry Spear 221, that is the best I can do, it is too hot with that AA still in action. They will be waiting for your LasGuide."

"Copy" the lieutenant then slammed the phone down and walked back to the line, several of the troopers that once stood at his position had been injured or killed. Blood and gore splattered across the inside wall of the trench, painting it red and pink. Just then another explosion impacted the same area, sending pieces of shrapnel whizzing through the air, like knives through butter. A piece of shrapnel tore right through the lieutenant's shoulder with a razor hot sting, blood sputtered from his wound. Relling from the impact and the pain, the lieutenant fell to the ground, clutching his shoulder. Just then a hideous flesh and metal monster appeared on the lip of the trench, it let out a blood-curdling screech as it looked at the lieutenant. Before it could jump down, two rifleman troopers rushed over and opened fire on the beast. Heavy rounds impacted its metal and flesh skin, spraying gore all over the place before it jumped into the trench and ran at the two troopers. The monster jumped upon the first trooper with what appeared to be thin, razor-sharp talons that cut through the kinetic shielding of the trooper and pierced the unarmored parts of the trooper. The trooper went down, firing their rifle at full auto, landing several more rounds before dying. Adding insult to injury, the beast bit into the trooper’s neck, ripped off his head and threw it to the side.

Now yelling at the beast, the other trooper unloaded the remaining rounds of his magazine into the beast before running over to it at a full sprint with the bayonet drawn. Stabbing the beast before pulling out the blade and stabbing it repeatedly. The beast did a backhand swipe at the trooper, sending their head flying as their body collapsed.

Still, on the ground, the lieutenant started cursing as he pulled out his pistol and took aim at the beast, who dropped the first trooper’s body and started to limp over to the injured lieutenant. As the beast slowly walked forward, the lieutenant would fire at the beast as he tried to kill it; however, it was not long until the beast finally dropped to the ground after a well-placed bullet to the head. Its body riddled with bullet holes and other injuries that would have been fatal to any other organ. Soon more troopers arrived just as the lieutenant was pulling himself up, one of the troopers being a corporal.

Grunting, the lieutenant did his best not to step on the dead or the dying as some troopers moved them out of the way. He grabbed the corporal with his good hand and fumbled to place a laser designator in the trooper’s hands. "We got forty fucking odd seconds until heavy CAS arrives! I want you and your scout to paint the damn horde and the AA installations!"

“What about you, sir?” asked the corporal as a medic came over and started to treat the lieutenant. The medic pulled out a canister, popped the top, and started to pour what appeared to be a clear liquid over the lieutenant’s shoulder. The lieutenant then turned his head to the side and groaned with pain as the icy liquid started to numb his shoulder and began to form a foamy like barrier, covering the wound. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but the lieutenant could not move his arm that much.

“I’ll be fine, I just need your scout to paint those targets when CAS arrives, now GO!”

---

Strike Force Delta 221
System X-889, Aumanii Fringe
Operation Hammerhead
Glorious Victory, Direwolf Class Battleship
In orbit

---

“Sir! I am getting a message from our drop battalions!” reported the communications officer as he looked back, just then a far off explosion rocked the bridge. Shaking some of the crew members and forcing them forward in their chairs a bit.

“What is the report?” barked Commander Adin as he pulled up a map of the space battle and started to plan a way of defeating the welded ships that came out of nowhere.

“Out of the six drop battalions we launched with their light armor, only five companies made it to their objective and have suffered heavy casualties. However, only two companies were able to carry out their objective and created a small hole in their AA defenses, the remaining three companies are holding defensive positions and slowly making it to their positions.”

“DAMNIT” cursed the commander as he slammed his fist on the arm of his chair as he looked upon the planet in anger and frustration. “Damn the consequences, drop the remaining forces from the carriers and transports. Drop the heavy armor as well, we are going to push to that base with all hell.”

“But sir, they still have an active AA screen.” reported one the communications officer with a hint of worry on his face.

“I know, but we have to push to that objective, the hole that we created should be large enough to allow most of our forces to get through. Divert fighter and bomber squadrons to support the advancing elements, they will also have to brave the fire to knock out those AA defenses. Also deploy all gunships we have to provide immediate CAS to all surviving trooper formations.”

“Yes sir.” nodded the communications officer as he looks back to his station and sighs. He then placed on the earphone and started to tap away, sending a message to the receiving trooper formations down on the planet. He then sent a message to the transport ships and the several carriers within the fleet, ordering them to deliver their full complements down to the surface of the planet.

---

Strike Force Delta 221
System X-889, Aumanii Fringe
Operation Hammerhead
+5 hours since first wave, planetside

---

The second wave fared better than the first wave that was for sure, the troopers quickly overran the outer positions of the base with heavy armor and more troopers bring much needed relief to the drop troopers that were sent before them. But, once the second wave troopers hit the dirt, or rather the snow of the planet, they were greeted by the cost of the drop troopers. From around a regiment of troopers, six battalions, barely five companies of drop troopers survived the onslaught. Most of these companies had lost about seventy or eighty percent of their troopers, becoming barely a fighting force anymore. Soon the second wave of troopers found themselves fighting the welded in trench to trench warfare, slowing the progress of the troopers to a crawl as the troopers cleared any welded position they came across or that stood in their way. They bombed, burned and blew up the fortifications, making sure to kill every single corrupted soldier in the position. After slowly grinding their way through the mess of fortifications and positions the troopers finally advanced on the inner wall of the massive Aumanii compound, the last barrier before they reached the source of the signal.

Upon the hill that overlooked the inner wall, Marshal Gregory looked through his binoculars and down at the massive fortification, which had been turned to rubble he guessed days before they had arrived. The wall also seemed to be overrunning with Welded forces, but to his surprise there were Aumanii forces fighting on, desperately putting up a fight around the huge bunker door. He then lowered his binoculars and turned around at the massive amount of troopers that were around him, one of two legions sent to the planet. The first legion had been massively mauled in the slow and grinding battle to the inner wall, he was lucky that his legion didn't suffer the same fate. He turned to one of his aides and spoke.

“Have the artillery set up and have the troopers dig in, I want a line to the Aumanii commander.....inform them that the Empire has arrived and we are standing by to provide immediate artillery support.”

“Yes sir” replied the aide with a nod, they then turned around and walked off. The Marshal on the other hand stood atop of the hill and went back to looking through his binoculars at the battle raging below. He wondered to himself, if they were too late to save these Aumnaii soldiers, that the Great Wolf was playing a game with them. But he didn't think so, he thought it had to be the cruel fate of the universe that just kept playing with them. First it gave them the welded and now it was making their life hell on this planet.

[Alexzonya]

Leos 3

The GRA and League elements of Operation Gandalf had launched somewhat before their Numerigan allies; their pop-in FTL drives gave them less forward momentum into a charge but also a fast time-to-attack once they arrived in the system.

On one approach, almost 3000 ships of the League’s Myrrite Navy arrived, their forces blinking into position with an eerie bending of space-time around their force in aggregate. Their forces were sharp, angular, and precisely crafted razors of silicon and composites that took the field now only at the firm insistence of the Alexzonyans. A synthetic species, the origin of the Myrr was unknown, and most organics viewed them (rightly or wrongly) with enormous suspicion. At first, their Collective had thought that perhaps the Welded would prove to be an ally; alas, that they had been so wrong. Only because of their paranoid vigilance and otherwise wholly synthetic nature had the infestation of flesh and metal, planted surreptitiously in a diplomat sent to treat with the Welded, been detected soon enough that only two Hives were lost; a small cost, compared to entire civilizations that the Welded might otherwise fell through such treachery.

Betrayed, the Myrrites prepared for war, as did their organic neighbors. Still, even with such a shared interest, it came as a surprise when the diplomatic vessel from the Alexzonyans had arrived at their doorstep. The intent of these organics to set themselves up as a regional power was only clumsily hidden; however, despite this, it was clear that they could deliver on their promises. The Myrrites joined their forces with the Alexzonyans and the League, though at a distance from most of the rest of the membership. Their gates led only to Avalon, and their warships had not joined the rest. Until now.

At an oblique angle, above the orbital plane, the GRA forces proper jumped in; the newly organized 22nd, 23rd, and 24th Fleets, as of yet lacking their supercapital command ships, and the more established 3rd Fleet, led by the 1.7km long Super Battleship ARS Cabot, which together with the heaviest battleships of the formation lead the vanguard forward. As the attack begins, the Welded sensors detect blue shifts across the entire NEGL formation already in-system, as they form up and begin their advance.

Frantic exchanges of weapons fire fill the space between the Welded and the Alexzonyan formation; the Alexzonyans for a moment appear to have the upper hand, at extended range, but as the engagement envelopes draw tighter the battle becomes more even, and more pitched. Still, the Alexzonyans’ spearpoint smashes through the Welded position, overrunning it at a cost that would have been unthinkable just months ago, as dozens of warships disappear in tremendous flashes, their reactor stores ignited; thrice that number grind waver and limp away or go dead in space as they’re disabled or shot to ribbons. The Welded fare no better, but they seem almost uncaring of their own losses; perhaps they were betting their organic enemies would break first? Their strategy is put into motion as their capital ships concentrate their fire, across a significant portion of the line, on the Cabot. Klaxons whine and shields blaze, and for a moment it appears the hulking Alexzonyan supercapital ship would survive. And then…

The slug was fired from a Welded vessel the Alexzonyans classes as a ‘monitor’; a single large gun running the length of its hull comprised the primary armament. It released a terrifyingly large shell, which narrowly misses a screening dronecraft, passes through a spot failure in the Cabot’s shielding, pierces the outer armor shell, and then fragments on the inner whipple plating. That wasn’t the end, though. The armored core of the slug survives as its coating sheds, and it pierces through the inner graphene, and then smashes through the additional secondary spaced armor around Reactor 3. The shell passes through the reactor space, instantly killing everyone in the compartment, skims the reactor, and then slams into the reactor’s antimatter fuel magazine, piercing again through the tertiary graphene layer...

… and the port-side stern of the Cabot ceases to exist, blown apart faster than the blink of an eye. Shattered gravitic nacelles float away from the flagship as it tilts slowly to its side, secondary explosions wracking the hull as additional incoming fire smashes into the saucer. Another blast, a few moments later, this time from Reactor 1, and the ship ceases to exist in a meaningful way as its hull fractures and additional blasts scatter its remaining pieces, some the size of escort vessels, across space. Cabot became the first Alexzonyan supercapital ship lost in action in the NS-1 universe. She would not be the last the Welded would claim.

Her sacrifice was not in vain, however. The Welded line wavers, and then breaks, the battered battered Alexzonya and Myrrian fleets piercing holes in the encirclement of Leos and then exploiting them ruthlessly, with formations clashing and obliterating each other at knife-fight range as the allied powers drive the Welded from the orbits kilometer by bloody kilometer. As the orbitals are briefly secured, a rain opens up on the planet below; a veritable hail of transports and supply pods, full of NEGL reinforcements and supplies for the beleaguered defenders. Another hail, entirely different, begins as a number of NEGL warships open fire with bombardment guns, sending slugs screaming into parts of the planet that were considered beyond lost, smashing enormous craters and kicking up huge mushroom clouds of dust and debris. The assault didn’t last long, and minutes later the NEGL and GRA forces burn out and exit the orbitals, as the Welded begin forming up again. They would be able to standoff and keep the Welded from occupying Leos orbit uncontested, but the same was true. The playing field had been leveled, but the second stage of the Leos campaign was just beginning.

[Jagada]

Orbital Defense Platform ‘Magma’
Presidio System,
July 3, 2567 – 09:07 Local Time

The Shriekers huddled at the end of the corridor, their multicolored eyes wide open and their mouths hanging open. Pale blue light seeped out and liquid drooled down their open maws onto the floor where, if it was just quiet enough, you could swear it sizzled. Corporal Clayton Gillespie was knelt behind deployable armored plating, his coilgun’s barrel resting on the edge of the plate and his eyes never leaving the things massing together. His eyes hurt looking at them. He’d not slept since well before the station was boarded, his squad of ten men had been whittled down to six, including himself, and their commanding officer was dead. Communications was strained to breaking. Magma had lost easy contact with the rest of the orbital network once the outer-satellite network went down. Internal communications still worked for now but increasingly more frequencies were being overrun by maniacal rantings.

Gold Company had been savaged but it was still capable of fighting on. First platoon was wiped out when the docking bays were overrun, and his second platoon had been pushed back out of M-Corridor which cut them off from third platoon and command. There wasn’t much Clay could’ve done. As soon they fell back and tried to reform, they got hammered by the behemoths with fusion cannons that took out several of the men and caused a route – in the confusion third platoon went left and they went right once they realized shriekers were coming down the other end of the corridor, somehow having bypassed multiple defensive lines.

He couldn’t fault Lieutenant Vall though since he’d managed to secure some heavier weapons from a local armory. Clay’s heavy weapons specialist, Markus, was standing by with an anti-material rifle that would give one hell of a hello to the next behemoth they came across. Their orders had shifted now from trying to hold M-Corridor to keeping the enemy from making it to the fusion generator, where the engineering crew was frantically working to repair the damage and get the reactor back online. If they could do that then the spinal cannon could open fire again and force the enemy to choose some other poor bastards to pick on.

In unison the Shriekers screeched and surged down the corridor. Gillespie Squad opened fire on them with concentrated coilgun and automatic railgun fire. Several were torn apart by the incoming fire, but it rapidly became apparent that the end of the corridor was now being flooded by more and more of them. So many that some began grabbing onto the walls and ceilings with their jagged claws, leaving gouge marks in the metal, as they made a desperate push at the ruined bulkhead.

“Yark! Cohn! Concentrate fire on the ceiling!” shouted Clay has he shifted his aim to the shriekers on the walls. The automatic railgun was chewing up skittering across the floor.

The two militiamen, positioned behind Clay and the railgun, shifted their fire onto the ceilings where their concentrated fire tore apart several of the enemy causing them to collapse to the floor below in a shower of blood, sparks, and milky fluids. Still the enemy pressed on, meter by meter they got closer despite dozens being gunned down. At the end of the hall the real threat emerged as two behemoths came marching around the corner, both with fusion cannons at the ready.

“Markus! Markus!” shouted Corporal Clay over his shoulder, though he didn’t dare take his eyes off the approaching enemy.

“On it!” screamed Markus in reply. The anti-material rifle was just as large as the automatic railgun and heavier. Markus had been set up behind the deployable armor plating, having grabbed a metal desk from a nearby office, and was using it as a bracing point. Aiming down the sites the gun’s onboard primitive VI system spooled up to provide all manner of tactical data and recommendations.

One of the behemoths fired. Its fusion cannon had already been glowing with iridescent light when it rounded the corner and wasted no time. The energized ball of ionized gas was propelled down the hallway, searing the flesh on the shriekers it passed over before sailing right into Gillespie Squad. None of them had time to truly react as the ball of superheated, ionized gas ‘splashed’ into the armor plating vaporizing chunks of it. The resulting explosion send molten shrapnel in all directions. Clay was stunned but let out of a roar of pain has he felt molten metal burrowing into the flesh of his left arm and side. He roiled on the ground for a few seconds before he felt something prick him in the shoulder. The chemical cocktail flooded his body and the pain ebbed away just enough that he could get to his feet. He felt heady and the burning behind his eyes got worse, but he could push the pain to the back of his mind.

The automatic railgun, manned by Ashmon, was still thumping away full tilt. But the plate Clay had been using for cover was mostly gone, the pieces that remained were slagged beyond repair and only by some miracle had the support braces not warped enough for the whole thing to fall over like some toy. Though the gouged hole he could see the shriekers steadily gaining ground. They leapt over one another using the bodies of their dead or maimed as leverage to avoid the sweeping arc of automatic fire or the sporadic bursts from the coilguns. Even as Clay resituated himself and added his own fire back into the mass, Markus fired the anti-material rifle.

The superheavy slug was propelled down the long-rails by proprietary chemical propellant giving it ludicrous velocity that was only enhanced by several orders of magnitude by those same long-rails. In less than fraction of a second it hammered into the behemoth that had yet to fire but whose fusion cannon looked primed. The slug hit him center mass and tore his upper body apart shearing the steel cables it utilized as ligaments, shattering the iron infused bones within, and tearing apart of the silver filament laced flesh that held it all together. The slug hammered into the wall behind the behemoth, undoubtedly penetrating several inches before the titanium held firm. Chunks of the monstrosity splattered against that wall, a mixture of luminescent blue blood along with the normal red and streaks of oil sprayed in every direction as the lower half fell near comically to the ground.

Markus didn’t waste time gloating over the kill as he racked the rifle, chambering another round, and waited as the gun internal micro-reactor spooled up. Within fifteen seconds the recharge was complete. Clay noted that was unusually long but assumed Markus was setting the power to maximum or the VI had possibly recommended it for the unknown foe they faced. A few heartbeats later and the anti-material rifle spat again. The other behemoth, now also with its fusion cannon nearly primed, took a hit at the mid-section which blew its mass into several large chunks. Near the moment of impact, it had fired its fusion cannon but being blown apart had cause its aim to go wild and it ended up firing into the mass of shriekers around it. They vaporized in an instant as the superheated gas enveloped them followed by an explosion of the air around them. Undoubtedly the platforms VI were catching merry hell trying to use auxiliary power to regulate the wild fluctuations in the platform’s oxygen rich environment to keep chemical dampeners in the air, along with recycler and pressure-relief systems, to prevent whole sections from being engulfed in a conflagration.


Presidio System,
Commonwealth of Antega
July 4, 2567 – 14:42 Local Time

The Welded knew everything. The captured vessels of Delta Squadron had surrendered their security codes, worse still their Vis had also been converted into the service of the enemy. As their numbers pressed the defenders back, slowly crushing them against the planet they defended, the Welded secured the outer ring of satellites used for convenience communications between the orbital defense platforms. Several had been destroyed in the fighting and many more were self-detonated by local Vis before the Welded could get close enough to shunt their own viruses into the networks. Even with the entire network little more than tatters the Welded turned the captured equipment to their use. As part of standard procedure local Vis changed the security codes and frequencies to keep the turncoats from getting access to anymore vital systems or information.

And yet not everything could be protected. The Welded found a way in. Where and how would never be known to the defenders, only the cataclysmic results. Hours ticked by before Vis began to register the corruption but by then it was too late. Like a digitalized atomic bomb, the entire Presidio Defense Network was torn asunder. Whole facilities went dark as critical systems were shutdown. Cities lost power. Planet to orbit communications ceased as the comms towers was fried when the local power plants systems all surged simultaneously and fried their electronics. The Vis reacted faster than human thought as they broke themselves away from the system. Each became an island of their own doing their best to assess the situation around them and advise their organic overlords as to the best possible course of action. Most widespread damage was averted on Presidio itself. For the orbital platforms above, along with Delta Squadron, it was the equivalent of going blind.

Each platform was alone. Each ship was alone. In the vastness of space where one could not physically see anyone around them it left many ships with no way of knowing what was happening in the wider conflict. Had the Welded broken through on the other side of Presidio? Were they needed to help stop a breakthrough in the sector over? Who would they call if the enemy pushed on their location? Ships began to conduct tight-beam communications between each other, but the efforts were tricky whilst also trying to avoid incoming enemy fire and return said fire. Then there was the added horror of not knowing who could be trusted …

The Welded wasted no time. They concentrated their forces and eventually peeled open one of the defense platforms, Bonehead V, and slaughtering its defenders. Once secure they sent tight-beam communications to the nearby Astrofleet vessels. Most were aware of the station’s predicament and ignored the obvious trap, but communications had begun to break down and one of the vessels failed to understand. Their VI opened the data packet only to realize at the last second its fatal error. Even as it tried to contain it, its systems were gutted. Life support shut down along with the engines, navigation, and communications. The crew fled to the rescue shuttles only to learn that they’d been sealed tight.

Slowly that hole in the defense network began to grow. The Welded only had to replicate the strategy again and again. Some vessels found themselves bombarded by tight-beam communications – an early sign that they were isolated from the rest of the Squadron, or that their platform had been stripped of Astrofleet protection. Others found tight beams coming from Presidio itself where infected systems mimicked panicked or desperate requests or commands from Headquarters.

If something was not done soon the entire defense network would unravel …


Orbital Defense Platform ‘Magma’
Presidio System,
July 6, 2567 – 05:35 Local Time

“Come again, Captain,” said Corporal Clayton. He had heard everything just fine, but he wanted the make the bastard say it again.

“Goddammit Clayton! I know you heard me, cut the shit!” shouted Captain Thorpe, “Comms are done for – I need that gun resecured! We can’t even warn the fleet that its hostile!”

“Sir, I have a depleted unit. We’ve taken a helluva beating holding the generators!” protested Clayton. Surely there was someone else, better situated, who could take care of this shit?

“What’s your losses Acting Sergeant? Fifty percent? Seventy-five?”

He did some quick math, “Thirty-percent.”

“Well hot damn you’re the most staffed unit on this burning shitbox!” he laughed in reply, “Now, I’ll say it one more time Acting Sergeant Clayton, just to make it clear for you. We’ve lost control of the spinal gun. Anything you hear from it is probably being fired at our own people. Now I hope the fucking hell I don’t need to explain to you what’s going to happen to us if the Fleet decides that we’ve fallen? You’re the closest … anything … that I have to it. Get in there, clear them freaks out, and retake the gun. Hell, disable the damn thing if you must …”

Clayton chewed on his lip before replying, “Yes sir.” He cut the comm link. Corporal Clayton surveyed his tired and bedraggled men. The squad was down to seven, but it was a lie. Three of them came from a whole other company, Red, and he was missing two of his own people – lost in the chaos in M-Corridor. The defense of the fusion generators had seen stragglers from all over Magma choose it was a rallying point. Most were armed with standard kit, a few had picked up special toys like rail rifles or combat shotguns in their adventures, and Markus sat quietly but protectively with his anti-material rifle. The three boys from Red had been a heavy weapons team and had brought their rail-assisted HMG with them. That had let them fit right in with Gillespie Squad despite the friendly rivalry between Gold and Red companies.

“Bad news kiddos,” he said moving back to the men, “We’re going on the attack. And before I hear bitching just know I tried to get out of it …”

There was no bitching. It unsettled Clayton to see their passive, dead eyes staring back at him.

“What’s the objective, Sarge?” asked Carlos, one of the Reds. Unlike Gold boys who still called him corporal, the Reds had no issue addressing him by his temporary rank.

“Main gun,” he said dryly.

Without a word Gillespie Squad began to gather their gear. Yark came over to him. His face was lined with stress and exhaustion. Joining the Planetary Militia was meant to be a sweet gig, especially Presidio’s, and yet here they were.

“I’ll take point, Sarge, if that’s alright with you … take Cohn and Blake with me.”

Yark didn’t realize it, but he had positioned himself as Clayton’s second … his corporal. If they made it out of this hell and he kept his acting rank, then he’d consider promoting Yark.

“Fine by me,” replied Clayton, “I’ll stay in the rear, watch our backs. Keep those Reds in the middle so they can move and support whoever needs it.”

Yark nodded and moved away but Clayton reached out and grabbed his shoulder, “Don’t fuck up! If shit gets hot, you fall back behind the Reds. Clear?”

“Clear, sir.”

Gillespie Squad moved out from the fusion generators – themselves secured for the time being by a motely collection of armed repair crews and a couple of severely depleted squads and made for the main gun. The platform had numerous corridors and elevators shafts running through it. The main ones were certainly infested with shriekers so Yark purposely avoided those and instead took the squad down maintenance tunnels. These tunnels were spacious since they were meant to accommodate heavy machinery, they were also a pain in the ass to use since most considered them “the long way”. Gillespie Squad was not fortunate enough to avoid enemy contact. Within the first fifteen minutes, Yark had identified enemy patrols of shriekers. The squad repositioned and dropped on the Welded with surprise hitting them as they circled back, killing all of them within seconds. Their pace quickened down the corridor.

Yark synced up with Magma’s VI to get a running assessment on where enemy forces were in the system and what was the safest way forward. The VI had been invaluable in the defense of the generators as it shut hundreds of enemies out of the engagement at a time. Forced many of them into kill boxes set up by Clayton’s men and vented dozens into the void. It wasn’t entirely reliable as its hardware could only support so much and it still had hundreds of other tasks that required it attention. At times it would deprioritize Gillespie Squad and break contact with them only to resume half an hour later. During those moments Yark felt the most vulnerable.

Two painfully slow hours passed by as Gillespie Squd pushed down the maintenance corridor occasionally running across Welded patrols and exchanging gunfire before their superior firepower overwhelmed the abominations. The main gun was built to be defended. It was sequestered within an armored sarcophagus with triple majorium-reinforced titanium doors. The local control center was a bunker complex with narrow corridors that made direct assault suicidal. Clayton had been working on exactly how the hell Captain Thorpe expected them retake it. When they arrived on Leve 6, Zone E, J-Corridor he understood. The Welded had done a fine job reducing the gun’s defenses to slag. Welded bodies were strewn all over the place, stacked one atop the other. The walls were scorched black with liberal coats of blood and blue liquid. Scattered amongst the Welded were the shredded remains of the local control center’s former defenders.

Shriekers prowled just beyond the slagged majorium-infused titanium door ahead. Their six-limbed bodies skittering over the debris and carnage. The vague shapes of behemoths could be seen further within.

“Doesn’t make sense corporal,” said Yark absently as he and Clayton surveyed the field, “How are those … things … supposed to work the gun?”

“Damn fine question, Yark,” replied Clayton. It was a damn fine question. Shriekers had the appendages aplenty but never showed any sign of real intelligence, he couldn’t envision them sitting in the combat room discussing firing solutions and inputting vectors of attack. The Behemoths were physically incapable of working anything but their fusion cannons and hydraulic rams that made up their hands.

“Prisoners?” asked Cohn, “Could just be forcing them?”

Clayton shrugged, “Yeah … probably.” It was the only solution he could come up with. As much as he wanted to hate any bastard who helped these things, he couldn’t blame them too much.

The plan of attack was simple enough. Markus would use his anti-material rifle to hammer the behemoths at a distance taking them out of the fight right off. The Reds who set up their heavy gun as a fall-back point if things got dicey while Yark and Clayton would lead the squad forward and past the slagged doors. Once inside they’d push hard and fast with the Reds moving their gun up incrementally. If things got too hot, they could fall back to them, chew the enemy apart, and push back. Schematics showed the combat control room two doors ahead and then to the left down another corridor.

“Alright … lets get this done.”

[Lord Atum]

The Stargate opened filling the ancient temple with light from the waters of its surface, and two by two figures materialized from it, blast-staves held vertically, a troop of warriors in hawk helmets stepping outward to fan out on either side of the procession. Heralds with fans of ostrich feathers on golden staves followed, and at last, treasurers with heavy chests carried on long poles for ceremonial tribute. Lastly came healers, priests and others who would be rotated to join this world’s administration.

Worlds were vast places, but space was big, and here in the Atumite Ulterior, the worlds of the galactic disc were administered only periodically, visited by regular tithe gathering, sometimes by ship, sometimes by stargate. Many cultures in the galaxy were equipped with an abundance of ships and weapons and travelled only to heavily fortified outposts. Not so for the Atumites, access to a pre-built network of stargates had meant that goa’uld expansion was profligate and thousands of worlds worshipped Atum without ever truly being part of the Hundred Worlds.

Most of these were scarcely populated, settled by a few thousand or million people in a few settlements around valuable natural resources or prime agricultural land. This one, known as Ploris, was just such a world.

The temple around the stargate showed this, some areas were fallen, others had been swept in with sand, and it was rarely visited.

Still, it was expected that here for the day should be crowds of worshippers led by the settlement’s civic leaders to receive the emissaries of the Sole Lord. Instead, the procession’s footfalls echoed through an empty hall.

The Assaying was not a simple business but even in the outlying areas, such things could be a problem.

Jen’tar was a Jaffa captain of considerable standing, not enough to be elevated to the elite ranks of those who were considered to be the personal warriors of a system lord, but the vast administration of taxes needed plenty of warriors regardless, and he commanded this troop.

He was not a fool; and already as the procession began to emerge, he issued commands to his warriors to spread out, assuming ambush. It was not uncommon for worlds to rebel, turn against the Sole Lord, or simply flee to avoid the burden of taxation if the season had been poor.

“Jaffa, Kree!” the command was a traditional one, meaning something between “at-arms”, and “to-attention” depending on the context.

The guards spread out while their charges were visibly confused and they took up firing positions to cover the collonades of the high temple interior where the stargate stood. No ambush came, and for a time, all was quiet, sand shining in the air before the stargate before it cut off as the procession finished emerging.

“Jan’tar,” the voice of the collector said, her tone curious. “What do you think has happened?”

He looked at her, folding back his hawk-helm into his collar, the metal compressing to hide it from view.

“I do not know, I will order a troop to investigate.”

She nodded and looked toward the temple’s gate, steps barely trodden on with sand blown across it, as Jan’tar barked his orders and a group of warriors departed to investigate.

The tithe party stopped, the temple should have been a prelude to a feast in their honour, and few had anything useful to do. The Collector herself spoke with her followers and he was blithely aware how different she was.

The Red House had grown in the last few years, an institution that had changed from the practice of individual overlords assigning payments for outworlds and collecting as they saw fit, to the installation of thousands of New Mind goa’uld like her, whose diligence was far higher.

Naris, her name was, he hadn’t known her for long before this expedition.

Before an hour passed she was clearly growing impatient, and Jen’tar was watching her closely.

“We need to leave,” Sanem said, her breathing was shallow and she sat in the shade, at first Naris had thought that she had simply been affected by the heat of the day, humans were fragile, but this was something more serious. “Please?”

Naris held her hand tightly as she sat and one of the medical staff they had brought with them, a jaffa priestess, ran a diagnosis jewel over her again, examining the results of it. Her expression was grave, but also confused.

“Maybe,” Naris said, “let’s just see what Mai says,” she said. She had a comprehensive knowledge of biology and medicine, more than Mai, she was sure, to be goa’uld was to be born with vast knowledge, but having that knowledge and being accustomed to applying it in the real world wasn’t the same thing, and she wasn’t going to interfere. “Mai, tell me something good?”

“I cannot, Lady,” Mai said, “something is wrong with the Blood of Anukis,” she said. “I don’t understand it, please, look.”

She took the tablet that held the read-outs, and she could feel Sanem clutching her hand tighter. She did not want to let go, and sat down beside her servant to let her hold on while she worked.

She wanted to say something, but she didn’t want to say it. She could have told everyone else present that they were going to die without trouble, but Sanem had been with her for years. She did not want Sanem to die.

She wasn’t dying, but… something was attacking her brain, and that something was the Blood of Anukis, the substance that had been given to her and so many other humans to lengthen youth and life. Naris had been expecting to have Sanem with her for centuries yet.

“I don’t know what it’s doing,” she lied, she knew something, “what does it feel like, San?”

“I don’t know,” she said, “I’m dizzy, it doesn’t hurt, but I want to vomit, but can’t…” she paused. “And I can hear blasphemous spirits.”

“Spirits, what do they say?”

“They preach, some heresy, calling it the Weld, awful lies. I don’t want to listen to it, protect me.”

The other humans in the group were sick, too, perhaps half of the group, while the jaffa and goa’uld with her were unharmed, their biology was without the nanocytes that Anukis had invented to improve human life. “I’m just going to check on the patrols.”

She stood up, and walked to Jan’tar. “I think I know what happened here,” she said, “everyone is dead, or worse. Call your men back.”

“You are certain, Lady?”

Technically, Naris could not order him to do anything except protect her, but he wasn’t going to disregard her advice. “There is something, some contaminant, some signal, that has corrupted the Blood of Anukis, everyone here was inoculated. Everyone… everyone on this planet is dead. Or mad. Mad I think. Tainted, might be a better…”

Every one of the civilians was now showing visible signs of confusion, disorientation. She had heard rumours, of a plague, of worlds where expeditions had been lost without any answer.

She had heard of biological, nanotechnological weapons, the vast trove of her inborn memory had countless examples, built by the goa’uld, or just found by them, rage-fevers and more, she knew whatever it was that had subborned the Blood of Anukis, which was supposed to be impossible, had no positive intentions toward anyone present.

“You know what to do,” she said.

Jan’tar looked at her, his face without emotion, he was older than she was, he remembered the time before Atum had firmly established his rule. The anarchy and massacre. “I do not.”

Damn you, she thought, he wanted her to say it. “I want you to kill all humans here,” she whispered, “in a moment.”

Just a moment.

She looked at Sanem, she knew that despite her efforts, her companion knew what was coming. She did not move to resist, or flee.

She pressed her hands against the stone she sat on, her fingers white with pressure on the edge of the stone. “I know what it wants. I don’t want to give it…”

Naris nodded, and lifted her hand. “Now!” she called, the ribbon worn about her hand flaring with orange fire.

They were in the Red House, the place they had first met, the great palace-complex from which the out-worlds were administered, in the high mountains of Mnewer’s crater-pockmarked plain of marble.

She felt Sanem’s hand on hers as she looked out over the rings of the city surrounding the great cloven and golden-hammered domes. The Red House was huge, thousands of scribes and merchants, gatherers and collectors toiled there, processing reports and sending out prospectors to the galactic disc. The White House, the even larger rival on the southern side of the City of the Mount, administered the gathering of taxes from the Hundred Worlds themselves, while the Red House gathered the income of the other worlds under Atum’s domain.

“I’m sorry,” Naris said, she hadn’t used that expression often, she was a being who had few regrets.

The kara-kesh used amplification crystals to form an energy bond with the mind of the subject, it had been the preferred personal weapon of the goa’uld for millennia because of the pain it could inflict, but it had been a communications tool in its first form when it had been discovered.

The world, the environment, was a common experience they shared. Sanem had been one of the countless fan-bearers who had accompanied her. When she had come to work here, she had found the young woman struggling not to laugh at her and had inquired what had made her so funny as she followed her through the halls on her first day.

You’ve gone past six times now, she said, I’m sorry, who are you looking to find? Sanem had said.

She’d asked for her every time when she had earned the position of visiting remote tithe worlds. They had seen all kinds of things, feasts and banquets, they had visited other worlds together. At first, Sanem had been useful, she had been able to tell her things that she didn’t know, then find out what her rivals were doing. Then Sanem had put her skills to good use finding out from the servants of local officials what they did not want the tax-woman to know.

“I know,” Sanem said, tears running down her face. “How did they get us?”

“I… I don’t even know who they are,” Naris admitted, holding the woman to her. The shared hallucination was simple, but she knew what was happening, she was killing Sanem, parts of her brain were being shut down, a full neural collapse would be inevitable, the power the device worked at was an overload, it did not have to hurt, at least, and she could spend a few minutes, even hours, with her friend.

“Make them pay,” Sanem said. “If you can. And look after my mother,” she said. Tears hung unfallen in her eyes.

“I will,” she said, “I will warn the Sole Lord and he will have them hunted to the edges of the universe,” she lied, she was not sure that would happen, but she wanted it to.

“How long will it take?” Sanem asked.

“In the real world, moments,” she said, “Here, it could be hours, maybe days.”

Sanem frowned, “Don’t tell me which,” she said. “Let’s keep the moment, the last bit of this life,” she said.

She turned away and walked toward the bridge between the Hall of Records and the Great Hall of Serapis. The Red House’s city-complex was beautiful and on clear display, beneath the night sky. It was a clear night in this frozen memory, and the great disc of the Galaxy of Mehet-Weret, which most of its inhabitants gave the dreary name of Milky Way.

The Hundred Worlds resided outside the galactic disc, and on clear nights, the sky was spread with the bright illumination of the galactic disc.

Sanem looked up and sighed deeply, “Bring me home,” she said, “can you bring me home, and bury me right?”

Naris paused, on the one hand, the risk was there, on the other, it was Sanem. “I will,” she promised.

“Let’s see if we can find some drink,” Sanem said.

“You know you can’t get drunk,” Naris said.

“It’s my vision, I’ll be drunk if I want to. Can’t tell me what to do any more. Not that you did, much, better than most employers,” she said.

Sanem’s face was dead, Naris wasn’t taking any chances. She had shared a dream for hours with her, talking, of old games and old triumphs, old lovers that Sanem had taken and occasionally adding to a list of last requests that had reached a modest seven.

The vision had been intruded on from time to time, by imprections from the thing that wanted to possess her friend's body, and together they had thought up a variety of insults and rejoinders for it. She suspected, somehow, the Weld was alive, not a programmed indoctrination, but together they had drunk to ignore its entreaties to join with it, if Naris understood what it wanted, it sounded dreadfully boring to be a perfect entity; A perfect entity that can't get drunk, or fuck, or dance, isn't perfect! had been Sanem's chirpy response at one point.

Then the vision had died as Sanem’s consciousness faded, and she could hear the massacre around her, the smell of burnt flesh, the screams. In the waking world, it had taken but three or four seconds and Jen’tar’s men were still gunning down their own faithful servants like some massacre from nightmare memory.

But this was real, this was her.

And Sanem was still there, before her. She didn’t dare stop, not yet, her mind was gone but her body lived, and she would take her friend home, but not without destroying every string of neural tissue in her body first, she did not want the nanocytes to bring the woman back, she burned out her heart and her spine, and continued until her bone was spongy.

Perhaps Sanem’s body would let something be learned about her killers, they wouldn’t be let out of quarantine for some time, even without her.

Silence fell, and Naris saw Jen’tar and his men stepping through the shocked survivors, those who were not treated with the waters, the warriors finishing off the wounded with point-blank kill-shots and then dispersing their bodies to the ether with sidearms. She could barely see it through the tears that obscured her vision.

We wanted people to live longer Naris thought, and they turned it against us.

She was going to take word home, and she was going to make a noise, as much as she could, the Sole Lord was not as powerful as most believed, he could not wave his hand and destroy the galaxy, but there had to be something to be done.

Her hand shaking, from the shoulders down, she approached the stargate again, she knew of a quarantine world which had been set out for just such scenarios, buried caverns within an airless world. Mai shuddered, the medic watching her, she knew that Mai hated her now, and probably would forever.

She could try and deal with that in the quarantine.

“Jen’tar, not Sanem,” she said as the warrior approached her still small corpse, “bring her with us, we should bring samples of what happened here,” she felt like a liar saying it, she didn’t want to say that it was because she had made a promise.

[Fenvaria Republic]

---

Thalduhmian held territory
Ratzu I
Sror System
+7 planetary days since Rebellion

---

Ratzu I was once a beautiful planet, if a bit harsh to live on, an arid planet that was colonized by the dracoians centuries ago. It was a planet full of life and prosperity, however, it had a dark underbelly that eventually clawed its way to the surface. In a single moment, everything that the draconian residents knew was shattered, like a rock hitting a windowpane. In that single moment, millions had been slaughtered in an unrelenting rage and bloodlust as the underbelly clawed its way across the surface of the planet, turning its aird and dusty surface a deeper shade of red. The once calm and peaceful, but dry mornings are now replaced with the thunderous sounds of artillery and explosions. The soil now stained with the blood of dead soldiers, the wrecks of armored vehicles and shell craters from previous engagements.

The Empire had been on the defensive for the last several days, holding the line with everything they had in their arsenal. However, the welded were making it hell for the Imperial Army and the Home Guard by throwing everything they had at the Empire’s line, almost threatening to break through it on several occasions. But the quick reaction of several local commanders and for what remains of the loyalist planetary command rejuvenated the troopers there which pushed back the welded but with heavy casualties.

The colonel sighed as he looked down at the several dozen reports on his desk, all of them where casualty reports from the last few hours of fighting. He put the last report down and leaned back in his chair with a sigh, they were saying the same things ‘Welded attack, heavy casualties, the line has been held’. It seemed like the welded was able to solidify their hold over their territory faster than anticipated, then again the Empire was dealing with a foe that they have never anticipated and keeps surprising them. How could they prepare for a threat like this? A threat they never had seen coming and a threat that is unpredictable as they are careless with their soldiers.

He then opened one of the drawers on his desk and reached in, pulling out a pack of cigars which he placed on the desk, closing the draw afterward. He wanted a few moments and then picked up the pack of cigars and tore away the plastic, after that he pulled one of the boxes and cut off the end. Placing the cigar in his mouth and preceded to light it with this lighter, flicking it off once it was lit. He then went back to looking at the report for a moment before he turned to one of the communications officers in his office.

“Do we still have communications with HiCo?”

“Barely, we have one relay station still in use, the rest have been taken over or destroyed in the fighting both on the ground and in space.” replied the communications officer “I already changed the encryption and the access key like you asked, sir. Not to mention had the techs throw up another dozen or so firewalls and fake lines relaying fake orders.”

“Good, get me a priority line and send the following.” he paused as he took the cigar out of his mouth and blew a ring of smoke. “Taken heavy casualties, line holding for now. In dire need of resupply and reinforcements. Request use of nuclear or chemical artillery shells.”

The communications officer nodded, placed on his headset, then proceeded to tap away on a device that looked like an old telegram device. After a few moments, the operator then took off his headset and turned back to the colonel. “Message sent, sir. Now to wait for their response-”

Just then there were several beeps as the communication station got an incoming message, the operator placed back on his headset and reviewed the message that was being sent. To his surprise, it was from high command. After looking at the message, the communications officer handed the message off to the colonel who then looked over it himself, and what he read concerned him greatly.

“Request acknowledged and authorized, low yield nuclear shells only. Other orders, enact scorched earth policy if not done so. Deny any assets to the enemy by any means, if they can not be held. Assume the civilian population has been infected, do not take in civilians.”

The colonel looked over the message several times to make sure that what he was reading was correct and after several moments of carefully reading it over, he found that this was not a joke. He then placed the report down and took a long drag from his cigar before then blowing a huge smoke ring. “Very well then” he muttered to himself before turning to the communications officer. “Send the following ‘Orders understood, will relay ASAP. The arrival of reinforcements?’ end quote”

With another nod, the operator relayed the message and after several minutes of waiting the operator turned around and handed him a message from High Command.

“Reinforcements, inbound, 3 Arcadian Days.”

Nodding the colonel, handed back the report. “So, 4-5 draconian days.....hopefully.” he thought to himself. “Delete all records of these messages from the relay, move them to an off-site bank so that they don't fall to the Welded. Do we have another relay in the system?”

“Yes, I used one that was a bit closer and not as damaged.”

“Good, that means you can get a remote login from here. After you delete the messages, purge the site and force the relay into an overload, I want no evidence of this message transfer.”

“Sir, if I do that I would have to overload the reactor.”

“Yes, now do it. We have orders to enact a scorched earth policy, since we can not hold that relay we must destroy it since it has valuable data in it. If we use the other one, we would have to do the same thing. I do not doubt that the Welded have picked up on this relay’s location and are heading there to destroy or loot it.”

“Yes, sir” the comms officer then turned around and started to do a remote login on the relay, with a few authorization codes here and there from the colonel, the officer then triggered a remote reactor meltdown. “There we go sir, reactor meltdown is in effect.”

“Good.” replied the colonel taking another drag from his cigar as he looked out the window of his armed command center, and onto the miles upon miles of fortifications and micro bases. He prayed to the Great Wolf that help would come quickly and that the fighting quickly came to a stalemate soon. They already had to deal with Welded cultist infiltrators on several occasions and had already lost supplies to them, he could no longer trust the incoming dracoian refugees. There were far too many and far too many that have been augmented, the best that he could do was set them up on a nearby hill and regularly go screen the camp for cultist spies. He would have to soon give orders to them that he can not protect them or keep screening them, so it would be time for them to leave. He did not want to give the order, but he knew at some point he would have to, leaving them to the fate of the wild and the welded.

In the back of his mind, he suspected that several of them would commit suicide with some sort of fire or thermite, as a way to torch their body and the augments. Sadly, he has seen several reports of this happening from trooper patrols when in search of refugee encampments. He has even seen it first hand when he was being evacuated from one of the nearby cities, a dracoian trooper asked for thermite grenades. As his dropship was leaving, the trooper stayed behind and fought the welded as best as he could. Eventually getting overwhelmed with what courage and mind he had the trooper killed himself, using the thermite grenades he pulled the pin on all of them. The last thing he saw was a red-orange poof, followed by charred flooring and bits of armor and clothing.

“Relay the orders to all Thalduhmian units.”

“Even the order about civilians?”

The colonel went silent for a few moments as he stared at the wall of his armored command center, contemplating before with a cold and emotionless tone replying. “Yes.” After replying to the communications there was a deep silence throughout the room that hung in the air for several moments. The silence was then broken by the creak of a chair and then stop taps of a telegram machine going to work, relaying the orders to the Thalduhmian line

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Thalduhmian held territory, frontline
Ratzu I
Sror System
+7 planetary days since Rebellion

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Clouds hung high in the sky, slowly growing darker and darker as they prepared to launch their offensive onto the aird planet, once more turning the landscape into a muddy slosh. Below the clouds, however, things were deadly quiet as both sides waited for the other to make a move. Occasionally, one side would fire off their artillery to start a counter duel on the other side, or the sound of a gunshot rang out and take a single life putting the others around them on edge. But for now, there would be no offensives today, at least not yet.

In the Empire trench works, soldiers walked in single file as they zigzagged through their trench lines, protected on either side by thick concrete reinforced walls and hardened communication lines. With fortified machine-gun nests, deep underground bunkers to shield troopers from incoming artillery fire and the occasional gas attack, even deeper reinforced ammo depots, and communication centers. These positions had been prebuilt in the events of a planetary invasion or rebellion, allowing troopers to have increased protection while they waited for reinforcements. For the troopers, this was their turf, their preferred fighting terrain.

In command centers across the line, commanders soon were getting messages about High Command’s orders and started to confirm them with the Colonel. Once they had been confirmed, they relayed them to their artillery officers, who for the most part started jumping with joy and like clockwork ordered that some of the low yield nuclear artillery and other WMD shells be pulled from storage. Soon the shells were being transferred from storage and into the shell piles of the artillery batteries, each one of the artillery personnel there either confused or smiling with joy as they watched the nuclear artillery shells arrive. To them, it was time to deliver some respite for the front line and to deliver some unrelenting hurt towards the cultists.

A priest from the Teachings of the Great Wolf Mother would also be present to bless the nuclear artillery shell, praying that the Wolf Mother would use this shell to enact her righteous fury upon the demon and the heretics that wondered this world. The priests would also do the same for the other WMD shells and the regular artillery shells. Soon each shell would get its dose of holy water and blessing before being loaded into the towed and self-propelled artillery guns that sat behind the Thalduhmian lines. After a few moments of peace, the air was violently ripped with the thunderous applause of artillery fire as the nuclear shells soared through the sky and headed towards their intended targets. Moments after the nuclear artillery wave, there was nothing, it seemed the world had just stopped. But, on the horizon, dozens if not hundreds of mini suns appeared followed by the familiar sight of mushroom clouds. Several of the troopers in the trenches watched with awe and relief as the horizon was lit with fire and mushroom clouds, every nuclear round that went off could mean the death of thousands of welded cultists. As well as the necessary equalizer to this battle.

Capitalizing on the moment, the artillery loaders went to work and started to quickly throw every shell they could into their artillery gun to saturate the enemy trench lines as much as possible. After the nuclear shells, came the chemical shells, then followed by the fenvarium shells and finally some old fashion high explosive or bunker buster artillery shells. The infantry continued to watch the bombardment with their rebreathers on, shouting out curses or tossing cheers around as they watched the horizon for more mini suns or the flashes of regular artillery shells in the distance. It seemed like this long and painful war of holding out was going to get even more painful and long. A war that would test the very limits of these troopers, this was their trial by fire and blood, and one that would prove the absolute stubbornness of the Army on the ground.