Escape Vector - Log 1: Rebirth

Consortium 5th Fleet engages Syndicate Battlegroup during a raid on Neo-Paris - April 24, 2557 

---

The City State of Crion burns.

Suspended seven kilometers in the sky amongst the black clouds, a bastion of twenty million souls is turned into an urban battlefield.

Fires rage across the massive concrete megastructures of the platform as Consortium defenders wrestle for control against the Syndicate invasion. Above the habitation blocks of the Central City District, anti-air tracers reach through the thick smoke as the shapes of vectors move and strike in combat.

Down across empty streets, entrenched Militia Forces exchange fire with advancing Marines, the chatter of sporadic gunfire echoing across the evacuated skyscrapers against the sharp blasts of high caliber explosives.

From afar two lethal machines rise from the central disk of the city, the beating of the rotary blades on final approach resounding across thin air.

Over static the voice of Crion Defense Control breaks through the cockpit of the Attack Helicopter, calm and collected as their home burns. “Metal Flight this is Control, ten seconds out of the air defense zone. Be advised: Syndicate forces have concentrated their assault on habitation block beta four. Friendly militia forces are currently under fire by hostile armor and are requesting support. How copy?”

“This is Metal Zero One.” The Attack Helicopter Pilot reports calmly. “All copy.”

Rotary engines roar overhead as the personnel on the outer defense towers spot the two Close Air Support Craft pass over them, shadows of salvaged machines crossing their stations. 

Onwards to the battle for the Platform. 

Over the channel, the Pilot’s voice opens to his comrade. “Metal Zero Two, you take 33rd up to 92nd street. We’ll assist on the hab-platform.”

The other pilot responds calmly through interference. “Understood Zero One, we’re on it.”

Weaving through the decaying concrete habitation towers, the shapes separate. Metal Zero Two pulls out towards the east, while Metal Zero One continues forward towards the main battle line as he maneuvers between the city’s massive concrete towers.

“Metal Zero One, friendly units are engaged, call sign is Blockade.” Control updates.

The Pilot switches channels. “Blockade, this is Metal Zero One. We’re on site, where do you need us?”

Over gunfire, the Militia Soldier replies through a broken radio. “Metal Zero One, be advised we have hostile armor on the street!!! Need you to take it out!!!”

“Understood Blockade, moving to engage.”

Over the Outer City’s slums the blades of an attack craft move. Brutal and efficient, the ancient biofuel engines roar at the thin air of high altitude combat.

Across a short gap in platforms and between a pair of hundred-story tall auxiliary gravity generators, the pilot of Metal Zero One masterfully meanuvers the clumsy craft to a firing position.

On the heads up display, the feed connects with the weapons systems. Metal Zero One’s gunner spots the battle over the visual, friendly personnel ducking in cover as a hostile mechanized infantry squad throws suppressing fire towards them. Friend and foe made obvious to the trained eyes.

“I have hostiles.” The gunner in the cockpit’s backseat reports. “Engaging.”

The twin chin mounted cannons fire in rapid succession, the barrels igniting one after another as fifty millimeter grenades spew forth into the advancing lines of Syndicate Marines.

On the screen dozens of hostiles sprint for cover as the opening rounds reach them. High explosives sever limbs and liquify organs instantly, the gunner letting loose short bursts of fire one after another.

“Tank, aiming right for us!” The Gunner reports to the Pilot.

The armored personnel carrier stops its advance through the street as it shrugs off the incoming barrage of ordnance. Atop its rusted turret the auto cannon takes aim and booms out return fire.

Metal Zero One’s pilot grips the craft and strafes to the left, barely dodging the wall of twenty millimeter rounds.

“Fox!” The Gunner grunts. 

From one of the attack helicopter’s ordnance pylons the gunner lets loose a guided missile, the shrieking shape slamming right into the APC’s front armor plate. A jet of superheated metal from the warhead cuts right into the crew cabin, setting off a chain reaction within.

Half of the street explodes in fire as the armored vehicle shatters from an ammunition cookoff, shrapnel blistering across the surrounding towers.

The infrared display sees only white as the optical sensors re-adjust, the gunner ceasing fire as the feed blends in chaos.

“Good kill Metal Zero One!” One of the Militia Soldiers yells through the falling alloy fragments. “Good kill good kill!”

As the optics clear out, the few surviving Syndicate Marines fall back.

Across the upper channel Crion Defense reaches out. “Metal Flight this is Control, be advised: hostile forces have taken over defense tower Alpha-Delta Nine at Grid 15C. Militia forces are attempting to retake, can you provide air cover.” 

“This is Metal Zero One, we’re on it.” The Pilot answers.

“Understood Metal Zero One, we are sending tactical data to your uplink, prepare for download.” Control replies.

“Time to go.” Metal Zero One’s pilot reports to his gunner as he throws the craft in a gut wrenching maneuver to the west.

From both Pilot and Gunner’s heads up display the imposing defense tower’s wireframe comes through.

Overlapping fields of fire spread across the visual of the Pilot, the large bore guns and light missile positions mounted on the five pointed star-like construction built to defend more against bleeding fast vectors and naval strike craft rather than a simple attack helicopter.

“Go in low and fast.” The Gunner recommends. “We’ll strafe ‘em with the cannons on the pass. Keep them busy for the people on the ground.”

“Got it.” The Pilot acknowledges.

Between the sky reaching structures Metal Zero One throws away altitude for better cover. The bulky frame crawls across the battlespace as its twin rotors thrust air beneath it, a craft of armor and munitions navigating its way through the structures of the New World.

“Hang on we’re going in.” The Pilot announces.

Metal Zero One dives between the interlocking platforms, nose onwards to its objective.

The attack helicopter shifts below the upper levels of the city to the lower slums, bright standard vision turns to infrared as the darkness of the reaching buildings envelops it.

“Metal Zero One, can you receive.” Control contacts.

“This is Metal Zero One go ahead.” The Pilot acknowledges.

“Metal Zero One, you have authorization to demolish the tower. Friendly Vector reinforcements are inbound and need a clear path to the central city. ETA: three minutes. Control out.”

The Pilot grunts as he threads the chopper between towers. “Gunner, strike the plan, we’ll hit it with a thermite missile instead. Lead the way for the Vectors.”

“Gotcha.” The Gunner replies.

The Pilot tunes to the comm channel of the forces on the ground, static turning to tense voices. “All ground units on grid fifteen charlie, this is Metal Zero One, we’re on approach to demolish defense tower Alpha-Delta Nine.”

The reply comes with suppressed gunfire. “Metal Zero One this is Brawler Platoon, understood! We’ll keep our heads down!” 

“Copy that Brawler Platoon.”

For a second the craft is bathed in light streaming between the skyscrapers, and the Helicopter’s Pilot sees his opening on a massive highway leading to the defense tower.

“This is going to be close!” The Gunner yells as he grips his seat straps.

Rotor blades roar over the twelve laned road as the Pilot takes the craft to the City’s surface. Metal Zero One rips through a banking turn as it screams over the top of a confused and surprised Militia Sniper Team, the Pilot keeping the attack helicopter as close as possible to the abandoned highway.

“We’ll take the street to the north as our exit.” Metal Zero One’s Pilot announces. “Low altitude.”

“Got it!”

Militia Troopers dive prone as the blasting air from the rotary blades knocks debris everywhere, the armored tower slowly coming into gun sights.

Syndicate Marines spotting the incoming hostile engage from the tiny slits across the structure, small arms fire bouncing harmlessly off of thick armor of the craft.

“Firing.” The Gunner answers.

The bunker busting missile launches from the helicopter’s ordnance pylon, a streaking frame reaching the concrete structure in milliseconds. 

Thermite charges separate from the missile's main body, cylinders slamming across the pillars of concrete as they ignite.

Syndicate Marines are cooked alive as the temperature within the sealed tower shoots up, the roar of the passing attack helicopter barely reaching dying minds.

Half of the tower’s structure melts into red hot slag over the course of a minute, the entire construction failing as support pillars falter underneath absurd heat.

“Control this is Metal Zero One, defense tower is down, repeat defense tower is down.” 

“Understood Metal Zero One.” Control confirms. “More orders incoming, standby.”

The channel switches, the sole voice of Crion calling to great powers above. “Decimator, you are clear. Hostile anti-air is down, repeat, hostile anti-air is down.”

The command channel is filled with static, suddenly replaced with the smooth voice of command. “Understood Crion Control, Decimator moving in.”

A shadow crosses over the outer rings of the ruined city. Two hundred fifty meters in length, the lethal shape eclipses the sun. Soldiers of the City watch as the raw might of the Consortium soars overhead, a battleship unearthed from an era long ago pressed into the service of the modern war. 

Officers rush aboard the Battleship Decimator’s bridge, the exchange of information and orders to a point of controlled panic. Words are lost over the comms chatter of the Battle for Crion, personnel moving to battlestations as the vessel slowly crawls towards the central platform.

The young officer stands from the Command Chair, Captain Nathaniel Ano taking the announcement microphone to his calm words. “All hands, we are on approach to Crion Central. Prepare for combat.”

He turns, looking to the back of the bridge towards the vessel’s personal Tactical Air Controller. “Get us some vector cover Dalsma.”

“Roger that.” Commander Dalsma replies with a smile as he adjusts his prosthetic right arm, tapping into the command channel from his five screened display unit. “All units this is Tactical Air Control Commander Dalsma callsign: Archangel, taking over command of level five and above combat airspace. Be advised Militia ground troops, you have friendly vector assets inbound.”

For a second his blue eyes glaze with combat data, his voice calling forth gods to battle.

“Vector Teams, you are clear to engage over Crion. Earth speed all, good hunting.”

For a moment the topside deck of the battleship is silent, say for the howling air. A peaceful scene utterly shattered as twenty vectors roar over the Decimator in loose formation. The pristine image of the on fire city state is destroyed, the heat distortion from nuclear engines ripping apart the aetherial medium in overwhelming chaos.

To war.

Their leader speaks, an old voice of a thousand battles straight on approach. “Flight, listen up. We'll divide and conquer on this one: Gale and Phoenix Teams push back the Syndicate Assault Carriers to the dockyard sectors, Decimator will provide the heavy fire power for takedown after they’re done. Sicario Team, you kids cover their approach, make sure the naval battle stays a naval battle. We’ll need to cut the invasion from the source.”

“Understood!” Three Vector Squadron Leaders reply simultaneously.

With the rest of the Vector Flight ready the Soldier speaks to his own four manned team. “Gaea, we’ll take the Central City per our orders. Drive those Syndicate Vector Teams out of Crion. Strike fast and defend hard.”

“Alright!” Gaea Two replies with an excited tone.

“Acknowledged.” Gaea Three’s machine voice follows.

“Understood.” The cold tone of Gaea Four finishes.

The distant city state grows closer, habitation towers becoming massive from their small forms.

The Leader blinks, grasping the fighter craft’s control stick. “Alright let’s do this people!”

Sixteen Vectors from the formation of twenty break away. Gale, Phoenix, Sicario; each team shrieking out to the outer limits of the City State towards their objectives.

Four Vectors continue forth towards the central district.

Commander Dalsma speaks, his smooth voice calm in his position of command. “Crion Defense Control this is Tactical Air Control Archangel. Be advised: Gaea Team is inbound to Central District grid gamma four, how copy?”

Over the clear radio line the Militia General speaks up, voice in stunned confusion. “Archangel say again Vector Asset callsign.”

“Callsign is Gaea, how copy?” Archangel repeats.

The response comes in shocked silence.

For a second the command center situated at the peak of one of the habitation towers feels a distant rumble. The tone knocking over long consumed canteens of soy coffee, metal falling from tables onto the shell casing covered ground.

Everything shakes as the turbulence rises, dust kicked up from vibrations choking the officers before the real noise hits them.

The sound of four cold-fusion engines crashes past the outer towers, the nuclear arrival of warrior gods shattering eardrums in a path straight towards annihilation.  

Four shapes pass over the platforms at insane speeds, the City State beneath them turning to a blur of grey concrete.

Four pairs of eyes locked towards the distant battlefield.

Four vectors thundering to war.

“Gaea Team be advised, count twenty two hostiles over Central District.” Archangel informs.

“I estimate four hostile vector teams in the operation area.” Gaea Three speaks, the machine voice adding to Tactical Air Control.

“Heh, now we’re talking!” Gaea Two chuckles.

“Alright listen up.” Gaea Leader cuts through. “Mei, take a sniping position, take down their combat anchors and see how well they play without ‘em. Case, round the rest up and take some fire. Markov…”

There’s a pause.

“Do what you always do.”

“Understood.” Gaea Four replies through his flight helmet.

“What about you Colonel?” Mei asks.

“I handle anything in between. Miss anything and I’ll clean it up.”

For a second the sky is clear, the world coming down to nothing but the approaching battlefield.

“Let’s do this people!”

Four vectors break from formation. Gaea Leader and Gaea Three ascending into the smoke choked sky, while Gaea Two takes her now optically cloaking craft closer to the city.

Gaea Four continues forward for a head on pass.

The Syndicate command channel opens up, the arrows shooting towards them now confirmed to be an utter nightmare. “All units hostile vector team incoming.”

“Long Caster get us their IDs now!” One of the Syndicate Vector Team Leads yells at their Tactical Air Controller.

“No time!” Another Syndicate Pilot replies.

The roar of the rotary cannon comes right as the red Vectors break from their combat formations, two of them caught by the aimed stream of thirty millimeter armor piercing shells. Each one shatters as the massive rounds tear into their frames, flaming corpses falling onto city streets.

A blur rips past an entire army of vectors, the thundering, ear shattering tone coming around for another pass.

Trained eyes move and track the shape, across heads up displays the initial identification is highlighted in sick and dirty green.

“Fuck it’s them!” A Syndicate Pilot yells.

“Can’t be!” Another screams as they break formation.

“Longcaster confirm that hostiles are Gaea Team!”

“Watch out!”

Two shots ring out, buckshot from staggered shotgun barrels scattering through thin air as Gaea Three follows up Gaea Four’s entrance. A dumbfire rocket from the scattering Syndicate formation is defensively fired at the massive Consortium vector, the shrieking cylinder aimed at center mass.

Gaea Three takes the warhead, colossal armor shrugging off what would easily destroy any lower vessel. In cold steel, the being encased within turns towards the offending shape, Syndicate light machine gun rounds pointlessly shattering off the Consortium craft’s armor in thousands of extinguished sparks.

Gaea Three arms their weapons, loading solid slugs into their massive port shotgun. The creature within pulls the trigger, sending the huge round right down the central point of the dodging war machine.

Metal armor is crushed on impact, shape gutted as it detonates in fire.

Syndicate Vector Teams reorient, moving to engage the new hostiles.

“Golem Team, pair up!” The Syndicate Squadron Leader calls. “Focus on one and…”

The lance of superheated matter cuts right through the craft, the vector anchor of Golem Team severed in a single, accurate strike.

Gaea Two’s invisible shape shifts away from the trails of plasma, her insane velocity moving her across an entire city district in a single accelerated thrust of her engines. A mad voice is heard across all channels, a sadistic laugh resounding as its owner throws her vector across the urban sky. “HA-HA, Gotcha you fucker!”

“Get eyes on the sniper!” A Pilot of Golem Team yells.

“I have them!” Another answers.

Carbine fire erupts as rounds pass through the afterimage of a demonic shape, the impossibly fast craft lost in the blurry grey background of the City State. Gaea Two shifts between the buildings, concrete blasted as the incoming fire from her pursuer misses by meters.

“Shit she’s fast!” The Syndicate Pilot grits as she tries to lead the insane distance of the screaming shape.

Eyes focused on a single being, the world tunnels into darkness as the lowly Syndicate Pilot tries to slay a god. A fatal mistake is exploited, the thundering of another craft barely noticed until the fatal point. 

A pair of rockets rip apart the Syndicate Vector, warheads shattering salvaged armor into smoking debris.

“You’re clear Mei!” The Master Pilot yells through the squadron channel as he pulls away.

“Heh, thanks Colonel!”

Over them all, the calm voice of Archangel speaks. “All forces be advised, Gaea Team is in play.”

Panic raises through Syndicate Forces, and eyes are brought to the skies from Consortium defenders. Gods incarnate now entering the battlefield, elevated by the terrifying truth of modern combat.

“He’s coming in for another pass!” A Syndicate Pilot from Sweeper Team screams.

“Longcaster ID that incoming now!” Another yells.

A Syndicate Vector pulls out, barely dodging the roar of fire from the blur. In a single motion its Pilot throws her craft across the battlefield, managing to grab the tail of the hostile blur. 

Across the helmet the unknown is identified: text shifting to encompass two words in the carnage of combat. Eyes open wide, breathes are held as the lethal shape is barely kept within crosshairs.

GAEA FOUR.

“Sweeper Five is engaging the Beast!” Syndicate Tactical Control Longcaster reports.

Gimbals roll and engine mounts spin, the thundering noise of a fusion engine falters to an ear splitting whine as thrust vectors shift. The war machine in front of her hits solid air, blasting backwards over the cockpit glass of the Syndicate craft. In the slow motion world of vector combat the blurry craft becomes a shape visible against chaos.

A scheme utterly impossible to see at speed, now shown to the doomed soul. The pale girl upon a vast field of flowers prays onward to a distant sky, a voice to a lover far away. The tranquility of death against the carnage of war.

The single maneuver is executed, Consortium Pilot pulling the nose down as he falls behind the hostile. The rotary cannon spins, a short burst of thirty millimeter lead mercilessly tearing into the vector as Gaea Four destroys the craft in a roar of fire.

The orders come from panic, Syndicate morale waning against superior force. “All units fall back from Central City to grid zulu four. Repeat, fall back, fall back!”

Thrust nozzles tighten as Syndicate Vectors rocket away from the battlefield, straggling comrades ripped apart by monsters. 

“Gaea Team, hostiles are disengaging.” Archangel informs.

“I’d like to see ‘em try!” Mei wildly yells.

Plasma bolts blast past the retreating vectors, the longer range of a sniper’s arsenal managing to pick off three through thick jet wash.

The calm, smooth voice of command arrives at the squadron channel, Captain Ano taking a breath before beginning. “Gaea Team, this is Decimator Actual, keep hostile vectors occupied. We’re moving to position.” 

“Copy that.” Gaea Leader answers. “We’ll give them something to do.”

The roar of four fusion engines grows as Gaea Team loops over the Central City one more time, the legendary vector team taking back into the thick of combat in sky shattering thunder.

Gunfire eminantes in silence, the exchange of Syndicate Marines and Militia troopers still echoing across ghostly megastructures.

Over them all the Decimator crosses over, salvaged hull moving onwards to their primary objective.

“Keep her steady.” Captain Ano orders the Navigation Officer as he secures himself on the bridge. “Don’t crash.”

The Officer keeps her eyes glued on the display, one hand on the throttle and the other on the control stick. Her eye level screen updates with an intensity unmatched: a first person view of the incredibly close city in wireframe form. She grunts as she pulls the massive vessel hard to port, barely nudging one of the few habitation towers. Debris falls as the hull scrapes against the building, metal screeching a nightmarish tone as the armor grinds against concrete. The Officer swears as the Decimator clears the obstruction, not even turning as she addresses her superior. “All due respect sir, we’re cutting this real fucking close. Low approach for a marine insertion, this is insane on a corvette much less something our tonnage. One small gravitation generation anomaly and we’re re-salvage.”

“Orders from the Board.” Captain Ano sighs through his teeth. “Operations, status on the marines?”

“Ready.” Operations replies.

Communications speaks up from the back of the bridge. “Navigation, we’ll be over a probable dropsite two hundred meters from port. Grid sector is sub-Alpha-Nine.”

“Yeah I see it.” Navigation replies as the feed enters her display.

Captain Ano pulls up the map on his phone, finding the probable insertion site. Fields of green, a pond of blue; the ecology of a lost world now a microcosm of concrete and steel. “Crion Control this is Decimator Actual, we’re deploying Marines at East Length Park how copy?”

“Decimator, East Length Park is the F.O.B. for Cobalt Platoon. We’ll advise them.” 

Navigation’s fingers move over her console, tapping into the Marine’s communication line. “Ground Team Rook, you’ll be dropping on soft land. Prepare to jump portside on my mark.”

Twelve marines in Urban Combat Kit stand on the rubberized deck, massive packs of fabric strapped to their armored backs. Amongst the habitation towers of Crion, soldiers from the sky watch the approaching patch of green.

“Alright, everyone ready?!” Their Squad Leader barks through rushing air.

Eleven thumbs raise up.

“Ten seconds to jump.” Navigation updates.

Marines climb over the outer catch fence, figures standing at the very edge of the hull. Eyes lock with the city two hundred meters below, a dangerously shallow drop at the thin air seven kilometers in the sky.

“Fuck me…” One of the Marines gulps.

“Relax.” Squad Leader Lieutenant Tiana smiles. “Better than an assault carrier crash drop that’s for sure.”

“Five seconds.” Navigation begins on the radio as the jump window arrives. “Drop in three, two, one… mark.”

Eyes from the Forward Operating Base watch as the massive vessel crosses over them, tracking the figures jumping from it.

Massive parachutes blast open, explosive charges spreading infused fabric as the marine squad gently falls towards the concrete of the City State. Armored soldiers drift for ten seconds before smashing into grasslands, wet mud splattering across layered armor plating.

“Marines deployed.” Operations confirms.

“Take us out Nav, we’ll move to support the rest of the Task Force up north.” Captain Ano orders. “Ground Team Rook this is Decimator Actual, good luck down there.”

The Squad Leader takes a second to respond, her radio feed smothered by falling fabric and rope. “Acknowledged Decimator, earth speed.”

Millta Troopers thirty meters away sprint from the hastily set up command center, mismatched kevlar armor and bolt action rifles making their movements clumsy through the grass.

The first one out of their cocoon of material is squad leader Lieutenant Tiana, who shakes her body free of the paracord tangle.

“Who…” One of the Troopers begins.

“I’ll take this.” A man dressed in standard officer’s fatigues jogs over from behind the Trooper, catching his breath before speaking. “Lieutenant Tiana I’m Major Beni Tsai, we got the call from central forty seconds ago.” 

The Marine Leader nods, towering over the thin framed Officer. “Lieutenant Tiana, Decimator Marine Detachment: Ground Team Rook. We need transportation to Clarina University under direct orders from the Board.”

Major Tsai turns over behind him, the stress of urban combat wearing him as he stares at the rest of the Marines readying up. “We have an armor detachment leaving for the site in two minutes. But that place is a hot zone, not sure if this is…”

“Direct orders.” Tiana interrupts, motioning for her troops to follow as she moves towards the hastily set up encampment. “Any other intel on Clarina University? We barely had a briefing before we dropped in.”

“Syndicate’s holding the place hard.” The Major follows, half jogging as he tries to keep up pace. “Cobalt Platoon’s got seven squads and an armored division trying to assault the place but the entire campus is locked down. They’ve got four heavy machine guns mounted on site and a plasma cannon on the research building.”

The man takes a moment to catch his breath. “Can’t get air support with the gatlings in place and my people have lost two IFVs trying to push on that plasma emplacement.” Tsai continues. “Syndicate’s dedicated a shit ton of assets to the place. Completely against their normal tactics. Command’s still scratching their heads on why they seem so keen on keeping it under their thumb.”

One of the marines speaks up, battlefield command negating the need for rank. “Major, do you have demolition authorization?”

Tsai shakes his head. “No. Command says it's a corporate blacksite, level seven and above clearance. Can’t blow it up, too critical.”

Lieutenant Tiana falls behind Major Tsai, allowing him to guide their way through the command center. Eyes turn as militia personnel watch the marine squad move between the set up tents, their movement a swift tread. “Well good thing the Board’s got level ten. Tell your men that they have permission to blast the place.”

“Understood.” The Major replies, stopping as they pass by the F.O.B.’s command center. He yells over the chaos, reaching towards the staff within. “Squads have authorization to demo the University! Relay that now!!!”

A voice answers, lost over command.

Lieutenant Tiana continues forward, stopping for a moment to let the major catch up. “Anything else?”

Tsai nods. “Yes, security footage had some movement in the bio-research building approximately two hours ago. I had a squad holding the place but we lost contact when the Syndicate rolled in.”

“That building’s our objective.” Tiana comments off handedly.

“Good luck then.” The Major shakes his head as he stops at the edge of the vehicle depot. “You marines are fucking crazy.”

“We aim to please sir.” Lieutenant Tiana smiles, turning to the rest of her squad. “Alright people let’s go!”

Cut from a ruined lot, Cobalt Platoon’s entire vehicle pool sits ready for war. Armored Personnel Carriers were lined in a single file line, a few engineers attempting to coax the three hundred year old machinery back to life. Cars and industrial trucks with hastily welded pieces of armor had swarming troopers loading supplies onboard, logistics for defense spreading lines thinner than ever before.

“Your ride’s over there!” Major Tsai points outward. “Chrome Division’s waiting! Good luck Rook!”

Eyes are drawn to the four shapes at the very back of the depot. Designs from the surface world: the tanks brought to life by sheer mass alone. Double tracked, the frying pan-like shape of their ununiformed turrets was only made more lethal by the mounted one-hundred twenty millimeter cannons. Monstrous in design, Rook Squad takes a moment to salivate before rushing towards the division. 

One tank sits dead, an engineer standing within its engine bay attempting to jumpstart the thing. As the marine squad approaches the grease covered young man looks up. “Rook?!”

Lieutenant Tiana nods. “You’re Chrome Division?”

“Yep!” A figure pops up from the commander’s hatch, the tanker helmet on her head two sizes too large. “If you’re gonna be riding with us you’re gonna be on top. Can’t fit your fat asses in here.”

“Split the squad to threes?” Lieutenant Tiana asks.

“That’s the safest plan just in case one of us gets demolished!” The Commander of the first tank laughs, turning to the rest of the armored division. “Brick at the front there is the most temperamental, Stalina at second unluckiest, Stormer always takes enemy fire for some fucking reason, and Ole' Gunner here has the best crew in Crion!”

Lieutenant Tiana turns to her troops, barking out her orders as straight as possible. “Pick and choose your ride people, let’s go-go-go!”

Engines roar, dirty half-burnt bio fuel filling the noses of the exposed marines. Exhaust pipes bring forth black smoke, the chaotic vibrations rattling teeth and armor.

Eyes watch them as the armored division travels through battle torn streets; shell-shocked civilians hungrily observe in bombed out buildings, and bloody militia troops barely visible from field hospitals. 

The city is deathly quiet, with distant gunfire and the roar of vectors echoing in the silence.

“Battle’s going well for us… ” Rook’s radioman Private Broon updates from his feed. “Gaea Team’s ripping the Syndicate’s invasion area to shreds.”

“How bad is it over there?” Combat Engineer Sub-Sergeant Koris asks.

“Oh it's bad.” Brooks smiles, raising his hand. “Decimator’s moving in for a strike right now. We’ll feel it in just a second.”

An explosion rocks the city state, naval weapons fire booming across the sky. The engaged battleship shifting the tides of a distant battle, the insignificant marine squad now the focus of the stars themselves.

Peering down towards them, the skyscrapers and overreaching gravity generators of the modern world. Sounds echo: the howling wind blowing through worn streets, gunfire raising in pitch as the squad moves closer to war.

The Seventh Campus of Crion’s University System was oddly intact for an urban battlefield. Buildings of wood and unreinforced concrete were blasted out but still standing. An open quad was created by four of the structures: two lecture halls both a hundred meters long flank a long approach to a massive, more modern looking research building. Across from it all, a smaller administration center finishes the quadrant. 

Two wrecks of armored vehicles were scattered in the clearing, burning along with several charred bodies on the concrete ground; approach to the objective marked with death.

Consortium forces were pinned behind the administration building directly across the research center. From what was left of it, the place provided adequate cover. 

Here, Militia Troopers had set up their field command mere meters away from the actual combat zone, the center’s thin canvas fabric marked by both shrapnel impacts and bullet holes.

A figure at the end of the street spots the approaching tank column, motioning the vehicles to cover. Behind a parking tower of reinforced concrete does the armored division find its place. Marines dismounting, rifles at the ready as they sprint towards the command center.

“Good luck down there~!” The Tank Commander waves.

Gunfire was close, the battle for the University Campus marked with heavy weapons fire.

A single Militia Soldier comes to meet the Marine squad, kevlar armor dirty and rewoven from centuries of usage.

“Rook!” The middle aged officer with deep eyes sharply observes. “We got word you were coming to our side of town!”

A burst of fire erupts, a heavy roar of lead sounds across the University campus as the building receives suppressive fire from one of the distant emplacements.

“Yeah.” Lieutenant Tiana nods as she scans the command center a few meters away. “What’s the plan?!”

“Wait for them to run out of ammo?” The Officer replies slightly confused. “We got the clearance to level the place but we can’t even advance without getting shot to shit! And I ain’t gonna risk the tanks with that plasma emplacement!”

Tiana points to the armored vehicle, bridging it to the wrecks of the destroyed armor. She takes a second to think it over, sighing as she touches Radio Man Broon’s shoulder. “Tap me into the Command Channel, get me the Decimator ASAP.”

The man smiles, taking a moment to tap his squad leader into forces above.

A thumbs up is given as the connection is made, Lieutenant Tiana speaking calmly. “Decimator this is Rook, we are pinned down and are requesting fire support. Targets are Clarina University buildings on standard subgrid map, can you assist?”

The militia officer in front of her gives a neutral expression, the silence punctuated by close weapons fire.

Beyond the battleship’s bridge the hundred hundred meter-long shape of a Syndicate light cruiser falls towards the city below, its burning hull completely ripped apart by the Decimator’s main batteries. 

“Hostile is going down.” Operations informs.

“Alright we’re doing great let’s keep this up!” Captain Ano bites.

Above the battleship a vector squadron roars over, Sicario Team now heading straight into the thick of the Syndicate Fleet.

“Captain!” Communications speaks up, Ano quickly swinging around to face the Officer. “Ground Team Rook needs fire support. They’re pinned at the University Campus.”

“Tactical… ” Captain Ano begins.

“Clarina University? Got a missile waiting right for ‘em!” Tactical excitedly fidgets. “Just waiting for your order Cap!”

Captain Ano blinks in surprise, shaking his head as he smiles. “Call it in Tac.”

Through Rook Squad’s feed Deciamator’s Tactical Officer calls, her voice smooth and brim against the brutality of urban warfare. “Rook, this is the Decimator. Read you clear, fire mission is authorized. List targets please!”

Tiana digs through her pouches, taking her phone’s inbuilt map to measure the area. “Target location is sub sector beta three, charle three; next line is beta five and charle five over. Be advised, fire mission will be danger close: we are currently pinned in the administration building at sub-sector alpha three.”

Tactical takes a moment to find the locations on the Decimator’s targeting array, a deep smile appearing as she locates them on the satellite feed. “Copy that Rook, fire mission is danger close.”

With the Decimator now clear of the City she was in a prime position for supporting the unfolding battle. Although classed for naval combat in open air, the modifications that were done to her over the course of her deployment in the Meddeterrian Zone had turned her from the famous experimental Consortium battleship into a multi-role monster.

Her already lethal shape was complemented by mismatched plates of salvaged armor. Standardized sensor systems were stripped for those superior found on the toxic surface below, matched only by the extra mounted weaponry found by her numerous salvaging drones.

The missile launcher beneath her hull extends forth from the vector bay, the seemingly harmless launch tubes opening as the missiles within are exposed to open air.

“Alright don’t miss.” Captain Ano jokes from the command chair. “If you thought the smart rounds were expensive… ”

“Don’t worry sir, these missiles don’t miss.” Tactical snarks. “I’m glad I’m finally getting to use these babies.”

“Thank the Board, they’re paying for your fun.” Ano sighs. “Clear to fire. Roll’em in, give a five second delay between each.”

“Copy that.” Tactical replies as her fingers dance over the controls. “Engaging.”

Four missiles launch from their tubes, massive rods blasting past their trails of smoke towards the city state.

For a few moments the thin air of the University campus is quiet lest for gunfire, a tone broken as a thunderous roar comes forth from the blue.

Out of nothing the first missile slams into the eastern lecture hall, its payload blasting apart the structure into a plume of hypercrete debris. Militia troopers and Naval Marines alike are knocked back by the immense shockwave of extraordinary ordinance, ears ringing and senses blinded. 

“HOLY SH…”

The next one arrives, the next lecture hall facing the same fate as the explosion sends dust and debris hundreds of meters into the air. Militia Soldiers and Marines hit the deck as a two ton chunk of hyper-concrete and alloy reinforcement crashes between Rook and the Militia Officer. 

Two more roll in like aftershocks, their impacts deafened by both the power of the opening strike and the already thick dust strewn into the air. Ruined buildings are turned into craters, the campus choked in dust as dirty concrete fragments fall like rain, the entire combat zone reorienting from naval power.

“Rook this is Decimator, splashdown complete.”

From behind the parking structure the first tank rolls out, engine roaring as it powers through falling debris.

A plasma shot is fired from the still intact research building, Stormer eating the superheated projectile right on its upper glacis. Like a bullet to flesh, thick armor melts on impact, the entire tank pulverized as its crew cabin is annihilated.

Spilled biofuel flash burns onto the remaining pieces of white-hot metal, the wreck bursting into flames.

“Plasma cannon is still up!” Someone yells. “GET DOWN!!!”

From Crion Control the call comes, the distant rotary blades ripping through thin air is enough to call eyes towards the dust choked sky. “Metal Zero One on site.”

The attack helicopter rolls in with a low pass, rockets launching from pylons as it strafes the research building with explosive ordinance. The mounted plasma cannon attempts to return fire to the new threat, automated targeting systems barely finding its mark before a rocket demolishes its computing core.

Cheers sound across the Militia soldiers as the shape of the attack helicopter roars past them again for an inspection pass. Radios crack open, the transmission from the pilot is barely audible from interference, but his tone obvious. “... Be advised, plasma cannon is down, repeat, plasma cannon is down. Approach is clear.”

Lieutenant Tiana stands forth, rifle raised in the air. Sunlight shifting through the particulate, her voice booms across the battlefield. “Alright you heard ‘em, let’s go!!!”

War turns black amongst the dust: movement slowed and conflict smothered. Gunfire stops as return fire ceases, the Marines sprinting through the piles of smouldering debris towards the ruins of the research building.

Up close the shape of the structure was an entirely new beast. Formed in a brutalist design, the thing looked more like a fallout bunker rather than a center of learning.

They all rush towards the objective. Double doors form a shut entrance, locked by simple mechanism.

“Alright form up!” Tiana roars, pointing with a fisted hand. “Breach it!”

One of her marines chambers a shell into his breaching shotgun, pushing the barrel right at the central point of the massive door handles.

In a single blast the flechettes shatters locks, the entrance swinging wide open from the impact.

“Go!” Lieutenant Tiana motions.

The Rook Squad moves in, weapons raised in a textbook breach and clear operation.

“Contact!”

A burst of machine gun fire sounds, an automated turret within the lobby cutting down one of her marines. Ten soldiers return fire, the emplacement instantly riddled with rounds.

The squad medic instinctively kneels down above the wounded, the rest of the squad moving to sweep the building.

“Clear!” A marine yells.

“Clear!” Another confirms.

Lieutenant Tiana rests her rifle, sprinting over towards her wounded subordinate.  “Adana you good?!”

Wild eyes glance towards her, the Medic gritting his teeth as the Corporal on the ground begins to squirm in pain.

“Bad news: she’s bleeding out.” The medic sarcastically grunts, lowering his voice as he leans towards his patient. “Good news though: you’re bleeding out in a very orderly way.”

For a moment the squad listens, their comrade at the precipice of the black.

Searching through his pack the medic pulls out a light red medical injector. In a single motion the man primes the instrument, wicked needle extending outward like a bird in flight. With his other hand he unbuckles the broken ceramic armor, finding the correct mark through blood stained fatigues. “Sorry Corporal, this is gonna hurt a lot.”

He pauses as he glances over to the squad leader. “A LOT.”

Straight into her chest does the needle go, the injector hissing as the clear liquid within enters her body cavity. 

Corporal Adana grabs the medic’s arm, her grip tightening her eyes go wide with shock. “FUUUUUUCK!”

“Good, take a deep breath.” The medic orders.

Foam expands, her breath straightening as the blood stops pooling on the marble floor. White fluff stiffens through exposed bullet wounds, the material finishing its expansion as soon as it meets open air.

“THERE ARE….  SPIDERS… INSIDE ME!!!” The marine screams.

“Yeah I heard that it feels like that.” The medic smiles. “That thing costed six kebs by the way, right out of my personal account. You better pay me back.”

“She’s good right?!” Lieutenant Tiana yells.

The medic turns to his patient. “Are you?”

Corporal Adana raises a thumb painfully, her voice weak and quick breaths shallow. “Yep…”

The medic grabs a nearby chunk of concrete, resting the Corporal’s head on the hard material. “She’s… stable. Probably, I can't really tell, this biofoam’s about two hundred years past expiry.”

The Lieutenant nods, tapping into the command channel as she turns to face the rest of the building. “Decimator, this is Rook. Be advised: the main lobby is clear, we’re sweeping the wings. One wounded.”

Without warning the update comes from above, Command suddenly breaking barriers as the voice of Captain Ano speaks forth with haste.

“Rook, this is Decimator Actual. Be advised, primary objective has been rescinded. Repeat, primary objective has been rescinded.”

“What?!” Tiana bites.

“Not my call.” The Captain dijects. “Rook, you’re no longer under our command. Good luck down there, Decimator Actual out.”

Lieutenant Tiana’s standard issue phone rings, the message within encoded with text only. 

The highest echelon of command reaches out directly to the lowly squad, the silence utterly deafening.

//Order from the Central Board of the Consortium. 

//Priority 10: Secure Server Infrastructure DATA VAULT ONE on Basement Level. 

“Fuck.” Lieutenant Tiana turns, pointing out to the two ends of the lobby. “Alright, spread out and find some stairs or an elevator! We’re securing the basement!”

“Lieutenant what the fuck is going on?!” Private Koris yells as he readies his rifle.

“New orders!” The Squad Lead answers. “Medic, stay with the Corporal. Rest of you find a way down now!”

The marines do as ordered, finding the staircase leading downward without delay.

Consortium Marines line up at the entrance, their movements taken with care as they file through the thin, dimly lit staircase.

“Shit.” The man at point motions as he stops.

Bodies line the walls, a dozen or so armored figures dead upon the steps downward.

Bullet holes and craters made from heavy ordnance are spread across the brutalized chamber: a close quarters firefight. 

“Looks like we found where the Militia Troopers were held up.” A marine comments. “God damn this was a massacre.”

“Any Syndicate bodies?” Another asks. “I only see Militia here.”

“Negative.” He replies as he clears the next flight of steps.

“Shit we might be going against a Spec Ops squad here.” One comments. “Look at this, these are plasma wounds not bullets.”

“Ready up.” Lieutenant Tiana assures as she steps over an eviscerated corpse. “We’ll clear the place with grenades if we have to.”

The squad moves down to the lower basement, the bodies piled in their final stand.

Backs to a single door marked with massive letters written in a deep red.

DATA VAULT ONE.

“Is that our objective?”

“Yes it is.” Lieutenant Tiana answers as they close in.

“I don’t like this sir.” One of the Marines motions.

“Quiet.” Lieutenant Tiana orders, signaling her troops to stack up on the meter thick vault door.

Weapons at the ready, combat experience and firepower pulled to a single point.

“We’ll need to use a breacher for this.” Sub-Sergeant Koris observes. “A thermite charge on the lock and then the springs should pop her open for us.”

“Do it.” Tiana nods.

The square of breaching charge is placed, marines taking stock in their armaments.

Outstretched, the three fingers count down to a held fist.

Lieutenant Tiana takes a breath. “Go.”

The charge is ignited, fire burning across the door in a perfect square.

Plastic explosive detonates, shards of spalling metal shattering across the internal room as the door slams open.

Marines pour in, weapons raised.

Seven figures draped in heavy combat armor turn with rifles at the ready. Aimed straight at the breaching force.

“CONTACT!”

Gunfire echoes in close quarters, hundreds of rounds unleashed in a fury of fire and lead.

Full automatic weapons cease as entire magazines are unloaded into the unidentified squad: hundreds of shotgun pellets, high caliber rifle rounds, and sub-machine gun munitions.

All stopped cold against a solid wall of nothing.

Hanging in the air, floating harmlessly between the marines and figures.

Seven unfired rifles raised, held in ice cold discipline.

Utter silence.

“What the hell…?”

A marine slowly reaches forth towards one of the suspended rounds, flesh meeting with a solid mass of pure nothing, stopped cold like a wall of metal.

One of the armored figures raises his hand in a closed fist, pointing out towards one of its flanking comrades. The voice is utterly implacable, accent foreign and tone harsh. “Consortium.”

The other one pulls their rifle down, words transmitted as deep as its comrade. “Unexpected, but manageable.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

Lieutenant Tiana raises her voice, reloading her rifle as she yells at the figures. “Identify yourselves!”

“Complicated.” A figure at the end of the room speaks, its frame hunched over a display screen.

“Time estimate?” One of them asks.

“One point four minutes.” They reply.

The Marines finish reloading, magazines and shells back into chambers.

“This is an issue.” One figure remarks.

“I will adjust their orders.” Another motions.

Almost instantly Tiana’s phone rings, the new orders displayed front and center.

//Order from the Central Board of the Consortium 

//Priority 10: DO NOT ENGAGE.

“Nice try fucker.” Tiana raises her rifle at the closest one. “Not going to fall for that.”

A figure turns. “The Leader is not convinced.”

“I will contact another.”

Ten seconds pass in silence.

Suddenly the squad’s radio feed breaks open, the voice of Captain Ano pleading as he yells into the channel. “Rook, this is Decimator Actual! Do not engage, repeat, do not engage! Order just came in from the Admiralty. Repeat: not engage! Authorization code Delta Nine Seven Charlie!”

“Confirm that order!” Lieutenant Tiana yells at the radioman.

“On it!” Private Broon replies.

For a moment the air hangs still, broken by disbelief. “Shit, it’s legit.”

A marine turns. “What the fuck is going on!” 

“Shut the fuck up.” Another bites.

“Complete.” The figure above the monitor reports. “We can go.”

Synthetic limbs on humanoid frames of metal. Cloaked in armor and fabric, Consortium marines watch the impossible position themselves across from them: artificial soldiers.

“By God… ”

Soulless optical sensors stare back, a raised hand nothing more than cold alloy counting down from three. 

A marine turns. “What are we doing Lieutenant?!”

The Squad Leader grits her teeth, shaking her head as she lowers her weapon. “Stand down, stand down!”

As ordered, her troops lower their weapons slowly.

The lead figure motions to Lieutenant Tiana. “Well fought Lieutenant. Counter point: you are late.”

Behind him the figures raise their rifles towards the server towers, opening fire as magazine after magazine is dumped into computer hardware. Smoking silicone boards are utterly riddled into uselessness, ancient technology broken beyond repair.

Seven voices speak in unison, robotic yet unique in their tones. “We are done here.”

Suspended bullets drop as the shielding system is turned off, lead projectiles scattering across the metal floor in deafening silence as the unknown squad moves towards the vault’s exit.

“We’re just going to let them go?!” A Marine yells.

“Yes we are.” Lieutenant Tiana growls as she tightens her grip. “Yes we are…”

One of the machines pauses, turning to face Tiana directly with lidless sensors. A female voice, daring and light hearted, shattered into static through speaker systems. “Just as you always have.”