Author's Note

I Apologize for this author notes being at the top but this will be the only chapter that will do this,

First of all there will be very similar 'story elements' that have been used in many pop culture references such as World of Warcraft, Nordic Lore (NOT SKYRIM) and Various Military language and history with some modern day science. Please do not comment about 'Hey This reminds me of this is not a crossover it is an original story combined with familiar elements into a unique story.

Second and most important, I do not have an editor so the fragments and run ons can be very real to which I'm sorry. After the second chapter I will attempt to self correct as much as I can.

I plan to write at least 5k words a chapter unless i need to do more and I have not decided on chapters involving different points of views when certain characters are introduced.

1. Prologue - UU : : 4160 'The Hell's Edge'

The Edge of Hell

"Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Do not go gentle into that good night." - Dylan Thomas
June 4th, Sol Date 2880

"Alert! Alert! Instability within dark matter containment field has reached. . six. . five. . percent, All personnel are recommended to abandon ship to safe distance immediately," informs the ship wide automated response system for the near umpteenth time as of ten minutes ago.

The klaxon, probably one of the most annoying inventions ever created, has now to these men and women become a rallying cry to everyone on board that we need to leave 'as quickly as fucking possible'. At this point in time everyone on this ship including myself has hit rock bottom and has come from ultimately one ‘impossible situation’ to a ‘we are going to all die’ situation.

But aside from annoying inventions of humanity I currently have more pressing matters to accomplish at the moment, as I sprint from the barracks section of the Warship UU :: 4160 or as we like to call our home 'The Hell's Edge'. The ship itself, although sturdy is an aging relic from the middle of a war now concluded hopefully as we flee the remains of the now collapsing star of the Sol system.

As I sprint rapidly down the ships narrow corridor, attempting to bypass recovering crewmen who are either motion sick throwing up their stomach contents or too dazed to realize what's going on aimlessly wandering or lingering in the halls. The cause of their sickness is a form of transportation method known as shock jumping, or in non-nerd speak; using the energy from condensed dark matter entanglement and sling-shooting massive objects across space, although risky at most times it's very safe unless you attempt a blind jump which amounts to shooting a pebble through a thicket of trees at 80,000 miles per second and hoping to hell that it doesn't hit a single one and coming out the other side unharmed.

As I reach my assigned squad's preparation room I reach to my waist and look for my access card on its retention lanyard and as I fumbled to grab the small object I hear the cascade of chaos in the background, to which the most I can identify is fear.

I hear Non-Commissioned Officers (or NCO's) and Commissioned Officers (or CO's) having possibly recovered and beginning to move rapidly among the decks behind me shouting orders to the still dazed crew of the warship. Although in times of confusion many young leaders heed alerts and automated messages as guidelines of what orders should be filled out next, I have learned well from that automated piece of shit to refer to it as the ‘idiot funnel’; besides through years of experience I have learned from the horrors of war in all its splendor, that you always get your suit first (if you're a Hell Diver at least).

"Hurry. The fuck. Up. You piece OF SHIT!" I exclaim shouting the last part of my frustrations at the keypad and slamming a fist into the Nanite Display Screen which now has flashed the green words 'AUTHORIZED' either heeding my act of physical prowess or actual credentials I shall never know.

Sliding into the squad room as the door continues to open I approach the Saiga Fabrication System, I go though what I call my expedited checklist of preparation before entering my Helldiver Infantry Tactical Suit (or HITS) which in lack of a better terms is no fucking checklist at all, at this point and I jump into the SFS. As the half moon door slides securely behind me I stand into the highlighted foot placement locations and the bottom clamps are engaged as I feel the cuff like clamps secure hold of the under suit locking points at the ankle, knee, waist and SIG Control implant located at the crest of my spine which is painfully implanted in every Helldivers spine to better control their allotted HITS system making the armor an extension of your body not a tool as most mechanical suits are. I hear the magnetic clamps secure and prevent movement unnecessary to the construction of the armor itself and as I hear the system begin to spool up I take inventory mentally as the long process of armor fabrication commences (in essence the suit is 3D printed around me).

The system begins to initialize and takes body measurements, outside I feel and hear a cascade of several explosions and a quake of alarming urgency shakes the fabricator with me inside I shift from my mental inventory and curse god if he's out there for throwing us under the fucking bus at every turn. Venting my frustration through an aggressive sigh and exhale of heated breath from my lungs I attempt to focus and calm myself while the SFS finishes its work which can normally takes about several minutes. . mostly. As the SFS finishes spooling up I hear a release of energy and a sharp cooling sensation at the base of my feet, the pitched buzzing and sounds of welding tungsten based alloys forming heavy composite plates around my body according to the stored pattern in the blueprint I close my eyes and take collection of who I am and why I am here.

My name is Saad Ayran, I am a Specialist Commander of Helldivers assigned to the 13th Defense Legion, Special Operations Unit Tundra Squadron as the teams skull leader or officer in charge (OIC), as my responsibility is to lead my assigned team to success of any missions tasked by the Union Navy Command and their overall health and well being to which mostly I adhere to within reason. As I feel another vibration that returns me to the reality that I now find myself in along with the sound of loose equipment slamming into the nearest wall outside the SFS causing the system to pause and stabilize the construction process.

I hear in addition to the debris the return of the most annoying equipment ever fucking invented klaxon just outside the pressurized chamber with a muffled tone of Artemis the ship's artificial intelligence system. "Alert! Alert! Instability within dark matter containment field has reached. . six. . nine. . percent, All personnel are recommended to abandon ship to safe distance immediately."

"Distressing bitch." I mumble as the SFS continues to construct my HITS suit now at a mid thigh level, a uncomfortable cold sensation adding to my annoyance, along with muffled shouts of distressed diver’s and crewmen leaking into the sealed space of the squad assembly area outside and the sharp increase and decrease of its volume leads me to believe the door has been opened but as of this moment my priorities are elsewhere.

Looking forward and breathing evenly I see a few photographs attached to the internal 'clean space' of the SFS and as I remember some of the fun memories and times of achievement of personal importance. A few photographs of past family and a few of my subordinates during the course of Sol's conflict to its conclusion I think back to sometimes how the photographs have gotten me into trouble as well, though i'll never admit it when asked.

I recall a few occasions when Union inspection officers have commented on me and my squad with the 'unauthorized' additions to our squad area and personal space, but I simply scoffed at whoever the Unions dregs sent down to harass me with a smile and often retort, "I the Skull Leader have ordered my troops to personalize and bedazzle their equipment to inspire other divers of the Hell's Edge." Mostly for my own personal amusement but I will say it was for the merriment of my subordinates who often broke out in fits of giggles and hoo-ha's much to the fury and unbemused stare of the inspection officer. I take a look at one picture of our first victory in the saga of conflicts that in the end I feel didn't amount to much since we came to a stalemate and destroyed a whole star system, I hate being a downer sometimes.

The picture is of us standing, sitting and to my amusement, one hanging upside down by his legs, a side thought to myself on the individual hanging upside down that I love to hate the kid; or I hate to love the kid to which I still have not decided as he is adrift often in the harbor of my patience. Ignoring the Synth and the subordinate I focus on myself sitting in the middle of the biggest rag-tag team of misfits that I have ever have had to command as a skull leader in my several years of command.

Looking at myself I see a portal to the past as a twenty-six year old very proud 5'11 commander with a dark brown high and tight fade, a cocky smirk and brown eyes. Giving absolute zero fucks that we took down a armored Synth and are now taking a photograph on its battered corpse during the middle of a flipping defensive war, at the time that photograph my determination to the fight had taken a slight rise in contrast to my present downfall at the end and i've relaxed more and less from my firm hearted leadership style. Reviewing visually the equipment of the day (and to what the SFS is currently equipping me with) is the Special Operations Mk II 'Ghost' full body armor with my high collared carbon printed cape which I programmed into my SD Nanite Foundry; A device that allows the diver to create limited amounts of equipment and as the highly unauthorized cape flowing into the wind standing one leg propped on my white on gunmetal grey skull painted helmet, the nano-scythe blades protruding from my arms and a Manson Custom SMG mag-clamped to the small of my back.

As a Squad Specialist Commander initially trained in the art of stealth based Nano-Combat I still think of myself to this day as a shadow of my former self, where once there was duty, there now lies contempt and where there was once faith, doubt; and the most crippling of all the constant fear that I will end up killing my squad or leading them on a fucked up martyr mission, but then again having ones entire solar system destroyed can do that to a person but then again several years of war can change a man considerably.

Adding to the internal turmoil of my heart, a soul crushing vibration and a brief break from memory lane with the short cascade of screams made me pain under a worried heart as I hear cries of the wounded pass the squad room. Call me a softie, but I have a bleeding heart and care for all crewman not just ones under my command. A quick glance to the display screen shows that four minutes remain until I can be released from my pod and my suit completed as I can feel the awkward cooling sensation and creepy crawly nanites around my midsection (to which at first i sternly refused to have tiny robots crawling around my sensitive male parts, SO MUCH NOPE! But ignoring my internal suffering I partially got over it).

"Alert! Alert! Deck decompression detected. Decks four. . five. . nine. . and thirteen have been breached. Manual shock jump slowdown successful, attempting standard orbit. All personnel are recommended to proce-*bzzt*.," as the ship's automated alert system abruptly cuts off and I refocus my attention to the sounds outside the pod another voice echoes throughout the system. "Attention crew, this is the captain speaking," colder than ice, disturbingly calm voice of none other than Captain of the Hell's Edge, Captain Thomas Blackthorne, a legend of his own class and to some the murderer of moon base Phobos and the entirety of the Mars colony. As rumor and record has it, the once long ago Admiral of firebase Phobos two years prior to the war in an act of duality destroyed the stability monitoring station tethering the firebase in orbit onto the Mars colony to stop a resonance cascade event that was the initial attack of Sol's invaders. Although no record was able to be proven due to massive amounts of data being destroyed by the fall.

The stories and wounds of the some thousand civilian and military survivors confirmed his claim and the only thing the Union could do to quell the riots was to remove his Admiral status and label him a traitor to humanity. But as great as all military records go, through some behind the scenes meetings in a total war scenario Blackthorn was reinstated as captain of the Edge and his military career continued and those under his command were none the less afraid that their lives were left to a madman.

"As you all know with the forced detonation of the Sol System's star we have made a bold emergency blind shock jump into uncharted space, to our gambit risk of attempting to save the lives of this crew and remnants of our forces our final orders from Fleet Admiral Hoss and the singular word of 'Survive'. I have regrettably endangered you further as collision with an unknown object during jump has damaged the ship's dark energy core and we have thankfully been able to exit jump safely before collision occurred with an unidentified planet that our navigation team discovered in the nick of time." states the eerily calm Captain. "The planet in question that we are attempting to slow down from colliding into is orbiting a young yellow star similar to the Sol system, unfortunately with the breach of various decks within the ship and the loss of many lives during jump we must begin the process of recovery from this event." With a sigh of relief that our ship did not become a pebble in the forest I continue to listen as the subtle noises of the SFS continue.

"With the solar detonation of our system causing damage to our dark matter entanglement core and the loss of our main propulsion systems due to our violent collision in shock jump, we are now on a direct collision course the the planet ahead of us despite our best efforts from engineering," a pause from the Captain with a hint of determination in his voice he continues, "I will not lie to you, as we have all done admirably in the final defense of the Sol system and the unfortunate sacrifices and loss of life is disheartening, we must persevere into the abyss of this new endeavor to now which I will give our final orders in the case of possible total loss of leadership and command structure."

As the captain continues his speech the surrounding area around the squad room has become deafeningly quiet but the commotion of movement is still present along with the hum and noise of the SFS continuing to build my HITS, I can imagine that all soldiers and crewmen are now listening to Captain Blackthorn while continuing at the ushering of NCO's and CO's to continue preparations for the eventual evacuation of the Edge.

"Our sensors have estimated that in one hour, this Warship will enter the atmosphere approximately in the northernmost hemisphere of the planet, In which case our luck by the grace of god almighty is a Gaia Class World with a atmospheric makeup much like earth's own atmosphere," he finishes with a pause.

Internally I exhaled in relief as this is by far the most awesome stroke of luck that anyone making a blind shock jump into space can achieve, but now the problem is that most planets with a Gaia Class could have fauna on them and with possible life and the possibility that it could in theory match in strength we could be in some serious trouble, if we survive the landing that is. With a side glance to the display I can see that with less than two minutes I will be finished with the current production which is now up to my mid chest level and a with slight cooling sensation near the core of my body, I am glad that I did not puss out and join the regular navy cause of a little surgery and implants of a Saiga Integration Rig.

"Nonetheless," the Captain continues, "It is now the responsibility of the current command team to make the the final choice and perform an emergency shutdown of the Edge's dark matter entanglement core that powers eighty percent of this ship's primary functions to ensure that upon collision with the surface that the core will not destabilize and engulf the planet and increase the chance of survival of this crew," the Captain states with a tone of finality to much my dread.

My heart races and I look at the timer on the SFS nearing barely a minute and a half, remembering a warning we were always instructed of; the dangers of power failures while suit construction was in progress. To put it short, the user no matter what the completion state, would be encased in a shell of unpowered metals and plated alloys and could possibly be killed or seriously harmed if the system's power is cut before completion or finished without activation of the suits internal power source. Horror stories of incomplete suits with a power failure or surge could encase the soldier in a non-powered metal coffin and they would slowly suffocate to death if the suit was not finished completely. And which is why near every SFS there is a Laser cutter which we all attend safety briefs for every three months to my annoyance. At this point i begin to panic as the suit is being constructed at almost near eye level blocking my vision from the timer in front of me.

As I now hope and pray that the captain does not turn off the lights so to speak, and I would feel really fucking stupid disappointed if I died cause of a can opener accident especially seven years later after all the shit I've been through. As the calming voice the Captain finishes the situation report I struggle against my panicking hearts frustrations and fears. "With this consideration in effect," states the Captain, "the core takes an effective total of fifty-five minutes to stabilize completely and safely with no ill effects, which leaves me to this announcement that in two minutes and thirty seconds all power to main systems will be rendered offline and only secondary power systems will be available." 'WOO-HOO I'M NOT GOING TO FUCKING DIE!' The small army of brain neurons celebrates in my head and I relax considerably.

"And to my core of deepest regrets in these announcements to you I must be forthcoming about the seriousness of our situation which now as you must know borders on levels of the Phobos incident that unfortunately I had to set into motion and cost the lives of four-hundred billion souls I must make one thing known to my loyal crew..," a pause so silent that all movement has stopped outside "No, to my loving family. . " as the now once calm voice turns to a voice of worry and regret, my mind runs into a mental wall.

Captain Blackthorne has NEVER and I mean EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE WAR seemed foreboding about anything I mean he dropped a fucking moon on his enemies and unfortunately innocents as well, in order to stall the enemies advancement into Sol. But as the silence and anticipation of what was enough to keep his next sentence hidden away, the dam shatters and the history and screams of four-hundred billion souls scream from beyond the grave.

"During the slowdown from shock space deck four. . containing the ship's flight deck has been completely destroyed and inoperable, to which no ships from deck three's storage bay can exit the Edge. . .regrettably leaving the atmospheric drop pods as the only means of exiting and escaping the now collision bound ship. . "

Silence (and a falling wrench is heard somewhere outside if one could listen close enough);

Complete utter fucking silence is now the sound I hear.

No movement, voices or even whispers, absolutely unnerving silence.

Which is now broken in my surprise as I am thrust back into reality with a monotone voice of 'FABRICATION COMPLETE! ENGAGING POWER SYSTEMS. .', which has given me a complete heart attack due to the distracting revelation of Captain Blackthorne that all our escape craft are pretty much shit outta' luck. As the internal helmet display begins to power on and the activation of my self contained entanglement core (allowing for nearly infinite suit power as long as it remains intact) is stabilizing. I am ejected from the SFS with a hissing noise of decompression as I step backwards out of the bay with my suit fully primed, powered, and pristine for the trials needed ahead I turn and take a step forwards as the SFS closes behind me.
I come face to face with the worst sight that an officer can see and something that I was totally unprepared for, four of my divers in the room with me.

My entire squad, covered in various amounts of dried blood, ash and grime in various states looking at me with the heartbreaking of gazes and a new realization that I was the only one able to get in my suit in time.

And that out of my Squad. . .

I might possibly be the only one who will escape this damned ship alive.

The Prelude to Madness

17,000 souls, approximately seventeen-thousand souls condemned to death, are aboard the Hell's Edge, and I am in charge for the well being and responsibility of at least five of those souls including myself (as pitiful as my existence is at this moment). As I step out of the SFS fully protected and armored my internal visors pick up the faces and expressions of the divers before me. Once proud strong members of the mighty United Union Diver force are now shells of their former selves with several years of grueling heart wrenching war now outlined with total defeat, shock, and despair in their eyes.

"Fucking knew that once we got here that heartless asshole of a captain would screw us," quips none other than Crystal Smith or also known as 'ArcLight' by her comrades in arms sitting at a preparation desk with her arms crossed and 'lovable' stare directed towards the ship's comm system. Wearing nothing but a half unzipped under suit designed for HITS armor, Her pale toned skin and well worked abdominal section on full display with nothing more than a sports utility bra to cover. Sizing her up she roughly sits at about 5'6 with her well framed shoulder length blonde hair, and her piercing hazel eyes.

As I try to will myself to address my squad I'm more afraid that they would be angry at my cowardice running for the armory the second we exited shock jump, but as I am frozen in fear as I hear a locker forcefully shut, played through the suits internal audio sensors none other then Sergeant Dan 'The Doorkicker' Jones, who stares unbemused at Crystal.

"Crystal," Dan scolds with a neutral look, "What have I told you about fighting things bigger than you, he's old for a reason which should be an achievement in this business," Walking towards Crystal dwarfing the team at a stunning 6'5 feet and weighing in about 265 pounds (I blame his condition) the bald close quarters battlemaster clad in his black under suit he reaches out a suited hand and ruffles her hair aggressively. And like an overwound spring being released from its retaining bracket Crystal leaps out of her seat towards the African American bruiser, "YOU WANNA FUCKING GO?!?!" and like watching a smaller dog attacking a tyrannosaurus rex who simply does not give a shit, Dan simply lifts her with his synthetic arm (to replace one he lost in a mission) and holds her in the air like a small kitten and keeps her there as she flails her unfiltered fury towards Dan.

A series of smooth chuckles opposite from the altercation on the opposite corner of the room along with my irritation towards the fighting squad mates I see Samuel (or Sam as he likes to be called) Tucker, rumorly known as 'Casanova' for nearly screwing anything with two legs and a vagina on the Edge; as he shakes his head with a sly grin and a quick snap shut of a small book held in his hand sitting poetically on a stool in the corner of the room he returns to gaze understandingly back at me with a knowing smile.

"Seems like even with the disturbances we still act is as nothing is wrong huh Frosty?" asks Sam to which I sigh expressively at my nickname that they have given me for how I once was a cold hearted commander who thought of them as nothing more as numbers but after seven years you stop keeping up appearances. Yet with a quick thought (as most HITS are controlled by thought through the Sagia Integration System) I decompress the internals of my suit and the system starts unlatching my helmet from the retention system.

As I reach up to lift the helmet from my armored suit I feel two hands on the side of the helmet twist and lift the unsecure helmet off before I can even touch it and to my surprise and irritation, no one other than Vincent Kiota is hanging upside down from the utility pipe now clutching my helmet with his shaved head and brown eyes staring at me.

"No worries boss I gotcha' back." he states and with a bemused look and a flip back towards the reality that's called the ground, he offers my helmet back to me. As a side thought, I've always thought Vincent as quite odd, simply being a war orphan that was pushed into my lap at the start of the war. Regardless, I return to the situation at hand i forget how with my suit on I over them all due to the armored suits all universally forcing everyone's height to about eight feet (to my knowledge is to allow uniformity and equipment fabrication).

"Thanks Carl." I state to Vincent with a sigh and take a seat in the reinforced standby chairs meant for the weight of the armor as I recall how Vincent earned his nickname to which 'Carl', as the joke is told is the definition of the military scapegoat 'Carl' incarnate. Weather it be jokes, dumb questions, obviously known remarks, you name it he's said it. Most of the team puts up with the little 5'8 rascal and more often than naught starts every interaction with him as 'God Dammit Carl!'.

Nodding with enthusiasm Vincent smiles and jumps from the ground to the corner of the bolted down table and is now resting on top of the squad lockers staring at me with bemused eyes and a coy smile. Seriously I want to backhand this kid, "God Dammit Carl. I said it once before and once again, No you will not get that cookie from me ever." I say with tiredness lacing my voice and an armored hand pressed against my face. A chorus of giggles now filling the room as I re-scan left to right and now up to include Vincent (Did I mention the frustration I bear with this kid?) and the now heavily breathing crystal with Dan sitting on top of her. I take a moment to collect myself and ask the most simple question an officer can ask his subordinates, "What took you all so long? And why am I the only one in my armor ready for battle?".

A few looks around the room and towards each other, each diver now situates themselves in a more formal setting, Vincent joining us down from the lockers, Dan removing himself from atop Crystal and picking her up and placing her in a chair next to Sam. All five soldiers sit before me and with trained precision each diver stands and falls into a position of parade rest. Which to the un-uniformed is where your hands are placed at the small of your back and your feet spaced shoulder length and all divers attentions are focused on their leadership.

Dan the Specialist Sergeant looks with a stern face towards myself and with practiced and neutral tones replies simply in a situational report tone, "We apologize Skull Leader, but myself and these divers were caught behind in several bulkheads when the decks decompressed. Dan states with a small pause, "-and when we re-routed through the Edge's emergency maintenance shafts we arrived after the announcement of the shutdown of the entanglement core." With a nod of understanding I wave them off "At ease," as each diver takes a seat and waits for me to continue, with a deep exhale I return to my seat and give them the situation as I have understood it." This does not look good group, If we all have heard Captain Blackthorn correctly we now have fifty minutes until the ship collides into the northern hemisphere of the unknown planet," As my divers in front of me find other places to look I continue my analysis of the situation.

"As i'm sure you are aware of the breach of the-." a clearing cough and a quick glance at Dan who nods to the left and right of him and I see the hopeless faces of the team before me, with a breadth of understanding I nod and revise my approach towards troops that need a bit of upbeat attitude, "Right; fuck formality, here's the situation we're up shit creek without a paddle; Lifeboats are gone along with the launch deck and the only way off this falling rock is through the drop pod system which we all know requires HITS suits in order to use and of without a suit the drop pod upon impact would rack a normal person's internals and kill them immediately." As the team looks back up more attentively I give them the real issues as usual before completely fucked missions.

"This ship is not equipped with alternative escape systems and is not designed for inner atmosphere flight, which means that we will have to take the brunt of the crash head on and hope to god if he's still alive out there that the ship will not break apart upon impact," knowingly I state to my team.

And to my irritation like the nerd that Sam is although surprisingly informative nonetheless, our communication and technical specialist chimes in, "Sir, with all do respect this ship is approximately three point five miles long and weighs an epic shit ton to where I don't even know for a fact, and that collision of this ship regardless of the entanglement field stable or not would destroy a good portion of the planet and possibly cause world wide catastrophe, or alter the impact area so severe that life could possibly not exist in that impact area due to the ship's mass ripping a hole in the atmosphere," finishes Sam the egghead.

"Never tell me the odds Sam, you know I loathe gambling," I retort to both Sam and Crystals amusement. "Yeah the boss can only count to about a'hundred, big numbers like that scare 'em cause I'm not sure that his credits ever last that long." she quips as Vincent smiles like a loon and to the deadpan stare of Sam glaring stabbing looks into Crystal raises a finger to verbally strike back when the thundering sound of the Sergeant stops them all dead cold; "Enough! The commander's personal funds are not up for discussion, he is not done speaking," The occupants of the room suddenly return their attention back towards me and I sigh and continue to the best of my ability.

"It's fine, I spend my credits on the holodeck if you must know learning dead languages," as the revelation of what I do on my person time interests Sam and Crystal alike, "-and as i stated before the chances of getting off this ship are very slim to fucking none regardless of the impact this event will have on the planet. My question to you all is what are our options as a team? Give me some ideas cause I'm well fucking beyond my scope here. . " I relent to my team but more often than naught in a tough situation they have always come together and given us a rash plan of escape cause I can't give it in my heart to just leave them to 'accept death', busy divers means less panic among the crew and more rational options.

"Vincent, give the commander his helmet I need him to check something," Dan states to Vincent who simply nods and before I can reach down to my helmet myself Vincent beats me to it and chipper as a chipmunk hands it over without a question in the world.

Accepting the helmet with a curt nod of thanks I believe Dan has caught on to schemes of keeping them mentally busy and I place the helmet on my head and the automatic snaps clamp on the helmet with a sharp breaking noise; the suit begins to pressurize and the NetBat (Networked Battlefield) system kicks on with the display giving me various data about the suits status and surrounding area. I think to expose my face to the suit and the armor responds by deconstructing out the painted visor and a blue grid is shown over my face in the pressurized suit. "What did you want to know Sergeant?" I ask questioningly.

"How many HITS suits are currently active at this time?" He simply states an order within a question, as I frown to his passive-aggressive order to which sometimes I question how smart he really is and how well he hides it, regardless I simply think about the number of HITS connected to the Networked Battlefield and a number shows at the top right of my heads up display. The number itself is red in color and is single digits and I look back to Dan with a serious expression; "There are five suits total active at this time," I state to the subtle surprise of Sam the most logical of us, to the expression of 'Are you fucking SERIOUS?!?!' plastered on the face of Crystal. As neutral expressions upon Dan's and confused stare Vincent's faces, "W....Wait! you're telling me that roughly Six-THOUSAND divers are on board this worthless space wreck and only FIVE divers MADE IT INTO A FUCKING SUIT?!?!" the shock and frustration are very apparent to Crystals voice which at the end of her statement was more or less a shriek of frustration reserved for scorned lovers and neck-deep in shit husband's.

"It makes sense to me," states Sam, as all eyes turn to him. Even though his face is contorted into a deep thoughtful expression, Dan simply closes his eyes and crosses his arms while Vincent snaps his head back to attentively listen to Sam (seriously kid needs a can of concentrate).

"Think about it, it's diver policy to completely deconstruct armors and shutdown vehicle cores before shock jump, and even more so with an uncharted emergency jump. Divers on the flight deck were being cut out of their armor like sardines and the suits air-locked outside so we could have even made the jump you of all people should know Crystal." Sam states in a knowingly fashion as he watched a laser cutter forcefully extract Crystal from her armor just before the jump and continues on his nerd lecture. "If the suits miniature entanglement cores were to breach in the middle of a shock jump and as the energies of vastly different frequency cores being quite dangerous and radically different to the Edges own entanglement core, the suits could have and most likely would have exploded and we would have all died in a cascade of miniature dark matter detonations from our own weapons. The second we broke shock many of us were in secure corridors and some corridors are closer to the squad bays, allowing those without shock sickness such as the commander here ample time to run to a SFS and re-secure a suit." he addresses the group, "-we unfortunately, were unlucky enough to be inside the hangar at the time and luckily moved inside before the bulkheads closed and it was destroyed by the object, meanwhile the commander had a Skull Leader meeting near our squad room." after finishing his monologue Sam leans back in his chair and shakes his head either out of disbelief or disappointment I'm not too sure which.

With Sam's lecture finished, Crystal recalled her time getting cut out of her own suit and it being ejected outside the ship. "You are correct Sam,' I state to him, "-the second we broke shock I made a break for our squad room and reconstructed my armor, I just now regret that I could have had you come with me now that I look back to it. . " I state regrettably and to my surprise Dan looks at me with a single open eye and a calm expression with his arms still crossed across his chest, "Don't, we all knew what we signed up for commander and there is no pity parties within the Helldivers. But that does leave me to the question that who got into; other than you of course , inside a constructed suit."

Dan finishes and looks at me to which I bring up the NetBat reverse ID system and to my confusion the hud flashes red and gives the 'ACCESS DENIED BY AUTHORITY OF CAPTAIN BLACKTHORNE' system message and I look back to Dan who comes back with the answer before I could express it, "Denied by Captain Blackthorne?" he asks and I nod in reply to which he sighs and Crystal and Vincent questioningly look to their superiors while Sam looks with a sad expression.

"How'd' you know? Are The rumors are true and you can r-READ MINDS?! I Knew Sergeant's were scary! I Need to hide the snack stash!" a distressed Vincent alarmingly trying to flee his chair looking at Dan with shocked expressions (who is now holding the child down in his seat despite his struggles) and panic while Crystal with confusion written on her face returns skeptically to my gaze, "Why would the Captain restrict access to the Netbat ID System 'top?" she asks hoping for some explanation.

"Its because of one of the earliest naval traditions among human history." Both Dan and I reply at the same time in a monotone voice and to our utter frustrations at having the same command brain wave.

"Oh is that because the Captain wants to give us privacy time now?" Vincent quips ceasing his struggles before being snatched from Dan and strangled by Sam who has probably had broken the dam in the harbor of his patience. I sigh and Dan looks towards the rest of the team and shakes his head, "No Vincent, and Sam put him down, please." says Dan with a disgruntled look Sam drops Vincent unceremoniously who is trying to regain his lost oxygen. Dan returns his gaze towards me and motions to me to continue.

"In times of extreme duress the navy traditions of earth can sometimes come back to haunt us, tell me team if you were inflicted with a deadly poison and there was only one dose of antidote to save your life between you and your most hated enemy what would you do?" I ask openly, and none to my surprise I hear the dumb answer first 'Fucking Carl'.

"Well duh we could just split it rig..*ERK*" Another sentence of strangulation between Vincent and Sam while I look to Crystal for a more reasonable response, "Well, if it was my most hated enemy I would choose me and take it before he could reach it?" she timidly replies.

"And if he got the antidote first?" I counter back and for a moment she scrunches her face and replies with almost full commitment "Oh, in that case I would simply kick his ass and tak. . - oh. . I think I see where this is going. . ." she meekly replies and knows what me and Dan are hinting towards, meanwhile another bout of gasping for air is heard and the oddly silent Dan speak with an expressionless face.

"The word you're looking for is mutiny Crystal," Dan says calmly, "-if the entire crew has access to the NetBat system and if the names and squads of armored divers appeared there would be a riot and a fight over control over the five suits for access to the drop pods for a chance of survival. Even as powerful as the suits are I highly doubt that the armor could repel fifteen-hundred divers at once trying to fight for survival it would be a slaughter house." he finishes.

I look towards my hand and expose my SD Nanite factory built into the armor and release a cloud of nanites above my palm almost looking like black flames. Initially the nanites are meant to decompose key biological flesh or soften armor and can print and dissemble small amounts of matter; to an extent repair and recall and dismantle various weapons stored in their buffers but even the small amount of nanite the foundry can create its meant for maybe two targets at a time and requires some time to recharge. Even as good as I am with my arm blades if formed, summoned constructs or firearms and explosives (all stored in the nanite system) the nanite foundry would not be able to keep up with the amount of bodies required to fight back a skilled army. Not to mention the suit is only about as strong as fifteen decently fit men and has limitations that sheer attrition can trump quite easily especially when your opponents are other divers who are aware of each individual HITS weaknesses, with my armors role for quick strike fighting and surprise attacks, not full CQB face-tanking abuse like Dan's Assault Mech system.
As if on cue the ship wide announcement system alerts everyone to a message announcement, as the team turns to the intercom I observe a sudden darkness overcame me as my armor system suddenly flips into diagnostic mode almost silently and my protective visor fades back into existence with bright red lettering 'ADMINISTRATOR OVERRIDE ENABLED'.

War's Justifiable Homicide

The odd thing is which is most uncomfortable of all, is that I cannot hear outside of my suit and that an incoming message request light in this darkness is really fucking bright. So with no clue what is going on and the inability to move or access my external vox system and as a even greater annoyance on this stack of shit is that forcefully opened without my approval and I roll my eyes as the connections being created I await the call. A bit to my surprise the face of Captain Blackthorn is the first thing that greets me, the second is him sitting in his quarters with his observation window showing the Gaia planet supposedly were crashing into in the distance behind his chair. As these visuals are shown within the helmet display I see four other boxes with the words 'VIDEO/AUDIO DISABLED BY ADMINISTRATOR' across all the boxes which I assume is the captain's doing affecting mine as well.

The first thing I notice about the captain is the simple fact that a large bottle of what looks to be alcohol is on his desk and it's already half empty, he has a reserved expression and sighs and takes another sip of what I assume is whiskey or a bourbon and looks into the screen more intently with a sip of liquids begins to speak.

"If you are receiving this conference this means that you are one of the few members of the divers that have been smart enough to get into HITS Armor right after the disengagement of the shock jump drive. This message as of this moment is now classified as top secret-," and with a sudden pause and a exhale the captain refocuses his efforts, "-who the fuck am I kidding, here's the deal ladies and gentlemen." As captain Blackthorn shoots the last of his liquor down he burningly focuses back towards the screen.

"You commanders are most likely going to be the last survivors on this ship, due to the special nature of you being the only five with a HITS I have a special task for you should you choose to accept it, This message is a precursor to an announcement that I am putting out to the crew as we speak with my 'elaborate' plan to reinforce the ship and to brace for impact which in all sense is nothing more but to support the task I am about to give you all. I don't expect it to work, and I more than likely suspect that after this message Mutiny will possibly break across this ship like the plague for the fight to survive." Blackthorn states with resolve, and as the tired Captain pours himself another brim full glass and continues his very un-motivating speech or more the likely the 'I've got a task that will send you to hell and I hope you can scrape out of this alive so I can have some solace' speech.

"As there are five of you in total and I have restricted the video and audio feeds to each other for personal reasons and will give you the ultimate choice to accept this task and show your faces to one another, the possibly soon to be saviors of the Hell's Edge. If you should choose not to accept this mission simply disconnect from this message, I will turn off the life support for your suit, ending the inevitable and shortening your struggle. If you wish to back out now is the time to do so and know that I hold no grudge or ill will to you because what I am about to ask you is going to be the hardest thing to ask of any diver and any soldier under my command and should not be asked as a former officer of the Union when I dropped Phobos on the Mars colony. . . Starting now you have ten seconds to make your choice." As the Captain places a timer on his desk facing the video monitor, I notice strangely enough that the timer on the desk isn't counting down ten seconds as he stated but more or less ten minutes, as I think about this he must have timed his announcement message and is leaving just enough time to give orders to the four of us armored divers.

As the seconds tick by one screen winks out and I return to my captain's gaze who seems unfazed, then another fades into nothing and my heart feels a pang of dread. As the last few seconds remain the other two screens fade and I feel wholesomely infuriated, that commanders would turn their back on fellow divers in need and they should be ashamed of their commission, returning from my thoughts Blackthorn turns the clock around and leans forward to push a few buttons on his Holo-Desk and as he finishes and returns to lean back in his chair and downs a glass of liquor within his reach, out of motion I notice the count of divers within the Networked Battlefield slowly drop one by one to a red '01' meaning that the captain has used officer's prerogative and killed insubordinate soldiers by means of suffocation, completely brutal in nature.

I could not fathom that divers could quit or even think about turning their backs on those in need, but in the likely events that have transpired in the past seventeen hours I cannot blame them for taking the easy way out. Many a civilian and soldier alike hold no compassion towards the captain's dark history but as I was taught when I was young that men make mistakes that that no one is unredeemable.

"As heartbreaking as this moment is we must press on because time is of the essence, I will update the records so they are now accurate and this briefing can continue," The captain continues on and leans forward to make a few keystrokes on the display near his desk and as I look into confusion on Blackthorns face I notice he has five soldier records in front of him I seed the red letters 'HONORABLE DEATH' stamped across their faces and with a wave of his hand the four records fade and the final record with a photograph of my face is left displayed in front of the Captain.

"Commander Saad Ayran age thirty-three, a commendable record since commissioned at the start of the war and current leader of Tundra squadron; as of this moment I am authorizing a field promotion to the commission rank of Chief Warrant Officer under extreme circumstances." A slight pause and the captain pushes forward, "The reason for this promotion and commission to the highest enlisted rank I can offer as a Captain of the Naval Fleet is because the rank has unquestioned access to all ship areas and subsystems within the confines of this ship and allows you to perform any task without authorization from anyone other than myself." As the Captain finishes his typing a notification has flashed on the hud screen showing the rank of a solid bar with a black line through the top and bottom of the bar and a image of the hell diver skull in the center indicating the Warrant Officer Authorization.

I feel conflicted, on one hand I have received the rank of Chief Warrant Officer to those that do not know is a HUGE FUCKING HONOR. It is basically saying that a Union Naval captain has proclaimed you as his Prodigal Son and now has uplifted you the same authority as the Captain and you can now make decisions as if he himself was there. But at the same time I feel conflicted to the fact that Captain Thomas Blackthorne, the lord of Justifi-. . no GENOCIDE by definition, the man who sacrificed the souls of 400,000,000,000 colonists on mars ending the life of a whole planet to stop the supposed void portal of the enemies of Sol giving us two precious years of preparation has named me his equal.

A break from my thoughts, I re-focus to the screen and notice that my face is now visible to the captain, and if one looks hard enough you can barely see the expression of tiredness in the eyes of the legendary captain. With another finished glass of liquor and a thunk of the glass being set on the table the captain folds his hands underneath his chin now adorned with a very visible shadow of a beard and continues his briefing.

"This mission is one I must give you with a heavy heart, as the needs for it are dire and necessary for the possible survival of the 17,641 souls aboard this vessel. Your task which is now being routed to you now by my senior engineer, are plans to deliberately sabotage this ship at key points by placing anti-matter charges on outer decks, storage bays, living quarters and even medical areas, while the crew hopefully builds structural reinforcements for the corridors affected in key points throughout the ship to effectively make a long fluting channel." As I receive another message I see a layered map of the Hell's Edge and locations where AM-27's will be placed across the decks, totaling in 117 explosives in total.

"It is imperative that this task is carried out as the breaches that are created by these charges will be effectively air-breaks and will slow the ship as much as possible giving the souls on board a possible chance of survival. This mission needs to be conducted immediately at the ending of this briefing and you have full authority to dispose of threats by any means necessary with authority of Chief Warrant, as all lives are considered discretionary at this moment including myself, meaning those that are harmful to the mission must be dealt with post-haste. If you fail this task then we will most likely not survive, even as dismal as the chances are now." The Captain takes a pause and I can collect my thoughts for a brief moment.

Justifiable Homicide, I have been ordered to possibly kill the ones that I swore undying loyalty and friendship to, not only does this go against every relation in the Articles of Military Justice, but to all morality as soldiers of the Union. I think to my squad, and what they will say if I told them about these unfathomable orders, and if i can even ask them to help? Would they even consider it? It's a decision that is impossible to think about or one to even share and here lies Captain Blackthorne, who has single-handedly masterminded these orders no doubt, and I can understand that why he's downing that entire bottle at the moment.

It's not something that one sound of mind would make, It's the decision that a commander. . . no, a father would make for his children, it's tough love; love so strong because he cares so much to hurt his own family but it's something that must be done to keep his family safe as well. As I look at the face of my now equal by gesture, the Captains deep green eyes, so full of sadness I remember looking away from the screen half a moment just to prevent myself from tearing up myself cause you know 'Men don't cry' and all.

"It is up to your discretion to recruit trusted allies into your task however, I must advise against it as much as possible because I cannot gauge their reactions to the orders themselves but, if you should so choose there are four unsecured suits available to you if you so choose to accept trusted allies into your fold. The suits locations have been added to your task layout and contents have been purged with activation authority transferred to you only, when this task is complete you will move to your second task which should be completed by the time you reach the midsection of the ship." says the near slurring captain, most likely I'd die from the amount of liquor he drank but then again you don't get old because your weak especially in this business.
"By the time if you are successful you should be able to reach the data core where the ship's Artificial Intelligence system A.R.T.E.M.I.S is housed, under normal circumstances the A.I. has its sentient algorithms disabled within the ship for many reasons but as we speak Artemis is now preparing itself to be divided into four pieces to be taken and safeguarded by you. The reason for the separation is not only because for security reasons that I am unable to circumvent, but because the system has stored within its data-banks the entire neurological pattern of the entire crew aboard the Edge." The captain takes a small breath and continues effortlessly after taking another sip of liquid courage.

"The patterns unknown to the crew were taken as part of a secret project code-named 'Frozen Throne' the plan was to save the human race in case of total annihilation, through the means of advanced digitization of neural patterns and every time a individual has interfaced with this ship a copy of their current pattern was stored on this ship in the data-core. This project is highly experimental and is only current as of yesterday as I have disabled the system from recording patterns since the battle for the Sol system with the exception of my own. Their final memory was altered digitally by Artemis to include the memory of victory in the war and to exclude our situation at this moment. You shall will be the bearer of this record and as long as you defend the information with your life everyone has a chance to come back as an artificial intelligence of their own to continue their lives, but I must warn you each disk will contain 4,410 souls and a fraction of my own pattern for sentimental reasons of my own design. I will always be part of this crew, and A piece of me will always be a part of them as they have changed my views and my life as a whole." A single tear breaks from Blackthorns face as the glass of liquor topples over and then the unthinkable happens, Blackthorn begins to cry.

Not just sniffle tears, full blown sobbing to which I blame the alcohol cause men of his conviction do NOT cry but my sympathy grows as I see no longer a legend, but a human being. The action is so sudden and abrupt that my breath falters along with the once unshakable image that the legendary Captain Thomas Blackthorne, who with great sacrifice of both his reputation and sanity in fear of annihilation, obliterated the enemy of Sol with so much destructive force that out of hatred or sacrifice he collapsed the moon Phobos on top of an enemy portal inflicting billions of casualties with untold numbers upon the enemy and slowing the overall progress of the war and possibly giving the Sol system the chance to create the Helldivers and to have even a chance at surviving the war long enough to survive. Blackthorn, partially recovered and through heavy emotions finished the last portion of his brief.

"After your two t-tasks are complete-"a recovering Blackthorn attempts to compose himself, "-you will flee to the indicated drop pod system near this location and you will escape to the planet's surface, I have enabled five of these pods to which the drops will be as far away from the impact site as possible and you may or may not survive, but the drop pod will keep you initially safe from the blast. As soon as the dust settles you will all return to the Hell's Edge and you must decide what must be done as I cannot fathom what needs to be achieved after this brief. . ." at the end of the statement of the mission in total Blackthorn presses a key unceremoniously and the sound of my deep breathing could be heard over the comms of Blackthorns desk, as my audio had been restored and now I knew could address the Captain.

As my audio now reached Blackthorn he turns the clock on his desk around with swift motion the timer now displaying three minutes remaining. "My son, before this meeting expires I have one final question to ask you. . not as an officer but as another human being to another, this task will weigh heavy on even the most hardened souls and even one as tortured as myself I cannot bear any more loss than what I already have wrought against my own kind as my accepted second I wish to hear your voice and anything you have to say in regards to this mission. Whatever you say here I will transpose onto the ship's final record and I will ordain a mission title to this final mission of the Hell's Edge."

With an act of finality the Captain sits up and prepares himself to take down the last words he may ever write. I inhale and exhale deeply knowing that I have accepted this task and being knee deep in the dead with no chance of turning back I look into the captain's green eyes of sorrow and recite the final writings of the Hell's Edge.

"I Saad Ayran, now Chief Warrant and right hand of Thomas Blackthorne, legendary Captain of the hollowed Warship 'Hell's Edge' hereby accept the responsibility and final tasking to save the condemned crew of this ship. Through many years this ship has served the citizens of the Union and the Sol system with loyalty, duty, respect, selfless service, honor and unshakable courage in the face of certain death." I take a pause and the captain nods and I continue my monologue with more determination.

"But as the hour of our ships journey comes to a close I can only offer my apologies of the crimes I will commit and crimes of those under my command shall perform in the acts we will dutifully fulfill in the final hours of the Hell's Edge. The members of this team including myself shall be of the following; Sergeant Specialist Dan Jones of Sol, Specialist Crystal Smith of Sol, Specialist Samuel Tucker of Sol, and Specialist Vincent Kiota of Sol.” I take a deep breath and continue as the captain continues to write my final words into the mission log.

"We, from now on be unified in heart, mind and soul, under the banner of the Knights of Death. Sentinels of the condemned souls of a shattered and fragmented system far across the voids of space and oblivion, act now as the remnants of the void, forced from their homes and slaughtered for reasons unknown," As I finish the opening statement I look towards the captain and now the burdens we both share and I continue the mission prelude.

"In our final mission and ultimate sacrifice for our species and the souls that we are entrusted we shall heed these promises. and carry the memories, hopes and dreams of our beloved comrades and perform within the best of our abilities to achieve" A pause as I think about my oaths carefully as this will be reflected towards the entirety of this ship.

"In the face of darkness -we shall be unyielding in strength." As I think towards the massive frame and unshakable fortitude of Dan Jones, the mountain of unyielding strength.

"In the times of doubt -we shall be unshakable in faith." A flash of a smirk in a memory of Samuel as he has always been the one to unify others in the absence of compassion from the leadership of Dan and myself.

"In the midst of battle -we shall have no fear." A memory of Crystal as she charged into the onslaught of hundreds of enemies attempting to uproot her sniper position atop a knoll-side with nothing more than simple determination and a curved sabre.

"And in the face of uncertain death, -we shall have no remorse." A disturbing memory of when tasked to hunt the traitor squadron of Ki'raas the only time I've seen Vincent lose himself around the waist high piles of fallen corpses of deserters and murderers of humanity.

And as I reflect upon the oath admitted towards Thomas Blackthorne, I gaze into the tearful but proud captain and father-figure of the Hell's Edge I finish the monologue with a determined stare.

"And as the head and lord of this mantle of responsibility, I Saad Ayran take sole responsibility of these men and women of 17,641 souls and accept them as my charge until the last breath leaves my body. This is a promise I do swear, and I will make any sacrifice necessary to see that the task handed to me will be upheld." I close my eyes and the last sound I hear is the proud voice of Captain Thomas Blackthorn

"Good Luck Death Knight," Says the aging Captain, "May we meet one day and the stories we could tell."

I with a smile I will my connection to end with fierce determination and the captain's face leaves my vision for the last time.

For Whom The Mantle Weighs Heavy Most

The forced diagnostic mode lifts, restoring the HITS user controlled functions, without knowing I was clenching my fists so hard that when control was resumed the initial reaction of the suit was to overcompensate the reaction thus crushing the reinforced chairs armrests that i was holding when the suit was placed in diagnostic mode. As the helmet's visor fades out allowing my face to be seen the only one left inside the room is Dan, who has taken the liberty of changing out of his undersuit and gone with the khaki pants, black boots, and white tank top making his synthetic arm the more visible which covers his whole upper right shoulder and chest to integrate it with his body it's quite an intimidating look and is now perched in a reverse seated chair directly in front of my face with a neutral expression.

"So what's the verdict? No games, too old for that shit and cause I presume we don't have time if the Captain wanted a private audience," he says knowingly that the Captains recording was probably fake in nature.

Standing up I assume full height of eight feet towering a solid two feet over Dan and he watches me lift my arms from the now destroyed rests and as the visor fades back into existence with the Skull Face emblem of the Diver leadership and with a thought to my nanites the high collar of my cape begins to materialize I look in his general direction and say the beginning into the decent of our horrible duty. One that as an officer of the Helldivers I must adhere to and to keep the promises and memories alive of the now doomed vessel, I stand from the reinforced chair and begin walking towards the door and as I open the passage into the corridor without a hint of regret I vocalize the only thing that could be possibly said in this fucked up scenario.

"Grab your gear sergeant, we have some work to do."