“Do not speak to me in your filthy pig speech or I will have you flogged and beaten until there is little left but bloody pulp and bone.” Orruth hissed. Ludvig stared him down before spitting in the face of the massive Sero Guayan King. Orruth’s rage and pride boiled up, and he would have no more.

“You vile… filth! You deserve to be burned for your disrespect.” Orruth slapped him across the cheek and took a few steps back.

“Your disgusting cross-breeding and infidelity to the natural order of the Multiverse fills me with pride, knowing that I will be the one to slay you.” This prompted Ludvig to laugh.

“” Ludvig spoke. Orruth growled.

“You know not a thing of war, profligate.” Orruth spat. Ludvig smirked and stared up at Orruth with confidence oozing from his voice.

“” Ludvig returned. Orruth removed the super-heated Karambit-style Sero Guayan blade, made of alloyed metal and wrapped in binding and cord for a comfortable grip. He sliced across Ludvig’s stomach and dropped the knife, barking an order for the Sero Guay in platemaile to step back.

“Then fight me, human. We will see who the truest warrior is.” To the surprise of Orruth, Ludvig made not a peep, standing up on two shaky legs with determination and a lack of fear apparent in the way he carried himself. He strode forward and grabbed the knife, spinning it in his hand to get a feel before charging at Orruth, the Sero Guayan King returning the gesture. The two met in the middle and circled one another, Ludvig low to the ground and ready to pounce, Orruth poised to retaliate in kind.

Orruth launched himself toward Ludvig, slashing across his arm and down his chest, ready to dig his claws in deep. Ludvig spun to dodge the stab and delivered a quick blow to Orruth’s face, across his cheek, causing his mandibles to splay out as he screamed in pain and anger. Ludvig’s titanium-reinforced knuckles would provide all the damage he needed; the knife was just a precaution and a deterrent; he’d rather keep the advantage from the massive Grey-looking alien than allow him to pull any tricks.

The two clashed with their fists and claws, pounding one another to exhaustion. Ludvig realised this could go on for hours more; hours he didn’t have with the sucking abdominal wound he had. In a last act of desperation and defiance, he drove the knife at home into one of Orruth’s mandibles, dragging it up into his cheek. Ludvig knew what would happen next; feeling a sense of satisfaction as many bolts of superheated plasma struck him in the legs and back, causing him to crumple.

“<Something… to remember me by… cunt…>” Ludvig spat out before Keshaii was over him, double-tapping him with a bolt-caster sidearm, a smooth yet bulky plasma pistol that melted Ludvig into a puddle of boiling blood and seared bone.

“That… Filthy… Degenerate.” Orruth hissed, removing the knife with a cry of pain. Blood dripped from his face. Keshaii said nothing and helped Orruth to his personal medical ward.

Doubt of their all-powerful emperor sprung into his mind, however Keshaii chocked it up to anger at the human for delivering such an attack. He glanced back to the shadow cast over the Gao from the tall command tower that lorded over the ship, before focusing on his brother…

Thames Refugee Camp, 0570 Hours.

The smell of burning flesh and decay filled the air. Twilight sits on her knees, her body bruised and broken from conflict. Applejack and Pinkie Pie are directly to her left; humans with odd skin matching the colour of their fur. Rarity is farther down the line, with Celestia standing in front of her, an odd gray weapon in her hand, old, likely Germane in design. She was clad in a menacing black uniform with long coattails, a symbol of a setting sun on the horizon with a skull inside of the blazing circle. She uttered a phrase in Imperial Gryphon and pulled the trigger on the device. Twilight could only scream and try to resist, however a stallion held her down, with a metal device—likely the barrel of a musket—against the back of her head. Tears streamed down her face and she struggled as Celestia moved onto Applejack. She repeated the words and pulled the trigger. Twilight begged for Pinkie Pie to run, to do something, however she only stared ahead. She said something to Celestia and spat—a last act of defiance, before Celestia pulled the trigger. Twilight’s eyes shot open to Sunset sitting at the end of the couch by her feet.

The mare-turned-marine was fully decked out with a brown ulster coat akin to Rezek’s, in the way of the half-cape along its shoulders and her armour, with several emblems on her coat, one on either arm and a red Seven-of-Diamonds on her back. On the left shoulder was the symbol of a two-headed phoenix with three arrows clutched within one talon, with an olive branch in the other claw. It was positioned on an oval, with a semi-circle behind the phoenix, with a triangle connected to it, making a crude upside-down tear-drop shape. On the right shoulder was a one-headed phoenix wearing a green helmet covered in netting full of leaves, carrying a black box, likely a rifle of sorts, in its wings. It was designed to look grizzled, with the words ‘WIDOWER REGIMENT, VFMMC’ along the top, and ‘RUHM IM LEBEN, SIEG IM TOD’ along the bottom, curving with the circle surrounding the emblem.

“We’ve got to get going. Put this on; don’t touch any of the buttons on the rifle and especially don’t touch the trigger,” Sunset placed a stack of items and a backpack in Twilight’s lap. “…and if you need to talk about whatever you saw in that nightmare, I’m no stranger to ‘em myself.” Sunset hesitantly finished. Twilight nodded and looked over the items—a headscarf, a pair of strange goggles and a black brick like the one on Sunset’s thigh, along with a heavy vest and a helmet.

“What’s this?” Twilight asked, slipping on the items with minimal issue—she found herself having more fluidness as she got used to her newly bipedal form. Walking was easy, as was mastering her usage of the fingers. Sunset snickered.

“One of the most common sidearms in the Federation. That there, missy, is the Sevlic Republic Model Three Automatic Personal Defense Weapon, or S-R-3 Automatic P-D-W. Shoots small-caliber bullets that are easy to make.” Sunset explained, placing the weapon on safety before showing Twilight how to hold, shoot and load the pistol. The thing was bulky, with a significantly more brick-like design than the one on Sunset’s leg, with an odd metal pipe that unfolded and fit onto her shoulder. The stock, Twilight recalled Sunset’s terminology from their tour of the Armoury. Sunset also showed her how to use the radio built into the odd ear-muff-bits on the sides of the inside of the helmet, and that if she was caught using the radio inappropriately—whatever that meant—she would be flogged by Sunset’s platoon-mates. Something about seventy-percent of their days becoming PT.

“You sure know a lot about weapons.” Twilight said, placing it into a special clip on her backpack with some help from Sunset.

“It’s a necessity to survive. Can’t find a working weapon? Better know how to fix or replace parts on one. Need to recycle ammunition because of scarcity? Better know how to use a reloading press.” Sunset coughed, helping Twilight up. She was able to walk without the crutches thankfully. Spike hopped down from the sofa and stayed by Twilight’s legs, and away from Sunset.

“So, what did you do before you… um, joined up?” Twilight asked. Sunset paused, then hummed.

“I don’t remember. I was… maybe six when I was conscripted.” Sunset replied. Twilight choked for a moment.

“Six?! I-Is the human life span a lot shorter than I thought, or—” Twilight began, only to be cut off by Sunset clearing her throat.

“Calm down. Most humans who are healthy and take care of themselves can live to about… 140, 150, average, if they get the chance. However, my people just got out of a century’s long conflict, where we were losing a fight to the death of our species and the death of the ideals of freedom itself. Conscripting kids for better-trained soldiers when they got older was all that we could do, and that barely cut it.” Sunset explained how the Vanguard had been fighting another group of humans, who felt themselves to be superior to all other groups genetically and morally, to the point that they believed that no other group of—as they put it—sub-humans or Xenos, the aliens who were allied with the mainstream of Humanity, deserved the galaxy that they resided in. Slow ships combined with strong navy and infantry led to the conflict becoming drawn out over one-hundred years, with billions upon billions of civilians and military personnel dead. Sunset concluded by removing her helmet to rub her eyes.

“The war ended a few years ago after a brief armistice. I fought some of the most fanatical psychopaths during my early service years. Lost some of what makes me human along the way.” Sunset finished, her voice shaking slightly. Twilight didn’t respond, taken aback by this new information.

“I’m… My Goddess, that must’ve been rough.” Twilight sputtered out. Sunset gave out a laugh, a hollow chuckle with dryness and without heartiness.

“That’s puttin’ it lightly… Moving on from my bullshit, though. I was conscripted at six—I can’t remember anything from when I was younger than sixteen. Just muscle-memory and snippets of my training.” Sunset slipped her helmet back on and stood up.

“Enough of that, though—we’ve got places to be.” Sunset helped Twilight up and walked with the young woman to a wide makeshift bunker of quick-drying cement and corrugated scrap metal, debriefing her as they trudged through the brunt of a sandstorm.

The Garage was quite bare, using industrial worklights and scavenged fixtures from the hull of the Thames to keep it lit, with a set of portable petroleum generators powering the complex. The oddly-satisfying scent of oil and sounds of engineers and mechanics hard at work on many different vehicles within the garage, specifically a pair of large spider-like vehicles with large cannons mounted at the front and a small contingent of smaller vehicles, akin to the massive spider “tanks” with six treaded legs and a long body comparable to an SUV or minivan, having a tall glass windshield made up of panels connected along metal pins and pipes. It had two seats, with large “saddlebags” mounted along the sides in between each seat.

“This, my civilian cohort, is a YH-33 Model R Support Vehicle, also known as Spider-Bikes. You, me and some of my fellow soldiers will ride this beaut’ to the Comms Facility we’re going to… liberate from the local flavour.” Sunset walked over to a spider-bike with a matching camouflage to her armour, slipping the tall bag she’d been carrying on her back onto the seat to unload olive-green metal cases full of something else made of metal—as told by the sounds of whatever was inside—along with what Twilight assumed were medical kits, as told by the white and green cross on the surface of the cases. The towering four-armed alien—Twilight was told his name was Ferleks—along with another human in oddly cubic armour with an antenna on the left shoulder pauldron, a long triangular piece that sagged down to the upper-arm piece. Both loaded up equipment alongside Sunset, ranging from odd cylindrical canisters marked with hazard or explosive symbols to medical cases and what Twilight assumed were bags of food and drums of water. Sunset hopped onto the front seat and turned the bike on, causing its engine to let out an odd rumble-purr followed by the thing standing upright.

“Hop on, strap in, we’re moving. Once we get there, you stay behind me, Ferleks or Ismael. I don’t want you getting shot.” Sunset eased the bike forward, each motourised leg whirring quietly. Designated slots and buckles in the chassis allowed them to keep their legs from interfering with the bike’s legs. The heavy door at the end of the garage creaked aloud as it opened, with the other Spider-bike and the massive spider-tank began to trot out. The sandstorm had lessened significantly, with only a hot wind and a fog-like covering about a hundred meters around left as a reminder. The bikes began sprinting down a wide dirt road, trailing stray dust behind them, with the tank close on their treads as they passed the many buildings and fortifications. The front gate was a pair of electrified fences on a sliding bar, with trenches and foxholes full of fatigued guardsmen along the outside of the outer walls. Their travels sent them Northeast; past a long concrete wall and into a semi-arid savanna region.

Ruins of the occasional town of small, one-story one or two room buildings came and went. Salt-beds from lakes long dried up dotted the sides of the long, winding road once the massive concrete wall separating them from the city that had started Twilight’s journey was far behind them. Military checkpoints from local militia and freedom fighters dotted the road—however their walker-vehicles were capable of easily mantling them without issue, often being a set of short Alaska-Barriers and some shipping crates surrounded by gravel-filled metal-wire/cloth bastions or concrete Bremer walls. Eventually, their small convoy of armoured vehicles went offroad, arriving outside a long, horizon-spanning fence made of concertina razour-wire, tires, wood paneling, wire fences and short walls made of concrete blocks and bricks.

Off to the left, there was a tall sky-scraping radio tower littered with dishes and dimmed lights that have been left off for years. There was another tower like it, mirrored from it far off to the right. Down the middle, the tops of maybe hundreds of smaller towers and what was assumed to be a generator compound barely poked over the crest of a wide hill.

“Alright. Charlie, you take the facility on the left—marking it.” Beldad called out from inside the hulking walker-tank. A diamond-shaped blip appeared on Sunset’s Heads-Up-Display, marked TARGET C. She lit a green acknowledgement light and had the Light-reconnaissance-vehicle bounding across the hill.

The target complex was massive—a huge concrete fortress with towering walls. The sky-scraping radio tower’s shadow loomed over them even from their position. A series of trenches had been dug, cascading down the hill along the front gate, with concrete pillboxes, razour-wire and tire fortifications lining the road up to the huge, rust-coloured steel gate.

Sunset activated the Energy-Shielding unit on the bike, causing a dome-like bubble to form around the entire bike, from a place within the chassis. A bar indicating the health of the shield spanned the front windshield, with a second shield-meter appearing on Sunset’s HUD.

“Drone-feed came back—we’re dealing with mostly run-of-the-mill bandits with a fetish for gas masks and using scavenged bits and pieces from old KAVACHA-II.2 prototype suits as armour, however there are only two or three with full suits is the guess, considering how old that shit’s gotta be and how they probably got the stuff.” Ismael remarked over their short-ranged Comm-line. He received acknowledgement lights in response. Sunset’s neural-connection proved to assist in the split-second responses required once they were spotted.

THUMP! Fssssshhhsssshhhhssshhhh…

Soon enough, the constant drone of automatic weapons fire was assaulting their hearing through muffled speakers. The Spider-Bike ducked and dove through the large-caliber rifle rounds and big machine gun bullets, its shield meter growing red from overworking. In a matter of seconds, they’d cut the distance to the defending force in half, with roughly two-thirds of their energy-shield remaining, becoming a less-than-acceptable dim yellow contrasting the vibrant aqua-mint green colour that it had started with. Sunset’s ears recognised the all-too-familiar sound of mortar shells and kicked the bike into overdrive.

“MORTAR! Someone, get me a read on those shells!” Sunset called out, narrowly flipping the bike to the side to avoid the flames of a Molotov Cocktail.

Her HUD was lit up with a warning and the bike shot forward from a quick use of the surplus propulsion fuel in the engine.

Thnk—KABOOM!

The heat of the explosion swept over the backs of the riders as the Incendiary/High-Explosive shell lit up their world in a brilliant fireball that left splashes of oil and napalm bouncing off the previously invisible dome-shield of the bike, now alight with flickering hexagons. The shield meter had gone down further, a flickering red with an orange warning box in the middle. The loud creaking of strained metal and obnoxious whirr of the shield-generator nearly drowned out the sound of battle. Sunset readied the bike, and leapt over the first set of entrenched bandits, right as the shield generator gave out, ejecting searing hit out the bottom of the vehicle. Ismael and Ferleks quickly let loose, rifles and sidearms ablaze with suppressive fire as the bike jumped from foxhole to trench to bunker then back to another foxhole. The outer wall loomed over them; easily ten meters high. Sunset engaged the maglocks on the treads along with the climbing spikes built in between each tread.

The forelegs of the bike latched onto the wall, climbing spikes digging into the concrete whilst the intense maglocks did their job of holding the treads close to the rebar that held the concrete together. The mid and rear legs followed, and soon the LRV became a fast treaded vehicle, quickly shooting up the side of the wall and mantling it with ease, revealing the complex—which itself was massive, maybe a kilometer in width and length.

The light-vehicle went into a mad dash across the courtyard, barreling through munitions, bandits and other vehicles. Sunset undid her buckles and waited until its speed had lowered to a suitable amount, and leapt off, rolling with the force to slow herself down and minimalize damage. She cradled her BCR48 within her arms and ducked behind a tall crate as small-calibre rifle and pistol rounds came barreling downrange. She used her neural link to park the bike and camouflage itself with a built-in Active-Camo unit. Ismael and Ferleks dismounted whilst Twi and Spike stayed hidden in the bike’s camouflage field. The two super-soldiers armed themselves with secondary weapons stored within the saddlebags and were soon hidden in cover parallel to Sunset.

“I’m counting thirty hostiles, one fully-armoured asshole closest to us with a 20mm automatic. He’s hooked up to a portable generator on a cart behind him and has supporting legs to keep himself from snapping in half from recoil. Shimmer! To your left!” Ismael called out to Sunset. She spun around in time to find cover behind a thick metal plate. A bandit, decked out in a massive suit of heavy, rusty armour with an engine mounted in the back-plates louder than a fighter-jet’s, stepped into the courtyard from a small garage nearby. His helmet had a long, flickering cyan visor with a litany of cracks and holes along the surface, with a bulbous, basic design to the entire eight-foot tall suited man. In his arms was a massive nine-barreled electrically-powered MA20-X minigun, hooked to a massive backpack on his back and a cart with a portable generator and more ammo trailing behind him.

Vvvvrrrrrr—BRRRRRRRRMMMMM!!

The 20mm—likely HE or AP—rounds bore deep depressions into the cover, chipping off corners and making a mess. Sunset waited for the hulking weapon to spin down before removing an EMP grenade from her belt. She primed the ignition key and pulled the pin, waiting three seconds before lobbing the thing at his feet. His weapon began to spin up, ready to tear dog-sized holes into Sunset.

FSSSHHHHHH—CRACKLE, WHIRRRRRrrrrr…

The blood-curdling screams and spine-tingling sound of snapping bones filled the air for a moment as the bandit crumpled into a heap. Without the electrical power to keep the suit online, his unaugmented body was unable to handle the weight or pressure of the bulky suit of metal.

Sunset rolled out of cover and dispatched two bandits still staring in awe and fear at their fallen comrade with a few short bursts, popping back into cover as the rest of the bandits focused on her.

“More are coming. Create a distraction and retreat into the main compound—I’ll breach the door with my F66.” Sunset ordered, slipping her rifle over her shoulder in exchange for the heavy-barreled four-gauge death dealer. The Tore der Hölle Belagerungskanone F66 Pump-Action Shotgun, or “Kampfshrotflinte” as it was known, was the standard shotgun for the VFMMC, due to its effectiveness at making things not exist after being shot with it. She loaded in a slug, followed by two incendiary-buckshot shells. Ferleks and Ismael began lobbing White Phosphorous grenades into crowds of bandits, blanketing the outer courtyard in a thick white fog of burning smoke. Ismael led Twilight over to the main doors, where Sunset stood ready with her body braced to fire the massive shotgun in her arms, with its barrel nearly as tall as she was.

Ismael and Ferleks got on either side of the door. There was a mutual feeling of readiness before Sunset pulled the trigger. Even with layers of speakers and noise-filtrating material, her ears rang as if someone had fired off a forty-five right beside her ear. The handle on the door and the frame around the door within six inches all around was just gone. Sunset kicked the door in, and the three quickly funneled in.

The main room was large and empty, with dust and sand gathering at the edge of every surface. There were a few crates stacked up off in the back beside a wide door. The sound of the weapon going off had scared a trio of unarmoured bandits in trench coats and leather jackets sitting at a green folding table, playing cards with Kalash rifles standing against one another nearby. Ferleks fired off four rounds from the sidearms in his smaller set of arms, dispatching two bandits, whilst Ismael took out the third with his precision rifle; a Vanguard Federal Armouries Precision-Tactical-Rifle Model-77 chambered in 7.92x30mm Federal rounds. The suppressor built into the barrel allowed him to fire it indoors without forcing everyone inside to go deaf.

Sunset slung her shotgun in exchange for her BCR48, trotting into the next room with her squad-mates in tow. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the low-light and she fired three bursts into a pair of bandits with kalashes. The room contained computer equipment and shelves lined with radio parts and other junk. She kicked in the door to the next room and was promptly knocked onto her ass by an eight-gauge shell that ripped apart her pauldron; millimeters away from taking her entire shoulder with it. Ismael and Ferleks supported and gunned down the bandit who had fired the shot; a short man in leathers, with a breastplate, pauldron and set of greaves slapped on over his leather trench coat in an impromptu manner using netting, webbing and duct tape. Ferleks held out a hand and pulled Sunset up onto her feet.

They would repeat processes like this for hours; breach, clear, repeat. Breach, clear, repeat until there was not a soul left in the facility except them. Standing in the atrium of the building, a massive open room with an endless supply of radio equipment and computers, with the massive radio tower being set up on a mobile platform that could be lowered to adjust or repair the behemoth of metal.

“That’s a huge bitch.” Ismael remarked, slipping his bucket off to light a cigarette, placing his rifle against a wheeled computer-tower.

“Yes… Yes, it is… Now we gotta activate it. Hail NAVCOM and gun down those fuckin’ alien assholes.” Sunset replied, slipping her own helmet off. She leaned over what seemed to be a central terminal among the literal maze of six-meter high computer towers and communication equipment. The panel along the terminal had many knobs, switches and buttons, none of which had power. She looked around and found that only the lights and a few terminals had power.

“Ismael, get over here and look at this, you know more about this shit than I do.” Sunset backed off and allowed the private to walk over and access the terminal.

“Well, Sarge… it seems that the dumbasses trying to run this place rerouted power to several different conduits around the base—like that little garage that the fucker with the gun came out of, so that they could charge those generators for their little juggernauts. We just need to shut the conduits down and from there manually route the power back to this central chamber.” Ismael explained. Sunset scoffed.

“Sounds pretty painstaking for a communications outpost.” Ferleks retorted, patting down a nearby bandit corpse.

“I thought the same thing… maybe the answers lie within one of these terminals, there’s bound to be some old audio recordings lying about.” Ismael said in reply.

“Ferleks and I will go deal with those conduits and grab Twi, just clean up the bodies and keep us posted on any new information.” Ismael flashed a green light in response. Ferleks stood up, tossing his haul of salvage into a pouch on his hip before shouldering his rifle, a bulbous-plated energy weapon with three cylindrical green plasma tubes on either side of the receiver, pointing downward at a 45-degree angle. Sunset slung her BCR48 and wandered out with Ferleks at her side, the duo stopping at the front door. Sunset slipped her helmet on and primed a White Phosphorous smoke grenade.

“Be ready.” She warned Ferleks, tossing her rifle over her back in exchange for her rechambered 10mm M2256. Higher ammo capacity magazines and faster bullets. She pulled the pin and kicked the front door out, chucking the grenade into a crowding of bandits by the outer gate. She brought her pistol up and shot two more bandits standing parallel to the door.

They had removed most of the cover from around the entrance, establishing makeshift sandbag fortifications along the outer gate to fire on the compound, with a nest sporting a tripod-mounted machine gun, a long-barreled weapon surrounded by a shield from the bottom of the tripod to a foot above the gun. Sunset assumed the model and zipped to the left toward the husk of a heavy troop transport.

“Get a smokescreen on that machine gun!” She called out to her compatriot as Armour-Piercing 8.5x23mm rounds came barreling downrange into the thick casing of the transport. The titanium-composite outer shell of the carriage prevented most of the rounds from hitting Sunset, however the weaker cabin became shredded like Swiss cheese. Ferleks dove to the right and drew the MG’s fire by chucking a fragmentation grenade into the pit and lighting up the shield with plasma bolts from his rifle. The melted bolts were fast, weak but burned hot, quickly making work of the shield and barrel, causing the rounds to heat up and prematurely detonate, causing the bandit holding the machine gun to suddenly not have hands, or a face. The frag was thrown out of the nest, detonating in the air above them, sending shrapnel rain down onto them and causing them to stumble long enough for Ferleks to pop off another burst of plasma, causing whatever bandits remaining to crumple to the ground, with holes in their chests. More took their place, mantling the makeshift fortifications behind the nest to replace the gun, gunner and push forward.

Sunset moved back toward the conduit building, slipping under the half-shut garage door and into the 15x15 room. Tools, weapon pieces and scrap lined tables and filled up lidless crates around the room. At the back was a tarped machine that was floor-to-ceiling, the tarp bolted to the floor by hooks to cover up the entire machine, save for a pair of hoses, one leaking a bright fluorescent fuel that Sunset knew far too well. She slipped her M-TUCK from her thigh and quickly snapped the cable holding the tarp down and ripped it off.

The conduit was a tall black tube with a few sets of electrical panels, at least a half dozen different hoses connected to separate fuel lines. Sunset picked up the two hoses on the floor and slipped them back into their outlets. She used the pry-bar attachment at the ass of her knife’s grip, popping open the primary electrical panel, snipping a few wires here and there. The steady, constant hum of the machine died as the power and flow of fuel shut off. “I’ve cut off power to one of the conduits.” Sunset reported.

“Alright, rerouting power… We’ve got something. Shut down two more conduits and we should have enough power going to the main terminal to get a message out.” Ismael replied.

“Ferleks here. We’ve got an APC rolling up… Fifty Mike-Mike and a few 7.78’s.” Ferleks hailed over the comm-line.

“Go ‘round the compound and take out the Conduit over there, I’ll distract the ass.” Sunset replied. She slipped an incendiary grenade off her belt and moved up behind a crate. The APC—a massive vehicle with a 50mm cannon mounted at the back and a plethora of 7.78mm machine gun barrels sticking out of slits in the armour. The entire thing was loaded with rust and looked just about ready to collapse. Sunset switched the grenade out for a few sticks of thermite and a frag, using a bundle of survival cable to make an impromptu breaching charge, one that she would fasten over the engine to take out the cannibalized hunk of scrap.

“Fuckin’ Anny!” She yelled before dashing to the left. The 50mm creaked as it turned to the stack of crates she’d been hiding behind; firing a single High-Explosive shell at them, sending debris and shrapnel flying everywhere. Sunset ducked behind a stack of tires as the APC rumbled past toward the smoldering debris of the crates. There was maybe six meters between her and the vehicle. She checked the magazine of her M2256, let a silent prayer go unheard, then hauled ass, ducking under sudden machine gun fire. She slipped footing, quickly diverting into a dive, sliding across the ground and under the APC. Time seemed to slow.

Sunset smashed the thermite charge into a nice bundle of pipes and lit the fuse using the gas discharge from her pistol, the bullet striking the rusted, rotted casing to the breaks, shattering it. In an instant, Sunset was on her feet dive-rolling behind a pile of scrap and debris.

A fireball exploded out of every orifice on the APC. The light-tank-esque vehicle rolled across the courtyard as the fuel tank fueled the blaze, slamming into one of the weaker outer walls, causing it to crumble and shatter around the burning wreck.

“Ass down. Ferleks, what’s the status of that second conduit?” Sunset asked, standing up from her position.

“Nearly… done. Ismael, did it work?” Ferleks replied. Ismael lit a green acknowledgement light. The bandits had retreated behind the gate and through the lingering clouds of slow-burning White-Phosphorous smoke. Sunset jogged over to the spider-bike, decloaking it. Twilight lowered herself down and shivered. Sunset reached out to place a hand on her shoulder—

SWIIISH—CRASH!

Sunset went flying back, her body slamming straight into a metal beam. Her HUD lit up and warned her of two broken ribs, however she ignored it, weakly standing up to face whatever had just thrown her.

The bandit before her was massive, with shoulders nearly as wide as the bike, surpassing what could be considered human—overdosing on growth hormones, steroids and augmentation drugs were the cause, as told by the various context clues—miscoloured, pale skin, twitchiness. The bandit’s face was hidden behind a KAVACHA helmet, with its body covered in welded-together, cannibalized suits of Kavacha II.2 and plating off an armoured car. The shoulder pauldrons sported large foreboding spikes for shoulder charging, with manually welded meat-tenderising metal bricks on the forearms and knuckles.

“Holy shit, that’s a big asshole.” Sunset sputtered, coughing up blood onto the corners of her visour.

“Watch out, he’s packing a 13mm.” Ferleks warned. A plasma bolt struck the behemoth’s shoulder, causing it to roar and spin to face whatever had shot it, distracted long enough for Sunset to charge up and drop-kick it in the spine, to little effect.

The beast turned around in a blink, sending Sunset flying back into a truck chassis. Her HUD warned her of a ruptured spleen. She groaned and sat up as her suit began patching up the internal bleeding with medical foaming compound. The behemoth charged at Sunset. She tried to sit up, so she could put a few 10x23mm rounds into the massive wall of meat, only to find her prosthesis sporting a massive blade of metal splitting it in half. She weakly stared forward and defiantly spat blood one last time—

Fwooosh! BAM!

Sunset looked up to find a massive purple dome of pure energy surrounding her. The behemoth was screaming and pounding his meaty fists into it, to no avail.

“Medical anomaly detected.” Sunset found her vision locking onto the small screen in the corner of her vision that detailed her injuries—or rather the fact that the list was suddenly dwindling. Sunset reached into the CLS kit on her thigh with a weak hand, slipping a gray and yellow shot out, using her mouth to pop off the cap. She slammed it into her thigh and pressed the plunger in. With a newborn strength, she tore her arm from the jagged edge of metal, allowing her KAVACHA-VI’s suit to begin sending nanobots to the damaged area. She took a quick glance at the spike, a jutting piece of the truck’s axle, then back at the behemoth. An idea fresh in her mind, Sunset took up a readied stance. The shield was littered with cracks and the behemoth stepped back, then sprinted right through the shield. It shattered like glass, and the beast stumbled. Sunset’s speed far surpassed the massive sub-human’s, and she quickly got behind it and repeated her drop-kick action, knocking it forward.

WHOOOOOSH—SHLCK! —WHUMP.

Sunset stood up, grunting. The beast had fallen forward, face-first into the spike, breaking the warped helmet’s visour and making a shish kebab out of its skull.

“S-Sunset…” Twilight limped up to the Master Gunnery Sergeant. She glanced back at Twi before turning to face her fully. The girl had a steady stream of blood leaking from her left nostril. Neither of them said anything for a while.

“… and here I thought bringing you was a mistake.” Sunset removed her helmet, wiping some blood from her lip and spitting some onto the concrete. Twilight flinched visibly.

“C’mon, grab your dog, we’re reinforcing the front door and hunkering down.” With the bandits fallen back to friendly lines, Charlie regrouped. Ferleks and Sunset broke down the last Conduit, and the duo met with Twilight and Ismael in the main atrium, which was illuminated in bright blue and golden lights, the steady whirring and humming of the equipment providing a sense of calm needed after such a firefight. Ismael cleared his throat and keyed a button, causing a mic to slide out from behind a panel.

“This is the tower-field crew, we’re green to go.” Beldad sang from inside his Spider-Tank.

“Facility Two, we are ready when you are, Carballar.” Oleksij’s voice rang out in their ears.

“This is Private Ismael Carballar of the Vanguard Federal Military Marine Corps, this is an emergency broadcast, hailing any and all Vanguard Federal Military Personnel, the VNC Thames has been grounded and we are experiencing invasion—I repeat, we are being invaded by an alien force, I repeat. Battle-group Delta-470 has been attacked by a hostile alien force and has suffered casualties outside the orbit of Eiter-VI. Requesting immediate aid.” Ismael transmitted. There was only silence.

“I suppose now we wait—” Ismael was cut off as the radio screamed with activity.

“We hear you loud and clear, private, this is Lieutenant Commander David Persson of NAVCOM. We are dispatching Battle-group Sierra-120 to assist, standby.” Sunset whooped and the relief that washed over the trio was nigh believable. The group dissipated to celebrate. Sunset allowed herself to slump back and sigh with relief. She was sore—more so than normal that is. The aches of lactic acids in the muscles and recently-patched up or healed wounds swirled together to create a frustrating feeling that chilled Sunset. She walked over to the woman in question who allowed her to heal in the first place and survive this encounter.

“You doin’ alright?” Sunset asked the zoned-out civilian escort, who was staring at a few drops of blood and a rusted nail that sat on the floor. She shook her head clear of thoughts and turned to Sunset.

“Huh—? Oh, sorry, I spaced out, what was that?” Twilight replied. Sunset took in a deep breath.

“I said… Are you alright? You’re not all there and this is probably the first time you’ve… y’know.” Sunset reiterated, causing Twilight’s expression to drop. The civilian slumped down to the floor and pressed her face into her hands. Sunset soon joined her.

“It was him or me. If you didn’t help me out, he would’ve killed me, then you, then anyone else who got in the way. You’re smart—you realized that, and you acted. I can count on one hand how many people I know with that sort of instinct. I respect that.” Sunset placed an apologetic hand on the girl’s shoulder. Twi soon began sobbing into her hands.

“It… He was someone. I haven’t… I’ve only seen something that gruesome once, and I remember it as if it happened a day ago because it just kept replaying it my head when I was asleep…” Sunset moved over and supported Twilight as she began working through her troubles, leading her down the hall into one of the bunkrooms, thankfully empty and devoid of blood or any bodies.

“… and I opened the locker, and there, lying in a huge-ass pile at the bottom of it, all of it having leaked down from the top shelf, was just sugar—and I looked back and he had this expression of utter horror on his face. All I remember was him holding up three fingers before I was out! God, he whooped our ass I can still feel it whenever I just as much look at anything with any amount of sugar in it!” With Sunset’s anecdote finished, Twilight and Ismael soon began to giggle and snicker respectively. Ferleks only let out a snort of air and leaned back. The four of them sat around a circular table in the bunkroom, a few empty bottles of bourbon and scotch scattered across the table beside many small rectangular bronze chips and playing cards. With their super-powered livers, the two humans were able to finish off the bottles quickly without as much as a bit of tipsiness and flush to the cheeks. Twilight, with her normal human liver and already poor alcohol tolerance, was at that point after a single glass. For the betterment of them all, Ferleks had cut Twi off and now had the rest cut off, the alcohol stashed in a nearby locker.

“How ‘bout you, Miss Sparkle? You got any stories to tell from the whimsical land of rainbows and unicorns?” Ismael teased, elbowing her side. Twilight tensed herself for a solid minute before realizing he was joking, then laughed along with him.

“Y-Yeah. I’ve had… plenty of adventures with my friends. They’re good… people.” Twilight told them of all the exploits of her and her allies—with a bit of censoring and editing to the finer details. It led to some chuckles from the humans and a few laughs from the Eliksni vandal. Sunset stood up and stretched.

“I’m going to take a jog, keep the comm-line open in case.” She slipped her helmet on. Twilight wobbled and stood up, stumbling a bit.

“I’m coming too!” She declared, hands on hips. This elicited more than a few laughs as Sunset and Twilight left, Sunset performing basic weapons-check as they walked—clearing the chamber, checking the different mechanisms, the sort, Twilight tailing her, fiddling with her fingers and mumbling about fine motour skills unlike that she’d ever known. A distant buzzing drew Sunset’s attention as she climbed the height of the outer wall via a staircase in a watchtower. She jogged up a few more flights and slipped through a door onto the outer wall, with railing on either side, a heavy .63 large-calibre drum-fed Automatische Squad-Unterstützungswaffe mounted onto the outer railing, with a secondary smart-bipod—one which folded and unfolded with the position of the gun so that it had more range of motion—mounted on the stock. Sunset activated her helmet’s magnification and zoomed in on a large dark object approaching from the front.

Sunset identified it quickly, and was at the .63-MG even quicker, pulling the charging hammer back to slide a 16x53mm machine gun round into the chamber.

“Twilight, get back.” Sunset ordered, centering the aperture on the Horde-monster, which she aptly nicknamed.

“Get ready, we’ve got Horde inbound!” Sunset called over the comm, getting acknowledgement lights across the board. She depressed the grip safety and eased into the trigger, bracing as a stream of nigh-molten bullets began spewing from the barrel of the machine gun, cracking like constant thunder and lightning in her ears. The rounds began shredding into the chitinous outer plates of the hideous bug-creature, soon ripping up one of the massive insectoid wings allowing it to hover, causing it to corkscrew into a nearby shack. More soon materialized from seemingly nowhere and everywhere.

“Full on invasion force… I’ll bite, asshole.” Sunset continued to lay down fire, but for every three she turned into a gory mist, nine more appeared from the horizon. Soon enough, she couldn’t both cover the air and the ground and was forced to prioritize targets, allowing the sneakier ones to take up firing positions in her blindspots. Sunset was quick to notice the massive blue orb cutting through the air toward her, dismounting from the .63 just in time to avoid being turned into molten goo, the entire weapon simply not existing anymore, the shockwave knocking both Sunset and Twilight back. An ear-piercing, grating battle-cry lanced pain through Sunset’s ears and she turned down her exterior speakers to the very minimum.

Sunset threw her legs up and tossed her weight into them, allowing herself to jump forward onto two legs, her rifle slipping into her arms, blasting holes into the bottom of a horde-monster. She spun around to find Twilight already waiting for her, holding the watchtower door open. Sunset sprinted inside and down the stairs, slapping another forty-round mag into the mag-well of her BCR.

“Shit—this is Beldad, what the fuck are these things?!” the sergeant called over the radio, Sunset taking it upon herself to reply.

“Whatever they are, they belong to the same assholes who knocked the Thames out of the air. Use incendiaries and keep the big ones suppressed—if you’ve got the new models, rechamber to .458, if you’ve got the older ones and extra barrels, do the same—they’re armoured like buggy tanks, retaliate in kind. 80mm shells rip through ‘em like paper!” Sunset explained, going off what she had learned from her brief encounter with the monstrosities. She kicked out the next door and began sweeping, shooting any of the Horde that came close. The Monsters began to drop off more of the grunts and the bug-people, who seemed to be attacking the radio tower…

“Defend the radio towers! They’re trying to cut off our comms!” Sunset placed a well-aimed burst into the chest of a Horde and slammed her M-TUCK into the neck of a nearby Grunt. Twilight looked at her hands once before casting a large glowing bolt of purple magic that concussed a grunt, sending it flying back into a crate. Sunset spun to face Twilight.

“I’m going to go on a hunch here and say whatever the hell powers you’ve got extend to me—how did you activate them?!” Sunset asked. Twilight closed her eyes and began thinking before quickly ducking under a plasma bolt.

“Um! Focus on your core and your very soul and… uh, imagine yourself pulling power from it!” Twilight yelled over the crack-crack-cracks of gunfire and screams of Horde. Sunset lobbed an incendiary at a Horde-Monster, setting it alight. She focused on her core and tried to imagine herself pulling power from her soul. She held her hand out and flicked her wrist—nothing. She tried again, and again and again, with the same results. ‘Don’t got time for this’ she thought, tossing a frag into a crowd of Horde. She moved Twilight into the building, shoving lockers and crates in front of the door. Sunset kept motioning her forward, and entered the main atrium, where Ismael was desperately keying different buttons and hailing home base.

“We need artillery support on our position, latitude coordinate…” Sunset turned to find Ferleks backing out of the bunkroom, firing off his zappy plasma pistols—zap-pistols if you will. Horde after Horde came crashing forward through a breach, all armed with thrashing claws and razour-teeth, slashing and chomping at the vandal, only to find Ferleks reloading faster and shooting more rounds than they could Horde in, soon a wall of corpses was piled up. Ferleks grabbed a canister of plastic explosives from his hip-pouch and nestled it between a pair of corpses.

“If we don’t get support, we don’t let them capture this facility. We take the bike, get out of range and blow it sky-high.” Ferleks explained. A stray plasma bolt came zooming in, blasting through Ferlek’s right knee, causing him to cry out and fall onto his back, firing wildly at the direction of the bolt.

“Oh—shit!” Sunset slid into a kneel beside Ferleks, helping him up. Twilight was staring in horror at the severed leg, however Ferleks drew her attention by laughing.

“Don’t worry—they grow back.” He joked, hissing as Sunset sat him on a chair in the corner at the end of a hallway. “Don’t die, asshole.” She hissed at him before shouldering her rifle. She led Twi back into the atrium with Ismael and Spike, who was standing guard by the door, ready to bite ankles to protect those around. Twilight only smiled at this before picking him up and slipping him into his backpack to keep him out of harm’s way, sliding the backpack between a pair of lockers by the main terminal that Ismael was using.

“Alright… we’re shelling the fuckers—using Phosphorous and incendiary shells to flush them out, this place should hold if they stop blowing holes into the outer rooms.” The massive radio tower groaned before the platform it stood on lowered into the floor, the ceiling hatch closing shut into an airtight seal.

“That solves that.” Ismael remarked, grabbing his precision rifle. Sunset shut the door from the left-side corridor into the atrium and dropped a locker in front of it to keep it shut, whilst Ferleks slid one in front of the inward-swinging door, hiding the frame entirely.

“Let’s hope they’re that stupid.” He commented before shutting the door and toppling a desk and filing cabinet in front of it as extra protection.

“So… what now? We’re like fish-in-a-barrel here and I don’t like it.” Sunset declared, pacing whilst checking her rifle.

“We wait. The pieces will take an hour to get in position, and after that the delay between shells will be minimal and we’ll be able to reinforce the position and let trenchies take over.” Ismael explained. Sunset nodded and leaned up against a nearby wall, keeping her finger hovering over the trigger-guard.

And so, they waited, poised to defend against the Horde that wished to rend them limb-from-limb. Hours passed. Horde would seep in through holes in the roof and walls, with the three soldiers gunning each one down with ease, their civilian escort providing aid with concussion bolts and shields when needed, whilst Sunset found herself aching for a fight that didn’t involve her sitting behind a basic fortification of sandbags and a metal desk, shooting whatever came into their killbox, however she held firm.

Whiiiissssstttleee—BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!

Artillery shells pounded the courtyard and cut through the weak Horde with ease, using fire to melt them, explosives to turn them into piles of gore and WP to burn them away.

“Took them long enough…” Sunset muttered. She ordered Twi to cast a shield over them, and they walked out into the courtyard, avoiding the majour patches of smoke and fire. Ferleks, Ismael and Spike were loaded into the spider-bike, when suddenly—

WHOOOOSH! THUMP.

A tall creature on par with a Grunt in height, but built like a character from JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, stood before them. He wore an odd tunic lined with rune-like symbols, carrying a handheld-crossbow shaped plasma-bolter in one hand, with a shortsword in the other.

“You have defied Lord Orruth for the last time, heretics! Face the wrath of his Grand Champion, Stoxol!” The creature charged, swinging his blade. Sunset tossed her rifle into a saddlebag in exchange for her F66, fingering a slug into the chamber. She pumped the weapon and fired a single shell. The slug tore through the air and ripped a basketball-sized hole into its abdomen, causing the being to stagger. Sunset recoiled slightly when Stoxol began to laugh, more so when his abdominal wound began to seal. He lunged and knocked Sunset into a nearby crate, causing her to sputter and cough as she hit the floor. He loomed over her, ready to cast her into the Eternal Depths via plunging his sword into her, when a purple bolt struck his shoulder, causing a spasm. He spun to face the sender, Twilight, standing firm with her hands out, charging up a second bolt. He raised his plasma bolter and fired once. She loosed her bolt of magical energy.

Her magical round sailed true, causing the plasma bolt to ricochet and fly right through Twilight’s knee, causing her to scream in pain and crumple onto her back as her leg split apart from the joint. Sunset felt rage boiling in her heart and noticed a burst of energy in her chest.

Stoxol stood over Twilight, watching the fear in her eyes with pleasure as he aimed the bolter at centre mass, ready to cut a nicely sized hole into her chest.

“HEY ASSHOLE!” He spun around in time to widen his eyes as a javelin of molten steel blasted through his chest and sent him sprawling on his knees. Sunset shuffled over, hissing as she felt the searing pain in her abdomen from internal bleeding. Stoxol reached up to grab Sunset’s throat. She caught his hand, burning his wrist within her grip, causing him to cry out and crumple down, hanging from his seared wrist. Sunset grabbed the back of his neck with her other hand and pulled his face up to her visor. He growled and spat at her. She returned the gesture with three headbutts, each carving a divot into his face.

“Remember this face when you go back to your boss, asshole.” Sunset placed her palm against his face, causing him to scream, the smell of burning flesh poisoning the air. Stoxol lost consciousness, and Sunset threw him to the floor. She stumbled a few feet before collapsing to the ground.

She glanced up, her vision blinded by a bright flash of light. The flash died, and Sunset noticed that her surroundings were made of darkness. Ahead, a hand made of pure light reached toward her.

“Come home, Sunset.”

Author's Note

Fun fact, the planner for this chapter was exactly 10 times as small as the final draft.