An energy field of translucent blue covered the outpost and its surrounding territory in a dome of protection. Most of the buildings had combat damage, burns or holes, reinforced by whatever materials had been available for salvage from the devastated city around it.

The sky was darkened by storm clouds, and a fierce wind tearing between the abandoned buildings outside the shield kicked up black clouds of debris, soot, and ash.

Standing on the balcony of the habitation block was the leader of the outpost, Cyrus. His dark eyes matched not only the color of his skin but his current mood. At over six and a half feet tall, his heavily muscled frame made him imposing to most, but the insanity gripping the world defied reason. He knew well those beyond the shield wouldn't be intimidated; they were too crazed to be intimidated. If he was going to retake the world, he'd probably have to kill every last one of them.

Cyrus' gaze scanned the broken and charred landscape beyond the dome, watching for any sign of life. He wasn't looking for survivors because he knew plenty had survived the war. Too many had survived, and they laid in wait for his people in the ruins beyond the border of the outpost shield.

"Trouble sleeping?" his wife asked. Deborah slipped into a silvery robe of satin, flipping her brown hair out from under the collar and across her shoulders before stepping out on the balcony with her husband.

"Just keeping an eye on the neighbors," Cyrus answered without altering the direction of his gaze.

"Worried about tomorrow?" Deborah questioned.

"Not much," Cyrus denied. "We've been planning this for some time, getting everything ready and in place. We shouldn't have any trouble."

"So, what's keeping you up, my love?" she persisted.

"I can't help thinking about what is beyond our shield, the decimated lands," Cyrus admitted after a lengthy pause. "They're consumed by insanity. In the desperate times after the bombs fell, civilization collapsed in the struggle for survival. Resources, including clean water and food, became vital necessities people killed their own loved ones to possess. The political backstabbing present before the war changed to include real knives."

"I know," Deborah acknowledged, her voice soft and her blue eyes directed toward the war blasted city beyond the shield. "Survival became all that mattered, regardless of what dark or vile actions were required to attain it. People only joined together long enough to achieve common objectives, but most cooperation ended with one side or the other, sometimes both, dead when someone outlived their usefulness."

"I haven't found any indication of outposts like ours elsewhere in the world," Cyrus told her. "We may be the last fragment of human civilization, where decency and integrity still mean something. Who would've thought we'd live to see the day when having a code of honor would make us outlaws?"

"We didn't turn against society," Deborah countered, her tone firm. "It abandoned us. They claimed their vile deeds were human nature, and thus, natural. Suppressing, or even openly opposing, the dark urges humanity had always possessed was deemed an aberration and illegal, forcing our exile. We're still holding on to what is good in humanity while they betray each other for any little advantage they think they can gain. If having a working moral compass means being an outcast, then society be hanged."

Cyrus smiled as he took her hand. His smile faded as the weight of their situation pressed down on him.

"How much blood needs be spilt before the end?" he asked. "When will it no longer be necessary?"

"Those answers have never changed," Deborah reminded. "We will fight as long as we have to, kill as many as required. We hold the last of civilization in our hands and to surrender would be to allow that remnant to be swallowed up in darkness. Better to die in righteous battle than allow such a fate to befall humanity."

"Quite right, my dear," Cyrus agreed. He remembered the oath all of his people had taken, and he recited it aloud. "We are warriors. This is our duty and our destiny, fighting to the last for what is good and true. For civilization. For mankind!"

"The oath is more than just words, my husband," Deborah insisted.

"I know," Cyrus agreed. "It's who we are and why we're here. I just can't help but wonder which fate will be ours, helping restore the world or dying in the attempt."

"Either way is victory for us," she told him. "If we succeed in rebuilding what has been lost, we have prevailed over great challenges and obstacles to obtain our triumph. But, if we fall, we are still victorious because we did not give in as so many others have. We stayed true to honor and did not yield in the face of death. Even if we are vanquished, our spirit will never be defeated or broken. In this way, we are unstoppable."

"I see your point," Cyrus mused. "So, every day is a victory of one kind or another to be laid hold of."

"Exactly," Deborah confirmed. "But, tomorrow's victories can wait for tomorrow. Right now, the only thing you need to lay hold of is your wife."

"You are right, my dearest love," Cyrus chuckled. "Tomorrow can wait."

Cyrus left the balcony and his brooding thoughts behind, allowing Deborah to lead him back to their room.

***

The armory was truly massive in size. Situated in the center tower of the outpost, the storage space spanned the entire first three floors. Shelves were piled high with power cells of various sizes, weapon racks held sword of different lengths and widths, and armor stands extended from the walls to support the powered armor the warriors wore into battle.

The war material stored on the other floors of the armory was identical in quality, assortment, and arrangement. Heavy doors existed between the levels, ensuring those within would remain armed and ready to successfully fight even if the lower levels were compromised by an invading force.

Warriors worked tirelessly to keep the silvery armor and weapons in gleaming readiness, but with heavy skirmishes against the savages outside the shield, it was an unending task.

Cyrus stepped into a pair of overly large boots, and the interior padding automatically adjusted to secure the boots comfortably around his feet and legs up to the knee. Panels previously folded down on the outside of the shin and calf armor lifted up and clamped together over his thighs.

Pinpoint lights of neon green illuminated in pairs at the top of each section of armor plate, indicating full power and functionality. The lights would change as damage was taken or power levels diminished.

Cyrus stepped back, his heavy boots thudding against the metal floor. As he pushed his hips and back against the armor rack, inbuilt sensors recognized the increase in pressure and activated mechanical arms. First, the mechanical arms lowered down the front of the torso armor. The back of the armor was already in place, connected by hinges at the shoulders. Once the torso plates were in position, Cyrus put his hands out to the side and allowed the automatic latches along his ribs to engage and seal the torso armor together. Secondly, a swing arm folded exterior plates across his waistline to connect the upper and lower parts of the armor and protect the junction between them.

Reaching into the sleeve of a metallic glove, Cyrus shoved his right arm far enough down for the next piece of armor to connect with his shoulder. The mechanized coupler spun in a clockwise rotation to lock the arm and torso into a single unit. Using the artificial muscle in his mechanical suit's right arm, Cyrus picked up the left glove and shoved his arm into it, connecting it to the armor as he'd done previously.

Cyrus was armored from the neck down, and he pressed a final switch on the armor rack to lower down shoulder guards to conceal the hinges on the upper torso and the motorized couplers for the arm joints.

Taking a heavy step forward and away from the armor rack, Cyrus slid back a panel on his forearm to check all systems. The concealed status display was lit with all green indicators. Taking his mostly featureless helmet from the alcove above the armor rack, he switched on the optical sensors, causing two eye shaped panels of electric blue to illuminate on the front. He settled the helmet over his head, and the collar of his armor latched on securely.

Cyrus turned to look at the rest of his squad as they stepped free of their own armor racks. Standing beside him was Deborah, her armor indistinguishable from his own. If she hadn't waited to put on her helmet, he wouldn't have been able to identify her from anyone else in the group. He knew the designers of the armor wanted one warrior to look the same as another, so the enemy wouldn't know which one was a man, woman, veteran, rookie, or leader; in warfare, keeping your enemy guessing could mean the difference between survival and death.

With pounding footsteps, the squad of seven warriors marched out of the armory and toward the edge of the shield. The citizens of the outpost watched them go with concern. At the boundary limit, Cyrus drew his massive sword and waved it for the control tower to see.

A twenty foot wide block of black metal slowly began rising from the ground and seemed to push the shield up. Cyrus knew the airlock actually had receptors to take the energy of the dome and redirect it, maintaining the security of the city while allowing the warriors to come and go. Nothing could actually lift the energy field of the dome without matching the frequency of the shield precisely.

On the internal display of Cyrus' helmet, the outside world was rendered in shades of red. Orange boxes became illuminated as the built in sensors detected and marked movement and heat signatures detected in tandem. The enemy was closing in.

Cyrus turned to his warriors and switched on his comm system.

"Today, we clear the way for a new dome, an expansion for our outpost," Cyrus told them. "This is the future of the human race, a city founded upon honor. The enemy knows what we're trying to do and will stop at nothing to keep us from succeeding."

Cyrus pressed the switch on the pommel of his sword, activating the powercell in the hilt and causing crackling electricity to surge over the blade in a storm of artificial lightning.

"They will not stop us!" Cyrus shouted, holding his sword high. "Today is yet another victory we shall surely claim. Let us remind those fiends why the darkness flees from the light. Let us remind them that we are warriors!"

The squad drew their own blades and activated them, holding them aloft as Cyrus had done. In the center of the square airlock, previously unseen panels folded back, spiraling out of the way to open a circular gateway to the outside world.

"Forward to victory!" Cyrus yelled.

With a great shout, the squad followed Cyrus out of the dome and into the ruins to meet the enemy in battle and strike them down.