[Begin Act One: Echoes of War]

//Report: Park, Taewon.

//Halifax, Nova Scotia.

//The Atlantic coast of Canada.

//Wishing he brought a raincoat.

//Begin log.

The fog hung heavy and low, swallowing the world beneath a grey tide. Every breath carried the cold dampness deep into my chest, each step pulling at my boots as if the slick ground wanted to drag me under.

Droplets of rain pattered against the fabric of my sweater, sinking into the soft fibres with little to no resistance and slowly slicking my shoulders beneath with water. I knew without question that I'd be soaked through before my business today was concluded.

Citadel Hill had seen better days. The star-shaped fortification that had once proudly guarded the nearby harbour was now little more than a set of broken teeth jutting out from the earth, the once-proud walls cracked and weathered by decades of neglect. The gatehouse, with its grand stone arch, had been crudely reinforced with rusted sheet metal and salvaged steel beams, turning it into something closer to a scrapyard barricade than a defensive position.

Like most of Halifax, Citadel Hill was a shadow of its former self, crudely stitched back together by the wanton and the desperate. The proud maritime port had once been a centre of commerce for the entire country, but, like all things, had lost much of its identity after the Third World War. Though the bombs hadn't struck the city directly, their devastation had rippled outward in the form of economic collapse and neglect. The Age of Steel Skies that followed froze the harbour solid, entombing the ships that hadn't been evacuated in time. For years, the city lived in a state of limbo, its people huddled around dwindling resources as snow piled higher than their homes.

Even after the thaw, Halifax never truly recovered. The brief era of peace before the Iron War brought little relief. With the government diverting resources northward to fund Axion's lucrative mining operations in the Northwest Territories, the city remained an afterthought. Potholes turned into canyons, rust spread through the infrastructure like disease, and the historic charm of the city faded into the grime of survival.

Now, what remained of Halifax was a husk of its former self, sustained by smuggling routes and scavengers eking out a living among its ruins. The harbour was open once more, but it was no longer a beacon of trade. Instead, it served as a haven for derelict ships converted into makeshift homes, their skeletons tethered together like a floating shantytown. The streets leading up to Citadel Hill were choked with debris, the asphalt cracked and overgrown with hardy weeds, a grim reminder of how far the city had fallen.

The fort, once a symbol of military might and maritime pride, had become a den for the desperate. Its star-shaped design now served a different kind of strategy—its high vantage points offered a perfect lookout for the gangs that had claimed it as their own. And within its crumbling walls, Halifax's new rulers made their home, profiting off the chaos in ways no government or corporation ever could.

Beside me, Maria nervously adjusted her purple-streaked braid, the vibrant colour almost luminous in the dismal light. She was clad in a dark purple poncho that was more patches than fabric, and looked thoroughly uncomfortable. Her modified exoskeleton hissed softly with each step, the hydraulics in her prosthetic legs compensating for the uneven terrain as we climbed the slope toward the ruined fort.

"Well isn't this wonderful," Maria muttered. She eyed the upper ramparts of the fort with suspicion, searching for prying eyes. "You sure know the best places to take a lady, Taewon."

"I wouldn't exactly call this situation ideal," I retorted. "If Amani were here, she'd probably call this place a wretched hive of scum and villainy or something."

Maria's mouth twisted into a frown. "Save the cheap movie references for after we leave, okay? The less you talk the better—I've dealt with assholes like these before."

"Cheap references?" I exclaimed. "I'll have you know—"

"Shush," Maria snapped. She stared at me with concern, one hydraulic leg tapping restlessly in the mud. "I was baiting you, and you fell for it. The folks inside will try to do the same—get a rise out of you for the hell of it. Don't let them, okay?"

"Understood," I nodded. "I'll be quiet as a mouse."

As we passed the gatehouse, the fort seemed to open up, claustrophobic stone walls giving way to a vast central courtyard. A marketplace sprawled across the parade ground, a chaotic hive of activity choked with makeshift stalls cobbled together from scavenged materials. Vendors shouted over the din, hawking wares ranging from bootleg IRON chips to questionable rations. The air stank of grease, wet earth and sweat, undercut by the acrid tang of burning trash.

The people were even more patched together than the stalls. Mechanical limbs flashed with mismatched plating, some painted with intricate designs, others raw and functional. A man in a stained coat barked orders to a group of workers unloading a crate of antirad serum, his right arm an exposed framework of pistons and wiring that hissed as he gestured. A woman leaned against the remnants of an old cannon, her left eye replaced with a glowing red lens, scanning the crowd for threats—or opportunity.

I couldn't help but glance at Maria's exoskeleton as we walked, its polished form a stark contrast to the crude cybernetics around us. She caught my look and shrugged, her hydraulic joints whining as she adjusted her footing on the loose gravel.

"Quaint," she smirked. "I might contract tetanus just by looking around."

I ignored her and kept walking. The hill sloped upward toward the crumbling central building of the fort, its silhouette looming like a sentinel in the fog. High over our heads, I could make out the silhouette of an ancient cannon up on the ramparts, its barrel dripping with condensation. Much like the rest of the fort, its time had long since passed.

A distant clang of metal against stone echoed through the ruins, punctuated by the occasional bark of laughter or raised voice. The din grew louder as we approached the central building. A pair of armed men flanked the door, and in what I could only assume had once been MTT exoskeletons. The rigid frames were piecemeal at best, quite literally held in place with duct tape, but still moved smoothly as the guards turned toward us, mirth flashing in their eyes.

"Well isn't this interesting," one remarked. He was a tall, thin man who looked no older than thirty, clad in a brown leather jacket that bunched up beneath the straps and buckles of his exoskeleton. "We've got a couple of new visitors!"

"I don't think we were due any of those today, were we Indio?" the other replied. Though somewhat shorter than the first, the man's exoskeleton was taller, giving both men the appearance of equal height. He stared down at us with a mirthful look in his eye and folded his arms across his chest.

"We certainly weren't, Josh," the first man replied. "And what do our orders say about unexpected visitors, again?"

"Absolutely zero admittance!" The other man raised his arm, his exoskeleton whirring as he moved. There was a smirk on both their faces—they were enjoying every moment of this.

"And what do your orders say about five hundred dollars?" Maria retorted. She took a step forward and dropped a sealed plastic bag on an oil drum, through which a stack of green plastic bills could be seen.

Both men shared another glance.

"And what do our orders say about attempted bribes, Josh?" The first man announced.

"Absolutely zero acceptance!" the second man declared. "It would be a complete dereliction of duty, Indio!"

"Indeed!"

I opened my mouth to protest, but I felt a pressure on my foot. Maria had quietly moved her left leg, pressing down on my boot with just enough force to catch my attention.

Silent. I had to stay silent.

"We simply cannot accept your offer, miss," the first man exclaimed. He gave Maria a swift nod, his brown curls bouncing. "However, we graciously accept your charitable donation to our humble abode."

"Quite so," the second man agreed. "Now, if you two fine guests will excuse us, we're both going to go store this donation somewhere safe, and leave our post for exactly ten minutes."

With that, both men turned and marched off into the marketplace, taking the bag of cash with them as they went.

"God, I hate mercenaries," Maria sighed.

Despite its drab exterior, the interior of the main building buzzed with harsh electric light, mounted LEDs gleaming. The walls, once pristine stone, were stained with decades of grime and streaks of rust that seeped from cracks in the ancient mortar. The air carried the sharp tang of mildew, sweat, and oil, mingling with the metallic scent of the equipment scattered throughout the makeshift headquarters.

"Ow, shit!" Maria snapped. She recoiled from the doorway, holding her head, and stopped low through the wooden frame, her legs whirring as she moved. "Low ceilings in here."

"Very smooth," I smirked.

"Shut up, it's an old building. People were shorter back then."

The main hall had been gutted of any historical significance and rebuilt with raw necessity in mind. Steel desks scavenged from corporate offices stood in uneven rows, piled high with papers and tablet computers that blinked with occasional life. Crates of supplies were stacked haphazardly, some marked with faded corporate logos, others with the unmistakable branding of military surplus. Cables snaked across the floor like the tendrils of some mechanical parasite, plugging into each workspace before trailing off into the darkness. The light came from a mixture of LED floodlights bolted to the crumbling ceiling and handheld lamps placed strategically around the room, casting long, jagged shadows.

Maria leaned toward me, her voice low. "Eyes forward, keep moving."

I did as I was told, following her deeper into the room. Though I'd been instructed to keep my gaze fixed, it was hard not to look around—mercenaries lounged about everywhere, their uniforms mismatched and battle-worn. Some wore scraps of military gear scavenged from old wars, while others had enhanced themselves with cybernetic limbs or other, stranger augmentations I couldn't even place. Their weapons rested within arm's reach—rifles leaning against walls, pistols holstered at their sides, blades strapped to thighs or dangling casually from their fingers. All eyes were fixed on us, and any conversation seemed to slowly die out.

"There." Maria hissed. "Eleven o'clock."

Near the back of the room, a heavy steel door led to what I assumed was the basement. The dented metal frame was padlocked shut and flanked by a tall, brown-haired woman armed with a stern expression and a large rifle that was slung over a rope across her shoulders.

"Well now what?" I responded, keeping my voice low.

"Give it a few moments," Maria replied.

"A few moments for what?"

"Well now, this is a surprise! I wasn't expecting any visitors today!"

The voice came from directly behind me, and it took every ounce of willpower not to jump out of my skin. I turned on my heel to find myself face to face with a grinning man in a richly tailored cloak that looked entirely out of place in the grimy, makeshift interior of the fort. The fabric shimmered faintly, a deep burgundy lined with silver embroidery that caught the dim light like a flame in the dark. He was tall and lean, with sharp, fox-like features and a shock of jet-black hair. A neatly-trimmed moustache framed his mouth, which twisted in a smile that was equal parts charm and condescension.

"Your soldiers let us pass," Maria replied. Unbothered, she turned to face the man with a single step, rotating on the spot.

"Oh, let me guess," the man remarked. "You paid them off." His hands, gloved in black leather, gestured theatrically as he spoke. "If it was for less than a thousand I'll be very upset."

For the first time since our arrival, Maria seemed genuinely taken aback by the man's reply, so I took the opportunity to extend my hand, which he shook firmly.

"My name is Taewon," I informed him. "My friend here is Maria."

"Calican Cross," the man replied. He released my hand and swept into a shallow bow. "At your service—at least, for a modest fee." His voice was honeyed and smooth, with a slight lilt that hinted at an accent too polished to pin down.

"Forgive the mess," Calican added, gesturing broadly to the room around us. "The help here is... less than meticulous. But one makes do. Now," he leaned in ever so slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "to what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit?"

I froze, unsure of how to proceed, but Maria seemed to regain her confidence and stepped forward, gesturing toward the steel door at the far end of the room.

"I have it on good authority that your soldiers picked up several prisoners after a dropship crashed in the city a few days ago. We're here for them."

"Oh you are, are you?" Calican smiled. "I must say, it took you long enough to get here. We played a good few days of hide and seek after that dropship of theirs went down in the stadium next door. Finally nabbed the last one just yesterday."

"You were expecting us?" I frowned. Maria shot me a death glare, and I instantly realized that I'd made a mistake.

Calican's smile widened, and he leaned forward, sweeping his cloak aside with one hand.

"So you aren't the ones who paid for their capture, then?" he remarked. "Fascinating."

I saw Maria tense, ready to fight, but Calican didn't seem to move. Instead, the man clapped his hands together in delight, grinning from ear to ear.

"Well, you see, an anonymous client has offered quite a hefty payment for the capture of those pilots. From what I understand, those pilots were part of some kind of defunct militia—spark? Spade?"

"SPEAR," I huffed.

"Taewon!" Maria snapped.

"Gesundheit," Calican smirked. He unfolded his hands, gesturing broadly. "My point is, they cost the lives of some of my best mercenaries, and they're worth even more than that. Unless you can compete—"

"Twenty thousand," Maria declared. "Each."

"Twenty—" Calican froze. "Oh, you don't get it, do you? Whoever wants your people so badly isn't paying us in cash."

"S-sorry?" Maria stammered.

"Look around," Calican exclaimed. "After everything you've see around here, what do you think is the one thing we all really need? More precious than money, more expensive than food, and infinitely harder to replicate."

As Maria shifted her footing uncomfortably, I found my answer.

"IRON chips."

"Bingo!" Calican beamed. "While I can appreciate the sentiment that comes with cold, hard cash, the lifeblood of this operation depends on those little things. You understand." He waggled a finger at Maria, gesturing to her prosthetic legs. "I mean, just look. Olivia, could you show our guests your latest improvement?"

The guard at the door stepped forward, and to my surprise, a third arm snapped through the air, metal frame shimmering in the harsh electric light. The arm, a four-pronged, claw-like appendage that seemed to originate from somewhere behind her left shoulder blade, snatched the rifle by the stock and, in a flash, levelled it at the far wall, just above our heads.

"That was all her design, I'll add," Calican smirked. "Thank you, Olivia. You can leave us, I'll handle it from here."

The mercenary seemed to stare Maria and I down once more before the arm on her back ratcheted inward, depositing the rifle in her original two hands. With a nod to Calican, she marched away from the metal door, passing us by. As she did so, I couldn't help but glance at the back of her head as she moved—just above where the metal arm connected with her spine, a patch of bare skin revealed the unmistakable hardened slot of an IRON implant.

"I didn't know that was even possible," I admitted. "I've seen the chips used for replacement arms and legs, but adding them..."

"You corporate pilot types are so damn uncreative," Calican sighed. "Those microchips can adapt to almost anything, if you've got the know-how."

"I'm not a corporate pilot," I interjected.

"Could've fooled me," he shrugged. "I mean, I'm no expert, but using them to balance your big shooty war robots always felt like the bare minimum." Calican broke into a smile. "I mean, you should see what my buddy Kevin did with one when he replaced his—"

"So you're looking for more IRON chips," Maria prodded. "Whatever your other buyer is offering, my associates can get you more—I guarantee it. But first we need to see that our friends are alive and unharmed."

"Oh, a bidding war then?" Calican smirked. "Tell you what—I like you two more than the other folks who've made an offer, so I'll let you pop down and say hello. But no funny business, now—this place may look old, but I have ways of knowing if you're up to something untoward."

Calican produced a rusty old key from one of the many pockets of his coat, twirling it between his fingers with theatrical flair. With an exaggerated twist of his wrist, he inserted the key into the lock, the mechanism groaning in protest as he turned it. "Down we go then—mind your step. This old fort's seen better days."

The door swung open to reveal a narrow stairwell, carved from rough-hewn stone and slick with moisture. The air that wafted out was cold and carried the faint, metallic tang of damp iron. A single bulb, dangling from a frayed wire, sputtered weakly, casting long, flickering shadows down the uneven steps.

"Cozy, isn't it?" Calican grinned, gesturing for us to follow. "It's got that medieval dungeon chic." He stepped onto the stairs, his polished boots clicking against the stone, the sound echoing faintly in the confined space.

Maria and I exchanged a wary glance before following him into the dimly lit staircase.

The walls were lined with ancient mortar, crumbling in places to reveal the earth behind it. A thin trickle of water snaked down the steps, pooling in shallow depressions that glistened like oil in the dim light. The chill grew more biting with each step, the stale air carrying the faint murmurs of voices from somewhere deep below.

Halfway down, however, Calican came to an abrupt stop, turning sharply on his heel to face us. I stumbled over the next step, catching myself against the wall, and felt Maria do the same.

Now straddling two steps, Calican's cheery smile was still in place, but it was sharper now, his eyes narrowing as he raised a gloved finger.

"Alright, let's cut the bullshit," he hissed. "Do you have the cash on you?"

"What?" Maria frowned. She leaned over my shoulder, glaring down at Calican. "I thought you wanted—"

"I was lying, there are no surveillance devices down here," Calican admitted. "I also don't give a damn if those cyborg freaks get their IRON chips, they can rust for all I care. I just needed to put on a good show so we could really get down to brass tacks."

"But I thought you were their leader," I pressed. "You're telling me you don't care?"

"Kid, I don't have a chip on my shoulder, nor one in my neck," Calican spat. "Those assholes were the cheapest means for me to get rich quick—I have fonder memories of the Age of Steel Skies than I do working with them." His voice was a conspiratorial whisper now, tinged with anxiety. "Look. When you've been doing this as long as I have, you get a sixth sense about when an operation is about to go south. And the folks who are interested in your folks are the death knell of this entire setup. I want an out, and you want your people back. We can do both."

"We aren't agreeing to anything until you show us they're alive and unharmed," I pressed.

"Yes, very well," Calican sighed. "Just down here." His boots clicked against the last step as he gestured grandly to a doorway ahead, its edges flaking with rust. "Here we are," he announced, his voice dripping with theatrical resignation. "Welcome to our humble holding area. Don't let the ambiance fool you—it's still quite secure."

I followed him through the doorway, Maria at my side. The room beyond was small and claustrophobic, lined with walls of rough stone. Above my head, a single window, barely the size of a dinner plate, let in a thin shaft of watery sunlight. It painted streaks of pale light across the room, catching on the old, rusted bars of the jail cell that dominated the space.

The cell was a relic, wrought iron bent and twisted in places, though it still looked sturdy enough to function as intended. Behind the bars, I could make out vague shapes huddled in the shadows, too indistinct to count or identify. A faint rustle of movement broke the oppressive silence, followed by a low murmur I couldn't quite make out.

"Alive and unharmed, just as I promised," Calican said, spreading his arms as though he were presenting some grand prize. "Of course, how long they stay that way depends on your cooperation."

I narrowed my eyes, stepping closer to the cell. "Are you okay?" I called. "My name is Taewon Park, I was part of SPEAR and I'm—"

"Taewon?"

My words caught in my throat as a familiar voice echoed through the room. One of the closest figures drew themselves upright and stepped forward, pressing against the bars. To my astonishment, I knew them all too well.

The soot-stained face of Sora Park, my older sister, stared back at me, eyes wide.