//Report: Park, Taewon.

//Halifax, Nova Scotia.

//The fortress on Citadel Hill.

//Resume log.

What could I say? What was there to say? For the first time in a long time I was at a loss for words.

Sora stared back at me, looking just as shocked as I was. She looked like she'd been through hell and back—her wild black hair was matted with dirt and sweat, cascading down the side of her face. The white patches on her skin were clouded with flecks of dried mud and her indigo jumpsuit was almost stained completely black. Even so, she met my gaze with the same intensity as always, staring back at me through the bars of the cell.

How long had it been since we'd last spoken face to face? The anger I'd nurtured for years faltered, replaced by something I couldn't name. I wasn't sure if it was relief, fear, or shame. Maybe all three.

"Taewon..." Sora whispered, her voice cracking like dry earth. Her hands gripped the bars, white-knuckled, as if she were trying to pull herself through them. She spoke in rapid Korean, her voice echoing through the room. "I can't believe it's really you! How are you even—I don't understand!"

I should have said something—anything—but the words caught in my throat. This wasn't a conversation over comms on the battlefield anymore. This was too real.

"You're alive," she breathed, her tone disbelieving. "We all thought—after Yamantau, you—if I'd known, I would have—"

"I survived," I interrupted. "I didn't want anyone to know. And it needs to stay that way."

"But Jackson and the others," Sora pressed. "They—"

"A-Are they okay?" I stammered. "After the Firmament fell I lost track, and now—"

"I think so," Sora replied. She was breathless, speaking quickly. "When the missiles hit it was your commander Martin and I, but I lost track of him in the smoke and nearly died before the others managed to rescue me—I heard Jackson and the rest got out, but I'm not sure if..." she paused, and I saw her excitement wane. "They all think you died, Taewon! They needed you!"

"I chose to step away because I felt I could do more like this," I replied. "You of all people should understand that."

Her expression shifted, the warmth draining from her face.

"You think I wanted to leave you? You think I chose my path out of spite for you?"

"Didn't you?" I shot back, my voice rising despite myself. "You always chose the mission. Always chose your duty. Maybe now you understand how it feels to be left behind."

Sora flinched as though I'd struck her, but I couldn't stop. Years of resentment boiled to the surface, spilling out like a dam breaking.

"Taewon—" Maria's voice cut through the moment, grounding me before I could say something I couldn't take back.

I turned my head, exhaling sharply. "How many others are in there with you?" I spoke in English now, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. "We need to get you all out of here."

Her eyes softened, her lips parting as though she wanted to say something more. But instead, she just nodded. "Two others. The first is one of mine, and the other is a SPEAR pilot."

I saw motion from farther back in the cell as the others stepped forward. Two men, clad in assortments of mottled civilian clothes and the scraps of old jumpsuits. They all looked like they'd been dragged through the mud, dirty and disheveled, but seemed otherwise uninjured.

To my astonishment, I recognized both immediately.

Haneul Kang stepped forward first, his wiry frame casting a long shadow under the dim light. The man looked older than I remembered—his dark hair was still cropped short, military-style, but streaks of grey near his temples betrayed the stress of time. His angular face was marred by a thin scar that cut across his left cheek, and his brown eyes, framed by a battered pair of spectacles, flicked to mine with recognition.

"Haneul," I breathed. "I didn't know you became a pilot!"

Haneul nodded, his expression unreadable, and spoke in slow, measured English. "Park Taewon. I never thought I'd see you again." His voice was rough, strained, as though he hadn't used it in days. "I received my Haechi a few months after you left us."

Before I could respond, the final figure stepped into view, drawing my attention. Sam Lefchak was impossible to miss, even hunched as he was in the cramped cell. At six-foot-five, he loomed over the others, his broad shoulders making the small space feel even more claustrophobic. His dirty blonde hair hung in uneven strands over his face, one side plastered to his sweat-soaked forehead. Beneath it, piercing blue eyes glanced at me through the curtain of hair, sizing me up with a grin that I knew all too well from our training aboard the Firmament.

"Well I'll be damned," I huffed, a smile spreading across my face. "Sam. Here I thought you'd be dead by now."

"I could say the same to you!" Sam grinned. "I guess we're both tough to get rid of!"

Sam had been one of the few members of Squadron Seven who had chosen to leave, opting for reassignment a few weeks before Jackson had been demoted into the group. We hadn't liked each other much back then—Sam had once broken my bunk to get me assigned to a different room—but I had to admit that he was a sight for sore eyes.

"What the hell happened to you guys?" I frowned. "Did anyone else manage to get out?"

Sam shook his head grimly. "I don't know any more than you do. They hit the tower and the General called for an evacuation, so I climbed aboard the first dropship I could get to and picked up as many folks as I could find. We took a hit on the way out and only barely made it to the coast before we went down. Crash-landed in the city, and we've been here ever since." He glanced around the cell. "Long enough to get real cozy with these walls."

I glanced back at Sora, her eyes locked on mine. The tension between us hung heavy in the air, but there was no time to address it. Instead, I focused on the captives. "We're getting you out of here. We'll explain the rest later."

Sam grinned, the expression at odds with the dark circles under his eyes. "Now that's the kind of optimism I can get behind."

"Well, as you can see they're all alive and well!" Calican declared. "As soon as you transfer me the funds, I'll happily hand you the keys for their—"

A small pebble clattered to the cell floor, tapping noisily against the stone floor. With it came a small shower of dust, jostled loose by the vibration.

"The hell?" Maria frowned. "Calican, is this old place going to cave in before we finish our deal?"

But Calican didn't reply—the man's face had gone pale white, drained of all colour. He glanced around the room like a nervous animal, even as another vibration rattled the cell bars.

"Sixth sense," Calican hissed. "Oh, shit. Oh, shit, shit, shit." He swept his hands through his robe, patting each pocket until he drew a small black radio from the folds. "Margo! Everything okay up there? Hello? Anyone copy?"

Static was his response—and yet another impact, even larger this time. Several of the pilots inside the cell moved further into the light, grasping at the bars in desperation.

"Any chance you folks had a big rescue mission planned?" Calican called. "An army of capable soldiers ready to storm this fortress and free your friends?"

"I think you overestimate us," Maria replied. "Whatever's happening outside, it's not our doing."

"Alright!" Calican called. "Alright. New deal. I unlock this cell door immediately—" at this, he strode towards the bars, drawing an ancient metal key from his pocket— "and you fine folks take me with you to wherever you're going."

"What do you mean?" Sora demanded. "What's going on?"

"A good salesman knows when to walk away from a bad business deal," Calican replied. "But a better one knows when to run." With a flash, he thrust the key into the cell door and twisted, throwing it wide. The squeal of rusted metal echoed through the room, and I winced.

With cautious excitement, the prisoners in the cell moved for the exit, stepping out into the light. Sora moved at the head of the group, keeping a protective barrier between them and Calican. She eyed the man cautiously, and he drew back a step, letting the key to the cell drop to the floor with a clatter.

"There we go. No hard feelings, right?" he smiled. "It was just a—"

A spray of spittle painted the stone wall as Sora's open palm connected with his cheek, sending him reeling backward. He staggered, clutching his face, and stared back at Sora with wide eyes.

"Now that's more like it!" Sam exclaimed. "My turn!"

Calican flinched, and I shook my head at Sam, who lowered his open palm with a disappointed scowl.

"The only reason that was a slap and not a punch," Sora growled, "is because you opened this door yourself."

"Very... understandable," Calican hissed. He blinked tears out of his eyes. "Your benevolence... is appreciated."

"Taewon," Sora breathed. She stepped past Calican quickly, closing the distance between us, and for a moment I expected to feel the sting of a slap of my own. However, instead I was greeted by an embrace that was almost crushingly tight, forcing the breath from my lungs. "I'm glad you're okay."

Part of me wanted to apologize. Another part wanted to break free from the hug and shout at her. But neither part of me acted on these impulses—for that brief, precious moment in time, none of it mattered.

"Uh, guys?" Maria called. She stood by the basement's small window now, using the height provided by her prosthetics to peer out the foggy glass to see the ground level of the fortress outside. "We need to go, right now."

"Yes, that's what I've been saying!" Calican exclaimed. He gestured toward the stairs wildly. "Reunions can wait, death is coming! Let's get going!"

I felt Sora's crushing embrace release me, and moved toward Maria, who stared back at me with a look of dread. Now that the room was silent, I could hear muffled noises coming from outside—shouting echoed down the stairs, and footsteps rattled the gravel outside as shadows flitted by the window above our heads.

At last, the gravity of our situation dawned on me, the mixed emotions of my impromptu family reunion burning away to present a cold clarity.

"Let's get moving, people!" I called. I turned to Calican, who had already started up the stairs. "Do you have a gun on you?"

"Do I look like the kind of dishonest thug who would carry a concealed weapon at all times?" Calican retorted.

"Yes! That is exactly why he asked you!" Haneul barked.

"Well... fine!" Calican reached his left hand into the folds of his robe and a moment later he extended his arm, hurriedly passing me a shimmering golden pistol. "But I'm being typecast and I don't like it! Also, I'll want that back later, it was expensive."

I stared at the gun in my hands in utter disbelief, trying to form a coherent sentence. The pistol gleamed with a polished, reflective gold plating so pristine it seemed like it had never seen the light of a battlefield. Intricate filigree patterns were etched from the barrel to the magazine, and the grip was wrapped in white mother-of-pearl, far too slippery for any sort of tactical grip. The barrel was almost comically long, extending far past what any reasonable design called for, and ended in a spiralled muzzle that looked more like a decorative flourish than a functional suppressor. I could feel my lip curl in disbelief.

"What... is this thing?" I finally managed.

"A mistake," chirped Haneul. He grinned down at the weapon in my hand.

"It's your only option!" Calican barked. "It was a gift, alright? Now let's move!"

Our footsteps pounded up the staircase as the nine of us moved quickly, with Sora and the other prisoners taking the rear. Though she put on a strong front, I could feel my sister lagging behind as we ascended the spiral staircase—just how long had she and the others been attempting to survive in the streets of Halifax after their crash? It had been almost four days since the fall of the Firmament—four days without a reliable source of food or rest.

Emerging onto the bottom floor of the decrepit central building, I was astonished to see that the space had been completely transformed. The lights were now off, leaving the room bathed in shadow, while the tables and crates had been upended, creating makeshift barricades that angled toward the front door. I could still make out the shapes of several mercenaries crouched behind them, various weapons drawn.

As Calican stepped out of the stairwell, a woman with a shock of deep magenta hair jogged up to him, rifle in hand.

"Margo?" Calican frowned. "What is this? Why didn't you answer me?"

"They cut the power, and they're jamming our radios somehow," the mercenary replied. She glared at the front door. "I don't know how many are out there, but they're well-armed." Her gaze drifted to Sora, Haneul and Sam. "Are those... the prisoners?"

"That's not important right now," Calican rebuked.

Margo raised one eyebrow, but didn't comment further.

"Have they fired any shots?" Calican inquired.

"None," Margo replied. "But they have soldiers holding the outer gate and courtyard. They haven't taken action yet, but—"

"Open the door," Calican demanded. "If they're not shooting yet, it means they're clients. I'm going outside."

Margo nodded and turned away, stepping toward the entrance.

"Hey! But you said—" Sam began, but Calican pressed a finger to his lips, fixing him with a glare.

"I'm aware of what I said, but if we don't start talking they're going to start shooting," he hissed. "Our deal still stands—when this inevitably goes to shit, get me out of here!"

"For the record, this is a terrible plan," Haneul remarked.

With all the cautious uncertainty of disarming a bomb, Margo pulled the door open, allowing the damp mid-afternoon wind to blow into the room.

Calican turned to us with an unexpectedly serious look in his eyes. He wasn't playing games anymore.

"All of you work for me," he commanded. "Look the part. You aren't prisoners, you're mercenaries, and you'll accompany me outside."

"You want us out there in the open, with all the guns?" Sora called, incredulous. "You're trying to turn us over!"

"Like hell I am!" Calican snapped. Glancing around at the mercenaries nearby, he lowered his voice, leaning in. "Listen to me—if I'm right, these people aren't going to negotiate for long. I have a plan, but it requires you to follow me outside."

Gripping the golden pistol tight, I exchanged glances with the others. What other choice did we have?

"This had better not be some cheap trick," Maria spat.

"It most certainly will be!" Calican retorted, "But I'm not playing it on you."

With one sweeping gesture, he stepped through the door, moving outside, and I followed him.

The air outside was heavy, thick with tension that crackled like an oncoming storm. The rainfall had let up slightly, but the moisture still hung in the air, leaving the world slick and shiny. The once-bustling gravel courtyard, previously alive with the shouts of merchants and the clatter of makeshift stalls, had fallen eerily silent. Vendors and traders huddled against their stalls or pressed themselves against the cold stone walls, their eyes wide with fear as they watched the scene unfold. Goods lay scattered on the ground, forgotten in the rush to find cover.

Countless grey-clad soldiers formed an unyielding ring around the courtyard. Their tactical gear looked unnervingly uniform, every mask and rifle a mirror of the next, as if each person had been stamped out of mold.

"What the hell is this?" Sora breathed. "They look corporate." She whispered softly in Korean, keeping her eyes on the soldiers as she moved in lockstep with me, keeping herself between the enemy and the other prisoners.

To my surprise, she was completely correct. The soldiers had more in common with the faceless soldiers of Axion Industries than the rag-tag criminals and mercenaries they now held at gunpoint. They moved with precision, their rifles leveled and ready, the dark visors of their masks reflecting the scene like soulless eyes. Every piece of gear looked completely brand-new—visorless helmets filtered the world through cameras, rifles glowed with thermal sights, and their armoured joints were reinforced by the frames of MTT exoskeletons.

Despite all of this, Calican continued to walk forward, boots crunching across the rain-soaked gravel. He moved with a confidence that bordered on insanity, striding forward into the center of the fort as the rest of us tentatively followed.

I felt my stomach drop as I glanced up at the ramparts. Above us, looming on the hill that ringed the fort, were three immense mechs. Three towering black machines, their sleek armor broken only by vivid red accents that gleamed like fresh blood in the meagre sunlight. Each of them was an imposing monolith of destruction, standing nearly three stories tall.

"Are those..." Maria hissed. "Taewon, I've scrapped just about every type of mech in the world, and I've never seen one that looks like those. What the hell is happening here?"

"Some very bad business," I replied. "Calican, what do we do now?"

"We wait," Calican replied. He stopped dead in his tracks, glancing around at the soldiers. "If I'm right, they'll send forward a negotiator or two first."

"Why would they do that?" Sora hissed. She stared at the soldiers with wide eyes, but kept her stance confident. "They've got us dead to rights."

"Not quite," Calican replied. His voice was a low whisper, and he didn't look Sora in the eyes. "They know we have you and your friends, but they don't know what you look like—thanks to your unwashed appearance, I'll keep it that way."

"Hey!" Sam snapped.

"Quiet now," Calican cooed. "Like I said, here come the negotiators."

At first, I only saw the shadows—two long, angular shapes cast against the dim light of the fort's entryway. Then came the sound—a low, rhythmic pounding, like the steady beat of a war drum. Each step was deliberate, calculated.

The first person that stepped through the door was, in a word, strange.

They moved like smoke, fluid and slow, each step taken with an almost unsettling calm. Tall and thin, the figure was clad in a tattered uniform of military origin—greens and tans bleached pale by time and stained with rust-colored marks that might have been blood.

Stranger still, the negotiator's face was hidden behind an ornate gilded mask, a delicate construction of gold filigree that covered the upper half of their face, its delicate engravings dulled by soot and wear. The lower half of their face was veiled in black cloth that hung loose around their neck, concealing their mouth and jaw in shifting folds.

Strangest of all, draped over their left shoulder was a ragged shawl of sky blue cloth, stitched from what appeared to have once been a flag. I didn't recognize the pattern on the fabric, but I could make out the shape of a global map, depicted in plain white.

When they finally spoke, the sound was filtered through a vocoder, warped into something like broken radio static.

"We have come to discuss terms," they stated. "We come in peace."

Then the second negotiator stepped into the room.

"Good god," I breathed, "what are they feeding you people?"

Described simply, the second person who strode toward us was a man clad in an MTT exoskeleton. However, this did not do his appearance justice.

Far from the ancient rusted frames of the mercenaries that Calican worked with, the man before us was a towering mass of unrelenting armor. Not a multimeter of bare skin was exposed—instead, gunmetal plating streaked with scorch marks and blood-red smears caught the faint glimmer of sunlight, completely entombing the man. His helmet was an angular, chunky thing, hewn out of rough metal, and the only indication that there was a human inside was the crimson slit of his visor. He scanned the courtyard with a predatory stillness that sent a shiver down my spine—it was like being caught in the gaze of something utterly inhuman.

Easily eight feet tall, the armoured man's fists hung at his sides, each clad in gauntlets the size of my head. Worst of all, a chainsaw blade extended from his right forearm, mounted just below his wrist and poking outward into the space below.

Every step the man took seemed to shake the ground beneath me, the weight of him so immense that even the fort itself seemed to shrink. He didn't raise a weapon, didn't utter a word. His choice of attire spoke for him.

Draped over his back and trailing behind him as he moved was a cloak made entirely of dog tags. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them, tangled into a rusted mesh that clinked with every step. Each tag was chained and welded to the next in a sloppy, violent lattice, the seams burned in such a way that the writing on the tags seemed intentionally destroyed. It was a violent promise made manifest.

Then, he stopped. Waiting. Expectant.

"I—I assume you're the negotiators the voice on the radio spoke of?" Calican called. He took a cautious step forward, staring up at the armoured man, and grinned. "I must admit this show of force feels rather unnecessary."

The figure in the gold mask stepped lightly to the side, placing themselves slightly in front of the armored giant. They tilted their head just so, like an owl studying its prey. "Force is a necessity, Mister Cross," the voice crackled. "Force makes the world go round."

"Funny," Calican smirked, "I'd have sworn that was money."

"You may address me as Eulogy." The masked figure continued as if they hadn't heard him. "My guardian is known as Cenotaph. He does not speak." They glanced up at the armored figure with something that almost resembled reverence. "He acts." They turned back to Calican, lenses shining in the dim light. "The prisoners. Now."

"Right, of course," Calican nodded. To my astonishment, he seemed to be deliberately avoiding looking in our direction, refraining from drawing any attention to the group of exhausted pilots who huddled behind Maria, Sora and I. "Alicia," he called, "would you kindly go and fetch our guests from upstairs? Second room from the left, you, uh, you know the drill."

A brown-haired woman in the corner of the courtyard nodded, eyes wide, and jogged back through the open doorway.

"Now," Calican breathed, "I believe there is a matter of payment. The voice on the radio informed us that we would be paid up front. How shall we go about that?"

The hulking behemoth extended one arm with a speed that was nothing short of astonishing, the chainsaw on his arm roaring to life with a hellish scream. It passed a millimeter from Calican's face as Cenotaph's swing fell just barely, mercifully short. A warning.

"The prisoners," Eulogy repeated. "Now!"

There was a moment of dead silence. In that instant, every person in the area seemed to draw in a breath and hold it, keeping completely still. Cenotaph's chainsaw blade idled, whining loudly. Fingers tightened on triggers. Eyes shifted towards the armoured behemoth, and I tried not to look at the autocannons of the mechs high above us. Any second the shooting would start, and everyone here would die.

To my surprise, however, a broad smile spread across Calican's face.

"Of course," he nodded. "They're on the way."

Calican folded his arms behind his back and gave a low bow, sweeping his robe backward, and in that moment his manicured hands splayed outward behind his back, a strange gesture that I couldn't understand.

An instant later, the courtyard was completely still and silent.

At first, I didn't know what was happening. Every soldier in the vicinity stood completely, perfectly still, utterly unmoving. Even Cenotaph's chainsaw ceased spinning, the blade coming to a halt.

It was only a second later that I heard Maria grunt in frustration, and I turned to see her staring down at her prosthetic legs with growing confusion.

"I... I can't move," she frowned.

To my astonishment, she wasn't the only one—all around us, the masked soldiers were trembling, locked in place by their exoskeletons.

Motion to my right caught my attention. The civilians in the market were in motion, now—people with less IRON tech pulled others across the gravel and beneath the stone walls of the fort, ushering, leading, and sometimes even dragging others out of harm's way.

The sound of a strangled hiss drew my gaze back to the figure in the gold mask, the person known as Eulogy. The androgynous negotiator's shoulders seemed to spasm as they drew wracking breaths through their mask's filters, and I heard them struggle to speak.

"What... did you... just do?"

"That would be the low-level electromagnetic pulse I just set off," Calican replied. He turned to me. "We've got about thirty seconds until the shooting starts, so grab your friend and run like mad!"

"You aren't... leaving... alive!" Eulogy gasped.

In front of me, I heard a quiet grunt, and to my horror the mass of armour that was Cenotaph seemed to shift just slightly.

"Sora, her other arm!" I called. "Sam, Haneul, get her legs! Now!"

"Taewon," Maria warned, "don't you dare—"

Sora and the other pilots moved like a well-oiled machine as I seized Maria by her right arm and lifted. With efficiency borne out of panic, we began to move in unison, dragging her toward the fort's massive stone gateway.

"You used an EMP as a failsafe?!" Sora barked. "Half your people use IRON tech, this is insane!"

"That's why nobody else would expect it!" Calican retorted. "Hurry now, twenty seconds!"

"This is humiliating!" Maria snapped.

"Would you rather we put you down?!" Sam exclaimed. "What exactly is the alternative here?"

Somewhere behind me, a loud shout caught my attention. I turned, and what I witnessed left me questioning my own sanity.

A group of mercenaries, many still dragging useless metal limbs or other implants, hurriedly crowded around the old cannon on the top of the battlements. The ancient weapon was easily as old as the fort itself, yet the men and women around it moved with practiced precision, pressing items down the barrel.

"Is that a cannon?!" Sora exclaimed.

"Of course!" Calican grinned. "It doesn't require electronics, so it's still functional! Stop staring and keep running!"

"This is not how I pictured my first trip to Canada!" growled Haneul.

"It's a lovely place to live," Sam retorted. "We just picked a bad time!"

High over our heads, the massive shapes of the black-armoured mechs began to shift. Legs the size of tree trunks rattled as the mechs swayed, twitching as their overwhelmed systems began to reboot. The pulse had been far from the targeted and precise destruction of Darius Blackwell's deadly Thanatos projectors—IRON chips in the area were still very much intact. In moments, the trio of enemy mechs would be back online.

"That's it, step lively!" Calican called. I could hear the fear in his voice as we jogged through the scrap metal gate. "How many seconds were left, again? Ten?"

"I wasn't counting!" I exclaimed. "I thought you were counting!"

"It doesn't matter, just hit the deck!" Calican called. With that, he threw himself to one side of the outer wall, scrambling away from the entrance.

I followed suit, moving as quickly as I could with Maria's arm in mine. Swinging her to one side, I practically tumbled away from the entrance to the fort, pressing my back against the wet stone wall.

"They used to fire that thing every day at noon," he informed me. "I don't know what time it is right now, but it's probably noon somewhere!"

With a thunderous roar that shook me to my core, the ancient cannon fired and all hell broke loose.