No One's PoV

Desert winds whipped across the forward operating base as Captain Alexander D. Orr stood before the hastily assembled tribunal. Thirty soldiers formed a perfect circle around him, their combat boots grinding against gravel. The setting sun cast long shadows across their faces, but Alex kept his eyes fixed on Colonel Barrett, whose silver eagle caught the last light like a drawn blade.

"Captain Alexander D. Orr." Barrett's voice cut through the desert wind. "You stand charged with high treason against the United States Military. Specifically, the deaths of General John Shepard and four platoons under his command, along with willful disobedience of direct orders. How do you plead?"

Alex's fingers tightened around his M4's grip, the familiar texture of worn polymer beneath his callused hands. His jaw clenched, but a slight smile played at the corner of his mouth. Sweat trickled down his spine despite the cooling air.

"Guilty." He said, his voice carrying across the suddenly silent compound. "Guilty of stopping your black ops massacre of civilians."

Colonel Barrett's face hardened. "Then by the power vested in me by the United States Military, I sentence you to death by firing squad." He paused, protocol demanding the final courtesy. "Any last words, Captain?"

Alex's thumb slid carefully to the M203 grenade launcher mounted beneath his rifle barrel. The weight of the 40mm high explosive round felt like destiny. "Just one thing, Colonel." His smile turned wolf like. "I'll see you in hell."

The grenade launcher's distinctive thump shattered the tension. Barrett's eyes widened as the 40mm round arced through the dusk, too close, too fast to dodge. The explosion turned the world orange, and Alex was already moving through the chaos of screaming men and flying shrapnel, his final act of defiance written in fire and blood.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The shockwave rippled through Alex's XMA27 armor, its energy dispersive plating absorbing the blast he'd normally have felt. Through the helmet's enhanced display, he watched as the surviving soldiers scrambled for cover, their training kicking in despite the chaos.

"Kill that treacherous bastard!" Barrett's voice cracked with rage and pain from somewhere behind an overturned Humvee. Blood ran down his face from shrapnel wounds.

Alex's HUD highlighted incoming fire trajectories in crimson streaks. He dove behind a concrete barrier as armor piercing rounds sparked off his shoulder plating. The XMA27's systems flashed warning indicators. The prototype armor wasn't designed to take sustained AP fire.

"You really think I worked alone?" Alex shouted, popping up to squeeze off controlled shots. Two more soldiers dropped. "The evidence is already out there, Barrett! About Madagascar, about the villages!"

A round punched through his left thigh armor, bringing him to one knee. The suit's medical systems immediately deployed emergency sealant, but pain blazed up his leg. "System integrity at 64% and falling." The armor's AI warned in his ear.

"Flank him!" Someone shouted. Alex cursed as he spotted movement on both sides. He pushed off his good leg, using the armor's enhanced mobility to vault over the barrier just as crossfire shredded his previous position.

"Multiple penetrating impacts detected." The AI reported clinically. "Right shoulder servo compromised. Administering local anesthetic."

Alex grimaced, firing one handed as he sprinted between cover. His breathing echoed harsh in the helmet as rounds zinged past. A lucky shot caught his helmet, cracking the visor and sending spider web fractures across his field of vision.

"The only evidence..." Barrett snarled, emerging with an M249 SAW. "Will be your corpse!" The light machine gun roared, forcing Alex to scramble awkwardly behind a stack of supply crates.

"System integrity critical." The AI warned. "Multiple system failures imminent. Recommend immediate extraction."

"Not yet." Alex muttered, checking his ammunition. Two magazines left. He had to make them count.

A grenade bounced near his position. Alex lunged away, but the explosion caught him mid dive. The armor absorbed most of the blast, but the impact slammed him into a concrete wall. Warning indicators flashed red across his damaged visor as pain shot through his ribs.

"Detecting multiple fractures." The AI reported. "Internal bleeding likely. Medical systems operating at 23% capacity."

Alex coughed, tasting copper. "Show me remaining hostiles."

His HUD flickered, then highlighted twelve red signatures still moving. Two were trying to circle behind him again. He waited until they were close, then spun out from cover, his rifle barking. Both went down, but return fire caught him in the side where the armor was already compromised.

"Critical damage to abdominal plating." The AI announced. "Emergency sealant depleted."

Alex stumbled, pressing his hand against the wound. Blood seeped between his fingers. He could feel the armor's systems struggling to compensate, its weight becoming more noticeable as power fluctuated.

"Targeting assists offline." The AI continued. "Power rerouting to life support."

Barrett's voice cut through the gunfire. "You're dead, Orr! The XMA27 can't take much more! Stand down and maybe we'll make it quick!"

Alex laughed, though it came out as more of a wet cough. "You still don't get it, do you?" He keyed his emergency transponder, hoping Martinez was monitoring. "This was never about surviving."

He broke cover again, laying down suppressing fire as he moved toward better position. A burst of AP rounds caught him in the back, punching through the weakened armor. His left arm went numb as something vital was hit. The rifle clattered from nerveless fingers.

"Left arm unresponsive." The AI reported. "Spinal trauma detected. Power at 15%."

Alex collapsed behind a concrete jersey barrier, drawing his sidearm with his remaining functional arm. The world was starting to go grey at the edges. He checked his HUD. Eight hostiles left. Barrett was still behind the Humvee, coordinating the others' movements.

"Time to end this." Alex muttered. He pulled his last grenade, waiting for the right moment.

Barrett's men were closing in, thinking him too wounded to fight back. He let them get closer.

The grenade rolled perfectly under the Humvee. Barrett's eyes widened as he spotted it, but too late. The explosion flipped the vehicle, sending Barrett and two others flying.

But Alex's victory was short lived. In that same moment, three of the remaining soldiers had clear shots. AP rounds tore through his already damaged armor, the impacts driving him to the ground. Pain exploded across his chest and abdomen.

"Multiple critical hits." The AI's voice was fading with the power systems. "Emergency... emergency..."

Through the blood filling his helmet, Alex heard the distinctive thrum of approaching helicopters. He smiled despite the pain. Right on time.

"This is Colonel Sarah Martinez, Internal Affairs!" The voice boomed across the compound as three Black Hawks appeared over the walls, miniguns spinning up. "All personnel, stand down immediately!"

"No!" Barrett screamed from where he lay wounded, swinging his SAW toward the lead helicopter. Alex forced his arm up one last time, the pistol impossibly heavy. Three rounds caught Barrett center mass, the colonel's body jerking as he fell.

The effort cost him the last of his strength. The pistol fell from limp fingers as darkness crept in. His armor's emergency beacon pulsed weakly, its AI silent now as systems failed one by one. Through his cracked visor, he watched Martinez's teams fast rope down, securing the area and the evidence that would expose everything.

"Captain's down!" Someone shouted. "Get a medic here now!"

Hands rolled him over carefully. Martinez's face appeared above him, grim but approving. "The XMA27's readings are critical." A medic reported. "Multiple penetrating wounds, internal bleeding, spinal trauma. We need immediate evac."

"You crazy bastard." Martinez said, squeezing his shoulder. "You actually did it. The files are secure. We got them."

Alex tried to respond, but couldn't find the strength. As consciousness faded, he heard the medic calling for emergency transport and Martinez barking orders to secure the scene. The truth would come out now. That was all that mattered.

The darkness took him, but this time, it felt like victory.
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The Marine Corps dress blues felt heavier than they should have, despite being tailored perfectly to Untsie Orr's frame. The weight wasn't physical. It was the burden of expectation, the legacy of a name that still echoed through military circles like a ghost story. Her name. His name.

She stood at rigid attention, her hands clasped behind her back, as Colonel Sarah Martinez studied her from behind a desk cluttered with holo pads and physical files. An odd mix of old and new. The Colonel, now well into her sixty's, still had the presence of someone who could lead soldiers into hell and walk out without a scratch. But today, her expression was softer, her normally sharp eyes filled with something that looked almost like sorrow.

"I wish your father was here to see this." Martinez said at last, breaking the silence. "He would've been proud of you."

Untsie's throat tightened. She knew her father's story. At least, she thought she did. "Thank you, ma'am." She replied, voice steady despite the storm raging inside her.

Martinez sighed, leaning back in her chair. "It's a shame, really. That a warrior like him died so young. Just nineteen."

Nineteen. The same age Untsie would be in a year. The thought made her chest tighten. She had spent her entire life chasing the shadow of a man she had never met, a father whose legend had shaped her more than any living person ever could.

"Ma'am." She started hesitantly. "Can you... tell me a story about him?" She swallowed hard, feeling almost embarrassed by the request. "What was he like?"

Martinez studied her for a long moment, then let out a breath that was almost a chuckle. "A story, huh?" She glanced at a framed photo on her desk. An old one, showing a young Captain Alexander D. Orr standing next to a Black Hawk, helmet under one arm, a cocky smirk on his face.

Untsie had seen that picture a thousand times. It was the only image she had of him.

"There are a hundred stories I could tell you, Gunnery Sergeant." Martinez said, voice distant as if she were sifting through memories. "Your father... was unlike anyone I had ever met. He wasn't just skilled. He was relentless. He had this way of making you believe that no matter how impossible a mission was, he would find a way to complete it."

Untsie swallowed. That was what she had always been told. Her father was a fighter, a soldier's soldier. A man who stood for what was right, no matter the cost.

"But if I had to pick one moment." Martinez continued, leaning forward. "It would be the last time I ever saw him."

Untsie felt her breath catch.

"You've read the reports. You know what happened at FOB Sentinel. But what they don't tell you is how close we were to losing everything." Martinez's fingers tapped the armrest of her chair. "Your father wasn't just fighting for his own survival that day. He was buying time. Time for us to get there, time for us to expose the truth about what Barrett and his men had done. And he knew he wasn't going to walk away."

Untsie clenched her fists behind her back. "They said he was shot down after taking out Barrett."

Martinez's gaze flickered with something she couldn't place. "That's what the official report says."

Untsie frowned. "What do you mean?"

Martinez hesitated, then shook her head. "Nothing. It's just... he should have died long before we got there. His armor was failing, his wounds were critical, but he kept fighting." She exhaled sharply. "I remember landing, seeing the wreckage of the fight, thinking, there's no way he's still alive. But there he was. Bleeding, barely breathing, but smiling. Like he'd already won."

Untsie's heart pounded.

"The medics worked on him, but he was in bad shape. We were prepping an emergency evac when..." Martinez trailed off, her fingers tightening into a fist.

Untsie leaned forward slightly. "When what?"

Martinez hesitated again, then forced a tight smile. "And then he was gone."

A flicker of something cold ran through Untsie's spine. That wasn't an answer.

"Your father was a good man, Gunnery Sergeant." Martinez said, standing and straightening her uniform. "And if you're even half of what he was, the Corps is lucky to have you."

Untsie exhaled, pushing away the feeling that something wasn't being said. She saluted. "Thank you, ma'am."

Martinez returned the salute, but her expression remained distant, as if she were looking at someone else entirely. Someone who shouldn't have disappeared.

Someone who still had unfinished business.
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Untsie's boots struck the metal floor with measured precision as she strode through the armory, the rhythmic clang echoing through the dimly lit corridors. She had heard the stories before. Marine's who whispered about how much she resembled her father, how her presence carried the same weight, the same unrelenting energy. But that wasn't what filled her mind now.

Martinez's words lingered, twisting inside her thoughts like a puzzle with missing pieces. Then he was gone. That wasn't how people described death. That was how people described something else.

She exhaled sharply, pushing the thoughts aside as she approached her gear locker. The retinal scanner recognized her instantly, flashing green before the doors slid open with a smooth hiss.

Inside, her MA38 armor hung in pristine condition, its matte grey plating reflecting the cold blue lights of the room. Unlike her father's XMA27, which had been a prototype, the MA37 was now standard issue. More durable, more refined, yet unmistakably bearing the design lineage of its predecessor. Thick, reinforced plating covered the chest and shoulders, segmented for flexibility, while the undersuit contained a reactive gel layer that adjusted to impacts. It was warrior's armor, built for someone who could take a hit and keep moving. Her father's armor had been built for survival. Hers was just built for war.

Piece by piece, she donned the suit with practiced efficiency. The plates locked into place with a series of satisfying clicks, each one bringing her closer to deployment. The helmet came last, its sleek visor reflecting her face for the briefest moment before sealing shut with an airtight hiss. The HUD flickered to life, syncing instantly with her neural interface.

[SYSTEM ONLINE]
[BIOMETRICS STABLE]
[ARMOR INTEGRITY: 100%]

A familiar weight settled over her shoulders, grounding her. She rolled her neck, feeling the servos adjust smoothly. Next was the weapon rack.

She reached for her M4A2, the evolution of the M4A1. The weapon had an aggressive design, its polymer frame reinforced with sleek, gunmetal accents. The rifle had everything she needed. A ACOG scope, a laser sight, a built in suppressor, and an under barrel Remington 870.

Her father had carried an M4. She carried its perfected descendant. Sliding the rifle onto her back, she grabbed her Mk6 Smart Pistol. An upgrade from the Mk5 her father had wielded. The weapon felt natural in her grip, its sleek frame fitting snugly into her side holster. She wasn't done.

Her hand found the RSH-12, a weapon that demanded respect. Heavy, powerful, and utterly lethal in the right hands. It snapped into its holster with a satisfying weight against her thigh. Then, there was her data knife.

She turned it over in her hand, the blade humming softly as it activated. Her father's was different from her's and everyone else's, but no one knew how. Even the techs who analyzed it could never fully explain what made it her father's unique. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Securing the knife at her belt, she took a steady breath and turned toward the exit. Deployment awaited. She had barely taken a step before it happened.

A sudden surge of energy rippled through her, a pulse so intense that her HUD flickered in protest. A bright light engulfed her, blinding, all consuming. Every fiber of her being burned, but there was no pain. Just overwhelming light. Her vision distorted. Her armor vibrated. And then, in a flash...

She was gone.
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"Come on Andrea! The range is just ahead!" One chipper Destiny Frostwire called out to her friend Andrea Buencamino Yan, the daughters of the Billionaire John Frostwire and the Millionaire Francis Andre Buencamino Yan, or as people knew him by Andy, who were friends of Captain Alex Orr from his teenage years.

"Stop pointing the Lewis at me." Andrea called out as she climbed up a ladder. "Says the girl with a .500 Smith and Wesson in her hand." Destiny called back, as she moved her Lewis LMG away from Andrea. Andrea gave her a nod as she moved her revolver back in its holster, its gold hammer and trigger standing out from the silver body.

"So what's your dad doing today?" Destiny asked, curiously to her childhood friend. "He's got some stunt lined up at a military base. Something about a new F/A 63 Corsair they've developed." She paused, checking her ear protection. "He was pretty excited about it, actually." Destiny hemmed at that as she helped Andrea up the ladder.

"Interesting. Dad said he had a military contract at Fort Liberty, and then a book signing in Lexington. He's been going on about his latest invention. Some unholy marriage between a flamethrower and a shotgun." Andrea just shrugged as she heard similar things from her father. "Have you heard from Untsie, in the past week?"

Destiny's usually bright expression sobered. "She messaged last week. Just got promoted, heading out on another deployment." She turned to face the range, but not before Andrea caught the concern in her friend's eyes. "She mentioned hoping her dad would be proud. You know how she gets."

The heavy door to the shooting range creaked open under Destiny's push, the familiar smell of cordite and steel welcoming them into their sanctuary. Here, at least, everything made sense. Just them, their weapons, and the targets downrange.

Getting to their stalls Andrea and Destiny laid their weapons on the table. "I see you brought your fathers M1879 Reichsrevolver." Destiny just grinned at her friend's words. "Says the girl who took her dad's Remington 870 and his personal katana, that was built by his big brother figure." Andrea just rolled her eyes. "Coming from the one with a shovel."

"It's not just a shovel, Andrea. It's a combat shovel." Andrea raised an eyebrow, setting her shotgun onto its back before turning toward Andrea with an exaggerated look of disbelief. "Right. A combat shovel. Please, enlighten me. How is that any different from a regular shovel? Does it talk? Cut through tanks? Make pancakes?"

Destiny scoffed. "For your information, it's reinforced, weighted for melee combat, and sharp enough to cut through body armor." She pointed at Andrea like a teacher giving a lesson. "Unlike your gun, it won't jam or miss fire. Plus, it digs holes. Dual purpose."

Andrea rolled her eyes. "Coming from the girl who treats a shovel like it's Excalibur." Destiny feigned offense, gripping the handle of her combat shovel like it was a prized sword. "Excuse you, this bad boy has seen action. Trench fights, close quarters, one time I even used it to pry open a jammed APC hatch." She smirked. "And when the ammo runs dry, this 'big ass' gun is just dead weight, but my shovel?" She lifted it slightly. "It always works."

Andrea sighed, sliding her shotgun into a sling. "You're impossible." Destiny shrugged, reaching for a box of .303 rounds for her Lewis gun. "You say that, but I know deep down, you respect it."
Andrea ignored her, instead unsheathing her Lahot sword, its curved blade catching the fluorescent light overhead. She twirled it once before planting it on the table beside her. "At least my backup weapon isn't something I could buy at a hardware store."

Destiny grinned. "Hey, say what you want, but when the enemy sees me coming with this thing, they know it's over." The sound of gunfire echoed from another range down the hall, the sharp crack of rifles mixing with the deep thuds of heavier weapons. Andrea adjusted her ear protection while Destiny locked a drum magazine into her Lewis LMG with a satisfying click.

"So, what's the plan for today? Just some friendly target practice, or are we doing 'who can blow up the most watermelons in under a minute' again?" Andrea asked, sliding shells into a bandolier strapped to her waist. Destiny's grin turned mischievous. "Why not both?"

Andrea chuckled. "You do remember what happened last time, right? You tried dual wielding your dad's lever action and nearly fell on your ass." Destiny groaned. "You're never gonna let that go, are you?"

"Not a chance." Shaking her head, Destiny finished loading her weapon. "Fine, fine. But I'll have you know, I've been practicing." Andrea didn't even bother to hide her smirk. "Oh, this I gotta see."

The two took their positions, loading their weapons and taking aim at their respective targets. The range was quiet except for the distant muffled sounds of others training, the scent of gunpowder lingering in the air.

Andrea was the first to fire, her Remington 870 booming as the slug punched a hole clean through the metal silhouette target at the far end of the range. She worked the pump action smoothly, firing again and again, each shot perfectly placed.

Destiny followed up with a short burst from her Lewis LMG, the rounds shredding through her targets in a storm of lead. The weight of the antique machine gun didn't slow her down. If anything, she moved with it like it was an extension of herself.

The two went back and forth, exchanging playful jabs between reloads, testing each other's limits like they had done since they were kids. It was second nature now. This unspoken competition, this bond forged in both friendship and the endless pursuit of improvement. Then it happened.

A deep, resonating hum filled the air, cutting through the distant gunfire. At first, neither of them reacted, assuming it was some equipment malfunction or interference. But then the light came.

Blinding, brilliant, and all consuming, it engulfed them before they could even react. Andrea turned toward Destiny, eyes wide as her hands instinctively reached for something, anything to ground herself. But there was nothing. Their weapons, their gear, their very bodies.

Everything was swallowed in the searing brightness. Then, in a blink, they were gone.
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A/N: And done. kuwebby2, DrFrostwire0, what do you think?