Chapter I

Chapter 1

Operation Eclipse

June 5, 4025

1305 Hours

The X11Z Halcyon MECHX stands at approximately 65 feet. Up close, it looks like a medieval knight. Yet, its armor is far from a glistening silver. Pulled from the depths of a long-abandoned Colony on Mars, Alexandria. The machine is of rust; silver-white and blue. The Pilot stands in a chassis, located in the upper chest closest to the head, above the center of mass. In front of the pilot is a large screen that covers the front interior, giving the pilot the eyes of the Halcyon. In front of the Pilot is a keyboard, connected to a mainframe, along with many pilot utilities. This is the most dangerous part of the Chassis. The mechanical device that connects the Pilot to the Halcyon—via a spinal connection, tapping into the Humans central nervous system. One with the machine. Outside the Chassis, The Halcyon wields a single-handed sword and shield. The power source is a nuclear reactor located on the back. The machine is an extraordinary design—so powerful—once the people of Unifer determined what it was, through secrecy, they hid it from the world.

You can only imagine how.

Thomas Deliah is the fifth pilot of HALCYON—177

The original pilot gave this machine its name; a name that's scratched into the hull of the X11Z MECHX.

While no one knows what the 177 represents, most of the engineers that examined the machine assume it's the number assigned for the model. It's a scary thing, to think there were, at a time, many iterations of this machine until perfection.

But it's the perfect technology to illustrate how far humanity has fallen.

Inside the Chassis, Thomas is at work, the sound of keys pressing as he inputs a code on the screen. The Halcyon comes to life.

Outside the Chassis, The Halcyons eyes glow a deep red. The machine steps forward from the mechanical holding cell. Inside, the giant screen in front of Thomas turns into two screens separated by a black vertical line. The glow of the screen reveals many buttons surrounding him. Above him, deep blue lights illuminate. On his left side of the screen, a real-time video of his assistant, Colonel Cord. A Caucasian male, the many battles of his past felt in each indent, line, and scar on his face. His black hair peppered with white. He has a red eye patch; an eye lost from a bullet that grazed the side of his temple. He's wearing headphones, a map, and sitting in an office chair—drinking coffee.

Over the large speakers of the hanger, a woman's voice—

"Halycon—177 step into the loading bay."

Thomas does as he's told. He extends his hand, pushes the keyboard aside, and starts to walk; the machine moves.

The Haylcon moves, each footstep vibrates the floor, the weight of the mobile machine creaks and groans in the hangar.

"What's the battlespace looking like, Cord."

Cord takes a sip of coffee and folds the map in his hand.

"Our main forces are still moving through the city of Panam. We're drawing as many enemy machines away from the tactical objective as we can. When anything changes, I'll let you know."

The Halcyon moves into the center of the hangar. Above him, a large Electrode Magnetic Pulse bomb lies in wait.

It looks like that of a turtle shell.

Once in the center of the Hangar, The Halcyon raises both arms out wide.

The intercom squelches. The female voice fills the hangar again.

"Standby. Airlock disengaged. Engineers are clear to move."

The Hangar hisses. The large hangar door that stands taller than the Halcyon opens a few feet. Fifteen Engineers in deep-red colored suits and black helmets that look like upside-down fishbowls, float into the room.

Two giant Mechanical arms descend from the ceiling, bringing the Electrode Magnetic Pulse bomb with it. Quickly, the Engineers work; ensuring the EMP bomb attaches to the back of the Halcyon, with a secure, proper fitting.

Inside the Chassis, Thomas is typing at lightning speed on his keyboard. His eyes scan left to right at the screen in front of him. An image pops up on the screen of a man in a uniform with short brown hair and a long beard. He seems to be about thirty-five.

"This isn't the time to be snooping," Cord says, as he stirs his cup of coffee and takes a sip.

Thomas tries to hide his feeling of anxiousness.

"I'm trying to ease my mind."

"Did it work?"

"No.

"Well would you feel better if I told you, Captain Ballmer scored 95 out of a 100 on the Anti-Mechanical all-terrain simulation test? The one you designed?"

"I know. I just wish my wife and daughter didn't drop. I know I ruined our family up here, but the answer isn't to go to Australia. We've been losing ground there for months."

Cord sets down his cup of coffee, clasps his hands together and gives Thomas his full attention.

"We can't change what's done. You know that. However, the sooner we get this bomb off, the sooner they'll be safe. So, keep that in mind. Once we destroy the final base in Australia, we will have the whole continent. All thanks to you, I might add."

Thomas shrugs, closing out the image of Captain Ballmer. Faint, red, and green text bounces off his irises.

"What do I need to do, to make sure my pilot is focused on the mission?"

Thomas raises a brow, the sound of his fingers typing halt.

"I want a real-time satellite image on their location at all times."

"Done,"

Cord nods, sets his cup of coffee down and starts to type on his end.

"Here we are, check your screen," Cord answers, smacking the enter key on his keyboard.

Immediately, on the Halcyon screen, a real-time ariel footage of the drop zone appears. The Hawkeyes, giving thirty-minute updates on the battlefield, pan right to the visual of many soldiers, tanks, and all-terrain vehicles. They are standing in a once thick forest now flattened and burning from the concurrent battle. The once lushes' fields now mud. The frontline is clearly drawn from the large amount of dead. And the sparse machines that didn't make it to the front line, sit still like gumdrops in candy land, showing the path to hell. Beyond that group, the Hawkeyes pan again. This time to the

ravaged city of Panam. The battlespace rages. As while the MECHX machines are on their final stand to hold Australia; so is the United Universe. Two forces about to capitulate at any moment.

But Thomas isn't concerned about any of that. All he cares about are two soldiers currently fighting on the frontline, pushing to the final objective. His ex-wife and daughter.

The front line shows on screen; that of thousands of soldiers spread for kilometers on left and right flanks. While many light armored vehicles and tanks hold the line; the cusp of hill 3551 engaging tens of enemy MECHXs in open land,

The satellite zooms in to a tank with a naked lady holding the head of Black MECHX painted on the side. His eyes fall to the dozen or so corpses. The satellite zooms in closer.

On the top left of the screen, lying flat on the large mound is a soldier whom the satellite has identified a 82% chance as Paisley Deliah. While not a high identification number, the way she curls herself up beneath the mound of dirt, he believes the computer to be correct. It must be his daughter. Because if it isn't—he doesn't want to think about that. He doesn't want to think about the possibility she's already dead.

Panic sets in as two tanks pass her, one on the left flank, the other ripping up and over the pile of dead soldiers. The tanks stop in a line on the mound of dirt. Their cannons fire. Paisley takes off behind the advancing tanks. The satellite image zooms outwards, to reveal a dozen tanks in line now, and his daughter heading towards a flipped over A-MAT Light Armored Vehicle. At the rear of the A-MAT, she opens the metal door and stumbles inside. To the right of the open door is a corpse cut in half wearing the bright blue uniform drivers wear. She exits the A-MAT with a rocket launcher in hand. More tanks have pulled up to the mound.

"They will be preparing the advance soon." Cord answers, as they both sit quietly, awaiting the engineers to finish the attachment.

More cannons fire.

Paisley continues to sprint down behind the line. The satellite images zoom outwards, only to catch a group of wounded soldiers fifty meters from Paisley. The satellite zooms in on the causality collection point, showing a woman in bright orange hair performing CPR on an unconscious soldier. The orange haired soldier stops pumping and falls back on her bottom; sweat glistens on her eyes as she stares upwards in the sky. Dried blood and mud covers her face—but Thomas knows those eyes.

The satellite image confirms a 99% identification rating on a Janett Deliah—his ex-wife.

Thomas smiles. These are his two loves.

Four soldiers fill the screen with two stretchers and two casualties between them. One is missing a lower leg; the other's injury doesn't appear external.

The camera shakes. Explosions. Clouds cover the video feed.

"Your heart rate is spiking—"

Cord overrides the feed on his end, shutting it down.

"I'll keep an eye on them for you on my end. Focus on getting the Halcyon ready to go,"

"Cord, let me—"

An elderly man in an orange jump suite fills the screen, cutting the conversation. Thomas knows him as Bill. Bill has been working and doing repairs—those of which he can—on the Halcyon ever since Thomas first familiarized himself with the suit. Bill was one of the originals who discovered the damn thing.

Behind him, many engineers are welding away on the Halcyon; performing last minute welds to connect the EMP bomb safely to the back of the suit.

"Five minutes until installation is complete,"

"Thanks,"

"No, problem. Also, I recently checked over the boosters on your left leg. The booster is dying, so don't overload it and try to keep it from running over 70%. If it runs any hotter, you might melt the coils. And if you melt the coils—"

"It can explode. I'm already aware, thanks."

Bill smirks.

"I figured you did your individual inspection, but I thought I'd mention it just in case.

"Don't worry about me. I'll keep the machine under 70%, and when I get back, we'll give it a good repair."

"You're a funny guy these days,"

Bill laughs and waves his hand to turn off the screen.

"I'll get the head bitch to search for some items. . . there has bound to be an abandoned colony out there on mars that has the parts."

"Let's hope,"

"Don't worry about it right now. Just focus on what needs to be done."

Thomas looks back at Cord.

"I trust ya," Thomas answers as he begins to type frantically.

At a moment's notice, the camera of his daughter and wife reappears on screen; overriding Cords command line.

Thomas inserts one last line, entering the Black Pod number that his wife and daughter took. He pulls up the exact grid location of the drop.

Cord, unaware that Thomas has re-established feed, moves to the next topic.

The engineers start to pull out of the hangar. The Halcyon looks ready to move.

"Remember, the drop zone will be hot. And work fast. The quicker you work, the less chance our frontline will collapse. I'm uploading the Grid of the drop zone now."

On his right screen, a barren wasteland of destroyed fields brown.

Many destroyed tanks, burning flames, and corpses litter the land. A dozen or so enemy MechXs lay flat on the ground torn to shreds.

Explosions. Thousands of men at the rear. Hundreds of tanks at the front. Fighter jets overhead.

In the distance, through a thick haze, incoming MechXs.

"Alright, prepare the Hawkeye to drop,"

Cord nods, pressing something off screen.

In front of Thomas, the large metal hangar door slowly rises; outside, in deep space, a line of blue and green—Earth.

Cord, typing, takes a sip of coffee and sets it down.

"Phase 2 engaged. I'm withdrawing the forces from the city and rerouting them to our main objective."

Cord mutes his feed, talks a few lines, the resumes talking.

"You're good to drop," Cord says,

Thomas smiles.

The female voice comes over the intercom once again.

"Preparing for launch. Standby. Standby. Standby."

Beneath the Halcyon, the floor moves like a conveyor belt, pulling the Halcyon back against the wall and locking it into place.

"Let's do this,"

The MECHX series knees bend—

Above the hangar door, three red lights flash—turning green.

"HALCYON, LAUNCHING!"

The HALCYON, at unprecedented speed, flings forward like a slingshot—flying towards earth like a comet—bursting into flames and heat as it descends the atmosphere.

The HALCYON shakes, snapping the sound barrier. Below, the large land mass, pure green, surrounded by water, slowly grows.

"The first wave of our main force will arrive at Objective Eclipse in two minutes."

The top right of the screen counts down.

"Halcyon estimates we will be there in a minute fifteen,"

Thomas turns his attention back to the real-time feed of the battlespace. The tanks that were next to his daughter and wife a moment ago, are nothing but metal pieces covered in flames. In front of the dozen tanks, two MechX have fallen, one forward with its sword still piercing the hull of the tank before combustion. A new wave of tanks roll up from the rear reserve, moving in to replace the destroyed and damaged tanks no longer able to continue the fight. They cover off in front of the destroyed MechXs. From the wreckage, twenty or so soldiers, including his daughter and wife emerge; only to split themselves amongst the tanks that move up over the mound. One by one the tanks fire, each round a direct hit on the incoming machines. He watches his wife and daughter, in a frenzy, get inside the tank with the a giant green goblin on the side.

Thomas wipes his forehead and draws his shield and sword.

He can see the site of impact.

Prepare to fight.

* * *

A hundred soldiers under the presence of a dozen machines, look above to the burning sky.

The X11Z HALCYON 177 passes through the clouds. In an instant, smoke and wind. A crater. The Halcyon has landed; crushing an MechX beneath its impact.

The soldiers cheer. Their savior is finally here.

The real battle has finally begun.

From above, Cord, staring at his computer screen, orders the many battalions under contact by enemy MECHXs in the city of Panam, to perform a forceful withdrawal of their colony. To his left and right, many on the ground command centers are calling in over the communication lines. One battalion in particular is unable to regroup: claiming to be under contact by half a dozen machines. It's calling for back up. Cord takes another sip of coffee, sweat glistening on his head. He pulls up his map of the battlespace and identifies the battalion in question. Cord looks down at his map and crosses it off in red ink as KIA.

Cord interrupts the communication line.

"Prepare for a counter attack. After the past few battles. You will be the priority target of the enemy."

Like moths to a flame, they're coming.

"You have twenty-four MechXs incoming. Our main force is are in the process of regrouping, and entering the preparation phase to reinforce, our assault beyond Hill 3551. We're taking their stronghold today. Quickly deal with these units and get moving. "

"Yeah, yeah, easier said than done," he mutters, his eyes looking left to the right, examining the four MechX that have him surrounded.

Two of the machines are dual wielding blades, the other, a sizeable two-handed mallet—the last, a shield and sword.

The computer, as always scans and pulls up the information of the enemy. And yet it's always the same. As all the information stored is on a local Halcyon Database within the machine, and the series number is used to define the unknown.

M – 'Series' 10

Height – 35 feet

Weight – 25 tons

Power – Battery

Developer – Unknown.

Year built – Unknown

"How much time do our forces need for preparation phase?"

"If you can hold your own for five minutes—"

Thomas sneers.

"I can give you eight."

Thomas slams his foot down on his accelerator, targeting the enemy MechX that is dual wielding blades.

The HALCYON launches forward at speed unmatched by the enemy MechXs. In response, the MechX raises both swords, blocking the blow of the Halcyon—air disperses, cutting through the surrounding air, and forcing the enemy machine off balance—

Immediately, the enemy MechX with the mallet raises its weapon above the Halcyons head to aid its comrade.

The Halcyon raises its shield, absorbing the mallets blow.

His mechanical feet deepen into the ground upon impact.

Left side exposed. I need to move.

In succession, Thomas raises The Halcyons left leg, striking the off-balanced MECHX right in the chest. The Machine falls.

Thomas slides the Mallet off his shield to the right, turns and slices the enemy MECHX in the right arm; Leaving the HALCYON chest exposed.

The right arm falls off the machine; forcing the hilt of the Mallet to strike the ground.

He's finished! -

Thomas pulls the Halcyons shield back, striking the MechX in the head. He boots kicks the exposed chest—launching the MechX that had a mallet into the ground.

The foot soldiers pounce, a bombardment of Rockets fills the sky—all striking the fallen machines.

"Good kill men," Thomas speaks over the radio channel.

At the corner of his eye, he can see the morale boost his presence has given.

The Halcyon jumps back and drops to a knee; bringing the Halcyons shield close to its chest, to protect the chassis.

The fallen MechX explodes; fire fills the sky, along with smoke.

"Two down,"

From behind, the other double sword wielding MechX approaches fast.

Inside the Halcyon, his pilot cabin flashes red with alarms. On screen, a radar emerges, showing many red dots filling the detector within a fifteen-kilometer radius.

Nineteen incoming MechXs in total.

The Halcyons Enhanced Pilot Battlespace Assessment flashes an -IMMEDIATE WITHDRAWL request.

Followed by computerized odds of simulated success rates.

At the very end, a small number appears on screen, showing the chance of victory after one thousand computerized simulations of the current battle; from the gathered intelligence of what the M series 9 is capable of versus the Halcyon.

12% chance of survival.

"Hey, better than last time, right?" Thomas laughs, as he spins the HALCYON to face the incoming dual-sword wielding MechX at his rear.

"Main force is here, Eastside," Cord says, typing frantically on his end.

On the Halcyons right side, many tanks, light armored vehicles, and foot soldiers in a line, crest the hill of battle—like spectators watching a ringside wrestling match.

To the screen on the left, He can see the Green goblin tank has joined the front line; pulled from the reserve forces.

In front of him, more enemy MechXs have joined the fight. He counts eleven.

His eyes fall to the tens of thousands of soldiers.

"How many klicks from the main objective?"

"Just shy of ten."

Thomas types frantically again, pulling up an ariel view of the battle space, and the main objective. An old missle silo, sticking out of the ground of a large airspace hangar.

Cord wipes his forehead of sweat, and hits enter on his keyboard.

"Allow the incoming forces to deal with these MechXs. Get to the objective and deploy the bomb."

"Yeah, that's the best bet."

Fuck, I swear to god.

The HALCYON fires forward at the incoming dual-sword wielding MechX machine.

Thomas raises his shield and pulls back his sword, the enemy MechX, with his partner, braces, raising both swords to block.

Thomas swings the Halcyon sword horizontally upwards. The MechX blocks the strike. In response, the Halcyon drops to a knee, and thrusts his shield into the chest of the MechX.

The rim of the shield hits the Chassis dead center, tearing the torso from the legs.

The machine falls in two pieces.

From a far, it's like watching an adult fighting off a bunch of well-equipped pre-teens.

Quickly, The Halcyon turns, orientating his blade. He blocks the first strike, second, third.

Thomas smirks. Behind him, the Multiple MechXs continue to advance on his position; cruising through his allies, with one objective in mind.

Bring down the Halcyon.

Twelve enemy machines surround him now.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

The cockpit continues to flash repeatedly, the simulation number of survival jumping from 5% to 7% only to fall to 2%.

"You have eleven more on their way,"

"I know,"

Cord nods. Thomas has been in this situation too many times before. Among these two soldiers, there are no worries.

"Tell our men, the moment I strike, to fire all their shit. They're being ignored. Let these fuckers know, that our soldiers are not to be ignored,"

Thomas inhales, clenching his joystick; grinding his teeth.

He hits the intercom on his machine.

"As fearless warriors, we shall fight!"

He screams to the battle space, pulling his shield up and into his chest, with his sword wielding hand, clenching the side of his body, ready to stab.

Cord takes a sip off coffee, switching through the many real-time imaging angles of the battlespace. Numerous surveillance soldiers have reported dozens of MechXs in the area that are regrouping on The Halcyons position.

They want him dead.

The Halcyon bends down, and jumps back, creating distance—fifty meters between him and the enemy. Three enemy MechXs move in behind the shield and sword-wielding machines.

Seven on one, this is getting tougher. -

Inside the cabin, Thomas performs a quick assessment of the situation.

Behind him, the enemy machines start to close in. On screen, Cord watches overhead as the Halcyon shifts the shield in his hand to hold it like a frisbee.

The Halcyon kneels, shooting forward—in a split second, the Halcyon launches the shield. The Halcyon follows the trajectory of the shield.

The MechX at the front raises his shield, unprepared to block such an object.

The Halcyon shield, slightly smaller than the torso of the enemy M series hits with such a force; the Machine is forced to engage its boosters to keep upright.

Behind the enemy machine, a trail of fire, spreading over the forested ground like flaming wings; incinerating everything and within fifteen meters behind it.

The Halcyon punches the shield—the extra force is all that's needed to send the M series backward and into the other three.

Four enemy MECHXs fall like bowling pins.

Behind him, like hyenas, many enemy MechXs take the opportunity to strike. Closing the distance.

I need to find a gap. I need to spread out.

Forced to now react, Thomas drops the Halcyon to a knee and pulls a blade from his calve—the length of the knee to heel—Thomas pulls upward, striking a Machine dead in the chest as it held an Ax. He attempts to pull the blade—

It's stuck. Fuck.

On his left, a large rectangular Mallet—

Fuck. It's going to hit! God dammit!

Thomas slams the left thruster of the Halcyon into max gear; flames burst and sputter outside the HALCYON as the left thruster, rising to 110% output, moves the HALCYON at a rate far superior to the ability of the machine. The left leg cracks and burns under the pressure; the surrounding shell of the leg emits four crescendo explosions. A flaming liquid flows from the legs cracked shell, melting and weakening the outer knee joint. The Halcyon stutters.

However, the movement is enough to re-orientate The Halcyons elbow away from the impact zone; allowing the side arm and chassis to take most of the damage. Thomas releases the dagger from the enemy machine and draws his sword.

"You bastard!" Thomas shrieks in anger, as he kicks the knee of the machine, raises his shield, and slams the machine into the ground.

Inside the cabin of the Halycon, the machine shakes—lights blare red.

Thomas screams; losing his grip on the joystick as an electrical surge passes through the cabin, tearing into his central nervous system.

His back and spine burn—as if being set on fire.

"Fire the volley!" Thomas directs Cord through clenched teeth.

Cord nods.

Thomas reaches for his controls. The Halcyon, engaging the thrusters, jumps back, again and again until he is well behind the firing line. The left arm of the Halcyon flails with the machine's movement, looking the human equivalent of a dislocated shoulder. Black oil oozes from the sides as circuits zap and pop inside the skeletal frame.

The damaged arm is barely functioning. In front of him, the wall of fifty-five thousand strong launches a volley of fire; striking a dozen enemy machines—explosions fill the ground. Black pieces of mechanical parts.

Thomas pulls out his keyboard, frantically typing

"I need cover, tell them I need cover!"

Cord looks on, he's never seen Thomas this frantic.

"On it," he says, as his eyes fall to Thomas heart rate, a steady 210 beats per minute. He watches, attune, to his best soldier glistening in sweat, to the beat of alarms blaring and flashing red lights.

Cord looks down, watching as nine M series are standing on the front line—performing mass causalities with each swing; reminding him of humans and how they can step on a colony of ants.

On the north of the battlespace, Cord launches the second attack. Hundreds of tanks, vehicles, and thousands of troops crest the hill—launching themselves into the burning conflict.

From the reserve unit, many tanks drive past the Halcyon, joining the firing line; only to be destroyed the moment they reach the battle zone.

Focus. Focus. Focus.

Thomas inhales. his eyes fall to the Green Goblin tank, still alive, still pounding shells down range.

Cords heart is pounding in anticipation. He feels like he's back in the Colony wars.

Thomas's eyes move left to right at unprecedented speeds.

Gotta calibrate, seal the potential holes. Re configuring. . .

Numerous lines of code and software on the screen; he's processing the best he can; trying to adjust for pressure, while repressurizing the left leg to minimize the loss of fluids, mainly oil and coolant. He needs to keep the main joints of the machine moving effectively.

Outside the HALYCON, the injured arm moves side to side, parts pulsing, burning hot oil hissing as it evaporates, convulsing.

Bill pops up on screen as he's sitting in the engineer hanger.

"Thomas—"

"I don't need to hear it right now, Bill! I'm right now switching blade hands. Lost the ability to raise beyond 65 degrees, Movement left to right has slowed fifty percent. Right to the left has increased fifteen percent. Ball socket exterior shattered, the interior is good. No structural damage, just functional. If you have nothing to add to that, then let me work."

"That left thruster isn't' going to hold much longer. You need to be careful. You're going to fry the cores."

Halcyon switches blade hands.

Five more M Series hit the ground.

Cord forcefully kills Bills onscreen cam—

"You do what you need to do. Thomas. Everyone is in position. We need the EMP deployed now. What's your status?"

"I got it. I'm ready."

"Good. I'll unleash the dogs. Turn on the offensive, now."

The foot soldiers and tanks open another volley. Cord watches from above as the Halcyon stands from his knee, and jumps across the front line, sprinting towards the pit. He's not waiting for an acknowledgment.

The dismounted soldiers mount back up, and now, they roar across the wastelands. A full-on assault to the main body. The final battle to take Australia.

The many MechXs attempt to follow him. The first machine closes in; Thomas engages the thrusters, pulls in his shield and launches his shield.

The machine stumbles backwards—the Halcyons foot stomps on the machines face.

The next one, Thomas drops to a knee, raises his sword, and pierces the machines leg; leaving the sword in the machine, The Halcyon, without hesitation, continues moving.

At the rear, the many mechs are forced to decide. Ignore the Unifer forces that are closing the distance to their main occupying base and go after the Halcyon. Or focus on the ever-moving wave of ground forces.

In no time at all, the Halcyon reaches the airspace hangar. There is not a machine close by; as they focus on the rolling ground soldiers.

And to Thomas's surprise, the Green Goblin is still fighting strong.

That commander deserves a medal.

Thomas jumps into the missle silo.

Darkness.

The Halcyon falls, the sound of thrusters in the circular hole echoes as he slows his descent.

And from above, he watches as the satellite image, focused on the line of tanks, begins to blur—tanks exploding, people running, and yet the tank Green Goblin.

The HALCYON hits the ground floor—four long tunnels on each side. Silence.

From above, blue sky and clouds.

I must be like three hundred meters deep.

Suddenly, the sounds, as distant as being on the moon.

There is a deep contrast of serenity in this old silo; compared to the battlefield above. To the left, right, front, and rear flanks, there are large corridors atleast two hundred feet tall and wide. A dozen m series machines with dozens of machines, line the wall.

With a quick computer calculation, sonar fields omit from all sides of the Halcyon. As the sonar sounds bounce back to the Halcyon, a map is built. That of enough space to house one hundred M series suits: and an underground bunker the size of a city.

Thomas swallows hard. Surely what he's seeing isn't possible.

A massive explosion rips through the sky—and Thomas watches in awe as the Hawkeyes pull back, turning the blurry, static filled screen to small breaks of information. The screen freezes—Thomas eyes glow wide—thirty more M series Mechs, joining the fight.

"Deploy the bomb Thomas! The soldiers are falling back!—"

HOW? WHERE DID THEY COME FROM?

The screen cackles in and out as Cord throws his headphones, watching numerous screens—the static fills the air.

An unprecedented ambush awaited.

And for the first time, Panic fills him as he looks up at the orange and black tinted sky outside the missile silo.

Thomas watches as the tanks all around Green Goblin explode—The tank falls back from the line of advancing MechXs. Reversing as fast as it can, digging itself into the burning brush. The air thickens as oil and gas burns. The hawkeyes lose and regain feed sporadically.

Mud flies up, pieces of bodies coat the side splashing the Green Goblin red.

Hell.

More static. The image cuts.

Quickly, Thomas throws the bomb off the Halcyon and drops it.

Bending over, he presses the top three buttons; inserts a five numeric code and deploys the Electromagnetic pulse bomb.

The bomb shoots out three poles into the ground and begins to pulse and vibrate.

Four minutes, fifty-five seconds.

Quickly, Thomas rushes to one of the M series Mechs, grabs a shield and places it on his left arm.

It looks odd, considering the shield is half the size of the Halcyons original. But it will do.

Thomas draws his secondary sword, clenching his teeth.

He hates leaving his equipment on the battlefield; after all, you can't just replace it.

Time to go. --edit--

Thomas inhales, looking at his left booster; cracked and oozing.

He prays he can make it up the wall.

The Halcyon squats, he holsters his sword and extends his free arm. Quickly, the he launches the boosters and begins to climb. As quick as he can he reaches the top, and yet, his eyes distracted on the video feed of the A1114 tank.

He hits the surface—the battlefield was not how he left it.

The whole world looks to be on fire—.

"THOMAS GET OUT OF THERE!"

"WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED!"

"THEY'RE DROPPING BALLS OF FIRE—"

More static fills the air, cutting through the sound and audio—the image of the tank retreating under fire from many directions, and an enemy MECHX gaining—Four balls of flames fill the sky: descending.

Thomas takes off in the direction of enemy machines, a line of thirty have appeared, all taking notice of his presence.

Of HALCYON.

"Fuck!"

Thomas screams; raises both fists and smashes the armrests.

Inside the chassis, lights flash all around him; the blaring alarms sound off the panic for him.

The Halcyons Enhanced Pilot Battlespace Assessment flashes an -STARTI-IMMEDIATE WITHDRAWL-END- request.

Survival chance? 0%