

The First Private

Book 1 in The Galactic Crusade trilogy.

By Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

All rights reserved by Pablo Andres Wunderlich Padilla 2018

Edited by Monique Happy

Military Editing by Norman Meredith

Cover Art by Gabriele D'Aleo

Cover Design by Tom Edwards

—1—

"Don't do it! Go, and you're as good as dead," says Mario, looking suspiciously from side to side. The halls are empty. But even empty halls have open ears.

"Argo, you know how things are. You know ÆTAS has no hope. The hegemony was stripped from its drones during the Multidrone War, and you know as well as I do that war is won with drones—and the Megachine has more than one billion! All is lost. There is no hope. Best thing you can do is shut up, do your work, and keep your head down. The war will end soon anyway. ÆTAS is weakened beyond hope."

Mario is right on one account: the Megachine is powerful. Its power is not the product of luck. Its power came from the confederation of China, North Korea, and all their conquered lands, including the whole of Latin America, all the way from Mexico to the Patagonia.

Those old enough to remember back in the day say the third world war was apocalyptic. It started in the year 2034 and ended in the year 2045. Most believe the war never ended. It just began a new phase. The phase of world domination on behalf of the prevailing side.

The nuclear bombs rained down during those harsh years. Nuclear blasts and mushroom clouds governed the earth. That's when nuclear winter hit, the sky was blacked out, and the temperature plummeted.

The United States, the great hegemonic power at the time, was too distracted defending Western Europe. That's when Leonardo Chavez, with the help of a drone army supplied by China, took advantage and conquered Latin America in a single blitzkrieg.

The battle that conquered Latin America didn't even last a month. That was in the year 2045, right at the end of World War III. Afterwards, that bastard Chavez baptized his new conquered land as SLAV: Socialized Latin America under Venezuelan rule. Later that year, Chavez pledged himself to the Megachine, and thus the confederation became global.

"Argo, listen. Listen to me, dammit!" says Mario, his gaze constantly scanning the hallway. It's a hospital after all. People are constantly coming and going.

You can't trust anybody, or anything, these days. Eyes are everywhere. Ears come in many shapes. Spies will eagerly turn in their own to earn a couple of Venezuelan bolivares.

I've often thought of Mario as a spy. He fits the personality, the type of guy who would turn me in for a fancy dinner, or even less than that. We've been friends since we started studying medicine to become doctors in this forsaken land. Took me long enough to graduate, only to realize there is no better quality of life even in a profession like ours.

"You can't do this! You know what's happened to those who oppose the Megachine. ÆTAS will inevitably fall. Let them fall, I say. Let them lose. It's not our skin, anyway."

"I don't know, man. Can't just let them win. Just can't..."

"Always tunnel-visioned, Argo. The grass is always greener, you know. Once there, you'll regret it."

"You're just jealous I've got the balls to do it," I joke.

"It's just dumb. Nobody jumps ship to board a sinking one."

There was once a rebel group called the the CRC, Citizens Rebelling against Chavism. It was quickly dispatched by SLAV and its special forces army, with only a few members remaining well hidden in dungeons and sewers. To survive, they basically became like rats. SEDISU, the name of the special forces army, made people disappear with too much ease for my taste.

"You will allow socialism and the pigs who dictate to take over humanity? And without a fight? You're crazy. A coward."

Mario licks his lips. He hates being called a coward. But he is one. Always has been the type of guy riding the wave. He'll never oppose it.

"You still believe in that old fallacy called freedom. You think that ÆTAS was created out of thin air? It was formed because the allies lost World War III! And then they lost the Multidrone War! The only way to survive was to form a hegemony in the land once known as the United States of America, where ÆTAS now hides in the shade, desperately holding on for dear life. They are surrounded on all fronts. The Megachine is poised for the deathblow. Just lay back. Watch the spectacle. It's only a matter of months before the war is over."

"I just can't," I say.

"Do you know why they are losing?

"Why?"

"Because they no longer have drones. No drones. None. Nada."

"So?"

"You're blind and pathetic. You well know modern wars are fought and won with drones. If you don't have them, guess what? It's flesh and bones who fight wars. Flesh and bone against drones, and you and I are well aware of the outcome. Flesh can't fight metal. Metal grinds flesh. It's that simple."

"We will fight the drones with courage, strength, and honor," I say, imitating the propaganda that filters in from the north, mostly distributed by ÆTAS supporters—at great risk of being found by SEDISU soldiers.

"We, as in you and the ÆTAS?"

"Yeah."

"Who do you think goes to the frontlines?" says Mario with a sudden flare of anger.

"Soldiers, cadets, captains, we all battle as one army." I'm suddenly unsure of what I'm saying.

Mario laughs out loud. This draws unnecessary attention from some nurses. When they've turned a corner, he says, "They send people like you. Immigrants from the socialist lands who left their homes to fight under their banner. If you go, you'll become cannon fodder. You'll end up buried under thousands of shells and dead bodies. There is no hope, Argo. There is only death or submission. Choose."

"It's minds like yours that allowed SLAV to be created in the first place," I say with a surge of rage. "The attitude of the cowardly who would see their friends and family die and not move a muscle as they perish, but would accept the situation as if ordained by some god."

"Such a poet. You are quite convinced about going, aren't you? This is not you talking, Argo. I've known you for almost nine years, since we signed up to become doctors. This is Carmen speaking, that sweet girl who'll never give you but a single kiss. I know you love her. And she has courage. Not you. She must've brainwashed you. Am I right?"

I feel my face flush.

ÆTAS has been recruiting soldiers for decades. You'd better not be seen by a drone or a security Anzhou reading one of those banners. ÆTAS is in desperate need of foot soldiers in the absence of drones. And they know people like me are eager for change. So, they freely allow immigrants into their land, guaranteeing a new citizenship card and all, fair wages and even a home, in exchange for ten years of service in the military. Ten years is all they ask. I would give my life for a chance to fight the Megachine in exchange for such a prize.

I was born in the year 2070, when nuclear winter had already blocked the sun and poisoned the air. I've never seen the sun, only read about light phenomena like sunrise and sunset. I was born in the Megachine and have never been out of this land, which they say was once called Guatemala. This country was once part of Central America, but all that is now gone. It's still called SLAV by some who support Chavez, but most of us call it Megachine.

Mario is about to continue his campaign, trying to dissuade me from migrating to ÆTAS, when heavy steps are heard across the hall. The sound is ominous. A punitive march. Heavy legs smashing against the floor. The buzz of drones becomes audible, and both Mario and I start to shake.

An enormous military-grade Anzhou is on its usual patrol. Above it two Wasp-class drones hover. The Anzhou is all metal, without a single soft edge to make you feel comfortable in its presence.

Anzhou–it's rough and deadly. It has two humanlike powerful legs with many joints and bolts, allowing it agile movement. Its feet are big and heavy, able to crush a man's skull with a single thump. Its pelvis is small and joins its legs to a large torso with pistons and many moveable parts holding together its two long humanlike arms. In its hands it holds a W-85 12.7 mm heavy machine gun, equipped with a large bayonet below the muzzle. The large rifle is held tight in its hands across its chest, at the ready to aim and kill. The head is small, round, and shiny without decoration. Its eyes are all black and have a glitter, as if they're possessed by a devil.

The Wasps are the typical war drone, the most common multipurpose tactical drone you'll see deployed in the field. Be it patrolling or attacking in hoards, the Wasp is considered the deadliest because of its versatility and agility in the air. Wasps are yellow and black in color and have four small gyrocopter blades that allow for precise movements. Underneath its yellow carapace, it possesses six small cameras that look like eyes and two small caliber SMGs.

Two SEDISU officers walk at the side of the giant Anzhou in their green and red military uniforms and hats, with both with their arms folded across the back. Those assholes. They walk chin-up as if they are better than you.

Sedition. Dissolution. Suppression. That's what the acronym stands for. And they perform those tasks well.

The patrol party walks past us, the Anzhou and its terror-inspiring gaze studying each of us dressed in our scrubs and lab coats. I drop my gaze to the floor and hope not to be a person of interest. There's nothing worse than an Anzhou being interested in you. Then you get interviewed by the human soldiers, asked for your ID and permits, and, if unsatisfied, the Anzhou and Wasps have the authority to execute you on the spot.

They march right past us. Mario sighs as they walk by. I feel my heart thumping up to my neck. I grew up alone. My parents were killed in a raid that was disposing of CRC rebels. The SEDISU simply bombarded a whole area, in which, unfortunately, my parents were being transported through the metrorail.

Alone and in despair, it was through Carmen and Jorge that I eventually overcame depression and entered medical school. Becoming a doctor was supposed to make you some sort of superior citizen. But honestly, it's a living hell for everybody.

Wages are almost none. Food is the only thing enjoyable, but even that runs scarce when you have few coins to spare. We depend on government-issued rice and beans, and you have a fixed allotment per month. Runs out, tough luck.

"Oh shit...they've found a person of interest," says Mario, still pale.

I study the patrol and see that they have stopped a man walking down the hall. The interview seems to be going well, the standard questions are being asked. Suddenly the man yelps and begins to run down the hall.

People around him flee as they see the man running with two drones hovering over him. In less than a second, the Wasps open fire and reduce him to a pulp. The sound of the SMGs roaring makes me shiver. You hear it every day. I hate that sound. I hate when they kill some innocent guy for stupid reasons, like forgetting your ID or simply by acting odd or appearing like a spy.

"And there you have it," says Mario, as we walk away briskly from the scene. "There's an example of what you're up against if you join ÆTAS. You better think twice."

I feel a trickle of urine down my leg at the thought of fighting against machines like those.
—2—

I'm startled by the roar of several warships flying over the hospital. Gigantic machines of death piloted by SLAV air forces. But those technological beasts can be automated as well.

As I leave my job, I do my best to appear as poor and disheveled as the average man. I cover myself from the cold, and from radiation. You'd think being a doctor would give you some sort of social status. No one gives a damn. A white coat or a pair of scrubs is a sign of you having a couple of Venezuelan bolivares. Even though the average petty crime is punishable by death on the spot by Wasps, some would risk robbing you just for an extra bolivar. Times are hard.

The streets are a cemetery of old electric cars and gas motor vehicles, accumulating dust and rust as time eats away at old paint. Streets are for walking or riding an old bike, but it's difficult with so many obstacles, old debris from the war. You wanna get someplace far, you use the metrorail. I usually walk. My home isn't far from the hospital.

I walk fast. I avoid people asking for money. I try not to make eye contact. A group of glue-sniffing junkies seem to be praying to a fire burning in a trash can. A few gunshots are heard at a distance, followed by the rampage of an Anzhou's 12.7 caliber. I suddenly come to a stop and sniff around like a hound. That smell...that sweet delicious smell...

My apartment is near. I can see it. But I just can't resist. I have to eat grilled church pigeon. I close in on the small kiosk with clouds of smoke from the grill coming from its chimney. I greet the cook, "Hey, Narg."

"What'll it be today?" He's never been the chatty type.

"Two church pigeons with special sauce."

"Ain't got no pigeon. Out of order. Got only grilled rat and mushed roaches."

"Damn. Then I'll take a grilled rat with special sauce."

"Mushed roaches on the side?"

"No roaches today, thanks."

I notice three men on small stools at the side of the kiosk, talking in silence. One notices me, but quickly loses interest and resumes talking in a low tone.

"That'll be three bolivares," says Narg, handing me the grilled pigeon. Smells amazing.

"Three! That's absurd!"

"Hey, man. Shit's expensive these days."

I grumble and hand over three bolivares in coins. Narg wears a gown stained with blood. You can hear the animals squeaking and squealing under the counter. The cook's face is riddled with skin cancer, the type of patient you'd see in the clinics.

I once had a friend who had an illegal rat farm in his house so he could eat meat without regulation. Then, one day, I never heard from him again. When people disappear, you just assume they're dead. I was once tempted to start a rat farm myself. I had caught a small one in my home and was thinking about keeping it for breeding. After thinking it through, I concluded it wasn't worth it. Government has eyes and ears everywhere, and I know they'd know about my rat farm within a day.

I bite the delicious tortilla-wrapped grilled rat. That crunch, the delicious juices, and the tortilla made just to the point of being soft and crunchy at the same time. I walk off daydreaming, enjoying meat for the first time in weeks. I'm halfway through the taco and notice something's wrong. I peek over my shoulder. I'm being followed by three people. No, not the three guys from the kiosk. Other people.

I'm not sure what this is about, but the only illegal thing I've done is talk smack about SLAV and daydream about joining up with ÆTAS. The latter alone could be enough to sentence me to instantaneous death by the Wasps.

I hurry over to my apartment complex, taking a shortcut created by junk from the wars. I'm heading upstairs when I hear my name, "Argo! Stop! Argo!"

I turn around expecting the worst, the half-eaten taco in my hand. A smile creeps up my face, and I feel the tension release from my body.

"Carmen! Jorge! What's going on?" There's a third man with them, an Asian guy I've never seen. He looks healthy for a person in SLAV.

"Argo! It took us long enough to find you," says Carmen. She's dressed like me, a poor citizen with whatever garment she found in her home to shield her skin from cold and fallout. A scarf is wrapped around her mouth and nose to stop pollution from getting into her lungs.

She walks over. Her brown eyes glisten with courage and excitement. Her brown hair is tied in a ponytail. If I could see her curves and body, I would see powerful legs, a solid abdomen with a powerful core, and two firm and attractive small breasts. I've always liked her, ever since we met on the day we signed into medical school. I've tried winning her over. It's been impossible. She calls me friend every time I try to make a move. Once I tried kissing her at a party. As soon as we touched lips, she stepped back and hugged me, calling me friend.

"What's up, Argo," says Jorge with his hands on his hips. He's never been troubled by the effects of pollution and radiation. He doesn't mind the cold much. He's always known he'll eventually end up with lymphoma or lung cancer. He's the type of guy who somehow knows he may not live long enough to care about lymphoma anyway.

"Argo, it's time. I think the SEDISU has word of our little discussions of going up north, and it's only a matter of time before they come for us," she says with fear in her eyes. If she's afraid, then I'm definitely afraid.

"What! So soon!" I yelp.

"It is what it is. Hey, can I have a bite of that taco?" she says, taking the food from my hand and sticking it into her mouth before I can argue. She takes a huge bite. I cringe. I hate it when she does this. She gives me back a small piece with barely any meat left. Before Jorge can ask for a bite, I push the rest into my mouth and swallow it whole.

"This is Xi," says Carmen. The man named Xi steps forward and greets me with a nod. "He's our pilot to freedom," says Carmen.

My heart races as I study Xi's face. Clean. No skin cancer marks anywhere. Must be from anywhere but SLAV. Now it makes sense. He has to be one of those coyotes in the service of ÆTAS who get paid to bring in immigrants willing to take the offer of becoming a citizen for ten years of service. Coyotes are killed on the spot when caught. He could be trouble.

Xi takes a hand to his ear and presses a small button on a device in his ear. His face goes pale and says with pressed words, "Guys! I've been warned that SEDISU soldiers are closing in on our position," he says. "We have to leave now!"

"What! So sudden! I need time to get ready!" I say, looking at my apartment, which is so close. The door is just right there, a few steps away.

"There's no time," yells Carmen. "And none of your belongings matter anyway. All of that will get tossed once we enlist in the army."

"She's right," says Jorge, pulling me by the arm. "All the stuff you take is worthless to them. So better come now or die a meaningless death by a Wasp."

"Now or never!" says Xi, growing inpatient.

We break into a run when the first buzzing sound is heard in the distance. It's a patrol party, which could be searching for us. None of us wants to find out if that's the case.

Xi takes us to a wasteland cluttered with remnants from the war. After splashing in contaminated water and radioactive debris, we are suddenly inside a tunnel. We crawl as fast as possible, scaring off vermin in the process. I see a dead rat. I have the urge to take it with me but know I can't for fear of acute poisoning from rotten flesh. We are suddenly running in an old parking lot. After running up the several stories of stairs, we find ourselves at the ceiling of an old and broken building. We all pant.

"Let's go! Board the mastiff now!" yells a soldier in uniform with a rifle across his chest, standing in front of an ÆTAS warship. He called the ship a mastiff. A name I've never heard of. I have a few seconds to admire it. It's the size of a small bus and appears heavily armored. Its hull seems thick. It has two wings and a small tail, with a missile pod on each side, and a multi-cannon gun on its underbelly. Its four rotating jet nozzles pulse hot air in all directions, sending off small tornadoes of dust. This warship–mastiff–is much more advanced than the ones used by SLAV. I can tell by how the jet nozzles move. The warship is hovering very close to the ground!

We get in the aircraft and two soldiers buckle us up in seconds. I notice there's a guy already aboard when we get in. I have no time to look at him, but I know we'll meet at some point. I'm now tight against the hull, pale and feeling refluxed pigeon burning my throat.

"Go! Go! Go!" and suddenly we are flying at an incredible speed.
—3—

"This is the part of our escape that get's dicey! Hold on!" yells the pilot.

"Hold on, recruits!" echo the soldiers aboard.

I instantly get nervous and tighten myself as best I can to the security belt. The hull is shaking and provides little comfort.

"What's going on?" asks Carmen. If she's scared like I am, she's hides it well.

"The Megachine has a heavy patrol of autodrones roaming its skies at all moments. We have to fly low and fast to avoid detection. Once detected, we're as good as dead," says the guy who was already aboard when we got here.

I look at him for a couple of seconds. He irritates me. Something about him makes me want to rebel against him. To say no to all his statements. To condescend to him so I can feel superior. And with a jolt I realize what I've thought, and my wanting to feel superior to him suddenly makes me feel inferior. Now I hate him even more. And we haven't even met.

He's thin but athletic. He wears a simple tunic made of cotton with his forearms exposed, which are packed with veins from the ripped muscles underlying them. A poorly made tattoo is visible on his left forearm, a figure of a cross I do not recognize. He wears a simple farmer's hat that shades his hawk's gaze. This guy is a hunter. He is a warrior even while dressed as a simple field peasant. I'm a doctor, god dammit. And yet, this farmer is much more than I am. Who is he? He has brown skin, a square jaw, intense thick brows, and nothing seems to escape his intelligent eyesight. Bastard. As the seconds pass, I hate him even more, and I don't know why.

"Why do you know that. Pardon the question, buy you seem like a...farmer...?" says Carmen in an apologetic flirty tone. I feel a dagger plunged into my stomach. It hurts me to see Carmen flirting with others. She is the prettiest, hottest girl you'll ever lay eyes on. Mario disagrees. To hell with that, to each his own.

"I can't escape the farmer stereotype, now can I?" he says jokingly. "My family used to have plenty of land way back before the Chavistas took over Latin America. We don't own anything now, but at least we are allowed to work the fields of corn the government uses to feed its citizens. My family has sent recruits up north for almost thirty years now. When you turn twenty-five, you get to choose to either continue farming or enlist in the ISF. This is my choice, like my father, and his father. I'll fight SLAV and the Megachine down to the last breath."

"Are you sure they take peasants in the army?" My question is loaded with venom. I want to sting this guy. Get away from Carmen!

He whips his gaze toward me. I instantly cower down and can't meet him in the eye. He stares at me for a long thirty seconds and then says with a chuckle and a light mood, "They'll take anybody up there. They're desperate for soldiers. Anybody who can pull a trigger and follow simple orders makes it in," he explains.

"ISF?" asks Carmen, ignoring me and my stupid question.

"Immigrant Special Forces," explains the farmer. "Believe me, there's not much special about it. It's the name they use for propaganda, you know, marketing. Makes it sound cool. Nothing special about it, really. It's the army formed by every immigrant, no matter where you come from. But most come from Latin America. North America is ÆTAS territory. Anything east of the globe is gone. Western Europe is vaporized, a cemetery of radioactive fallout. Eastern Europe was overtaken by the Megachine. Everything else is owned by them, so there's really not a whole lot of immigrants coming from any other part of the world."

Carmen is fascinated. I am pissed. Jorge, like Carmen, is in awe, listening to him speak. This guy does command attention, and does so naturally.

"But I thought we would be part of the same army as the Ætians," I say, sounding like a dweeb.

"So does everybody else who doesn't know what they're getting into. ÆTAS has its own army by the name of ÆRMY. That shit's closed for us immigrants. Hate to tell you."

This doesn't sound good to me at all. I wanted to be part of ÆTAS in all senses. Not just an army of immigrants under its command. Suddenly I'm not so sure about this mission anymore. Maybe Mario was right all along.

"My name's Gabriel Perez," says the farmer with a smile. "A pleasure, battle brothers to be."

"I'm Carmen Johnson." She shakes hands with Gabriel. I burn in jealousy as they touch.

"I'm Jorge Merida. And this grumpy guy is Argo Herrero. We were all doctors back in SLAV, or Megachine, however you call it nowadays. That career is behind us now. Right guys?"

"Right!" says Carmen with enthusiasm. "I was so ready to get out of that forsaken hospital. It's just so depressing. There's no point in treating radiation-induced diseases when the government provides little aid to support the ill. The best way to cure the afflicted—and we'll all develop lymphoma or leukemia at some point, don't worry— is to bring the Megachine down and get medical support from ÆTAS. We need the nanotech to cure and prevent those illnesses."

The mastiff trembles. The machine gun roars, its flashing muscle painting the insides of the cabin pulsing death. The sound makes me tremble, the flash makes me jump. I try to get in a fetal position, impeded by the belt holding me tight to the hull. Seated, I stick my hands under my legs and close my eyes shut.

Something whistles past us at incredible speed. The mastiff dips violently and turns sideways. The maneuver shakes my innards, and I can feel the grilled rat on my tongue. I swallow some vomit and do my best not to hurl.

"Look! We're being escorted by several stormbirds!" yells Gabriel with amazement. He can see them through the small windows. Carmen tries to see as well, but she's limited by her position in the hull.

"We're safe now. We've cleared the skies patrolled by autodrones," says the pilot. I see the other soldiers near the cockpit breathe with more ease. I can finally relax.

A hologram takes form in the cockpit, suspended in mid-air at one side of the window. I see a military commander wearing a black beret. A long scar makes its way from his forehead, down his right eye and onto his cheek, like a dried-up river. On his left upper chest, I can make out four golden stars.

"General Wrath! Lieutenant Xi, sir!" says the pilot as he salutes. I see the other soldiers in the cabin tensing up at the sound of the general's name. Even Gabriel seems to have tensed up. None of us understand who this guy is or why he's important.

Lieutenant? I think to myself. And all this time I thought Xi was a coyote.

"How many, Lieutenant?" asks the general with a stern voice. He seems despondent. Almost sad.

"Only four. I know, too little, again," says Xi.

"It's more than nothing. Rendezvous with transport at Rio Grande Checkpoint. The elephants will take care of them from there. Good luck in recruiting more."

"It's getting harder, General. The SEDISU is getting better at tracking us," says Xi.

"Soon there won't be need to recruit more. Wrath out," and he disconnects. The hologram disappears.

"Did you understand any of that," asks Carmen looking at Gabriel. "Such lack of enthusiasm."

"Don't know. I guess we'll find out very soon."

***

The mastiff plunges and lands abruptly, jet nozzles sending off dust and vortices of wind. The doors on its side pop open with a jolt, allowing entry of the sterile winds of the wasted land. There are mountains around us, which makes me think they'll protect us from autodrone attacks. I hope.

"Red alert! Red alert!" yell the sirens. A red light pulses like hell suddenly opened its doors and was about to devour us.

"Recruits! Disembark the mastiff and get to the elephant!" yells the soldier who is unbuckling us. He notices we're petrified, especially me.

"Follow that guy!" he says, pointing a finger at Gabriel, who's already running through the wasteland toward the large transport ship amidst the gusts of wind.

Carmen goes first, followed by Jorge and then me. I stick to Jorge as close as I can, covering my eyes to keep the dust out of my eyes. The smell of the forgotten invades my nostrils. The land is dead, and from the depths, a putrid smell surfaces. Perhaps it's the radioactive decay in action, killing Earth's soul.

Two ÆRMY soldiers grab me by the arms and fling me inside the elephant. These guys are gigantic! I had never seen such big humans in my life.

"Buckle up, recruits! Make haste or die! Let's go! Move! Move! Move!"

We run in desperation toward empty seats and buckle up as fast as possible. The door slides shut with a thump. Before I'm securely fastened up, the ship is already departing at full throttle.

The elephant is gigantic, with a hundred or more recruits within its belly. It's turbines roar and propel us slowly up into the air. I can feel that rat churning in my belly, and once again I feel the need to hurl. I know I shouldn't have eaten that, but then again, it might have been my last bite of meat for a long time.

ÆRMY soldiers are standing in front of us, buckled to the hull, leering at us as if we were lesser people. In some sense, we are. These soldiers appear too large to be the product of nature. Something tells me genetic manipulation bred such monsters.

Their heads are too large, as are their bodies, to have come out of a mother's womb. Well, unless their mothers were equally as large. Their muscles pop out of their green uniforms. Across their chests, a large assault rifle lays at the ready to punch through flesh and gears. I would guess if you have to fight machines with humans, you'd better get extra-large humans to be successful.

Then why would ÆTAS need us, poor and lanky immigrants, as foot soldiers? If in fact ÆTAS has run out of resources, they may well have only a handful of these super soldiers and can't afford to lose them in battle. Better to lose some immigrant, right? Those bastards. Coming here was starting to seem even more of a mistake.

"Welcome, recruits!" says a hologram that forms in mid-air above us. It's big and blue in color. The sound is loud and booming, echoing within the main cabin.

"ÆTAS is honored to have you. We greatly appreciate your sacrifice in joining our forces to battle the Megachine! Without your help, we would be lost. Welcome to the Allies Engaged against Totalitarianism And Socialism. You should feel proud of yourselves. Your parents would be proud of you as well, as would your countrymen, those who could not join our forces! You and you alone are the key to stop the menace that rages against our world! You are the solution! You are the mighty, the strong, and the brave! You will begin your military career among the ISF. May it be long. May it be victorious."

The hologram is a military guy, a sergeant or captain perhaps, wearing a beret, who speaks in a thick and loud voice. His sight is epic and seems to be staring at infinity.

"Soldiers will begin walking among you for you to sign the contract that binds you to the ISF for ten years."

The gigantic soldiers begin to walk up to each seated immigrant, towering over each like a wolf atop a mouse. Each carries a digital pad and a digital pen where each immigrant signs his own contract with the ISF.

"Sign here," I'm told by the giant.

I take the pad in my hands. My grandma used to say not to sign anything without reading the contract first. And I see no terms and conditions prior to signing. That makes me nervous.

"Could I...is there a way...you know, I'd like to read the terms and conditions. Can't just sign...blindly."

The soldier laughs a terrible mock and then give me a death stare, "Can you believe this rat-eater wants to read the fucking contract?"

"What? That's the first thing you received, probably years ago," says a second soldier.

"Argo," says Carmen beside me, "I sent you the contract. Didn't you read it? Argo! You had to read it the day I sent it to you. That was almost a year ago." Carmen's pissed too. And with good reason. Her email must've gotten lost in all the governmental junk we get emailed day after day. Without a private computer, it's hard reading emails. You have to go to the public library, and that's always a pain. Shit.

"Sign here or you're out of this ship. And it's a long way down," says the soldier with a grin.

I sigh. I have no idea what I'm getting into. I sign with the digital pen and give the pad back. I try to sleep the rest of the way.
—4—

"Red alert! Red alert!" yells the siren in the elephant.

"Recruits! Go! Go! Go! We're at war, god dammit! Move out!" yells a soldier.

A stampede of terrorized immigrants runs out of the elephant in disorder, each running for his own life, several getting trampled in the process. I hear people screaming in pain, others yelling for their loved ones. This is chaos at its finest. I see Gabriel, the only one who seems calm in this storm. My instincts tell me to follow him. I stick to the guy as close as I can, and I notice both Jorge and Carmen are behind me. They thought the same thing.

The stampede of immigrants enters a gigantic concrete platform measuring at least a mile across. I notice it's nighttime by the absence of glare in the sky. There are many stormbirds and mastiffs stationed nearby and various buildings at the edge of the platform. We must be at some base. The elephant closes its hatch like the maul of a beast and pulses up into the air.

People, two of them, lie motionless on the floor. They must have been injured during the stampede. Trampled, they could be hurt badly. Or dead. Nobody moves a finger to save them. I guess nobody knew them. And the soldiers certainly don't seem to care.

"Welcome to the ISF! The Immigrant Special Forces. As of this moment, you are earning fifty dollars an hour for your service to ÆTAS! We thank you for your sacrifice. We know you left loved ones and your land behind in search for freedom from tyranny. Welcome to New Miami, a military base where recruits such as yourselves are prepared for glorious battle.

"War is the great redeemer, that one purifier and awe-inspiring equalizer that brings man near his soul at the very last moment. Your training will last four total weeks, and no longer, after which you will engage real enemies. You will learn how to kill, how to destroy drones. You will find your inner hero. We will provide you the necessary elements to achieve greatness.

"You've all heard the stories. And they are true. ÆTAS has no more drones to fight with. We have depleted our resources fighting the Megachine. We have been consumed by the enemy, whose relentless attacks have drowned us to the point of total chaos. This has pushed ÆTAS to develop several alternatives to fight enemy drones, and one is the ISF, specialized in taking down the machines that do the Megachine's bidding."

A group of officials surround the hundreds of immigrants, like wolves controlling a herd. These wear military berets, identical to the soldier talking to us, who I can't see amidst so many people.

"I am Captain Simmons. I am in charge of this newly formed company. Consider yourselves as enlisted soldiers. You're all first class Privates from now on. Getting here earned you that first rank. Most of you have never heard of the simple yet effective ÆTAS army ranks and a chain of command, so I will say this only once. Four soldiers make a squad. Six squads make a platoon. Eight platoons make a company. Three companies make a battalion. Three battalions make a regiment. Three regiments make a division. Three divisions make a corps. Your corps—the ISF— is but one of many in the ÆRMY. Understood? The General of the army is Rasu Wrath."

The Captain walks around and in between us. He studies each individually, sizing up the soldiers he received for training. He doesn't seem displeased, but I can't say he's satisfied either. He is of average height, has blond hair under the black military beret, and wears a blue uniform with a nice silver insignia on the left shoulder representing his rank. I don't know how high a rank a Captain is, but his calm gaze and calculated speech makes me think he's pretty up there. The other officers around us, unlike him, stare us down with hatred. Intimidation seems to be their mission.

"Good. Let the games begin. First things first. Squads. You will be allowed to choose your own. Each squad is to have four members. Go! Choose wisely! Your life will depend on it!"

We all scramble. Chaos begins anew. The first thing I do is reach out and grab Gabriel by an arm. Carmen and Jorge copy my behavior, and soon we huddle together to avoid getting pushed or trampled.

"The four immigrants from what was once Guatemala. Nice," says Gabriel. He doesn't seem bothered by having a loser like me in his squad. But I can't help but ask myself how Gabriel can manage to smile in this disaster. Is he enjoying this? It almost seems like he's done this before.

"Choose a squad leader!" yells Captain Simmons.

Common sense says to chose Gabriel. But the last thing I want to do is take orders from Gabriel and have to listen to him yelling at us. "I vote for Carmen," I yell as fast as I can.

"Me? Argo, you're crazy!"

"Sounds good to me. I vote for her too," says Gabriel.

"I do to," says Jorge.

Carmen isn't happy at all and says, "You idiots! Our leader should be Gabriel! He seems to know what he's doing!"

"I want six squad leaders to join up! Choose wisely, as this will become your platoon!"

Carmen has no time to argue about her newly appointed position, and she quickly hunts down those squad leaders who seem strong or agile. In less than thirty seconds, eight total platoons have been formed.

"Good. Get to know your platoon well, Privates. They will save your life, or guarantee you death. Competent or incompetent, they are now your battle brothers. Lieutenants! Choose a platoon!"

Eight of the officers surrounding us move in. A fierce-looking lieutenant approaches our platoon. He's of medium height, but what he lacks in being tall he has in that penetrating stare. His brows are thick, bordering his pitch-black eyes. His jaw is square. He spews bad-ass down to the core. His pace is confident, carrying himself with pride.

"Attention!" yells the officer with a thick accent. I can tell it's not Latin American. Likely European.

Our newly formed platoon scrambles and forms in a straight line, each behind the other.

"You incompetent rat-eaters! Get down and gimme ten! ... Eight! Nine! ..."

It's been a while since I've done any push-ups, or even any physical exertion beyond running away from patrol units. My arms tremble, and I can barely stand up after ten. I'm the last one to stand up. The lieutenant walks toward me and pushes me down to the floor. "Gimme five more, you fucking rat-eater! That's right. I wanna see you eat the concrete floor! Chest to the ground, wetback!"

The bastard has a grip of cold steel. When I'm done, my whole body's shaking. I can feel that rat taco still making its way up my throat.

"On your feet, Private!"

I stand up with great difficulty and finally manage to hurl digested food. The smell is disgusting, but the color is worse. My platoon begins to laugh, a mistake I pay for as well.

"You're incompetent! Fools who think joining the ISF was a good idea! You don't laugh when one of your own is down, you hear! Gimme twenty! Let's go!"

As we struggle through the push-ups, the lieutenant walks in between us, kicking some in the belly while he does so, and yells, "My name is Lieutenant Octavio Cotillas, formerly from Spain, now under a pile of dead shit and radioactive corpses. You and I will be as close as flesh and bone, intimate as fingernails and the shit stuck on them after you wipe! I am your savior! I am your destroyer! You are driftwood, a disgrace brought in from a disgraceful land where not even your own wanted you! But I, destroyer of abominations such as yourselves, will take the time to make decent soldiers out of your miserable bodies! You will get mind-fucked and body-destroyed! I will invade your psyche and become your nastiest dream! I will yell at you as you take a shit so you learn to poop in less than ten seconds! And you will accept me as your savior! On your feet! I didn't hear you!"

"Yes!" we yell together.

"You will address me as sir. Is that clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"I feel sad you're the last hope the world has against the Megachine. You're all as good as dead as far as I can tell. When a Wasp or an Anzhou attacks, it does so without mercy. It will shoot to kill, stab to obliterate, and march over your dead corpses! Soldiers, we've got a shit ton of work to do before you can get out there in the battlefield. You roaches are inadequate, unfit, incompetent, even for the artificial eyesight of machines. But I will make you gain value, I will ensure my signature is engraved permanently on your souls.

"Formation!"

We all form shoulder to shoulder.

"Not it! Push ups!"

We do ten. I can see Gabriel performing like a natural athlete, beside him a tall blond guy is equally as fast. The blond guy seems to compete with Gabriel, while Gabriel couldn't give a damn.

"Formation!"

This time by some miracle of logic, we form in a rectangle, shoulder to shoulder with our own squad. The rectangle is four by six people.

"At arm's length!" yells Cotillas.

We obey.

"Follow me, Platoon!"

We break to jog.

"You! Gimme ten! Never break formation!"

I give him ten.

"On your feet, Private! Let's go!"

***

"Platoon!" yells Cotillas. "This will be your quarters. There's exactly six, multilevel beds, each with four beds. One multilevel bed unit belongs to each squad. Each platoon has their own quarters.

"Undress and make it quick. Remove all your filthy clothing, including underwear, and toss it in that bin. You will wear the uniform passed out by me."

An officer comes into the room and hands Cotillas two baskets. He puts one on the left side of the room and one on the right.

"Pick out your uniforms! Ladies to the left, men to the right! Go!"

Cotillas walks between naked, lanky, bone-thin Privates.

"And may this fine lady explain why she's still in underwear," says Cotillas as he approaches an older woman with a pear-shaped body. Her breasts are out, but for some reason she won't remove her underpants.

"You'd better hurry the fuck up! I said get naked!"

Cotillas makes everybody stop dressing. Most of us are still naked, completely. I try to spy on Carmen, see if can get a glimpse of her body. She's the hottest in the room. But she's fast and is already all dressed up in a private's uniform, all dark green with no military decoration.

"When the shit hits the fan, it's so hard the fan breaks. The weak die instantly in the battlefield. Some of heart attack, others of pure stupidity. Now, if you're to survive, you will obey orders. Naked! Undress, now!"

"But...sir, I am...you know...my monthly..."

"You defy orders?"

"It's just...I need some privacy, that's all!"

The pear-shaped woman flies in the air and lands face first on the concrete floor. A gush of blood spills from her nose. Cotillas stands there and yells, "On your feet! Undress!"

The woman is made of sterner stuff, at least more than me. She stands up with a jolt, undresses, and in an instant is naked, and then dressing up in her uniform.

I'm still all naked. I can't find a uniform suitable for my lanky, slender body frame. I'm not tall, but am not the smallest here either. I feel the need to cover my cold-shrunk genitals, as most of us do. Gabriel is the only one standing tall and proud, displaying his ripped, hairless, tattooed body. I notice Carmen stares and studies him as if she were in anatomy class or something. A stab of jealousy makes me grumble. I finally find something suitable and dress myself.

"You will change uniforms on a daily basis. They include a sorry excuse for underwear. Women's gear includes a strap for your breasts. If you have your period, or if you have diarrhea, tough it out. Shit your pants, bloody your legs. You will not stop, and you will not be able to change until the end of each training day.

"Every day begins at 0450 hours. You have ten minutes to shower, take a shit, make your bed, and dress. At 0500, you will present at the landing strip for training. Tardiness is unacceptable. It is punishable, and all punishments are decided by me.

"Your first week will be dedicated to physical torture. I have yet to make sculptures out of you, and my chisel will be training hard.

"Formation!" he yells. We all form in a rectangle at arm's length.

"Good. You can be taught. The rules of the house: Breakfast is at 0700 hours, lunch at 1300, and dinner at 1900. Food is provided for free. Its called HydraPack, a disgusting gelatin hermetically packed and made to last the nuclear winter. It has all the nutrients you need to survive this training, and your missions.

"You will share everything, except your genitals. If I find you fucking, sucking, hand-jobbing, fingering, or any variation of the above, I will have you whipped in public. The second time I will execute you myself. Am I clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" we yell.

Tough rules, but I can't begin to imagine how somebody or anybody would be able to fuck in these conditions. Having sex seems like it'd be the last thing on my mind when survival is all that matters.

Cotillas falls into silence and walks in circles around the rectangle of formed green soldiers. His silence is worse than his yelling. I dare eyeball him and study his face. He has pitch black irises surrounding his pupils, so his eyes seem all black from any angle. Thick, dark brows border his eyes. He's got a square jaw, a small mouth, and a perfectly shaven face. Even though he's shaved, you can see the shadow of a thick beard under his skin.

His small nose has a noticeable protuberance in the bridge, surely scar tissue after having it broken so many times. I suppose by fighting. Despite the uniform, you can tell the lieutenant is ripped. Not muscles like pit bulls have, but sinewy, strong steel wire. He's sizing us up.

I can't tell if he's pleased or just doesn't give a fuck about us, but something in his locked muscular jaw seems to suggest he pities us.

"Platoon! Jog around the perimeter until your feet bleed!"

"Umm...excuse me, Lieutenant, sir...is there something we could drink? Please? I'm very dehydrated," I say despite myself. I know the effects of fluid deprivation.

Cotillas walks up to me. He's in my face. Bad and hot breath greets me first.

"Who gave you permission to speak, Private?"

The back slap takes me by surprise. I try not to cry from the pain. Tears well up in my eyes. Those knuckles are tough as iron.

"Nobody speaks without permission, Private! Is that clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"You will raise your hand to ask for said permission, is that clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"No water for anybody until dawn. Private, state your name."

"You can all thank Private Herrero for your severe dehydration tomorrow morning. It's the whip for you next time, wetback."

The insult hurts more than the slap. They used to call immigrants from Mexico down to Central and South America wetbacks. Mostly because back in the day those people seeking to improve their lives by migrating north had to swim across the Rio Grande, separating Mexico and Texas.

Even though we didn't have to swim, and even though we're wanted in the ranks, we're still immigrants.

"Platoon! Jog!"

"Thanks, dickhead," says somebody. I have a nasty feeling it was the tall, blond guy.
—5—

My own squad punishes me by sending me to the highest bed in the barracks. Our quarters have a large digital clock displaying the time in twenty-four-hour format in large red numbers.

I'm so beat up, with my legs so sore and my toes bleeding from torn skin, that I can barely make out that it's four thirty in the morning when my head hits the pillow.

At four fifty a.m. the alarm goes off. Red light pulses.

I get up with a jolt, forget I'm in the highest bed, and fall. Air booms out of my lungs. I can hear myself gasping and my platoon members scrambling to get their daily needs taken care of before heading out to the landing strip. Nobody stops to help me.

I get up after a whole minute of recovery. Undress. Take a shit. Shower in thirty seconds. Wash my face. Fall asleep while trying to dress.

"Get up, moron! Cotillas will hang us if anybody's late!" yells Carmen. My kidneys failing me must be the reason for my tiredness. I need water. I need sleep. I almost take a sip from the toilet, but desist when I see a brown streak on it. Should've stayed in SLAV. I can see Mario laughing at me.

It's five o' five when we get to the rendezvous point.

"Tardiness is punished with severity! No breakfast for today! One is late. You're all late."

"Motherfucker! God dammit! Haven't had anything and now this! What the fuck!" yells somebody out of sheer desperation. Dehydration is not just about water. It's your concentrated juices literally pickling your brain. Without water, your sodium goes sky high, and high sodium makes people crazy.

"You! Come here!"

A curly-haired guy, about my size, steps up. He carries a smirk on that pale-skinned face.

Cotillas kicks him in the solar plexus. Then orders him twenty. Every time he goes down, Cotillas kicks his belly. I can hear his air whooshing out of his lungs with every push-up.

"The battlefield in this radiation-rotten world is merciless. Cadavers, bolts, wires, old machines, dead hopes, are all you'll find out there. No water, no food, nothing! You wanna make it out alive and claim your fucking citizenship, then you'd better learn to fight in that forsaken land, 'cause it will eat you alive. Your hope is your platoon. Any of you fuck up and all of you die. State your name, Private."

"Jose Gutierrez, sir," he says curtly.

"You can thank Gutierrez for no lunch."

Somebody grumbles. I pray for no more open rebellion.

"Did any of you have any objections?" says Cotillas, studying his platoon.

"Smart. Keep it shut, obey, and you may get dinner with a few drops of water. Follow me, Platoon!"

We break out into a run. The lieutenant is quick.

"Push-ups! Running! Push-ups! Running!"

It never ends. This is hell.

The sky turns from pitch dark to a perpetual gray screen. Then, when sunset comes—even though the sun isn't visible—the sky turns pitch black again.

"Very good, Platoon. And now for your reward. Take yourselves to the dining hall. Have yourselves a nice HydraPack and enough water to replenish."

We run to the dining hall. Make a line. Wait. No tray. A non-com officer hands me a pair of HydraPacks, vanilla flavored. On the wall, a gigantic fridge dispenses water into plastic cups. Another line.

We sit among the company. Eight platoons sit in silence. Nobody talks. We're all drained, mistreated, missing what was once home.

The HydraPack is a disgusting do-it-yourself meal. You break a water pack while it's still sealed and mix it all together for a minute. The powder becomes a thick gel, which you suck from a small straw propped open with your teeth. It barely fills you up. And it tastes like vomit, flavored with vanilla.

We all hate it. We all wolf it down. There is no other option. I want to get another round of HydraPack, but I'm afraid to ask for more. You only get a pair per meal. Six per day. And all the water you can get.

We're all full and about to pass out when the lieutenants storm the dining hall. Cotillas runs up to our table, makes us drop and give him twenty, and then orders us to follow him outside. We run. And run. And run.

It's four thirty when I'm climbing to my bed. My head hits the pillow, and I'm gone. Four fifty, the sirens blast out. The red lights blink. I'm in a twilight. I can barely think. I don't fall this time.

Shit. Shower. Dress. Carmen rallies us all. She motivates us. She's the only one who seems to think among this torture. Gabriel hasn't complained at all, but I can tell he's toughing it out. I can't take this much longer. I'm weak. Horribly weak. I'm the type of guy who dies first, the type of coward who would get a long-range rifle and hide out somewhere away from the action. I'm such a loser. No wonder Carmen sees nothing in me. It's because I am nothing. Crap. Cotillas has taken away what little self-worth I had. It's gone. I am one with nothing.

It's four fifty-nine when we show up at the strip. Thank god.

Run. Drop. Run. Eat. Drink. Jog. Drop. Eat. Drink. Take a shit. Shower. Pain...pain...pain...

I am a zombie...

***

"Has it been a year already?" I ask Carmen. My head is resting in her lap while she's seated at the edge of the bed. We're all just hanging out in our barracks. Her bed is the lowest of the four because she's our squad leader.

"No, Argo. It's been barely a week. But I do admit, it feels like forever. Every day it seems like a month has flown by.

We used to hang out like this back home, talking smack about government or just discussing our favorite manga characters of the old and destroyed Japan. I would argue Full Metal Alchemist was the best, while she would say that was too mainstream. Those were the good old days. Now that we're here, things feel so different. She's good at anything, everything. She has adapted with speed and, like a good survivor, she has already figured out who to follow in case shit hits the fan.

Her attention is always shifting between Gabriel and Cotillas. Cotillas out of respect and to follow orders, Gabriel for, perhaps, attention. It pisses me off. I know I've got to get out of the friend zone to get her for myself. Don't think I'll ever succeed though.

Gabriel and Jorge are busy making friends. Gabriel and the tall blond guy are the alphas here, and there's tension building between them. Gabriel is just too fresh to even notice it. Or perhaps it's his game, making blond guy feel like he doesn't care. The tall blond guy, Dimitri, is from Argentina. Had to be from Argentina, fucking cocky son of a bitch. He's constantly twitching and flexing his noticeable muscles. He is the biggest and tallest of the platoon.

I've no idea how people mingle. Jorge seems interested in some chick. She's hot. Gabriel is already the center of attention. Me? I'm just trying to find my way with Carmen. But it's clearly failing.

"Give me a sec. I'll be right back," says Carmen. She stands up and leaves me to my own devices on the bed. I sit at the edge, trying to figure out where she's going.

"Yolanda Napamuceno," I hear a name called.

An ÆTAS soldier has called yet another private. She's tall and blonde with long, wavy hair and blue eyes, the classical South American "mare" as we would call those hot specimens from Argentina.

I notice Carmen has worked her way around the room and is now talking with a group of girls only. They're all hot, at least for me. I'd give any of 'em a go. One is a mulatto called Alejandra Monteijo. She's from Brazil. That skin color with aggressive curves—she's the good stuff around here. Another one is Brenda Salinas from Bolivia. The other two are the Wagner twins, Anna and Nancy, from Paraguay. They are thin and lanky, without much curve to admire, but what they lack in curve, they make up for in facial features.

Here and there groups form and consolidate. Clearly I'm one of the leftovers with whom nobody wants to chat. I'm no alpha. No beta even. I'm the breadcrumb nobody cares about.

I can see Dimitri and his squad, three subordinates who seem to puff him up and feed his ego. His squad is composed of Konstantin, Nolasco, and Natalio, suckers who wish to be as strong and mean as Dimitri.

The old folk don't mix at all. Amongst them, there's a couple from what used to be El Salvador, Mr. and Mrs. Caceres; Mrs. Rodriguez, the pear-shaped lady who Cotillas struck on the first day; and then there's a guy called Joco Alonzo.

I see Yolanda return from her session with the soldiers. She has a crew cut now. Seems bold, no pun intended. The soldier calls Dimitri. In a few minutes, Dimitri returns from his turn with the soldiers. I can tell he feels like a true alpha with his hair all gone.

"How'd it go, man?" asks Konstantin of his squad leader.

"Easy as fuck," he says, thrusting his hips. He scans the room, grinning. As he looks in my direction, I look down, avoiding his gaze. I do not want to engage this peacock. Dimitri's face changes. His grin disappears. He is all anger now.

"Looking at something you like, Gabriel?"

Shit. Gabriel has engaged. This is not good. Dimitri is bigger than him. Stronger too, I'm sure.

"At a white imp. That's all," answers Gabriel, fresh. Everybody laughs, including me, because he does, in fact, look like a great white imp. Dimitri fires up his anger and is now enraged. He's about to go berserk.

"Says the beaner from Guatemala. Fucking wetback. Nobody likes you. Where's your indigenous tribe now? Left them all back in your cornfields, brownie?"

His insult is stupid. We all eat corn. In what was once Argentina, Chile, and Peru, the people still carry some notion of the nation that they once were. So I get it why Argentinians want to feel superior. That'll go away in future generations, once we're all consolidated under the Megachine banner.

"Listen, brownie. I'm the alpha. You're clearly inferior on many accounts, starting with your race. And just look at you, man. Short, small, and thin. You're no match. Step aside," says Dimitri. He gets into Gabriel's face. He's a head and a half taller.

The tension is about to break. It's reaching its climax. Nobody moves. Nobody breathes.

"I may be brown of skin, a fact I carry with pride, but listen, man, I'm not looking for trouble. All I want is to have a good time on this fine morning, the only time we've got to mingle and recover from sore muscles. So why don't you do me a favor. Go to your corner where your friends are waiting to jerk you off. Don't let your boyfriends get jealous of me. Piss off."

Dimitri turns as red as fresh blood. Rage explodes, and he goes berserk.

Gabriel turns around and walks away. I cringe at seeing him give Dimitri his back.

Dimitri chances a powerful hook, slow but steady, with all his might behind it. It should've shaved Gabriel's head off. Somehow Gabriel ducks, swiftly pivots on his left foot, and lands a solid blow on Dimitri's trachea. The crunch is audible. Lethal.

Dimitri stumbles. Grabs his throat and goes down fast. He's twisting and turning, with an audible squeal coming from his mouth. He can't breathe. He's turning blue.

A girl screams. Konstantin is on his knees, trying to help his leader.

"Somebody help! You'll pay for this, fucking wetback!"

"We're all wetbacks, you idiot," defends Carmen.

"Formation!" It's Cotillas.

Shoulder by shoulder, we all form. Konstantin doubts for a second, but in a blink, he's joined formation, eyes locked to infinity.

"I said formation, Private Agaslov! Are you deaf!" yells Cotillas. He walks to the gasping soldier and starts kicking him on the abdomen.

"I saw it all, Agaslov. I should let you die. You're the singled-out scum that comes on all macho, and in the end, gets everyone killed. This is your first and last warning. I see you provoke anybody else and I'll let Private Perez have at you. Medic!"

Dimitri is not breathing and is all blue. Is he dead? Medical takes him away swiftly.

"As you were," says Cotillas and leaves our room. We all breathe again. Gabriel has done it. He's clearly the alpha. He gets praises from everybody, except Konstantin and his lot, clearly outcasts now. Carmen seems to get even more interested in my secret rival. Now I now I can't mess with him directly. Shit.

"Private Herrero." I'm summoned by the soldier.

"It's OK. They'll shave you and then connect you to the lie detector. It's all good," says Jorge as I leave the room.

***

"Take a seat, Private," says the soldier who brought me in. These are normal ÆTAS soldiers, not those genetic beasts we saw in the transport ship. He's white, or was white before the scars from previous skin surgeries to remove obvious cancers. I take a seat in a reclining chair. I'm strapped down, arms, torso, and legs. A soldier proceeds to inject something in my arm, and then I'm shaved without question.

I have no idea what's been injected into me. I'm sure nobody would care to tell me either.

"It's a hypnotic sedative developed to enhance your truth-telling abilities," says the soldier.

"Fuck yeah!" I say. I'm high. This is amazing.

"Some specimens react differently. In your case, it's clearly euphoria, a common side effect. Doesn't last long," says the soldier.

"I will now proceed to attach this machine to your head. It's called Cerebris, made in the likes of an octopus, an extinct animal."

"Never heard of it," I say. It's true.

"Eight tentacles with suckers will self-deploy and self-conduct studies on your brainwaves as I proceed with a short questionnaire. Let's start."

"Do what you must," I say.

"Is your name Argo Herrero?"

"Of course, dickhead." What's up with me? Must be the medication.

"Please limit your answers to yes and no."

"Sure."

"Yes and no, please."

"Yes."

"Are you twenty-five years of age?"

"Yes."

"Did you live in SLAV?"

"Yes."

"Did you come to join the ISF under your own accord?"

"Yes."

"Are you sexually attracted to Carmen Johnson?"

"Oh! Does she? I wanna fuck her! Have wanted so badly for years!" I scream. I'm amazed by my answer, but cannot hold myself.

"Yes or no."

"Yes."

"Are you a SEDISU spy?"

"No. Are you crazy? Those motherfuckers..."

"Yes or no."

"No."

"Have you willingly killed another human?"

"No."

"Have you killed unwillingly?"

"Yes."

"Was this during your medical profession?"

"Yes." How do they know about my profession? Shit.

"He's clean. Bring in the next one."

Two soldiers come to get me. By the time I'm back at the barracks the effect has subsided, and I'm no longer in a trance. That was wild.

"How was it?" I'm asked by the curly guy who pissed off Cotillas a few times. He's shaved now, but in my brain, he's still the curly guy.

"It was wild, man...what a trip."

"Probably the best we'll ever have! What the fuck, man! That was insane. My name is Jose Gutierrez, from the formerly known Costa Rica."

"Argo Herrero, from the former Guatemala. Pleasure."

"Alejandra Monteijo," calls the soldier.

I chance a glance at the mulatto from Brazil.

"Fucking hot, huh? I'd love on her all day long," says Jose.

"So would I," I say under my breath. I don't want Carmen to hear me saying it. But it's true.

"There's plenty of fresh meat here, man. Lots of cat if you get my meaning."

"Dude, we can't fuck around. Cotillas will hang you."

"Well...I guess you're right. Can't hurt to have some fantasies though, huh? Shit...is that? He's back."

Dimitri walks in, breathing on his own. His trachea is patched up. He has stopped squeaking. He's pale and nervous, clearly scared. He avoids eye contact with anybody and pushes away one of his friends as he's greeted.

"That guy has messed with the wrong person. Bet he won't do that again," says Jose.

"They say with Cerebris they've prevented several catastrophes by identifying spies in the ISF. You know, SEDISU people. Those bastards. They'll do whatever to infiltrate the ISF. I'm Rudy Cuestas from the formerly known Colombia."

"Makes sense. SLAV loses plenty of its people to ÆTAS. It only makes sense for it to try to dismantle the immigrant army. Their own are being used to fight against them," says Jose. "Brilliant, if you ask me."

I have no idea how they know this. I listen closely to learn more. Gossip is not my thing. But sometimes you learn a lot by staying quiet.

"That's right," says Rudy. He's short in stature, shorter than me actually, but bulky in size. Black hair, eyes, and eyebrows, he's the prototype of a Latin American.

A scream. Somebody is in pain. We all turn pale and follow the sound. We naturally form when we see Cotillas enter the room flaring in anger.

"Follow me, Platoon!" he yells. We march behind him. But we're missing one private, because he's dragging her by the arm.

I can see the mulatto from Brazil kicking and screaming as she is yanked by the arm. I can tell her arm is broken by its impossible angle. She's in terrible pain. I feel the urge to defend her, but cancel the impulse knowing something must be off for her to be treated this way.

"Company in formation," I hear Captain Simmons roar.

All eight lieutenants form their platoons in the landing strip. Cotillas is now in front of the eight. Captain Simmons walks over to where Cotillas stands, twisting the Brazilian's arm with pleasure.

"This won't be the first nor the last time we manage to pin down a SEDISU infiltrator into what we call Project Zurich. That project is what you all form part of—the ISF. It's the training you're undergoing to serve against your own countries. On previous occasions, a few infiltrators made it through and wreaked havoc. It may hurt you to see this private suffer so, especially you who formed a platoon together, but I assure you she would've gotten you all killed before you knew it."

Alejandra is trembling from the pain. I can hear her shoulder joint popping. I hate seeing Cotillas have fun making her writhe.

"For spies like her there is only death. Lieutenant Cotillas, please dispatch this mole."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Cotillas pulls his gun from his belt and point blank shoots her in the head. His face is splattered with brain. We all recoil, aghast. Pieces of skull and skin hit some in the front.

"There are two more executions, soldiers. You will endure each. This is how spies are treated. No mercy."

I see two other people get murdered by Cotillas. Whether or not they were actually spies we will never know. Somehow the physical torture is now just a splinter under the skin compared to what lays ahead of us in this so-called Project Zurich.
—6—

Cotillas has no soul. He can't have one, not when after executing three persons, he suddenly yells out orders while he's still covered in blood:

"Platoon Cotillas! Today is your eighth day here in New Miami, and today is your graduation day from mere cockroaches to worthless rats! You've made it this far and are now qualified as trainable apes. Your muscles, although sore, have proven to me that you've got some stern stuff in you. But there's more chiseling to be done before you're battle ready.

"Today you will start training in face-to-face combat, and you will meet your first fire weapon. Meet Sergeant Ichigoya. Sergeant, elaborate."

The other seven platoons are off doing what their own lieutenants want done. We are the only one still standing in formation in the landing strip. The three cadavers are still there. Nobody has moved them yet.

"The Viper is an auto-assault rifle, standard issue," explains Sergeant Ichigoya, clearly Japanese of origin.

"The Viper 4172 uses munitions caliber 5.46 x 45 mm. It can pierce light armor, thanks to its high top speed of 1,600 meters per second. Each cartridge has fifty rounds. With a twenty-inch barrel and a total weight of five pounds, this rifle has a maximum range of four kilometers."

The sergeant swallows, clears his throat, and then continues.

"The Viper 4172 is an adaptable assault weapon. You can install several upgrades, for example, a fifty-inch-long barrel for those inclined to sniping, a grenade launcher for those engaging heavily armored drones, an EMP grenade launcher, the Burkes pulsar, or an electrical saw for those engaged in hand-to-hand combat against Anzhous.

"The standard issue Viper has a holographic aim with x2, x5, x10 as maximum. The aim-sights are summoned by clicking here." He shows us a small button on the rifle on its right side close to the grip.

"Click once for x2," he shows us, and a holographic zoom pops up. It's blue in color. "Click once again for x5 and once again for x10. Another click shuts off the sights. The zoom is digital, which means it depends on your rifle being fully charged after each use. Run out of battery, you run out of zoom.

"The standard issue comes with the electro-saber function installed, as it is assumed you will all face drones in close combat. The electro-saber is activated by pulsing this button," he demonstrates. A flow of electricity appears below the barrel and pulses with angry, blue energy. Small rays spew from the generated bolt.

Sargeant Ichigoya turns it off. "The electro-saber consumes a high amount of energy. Your weapons are powered by a lithium-ion rechargeable battery. Charge it every time you can. It can be fired while without power, as the trigger function is adapted from the M16 weapon, once standard in the US military.

"The electro-saber is especially useful while engaging in close combat with drones, such as Anzhous. It is also very effective against enemies made of flesh and bone. Avoid turning it on if friendlies are close to you. Once it starts cutting through something, it will fry and destroy it until it's done. I will demonstrate."

"Sergeant Castillo," calls Cotillas.

A sergeant I've not seen before walks toward us with a control in his hands. With it he seems to be manipulating a Wasp.

I tremble at its sight. The sound it makes triggers a flight response from my previous experiences with the drones.

The Wasp flies low and nears Ichigoya, who has activated the electro-saber. As it nears, the sergeant attacks it. The electrical flow makes contact. In an instant, it malfunctions and would fall, but somehow the electrical current is so powerful it somehow magnetizes it. And in seconds, the blade has split the thing in two. Both edges are smelted. Smoke puffs out.

"You will learn that the enemy's drones can be hacked and used to our advantage. More on the matter will be learned in your third week of training. Ichigoya, Castillo, you're dismissed."

"Sir, yes, sir." Both salute and turn around, marching back to the barracks.

"Grenade launchers are scarce in our army due to lack of supplies. You may get one in the future if you prove your worth. I will now demonstrate the use of the Burkes pulsar," says Sergeant Ichigoya.

From his side pockets he pulls out a small tube which would seem like a silencer. He connects it to the muzzle of the Viper. I can see the small device has two small wires sticking out.

"The Burkes pulsar discharges electrical blasts, and is used for short range encounters where using your electro-saber is out of reach. It's especially effective against multiple enemies. Pulsar takes advantage of the explosive energy released every time the gun fires empty rounds. You heard me. Empty rounds. This means its user will have to swap magazines and empty the bolt before its use. If you forget to do so, you risk death by explosion. I will demonstrate."

Sergeant Castillo brings in three Wasps controlled by the remote. They get as close as two meters from Sergeant Ichigoya. "At this distance, my electro-saber would be ineffective. Yet I must engage against multiple enemies." He changes the magazine of the Viper, empties the bolt. Raises the rifle and shoots. The electrical blast shoots out a short but lethal arm of electricity, which instantly fries the Wasps. The drones fall to the ground, hissing as the chips burn.

"When pressure is exerted onto certain crystalline materials such as quartz, the generated pressure offsets the balance of positive and negative ions and generates an electric charge," explains Ichigoya. "Think of this as an inverse EMP. EMP disables, while Pulsar fries."

"Thank you, Sergeant Ichigoya. You are dismissed." Ichigoya and Castillo walk away after saluting. "The Viper is your salvation, your icon of survival, your one and only tool to make it through missions. It is your one and only token to freedom that will accompany you for the next ten years as you mature in your military career. Never be away from your rifle. And if you are, it'd better be for a good fucking reason," says Cotillas.

"Now for the fun stuff. See that crate at the center of the landing strip, some hundred meters from our position?" he asks, pointing a finger at the crate. I can barely see it.

"That crate holds twenty-four Vipers loaded with practice rounds."

I hear footsteps approaching us. I see the other seven platoons form near us.

"Lieutenants, ready your platoons," yells Cotillas.

The other platoons, including us, get ready. Ready for what? A rush of anxiety fills me with dread.

"There are one hundred and ninety-two soldiers in this company, minus the three dead on the floor. That makes a hundred and eighty-nine soldiers at the ready. And there are only twenty-four rifles in that crate. You will run to it, and as a platoon you will try to eliminate those not belonging to your own platoon. On your marks."

"What's going on..." I say under my breath. Can't have Cotillas hear me.

"Ready...!"

"This can't be happening..."

"Go! Eliminate the enemy!"

Eight platoons break off in a sprint.

"The surviving squad or platoon will take the prize! Now kill the others!"

Gabriel is fast, but not the fastest. A woman reaches the crate first, but Gabriel pummels her with a kick to the chest. He grabs a rifle and tosses one to Carmen. Someone else is already pointing the rifle to Gabriel. Click. It's not loaded.

Gabriel pulls the bolt. And fires. The muzzle flashes a beautiful five-pointed star as it unleashes hell. Several fall, convulsing. They remain paralyzed on the floor.

Other platoon squads have arrived at the crate, and havoc breaks out. Fire erupts from various angles, and soldiers fall by the tens and twenties. Few are organized, and you can tell we're greener than green.

At the center, protecting the crate, is Gabriel with Carmen and Dimitri. The Argentinian shoots in full auto, screaming death as he unleashes hell. He runs out of ammo. He gets shot and convulses on the floor.

The disaster quickly calms as more and more fall. Carmen, Gabriel, Joco, Jose, and other members of my platoon manage to organize themselves against others by using the paralyzed bodies as shields. Tough luck for those paralyzed, as they get shot again and again.

I'm on the floor. Faking being shot. I don't move, don't wanna move. I see a rifle under a paralyzed soldier. I manage to crawl to it and grab it. Shots fly by my head. A shot lands on my back and I start seizing.

The convulsion lasts several seconds, after which I remain paralyzed in delicious bliss on the floor. I'm staring at heaven, at fallout, at potential cancer, and breathe in and out with ease. Finally, some rest. Even if it's because I'm defeated.

Gabriel and our soldiers eliminate the remaining squads.

"Cease fire!" yells Cotillas.

Cotillas makes his way to the center, where Gabriel and five others of our platoon celebrate.

"And?" says Cotillas.

"We've defeated. We've won," says Gabriel with a smirk. Cocky bastard.

Cotillas picks up a rifle and shoots the victorious at plain sight. Gabriel, Carmen, and the others go down. They convulse on the floor.

"You fucking idiots! In the field, there are no fucking victors! Only survivors! Yes, you made it thus far, but you should've kept your platoon alive! That's your prize, morons! There is no prize but life itself as the precious result of your efforts! Survival is all there is, and that should be your only motivation!"

We all get up slowly. We're all sore. We all got hit. As we recover and stretch our muscles, joke and banter about the recent events, I can see there are three bodies that have not moved at all. One of them is from my platoon. Its Mrs. Caceres. Mr. Caceres runs to her and kneels on the floor. He takes his ear to her chest and then starts sobbing.

"Help! Please help! She's not breathing! Her heart's not beating!"

Carmen is the first to arrive at the scene. She kneels to her right and starts CPR. I arrive a moment later and take turns pumping her chest.

Cotillas, all this while, remains impassive. Observing. Uninterested.

"Formation!" he yells. The other seven lieutenants follow suit. Eight platoons form and organize in seconds, in fear of punishment. Except four people. The three who lay unmoving, and Mr. Caceres, who is still at his wife's side.

I hope they're not dead. If these three are dead, added to the three who were executed, that would make six less soldiers in our company in less than twenty-four hours. That's bad news.

"I gave an order, soldier!" yells Cotillas making his way to Mr. Caceres, still at his wife's side.

I can see Mr. Caceres is itching to have a swing at Cotillas, but he remains clenched and tensed like a coil. Mr. Caceres stands up with a jolt and marches up to Cotillas. Gets in his face.

"Call medical! Call the fucking medics!" yells Mr. Caceres, spittle splashing on Cotillas' face. We all gasp. This is not good.

"Private, I think you have forgotten yourself. I gave an order, and I expect you to follow it. Insubordination is punished severely," says a calmed Cotillas. Unmoving. Unsettled. Uncaring. Cold as steel.

"My wife is dead! Dead! And you expect me to behave? No...no...no...fuck this shit. Fuck it all. I came here seeking freedom from my oppressors. If I'd thought I'd have found the likes of you I would've stayed in SLAV, serving Chavistas, eating rats and church pigeons, but I'd be happy. This is torture. I'm out. I resign."

"Do not walk away from me, soldier! You are not dismissed!" yells Cotillas.

Mr. Caceres walks away. Stops. And turns around. He's about to say something but stops himself.

"You take another step and it's your last," says Cotillas, pulling his gun from its sleeve.

"I call bullshit," says Mr. Caceres and starts walking. He never takes the second step. He falls to the floor as his body ceases to function. The bullet makes his head explode in a gush of brain and blood. His dead body lies in a pool of his own blood.

Eight platoons observe what just happened here. Now we're short seven soldiers. Not good at all.

"You all now know the price of insubordination. You have no rights. You have one choice here, to obey or disobey direct orders. Obeying will get you somewhere. Disobeying will grant you death."
—7—

It's after dinner. After eating a pair of HydraPacks, vanilla flavor, there's more to come. Seven deaths, four of them cold-blooded executions, don't seem enough to my superiors to spell a heck of a day.

Cotillas orders us to run around the perimeter in formation with our Viper above our heads. We're down three members, so now we're only twenty-one.

"Push-ups! Running! Push-ups! Running!" All this done with our Viper in our hands. This is horrible, torture. And yet I endure. A whole week of grueling physical training is paying off some.

"Formation! Now, form a circle, every man and woman an arm's length apart. That's it. Good. Herrero, Gonzalez. To the center."

We walk to the center of the circle.

"On your guards. Fight."

"Wait...waa?"

"I said fight, god dammit!"

I exchange confused glances with my friend from Costa Rica. We both shrug our shoulders and raise fists and start circling each other. A few jabs here and there, a couple of hooks. Nothing too serious. None of us lands anything, really.

"C'mon you motherfuckers! I said fight! Knock yourselves out!"

Gonzalez reacts faster than I do, and his jab pierces my guard. The jab gets me on the nose and I fall back and land on my ass. I get up. I'm pissed off now.

Another jab to the nose. I duck, he misses. I land a body hit. Nothing serious. He lands another punch to the face. I land on my knees and hit my forehead against concrete. Shit hurts like hell.

Gonzalez celebrates, elevating his arms in triumph.

"I said knock him out!"

My friend seems to get it now. His eyes transfix on me. He has that predatory gaze, that empty, cold, awful stare of a hunter ready to give the deathblow.

I get up, scared to death. I'm prey. But even prey can attack. I strike a double punch at him. Miss. I get hit in the solar plexus, bend over to meet his knee. My nose cracks, a gush of blood follows. I go down. He sits on top of my chest and starts delivering a storm of punches aimed at my face.

It hurts, initially. But then the pain subsides into a drumming, a melodic pummeling that slowly fades into infinity...

I relive the time when I was a boy, ignorant to world tragedies. I'm in our small apartment—dead. I play on the dead grass. My mother walks to me, kneels, and opens her arms to receive me with all of her love. I am embraced. I feel cherished, wanted, complete. I am happiness. Complete bliss.

"Get him up. Medic! Well done, Gonzalez. Like a champ, Herrero. Took it like a real soldier. Next up: Rodriguez and Napamuceno."

Mrs. Rodriguez, the lady shaped like a pear, starts off strong. She kicks low and aims punches high, confusing the Mexican girl. The young Mexican is knocked out clean in less than a minute. Pear-shaped lady causes an impression.

The Wagner twins fight each other, until one yells and screams obscenities about her father and smashes the other's face against the pavement. Bloody stuff. It got personal.

Dimitri fights Rudy, beats him bloody.

Gabriel fights Konstantin, beats him with ease, and then beats Nolasco.

The fighting continues until all have been eliminated, except three: Carmen, Dimitri, and, of course, Gabriel.

"Agaslov and Johnson. Let's go."

Carmen gets ready, arms guarding her chest and face. She moves, circling Dimitri clockwise. Dimitri seems unperturbed by her and advances with a sudden lunge. Grabs her by the waist and presses her hard against his own body, then raises her up.

I can hear him say, "I'm gonna rape you real good."

I wanna say something, but can't. I'm perplexed by what I'm seeing. Carmen can only kick and scream in his death grip. Dimitri is laughing and making nasty sexual thrusts with his hips. I look at Cotillas, who doesn't really care.

Then suddenly I see Dimitri recoil in pain. In another second, Carmen raises her head up and smashes her forehead repeatedly against his nose. Dimitri loses blood fast and then falls to the floor. Carmen stomps on his throat without mercy, yelling and screaming God knows what. Dimitri, once again, begins to squeak as he breathes, and suddenly he is turning blue again.

"Medic. God damn it, Agaslov. You and your fucking trachea. Make sure they fix it well this time," says Cotillas as medical takes Dimitri away in extreme cyanosis.

"And now for the final round. Perez versus Johnson. Let's go. Finish this fast!"

I study Carmen as she bounces on the balls of her feet and circles Gabriel. Even though she has a crew cut, she hasn't lost any of her looks. If anything, she seems sharper than ever. And her natural womanly curves are more pronounced. God she's pretty.

Gabriel seems to give her some advantage and slows down his movements.

"For crying out loud. You're killing me," says Cotillas. The lieutenant is removing his military jacket. Is now bare skinned from the waist up. He tosses his beret on the heap of clothing. Can't believe he's not cold.

"You two against me. Let's go!"

Holly crap. This guy is sinewy; he must have zero body fat. He's not bulky at all, but ripped to the bone, chiseled to mutant-like perfection. A tattoo on his chest spells, "Que Viva España." Long live Spain.

He gives them no repose. Cotillas lunges at Carmen and cracks her nose with an elbow to the face. Carmen is knocked out instantly. She hits her head hard, falling limp. She doesn't move. I'm alarmed. I can tell she's breathing from this distance. I relax a bit. But feel the tension grow as Cotillas has Gabriel all to himself. Both circle each other, but Cotillas is closing that circle, and fast.

I wanna see Gabriel lose so bad, and yet again, I really do wish he succeeds. I hate that pretentious bastard, and yet admire him like a hero.

Gabriel dodges a quick succession of punches, but is kicked full force by a front kick. He rolls with the force, falls, and quickly recovers at precisely the right moment to dodge a powerful uppercut.

Cotillas continues to attack relentlessly. Another quick punch combo, but this time Gabriel is quicker and predicts Cotillas, stepping sideways, managing an opening. He snaps a jab and lands a powerful body punch, followed by a quick one-two to Cotillas' face.

"Now that's what I like. A good fight. You've got steel in you, son. Let's find your breaking point..."

Cotillas doesn't finish the sentence. Gabriel lands a solid round-house to Cotillas' leg. Then he advances and lands a double-jab.

Gabriel is gaining speed. And also confidence. Cotillas thinks twice before advancing, and you can tell he's more cautious. Gabriel sidesteps a jab and creates an opening.

It's a trap. Cotillas spins quickly and lands a back elbow. Gabriel's forehead explodes in a gush of blood. As Perez is stumbling, Cotillas advances and clings to his body, creating an arm hold as they both fall. Cotillas twists violently after falling, and an audible crack fills the air.

Gabriel yells in pain, but Cotillas has yet to finish him off. He gets on top and starts landing elbow after elbow until Gabriel is no longer making a noise. He's out.

Cotillas stands up and begins to dress. "Medic!" he yells.

Gabriel coughs up blood and gets on one side. Medical reaches him, and he is quickly taken in.

"It's 0300 hours, platoon. Go get some rest. Get some water. I will see you here in two hours. Dismissed!"

We all collapse on the floor, completely exhausted.
—8—

"Hey, man, are you hurting much?" I'm greeted by Rudy as I enter the barracks.

The Colombian was sitting on the floor talking to Joco Alonzo, a guy from Honduras, and Jose Gonzalez, my friend from Costa Rica.

"Not much. Just got robotic surgery to fix the nose you broke," I say to Jose Gonzalez.

"No hard feelings, man. You know."

"I know. Good thing is they even found an aggressive variant of lymphoma growing in my thymus. The nanos took care of it. With medicine like this, there's no need for hospitals. Great tech."

"Aye. Great tech," they all agree.

"I can't believe Cotillas actually broke Gabriel's arm. That was wicked, but I mean evil wicked, not cool wicked," says Rudy.

"That was awful," I concur.

"Speaking of the devil," says Jose. Gabriel enters the room with small self-absorbable stitches on the forehead where Cotillas' elbow sliced his skin.

"Like new," he says, showing off his arm and skin. "Feels like nothing happened. But holy shit, does it hurt when your arm pops like that.... I'll never forget that moment. Cotillas will pay," he says with a smirk.

We all laugh nervously. Nobody knows if he truly means it or not.

"Don't tempt the devil, man. You'll be fine if you just stay away," says Rudy.

"Calm down, Rudy. I'm not gonna go chasing the devil myself. I'll let the devil come to me," says Gabriel, laughing out loud. Nobody knows what he means. Gabriel detaches from our small group and heads in to talk to the girls, especially to Carmen, who hugs him upon seeing him. I feel a stab of jealousy.

Dimitri walks in, head downcast. He no longer squeaks, but you can tell he's had enough of his trachea beat the shit out of to mess with anybody else. Now he's just all pissed off, angry at the world, including his followers.

"Hey, champ," says Carmen. I turn around to greet her. She hugs me and kisses me on the cheek. I love her affection as a friend. I wonder what it would be like as a lover. I savor the moment. It's short. But it's something.

"You look like new," I say. "Cotillas was an asshole," I remark. Mostly to start small talk going.

"Oh, that. Well, I think he made a point. He was behaving like the enemy, no remorse. No dancing in circles as we fight. He went straight for the jugular."

We both laugh. Things have changed between us. I can tell.

"You look like a lemur with your crew cut," she says, touching my head. "Almost cute."

And there it is. The faintest emotion seeps through her eyes. I can tell she feels bad for me. I can tell she knows that I know she's falling for Gabriel, and somehow wants to make me feel good, wants me to go down easy. But it's never easy. This is worse because it feels like fucking charity. Just get it done with. Fall for Gabriel, and leave me to the dogs. I've always been scrap anyway. So what the hell?

Carmen and I chat for a while. It feels nearly authentic, so I go with the flow. But deep down, I know she knows I want her badly, and knows I suffer seeing her with Gabriel. She stands up, says goodbye nonchalantly, and goes back to banter with Gabriel and friends. Others are making conversation freely, as Cotillas seems to have lost interest in us, at least for today.

I talk to other girls, plenty of whom I'd have sex with right away. But the rules are clear. No sex of any kind, no matter what. And that comforts me, knowing Gabriel and Carmen won't be off having sex either.

***

"Platoon! Today is your ninth day in New Miami, and there is no time to waste!" yells Cotillas.

The twenty-one of us enter formation in a snap. We march out of the barracks on command with our rifles over our heads.

"For the next five days, you will train with your Viper rifles with practice ammunition only. You see those two buildings? The first one, with a big number two on it, will be your training ground. It has eight levels, one for each platoon. Each level is a battle scenario with obstacles, dirt, and rocks. Each room is identical and heavily monitored to capture and analyze each individual soldier's performance and stats. Platoon! March to building number two!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"Push-ups!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

We get down and do push-ups repeatedly. I do one hundred without a problem. Now it's easy.

"On your feet! Rifles at the ready!"

I get up and accidentally shoot. A sergeant goes down in a convulsion. It's Sergeant Castillo, who was standing watch.

I try to explain myself, stumbling on my own words, but Cotillas walks up to me, punches me in the face, and kicks me to the ground. "I should skin you alive, Herrero. Mind your finger on that trigger!"

I get up and continue marching with a bloody nose. Deep inside I feel satisfaction for having shot a superior.

***

"Half a platoon against the other half. Every one of you will get a turn at being captain and choosing your units. Your platoon is down to twenty-one soldiers, so a team will always have one less. You'll make do.

"Each team corresponds to the color of either side. North and south divide into blue and red. One team will be red, the other blue. You will never be in the same team for long. After each round, two new team captains will be chosen at random, assigned to either blue or red. Understood?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Cotillas paces the large combat room. We all stand at its entrance in formation.

"Perez and Agaslov. You'll be the first team captains. Agaslov will be red, Perez blue. Agaslov chooses first."

Dimitri chooses Konstantin.

Gabriel chooses Carmen.

Dimitri chooses Brenda.

Gabriel chooses Jose.

The selection continues, with the very best being chosen first. At the end, the only ones left are a guy named Marcos and myself.

"I'll take Argo, but of course!" says Gabriel, opening his arms wide to receive me. Asshole. I walk to his side like a beat-up, unwanted rat.

"I'd rather not take that freak of nature," says Dimitri.

"Perez, do you want Hernandez?"

"Hell, yeah, I'll take him. We've the advantage by numbers, when we already had the advantage by having the talent," he says, laughing and high-fiving Carmen.

Dimitri gets infuriated, but swallows it rather than risk another broken trachea.

"Teams, to your side. At the very end, you'll find ammo, gear, and masks. You can choose how much protective layers you wear if you wanna avoid pain. Risk more layers at the cost of mobility. Helmets with faceshield, those are a must. You take off your helmet, I will personally beat the shit out of you. Fighting begins when the siren rings once. It ends when it rings twice. Go!"

We reach the end of the blue side, traversing the battlefield. Like described, this place looks like a barren wasteland, with rocks and old half-destroyed buildings. The ground is arid soil. Multiple obstacles, where you could hide or ambush the enemy, lay everywhere.

"Carmen, you'll take the high ground. You're the best shot. You'll be the sniper. Jose, you're a good leader, so you and I will split the team and lead each down the flanks. I will take the right, you the left.

"Gear on! Helmets on! Lock and load!" yells Cotillas through the ceiling speakers.

Gabriel opens a crate and gives us our helmets. We all choose our protective layers. There's not much to wear more than a vest and back protection. I choose to go light.

The helmets protect your face from forehead to chin, including ears and temple. Your head is covered by the helmet. Chin down you're exposed and potentially vulnerable. The vest protects from the collarbone down to the mid abdomen.

I put the helmet on. The faceshield fogs almost instantly. I can feel my hot, disgusting breath. I can smell it.

"Ready!"

I wipe fog off. Do my best not to breath by mouth.

The siren sounds once. The fight begins.

I follow Gabriel closely, running while keeping our heads down, rifles at the ready. I make sure it's loaded. Pull the bolt, ready to fire. I remove the finger from the trigger and place it on one side at the ready like I was taught.

We reach a half-destroyed wall and hide behind it. I press the holo-mount button and acquire a x2 sight. I scan the terrain. Nothing.

I can see Jose taking a position on the left flank. Somebody behind me shoots. Somebody yells on the red side. I figure its Carmen, picking out the easy target.

She has pinned somebody down. The direction of her shots has given us a sense of the enemy's location.

Screams. Yells. War cries. Like a mass of crazy mercenaries, Dimitri leads his team from the center in an all-out war-type battle. What an idiot.

"Fire at will!" yells Gabriel.

We let it loose. I press the trigger hard and enter full auto, emptying the salvo in seconds.

Not all fell. But most of them did. Dimitri managed to get away and is now engaged in a furious fight with Gabriel at the right flank.

"To me!" yells Gabriel to Jose. Jose advances from the left flank to circle Dimitri's forces.

Dimitri may be a fool, but the guy has balls of steel. He climbs a wall and drops behind us, shoots three of us point-blank range. I fall, convulsing. Gabriel shoots him and takes him out.

Jose has now circled the rest and takes them out with ease.

The siren sounds twice.

"Blue team wins. Change of team captains. Napamuceno and Salinas. Step up and start choosing teammates," says Cotillas through the ceiling speakers.

Napamuceno chooses Gabriel, of course. Salinas chooses Dimitri. Carmen goes next, then Jose. Again, I'm left for scraps. I'm chosen over Marco Hernandez. God dammit. I am that bad?

This time the fight is slow and long. Carmen is on the other side, while I'm on Gabriel's. She has us pinned down. She's a good sniper.

I know where she is. I saw her take cover there on our first fight. My orders are to hunt her down to free us from her fire. I manage to make my way around the battlefield without detection. I'm small, lanky, like a rat. I can infiltrate anyplace. At least I'm good at that.

I can see her now. I crawl closer. She's in a tower. I go up the ladder and in complete silence stand behind her. I can't decide whether I should shoot her point blank or demand she surrender. As I decide, I check her ass out and contemplate how it would look like bare naked.

I make a noise. I'm distracted. She spins in a split second and shoots me in the chest. The blow pushes me back. Limp, and convulsing, I fall down the ladder and hit back-flat on the floor. My lungs deflate, and I'm left breathless. The battle goes on without me. But from the floor I can listen to how Carmen has eliminated quite a few and is making her team get the edge. They win. I hear Gabriel is taken out after several hunted him down.

"Napamuceno is the winner. New team captains: Gonzalez and Herrero."

Shit. It's my turn. This is payback time.

I'm tired and feel wasted. I manage to get up and make it to the entrance of the practice floor, where the platoon has reunited to start all over. Carmen comes up to me and says to my ear, "Hey, no hard feelings, huh?"

"It's just a game, right?" I say. It's a lie. I'm hurt both physically and emotionally, but I hide it well.

"Team captains, step up," says Cotillas through the speaker.

We step up. "Herrero, chose first," says Cotillas.

"Dimitri," I say. My friends are amazed, especially Jose Gonzalez with whom I'm competing against as team captain.

"Gabriel," he says, shrugging his shoulders as if I've made the worst mistake on the planet. It's no mistake. I wanna beat Gabriel. I wanna show him.

"Salinas," I say. Once again Gonzalez is amazed that I didn't go for my squad members Carmen or Jorge.

"Johnson," says Jose, choosing Carmen.

In the end, my team is loaded with those I know little and do not trust. But at least, if I win, I will have shown both Gabriel and Carmen. Teach them a lesson.

"Herrero, blue team. Gonzalez, red. Go!"

We reach the far end wall and wait. The siren sounds.

"So what's the plan, dickhead?" asks Dimitri. "You do have a plan, don't you?"

"Well..."

"Oh God! We're gonna die!" Says Salinas. "We're up against the best!"

"Shut up, Salinas," says Konstantin. "Let Argo talk. He's got a plan, right?"

"Ye...yeah...yeah! I've got a plan! We'll advance like a spear in the center. Once we reach the middle wall we will split in four teams, each of two or three, then we will engage the enemy..."

War cries. I've taken too long. Jose and his team fall on us from all sides. They've sprinted to us, likely knowing I'd paralyze and have no fucking clue what I'm doing.

"Red team wins. That was pathetic. To the rendezvous point. Restart!"

Cotillas is waiting for us. We're all walking heavily, tired after so much activity. We take off our helmets, sweat drenching our foreheads.

"Herrero, that has been the worst I've ever seen. Ever. Your incompetence has reached a new level. Unprecedented. You will be team captain again. Until you figure out what the fuck is wrong with you, Herrero and Johnson are team captains. Step up! Choose teammates!"

I'm in terrible agony. My plans to show Carmen or Gabriel anything are squandered, and I've dug a grave so deep I fear there's no getting out of it. This time I choose Gabriel, Dimitri, Salinas, Konstantin.

We lose. Again. I'm team captain again. We lose. The cycle repeats fifteen times until all my platoon members have been part of my team. It's clear—I'm the problem here.

***

Cotillas gives up on me as team captain and names somebody else. The practice sessions last hours on end without rest. There's plenty of water to drink. We can drink freely. There's a stack of vanilla-flavored HydraPacks at our leisure. What we need is rest, and it's rest that Cotillas is depriving us of.

Not all perform well under such conditions. But the very best stand out for making it even under the worst of circumstances. Gabriel, Dimitri, Carmen, Salinas, and Jose stand out. They're tired, like the rest of us. But somehow they've kept their shit together.

"End of session. Come with me," says Cotillas. We follow him to the room where he's been most of the day. Many monitors and holograms display each soldier's data with statistics and a list ranking our platoon soldiers from best to worst. I'm last. Gabriel is first. What's new?

Dimitri comes out first in the list of most bold. Carmen comes out best by a mile in the list of sharpshooter. Others take home some prize in being at the top, or at least within the first three places of any given list. I'm in none. At least in stealth I rank number seven. That's a relief. I'm not the worse in one area.

Cotillas goes over our group stats and then breaks down each list. After this, he pulls up the one hundred most relevant highlights of today's session, showcasing both great attacks, defenses, or horrible mistakes like my own. The analysis of the data ends with us feeling that Cotillas somehow likes us a bit more than when we started. He dismisses the platoon.

"0500 sharp at the entrance of the practice room," he says.

We all walk out. "Not you, Herrero. Stay with me for a while. Let's have a chat."

Carmen breaks off from the group and looks out for me. Upon seeing I'm with Cotillas, she runs after the group and turns around to look at me once more. She looks scared, even worried, for me.

I'm nervous. What's this about?

"Take a seat, Herrero. Let's talk, mano a mano."

We take a seat in front of the monitors. He crosses legs and takes a hand to his chin as his hawk eyes scrutinize me.

"Are you sure you want to be in the ISF, son?"

I'm taken aback. I comfort myself, lick my lips. "I'm very sure. I'm absolutely positive! This is what I'm made for. Fighting for freedom is what I wish more than anything."

Cotillas uncrosses his legs. Leans forwards. He gets in my face. His black eyes study me intently, prying into my soul. I can't hide. I sniffle. Cough. Look around the room. I can't escape his gaze.

"There's no doubt there's stern stuff in there, deep, but I mean deep in there, Herrero. It's gonna be hard to dig it out, but it can be done. Did you now you could also graduate as a medic and join ÆTAS? We are in need of smart brains like yours, doctors who fled SLAV who have knowledge of lymphomas and such diseases. Can't see why you'd remain in the ISF if I offer you a free pass to medical. In all honesty, your body, your mood, your vengeful spirit, it's no good in the army. You're a coward. You belong in a lab with a white coat on. Not a gun strapped on your back."

After the insult, Cotillas leans back and crosses his legs again. He takes a hand to his chin and observes my reaction.

I wanna explode. My nostrils flare. Me breathing becomes agitated.

"Coward!? I'm no coward!"

"Oh? Then what's this attitude of yours trying to get back at Gabriel or Carmen? I've been watching your every move. You're too obvious. It's easy to read you."

I'm speechless.

"It's obvious you're jealous. Gabriel has Carmen won over, no matter how you see it. You love her, don't you."

I laugh nervously. "No...no...there's no love...it's..."

"And there it is. Cowardice. Own up to it. You wanna fuck her brains out. I know it. I would too, in all honesty, were my circumstances and hers different. She's the hottest girl in your platoon, and probably the whole company. But who cares about that anyway. World's gonna end. And here we are. I'm trying to save your platoon's life from your stupidity. While here you are, trying to be all macho by becoming something you're not. Take the free pass. Get into medical. You'll be safe, provided for."

He grins. Motherfucker.

"I..." It's a great offer. Can't deny it. But I can't be a medic. Not amidst war. Not when my friends will be in the front fighting the nemesis that takes over the world, piece by piece.

"I can't...won't...don't want to. I will remain in the ISF, sir." My conviction is solid as steel.

"Very well," he sighs. "Let's do one thing. If you misbehave or do anything that jeopardizes your platoon, I will personally put one in your brain," he says, pulling out his gun from his belt. He lays it on the table in front of me. It looks heavier than it appears. The muzzle of the gun is decorated with barbed wire engraved into the frame. I can see the gun is worn down by years, maybe decades of use. Looks like a trusty weapon, a token of good luck, perhaps.

"You will abide by this one condition: you will give it all you have. No more weaknesses. I want you to give it all in. I want you to die and resurrect after each training day. I want you to be the best because you've earned it. Do you agree?"

"I agree."

"Good. Now get the fuck out of here. Get some shuteye while you can."

I leave the office in a hurry. It's 0400 hours. I've got fifty or less minutes' worth of sleep ahead of me.

At 0450 I'm up and ready. Take a shit. Shower. Dress. Come get some.
—9—

It's day ten of training, and my spirit is revitalized. I'm a new man. A new soldier. Fuck Carmen and her ways. Can't let her or her sweetheart get in my way.

I follow my religion with the upmost faith: the Cotillas religion. I breath it. Live it. Chant it. Cotillas says clap. I clap. He says push-ups, I do push-ups. To fight. I fight. I am no one. I am nothing. I am reborn.

For the next five days, training goes smoothly. Fuck sleep. Fuck food. Fuck water. I need the most basic of the basic to survive, to continue the fight, to march on. We barely sleep at all.

Day in and day out we train at tower number two, shooting, learning field tactics, learning to flank the enemy, learning to evade and lure him in.

My movements become dexterous. I'm more aware of my surroundings. For the first time, combat is enjoyable. I see each fight as an opportunity, as a crossroads between opportunity and risk, weighing my odds in a split second, to make a choice in another, and take action in a heartbeat. I don't think. I feel the fight, the combat, the battle, the war.

I gain perspective, a bird's eye view of the field, where, even though I'm with boots on the ground, I gain a sense of knowing where things are geographically by seeing it once. I look at an obstacle and imagine the possible ways my enemy could use them to injure me, and the ways I could use the obstacles to injure them. This is amazing. I've never felt like this before. I gained this knowledge through constant, relentless training.

Cotillas is my god. My only lord. The bastard may be tough as dry skin, but he knows how to train his own. At the end of each training session, I slowly rank upwards, no longer being the last. I'm not the best, but at least I've managed to get fifth or fourth place in strategy, stealth, field tactics, and best of all, teamwork. I'm no longer the last to be chosen. I'm actually coveted. I'm used for my stealth. I'm a rat. A fucking poisonous one. I will run unseen and get behind your back, and shoot you dead. That's me. I've grown into my own.

Carmen has noticed my attitude toward her. She's tried talking to me, without success. I avoid her. I do what I can to eliminate her and Gabriel from my mind.

Jorge, Jose, Brenda, Yolanda, Mrs. Rodrigues and I have grown close. We share battle tips and help other out.

"Formation!" We form. We've just finished a training session. It's four a.m.

"Today was your last day of training together. Now the good stuff begins. It's day sixteen in your training, fourteen more to go to finish your induction. At any rate, today at 0500 hours, you will start a tournament where the whole company is involved. Eight platoons will face off against each other in building number one, a single-story edifice made for the sole purpose of hosting large-scale battles.

***

At 0500 on the dot we are marching into building number one. We follow two other platoons inside, and form, by platoons, in the best rectangular shape we can, platoons side by side.

The building is enormous. The lobby where we're currently waiting is a large space without seats or much else except a very large series of monitors and holos where I'm sure the battles are shown with stats and graphs and what not.

From our position, the whole battlefield is visible through large armored windows. The field is arid and vast, full of obstacles, even more so than the practice rooms in building two. There are towers, ruined buildings, old cars, trucks, and even dead drone bodies. And that's as far as I can see. I'll bet there's even more out there.

Each lieutenant is silent and in position in front of his own platoon. Ours is not the only one lacking members. I guess more people have died. Perhaps the older ones who likely suffered from heart or lung disease that nobody knew about. Maybe they collapsed on the floor, and nobody noticed until they were long dead. It's cruel to think about it, but they would've died on the battlefront anyway.

"Captain on deck!" yells a sergeant at the door. We all tense up, cast our sight to infinity.

Captain Simmons marches in, in full military garb, beret and all. He salutes us; we salute back.

"At ease, soldiers. You've made it to day sixteen. Congratulations. It's no easy feat. One hundred ninety-two of you started on day zero, and now you're down to one hundred eighty-one. The three spies were executed, but more of your battle brothers have fallen.

"Make no mistake. If you are here, it is not by luck. This is no product of chance. You have been forged by your lieutenants and sergeants, people specialized in getting foreign citizens battle ready in a month. It's not easy. You know it isn't. Alas, here you are.

"Today a small tournament will be held. Platoon against platoon in a process of elimination until the very best is singled out. There is no prize. There is no trophy. Your reward will be carrying the honor that you succeeded in combat. Same rules apply. Remove your helmets during battle, and you will be punished. Protective layering is optional. Is that clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"Good."

A list of the eight platoons appears on the large overhead monitor. Each platoon is named after its lieutenant.

"Platoon Cotillas versus Robles. Cotillas is the blue team, Robles is red. To your battle stations!"

"Make me proud," is all Cotillas says as we walk to our side of the battlefield.

We enter the training ground. The far east wall is painted blue, our side. The west wall is red. Our enemy's wall.

Gabriel takes charge. He's our natural, unnamed leader. Nobody opposes him. "Carmen as sniper. Herrero, you will be her bodyguard. Dimitri, you'll take Konstantin, Nolasco, and Natalio, and you'll create a diversion by advancing to the middle toward the rubble. You will engage and create a firefight. Some chaos will be good to confuse our enemy. Jose and myself will divide the rest of the team and advance to the flanks. Questions?"

We've practiced long enough together for each of us to know our roles and purpose in each battle. No need for clarifications.

We reach the blue side. Gear up. Masks on. Lock and load. The siren wails once. Carmen finds a bipod and attaches it to her rifle. She's clearly happy.

Carmen departs to a tower. I follow suit. Dimitri and his three minions run to the center in a heavy sprint. Jose and Gabriel split and take the flanks.

I follow Carmen at a slow trot. She finds her sniping spot and goes up an old building. I guess the tower is too obvious. She perches down and deploys the bipod. Presses the holo-sight button and enables the x10 sight. She scans the area.

I find a hiding spot where I can see most of the activity around her. I crouch, stealth mode, and watch and wait.

I can hear Dimitri's full-auto passion unleashing a salvo. I can hear his battle cry. He's fucking crazy. But the guy has balls of steel.

Carmen starts shooting. The rifle isn't muffled by a silencer, so her shots are clearly audible, likely visible.

The fire fight ensues. The crack of multiple Vipers roaring is audible. I can hear Gabriel's orders. I can sense he's advancing with ease.

Noise. Goosebumps. Somebody's hunting for Carmen. Who wouldn't, it's the obvious thing to do when a sniper is taking out your team.

I can see them. Approaching fast. I let them get in range. They spot Carmen. Too late. I open fire in full-auto and land several hits on each. They fall, convulsing. Carmen winks at me and continues unleashing a punitive rampage against the enemy.

Shortly after the siren sounds two times. It's over. We've won.

***

It's almost midnight. We're nearing our seventeenth day in training. The tournament has gone well, but several battles have been slow, especially those where both platoons enforce a shoot-and-hide strategy. On one occasion, half a platoon was stuck for hours looking for a camper hiding in the bushes. I guess the guy was thinking he could bore his enemies to death. Once found, he was shot so many times he had to be sent for emergency surgery to fix horrible abdominal wounds.

It's midnight, and platoon Achtman won the semifinals. Now it's the finals.

"Platoon Cotillas versus Achtman. Final round."

There are cheers, mostly the Achtman team celebrating their recent victory. We remain calm, stoic, almost passive. Gabriel, a natural team leader, transmits and emanates those emotions. We all follow his lead. If he's calm, I'm calm. Good to know he feels confident that we can take them.

I've studied platoon Achtman carefully. We all have. They've clearly dominated the field with precision and unbreakable discipline. Their leader barks a succession of orders, and the soldiers follow suit with impeccable obedience. Their lieutenant seems content with the results. Cotillas shows no emotion. I think he can tell we're one of the best, if not the best.

"Cotillas will take the blue. Achtman the red. To your sides, teams. Let's end this! Eliminate the opponent to win. You get five minutes to plan your strategy," says Simmons.

We march to the blue side and start loading up.

"All right team. Any suggestions about how to take down team Achtman?" asks Gabriel.

"Let's just ambush them at the center, jump on them from the towers, guns ablaze," says Dimitri, laughing with Konstatin and Natalio.

"That's just dumb," says Carmen. Dimitri shuts it. "Team Achtman is clearly smarter than that, so they'd never fall for such a trap. Plus, their sharpshooter is better than me. She's the real deal," says Carmen. We all contemplate how good their sharpshooter has to be for Carmen to say this.

"Carmen is right," says Gabriel. "Their sharpshooter is very good and quick with the trigger. She doesn't miss a shot. I've seen her in action. With her attacking high ground, she manages to pin the rest down for Acthman soldiers to engage confidently. We both operate on the field that way. We rely heavily on our sniper to control the enemy's movement."

"Then we change the tactics," I say. They all look at me. Dimitri is about to insult me, when Gabriel cuts him off, "Elaborate," he says.

"Counter-sniping. Have our sniper pin their sniper down, instead of having one of us eliminate the sniper once located," I say.

"It's a good idea. But it won't change the fact they're more disciplined and organized. They could easily break us," says Gabriel. If he's worried, he's hiding it well.

"The key to their success is their team leader," says Jose. "I've seen him in action. He controls his soldiers like drones. They rely on his support and voice to take action. We usually split in two. With all due respect, you and I could act as leaders; these guys would follow either of us into the field."

"I like where this is going," says Gabriel.

"A leader for a leader. I'll sacrifice myself and get Masselli, their leader, and then you can take the rest out," offers Jose.

"A gamble," I say.

Once again, all eyes are on me. I'm not used to this attention. "Where's this coming from?" asks Salinas. "Where were you these last two weeks? You're suddenly all good and shit," she says, checking me out with sudden interest. Carmen gets tense. She locks her jaw. I like this.

"In chess, you know, you sacrifice a piece of certain value in exchange for advantage in the field," I explain.

"So Jose will sacrifice himself for Maselli. Carmen will take care of the sniper," confirms Gabriel.

"Not quite. Carmen and their sniper will be engaged in counter-sniping. As Jose leads his team to get Masselli, I can go get their sniper while she's engaged with Carmen. I'm the stealthiest. I'll go out hunting for their sniper once the match begins."

"I like this. You'll get killed in the process."

"Therein is part of the gamble. Two moderately valuable players of ours for two highly valued players of them. No offense, Jose," I say.

"None taken, friend. I like your plan," says Jose.

"Herrero wants to be the hero," says Dimitri, with a sudden new type of friendliness I'd never seen.

"OK, team. We have a plan. It may just work. Five minutes are almost up. Suit up. Masks on. Go!"

I forgo protective gear and wear only my helmet. My body is all bruised up anyway. I need to be fast to achieve my goal.

"Not even a vest," says Carmen with a strange tone. She's annoyed.

"Not this time. I need my stealth."

"Looks sexier without a vest, I say," says Salinas. Carmen rolls her eyes. What's this? Is she possibly jealous? I've no idea. I'm terrible at reading women.

The siren sounds once. No time to look around. I sprint to the south side and reach the wall. Then start heading east to the red side. I hear a Viper roar. Single shot mode. Must be their sniper.

I hear bullets strike a distant wall atop a small hill, listen to splinters fall and practice bullets miss their target. Must be Carmen counter-sniping with the enemy's sharpshooter.

I get low as a few shots fly by my head, missing by a few inches. Shit. Seems like our opponent figured us out.

A firefight breaks out near the middle of the field. The carnage has begun. Something's not right.

I get down low and try to find my opponent. What if it's their sniper who's pinned me down?

"Jose is down!" I hear somebody yell. Plan A is gone. Nobody's taking out Masselli. Unless...

I break off in a sprint toward the firefight, do my best to remain hidden. I go behind enemy lines. No more shots are fired toward me. I hear the shots coming only from one direction. I hope this means I'm behind all the enemies, including the sharpshooter. Now I'm in danger of friendly fire. I must be careful.

I hear Gabriel barking out orders. He's stressed out. This is not good. Things aren't going as planned.

I do my best to advance fast. I see the enemy line formed perfectly behind a wall, with multiple soldiers coming in and out of their shoot-and-hide strategy in perfect coordination.

I see their captain, the team leader. I recognize him. He's middle height, with broad shoulders and a stance that would make you think he's got a metal rod in his spine. He's barking orders, always from behind the battlefront. He seems nervous, ecstatic, almost feverish with joy. I think he smells victory. Not so fast, chum. I've got some bullets for you.

A thump behind me. I spin at lightning speed to find a convulsing body. I sense Carmen got him before he could get me. These bastards definitely had us figured out and had somebody protecting their leader in silence. I smile. Carmen's got me covered.

I turn around ready to unleash hell. Masselli is staring at me, unable to believe I've made it this far. He's paralyzed, as if somehow having defeated his defense system against our surprise attack has made him feel he failed.

Other of his soldiers have noticed his hesitance, his silence, his mourning even though he has not technically lost. But battles are won in the mind as much as in the field, and I've got my finger on the trigger, my rifle aimed. His soldiers spin around to aim at me. Too slow.

I pull the trigger. The muscle flashes wildly as the recoil of the weapon sends off bullets in multiple angles. Many fall as collateral, but Masselli takes the worse. His faceshield cracks and glass debris rains down on his face, into his eyes, exploding in a spay of blood.

He drops in a horrible convulsion mixed with wails of terror, anger, and frustration. His soldiers have now opened fire, and I'm on the ground myself with wounds half as bad bleeding from my chest.

The screams call all the attention needed, and Gabriel advances with no mercy. The battle ends thirty seconds later, when the rest fall.

"Blue team wins! Get medical in there ASAP! Prep the nano, this is gonna be bad," I hear through the ceiling speakers.
—10—

The eight platoons are organized post-battle in the landing strip, all in perfect rectangular formation, immovable, like statues, eyesight toward infinity.

Each lieutenant stands at the ready, hands behind their lower backs, facing their platoons. Cotillas remains impassive, with that facial expression he's had all this while during the tournament, as if he knew we would win. Makes me think he knows his lieutenant mates well, and thus can predict how each platoon will behave based on their training.

Achtman Platoon almost murdered me when the tournament was over. Their hatred was visceral. It's understandable. Their leader is in a medical pod undergoing plastic surgery by robotics. I can say they all hate me, except for one of their soldiers. Their sharpshooter. She's a tall chick, pretty and thin, with very delicate features. She gives me the look Salinas gave me, a type of gaze that spells out some sort of desire. I think she's actually interested in me. I'm terrible at reading female body language, but I think hers is unmistakable.

My squad, and my platoon, cheered me on as we celebrated victory. Feels good to be cheered for once. This is what Gabriel must feel on a daily basis. Quite amazing.

"I personally congratulate platoon Cotillas for their outstanding performance," says Cotillas in front of us. His tone of voice is of somebody displeased, almost uninterested. What's this about? His own platoon won. He should be proud of himself, of us, right?

Something's up. There's tension in the air.

"Captain Simmons couldn't be here with you all to celebrate this moment. Unfortunately, he's in an important holocall with General Wrath. The statistical analysis of each platoon's performance has left it clear there's a natural leader in each. Today that leader will be promoted to sergeant and will become the leader of each platoon. You will follow his or her orders and trust in his capacity to lead you to victory." There it is again. Cotilla's voice has a tone that spells out...disappointment?

And what is this about promoting a leader to sergeant? It feels too fast.

"Platoon Cotillas, your sergeant will be Perez."

Gabriel steps forward and receives a small medal on the shoulder.

"Perez ranked as the best in most categories when compared to the rest of the company. Therefore, he will become, as of now, your first sergeant, who will act as the company's leader representing Captain Simmons, and us lieutenants, in his stead."

I look at Carmen, who is as confused as I am. This is not right. There's definitely something off. Gabriel looks as confused as we are.

"Platoon Ibarguen, your sergeant is Uriel."

A strong-looking black girl steps forward and gets her medal.

"Platoon Achtman, your sergeant is Masselli. He will receive his medal as soon as he's out of medical. Platoon Robles, Sergeant Morieta. Platoon Tamori, Sergeant Gittelman. Platoon Brown, Sergeant Polka. Platoon Pichinini, Sergeant Sepulveda."

Each receives their decoration. Each is as confused as the rest. I quickly study each lieutenant's face, and find none are pleased, but, like Cotillas, don't seem to be in control of whatever is going on. They're just following orders.

Cotillas hears Simmons approach and steps aside. "Captain on deck!" We all tense.

The captain looks more tense than we do, which only makes our tension worse.

"I apologize for my not being here during your sergeants' promotion. Congratulations to your first sergeant, a well-earned title for the very best. I've no doubt he will lead you well in the rough times to come.

"Things have gotten out of hand with the Megachine. We've gone into an emergency state, and all forces are being summoned back to High Command, to home base, called Alpha Theta back in what's left of Washington. A sudden massive threat is detected, and we must be ready for the final strike.

"I know it's early in your training. You've been in a bubble, thinking this is what it's gonna be like out there. But it's not. It's gonna be much worse. I agree with Cotillas, you've much to learn about fighting against drones and collaborating with the TechSoldier, but there's no time. General Rasu Wrath has called us to arms. And we must bear them."

Captain Simmons sighs. "You've been called to arms, too, soldiers. You're part of the ISF since the moment you signed that contract, and it's binding till death do you part, or ten years of service having been met, whichever comes first.

"In the end, there's no other option. The world is about to collapse, and either way you'd be facing some sort of evil. First Sergeant Perez will receive his orders, and you will follow his command. Lieutenant Cotillas."

Cotillas takes a step forward and says, "Do not lose your rifle. Obey your superior's orders. Protect your battle brothers at all times. Follow these simple steps, and you will live to see another day. You are not ready. None of you are. But this is it. The time has come.

"As part of our goodbye I have ordered booze and music for everyone."

The other sergeants open a crate and begin setting up a table with digital music and large speakers, while others put plenty of fine vodka and whisky bottles on top.

"The end is near, my friends. We will celebrate our last days with a little dignity. Tomorrow you will go on your first mission. A mastiff for each platoon will arrive here tomorrow at 0500 to take you to the battlefield on your first mission," says Simmons. "Company dismissed," and he departs back to headquarters.

Is this a joke? Our first mission? Probably it is a joke. We're greener than green.

"Company! Celebrate!" yells Cotillas.

We're all paralyzed. It's only once the music begins that some start of chatter starts. Dimitri is the first to detach from our platoon. He reaches the table, opens a brand-new bottle of vodka, and takes a long draught.

"Let's have at it, fuckers! C'mon, dickheads!" And he dances without a care.

What the hell is going on? What just happened?

Cotillas removes his military beret and lights up a cigar. He smokes and drinks, ignoring the rest of us. Then he yells, "Well? Will you celebrate or what the shit? C'mon, soldiers! Take part in this singular moment. We will celebrate the end together."

Suddenly there's a party. Soldiers are dancing. The bottles circle. There's some chit-chat, not much. It's only after thirty minutes or so when the booze has kicked in that the noise truly starts. The dancing gets more sexual, and suddenly everyone is burning off steam.

I'm handed a bottle. I drink till I'm breathless and swallow with my esophagus on fire. The effect is almost immediate. Shit. I needed this badly.

"So, champ, who're you fucking tonight," asks Jose with a broad grin, already studying the girls as they dance in circles. He looks like a lion about to pounce on a herd of gazelles.

"Fuck? What are you talking about? It's not allowed," I say.

Jose looks at me confused. "You mean...you haven't...you haven't fucked, not once? All this time you didn't do any of them? Dude!"

"But...where? How? When? We were dying, day by day! There's no time to fuck! No time for sex!"

"Oh, lord. I can't believe this," says Jose, drinking heavily. "You're such a prude, man. You're so...naive. You fuck wherever, man! Whenever! With almost any chick here! Under the beds, on the beds...it's fair game! Dudes fucking dudes, chicks doing chicks, there's all sort of stuff going around...and you've been...no, no, no...Yo Rudy! Come here! Listen to this."

Jose tells Rudy.

"What!? You idiot! We thought you were popping Salinas! She's been eating you up with her eyes, man! Noooo! No! No! Argo!"

"You mean...you guys have been...with girls? Actual girls from our platoon?"

Jose points at several and says, "That one, Yolanda, whoa man, she's the best sex ever. She's pretty chill about fucking almost anybody. And the twins, man, those were hot."

I look around in disbelief. I find Gabriel and Carmen dancing dirty.

"Those two? Dude...Argo...my friend...I thought you knew...they've been at it since day one. He's the most coveted of all males, man! Almost all the girls in our platoon have blown him!"

That hurts deep. It cuts in and through me. I can't believe I've missed out. And here I've been waiting for my chance to get together with Carmen, trying to make her jealous, when she's already screwing Gabriel.

"Don't do anything stupid. We're at a party, having fun. Don't piss off our superiors. Tonight is out night! The night before the great battle!" says Rudy.

"Give me that bottle," I say.

"I won't let you kill anybody," says Jose.

"I won't break it or forge a weapon. Give it!" I drink a large couple of gulps, clean myself with my sleeve, and head out to hunt. Fuck this. Fuck it all. It's my turn.

I walk toward the sharpshooter on Achtman's platoon. The tall, elegant, thin, yet delicately pretty, girl sees me coming. She blushes.

"I'm Argo."

"Hey. I'm Irene."

"Wanna get out of here?" I go for the kill.

"Sure," she says and leads me to the barracks. I hear Dimitri cheering me. I can see Jose and Rudy clapping and drinking to my name.

In the beds, several are already engaged in sexual intercourse. This is crazy. Lights are out. Don't wanna see Gabriel or Carmen in here.

We undress fast. Next thing I know she's going down on me, and then I'm inside her.
—11—

At 0500 sharp, the mastiffs land with a thunderous scream of their nuclear turbines.

I get up with a sudden jolt, hitting myself against many others who, like me, are still drunk and fighting hangovers.

I exit our quarters, stepping on several and waking them up as I do so, to go the bathroom. Then I realize I'm at Irene's quarters. I run back to my own, get in the bathroom, and vomit several times. No time for a shower. Gabriel is barking out orders, and drunk-dead soldiers scramble to their feet to get in their uniforms, battle ready.

We're all dead scared and don't really understand what's going on, or why there are eight ships, waiting for us, or why Gabriel is so pissed off, making us feel like Cotillas did.

I remember Simmons said something about our first mission. In this state?

I get a sudden urge to defecate and turn around to run to the bathroom. I pull my pants down and relieve my bowels from liquid mayhem and then run back to the landing strip.

It's 0507. We're very late. Cotillas is nowhere to be seen, nor is Simmons, or any of the other high-ranking officers. There are several ships missing, and I wonder if they're even here anymore. Simmons did say they were summoned to a base called Alpha Theta. I guess that's where he went?

"Formation!" yells Gabriel. Eight platoons form, each in front of the roaring mastiff.

"Where's that motherfucker!" I hear someone yelling. "There he is! Argo! Argo! I'm gonna kill you!"

I can barely lift my hands to protect myself from the sudden attack while in formation.

Masselli gets me by the collar and pulls me with force. I'm about to get hit, when suddenly a second body runs in and takes Masselli down.

Masselli is on the floor. Two of his buddies help him up.

"Dickheads! You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us," says Dimitri with that crazy-eyed smile of his. Masselli backs off. Nobody would dare fight against this lunatic, unless you're Carmen or Gabriel.

"That son of a bitch destroyed my face and then took my girlfriend! Look at me! Look!"

"You look alive, dickhead," says Dimitri. "He took her because she chose the better one of you. Now piss off before I chew your head off! We already beat you on the field, and we can beat you anywhere else."

I smile, beaming at Masselli, which only infuriates him.

"Formation!" yells Gabriel again when he sees us out of line.

Gabriel walks toward us. I form, as does Dimitri. Masselli's friends run back to their platoon. It's Masselli who can't let go and stands there.

"I said formation, soldier! You know the price of insubordination," yells Gabriel in his face. He cocks the bolt and raises his Viper.

"Live ammo, Masselli. Back off or you're dead. We're about to head out on our first mission. Don't need this shit right now," says Gabriel, stressed. Something's up. Gabriel is seldom stressed out.

Then this is real? We're actually going on our first mission? Did he really say live ammo?

"My apologies, First Sergeant," says Masselli, and turns around and leaves.

"Listen up, soldiers!" says Gabriel as he walks back to the front, facing the eight platoons. "You will pick up four magazines, three of live ammo and one of blank rounds. One soldier on each squad will pick up a Burkes pulsar. Before doing so, cock the bolt of your rifles to make sure it's empty of practice ammo. We're going live, my friends, and practice ammo will do us no good. Proceed."

I take the Viper and pull the practice magazine out. Then pull the bolt and see the last practice round fly out.

"As you enter the warship, your sergeant will hand you the said magazines, each with fifty rounds. Load one up, the rest go strapped on your pants. The soldier carrying the Burkes pulsar will use it only when ordered by their sergeant. Platoons! Today we will head out on our first mission! It's the day of days for us. High Command considers us battle ready, and we will show them they've made no mistake. Our mission will take us directly to Richmond, Virginia. Further instructions upon landing. Go! Go! Board the mastiff!"

Each platoon boards a mastiff. Gabriel is the first one inside our own. He opens a crate and hands out the magazines to each soldier passing him by. He hands me the Burkes pulsar and winks at me. I cringe at knowing I'm that soldier in charge of the freaking pulsar, because I'm afraid of fucking it up and blowing into pieces. Fuck. I put it away, safely strapped inside one of my pants side-pockets.

An ÆTAS soldier is on deck, who helps each one strap onto the hull.

It's dark in here, with a red light barely illuminating our surroundings. There's not much to see inside the warship while strapped to the hull, except the faces of my platoon members, all as scared and confused as I am. We're all pale and in a bad state from too much drinking.

"Excuse me...First Sergeant. Why would they send us on our first mission after providing a hell of a party?" I ask. I gag. I relish in recalling Irene's body. I throw up. I fantasize about her.

Many around me are keenly listening to the answer to my question because we all seem to wonder about the same thing. It makes no sense.

"Guys...I'm gonna level with you," says Gabriel. He buckles up.

"Simmons and Cotillas and the rest of the lieutenants know we're gonna die. This is a suicide mission. Guaranteed. Allowing us to party and get drunk was a nice gesture to give us a good time before we die."

"What!" yells Carmen. "But...why even go on a stupid mission?" she asks, forgetting her rank. Gabriel doesn't seem to mind.

"They also seem to know for a fact that they will also die. They believe this is the end for ÆTAS, the ISF, and the rest of humanity not on Megachine's side," he explains.

"Dear God, we're lost," says Jorge.

"Then this is it, huh?" asks Jose.

"It's not," says Gabriel with a beaming stare. His nostrils flare. His chest puffs up. His fists clench, and he raises his tone of voice. "We will make it through this first mission, whatever it takes. We will succeed. But I will need you all to fight with me, to go all in. We can do this. I know we can."

"Helmets on," says the ÆTAS soldier. He hands each of us a helmet. I inspect it. It's very different from the one I wore during training. This helmet is heavy, but feels strangely light. I put it on and immediately am surrounded by a sense of awareness I hadn't had before. The environment within the faceshield and helmet is more comfortable, strangely spacious and cool. The faceshield is also different. The material is durable, and feels resistant. Much like the practice helmet, this one protects my whole head from occiput to jaw, with the faceshield protecting me down to the chin.

"Good evening, soldier. My name is Iris. I'm an AI used to assist soldiers like yourself in battle." It's a female voice, quite mechanical, and it rings directly into my ears. I take off the helmet and notice a couple of speakers where the ears go. There's what I assume is a mic near the breathing cage. I put the helmet back on, impressed by the piece of technology I'm being offered. Finally, something cooler than my Viper and the pulsar

The visor turns on seconds later. "This is your HUD, the Head-up Display also known as the Status Bar. In here you will find your current vital signs, ammo available for use, attachments available for your Viper, like the pulsar." The HUD has more than just my vital signs and ammo available, which I've no idea how the AI can track. There's enough data here to make you crazy, but somehow, it's not intrusive at all. I can see my weapon of choice, and a small icon that says "Intervox disabled." This is awesome. I wonder how this helmet will help me in the field.

I return my sight to my battle brothers. I notice they're despondent. No wonder Cotillas had that look on his face. He knew. He was not happy with the news about us going on a mission. Simmons was right, then. There is no hope, no escape. This is it. Then we will fight.

Our ship takes off with a roar, followed by the other seven in our company. The sudden jolt of force threatens to crush me. I feel queasy, but manage to keep whatever juices I've got left inside me.

"Team, this is Rilke," says Gabriel, pointing at the soldier on the seat nearest the cockpit. Until now, I hadn't even noticed there was someone there. I shake my head to see if I'm hallucinating. I'm not. That's an actual soldier. Someone I've not met before.

"I'm the TechSoldier assigned to your company," he says with an ÆTAS accent. He must be a national, born and raised in ÆTAS after it formed. Rilke wears a different uniform than us. His is deep blue instead of green. He's not armed with an assault weapon, rather a handgun strapped to his leg. His helmet is larger, which makes him seem strangely large headed. He has a double faceshield, one in front of the other, which makes me wonder if he manages more data than us.

"This is an MCU, a multidrone command unit, a console with a powerful portable processor that allows me to hack drones in our proximity. These joysticks here," he says, "I use to command the drones I've conquered. To use them against the enemy. Since ÆTAS has no more drones, we depend on hacking and stealing our enemy's drones to get them." He shows me the console. He must get asked the same questions by greens like us often for him to offer this information so freely.

"Has that worked at all?" asks Salinas, still half-drunk like many of us.

"We, the TechSoldiers, have captured and used the enemy's drones for almost a decade now. Our field is constantly evolving, as the enemy is constantly trying to prevent their systems from being hacked. But it's almost impossible for them to prevent it. The problem is that Wasps and Anzhous have to be cheap and simple so they can be mass produced. So it's easy for us to hack them, even disable them."

"Then why not send in an army of TechSoldiers to take the Megachine down?" asks Jorge.

"Good question. Well, for one, there aren't many of us. We're computer programmers trained to hack enemy systems. We require lots of training, and most programmers aren't qualified for our field. Plus, we are a primary target. Some Wasp swarms are programmed to seek out and destroy TechSoldiers. That's why they only assign one TechSoldier per company. I'm under your protection in case I fail to hack a drone's system. But if I succeed, we slowly build an army of enemy drones to use against them. It's very useful. You'll soon see. If you carry an EMP grenade, please don't use it if I have some enemy drones hacked."

"We don't have any EMP grenade launchers," says Gabriel. "None in this base at least."

"Good. I don't like them. It prevents me from doing my job properly," Rilke says. "Must be true then. We're running our of resources to make advanced weaponry."

I swallow. Hearing we're running out of resources to make advanced weaponry scares me.

"Enough chit-chat," says Gabriel. "Your helmet has a HUD with enough data to keep you busy for days. Most of that data is pointless in my opinion. Your most important functions are your map function, your intervox function, and the multiple-routes selection function. Follow your map as we acquire new objectives. The intervox is a secure communication to ÆTAS. Right now it's disabled. Only your superiors can enable the intervox and open and close channels for you. And then there's the multiple-routes selection, which you will learn all about soon enough."

"Three minutes to landing," says the pilot.

I feel my sphincter muscle tighten. A trickle of urine runs down my leg into my boot. I get nervous and fret. The sudden pulse of adrenaline evaporates whatever hangover was left in me. I'm suddenly very aware of my surroundings and of my own heartbeat.

"Two minutes."

I start sweating. This is a bad idea. We should've stayed behind, or something. We're not ready. The TechSoldier is in for a good one. He's dying on this one. I guess he's just following orders. Maybe he knows we're all dying anyway, and that's why he doesn't care about participating in this mission with greenies like us.

The mastiff shakes violently. A siren wails.

"Hold on! One minute!" yells the pilot.

A sudden thump shakes the ship again. The back door pops open and becomes a ramp. The buckles release us at the same time. The red light overhead turns green.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Gabriel runs out over the ramp and descends. We follow our leader in spite of ourselves.

The field is arid, empty, and desolate. It's a forgotten tomb, an old graveyard of steel, bolts, and pistons, carcasses, and human bodies, all now turned into dust and the remnants of echoes. There is nothing to see, except the skeletons of buildings once erect, streets and walls, lampposts, and things once together called a city.

The warships lift off and disappear with a pulse of their engines.

We are alone in the battlefield.

"Formation!" Gabriel's voice pulls me out of a void, out of depression, out of a place where I'd lose myself and die. I can see the invertox function has turned on, and hear First Captain's voice within the helmet.

"The objective of our mission is to find, hack, capture data, and destroy an enemy base deployed in the center of what was once Richmond, in what was once the state of Virginia.

"The enemy has been deploying autobases within the rubble of destroyed cities to develop what we've baptized Operation Check Mate. I suppose the name is self-explanatory.

"Each of these autobases is geared with one hundred Wasps, two Anzhous, and a minitank. The first step to conquer the autobase is to destroy the sentries, and then use Rilke to hack the system.

"This base may contain vital data regarding Operation Check Mate. If there's any secret weapon being developed, it's vital we find out about it before it's too late. This, the brass believes, could be a way to avoid total annihilation. Soldiers! Lock and load! Weapons live! Iris will provide each sergeant with his own set of coordinates and instructions. Follow the guidelines on your HUD. The TechSoldier will come with my platoon," says Gabriel.

"What's a TechSolder," asks a sergeant.

Gabriel gives a small explanation. Nobody really cares, but I bet they all wonder how Rilke will do what he does. None of us has ever seen an enemy drone hacked.

I take off the helmet and vomit. I see several others feeling the sickness as well. Too much booze prior to a mission—our first mission. Should've drank less, maybe I'd remember more of having sex with Irene. I try to find her. It's impossible amidst so many soldiers, all in formation, tense, stressed, scared to death. I wish I could've said something, maybe goodbye. I hope I can say it afterwards. Maybe we'll have more sex later. I would love that.

My HUD starts beeping, downloading mission objectives and tracing the possible routes to achieve those objectives. Our platoon is assigned to reach point B marked on the map. Gabriel's strategy is to surround the base at different angles, I think, with the objective to move in slowly, giving Rilke a chance to hack the Wasps.

Each platoon moves out. The trot is heavy in this wasteland. There's no light, only darkness creeping into every corner. The uniform is thick, with enough layering to protect against the cold. The uniform's fabric is tough, but forgiving on sweat.

Dead, crooked trees await in their twisted misery to be pulverized by the passing of time. Cars are torn and broken, warped by the once sun-hot warheads exploding nearby. Dead buildings decay with the corpses of the tenants who once lived there.

Shots fired. A Viper barks with repetitive alarm, like a hound telling a story of invaders. More shots.

Within the confines of the cemetery city the wind howls.

I hear the shots of SMGs, those possessed by Wasps. Shit.

"Sargent Uriel! What...how many? More than thirty casualties? Are you shitting me...." I can barely see Gabriel's face through the glass of his mask. He looks scared. And if he's scared, I'm definitely feeling the terror.

"A swarm...of more than a hundred Wasps...they must know. They must've known we were coming," says Gabriel.

Rilke gets on edge. Something bothers him. I see him lay his console on the floor. He starts typing and a small monitor shows data in green letters. "Sergeant Perez...Sergeant! We have a problem! A swarm is heading our way!"

"Motherfucker! Rifles...!"

The sound emitted by a swarm of Wasps is dread, a thundering buzz that makes the very earth shake. You can feel the sound in your chest.

The darkness is distorted. It's the movement of the swarm coming upon us at great speed. It's a vortex of enemies, moving in attack formation.

"Fire!" yells Gabriel. Rilke types fast.

Many shoot. The majority remain petrified, like myself, unable to raise their weapons. Primal fear strikes deep.

Horror strikes. The implacable rain of bullets descends upon us like angels of death.

"Retreat! Move!" Too late.

Dimitri, Nolasco, Natalio, Konstatin, Salinas, Carmen, Jose, Jorge, Rudy, and Mrs. Rodriguez, those who engaged the enemy, are now retreating at full speed, hiding behind a torn building.

Yolanda dies in an instant. She's not even a body anymore. So many bullets riddle her that she becomes a mist of blood and ground meat and bone pilled in a heap of red and white.

The Wagner twins try to defend themselves, but the bullets are too many—they too become mist and pulp within seconds, their bodies reduced to nothing.

I'm moving. I'm on the ground. Bodies, still in one piece, are being torn alive by the raging attack. I see my comrades fall, those too slow or too scared to attack.

I hear Jorge's voice. I get pulled by the arm and go down with a thump behind debris. He's saved me and is dragging me to safety. In a sudden fury, I pull the trigger and attack the swarm. I think I hit something, but it seems futile. I want to attach the pulsar and fry those fuckers, but no order has been given to use it.

The bolt clicks. I'm empty.

"Herrero! Attach the pulsar! Use it at will!

"New orders given," says the AI on my ear. "Proceed to load the blank rounds magazine and attach the pulsar to the muzzle of the rifle."

Her mechanical voice is strangely soothing amidst chaos. I follow the orders. I reload blank rounds, making sure the bolt is empty. Only two live ammo mags left.

"You've been hacked!" celebrates Rilke.

"Too fucking late," yells Dimitri. He takes off his helmet and throws it to the TechSoldier, approaching him with speed. "My teammates! They're dead! You're too late!"

Gabriel intervenes in time and saves Rilke from a fist to the face.

Dimitri goes crazy. He runs to the open where the remains of our battle brothers lay in puddles of blood and piles of ground flesh. Above the dead hovers the ominous swarm of Wasps, ready to follow orders, paralyzed by Rilke's hack. I want to test out the pulsar against the machines that just obliterated my battle brothers and sisters, but restrain myself from fear of retribution from my superior.

Dimitri kneels and grabs the piles of flesh. He can't believe Yolanda and the others are dead. So fast. So sudden. Dimitri says goodbye and puts his helmet on, still quite afflicted by the situation. His helmet is stained with the blood of the fallen. We're all in a state of shock. The only soldier who's at ease is Rilke, but clearly he has plenty of experience.

"So is this how you usually operate?" asks Carmen, clearly distraught.

"What do you mean?" asks Rilke.

"You hide and wait for a swarm of Wasps, let some soldiers get killed in the process, and as they die you do what you can to hack them."

"I mean...yeah. That's the only way. Listen, I've been in many missions, battles, and wars. It's not pretty. We TechSoldiers always get blamed for the death of many, when actually I just saved your ass. You think I'm just hiding in a corner waiting to hack some drones. Think on this well, soldier. This isn't my first rodeo. I usually end up having this discussion with someone who thinks my role is insufficient. Think twice. You'd be dead like them if it weren't for me."

"He's right," says Gabriel. "It would seem he uses us as bait. It's not the case, clearly. Rilke, what can you do with the hacked Wasps?"

"Oh. Anything, really. I can do whatever you please. You're the highest-ranking officer here. It's your call. I can send them to attack, defend a point, split into different teams, you name it. Just...don't send them away from a perimeter of one hundred meters. I lose effective range. This is not a one-hack deal. I have to continuously manipulate the system. They can be won over by the enemy using similar technology. And all drones are equipped with an anti-hacking code that overrides me if I'm too far away."

"Good."

I find it amazing and terrorizing that we can hack and control Wasps just like that. Growing up in SLAV, I would fear and run away from Wasps, never thinking I would be fighting with them as allies. This is fucked up. Those Wasps just killed my friends. I should be pissed. I should be wanting to destroy the machines. Instead, I find myself relieved having them on my side. I suddenly feel safe.

"Uriel, Masselli, Moreira, Gittelman, Nolke, Polka, Sepulveda, do you copy?"

Silence on the intervox.

"Where...what happened...they fell...dammit...Stay put, Sergeant. We're on our way with reinforcements. Send me your coordinates."

Gabriel shares with us the new objective. Iris shows me an icon on the map.

"Platoon Sepulveda and Moreira have survived the onslaught and have taken down an Anzhou. They're pinned down by another Anzhou in the vicinity. Let's go!"

This means Irene is dead? Can't be. Could it be?

The terrifying sound of the Wasp swarm flying over us makes me uneasy. The sound makes me quiver.

"Anzhou! Take cover!"

A burst of heavy machine gun shots misses us by a hair.

"Rilke, send the Wasps to take it out!"

"Yes, sir!"

Rilke controls the Wasps, which move in a vortex, with the joysticks on the consoles. He appears to be playing video games, seeing some patter or video live feed on the HUD of his mask. He pulls the joystick triggers, and I hear all the Wasps' SMGs fire at the same time. The sound is grinding. The Anzhou is defeated in seconds.

"Amazing...that was easy..." says Dimitri, seeing value in Rilke's specialty.

"Let's move out!"

We reach the designated point and rendezvous with Sepulveda and Moreira.

Our battle brothers shoot at the Wasps over us. One falls and splits in pieces when it hits the floor.

"Hold your fire! They're ours! Rilke has hacked them," yells Gabriel.

Rilke is pissed off. Holds his tongue from yelling at those scared by the swarm. I think he gets it, probably has seen newbies like us shitting our pants upon seeing a hacked swarm.

The roar of heavy machine gun fire screams, and we all duck. Behind a fallen tank, an Anzhou seems to be stuck in debris, shooting its guns at the targets it cannot really see.

"Rilke, can you hack him?"

"Not safely. If I start hacking too many and different types of drones, I run the risk of loosing control of one or many. I have ninety Wasps under my control. Believe me, it's enough to complete this mission safely. If one, only one of the Wasps goes haywire, many could die."

"OK. Take out the Anzhou."

"Yes, sir!"

The Anzhou, unable to detect the hacked Wasps as enemies, does little to defend itself from the attack. In seconds it's dead.

"That's amazing..." I hear other soldiers say in awe upon seeing the Wasps attack an Anzhou.

I look around and study those alive. There aren't many of us left anymore. Platoon Sepulveda has five soldiers left, while Platoon Moreira has only seven. We still number ten, excluding Rilke. I only see fit and tough people, those we always knew were superior soldiers. The rest, the old, the weak, the fragile, and the cowardly have died. I should be among the fallen. I was one of the cowardly who should be lying in a pile of flesh. I shake away the depressive feeling and return my attention to the battlefield.

Irene is nowhere to be seen. I feel an urge to go looking for her remains, but desist. It's useless now. She's dead. I need to accept that, no matter how hard it is. I want to cry, and notice I'm not the only one in a state of shock. Carmen notices my emotional distress and places a hand on my shoulder. Says nothing.

"Those bastards. Those motherfuckers. They knew this was a suicide mission. Right? C'mon, Gabriel, just tell us the truth."

He sighs. "They knew. We aren't supposed to survive. But I'm willing to try."

"Whoa," says Rilke, "wait a second. I'm not ready to die in any mission. I've survived too many to die in a mission as simple as this one. Listen, we already have ninety Wasps under our command. The base is not far ahead. We've got the Wasps, taken down the Anzhous, now it's about taking out the minitank. Once that's done, the base's defense is gone."

"Rilke is right. We're pretty close to completing the mission. Let's get it done and prove our superiors wrong," says Gabriel with a raised fist. "Rilke, can you send off Wasps to scout the area? Look for the minitank?"

"It's not effective. The minitank is designed for stealth. It's hiding somewhere, and only an enemy presence can summon it. We need soldiers, flesh and bone, to activate it."

Gabriel thinks and then says, "The base is around this area. If we send out two scouts with orders to return once the minitank is activated, we could take it out with the Wasps, right?"

"Its armor is too thick," says Rilke. "Wasps won't touch it. We either destroy it with explosives or hack it. If we hack it, I have to release the Wasps."

"Send the Wasps in and let the minitank destroy them. Once destroyed, hack the minitank," says Carmen. Smart as ever.

"That could work," says Rilke.

"All right, soldiers. Listen up. Dimitri and I will scout ahead. Be ready for when the tank opens fire."

"Sergeant, be aware it has a rail gun cannon. Stay away from its sights. It has homing missiles, anti-air missiles, and two fifty cals. It's a death machine."

"They're all death machines," says Gabriel. "OK, soldier. Let's move out," he says to Dimitri.

The psycho from Argentina does not hesitate. Hands his rifle to Natalio and prepares to sprint.

Gabriel says nothing. Just sprints out. Dimitri swears and runs after him.

The ground seems to rumble. A canon shoots and moments later the earth trembles. From out of the rubble appear a sprinting Gabriel and Dimitri.

"Here it comes!" they yell.

Rilke is sitting down on the floor. Once he sees them, he moves the joysticks on his console and attacks the minitank with all the Wasps' might. The ninety Wasps fly full speed ahead in formation, in a spiral, and soon enough unleash their salvo.

"Do minitanks recognize hacked Wasps as enemies?" I ask.

The TechSoldier looks at me and says "No" under his breath. I can see him scrambling.

The minitank continues advancing in spite of it receiving a cascade of bullets.

"We have a problem, Sergeant!" says Rilke. "I forgot minitanks don't recognize hacked Wasps as enemies. And Wasps can't defeat a minitank!"

Gabriel pants. In his anger he says, "Release the Wasps and take the minitank as fast as possible. And with its artillery destroy all remaining Wasps."

"Remaining?"

"Rifles up! Shoot the Wasps!" yells Gabriel, opening fire.

All remaining Vipers open fire. I shoot the pulsar. An angry bolt cracks in the air. I feel ecstatic, but then realize I'm out of range. Shit.

The Wasps fall with ease when they're distracted attacking another target. In an instant, I can tell the Wasps are no longer under Rilke's control, but it takes them a good thirty seconds to reboot or rid themselves of the cybernetic spell, and soon enough they're heading toward us in a spinning formation. There's around forty left...still enough to pulverize us.

"Rilke! I need that minitank!" yells Gabriel, reloading.

The minitank freezes on its track, a sign Rilke has accessed it.

"Last mag!" yell two or three soldiers simultaneously.

"I'm out!" yells somebody else.

"Got it!"

The minitank reactivates and starts unleashing the fury of its fifty cals and missile silos. The Wasps fall within seconds, the sky alight with fire and dying circuits.

"That was too close," says Gabriel. "Thought you said you've survived many missions."

Rilke turns red under his double faceshield and swallows the insult. "Sir, I'm sorry, sir. Didn't think this would happen. Will not happen again."

"How can you forget this type of shit? Sure you've seen as many missions as you claim?"

I suddenly doubt the TechSoldier's claims. Sounds like he's green like us. Probably that's why he got assigned to our company.

"OK, team," starts Gabriel. "The base is close by. We've defeated its defenses, and now it's all about finding the damn thing, hacking it, and then requesting extraction once the mission is complete."

Extraction? Had he been able to ask for extraction sooner? I think so. But I'm sure he wanted to go home with a trophy in his hands. What a bastard.

We move out, surrounding the minitank for its protection, which seems odd to me. I have to remember it's not an enemy who hates, but a combination of pistons and bolts following its core programming. Soon enough, I see a gray building between defeated buildings.

"There it is."

As expected, there are no enemies.

"Move in."

We move in platoons, what remains of them. We reach the building and secure the perimeter.

"Rilke, scan for drones. You sure there aren't any hiding?"

The distrust is evident.

"Our advancement didn't seem to activate any, Sergeant. All's clear for now. I've programmed the minitank to defense mode. If anything pops out, it will take care of it. One thing, though, sometimes these bases are occupied by soldiers, flesh and blood. Those I cannot detect," says Rilke.

He approaches the base and lays the console on the ground. From his cargo pants he takes out a small, metallic magnetic device, which he secures to the wall of the base. The small device turns on and flashes blue light. Rilke returns to this console and seems to interact with it.

"Does this base even have an office space for humans?" I ask.

"They're usually empty," says Rilke, still working on hacking the base. "These bases are mostly signal boosters for data collection. The base has the ability to scan a very large area and transmit back to their satellites."

A sudden explosion. Rilke flies into pieces. The base opens up like a flower, and five humans run out of it in a fury. We shoot in spite of our surprise. One is running toward me with his bayonet pointed at me. I shoot the pulsar and fry his face, but he continues advancing. Shit! Shit! Shit!

The bayonet plunges deep into my belly. I scream. The bleeding, wounded Megachine soldier scrambles, pulls, yanks, and opens a gigantic wound in my belly and then trips, falling into my hands. A shot to the head takes him down.

Severely wounded, I begin to whimper. The pain is horrible. Worse is me holding pink guts in my hands. And suddenly, it's all dark.
—12—

The arid, toxic soil of our apartment's backyard is small. The grass is dead. It's been dead for decades. Government-issued housing never included a nice lawn anyway. It's big enough to play. I'm sitting on the soil, playing with an old wooden truck that I inherited from my father.

Dad comes out of the house to the backyard and looks at me proudly. He then leans over and kisses my mom, who's taking care of me as I play.

We go into the house. Dad leaves for work. Mom starts prepping the gas stove and uses a frying pan to create an arepa, a salty corn-flour-based fried dish that was Venezuela's food staple. Guatemala's was the tortilla. But since Chavez conquered all of Latin America, the arepa is now an official thing.

Smells so good. Sweet and smoky. I sink my teeth into it as my mom hands it to me on an old aluminum plate.

"I love it! Thanks, Mom!"

She's so pretty. So lovely. Dark hair, brown skin, beautiful smile. "It's all for you, my dear," she says. She kisses me on the forehead and caresses me with a hand. "Argo," she calls my name.

"Argo?"

Wait. That's not her voice. Her image is distorted, and soon enough she fades away. Mom? Mom? That's right. She's been dead for over a decade.

"I think he's coming to, Iris. Pull the robotic arms away. I think he's ready for tracheal tube removal. Decrease sedation...deflate balloon..."

I feel as if a giant mantis' arm has been thrust into my breathing pipe and is now trying to pull out my lungs. I breathe in and start to cough and then vomit a thick ball of mucus. Somebody comes to my aid and hugs me. Mom? Can't be.

"Argo?"

I manage to open my eyes and search for the owner of the voice. A blue-eyed, black-haired, fair-skinned woman stares at me with worry. She's wearing a lab suit like a doctor would.

"Mom?"

"Hi, Argo. I'm Dr. Xochitl Opovich," she says, taken aback by me having called her Mom.

"Doctor? Waa?"

"I'm the director of the General Commander Hughes Memorial Hospital, where you're currently admitted," she says with a smile.

"Admitted?" Takes me a while to clear the mental fog. I shake my head, rub my eyes, yawn a couple of times. The doctor waits patiently as I slowly reboot.

I open my eyes wide and start recalling the pain, the bayonet in my tripes, the horrible sensation that was. I take my hands to my belly and notice I'm almost naked, except for a surgical gown with spots of blood everywhere. My blood.

I can see IVs pumping fluids into my veins.

"Your battle brothers are very worried about you. A tall, kinda crazy guy was almost crying when they brought you in."

"Dimitri?"

She shrugs. I move my hands to my belly and rub it. Find several surgical scars. One, the most prominent, runs from my sternum to my pubis. The scar is not a straight line. That was the bayonet working inside me, cutting me open.

"We had to operate on you immediately. The bayonet, although a primitive weapon, is still very effective in this day and age. Many organs were perforated. Your liver suffered a grave laceration. Lucky he didn't sever the aorta."

This doctor seems very interested in me. I can tell because she's still standing there. Usually us doctors like to say things fast and finish our sentences as we are closing the door. Not a great way of being a doctor, but it's usual. She's still standing there, and she's giving me a strange stare. What does she want?

"Am I OK?" I ask. Worried. I'm fully conscious now. I'm concerned by the pristine environment I find myself in. This is not a place I've visited before. It's too clean.

"Oh...sorry," she answers, nervous. Nervous? "I have...there's this offer I want to make to you, but know this is a terrible moment," she says waving her hand. But I can tell she means to make the offer anyway.

"An offer? Wait...how long have I been here...admitted?"

"It's been a full week. You were under intensive care for the most part. The macro surgery went very well. The robotic surgeon patched you up in hours. Then the nanobots kicked in and finished the job. The nanos found leukemia while patching you up. No worries, it's been dealt with. So far, you've been fed through the vein and a tube stuck down your bowels. You're more than ready to eat. You'll get stronger with rehab."

"Rehab? Hell no. I'm a soldier. I need to get back to the field."

"Well, I recommend therapy. You need to get stronger before going back in. Now, about this offer."

"I though you said it was too soon."

"It is," she agrees. "But I need to ask you. It's regarding the operation you're working on preventing."

"Operation Check Mate?"

"Yes. It seems the Megachine is planning to go all out. There's rumors they'll soon try a new weapon that we don't know anything about."

"That's what I've heard," I say, still unsure where she's driving at.

There's a smooth metal surface in front of me, where I can see my reflection. I study myself and find many scars on my face and nose. I look emaciated. I need food.

"Listen, Doctor Opovich, I can tell you're not leaving until you state your offer. So just say it, dammit." I'm getting frustrated with her.

She breathes in, as if this were very hard and says, "You were a doctor, yes?"

"Could be..." I say. This is the second time somebody brings up my medical background. I don't like it one bit. I know where this is going.

"Your friends, Carmen and Jorge said so. Said you worked together back in SLAV, curing lymphomas and leukemia by the dozen. Sounds like you guys are still using chemo and radiation back there. We're using nanos."

I get annoyed at my friends for having verified my medical background.

"So what's the offer?"

"Well, ÆTAS has many projects, a few of which need to be sped up if we're to stop the Megachine," she says. "One of them is about creating our own secret weapon...."

"Just fucking say it!" I yell. The sudden flash of anger makes my innards hurt.

"Argo, I can't...it's a top-secret project. But what I need to offer you is a position as a medical investigator to help us out with this weapon. The trials...we need doctors, badly, people with interest in the physics and chemistry of the human body. Smart people like you belong in the lab, with science and math and physics. Pardon my saying, but you're not the type of person who fits as a soldier. You're the type of person who fits the scientist role," she says.

Motherfucker. I clench my fists until my knuckles are white. I had this conversation with Cotillas. I will not have it again.

"Insulting me will get you nowhere."

"Argo, please. We need you. Excellent pay, citizenship, anything you want. Prestige. It's all yours. Help us. I've also asked Carmen and Jorge the same thing."

"And they said?"

"They're waiting for you to wake up. Listen, Argo. Most of our army is made up of immigrants from SLAV. Some of those recruits, such as yourself, Carmen, and Jorge, are people devoted to science who deserve better than to die without honor, buried in a pile of waste in the battlefield. Minds like yours we could use by the dozen. I've tried talking to General Wrath about it, but he won't listen."

"Stop. Doctor, stop talking. I heard your offer. I can tell you're desperate. But I'm no longer a doctor. I'm a fucking soldier. And as a fucking soldier, my duty is to report to my officer and present myself to resume my role in the field. Without soldiers, without boots on the ground, your precious lab is worthless because the enemy would be stabbing you to death."

Doctor Opovich loses her calm and says, "This hegemony, coalition of countries we call ÆTAS, is the result of nations like Germany, Ireland, Canada, the USA, Australia, all joined together in one piece of land to make a stand against the advancing Megachine. It's been decades since we lost our drones. The war has claimed millions of millions of lives, Argo. Academia, science, investigation, it's all been pushed back, and the military has taken over. But a country, a land whose devotion is to war and war only, soon enough it will lose its intellectuals and become as barbaric as our enemy. We can't lose our intelligence to the war!"

She's very passionate about this subject, and by her speech, it sounds like she's repeated the words over and over again.

"A nation without thinkers is as good as dead, Argo. I beg you. Think about this offer."

"OK. Give me full details. That's the only way I can actually, truly think about it."

"I can't...its top secret. Unless you join, I can't debrief you."

"Well then, this is goodbye."

"Wait...this weapon we're developing...it could be enough to stop the Megachine, stop it right in its tracks. We're very close."

"Ma'am, the only thing stopping this war is soldiers like me."

She sighs. She loses vigor. She must be in her mid-fifties. She's attractive in a weird way. She's not pretty, but somehow her features make her exotic. Small nose, small lips, intelligent blue eyes.

"Let me know what you and your friends think, please. We need you. More than ever."

"My clothes please. I'm outta here."

A mechanical servitor steps in. Hands me my clothing and steps out.

"I could have your ranking officer order you to rehab, you know," says the doctor. "You need rehab."

"Lady, you do whatever you want. I'm out."

She swears and says under her breath, "I knew it was too soon..."

I say nothing. Begin to dress.

"Your Viper is safe with your friends," she explains with a soft voice. She's playing the nice person now. Fuck you. "Please...promise me you'll think about it. OK?

"No promises. Nada. Gotta go."

"Fine. For instructions on how to return to your quarters, just ask Iris."

"Iris?"

"The AI in the base. You can summon her from anywhere. Just call her name."

"Base?"

"Oh, that's right. I forgot to tell you. Welcome to Alpha Theta Base, our last sanctuary in New Washington. This is it, the last big headquarters left in all ÆTAS. Argo," she stops me, "take these painkillers. They won't sedate you."
—13—

As I leave the hospital, I expect to go outside into the arid world and see a city, or buildings, or something like that. I'm surprised when I exit a heavy double door, each side sliding seamlessly open with a sound like somebody gasped.

I exit and enter a hallway crowded with automated servitors and military personnel walking to and fro. Other doctors, wearing their white coats, are coming and going into the hospital. Nobody pays attention to me as I walk by. I'm just another common soldier in here. Perhaps less than common because most soldiers who haven't been genetically modified are tall and fair-skinned. I'm the opposite.

The walls of the hall are sizeable, the ceiling high. The material is some sort of alloy that appears smooth and clean, at the same time giving off a vibe indicating that it's highly resistant. I can't believe I made it here alive.

I clutch my belly and immediately feel drained of my energy. Maybe rehab wasn't such a bad idea. But no, I'm a soldier now. I'll tough it through.

I turn back and enter the hospital again. There's nobody guarding the entrance, and no passcode is needed to come in. I quickly scan the place. Multiple robotic surgeons are analyzing bodies damaged by the war. I'm greeted by nurses and other paramedical, but ask nothing because I know Dr. Opovich would notice my curiosity. The hospital is amazing. With this technology, we could heal millions back in SLAV.

I shake off the idea and my interest in the medical field. Yet somehow, I know I'll be seeing more of Doctor Opovich. How fucked up is that? I'm barely recovering from having a tube down my throat and she's already offering me a job. How rude. She must be very desperate.

I go back out to the hall and continue walking. My throat is sore. Maybe one more day at the hospital, chilling out, would have been best. Yet doctors make bad patients. That's me.

"Straight ahead," says Iris through a speaker on the ceiling. Chilly. I know the AI, the base, or whatever, is very aware of my presence and of my current position. She guides me through the halls as I continue.

"You...Iris. You were in my helmet as well?"

"That is correct, Private Herrero. I am installed in all systems. My mission is to aid ÆTAS humans in their missions."

"But you're here...and there...are you everywhere?" I ask out loud. Feels very strange to be talking to the air. I feel half-schizo.

"I am omnipresent wherever my program is installed with the interface to interact with humans. All the data collected is synced back to my servers where I keep a safe copy and log data about ÆTAS soldiers," she explains.

That's eerie. Can't be good to have an omnipresent AI. Yet I say no more. I'm too tired and in pain for more chatting. I pop a few pain pills provided by Dr. Opovich. The effect is quick. My throat hurts less.

As I walk, I see many holos advertising HydraPacks of different flavors. New guns, new Viper upgrades are also advertised. ÆTAS is running out of supplies, and all its soldiers are now being fed with HydraPacks. I thought only us, the ISF, was fed that disgusting gel. Things must be worse than they seem. This, combined with Captain Simmons' attitude and what Dr. Opovich told me, makes me acutely aware we're actually very close to being annihilated.

"Turn right," says the AI.

"Argo!" yells someone as I clear a corner. I see my platoon walking towards me. I see Carmen. I feel a jolt of excitement upon seeing her. She hugs me, kisses my cheeks. I blush, try to hide it.

Now that Irene is dead, I somehow feel Carmen is the one and only—again. This sucks for me. I know I gave up on getting her, but I might try again.

I shake hands with my battle brothers, among them Dimitri, the only one who hugs me, Gabriel, Jorge, Jose, Rudy, Salinas, and Mrs. Rodriguez. Natalio and Konstatin seem weary. They've changed since I last saw them.

A sense of general doom and mourning grips me by the neck. I can see now why the long faces. Seeing me alive was a reminder of losing most of our people in our first mission, and the majority of the company. Most of us are dead.

"Glad you're alive," says Gabriel. Slaps me on the shoulder. "We're heading to the Military Theater Commander Nolan, where General Wrath is to debrief us."

The first sergeant looks well. As if at home. I can see he has a new emblem on his left shoulder. He notices me noticing it.

"Medal of honor," he says with a smile. "Mission was a success. High Command was especially pleased with us bringing in a minitank."

"Rilke?" I ask, remembering what happened. I'm flooded with the emotions of feeling the bayonet in my belly.

"He was blown to pieces," says Carmen.

I'm struck. His death makes this reality somehow more real. Then they all died. Almost all.

"C'mon. The survivors of platoons Moreira and Sepulveda are already there. Don't wanna be late," says Gabriel lightheartedly.

As we walk, I cannot help but to admire the base. The walls, the cleanliness, the technology everywhere; this place is like a dream. But alas, here I am, when shit's about to hit the fan, and all these wonders may go up in smoke.

Our platoon soon joins a wave of soldiers who, like us, are to report to Theater Commander Nolan. I notice the majority, if not all, are like us: thin, lanky, mostly malnourished, and brown or light brown of skin, except for those South Americans like Dimitri who're blond and blue-eyed.

A few giants stand watch, one at each side of the entrance to the elevator that, I'm guessing, takes us to the theater. I can tell these are the genetically engineered or modified soldiers. They're just too big, too large. Their arms are like claws, gigantic muscles popping out where clothing does not obscure their skin. Their heads are enormous, as are their jaws, and they have small eyes. They each hold a large weapon, so large I'm sure I wouldn't be able to wield it, maybe not even lift it.

"Look at them, those beasts," says Dimitri. "Them and their condescending looks."

One of the giants growls at us as we pass by. Dimitri dares eyeball them. I can sense their contained rage and hope Dimitri doesn't provoke them.

"Don't judge them," says Salinas. "You've no idea what they've been through."

"Sympathy for the ÆRMY soldiers? Perhaps you wanna sleep with them too," says Natalio.

"I wouldn't mind that at all," says Brenda with a smirk.

The elevator is enormous, fitting perhaps a whole company, and descends slowly after the double doors close.

We descend many levels, and notice on the wall near the door a number is displayed, showing the current level we're in. ...47...48...49...50.

"We're going down, yet the numbers are going up. Strange," says Jorge.

"Must be an underground base," says Jose. "To protect itself from A-bombs. Makes sense."

Once the elevator has stopped on level 50, the doors open, sliding to each side slowly. We exit into a hallway that gives way into a gigantic dome. The place is enormous. I can see thousands of soldiers. These must be all the soldiers of the ISF joined together! I cannot help but wonder at the size of this base if it holds a dome this large in a subterranean level that goes all the way down to level 50.

Immediately I recognize the Spanish language spoken in a multitude of accents and nuances, the norm when you bundle up people from all over Latin America. I see hot chicas here and there. I think of Irene and mourn her death. We barely knew each other, and I know I'll inevitably forget about her.

"Lots of ladies around here," says Dimitri, licking his lips. Natalio, Konstatin, and Nolasco imitate their idol's behavior. Jorge, Jose, and Rudy seem busy investigating the place, curious more about the size of the dome than the people inside it.

"Lot's of fuckable dudes too," says Salinas. Mrs. Rodriguez is also looking around. She's the only old person who made it. She no longer has a pear-shaped body. She's not tight, not like Carmen or Salinas. But you notice she's lost a good amount of weight, and most of the flabby skin is now making her look squishy.

I turn and look for Carmen. She's holding hands with Gabriel, both with their eyes unreadable, seemingly disinterested. What a prick. I know I'm jealous. Can't help it.

A holo appears mid-air in the center of the dome. Its blue hue spreads across and lights the dome up. The holo is large enough to see clearly from the far end where we're stationed.

The appearance of the hologram results in silence. Suddenly everyone is entering formation, and I can tell they're forming in groups no bigger than thirty soldiers. Must be each platoon. Gabriel doesn't miss a beat, and quickly orders us to form. We stand ready.

"ISF soldiers! Welcome to the family, those of you who are newly recruited and have made it through your first mission! To those who are veterans, I salute you. ÆTAS congratulates you on your ferocity and valor out in the field!" says the holo, the face and torso of an ÆTAS officer.

"Boooo!"

"Fuck you!"

"You disgrace us!" yells the public.

I'm astonished to observe this behavior. In the military? One would think they'd be punished Cotillas-style. Somehow, someway, they must know that a punishment isn't viable, or possible—otherwise they wouldn't do it. Maybe because they know they are indispensable to ÆTAS? I'm not sure. But this makes me uneasy.

"Makes you think they've lived this same crap over and over again," says Dimitri. "I guess I'd be bored as well."

Only a handful of us remain astonished. Likely the new recruits. Likely those who, like me, just completed their first mission. Fresh out of training.

The holo disappears. There's a sudden vaporization of noise, and silence falls over the dome like a tombstone.

Everyone tenses up. All soldiers form neatly, and their faces, once annoyed at the holo, are suddenly stern with eyes fixed to infinity and beyond.

Those of us who've never witnessed this before imitate the behavior. Something's up.

Steps are heard. Assertive walking, sure, steady, confident steps which emit a faint, but clearly audible, sound. There's a third sound. Two feet, and a third something hitting the ground. A cane, perhaps? I can't tell from this distance.

Like the parting of the Red Sea, the ocean of ISF soldiers splits in half. We're at the far end of the theater, so we barely move, but we are moved by the spectacle. The air is tense with expectation, with a vibrating sense of admiration. I have no idea who's coming, but I'm filled with an eagerness to follow this person, a leader, perhaps.

The steps have stopped. Brutal silence is followed by the appearance of a hologram hanging mid-air in the middle of the theater.

From this distance, I can tell it's the face of whomever walked in. I can see how his gestures, impossible to discern from a distance, are clearly visible on the holo.

I've seen this person before, but can't tell when. He's wearing a black military beret. A pair of squinting eyes are his most prominent feature, which are Asian in shape but blue in color. His nose is aristocratic, and his jaw is chiseled. He has a regal air about him. The calm, almost uninterested gaze he shoots us makes him kingly.

I can hear gasps. I can sense the respect people have for this person.

The hologram features his full body. I can see on his left shoulder he has four small golden stars. On his beret, he also has those four stars. Other military decorations adorn both sides of his chest. His uniform is pristine. He rests both hands on this cane, or stick that he's carrying, but after studying it, I realize it's no cane at all, rather it has a handle...and a sheath. It's a katana sword!

I know very little about these weapons. Most of what I know I've learned from old manga purchased at underground markets. All that stuff I left back home, surely now in the possession of SLAV, who likely stormed my house in search of evidence of my desertion.

"Soldiers of the ISF, I am General Rasu Wrath, commanding officer of the ÆTAS armies." His deep voice grumbles across the dome.

"To those of you who recently arrived at our base, welcome. Project Zurich is now over, which consisted of recruiting as many immigrants as possible during a period of four decades. Now the ISF has more soldiers than the ÆRMY. Without you, we'd be lost. This war that we've been fighting since the year 2039 is one that we've been losing since we were defeated in the Multidrone War. After the drones were lost, we slowly lost up to seventy-five percent of our forces."

The general pauses. Studies the room.

"Soldiers like you are the units of war. Wars are fought thanks to brave women and men like yourselves, who sought a better life north of SLAV, what is now the confederation of Megachine. Look around you. You'll find family.

"With the closure of Project Zurich, all of our secret bases destined to train the ISF recruits are now abandoned. We will initiate a series of intense, counter-measures to understand what our enemy intends. The North Atlantic and North Pacific coasts are being invaded as we speak, unhindered, unopposed. They set up camp and prepare to unleash hell.

"To the last group to make it out of the secret bases where recruits were trained: welcome. You're here because you're worthy. You've made it through your first mission. You've seen your battle brothers die, a pain you will carry for a long time to come. There is no glory without sacrifice.

"We're joined here to gather before the storm of bullets and missiles is unleashed. This war has outlasted many, and we must give it our all even if we end up losing. ISF, we depend on you to repel the enemy! For freedom!"

"For freedom!" we reply, our joined voices booming in the theater.

General Wrath salutes us. We salute back.
—14—

"Where the fuck are you going, privates?" says an annoying voice behind us as we walk away back to our quarters, a place I've not visited yet.

Gabriel turns around and gets in another ISF soldier's face. He's tall and lanky, pale as a corpse with sunken eyes and prominent cheekbones. He has one teardrop tattoo under his left eye. His eyes are pale green, like a new leaf. To his right, a giant rivals Dimitri in size. The giant has a skull tattooed on his entire face, replacing most of his natural facial features, which makes him seem like a prominent gang member. To his left an attractive woman scrutinizes us, both hands on her hips. She has an evident nose ring that contrasts heavily with her beauty.

"We're headed back to our quarters. And who the fuck are you?" says Gabriel, still in his face.

The pale guy smiles. He's missing several teeth, and his breath smells worse than a sewer. Still, Gabriel remains in his face, not moving a muscle. That teardrop tattoo, it has to mean something.

"This one must be the peacock of the family. You must have a gigantic sac, brother, yet no brains at all," says the pale guy.

Gabriel looks at him doubtingly.

"What level were you assigned to, Private?"

"It's First Sergeant. Twenty-seven, asshole."

"What section?"

"Alpha."

"Well! Well! What a surprise! The newbies are assigned to us after all! As usual, we always get the dregs, those bottom-feeder soldiers who they know will die soon. But hell, I do need some cannon fodder around me these days. I'm running out of fresh privates to take bullets for me."

Gabriel looks doubtful again. This guy has no medals on his shoulder, no military decoration, nothing. It's impossible to ascertain his rank. But by the way he talks and carries himself, I begin to think he must be our ranking officer.

"So, how does it feel to pass the meat grinder?"

"Meat grinder?"

"Yeah, yeah. Your first mission, dumbass. You know, send you off to jump some hoops and pass some loops."

"Good..."

"Awwwww, look at this guy, Nikia! He's so proud of himself. Your first mission and you've already been awarded the medal of honor. How fucking classic! Wrath is such a pussy! Medal of honor my ass! They'll start doing that often, give you a fucking pin to make you feel good. And then they'll fuck you unawares, and then they'll fuck you aware, but by then your ass will be ready for more and more, until it's a free pass for all," says pale guy.

"I'm actually surprised some of your battle hermanos made it through the first mission. I mean, look at that! Nikia, McCain, look at that! Holy shit! He's so frail, like a fucking twig! Will you snap if I blow air on you?" says pale guy and laughs out loud.

I feel horrible as I notice he was talking about me. I get angry, but contain myself. I notice Dimitri, Carmen, Jose, and the rest are ready to fight these guys.

"I think you pissed him off, Mafaka," says the giant called McCain.

"Oh dear. I'd better stop then. Don't want the puppies to get the wrong idea about this place, now do we? So, your first mission. The meat grinder. It's the mission of the missions. It's where High Command proves to itself which of you wetbacks is worthy. It's easy. If you die, you're better off with the dead. If you live, then you get a chance to prove yourself again...and again...and again...

"Now, Twig there," he says pointing a finger at me, "is one of those who'd I'd bet would've died in the first couple of seconds. Him being here is a testament to his will. The rest of you seem like you've got potential. Except Granny right there," he says pointing a finger at Mrs. Rodriguez. She shrugs. She knows she's old and likely to die.

"So, asswipes, who was your lieutenant at New Miami?"

"Octavio Cotillas," says Gabriel, still fuming with contained anger.

"Cotillas! Fucking no way! That motherfucker! He's gotten soft then to let mediocres like Twig and Granny here graduate. Shit, when I was a recruit some three decades back, Cotillas was young and a gigantic asshole. He would kill people who he deemed unworthy. Didn't think that old Spaniard would still be alive.

"He was born in Europe before it was vaporized. He had an issue with Latinos like you and I. Me, I was born in what was once known as Mexico. That's why I'm such a cabron," he says.

"I'm from what was once Guatemala," says Gabriel.

"You're talking? Shit you're falling out of favor already. I believe I am your ranking officer, soldier. You won't speak unless given explicit permission," says Mafaka, staring at Gabriel. Then he begins laughing out loud like a lunatic.

"Ranking officer? You?"

"I'm Captain Mafaka, in charge of Alpha-27 company, to which you belong now. No? You seemed confused. You were assigned to level 27, yes?"

"Yes."

"Designation Alpha, yes?"

"Yes."

"Well there you have it. Easy as that. Anyway. I was one of the first several thousand to make it into the ISF. I was young back then, a fifteen-year-old wetback looking for a better life. Shit. High Command has been wiping itself with my face for three decades. I was better off with the gang I belonged to."

"Captain Mafaka! I did not recognize you were our ranking officer! My apologies, but...you have no medals or pins on your chest!" yells Gabriel. "Platoon! Formation!"

"Ha! Look at that! Your name?"

"Gabriel Perez, sir!"

"Look at Perez, you've got your platoon in order. Like good toy soldiers. All this formation bullshit is for show. Nobody gives a fuck if you're formed or not. Can you kill? Can you keep your brothers alive? That's what I care about. Pins? Medals? Fuck it all. There's no meaning in the medals. Not to High Command, not to anybody.

"After doing this for three decades you realize that it's all bullshit. ÆTAS needs you because they're all a bunch of pussies too scared to fight this war for themselves.

"Shit. So, Guatemala, huh? Well. Now you're from nowhere. Now you are property, a slave to the ISF."

"Slave, sir?"

"Cut the sir bullshit out. Don't sir me. Call me Mafaka. Just follow orders, and you'll be fine. That's right, slave."

"But...the contract...the ten years of service in exchange..."

"For money? Citizenship? Freedom? It's a fucking scam! It's all bullshit! Son, I've been here for three decades. THREE DECADES, three times the amount promised on the contract. Where has that gotten me? Nowhere. I'm still fucking here. Yeah, I'm captain and whatever, which means I get to see you fuckers die. I get to pile up the bodies and call in for extraction. I get to wipe the tears from the fallen. McCain, how long have you been here?"

"Two decades and a half," he says. The skull tattooed to his face moves with his facial features, which makes you feel the skull is talking, not the man.

"Tell them, McCain, how much money have you seen thus far."

"Not a fucking dime."

"Nikia, how long?"

"Eleven years."

"Any benefits?"

"Not even a decent meal. It's all HydraPack, ladies. And it's fucking disgusting after eleven years of eating that fucking gel."

"So, you see, Sergeant Perez, there's a lot about which you're not aware. So wipe that fucking smirk off your face, or I'll do it for you. Here, we're cannon fodder. We're the scum of the scum sent to get rid of the enemy scum. We fight because we're good at it and for nothing else."

"But...Wrath's speech," says Gabriel, aghast.

"Ha!" Mafaka scoffs, "same shit he says to new recruits who make it up here. Same old speech. Heroes and glory and honor, it's all part of the ÆTAS campaign to sell us the shit we eat. But I, Mafaka, great captain of Alpha-27, like to burst the bubble of lies right away to save you fuckers the pain of figuring it out by yourselves a decade from now—if you make it."

We're all dumbstruck, waiting for the moment when he says it's a lie. We wait a full ten seconds.

"I think they're waiting for you to say it's a lie," says Nikia. "It was the same with me, guys. Get it into your brain now. It's easier that way."

"Nikia's right," says McCain. "It was the same with me too. Captain here was kind enough to save me from the pain. Those who find out ten years from their enlistment suffer the greatest. Some even commit suicide. Don't blame 'em." In spite of the skull decorating his face, he looks nice enough under layers of muscle and hatred.

And for some reason, somehow, I know this is true. I know Mario was right. This was a scam, a way to get immigrants to fight somebody else's war. But now I'm stuck. I've signed a contract. And breakage is through death or completion. But...if they keep us for more than ten years, wouldn't they be breaking the contract? What's the punishment for that? Probably nothing....

I see the scars on Mafaka; his face is riddled with them. But most of all, I can sense his scarred and beaten soul, like a hungry dog punished for decades until he yields totally, completely. But Mafaka is no yielder. His behavior speaks anti-ÆTAS, but yet he continues to fight the war. He must be driven by something, even if it's a desire to prove himself to people like Wrath or other brass members.

Still, there's a chance these guys are lying. They could be in cahoots to get us into trouble or something. Better to be wary.

"I like what I see now," says Mafaka. "Finally, that look in your eyes. I see despair. I see anger and confusion. That's more like it. That's reality. Now, let's proceed with your warm welcome, with your sweet homecoming. Let me introduce you to your new company and your new quarters. Most of you won't make it through your second mission. So go on and eat, fuck, shit, do whatever you can to accept the feeling that you're ready to die.

"I will say one last thing. The more missions you survive, the better your chances are for making it through your tenth mission."

"Tenth, sir?" asks Gabriel.

"That's right. Statistics and graphs, performance bars and ranks. The army loves that shit. And Iris, the AI used on all ÆTAS affairs, constantly feeds live data to ÆTAS servers, where individual unit, squad, platoon, and companies are analyzed to the last detail. That's how we know most don't make it through the first, second, and third missions. Once you're through the fourth, there's hope for you. But it isn't until the tenth mission that you actually become a promising soldier."

"How many...missions have you battled in?" asks Carmen, free of all military formalities.

"I like this cookie. Clean and fair skin, no scratches yet. Reminds me of my dead wife. She's direct, exactly how I like it," says Mafaka.

"She's cute too. Maybe we can keep her," says Nikia, licking her lips. Her tongue is long enough to touch the nose ring. She has a nasty-sexy aura to her.

"We'll see about that. We keep who survives. It's that easy. So, to answer your question, I've been in over a thousand missions. McCain in over six hundred. Nikia in over three hundred. We're considered immortals by some. Ghosts by others.

"In all honesty, we're as simple as roaches. We'll do anything to see yet another day. So get used to being one. You'll live longer. Abandon your notion of becoming a soldier of honor, a soldier of duty who sucks his general's ass. No. Here you are a unit, a pawn at the service of a king. You go into the front lines. Bring 'em victory, and they will bring you food, sex, and maybe new guns as toys. A chance to decorate your gear.

"Now that we're getting acquainted, please, walk with me," says Mafaka.

"Um, Mafaka, sir, if I may ask," I say.

"Twig! He's got a voice. Ask away, brother."

"If it's so rough being here in the ISF, why not go back to the Megachine?"

We all pause. Mafaka stares at me. I'm not sure if he's annoyed or about to grin.

"The way I see it, I'm a cockroach in either place. Cool thing is here I get to shoot the motherfuckers who destroyed my country and killed my wife. McCain and Nikia may have different ideas about being here. Now let's go. Time's running thin."

We board the elevator, reach level one where we started before. As we exit the elevator, we walk by the two genetic giants standing watch.

McCain growls at one. They respond with a growl. It feels like a fight will break out, yet we all just continue walking.

"Don't worry, Twig. I saw you shat your pants back there. Those soldiers could beat us to a pulp, yet don't. Know why? Because they need us. The whole ÆTAS needs us. We're fighting their war anyway. We're, in a way, indispensable. To get punished for insubordination you really have to fuck up. Don't fuck up, Twig."

We continue walking and observe with amazement how Mafaka and his soldiers respect no one, except maybe Wrath. They've lost all sense of proper military behavior. All that is gone. And yet somehow veterans like Mafaka still retain some inner discipline to command a company.

"For you to understand the behemoth that Alpha-Theta Base is, you'll need to understand some basic principles about it. It has a total of fifty levels, but only twenty-seven of those are allocated as soldiers' quarters, or barracks if you will.

"Each of those twenty-seven has nine sectors, or designations: Alpha, Barbarus, Chaos, Dominatus, Elite, Falcon, Gambit, Host, and Icarus. One sector, or designation, is the equivalent to one company. We are Alpha-27. This means we are sector Alpha of the level number 27.

"If some sexy soldier you're noodling tells you they're from Barbarus-15, it would mean they're from sector Barbarus level number fifteen. Easy.

"So each sector, be it Alpha, Barbarus, etc., of each level equals one company. Each level has nine sectors. Three companies make one battalion. And three battalions make one regiment. This means each level is equal to one regiment. It's not that complicated. Just sounds like it.

"This means there are a total of twenty-seven regiments at this base."

In how he's telling this story, it's clear Mafaka has told it many times. He's almost absent, saying his words with disinterest.
—15—

"So what did you think about her offer?" asks Carmen.

We're at our quarters, big enough to hold a whole company. Bunks are divided into four beds each, so close to each other you can smell people's body odor and bad breath.

The company is half veterans like Mafaka and half fresh recruits. All veterans are tattooed in some way, which makes me think it's part of the culture to get your skin painted once you've survived long enough. I've learned there were other bases besides New Miami, like New Diego, and New Israel, which also trained recruits like myself. I can tell who is new and who has been in several battles already. Mostly I recognize that face of somebody lost and hopeless, like me. And by the tattoos on the veterans.

"Her offer?" I ask. "Carmen...there's so much going on right now. Like...we just lost around eighty percent of our company overnight. And now we learned the contract we signed is basically bullshit. I mean...we should mourn for the fallen or something."

"Can't do that here," says Jorge. It's the three of us hanging out like we used to back in med school. I missed these guys, just the three of us. I'm glad Gabriel is not here. His presence changes the mechanics of our group. He changes Carmen's behavior for sure.

"There's literally no time for mourning. Mafaka's already announced we're about to leave on our second mission. I mean...as much as it hurts, Carmen's right. We need to consider our options," says Jorge.

"What! You're considering it?" I ask Jorge.

"I mean," he says, shrugging his shoulders, "it's a pretty good offer. We'd be outta here in no time. Wear a white coat and just do what we love. You know, medicine," he says.

"I personally felt she was too desperate, too eager. I don't know. Can't trust her," I say. I pop another pain pill, putting it in my mouth as I fake a yawn. Tough it out. These guys would force me into rehab if they knew I'd skipped it.

"Really? I thought she was great," says Carmen.

I sense a deep change in my friends. No, we're not the same doctors who once hung out together. We're different—or maybe I've changed, so my perception of them has as well. Maybe it's from witnessing so much death. Maybe a result of seeing our friends die. No, we're not the same people anymore. That much is clear.

"I wouldn't join for the simple fact that she's hiding information. She offers a position with the benefits, but says nothing about the project itself."

"That's because it's top secret. You know, military-grade stuff," defends Carmen.

"Yeah, but you have no idea what that implies," I say.

"Argo's right. Without a proper job description, it's a huge gamble," says Jorge.

"A gamble? You knuckleheads. As if going out in the field weren't a huge gamble in and of itself. Listen, guys. I've been asking around. Mostly medical personnel. I've made some friends. Sounds like Dr. Opovich is involved in creating some weapon. They mentioned the words: last hope. I can see you both got interested," she smiles.

"I knew it was about a weapon," I say. "She said as much herself. But still, it could mean anything. And...who the hell makes friends in less than a day. Geez."

"A day? You've been gone for more than a week. And, I'm highly social, Argo. You know that. It's good to be highly connected. Gets you places," she says.

"That's true..." I nod.

"There's more to it, right? You found out more," says Jorge, studying Carmen's face.

She giggles and says, "Sure did! Seems like Dr. Opovich is working tirelessly in a lab called Togami, where various weapons are being developed. That's where the super weapon is being made. They called it Torragami."

"Torra-what?" I yelp.

"Torragami. Seems like they've been having technical problems, which I found out translates to problems with the mechanical-human interface."

"What the hell is that?" I ask.

"It somehow seems this secret project involves the use of high technology that is incompatible with humans. And I think that's why they need doctors. But more than doctors, they need scientists with knowledge in human anatomy, physiology, etc. That's why we are candidates. Cool, huh?"

"How do you know you're not gonna be used as some lab rat?" I ask.

"You're so pessimistic. You're just trying to find the negative," she reprimands. "It's lab rat in there or cockroach on the battlefield," she says, mocking me.

"So you're actually thinking of joining, Carmen? Taking the offer? Please, don't! We're battle brothers! We need you in the field!"

"Wow, Argo. You've changed. You used to be more reasonable. Less toxic. There used to be a time when your passion for knowledge was foremost. Now you're interested in war and killing. Don't let this war get to you," she says.

I fume in anger. "Well, of course it's fucking gotten to me! Because people have died! People close to me! And now you too could die!" I yell.

I become aware of my behavior and relax.

"Irene. You miss her," she says under her breath. She lowers her gaze.

"I do," I say. But mostly I miss you, I want to say, but don't. I'm a coward.

"Stop fighting. Nobody's taking anybody's offer. Not just yet anyway. All Carmen is asking for is for us to think about it," says Jorge.

"So you're also thinking about it, Jorge?" I ask, still angry.

"I'm not stupid, Argo. The offer sounds amazing. To be far from the frontlines, where death is a sure thing? At least in the lab, you could help out humanity. In the field, it's just carnage. Plus you get meals, citizenship, and money. All we ever wanted!"

"You guys fail to see that without soldiers like you and I, there'd be no lab! Nobody standing between the enemy and the experiments you would conduct!"

"He's got a point," says Jorge. Carmen has fallen silent. I want to hug her. I want to kiss her. I want to say I'm sorry, that I'm a fool, but I can't.

"Alpha-27! Prepare to be deployed for a rescue mission," yells Mafaka, entering the room in full armor. He looks fucking epic. He's not wearing a uniform like us, but rather light armor padding his chest and back, and he holds a very cool helmet under his arm. Gabriel comes in with them. Probably was in the debriefing for the mission. The helmet is decorated with red flames. His armor is also decorated with the cartoon of a nuke, and many other drawings I cannot make out.

"We are being sent to rescue Barbarus-15 and Chaos-17, both of which are in what was once New York. Iris, share with the soldiers the details of the mission. We leave in ten. Eat, shit, fuck, lock and load. If you forget your rifle, I will personally kill you.

"Perez! You'll be in charge of your platoon."

"Yes sir," says Gabriel.

"Get them ready on the double!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

***

Eight mastiffs carry the eight platoons that make up our company, Alpha-27. We depart from Calvarius, the base's landing and departure section, loaded with levels of armored air and land vehicles, and a gigantic elevator to allow those stored vehicles to depart from the surface.

The mastiffs jet us at insane speeds toward the objective.

The roar of the mastiff's guns and the whistling of the missiles make me aware of how close we've been to getting shot down from the sky.

"Two minutes to touchdown!" yells the pilot.

I suddenly feel cold and clammy. I sweat and release a small trickle of urine. I hate that, not having control over my bladder.

I'm tied up to the warship's hull by a safety belt, moving with the ship's movements, feeling every bit of turbulence and every evasive tactic that the pilot maneuvers to avoid missiles and oncoming fire.

We're armed and ready. Helmets on. I can see my vital signs displayed on the HUD. My heart rate is 110 bpm. My breathing rate is 22 per minute. Iris is silent, thank God. I can only imagine her sending my data back to her servers so she can analyze me. I visualize some data scientist analyzing my data, laughing at my stats. I shake off the vision.

This is horrible. The feeling is nasty. I get nauseated. I vomit two times, unable to hold it in. Part of the puke gets in my helmet. I take it off in time to vomit the rest on the floor. The puke moves about in the hull, touches Carmen's boot. Carmen looks at me, worried. I know what she's thinking. She's thinking that I shouldn't be a soldier, that I should be a scientist. Fuck that.

I look around. I know less than a third of my new platoon. Eight of them were part of my old platoon. Most of the rest are new recruits I've never seen. They're all lost to me. Unknown to me. Let's keep it that way. Don't wanna feel anything when you fall.

Death. It bothers me not to talk about it. I would feel more comfortable being well acquainted with the death of my friends, of my fuck-budy Irene. That was the beauty of being a doctor. I had constant contact with death, understood it, was with it all the time. And even though death and I didn't agree on many things, I had respect for it, and, thus, knew how to deal with it.

But here, death is an enigma. A hidden, hooded figure with a scythe, waiting, predatory, to strike when you're at your weakest.

"One minute!"

I can feel death creeping around me. The fucking scythe is at my neck. Get away! I will not die! Stay away from my friends! You will not take them away from me!

There are no windows in the hull of the mastiff. It needs to be tightly sealed in armor or rounds could pierce the windows and ricochet inside and kill its passengers in the process. Yet I wish I could see outside, see the forest of dead buildings of the city that New York once was.

The ship dips acutely.

"We're under heavy fire! I repeat! We're under heavy fire! This is Small Bull to Grey Wolf! We must make an emergency landing! Shit! We're losing them like flies! Four mastiffs are down!"

Four mastiffs down? That means four platoons. And just like that, company Alpha-27 is sliced in two.

I exchange glances with Jorge. This can't be good.

We descend in a fury, feel like we're gonna crash and burn. Touch down is a heavy thud as the ship skids and comes to a forceful halt. The light inside turns green, and the back door blasts open to create a ramp.

"Go! Go! Go!"

"Take cover! Heavy fire!"

A burst of bullets cracks the air above us, hits the hull. I can see the Anzhous firing at us at a distance, highlighted by Iris in small red triangles on my helmet's HUD. Iris also highlights three different pathways of how to engage the enemy. For now, I remain under cover, too scared to act.

"Lock and load! Rifles live!" yells Gabriel. "Follow me! Herrero! Pulsar!"

We follow him blindly. I get the Burkes pulsar and connect it to the muzzle. Dislodge the live ammo mag, cock the bolt to empty it, and put in a mag with blanks. Ready to fry some circuits.

I'm scared. I'm dreading each second. I'm not ready for this. I'm paralyzed. I'm freezing. The only thing that keeps me moving is concentrating on following Gabriel at any cost, and the hope I can fry some drones.

Before going into a dead building to seek cover, I peek at the old deserted city. New York is now a cemetery, with buildings for tombstones, agape like carcasses still rotting, angry, sad, violated by multiple A-bombs, creating a new, uninhabitable shit-hole.

Debris is scattered everywhere. Cars half-eaten by the passing of time and radioactivity, war machines lying in defeat. A volley of rockets flies from one of the mastiffs as it crashes to the ground, its missiles hitting several targets that had us pinned down.

I can see better. My vision is no longer foggy. I finally have the courage to kill. I kiss my rifle. Don't know why. But somehow it fills me with vitality and purpose.

I wait for orders. Can't shoot distant objects with the pulsar.

"Warning, enemy soldiers approaching on foot," says Iris. Now that's useful. Gabriel reacts immediately, and we move behind the walls, our rifles at the ready through the open windows. Those fuckers use a bayonet, a simple blade attached to the muzzle of the assault rifle. Don't wanna get gutted again.

"Light 'em up!"

A platoon of enemy human-soldiers are trying to flank us. They're in the open road. Stupid.

We open fire, twenty-three Vipers roaring, hissing, and cursing as each muscle flashes with anger. I'm the only one not shooting, waiting for targets to get near enough to fry them.

The enemy starts to fall. But not all of them. Some have made it to our building.

I don't know what happens to me, but I go berserk. I run from cover, turn on the electro-saber function, and as soon as I seen a human enemy, I cut him down.

The electro-saber bites with a fury, bolts and flashes of angry energy bursting flesh and tearing bone. The soldier yells and screams, until he is cut completely in half. Seared meat on the edges of his split body. It smells like grilled meat. Nasty, yet gratifying in a horrible and grotesque way.

Another soldier runs toward me, tries to impale me with his bayonet. He must be out of ammo. Fuck you.

I shoot him twice with the pulsar. He falls, smelling of grilled meat. I give him a taste of the electro-saber and shave off half his body. Blood is everywhere. This is a massacre. The sight of entrails makes me sick. I finally realize what I've done. I vomit several times and then find Carmen and Jorge staring at me with disbelief. I'm not sure if they're about to congratulate me or tell me I'm fucking crazy.

"Formation!" yells Gabriel. "Captain coming!"

From the land-crashed mastiff, a fireball flies. The back ramp-door explodes. I stare in awe. From it emerges a platoon of veterans, firing as they come out in perfect formation. I can hear Mafaka cursing, "Come get it, cabrones! I've got some for you!"

And as I see him coming out of the crashed warship, I realize he's bloodied, but still undamaged.

He and his veteran soldiers march toward the enemy line cocksure. I can see he has a TechSoldier at this side, working tirelessly to hack the enemy.

Mafaka and McCain don't carry Vipers. Instead, they each have a large backpack and some sort of cannon. It's not until I hear an engine roaring and the cannon rotating at an insane speed that I understand what sort of weapon they wield. They have Gatling guns.

The Gatlings spit fire, with both Mafaka and McCain wielding them like a magic wand, as if they weigh nothing, sending an insane number of rounds into the air, bringing down Wasps like flies in poisoned air.

As Mafaka walks and shoots, he smiles, laughs, and curses. He is truly invincible, a one-man army, a warlock to be feared. I suddenly realize he must be very strong to walk with and shoot such a gun with ease. That or he's somehow modified his body in a way that it makes it easy. I have no clue.

"Alpha-27! All remaining platoons with me! Let's rescue our battle brothers and get outta here on the double!" says Mafaka through the intervox.

"Got 'em! Half their drone forces are mine. Got fifty Wasps under my control!" yells the TechSoldier.

"Bring them to me. Program them to seek and destroy."

"Yes, sir!"

Anzhous might be dreadful, but I've learned that they're not sneaky. Humans, on the other hand, will hide and rip you open with their bayonets. I'll never forget that well-learned lesson. I clear every corner, every car, and make sure it's safe. Last thing I want is another knife or sharp edge striking me unaware.

A vortex of Wasps advances, the terrible buzz causing me to recoil.

Mafaka and McCain open fire. The river of bullets consumes the vortex with ease, and the swarm of Wasps is defeated. Another swarm appears, and yet another.

Our hacked Wasps are doing their part, and soon we eliminate the incoming enemy.

"Strong defenses," says Mafaka. "Unusual. I guess they want to prevent us from rescuing our battle brothers? Eyes open. Objective alpha near."

From a distance, I hear single shots fired. I can sense it's Nikia taking out targets with her sniper rifle.

Fire from the buildings ahead. Quick short bursts of aggression. Several of ours fall. The hacked Wasps advance, but are quickly shot down by the enemy. In seconds, we've lost all of our drones, but they've also lost theirs. Now it's humans against humans. No console to hack into, so good old bullets will have to do the trick. I will fry you motherfuckers.

From above us an ambush erupts as we take fire from the upper levels of the buildings surrounding us. Many more fall. Grenades explode. Several battle brothers are dismembered. Blood and gore fill the area. I hide, but mostly I fear. This could be the end.

One of the veterans advances. He pulls a long tube from his back and loads it to his shoulder. In less than a second, he aims, fires. A rocket flies with a punch and sends a building up in flames. Another rocket flies to the other building, and more flames consume the enemies.

I look around in the floating dust. I can see Carmen, Jorge, Jose, Rudy, Gabriel, Salinas and Dimitri. I do not see Natalio or Nolasco. Shit. Dimitri won't like this one bit. I find Mrs. Rodriguez. She's on the ground. Her legs have been amputated by a nearby explosion. She's motionless, staring into infinity. I go near her and close her eyes. She's cold. Bloodless. Dead.

"What a fucking mess," says Mafaka, seeing the dead around him. "Too young to die, soldiers. Not worthy of this company. See you in hell," he says, leaving the bodies behind. I remember him saying he piled the bodies up. I guess it was some sort of metaphor because he's not piling up anything.

"Objective alpha is on the next street, to the left; that's were Barbarus-15 and Chaos-17's beacon is still sending a signal," says Mafaka. "But all this resistance...makes no sense..."

We advance carefully, arms at the ready. We make it to the next street and turn right, where objective alpha is pinned on the regional map on my HUD. An Anzhou appears in front of me. I jolt with fear and pull the trigger. The pulsar cracks the air and a blue bolt flashes. The drone convulses and in seconds its circuits are completely fried.

"Motherfucker...Grey Wolf, this is Zero Fox, I've found Barbarus-15 and Chaos-17. They're in a heap of bodies...yes, sir...all dead...I would guess this was a trap. We lost half the company landing and then some in the firefight.... Yes, sir, we will require extraction ASAP."

Mafaka seems pissed, though I can't really see his face since the mask covers him completely. The visor he uses is tinted with the red flames. McCain's helmet is similar in color, but instead of red flames, he has a skull with a bullet hole in the forehead. I wonder if I'll ever get a war-symbol like that. Yet nobody here, not even the veterans, have armor like them. Must be some sort of reward for years and years of fighting.

"Listen up, Alpha-27. We're getting outta here. It was a trap. A false beacon. This sorta thing happens sometimes to lure us out to destroy us. Fucking lost too many people this time..."

The ground trembles. A deep moan fills the air. It's as if hell has yawned and somehow spat out a monster. Something is going on...

The trembles happen again. Heavy footsteps are heard. They get louder. Debris falls from the buildings around us as the ground rumbles. Dust is lifted into the air.

A shadow appears a block away. It's very large, like three stories high. It's also wide. It continues thumping the ground, and it's getting larger as it approaches our position.

"Take cover!' yells Mafaka.

"What the fuck is that!" yells somebody else.

We soon find out. Two large cannons open fire, igniting hell around us. The flashing muscles of its cannons light up the shadow, and show us that it's not a monster. It's far worse.

A gigantic robot advances. It has two arms, on which two large cannons fire heavy rounds at a high rate. On its shoulders it has a missile pod loaded with multiple warheads. On the other shoulder, it has a large cannon, different from the ones on its arms.

It has a small cockpit compared to the size of its body, and from my cover I can tell the cockpit is empty. Instead, a red light pulses on top of it. It's a mech. A large robotic warrior, a war machine.

Mafaka and McCain open fire with their Gatlings to no avail. The bullets hit, but cause no damage. Its hull is scratched, but unscathed.

Several other soldiers aim rocket launchers and shoot. The rockets are destroyed mid-air by incoming machinegun fire. The robot counter-fires a rocket, pulverizing those veterans who sought to bring it down.

"Retreat! Retreat!" yells Mafaka. His voice is strained.

We run, followed by the lethal passage of large-caliber bullets. Several missiles whiz past us, bringing down several dead buildings and effectively blocking our escape route. The robot keeps advancing. I can hear it reloading.

We run inside the buildings to our sides, but we know it's futile.

"Zero Fox to Grey Wolf! They've deployed a fucking mech! Largest drone I've ever seen! Lethal as fuck! You need to engage with the ion plasma burst cannon! It's the only way!"

An explosion. The walls of the building go up in flames, and with it several other soldiers go down. Some die from the force of the concussion. Others are wounded badly by flying debris.

I get a glimpse and see the mech is stationed outside, pinning us. The large cannon on its shoulder starts glowing blue in color. And suddenly it releases several pulses of blue light.

The energy hits the building where we hide, each blue round piecing deep into the rubble. Where each round passed I can see a hole with melted borders. I've no idea what sort of round that was, but we all brace for the end.

A white light appears in the sky. I say a prayer and get ready to meet my maker, or whomever is out there. I see the nuclear winter clouds light up into a lake of white brilliance, and, suddenly, a white beam of energy is concentrating on the mech.

The large robot does not move, does not try to avoid destruction. In seconds, it starts melting. With a pulse, a stronger beam falls on it, causing it to break down into a puddle of metal and bolts. The mech has been reduced to smelted alloys.

"Motherfucker, that was intense!" yells Mafaka, half-laughing almost hysterically. "Sergeants! Head count on the fly! Extraction in one minute! Now that was a fucking waste of fodder," he says, counting how many are still alive.

I look around and take a look at my platoon. I find Dimitri downcast, his vision lost on some inner image. He must know Natalio and Nolasco are dead. But then I see a body near him and recognize Konstantin. He's gone too.

I expected to hear Gabriel shouting orders by now, but I only sense disaster and unsteadiness in my platoon. And then I see him. He's being attended to by Carmen. Gabriel is on the ground with a huge shard embedded into his right flank, right into the liver. The shard is so big it astonishes me he wasn't cut in half. I can tell he can't move his legs. I presume the shard has somehow severed his spine. He's bleeding bad. He's pale.

Wait...I look around for Jorge and Rudy. Where are they? I see Brenda Salinas helping Dimitri. Jose is in a corner, inspecting the area for more enemies. Yet my other brothers...

I see two bodies torn to shreds. The explosion's blast must've torn them to pieces. I see Jorge's head. Rudy is lying on the floor, charred from the passing of the blue round. I run to Jorge's head, agape as if it had been ripped from his body by the blast. His body is pulp. I start crying, rivers of solace drenching the pulp that was once a body, pulp contained in a burned uniform. I start collecting the pulp, madly trying to piece my friend back together. My good friend from home, my true brother. Dimitri comes after me. He pulls me up, avoids my bloodied hands. This is madness.

Everyone's gone. They're all dead. Not all, but at least the majority. Just like that, all of those who begun as a new company in New Miami have been reduced to a handful.
—16—

Lieutenant Mitchel sits in front of me, a digital translucent pad on her hand while her other hand types notes. The table is empty. We're in a room small enough to fit no more than a couple more souls in here. A dronecam hovers above us, recording the interview.

She's not pretty, the lieutenant. I can tell she's had multiple treatments for lymphoma and other cancers, including radiation detox. Her skin shows it. Aside from that, her proportions are disproportionate. Her torso is enormous, arms like claws, and a jawbone that seems strong enough to bite off any man's hand. I'm quite sure she's the product of gene therapy, genetic handling to make her stronger, better, more able at combat. I can't tell if she understood the price of genetic manipulation, that is, the loss of her normal human features for a more grotesque body.

"And what else did you see, soldier?" she asks.

"I've said all I know," I respond, uncomfortable under her squinting eyes.

"Draw here what you've seen," she says.

She hands me the translucent pad. I'm bewildered by its near weightlessness. I draw as best I can with my finger, depicting the giant mech as if born from a comic book. I make an effort to scribble its two heavy machine guns, the missile pod, and that cannon that spewed blue energy. There's no color. Just pure lines in all black.

She takes it back. Studies it. Studies me.

"We've interviewed all the survivors of Alpha-27. We've confirmed the findings with you, our last interviewee. You all mention this big robot, a mech warrior. We had an idea of it, but now we're certain it exists. This robot is armed with a plasma cannon, which is a devastating new weapon developed by our enemies."

I'm surprised she's confiding these details to me. Must have clearance. The question is why would she have clearance to speak of such things with a cockroach like me. I'm only from the ISF. She's actually from the ÆRMY.

"The Megachine's advanced weaponry includes more than just that mech. Our enemy is clearly way ahead of us."

Something bothers me. I have to ask, "Is this the first time you're become aware of the mech's existence?"

"We had our ideas. This is actually the first time the Megachine rivals us in technology."

"What do you mean?"

"We've been developing our own plasma cannons. To be honest, most of the research is at a standstill due to a lack of scientists. We can't develop anything without the brains. All the brilliant minds who were involved in the project are now working on something else," she says. This makes me think it must be with Dr. Opovich, in this Torragami business I know so little about.

It's been three days since we returned from the so-called rescue mission. Clearly a failure.

The lieutenant is sticking around, patiently waiting for me to ask questions. This is a strange sort of interview. This is something else.

"So...why would they send only one mech?" I ask. "If destroying us was the plan, a couple of those would've done it in seconds."

"We think the Megaschine was conducting an experiment."

"What!"

"An experiment. They needed to test their new toy. When you develop drones, especially one like that one, you need to prove its efficacy in the field. We think the Megaschine lured us in to test it. We lost almost three companies in their little experiment," she scoffs, clearly annoyed.

"But there's more to just testing its weaponry," she continues. "We suspect they were also testing our capacity to bring it down."

"Why?"

"You were there. You saw it took the ion plasma burst cannon to bring it down. The ion-cannon can be activated once every ten minutes. The satellite weapon, even though in the low temperatures of outer space, heats up quickly from the blast. We risk losing our only super weapon if we use it too often. Now, the Megachine knows we're outpowered. They know that if they were to send, say, ten of those mechs, we would be lost."

"But...I don't understand why not just unleash their final strike? I mean...I'm pretty sure they know where we're located. Right?"

"Oh, they know where this base is located. We're mostly underground. Deep underground. No A-bomb could do us in. They need to come in person. Conquer this with hammer and ladder."

"Hammer and ladder?"

"Old world metaphor," she says. She waves it off with her hand. "They need super soldiers, or in this case, super drones, to take out our defenses. We've got pretty good defenses. Tesla coil towers and such. They want to be sure that if they come, they will succeed."

"What if they launch a siege?"

"We've enough supplies to last centuries. We've enough payload to blow the planet up in case we're losing. They know that too. So the only way they can prevent us from hibernating until they die or having us blast Earth to hell, is by conquering us at lightning speed. That could only happen with a massive invasion, with enough fire power to blast our doors open and quickly disable us."

"Lieutenant, if you don't mind me saying, you're giving me quite a lot of information...," I say.

She shrugs. "I'm breaking protocol. Not allowed. But who cares anyway. World's going to shit. Might as well let those who fight know what their up against. I'm a com-officer. I do some ordering. You from the ISF actually do the fighting. I respect you. I admire you. I wish you the best."

She stands up and shakes my hand. Turns around and leaves. She leaves the door open. I exit and return to my quarters. I can't help a smile. It melts away in an instant when I think about the fallen.
—17—

The room is empty when I get there. I try lying down in the deep quiet, but I find it unnerving to be alone. I need the company. My company.

Iris takes me to my battle brothers. That is, the dining hall. It's pointless to have a dining hall when all there is to feast on are HydraPacks. Likely it's a way for other companies to share. Or just an old habit, when there was actually real food available.

"Twig! Twig!"

The dining hall is full of soldiers. I can see both ISF soldiers and ÆRMY soldiers, all sitting at shared tables. I find this strange. But it is the first time that I've visited the dining hall, so it's all fairly new.

Not only do the ÆRMY soldiers also eat what we eat, but they sit with us. Those gigantic genetic beasts are unlike us in one way: they're very quiet, rarely utter a single word, and their gaze is always directed toward nothing, as if they don't have a care in the world. I can only wonder what they've been put through. They may be older than they seem. Maybe even centuries. They might have seen World War III when it began. They may have lost everything.

Genetic enhancements can sometimes be painful, and almost always irreversible.

I try not to judge the beasts, yet have a difficult time seeing them among the lanky, malnourished soldiers from the ISF. The genetic soldiers are clearly outnumbered. The room is full of Latinos, and we're loud as chickens. Maybe that's why the other soldiers are so withdrawn, just trying to shut us out.

"Twig! Twig!" They call me again. A HydraPack gel bag hits me on the head. I turn and see it was Mafaka, surrounded by his friends. McCain is laughing his guts out. I see the rest of his veterans at the table, and with them I find Dimitri, Salinas, and Jose. Where's Carmen?

I know Gabriel is still in the Intensive Care Unit, undergoing robotic corrective surgery in the Commander Hughes Hospital. Could she be there? With him?

"Sit down, Twig," says Mafaka.

"Don't call me Twig," I say.

"Whoa! The man's got nuts after all. Sit down, son. We missed you already. We all thought you were getting laid by the lieutenant back there!" They all laugh.

"The tree branch has nuts, I'll give him credit for that," says McCain.

"If he can wield his rifle like that, I can only imagine how he wields his spear," says Nikia, giving me a dirty smile.

"You made him blush! How cute!" says Mafaka, laughing.

I sit, not too happy to be with them at this moment. I'm not feeling the jokes and the banter today. I'm depressed about the loss of my good brother, Jorge. Damn, I'll miss him. He should've taken Dr. Opovich's offer. He'd still be alive.

I open the HydraPack and drink it. Grab another and suck it all in. Vanilla flavor. Disgusting.

"To be honest, Twig, we all thought you would be the one dying on this mission. Lost a bet," says Mafaka, pointing to Nikia. "She bet on you."

"But hell, there were other losers and Gabriel who stayed behind."

"He's not dead yet," I defend him.

"Defending your sergeant, huh? I agree. Not dead yet."

"He's gonna be fine," says Salinas. A guy named Verse has his arm around her shoulders. She doesn't seem to mind at all.

"Listen, Twig..."

"Don't call me fucking Twig!" I yell, standing up.

"Now that's some real cojones you got there. I like what you're made of. Sit down before I get up and kick your ass. Good. You've got hope, son. Maybe some day you'll make it to the veterans' club here," he says, pointing to his friends at the table.

"What does it take?" I ask, still angry.

"One hundred missions," says Verse. He's of medium height with a square body and short stumpy legs.

"One hundred?" repeats Dimitri, looking at me and Jose with disbelief.

"That's right," says Mafaka. "Sad thing is you're late for the party. Things being what they are, and the Megachine testing out weaponry like that mech, we might not even have fifty missions left before we're all vaporized."

Dimitri has not spoken much since the death of his squad. Can't blame him. I feel terrible for the loss of Jorge.

"Hey, have you seen Carmen?"

"The hot one? You got something for her? Feelings," asks Nikia. "If sex is what you want, I offer a much better deal. Just take a look at these," she says, grabbing her boobs under her uniform, "and this," as she stands up to show off her amazing ass, tight as if it were made of steel. I feel a surge between my legs. Her offer is tempting. But she could just be playing with me.

"Umm..." I can barely talk.

"She's with Gabriel," says Brenda, feeling bad for me. "In the hospital, you know."

"Captain, with your permission?"

"As you will, Herrero," he says, winking.
—18—

Whoever built this base was a genius. I can't fathom how they fit such large structures in a vertical, underground base. Must have taken years of planning, not to mention years of building.

"Welcome back to Commander Hughes Hospital," says Iris, in a flat tone, through the overhead speakers.

Two blast doors split open, white light emerging as if I were about to enter the twilight zone. In a sense, it does feel that way.

The front desk is attended by a servitor dressed as a nurse, patiently in hibernation mode as it waits for the next guest.

"How may I assist?" asks the servitor, summoned by my presence.

"Looking for Perez, Gabriel. Sargent of the Alpha-27." I say all identifying information available to me.

"Argo!" I hear across the hall. I raise my head and see Carmen running toward me. She hugs me tightly, kisses me on the cheek.

"My friend, I've missed you..."

I feel repulsed. I know what it is.

"That coat..." I push myself away from her. "You're wearing a white coat. And that badge...Dr. Carmen Johnson, medical investigator? What the fuck!?"

Carmen understands my anger, but does not tolerate my behavior. "Calm down. I will explain," she says.

"How could you? What are you doing? I know why you did it, it's to visit your beloved boyfriend, isn't it! You betrayed us just to see your prince, huh? And now Jorge is dead. Dead! Gone! Pulp, and his head was severed from his body by a blast! And here you are, instead of mourning and conversing with your platoon, whatever is left of it, here you are, reaping all the benefits you can get."

She slaps me hard. It hurt more than I had expected. There's fire burning on my cheek. It takes me seconds to react, to come back to myself, and realize I crossed the line.

"Don't you dare speak to me like that!" she says, venom and pain in her voice. "I know you've always liked me. I know you've always been jealous of any man who's approached me, especially of Gabriel. But you're a coward. You've done nothing about it. And how dare you speak to me about Jorge? I've cried every night since we came here! I've been crumbling piece by piece, losing it as people all around us die."

"So yeah, I've joined Dr. Opovich, in what she calls Project Torragami. And so what if I did it for Gabriel? So what if I did for myself? At least I've got the balls to do what I want. You just follow the crowd, trying to prove yourself to no one."

I'm about to explode. She's got me. Got me good.

"You betrayed us," is all I can say. My voice breaks. I cry.

"Argo...that's not true," her voice softens. She touches me on the shoulder.

"Doctors!" I hear a familiar voice. Oh no. The worst of moments.

I wipe the tears away and do my best to appear normal.

"Dr. Opovich," greets Carmen.

"Am I...interrupting something?"

Fuck yes.

"No, no...what's up?"

"I've got updates on the results of the test you were looking for, Carmen. Argo, I'm so pleased to see you here. I'm guessing you finally saw reason in my offer. It's a sure thing. And no more wars after you join, I promise."

"I didn't come to join," I say coldly.

"Oh. Well then. Let me show you around. At least you get a tour of this amazing place. It's the Togami lab."

"I actually came to see Gabriel," I lie, trying to get out of it.

"Oh, well, he's currently admitted to an experimental area in the lab, so you'll kill two birds with one stone."

Great.

***

Behind the crystal barrier I see Gabriel's body in suspension, floating in some liquid, connected to so many tubes he looks like a server. Multiple robotic arms work on him tirelessly, spurts of blood rising in the liquid like underwater eruptions.

"He's in a dire state," says Dr. Opovich. "Fulminant liver failure in the field led to multi-organ failure, leading to hemorrhagic shock, further perpetuating the failure of other organ systems, especially the brain tissue, which is so sensitive to oxygen deprivation, as you may well know," she explains.

"What's the prognosis," I ask bluntly.

"Dire. He was practically dead when he came in. Technology has made leaps and bounds in the medical field, especially in genetic manipulation, engineering, and human enhancements, cancer treatment, and viral destruction. But when it comes to shock, necrosis, and apoptosis of tissue due to lack of vital nutrients, such as oxygen, there's only so much we can do. We can replace the heart, the liver, the kidneys even, with fully automated lab-produced organs. Yet the brain...that one we have yet to master," she says.

"So he's brain dead," I say.

"That is correct. His body will make it. But his brain...gone."

"So he's dead," I say.

"Don't be so cold, Argo," says Carmen, tears welling in her eyes. I hug her. We stay close.

"I'll leave you two alone," says Dr. Opovich.

We stare at Gabriel in disbelief. What it means to be standing here, at this crossroad, staring at the body of the most talented soldier in our platoon. This is bad news. And if our platoon loses Carmen too, then we're as good as dead.

"Don't ever talk to me like that again," says Carmen, staring at Gabriel. Mostly, she seems to have her gaze fixed at nothing. "It's not fair, and you know it."

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean it like that. I mean...just made me angry to see you leave us is all," I admit.

"You could join us."

"I can't abandon the field. I can't leave the souls of those dead without proper vengeance. I'm a soldier now. Soldiers stick to their guns."

"And then they die," she says coldly.

"Perhaps. But that's so people like you can live."

"Promise me you'll be careful."

"As much as I can be."

***

Dr. Opovich takes us on a tour, showing off the advanced technology in the lab.

"Hours are long and tedious when we're short on personnel," says Dr. Opovich as we pass by a group of researchers sleeping on top of textbooks and papers on their work table.

We get to another blast door. But this one is different from the one protecting the entrance to the hospital. This one seems more armored and has what appears to be a security system to access it.

"Welcome back, Dr. Opovich. I see you bring visitors with you," says the AI.

"That's right, Iris. Argo finally opted in for a tour. Maybe he'll end up staying with us for a change," she winks at me.

"I recognize your biometrics, Doctor. You may proceed."

The blast doors open with a hiss.

I'm struck when I see the interior. The lab is equipped with weapons of all sorts, large-caliber bombs, bullets, heavy armor, parts, and bolts everywhere.

"This is where veteran amputees get their robotic limb implantation. Arms, legs, new organs, we develop them all right here," she says. "This is one of the ways we've enabled human enhancement. You've probably met a few veterans who have such implants. You've probably seen them perform in the field."

I think about Mafaka and McCain, recall how they wielded those Gatling guns like a wand. They must have implants. I'm sure of it.

"This lab is called Togami thanks to the famous scientist Yoshi Togami, from what was once the island of Japan. During the beginning of World War III, he was brought to this base with all of his equipment. This is his legacy. It's what has kept us technologically advanced, and with an edge over the Megachine. Though I understand that the Megachine is now pulling ahead of us in the technology branch, which is indeed worrisome. If they outdo us in tech, then we're really going to have problems," says Dr. Opovich with a mirthless smile.

I see many amputees with new robotic limbs learning to walk anew. They all have that stare, that face, that war-like resemblance of a soul emptied by years of death and despondency. Somehow, and for no good reason, I want to be like them. I want to have that look. I know it's stupid, but it's true.

We move forward. I see many technicians and other engineers, people who look like normal civilians. I've not seen an ÆTAS civilian as of yet, and I think these people could be the first. They look normal, with hair and healthy skin, with fat around their bodies. They laugh, they joke, they seem almost oblivious to the war raging on. Must be nice to be them.

We go through another blast door. This one is guarded by two automated guards with heavy weaponry. We must be nearing something big.

The whole place changes. If before we were in a lab type of place, this is like a hangar. The halls are dark and full of smoke, and it smells like old combustion.

"And lo and behold, the Torragami project," says Dr. Opovich with a big smile.

"I thought this was a secret," I say, even though I already knew about it through Carmen.

"It is, Argo. I have High Command's blessing to give out some vital information about the project to prospects like you to entice them. I mean...just look at those."

"What it that?"

"A Torragami."

"But what...is it?"

"Yoshi Togami was a prodigy in the field of robotics way back when in Japan. His golden era began in 2038, just before the war started.

"After the devastation of Europe, Africa, Australia, and other countries and North Korea and China's bloody conquest, Mr. Togami, as I explained, was given scientific asylum in the newly formed ÆTAS.

"Thanks to him, we didn't succumb after losing the Multidrone War. Thanks to him, we developed the TechSoldier, the ion plasma burst cannon, robotic limbs for human enhancement, genetic manipulation and engineering, and the technology for the development of internal organs for transplantation."

"So what is that?" I repeat, having had no answer to my initial question.

It's gigantic, enormous, and elegant. It's like seeing a Samurai warrior's armor in larger scale. I remember reading about Samurai lore back in the day. My favorite warrior of the kind was Miyamoto Musashi, a once-deadly swordsman. This makes me think Yoshi Togami designed that giant warrior honoring the Samurai of his culture, somehow reviving what they meant and instilling their meaning to our corrupted present.

Seeing this behemoth reminds me of the mech I saw in New York. It's as big, but less chunky, and way more aggressive looking.

Its head is the helmet once wore by the Samurai, with a demonic, almost predatory-style face, spikes emerging from the top of its head. Its body has two arm-like limbs and two legs, which are long and look very agile. Its limbs are thinner than the ones I saw on the mech, and unlike the large metal rods that composed the mech's limbs, I see large fiber-like material around a frame, like muscle around skeleton. A very long katana, various cannons, and unloaded missile pods lay on a large table in front of it. Those must make up the warrior's armory.

"Torragami was always one of Yoshi's most ambitious projects. Sadly, he died some years ago and never saw it come to life. The problem we have with this machine is the user interface and the technology that allows a pilot to command it. This has caused many problems for the pilot, including brain infarctions, seizures, strokes, memory loss, dementia, and even sudden death."

"You're saying that this mech can't be automated, like the Megachine's mech?"

"Unfortunately, no. Yoshi never foresaw his interface as a problem. But he never tested it either. He was waiting for the actual warrior to be completed to test it. Thus, our dilemma."

I scoff. "Ironic, don't you think? His invention is so advanced that we can't use it. And now the Megachine has pulled ahead and developed their own fully automated mech. No wonder you're all in a panic trying to solve the problem Togami left you with. You have the means to fight the Megachine's new toy, but you can't use it at all! It's so ridiculous!" I laugh.

Dr. Opovich doesn't like my comment at all. Carmen looks away.

"And now I get it. I truly do. I understand why you need Carmen, why you need me. You want us to figure out how to prevent the pilots from dying when they connect to the robot. Is that right?"

"Precisely. If we fail at this, we're dead."

I approach the giant warrior with an eerie feeling. I am intimidated by its very presence, by that hellish samurai mask that is, in fact, its head.

"Alert! Alpha-27, Dominatus-27, Icarus-27, you deploy at 1500 hours. Present to your captains immediately," says Iris through the overhead speaker.

"That's me. I've been summoned," I say with a smile. What a nice way to get out of this.

"Promise me that you'll think about it," says Carmen.

"I will," I yell as I leave in a trot.

***

When I arrive at our quarters, I find Dimitri, Salinas, and Jose sitting on their beds. Each is polishing and cleaning their Viper, ensuring it'll work properly when needed the most.

"Hey."

"Hey," I greet them back.

We're all depressed. It's easy to tell. A shadow looms over us.

"Alpha-27! Get ready to move out," yells Mafaka. Half the room is empty. Empty beds. I'm sure each has had a multitude of owners, all of them now dead. I wonder if the beds have any memory of those who occupied them. Maybe they recite their names at night, in remembrance of those who passed to a better life.
—19—

I'm securely buckled to the hull of the mastiff, full throttle ahead.

We were reassigned to a new platoon. We are now part of Nikia's unit. Dimitri, Salinas, Jose, and I have formed a new squad. At least I have them for comfort.

I look at my squad members. They all have their eyes lost in an invisible abyss.

This is our third mission. We could all die. One of us could die. Anybody will die.

"Two minutes, Sergeant," says the pilot.

"Prepare for chaos," says Nikia with a wry smile. She's so crass. "High Command has sent us out to dismantle another autobase. The plan is simple: buy time. Enough for the Togami lab rats to complete the Torragami project. Yup. Not a secret anymore. High Command has issued an emergency beacon and has revealed the project to all who care to listen. General Wrath himself has offered any educated soldier who is willing to join their ranks to do so without military reprimand. If you go, it won't be considered desertion. So if you're thinking about it, when we return, it's time for you to enroll. Before you die...if you don't die on this mission.

"Personally, no thanks. Lab-rat shit is for lab-rat people. And I ain't no lab rat, but a fucking rabid bitch who'd go haywire in a confined space. I need the killing or I'd go crazy. Decide for yourselves," says Nikia.

"One minute!" the pilot shouts.

"So that's what the doctor offered Carmen, Jorge, and you?" asks Dimitri.

"Yeah. About as much," I respond.

"Sounds amazing. Fucking Samurai mech. It's sad the thing doesn't work. What a waste."

"That's what I say," says Salinas.

"So, Argo. Will you join?" asks Dimitri.

"Not for me, buddy. I'm staying with you guys. Battle till the end," I say.

"Hell, I'll join up," says Dimitri. I'm instantly heartbroken. "Anything to avoid seeing any of you die. I can't take it again," he admits. I can see it in his eyes. He's at the breaking point.

"And you, Salinas? Jose?"

"Not for me," says Jose. "I'm with you till the end."

"Me either," says Salinas. "I'm in it for the dead."

"For the dead."

The mastiff trembles. It dives and lands with a thud.

A siren wails. The ship is on fire.

"Go! Go! Go!" yells Nikia.

The ramp opens. A high caliber salvo rips three open—blood and guts spurt everywhere. Nikia doesn't even mind the gore. She runs out. We follow her closely.

"Let 'em have it!" yells the sergeant.

We return fire. I'm no longer using the pulsar. The firefight erupts all around us. The mastiffs that landed have gone back into the air, but two are taken down by autodrones.

I hear the Gatlings roar, see Mafaka at a distance spewing a river of death. Vortices of Wasps fly in the air. A wall of marching Anzhous head in our direction. This is clearly a prepared defense. They knew we were coming. This must be an important base for them.

"Follow me, soldiers!"

We run with our sergeant.

I press the sights button and select x2 sights. I aim. Fire. Fire. Turn on the electro-saber and chop down an Anzhou near us. Fire. Fire. Somebody else in my platoon is using the pulsar and fries several Wasps flying nearby.

Rockets fly from our offensive line, and the wall of Anzhous is breached. The vortices of Wasps are falling. I can see the autobase ahead.

"Rip 'em a new one!" yells Nikia.

A volley of Wasps flies toward our ranks. Clearly the TechSoldier has hacked them. At this rate, we're pummeling them. The base needs to be hacked for us to gain intel. The only way to do it is by killing all its defenses first. Not an easy feat, not at this rate.

"Minitank!" yells someone from a distance. I hear the railgun grazing and ripping through the air.

The sky becomes a mantle of white heat, and from the heavens, a lucid beam rains upon the drone. The minitank melts into the soil.

"Area clear!"

"Move in, soldiers!"

"Let's go, squad!" I yell and then turn to find Dimitri lying on the ground. I swear and get down on my knees to turn him over. His face is the product of a large caliber bullet and now looks like a blooming flower. I can see his brains, his essence, his soul drenching the arid soil. I would close his eyes, but those are gone, too. Sorry, my friend. A tear. My throat is clenched by emotions. I swallow hard and move on.

"Hacking the autobase! Call for extraction!"

Third mission complete. Only ninety-seven to go to become a veteran. Hurrah.

Goodbye, Dimitri. Fuck!

***

On the way back to home base, I ask Nikia about her sniper rifle. The long barrel is bored, and she's got a holosight that goes all the way up to x20. The stock of her rifle has the name Walter engraved on it. Turns out it was her late husband who was killed during the taking of Ecuador by the Chavistas. After which she swore fealty to ÆTAS to kill SLAV and Megachine soldiers and drones.

Upon reaching Alpha-Theta Base, I quickly find out that many soldiers, mostly the newbies, have signed up for Project Torragami. Salinas and Jose are still here with me, ready for our next mission. Mission number four.

We depart. Had just enough time to hit the dining hall for some HydraPacks. Took four this time. Tried the chocolate flavor, which was just as awful as the vanilla one.

This mission is different. The whole 27 regiment was deployed, which includes the nine companies from the Alpha to Icarus. We're heading to what was once Texas, I learn. Nine companies land, each carried by an elephant.

This is the first time soldiers from the ÆRMY fight with us. It must be an important mission. We find several autobases and enemy beacons intended for espionage. We dispatch them all. We find several enemy cargo bases loaded with ammo and drone parts, part of the Megachine's plans to drown us during their dreaded attack. I'm hoping that with each of these missions, we buy lab rats enough time to complete the project, to solve the mystery behind the user-interface problem. The fourth mission ends well.

The fifth mission is about due diligence, about securing a perimeter around Alpha-Theta Base. This is the first time I meet the base's defenses. Large Tesla coil towers loom in silence, waiting to unleash a bolt of energy to fry drones. No deaths here.

***

"Please don't go, Jose," I plead.

"Project Torragami is the only solution, my friend. I need to do this. I need to try it out," says Jose. He walks out of the quarters and leaves me alone with Salinas.

"And so he's gone," I say, downcast.

"Let him go, Argo. It's better to let them go when their minds are elsewhere. On the battlefront you have to be all there. Or you die," she explains. "Dimitri..." she says. "Wishing to get out of the field was his ticket to a sure death. Had him distracted," she says. "We had to duck. He didn't. Result: bullet to the head. Shit." She sighs.

We went from one hundred ninety-two soldiers down to two units. Salinas and myself. This sucks. Sucks bad.

"And Jose's right. If he wants to try the Torragami out, he needs to do it now. Enemy autocarriers are about to hit the shores on all fronts, both Atlantic and Pacific coasts. And once that happens you know we'll be surrounded on every side. This is it, Argo. Wanna fuck before leaving on our sixth mission?" she asks nonchalantly.

"Yeah. We should," I say. We do it right then and there. No privacy. No intimacy. Just plain old good sex. I needed that. I stare at her half-naked body. She stares at my own. It's good to see a nice thing amidst such ugliness. She's hotter than I thought. Should've had sex earlier. We both lay in bed, caressing each other absentmindedly. There's no love between us, but we're both injured souls who need some loving. Feels amazing.

***

"Smile, Argo," says Nikia. "Just saw you screwing your friend there. Wouldn't mind giving her a try myself." She gives Brenda a smile. Brenda smiles back.

"You do men?" asks a soldier.

"Not really," I say.

"If you wanna play with the stick, just let me know," he says, winking at me. Not interested. I feel numb. Almost dead inside. What's wrong with me?

"Maybe you just need some vaseline?" asks the guy. "You know, get you going." They all laugh.

"Shut the fuck up," says Nikia. Defending me. "He's into the cat, not into shit," and they all laugh again.

"No, I'm serious. Argo here's emotional 'cause one of his buddies left him to join the Torragami project."

"Worry not," says McCain. The diminishing size of our company has left us with two platoons only. Now McCain is here as well.

"When I first joined up two decades ago, ninety-nine percent of our company died in the first mission. It was brutal. Only a girl called Laura and I stayed alive after the second mission. After the third, I was all alone in a new company, reassigned to Alpha-27, where I met Mafaka and made my career. These dogs are family now. This is home. This mastiff—any mastiff—is as good as any other. As long as there are missions, I will shoot this Gatling and kill some enemies."

"Each of these veterans will tell a similar story," says Nikia. The mastiff shakes. I think we just dodged a missile. The guns under the warship's belly roar. Then silence.

"We've all started out like you and you," she says pointing a finger to Salinas and myself. "To end up in a company like Alpha-27."

We travel, escorting three elephants, in which regiments 1, 8, and 22 were deployed to defend the coast of what once was North Carolina. The biggest number of autocarriers will land there, and we need to make sure that we slow them down just enough to buy the scientists more time. There's no telling how much time they need. Every day, they ask for an extra week. Buying them an hour feels like impossible. I wonder what Carmen is up to these days. Haven't seen her in a while. Maybe I should pay her a visit when I return. If I return.

"Two minutes!" yells the pilot.

"Argo? Are you well?" asks Brenda.

"I just want this war to end."
—20—

Once landed, the regiments march and get into position on the mountainous terrain of what was once North Carolina's shoreline.

The howling wind carries dust and echoes, blowing with a fury. The arid world is charred and burnt to nothingness. The coast and what was once sand are baked into large shards of glass by the nuclear havoc. The ocean is in rabid chaos, a perpetual typhoon, a cyclone of voracious energy as if the god of the sea is pissed off at humanity and is now throwing an undersea fit.

At this distance, however, the lights of the autocarriers are visible from miles away. The ultra-large vessels, carrying death machines to initiate our sentence to oblivion, are deploying autocopters and amphibious transportation to initiate the invasion. The beginning of the end.

Our mission is to hold them for as long as possible. To buy hours, if only minutes, so the lab rats can complete their job. It's hopeless. We all know it. They sent the ISF, not because our supreme firepower will halt them, but because we're like a bump in the road, enough to make you slow down. We will be trampled over. I can sense this in the air. I can see it around me.

The soldiers, although mostly veterans, are handling rocket launchers and laser-aiming pods with which heavy artillery will be used. The minority, like Mafaka, wield their Gatlings, ready to shoot a volley of bullets. However, against the heavy machines, like minitanks, and especially automechs, the battle will be impossible.

We are cannon fodder. I will never forget that.

And at the worst of all moments, I get nostalgic and think about what was once home. About SLAV and my small apartment, about Mario, about the patients I abandoned, about Carmen and Jorge, with whom I'd kicked off medical school. We've changed. We're no longer friends as we used to be. Jorge's death has marked me. It changed me. It only heightened the shadow already looming over me.

I think about my parents and remember them. Their memory is a blessing and a curse. It hurts to see the beautiful imagery of my mother and father, as much as it tortures me not to be able to touch their faces or hug them good night.

Depression sucks me in. I'm in a bad place, a dark, gloomy place. The poison has chipped away at my armor and drilled a hole into my soul.

I hear our own mastiff patrolling the sky, ready to strike. I hear the chatter among soldiers, waiting nervously for the order to attack.

Lights. Thousands of them. They turn on suddenly. The beach is riddled with them, in a line that could measure a mile long.

They lift off and start forming vortices. The Wasps have been deployed. The earth shakes. Heavy thuds. Heavy steps.

More lights turn on. I can see them clearly now. Twenty automechs arranged in a charging line incoming from the beach.

The Wasps advance. The torrent of drones races toward our lines.

"Fire!" yells Mafaka. Other captains order their units to fire.

The swarm of thousands of Wasps is met with a rampage of bullets, taking down many, most, but unable to reach those deep within the hive, hiding behind the closest drones to make their way toward us.

Rockets fly out. The swarm is engulfed in a bubble of flames and smoke, and still they come.

They reach the frontline, opening fire, the sound ripping through the air. Many soldiers fall, turned into pulp by the onslaught. Pulsars crack the air, frying many drones. It's not enough.

The distraction works. The mechs are now advancing and start to empty the salvo of the missile pod. Platoons go up in flames. Human pieces fly by from the blast. The mechs open fire from the heavy-caliber guns on their arms, the river of death pinning us to the ground. Pinned, we are easy prey for the Wasps overhead. Stormbirds fly in, shooting down whatever they can from the Wasp hive. Mastiffs hover close to us, shooting at the Wasps to defend us. Many mastiffs begin to fall by the incoming fire from the mechs.

Some soldiers try to stand up to fight the Wasps to no avail. As soon as they lose their cover, the constant pulse of heavy-caliber weaponry tears them to shreds. Pinned to the ground, I can only shoot in full-auto, taking down as many Wasps as possible.

"Anzhous!" yells somebody. And then I see the first mechanized humanoid clear the edge of the mountain.

It opens fire, releasing heavy machine gun hell. More and more come.

Brenda. I see her pinned by a couple of Wasps. She brings them down. Tries to run. But an Anzhou has reached her position. It opens fire. She looks at me at the last moment, her last breath, her last heartbeat. The emotion painted on her face melts away like a fresh painting washed away by rain.

I am alone. All the battle brothers who I came here with are now dead.

An explosion of anger sends me off on a sprint. I turn on the electro-saber and chop the machine down. I crush its pistons, bolts, and screws, yell at it, curse at it, and then cry from my inability to make it hurt like I do. It's just a stupid machine, a collection of matter put to evil use by evil people too cowardly to fight their own war.

We retreat, running full speed. The Wasps are down. Half of our forces have been consumed. The mechs clear the beach and are now nearing the edge of the mountain.

Heavy artillery falls on one. The mech is swallowed in a shower of destruction, exploding into a brilliant white cloud.

The drones must have received an order. As they advance, the Anzhous now concentrate on eliminating the soldiers with a laser targeting system. The mechs do the same, searching out and destroying those who pose a threat to their advancement.

The sky melts. A white screen appears and from it, a cylinder of energy falls upon a mech. The ion plasma burst cannon comes into play. The energy melts the mechanized warrior, turning it into a pond of smelted alloys.

The mastiffs and stormbirds come into play, releasing a volley of missiles. Heavy bombs pummel them, and four more mechs are destroyed.

I hear the roar of engines overhead. Must be autodrones, enemy jets, deployed from the autocarriers. The war in the sky takes priority, the mechs assisting the vehicles in flight shooting rockets and sending a deadly river of bullets to the sky. The explosions light up the air. The debris falls and kills some of the soldiers on the ground.

"I can't hack them!" yells someone. Must be the TechSoldier. "The mechs are heavily encrypted!"

"Then get me all the Anzhous you can, and get them to hold the mechs as much as possible," yells Mafaka.

I can see the hacked Anzhous turn around to defend us. It stops the killing spree temporarily, giving us time to regroup and find cover.

"They're sending reinforcements! The X-Legion is coming!" yells Mafaka with a smile. I've never heard of the X-Legion. Must be something important for Mafaka to be so excited about it.

Above us, a machine's turbines roar. A wall of missiles is launched, bringing down autojets and pummeling two more mechs into the ground.

A heavily armed elephant lands near us. The door-ramp pops open, which I can tell was done with a kick.

I stare with my mouth open, unable to believe my eyes. Those are ÆRMY soldiers! The genetic giants I'd seen around the base but never seen in action! A whole company, one hundred ninety-two of them, runs out in perfect formation, their captain at the head of the spear. They wear full body armor, a type of armor I've never seen, which makes them look larger than ever. Superhumans...

Helmets with visors guard their heads completely, connecting to their breastplates, which are heavily armored too. Arms, back, abdomen, and legs are also fully covered in thick metallic armor, all connected by hinges and joints allowing for fine movement.

The warriors are as if born from legend, and on their backs they each carry a large rifle that appears to be as heavy as a man. Each soldier carries a large broadsword sheathed at the belt.

I see them in action for the briefest of moments. The warriors shoot and bring down the Anzhous with ease. They form a line and punch through the offensive line of the mechs.

Missiles rain over the legendary soldiers, heavy machinery drills holes in their carapaces, and yet most struggle through, advancing to fight the mechs with all their might.

A missile strikes near me. The explosion sends me flying in an arc, to land several meters from my original position. Two soldiers look at me, both pale and afraid. I have no pain, I even feel a sense of freedom.

"Hemorrhage...! Hold...!" I hear, and soon after lose consciousness.
—21—

I can feel my consciousness pulsing. Something's wrong with my extremities, though I'm not sure what. I slowly open my eyes.

I'm at Commander Hughes Hospital. I'm in a simple room. A single robotic arm is working on me. What's going on?

I notice my right hand is immobile. I try to move it to no avail. I can't see it, as I've yet to gain control of my body.

"Calm down, Argo. Soon you'll have your new hand ready for use," I hear a voice saying.

"Doctor," I say when she comes into my field of vision.

"You were brought back just in time before you went into hemorrhagic shock."

The robotic arm is retrieved and now hangs nimbly from the wall.

"Come on up, slowly. There you go."

I sit at the edge of the medical bed. My muscles ache, and my joints are stiff. Must've been immobile for a while.

"Your new robotic implant works just fine. Try it out."

I open the hand, move the fingers, and then make a fist. Feels strangely familiar, yet completely alien to me. The hand is metallic in color with various wires and bolts still in need of screwing. The hand joins my native skin at mid-forearm. The skin at the section where they join is red, where a mesh of very fine material embeds into it.

"I thought the robotic implants were for veterans only," I say.

"Well...they were. We're losing soldiers at such a high rate, it really doesn't matter any more. We implant one on every soldier we can, hoping it will help you fight the good fight."

"So you're actually fine with me fighting this war now?" I ask with a grin.

"Not really. But I know you will. I would rather keep you, use your talents to accelerate the investigation."

"About that...how is it going?"

"Slow. Too slow. Just need more time," she says, downcast. "Your implant needs a few more touches. We have natural skin grafts, created here, that can go on top of the artificial limb to make it seem real. Most soldiers opt in for it. Would take a few more hours."

"Don't have the time. Would rather see this metal hand than fake skin on it. This is a reminder of what I am, of what I've become." I've no notion of what it feels like to miss a part of me. I've heard about it by amputees, the phantom-limb syndrome. But I've a new limb, so I can't really tell. And it feels so real, so genuine.

"Be careful, Argo."

"I will."

I exit the hospital with a general sense of doom. I know the enemy has come in full force, and that now it's only a matter of time before things get really bad. But there's always hope, always something else to do. Always a mission to complete that may prolong our life some hours to days.

"You're alive? God dammit! Look at this cockroach! Bred in the sewers, strong as a rat."

"My cock portion is bigger than the roach portion," I joke.

"Ha! He's even developed a sense of humor," says Mafaka.

Nikia gives me a stare. She wants to eat me. Come get it.

"So are you two gonna get it on or what?" says Mafaka, smiling.

Nikia takes me to a half-empty armory room. She assures me Iris doesn't have her sights in this and other rooms. We're naked in no time.

***

"Nice hand," says Mafaka as we near the Calvarius landing strip.

I move the fingers about, still trying to get used to it.

"Welcome to the club," says Mafaka.

"I knew it!" I say. "You guys had to have had implants to wield those guns."

"Both arms, both covered in grafted skin. Ain't they pretty," says Mafaka.

McCain takes off his shirt. His torso is half there, half gone. The implant joins the skin where the belly button should be.

"I'm all tripe and thoracic cage. Heart and lungs aren't mine either. Artificial organs," says McCain, putting his shirt back on. "Bad explosion. Don't recall a thing."

"We got these only after a decade of service," says Mafaka, "so you're one lucky bastard."

"So...what are we doing here? We haven't been summoned to any mission...." This would be my seventh mission. It would seem that this was an unofficial mission.

"Our company is down to only a handful. We're been reassigned to Major Ulfton Justar. So far, he's the most celebrated soldier in the ÆRMY. He measures two and a half meters in height, and, thanks to genetic enhancements, he's one of those beasts they call an ubersoldier.

I have a faint memory of seeing the large soldiers in the battlefield, bringing down a mech by themselves with rifles as big as a man, with large broadswords on their belts. They were the stuff of legend. This makes me recall Salinas. I feel my throat clench but somehow am over it in another second. I'm getting used to death. Don't know if this is good or bad.

"Shouldn't we be with them at the battlefront?" I ask.

"We should, but Justar has ordered me to get creative, blessed as I am with all creative things," says Mafaka with a smile.

I hear the shots, the whistling missiles, the explosions. I've never seen the Tesla coil towers in action, yet the sound of raging electricity makes me think they're actively frying enemy drones.

"That's right. The war rages on. We lost the battles at the coast, lost many regiments in the process, managing to delay their progress by days only. But now they're here, making their way through our defense system. Several regiments await to engage them once they reach the base itself, while the base's defenses take care of shit for us. Tesla towers are cool as fuck. Lightning from a tower, frying enemies and shit."

"Damn. So this is it, huh?"

"That's right. And when it's about that time, a little crazy may help."

"I thought you were getting creative."

"There's a fine line between crazy and creative, son. Today those two will blend just fine."

We reach a mastiff.

"Wait...do you know how to pilot that thing?" I ask.

"I do," says McCain. "Used to pilot cargo ships back in SLAV. You know, transporting goods and such. Same principles."

"You do know that one is a ship of war and the other for transport, right? I think there's a big difference," I say.

"Strap on. Us three are gonna give our friends a little surprise. Nikia was ordered by Mafaka to snipe on incoming enemies. She's lucky not to be here with these lunatics.

"Do we even have clearance to fly this thing?"

"Nope. But we're all dying like flies, so nobody cares anymore. And these things are not being used because they're getting shot down by the mechs with ease."

"Great. Sounds like a plan to me," I say sarcastically.

"Fire her up," says Mafaka.

McCain turns the turbines on. He plays around with the control buttons, clicking and pulling levers, manipulating the holo. He then grabs the throttle stick and pushes forward.

"It may get rough. Hold on."

The mastiff bangs against walls, burns a few cargo crates with its roaring engines. After several minutes of lethargic movement, McCain seems to get her under some control. Just barely enough to get us out of Calvarius.

"So what's the plan?" I ask.

"Operation Check Mate is upon completion. To follow the grossly underplayed and mostly forgotten game of chess, we will take a pawn to the other side so it can become queen. It's a desperate move, I admit."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I say nervously.

"Well...shit. You'll figure it out soon enough."

As soon as the mastiff clears our base, a volley of homing missiles, followed by a storm of heavy-caliber bullets, chases us into the air. We're hit almost instantly.

"Here we go motherfuckers!" yells Mafaka. The mastiff is in flames. The heat is rising, and fast. I've been hit by flying debris, and I'm bleeding from small lesions on my torso.

There are flames galore, and soon we're a ball of fire falling directly between enemy lines. As we crash, McCain accelerates to full throttle, causing us to skid on the soil, taking down many Anzhous and human soldiers and damaging a few minitanks in the process.

The warship stops. The flames lick the air. And we are surrounded.

We hear a mech's heavy steps. I can see it just outside.

"We're in position, sir," says Mafaka. He's probably talking to Justar.

"OK, Herrero. It's ready."

Ready? The mech has stopped moving.

"Go! Get on board that thing! It's been hacked, barely enough to make it stop in its tracks! We have but a minute or so before the TechSoldier is pushed out! Go!"

"I thought the mech was well-encrypted for hacking!" I yell.

"Get going!!"

Mafaka takes me by the collar, pops a door open with a kick, and pushes me out of the flaming mastiff.

I'm suddenly outside the comfort of the burning mastiff and surrounded by enemies. But...somehow they all keep facing our base, marching on as if I'm not there. I suddenly realize that they think we're dead. I can see the brilliance behind Mafaka's crazy plan.

I see the paralyzed mech just a few meters from me. Damn it's tall, intimidating...regal in a way.

Another heavy push sends me forward. "GO!!" I've no time to stop and think. I start running. I get to the leg of the mech. I feel, indeed, like a cockroach.

I start climbing the right leg, hoping the thing doesn't start moving any time soon, as my hand is going in and out of its joints. If it does, it'll surely amputate my other hand and destroy my new implant.

I reach the cabin. There's a pilot inside. He freaks out upon seeing me. Goes for a gun. I go for my holstered Viper, shoot twice, piercing the armored glass at this short range.

"Tell the hacker I need the cabin opened," I yell through the intervox.

The cabin pops open. I get rid of the corpse. It's bloody everywhere, but the controls and command joysticks are intact.

"I'm in! Close the cabin!"

I can feel the hacker's released grip on the mech, as soon it continues moving forward without me doing much, as if it were in auto-pilot mode.

I grab the joysticks, one on the left, and one on the right. I try them out. The right joystick controls move forward, back, and strafe to either the left or right side. The left joystick commands the cabin. It also controls the direction of the mech.

I've no idea what the enemy is thinking when it sees the mech falling out of line. I don't care. I'm enjoying piloting this beast like nothing I've ever enjoyed before. I feel powerful, almost god-like.

I hear chatter through the speakers in the cabin. Surely someone noticed that something's off. It's only a matter of time before they realize the pilot is not responding and that the autodrone function has been disabled.

I turn briskly to the left. To face the mechs behind me. As soon as I do, I stand facing three mechs. I can see the pilots in the cockpits, all surprised to see me smiling.

The joysticks, both left and right, have a red trigger and many buttons on top. I pull both triggers at the same time. The heavy machine guns roar as a river of death pours from them. I manipulate the direction of the assault by moving the left joystick left and right, left and right. The heavy-caliber bullets rip through the cabins, pierce the first mech's body, and soon the first has fallen.

The mech's movements are smooth. Enjoyable. Savory.

I push the buttons on the top of the right joystick. A volley of unguided missiles go out, hitting several targets around me.

I press the button on top of the left joystick, and I see the cannon on top of that shoulder charging with blue energy. Must be the plasma cannon.

In between the onslaught of bullets, the blue round of plasma flies off and hits a mech. The energy runs through it, leaving a large hole in its body, causing it to malfunction and fall. The second mech goes down.

I continue my attack. I've gone crazy. I'm no longer thinking about anything. I know I'll die. This was a suicide mission. I'm a pawn turned into a queen, whatever that means, and I attack with all the might of the mech.

I receive enemy fire. Mostly small-caliber bullets from Wasps. The Anzhous' heavy caliber bullets pierce the armor. But then the true pummeling starts, when mech bullets punch through the cabin frame. The pain is grueling. A large bullet has fractured my femur, another ripping through my belly. It's a matter of time now. This is where and when I die. My seventh mission. Better make the best of it.

"Argo!" calls Mafaka through the intervox, the first time he has ever used my first name. "You're causing havoc in the enemy lines! Hold on just a few seconds! Justar is on his way!"

I don't give a shit about anything anymore.

I advance against the enemy lines. I crush Anzhous and humans in my wake. I shoot to kill, manage to destroy one more mech before I'm intercepted by a minitank. The rail gun munition hits the mech's leg. I'm going down! As I fall, a scourge of bullets pierces the armored cabin glass, and I'm riddled with bullets. There's a pinch of pain and then delicious darkness.

I hear Mafaka yelling something and then a Gatling's engine scream holy destruction.
—22—

I blink. I slowly come to, feeling refreshed and replenished. I'm well rested. Ready for battle.

I stretch out and feel an unusual pinch on the abdomen. I become aware of my body and only then does reality strike. There's nothing below my thorax. My whole abdomen is gone. And where it was, there's a slimy substance. I then realize I can only stretch my left arm.

I open my eyes with a jolt. I'm in terror. I try to sit up, but I can't, as I've no abdominal muscles to pull me up.

I do my best to glance down at my body and find a bag attached to my body where my entrails are collected, pink, thick worms moving slowly from peristalsis.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" I yell in panic.

I cry profusely, engrossed in my new reality.

"Argo! Argo!" She's a ghost. A spirit...no...it's Carmen.

"You're awake! Oh, thank God, Argo! We though you were gonna die! But you made it!" She cries and hugs the small-sized piece of body I've become.

"He's dead," she says in my ears, tears flowing down her rosy cheeks. "He didn't make it..."

I stay immobile for a long time, just thinking about my current situation.

"Jose?" I ask, wondering about my friend who enrolled in the Torragami project.

She nods. "Gabriel and Jose. Gabriel was declared brain dead, and as second in kin I was asked if I wanted to keep on going or stop all medical treatment. I think Gabriel would've hated to be a vegetable, so I opted to unhook him."

I can tell she feels guilt.

"Jose also died. The mech's movements were too fast, too sudden. It generated so much g-force that he died of a hemorrhagic stroke. I'm sorry. I know he was your friend."

I feel the pain. I'm numbed down. Don't feel as bad as I thought. I'm at the bottom of the pit. Can't go any deeper.

"We don't know what else to do, Argo. We're out of options. The enemy has breached our defenses, has reached the outer wall of our base. We are surrounded."

Carmen heads out and comes in again.

"The surgical theater is ready for you. You'll get fresh new robotic legs, abdomen, and right arm."

"When can I get out?"

"It'll take days for you to gain control of your new implants."

"Don't have a few days. The enemy advances!" The scream sends off a shock of pain though my remaining body. I tremble and realize I'm lucky to be alive. I should be more grateful.

"You've been out for a week...your crazy attack with Mafaka bought us time, Argo. You managed to shake them up, even if just a little bit. I never thought I'd say this, but...you're actually one of the bravest soldiers I've ever met, and I'm glad you stayed in the military."

She kisses me on the cheek.

We quickly exchange stories. She tells me about her experience in the lab and what Gabriel's death meant for her.

***

When I come to, I'm in a patient's room in the Togami lab, where they usually hold the veterans who received implants for testing and function verification.

The nurse told me I could move around freely if my body would allow it, so I test out my new body.

It feels strangely my own, and I feel like I can control its movements with ease. It even feels lighter, and I know I'm much stronger. The fingers, the hand, my feet, the sensations are more robust, but yet I can still feel when I'm standing, how my feet are positioned on the ground, and faint vibrations.

I look at myself in the mirror. They have a whole-body mirror for people to see themselves afterwards.

My body is just a torso, no abdomen. My guts must be hanging inside this artificial abdomen I've got implanted. I notice a small bag at the side of my abdomen, where shit is being collected. I guess it's my new anus. All this technology, and yet I have a small bag full of shit on my side. How elegant.

I study the scar between my body and the implants. The tissue is red and weeping where they've united me surgically with the implants. There are very thin wires running into the implants and into my skin. It should hurt. Maybe the nerves have been cauterized out?

I get a sense of loss, a sense that I am not who I used to be. And I'm not. I'm half a torso, with only one arm and a head and some guts. I've lost most of my body, a feeling too depressing to even express. I avoid going down the lane of sadness. Now's not the moment.

"Congratulations, Argo."

It's Dr. Opovich, followed by Carmen.

"Rumor has it that you're our new hero. You deserve this new, very expensive body. You may not be a veteran, but you are something else."

"You should thank Mafaka, actually."

"Oh Mafaka. That is a special one," says Dr. Opovich with a smile. "Argo, I'm proud of you. You were right about remaining in the military. We could definitely use soldiers like you out there to buy us the time we need. Well...whatever that's worth now...because, as you've heard, the Megachine has reached the last barrier. We're successfully sieged.

"Anyway. Let's run some diagnostics on your body. I see you're gaining control over it quite fast. Good. You're a natural."

"I need to get outta here," I say.

"Argo...you need physical therapy. Your coordination is good to walk and sit down. But definitely not to fight. I can't release you just yet."

"It's the Major!" I hear from outside my room. I hear people scrambling. Opovich goes pale and tense. Carmen remains as confused as I am.

An ÆRMY soldier walks in. He's wearing full body armor, chrome and silver in color, with an ÆTAS symbol on his breastplate. He is enormous, two meters and a half in height, not the tallest I've seen, but his sheer shoulder, arm, leg and torso size are gigantic. He's one of the genetic beasts. And in full armor, he looks even bigger.

His head is the only part of his body without armor. It's large, with short golden hair decorating it. His eyes are blue.

"I'm Major Ulfton Justar, leader of the X-Legion," he says in a deep, commanding, unfaltering voice.

Major Justar moves to one side, and I see two more people come into the room. The room is full now. Justar occupies one-third of it. The newcomers surprise me. One is Mafaka, who winks at me. The other is General Wrath.

Somehow Dr. Opovich turns even paler. Carmen and I both drop our jaws.

I salute them, standing up. General Wrath studies me. The micro-gestures on his face are impressive, morphing in micro-seconds, making me unable to guess at what he's thinking. He walks up to me, katana sheathed in his hands, held as a regal staff.

"Soldier," he finally says, "Argo Herrero, your reports from the battlefield are quite...confusing. Your assessment starts off as an inept soldier. I've negative reports from Lieutenant Cotillas. But now Iris projects you're to become one of the best. You're almost to your tenth mission. Your eighth would be your next one, to be exact. You've got it in you. You're already wearing veteran implants.

"It was thanks to your handling of the mech that Major Justar was able to advance to harm the enemy enough to buy us a week. Unfortunately, the enemy's still there. We are besieged.

"Doctor Opovich, a pleasure to see you again."

Justar also greets her warmly. She must be involved in the genetic manipulation and engineering program.

"You, too, General. It's been a while since you've been down here."

"It's been a while since we've had exceptional soldiers. Argo, I'm promoting you to first class lieutenant under the command of Major Justar. You won't have a platoon to lead, however. Under Justar you're part of the special forces team. You'll be a squad member with Mafaka, McCain, and Nikia. Means little when we're drawing our last breath. Keep us proud, Lieutenant."

I go numb in whatever's left of my body. I'm guessing the pressure of nearing our destruction is making people like Justar and Wrath behave more kindly, or more erratically. I'm not sure if I deserve to be promoted, yet I'll take it any day of the week.

"It's the first time in decades that a member of the ISF has joined the ÆRMY," says Justar calmly. "Congratulations."

"Lieutenant Herrero, present yourself in the Nolan Theater in one hour."

"But General Wrath," opposes Opovich, "he needs physical rehabilitation; his body is not ready yet."

"You've got one hour to do your rehab on him," says Wrath and leaves without another word.

"You heard the general," I say. "Better get on with it."

Dr. Opovich is annoyed, but says no more. Carmen smiles at me.

***

The Commander Nolan Theater is a depressing sight. The theater itself is fine. It's the fact that it's occupied by half the forces that I saw when I first came here.

I get a sudden attack of melancholy, thinking of my fallen battle brothers—Jorge, Dimitri, Gabriel, Salinas, Irene, and even Cotillas, whom, I assume, must be dead by now.

The few companies that are left are close to the center, close enough that we can all see who's in the middle. It's High Command.

X-Legion company had not been here first time, when it was solely ISF soldiers. I can see a good mixture between ISF and ÆRMY soldiers, which tells me the cannon fodder—the ISF—has been used up, and now it's the ÆRMY soldiers' turn to face the fire.

The X-Legion soldiers are all genetic beasts, those disproportionate, body-armored, stern no-smiling type of soldiers I had seen before. They all measure more than two meters in height. Compared to them, the ISF veterans, all four of us, Mafaka, McCain, Nikia, and myself, appear to be severely malnourished.

Other ISF companies eye-ball us with a mixture of curiosity and hatred. I can tell that I'm not the only ISF soldier who has been rewarded with implants, as many in the other companies also have limbs that have been substituted for artificial ones.

"The Megachine has besieged us," says General Wrath. We all fall silent. No hologram is projected, and his voice is loud enough to be heard by all.

"We know the enemy is about to launch the final stage of the multistep Check Mate attack that they've been planning for months. It's very likely that they will win."

The audience is listening. We all know the truth. We've seen the power they wield. They're just too many.

"We had hopes that Project Torragami would succeed, yet our scientists need more time. And we're out of time. And we're running out of soldiers, quickly.

"Our priority is to defend the base at all costs. Your mission is to survive. If we fail, then Plan B would come into effect. Here beside me is Dr. Theodor von Pommel, head astrophysicist of Project Altaterra, who will explain Plan B shortly."

I've never seen this scientist. He's not small, just puny in comparison to the military personnel. He's got a large belly protruding beyond the white lab coat he's wearing. He's got long, straight hair and a thick mustache, both brown in color. He doesn't wear glasses, but he constantly squints. He speaks slowly in a thick accent that I've never heard before.

"So...yes," he says. He gestures heavily with his hands. "Altaterra has been under my care for almost two decades. I've been working on it quite a bit lately, and it's been ready to take effect, actually, since a few months back. I've insisted we use it, but it has remained Plan B all this time. It was actually started around one hundred years ago. The hull was, of course, the first thing that was designed, together with the large, almost gargantuan size of the station it needed to be sitting on top of for us to work on it."

Hull? Station? What is this guy talking about?

"Altaterra, even though it begun a century ago, has always been about building a spaceship, a sort of Noah's Ark for those familiar with the now rarely referred to Bible. We're only taking one animal: humans." He laughs. Nobody laughs with him. I did not get it, nor even know who Noah was or anything about a Noah's Ark. I should look it up.

"Anyway," he clears his throat, "this base is that ship. That ship is this base. We've been working for decades on the propellers necessary for liftoff, and then on the necessary force to propel us through the various layers of the atmosphere and into space, to high orbit, where the international space station once existed."

International space station? Never heard of it.

"Can I have the visuals I requested?"

The lights in the theater dim. The hologram in the center comes to life in a dance of photons. Soon the image starts taking form. A long rectangular-shaped vessel appears. The image rotates on its own axis. I see that Dr. von Pommel has a pad in his hands, and I can tell he's manipulating the holo with it.

"This is the base you're in right now. This is Alpha-Theta. Lo and behold the long-kept secret. It's a spaceship! First of its kind!"

We all gasp. Even the genetic beasts are impressed.

"The Megachine must never know this," he says sternly. "The ship is called Persephone, after the mythological goddess, daughter of Zeus, who was the goddess of spring. She was also the goddess of the underworld, so keep that in mind," says Dr. von Pommel with chagrin. "It wasn't me who named it," he says under his breath.

"This base, being a ship, inherently has many problems. The first being that we do not have the means, yet, for artificial gravity. As you can tell, you are standing on the various decks of the ship, which are horizontal in respect to the hull of the ship. If the ship were to fly vertically, it would pose no problem at all. But if it tilts, most passengers would be in trouble. There are no seats and, therefore, no seatbelts. Once in orbit, we have yet to devise a way to generate gravity, to take advantage of the deck's orientation within the hull. The ship has many flaws. However, let me remind you that it is the last hope of survival for the ÆTAS, so bear that in mind."

So that's why the base is vertical and fifty levels deep. Each level is the deck of the ship!

"Thank you, Dr. von Pommel," says General Wrath, "This is why it's imperative that we defend our base. If we lift off while under siege, you can rest assured that we will be brought down by the enemy's heavy artillery, mechs, within seconds. If we manage to repel them, or at least injure them, lifting off is at least feasible," he explains.

"If nothing works we go to Plan C—we explode ourselves and take our enemy with us. If we had the firepower, we could nuke the earth lifeless and live in the ship for centuries, waiting for the havoc to end. But we don't have the resources to pull that one off. Those are our options, soldiers," he explains. "Now get out there and defend our base. You are our last hope," says Wrath. We salute.
—23—

I've had a few genuine poetic moments in my lifetime, where I'm taken aback by scenery and left breathless for long periods of time. Standing on the thick wall that separates us by meters of plasti-metal defending the base, I stand fearless and send my eyesight far into the enemy lines.

We're surrounded by too many enemies to count. The base is besieged by drones, among them minitanks, Anzhous, Wasps, and mechs. Tesla coil towers, I hear, were taken down days ago. Human soldiers are among them, all in full armor with their heads covered by helmets with tinted visors, thus not allowing me to see their facial expressions. The foot soldiers are armed to the teeth, and I suspect among them are many, if not all of them, their own version of TechSoldiers, trying to constantly repel our own TechSoldier hacks.

Millions upon millions of red dots fill the battlefield. Those are the eyes of the drones. Other lights also shine, those belonging to mechs and minitanks. Above us autojets and autobombardiers have cleaned out our defenses to allow their ground units to approach as near as fifty meters from our innermost wall.

The walls are thick, made of plasti-metal, which is very strong material. They may sustain the fire of several mechs for a while and effectively absorb the heat and shockwaves of a few missiles. But with the minitank's rail guns and large-caliber bullets, they'll surely be pummeling their way into the base.

There's something up close and personal about this attack. Something makes no sense, like why has the enemy allowed us to continue to have electric power. An EMP pulse would be enough to disable our systems enough for them to make their way in and defeat us. With power, we still have heavy autoturrets waiting behind the walls to open fire and destroy whatever comes in. At least for a couple of minutes until it's taken down.

I sense it's the Megachine showing off muscle, somehow allowing us to defend ourselves to give them one last good fight. And a good fight we shall give. That I can promise.

"Can't believe you're all cyborg and shit now," says Nikia. "I will miss that cock of yours," she says plainly. "At least we did it several times. No regrets, soldier." She winks.

Ever since I was promoted just a day ago, my reputation and my relationship with other soldiers has improved by lightyears. I'm no longer the cockroach, the rat-eater, or the wetback. I'm a soldier, a lieutenant, as good as any other, who has survived onslaught after onslaught. True, I've only made it through seven missions.

I somehow understand that this is what Gabriel felt all his life. Must've felt good. Would have loved to have been this way when I was back in SLAV. I would have had more women in my life. Perhaps I could have had Carmen back then. But now, even though I'm respected and all, I have no genitals to enjoy my new esteem. However, the general feeling of being respected and regarded as some sort of hero is enough for now.

"Can't believe you made it this far, Argo. I could've sworn you'd be one of the first to die in the field." She hugs me by the waist. I like Nikia. She's very pretty, and her bluntness is even more attractive. I could do without the nose ring, but it's part of who she is. I did pull on it once during sex. She punched me in the face for it.

"Think Plan B will work? I doubt it. We're surrounded on all fronts by miles and miles. The whole damn country is being occupied as we speak. There's no escaping this one. We'll have to go with destroying ourselves," she says, her eyes lost in the field full of enemies.

An explosion. A deep moan shakes the earth. It's the sound of stones breaking, of metal being warped by extreme heat. A flash of blue light from far away, followed by another moan. And then the blast is felt. An enormous blue-grey cloud is rising at a distance, maybe a mile away.

"What the fuck!" yells Nikia.

"That cloud...I've never seen a weapon like that. Was that ours?" I ask. The blue light is unlike any explosion I've seen.

I study the soldiers and drones in the frontline. I see them twitch. I see them fret. The drones suddenly change direction. The Wasps are now flying toward that cloud. The Anzhous are marching there too. I see the mechs, once poised for the final blow, suddenly twist and turn, pivot, and march toward the epicenter. The human soldiers follow, and I can tell they are scared by their careful, deliberate movements.

"Holy smokes!" yells somebody else.

"What was that!"

"Who was that? Was it ours?" was a common question among the soldiers.

I study the faces of my battle brothers: Mafaka, McCain, the genetic beasts. We're all surprised. Was that a secret weapon? Some wort of landmine? An accidental explosion? Why are the Megachine soldiers suddenly marching toward it?

There's fear. Some panic. The word spreads. Nobody can be for certain that it was ours, but speculation has that it wasn't.

Major Justar is hesitant. I see him with his helmet in his hand and rifle in the other. He's unsure if to attack and repel or to wait and see what's going on.

Captain Justar is called into a small room. I can see Wrath and other brass commanders talking fast, under pressure, unsure. I see Wrath shake his head. I read his lips "not ours...."

Another moan. Another explosion. The ground shakes, and the blast pushes some away. Another large cloud raises into the air.

I go back to the wall and stand on it to see what's going on in the field. I can see mechs firing, I can see Wasps engaged in a furious battle. The sound of the firefight reaches us in faint echoes of destruction.

"Maybe some lost army of ours has hit them from behind?" asks another soldier.

"I doubt it. There's no lost army. They could be fighting themselves. This could turn out to be some sort of inner war among the enemy's high command. The Megachine is formed by many powers, SLAV, being one of them...maybe they're fighting for who destroys us?"

"Wait...they're firing up...to the sky?"

"It doesn't make sense...unless they're shooting down their own rebellious autojets?"

We all see a mech go up in blue flames, destroyed by an unseen force. And it took it down with such ease.

"Satellites down!" yells somebody from the base. "Coms are down! The intervox is non-viable!"

We all put on our helmets. For some reason, we need proof. I try the intervox, and as said, it's not working.

"Who brought down our satellites?"

"Inter-satellite war is well known," says Nikia.

"Yeah, but we beat the shit out of the Megachine with our superior technology up in space. Our satellites have superior defense and attack systems," says a soldier who overheard us talking.

"Megachine must be picking up the pace in their tech," says Mafaka, who's also staring into the distance, his dead green eyes not daring to show that he fears whatever is out there.

"X-Legion!" yells Justar. His deep, unhurried voice is now pressured and aggressive. "Form behind the walls! Helmets on! Battle-ready!"

His voice is loud and strong, and we hear it well without the use of the intervox. We form, helmets on, our squad part of a larger platoon of genetic soldiers.

"Heavy artillery! Soldiers with missile, rocket, and grenade launchers, arm yourselves quickly! Turrets at the ready!"

Nobody knows what we're getting ready for, not even Justar. But I can guess what's going through his mind. If something is kicking the Megachine's ass, it's surely stronger than we are. Whatever's going on out there, it will eventually reach us.

Autojets fly by low. The screech of their engines tear through the air. We all expect a run of bombs or heavy machine gun fire, but instead, we're surprised to see it performing what seem to be evasive tactics.

A blue-colored disk is in pursuit of the jet. Two blue blobs of energy shoot from the disk and hone in on the auto-jet. The explosion is a fury of blue light. What was once a drone is now pulverized.

"What the hell...." I hear soldiers speak under their breaths. I can see those with missile launchers aiming, trying to lock on. By their frustrated faces I can surmise the locking mechanism doesn't seem to work.

"The mech!" yells someone.

From the ground, it's difficult to see the battlefield, as the walls protecting us are tall and thick. I'm uninformed and wouldn't dare defy Justar, so I stay put.

"The mech! It's attacking...it's retreating...!" yells someone. That soldier should've been reprimanded by now. But Major Justar seems too busy figuring out what's going on to actually notice him.

The same blue disk, or perhaps another one, descends in an impossible maneuver, possible only for objects from space. The disk seems to defy gravity itself.

Two blue blobs of energy shoot from the disk. The mech explodes and becomes a puddle of warped metal.

"What the fuck was that!"

The battle against something is raging miles away. The blue-grey clouds continue rising up to the stratosphere while the firefight rages on.

The disk flies low, very close to us, and from it something is dispatched.

A bomb?

"Attack!" yells Justar.

A tetrahedron falls and remains suspended in the air. It has landed inside the walls, in front of us. It's large, at least two by two meters. It defies gravity, without any clear mechanism to do so. The structure starts dividing in two, four, sixteen, thirty-two...

"Take cover!"

Some shoot, others, like me, take cover just in time. Each single piece of the tetrahedron pulses at an insane rate, each pulsation sending off blue energy at high speeds. The fragments are very sensitive, and when some are hit they explode, and soon a chain reaction is unleashed. All its fragments blow up, leaving many dead in its wake.

More tetrahedrons appear as disks descend upon us. Other disks release bombs, invisible to my eyes, until a large blue-grey explosion is seen. The explosions are just outside the base. The blast rips through the protective wall, sending off debris as large chunks of wall. The wall has been breached.

More die from the debris, most of them what was left of the ISF. Some super soldiers are also hurt, yet seem less affected than my normal human battle brothers, some of which were killed or remain trapped under rubble.

Heavy thuds. A mech is nearing us. Instead of shooting at us, it's shooting at a distance, where once the very large Megachine army had stood ready to defeat us. What is it shooting? It's impossible to tell from all the clouds and debris.

We organize ourselves as best we can. Now we must defend the wall from whatever is to come.

"Defend the breach! Nothing is to come inside the base!" yells Major Justar.

And suddenly a wave of blue lights. A horde of tentacles. An inferno of angry jaws riddled with teeth and four mandibles, opening like a predatory flower. What in the name...

I can't tell what's approaching, but they're coming in fast. The mech tries to defend itself, but it's torn to shreds by incoming blue energy shot from whatever is coming toward us from the field.

We're all aghast. They're closer now. It's clear they aren't human. They each have a large head, from which many tentacles or appendices float and wiggle as if each had its own will. Their mouths are open, yelling in a deafening screech. Their mouths are made of four independent mandibles, each opening like a predatory flower. From the insides of their mouths, a blue light emerges, as if their breath were energy. Their eyes are small on their large heads, blue in color, two of them, widely spaced like a fish or a frog. Their bodies are covered in an all black armor, blue light visible on the creases that join each of their limbs. They have two arms and two legs. They seem large, yet as they get nearer to us, I can tell they're the same size as any genetic beast in the ÆRMY.

They open fire. Large pulsing rifles at the hip. A torment of blue energy rips through the breached wall. The rounds pierce and burn, and suddenly the bodies are piling, the casualties are increasing.

"Open fire! Weapons free!" yells Justar.

Even super soldiers are killed with a few rounds. I take cover. I can see Mafaka and McCain, heading toward the flanks, ready for when the beasts cross the breach to pummel them unaware.

I hear a gasp. I turn and find Nikia on the ground. An energy round has left a large hole in her chest. No blood is coming forth. The energy has seared the wound instantly.

I curse. No time to think about the fallen. I kiss Nikia on the mouth. It's cold. Too cold. I should not have done that. Now the cool kiss will be the last memory of her that I take. I close her eyes and return my attention to the battle evolving in our base. Against creatures we've never seen. Against an enemy who just tore a new one on our enemy.

The enemy of my enemy is not my friend. It's my annihilator.

There's an explosion near me. The walls of a column are torn to shreds by heavy fire. The blast has thrown me to the ground, out of cover. I'm vulnerable. I can't hear a thing. My ears hurt. A constant ring in them makes me dizzy, disoriented. Somebody picks me up, carries me to safety.

"Stay here!" I could read her mouth. Not hear her. It's Lieutenant Mitchel, the big genetic soldier who interviewed me. I can see her shooting her large-caliber rifle. She's in full armor, up to the neck. For some reason, she's not wearing her helmet. She, like the other super soldiers, has a large broadsword on her hilt, currently sheathed.

Sound returns in waves. And soon, like a blow to the face, I can hear the raging war. Cries of pain and death fill the outer base. The defensive perimeter is a disaster, eaten up by a volley of blue rounds and heavy artillery shot by the enemy. I still can't tell what shot those heavy rounds. Maybe the disks?

"Swords! Engage in close combat!" yells Justar at a distance. With an impossible speed for such a large body, the fully armored super soldiers drop their rifles and unsheathe their swords. The moment is epic. It is triumph at its peak, the zenith of mankind right here, right now, when hundreds of warriors in full body armor unsheathe their large broadswords in unison. The sound is a ring, a piercing metallic rub that angrily rips through the battlefield as a warning, a war-cry that elates other soldiers.

I can see why Justar gave the order. I manage to peek and see the large creatures have infiltrated the breach, and a torrent of them is entering by the hundreds per second. They no longer shoot, but use a large energy saber to cut our forces in halves and pieces.

The warriors engage the creatures. The broadswords must be made of some sturdy material because it manages to repel the energy-sabers and cut through the creatures with ease. The super soldiers attack and wield their blade with an impressive agility, never losing a beat, never losing the ability to regroup, repel, and counter.

The creatures seem astonished, and for a second, I sense doubt in them.

Mafaka and McCain turn on the motor of their Gatlings, and with laughs of craziness start shooting a river of bullets at the incoming flow of enemies. The bullets cause havoc in the creatures, who start falling into a heap of bodies that piles up quickly. Blood, blue in color, drains from the pierced bodies and armor, and soon enough the enemy decides to counter Mafaka's and McCain's efforts. But too late. The warriors have advanced, defeating those who dared to engage them in close combat.

Mafaka and McCain receive heavy counter-fire. McCain is shot in the body, a huge hole in his body implants. Luckily surviving the attack, Mafaka drags McCain's body away, seeking cover. A group of beasts heads toward them, intercepted by a couple of super soldiers wielding broadswords.

What are those things? Could they be some sort of product from decades of radiation? Maybe they came from the ocean, some octopi mutating into these aggressive, large biped beings with fearsome mouths and powerful weaponry. But it would've taken millennia for a new species to develop whatever technology these beings wield. The flying disks, the bombs, the energy rounds, they must be an old, well-seasoned civilization. Are these invaders? Aliens? What are they?

The super soldiers are pushed back by the sheer number of invaders. The soldiers' superiority in combat is easily dealt with by three or more assailants. The carnage starts when our defensive line breaks. The invaders rip through the breach and start entering the base. Those humans, like me, who aren't gifted with the size or the armor to defend ourselves, are easy prey for these huge beasts of formidable size, anger, fury, and a four-piece jaw. Their mouths decapitate with ease. They eat, spill guts, and start ripping us apart.

I'm still hiding where Lieutenant Mitchel left me. I find myself feeling an odd need to stand up and gather my strength. I get ahold of my Viper and peek around to see the invaders causing havoc. I am rushed by one. Damn they're fast!

I duck, and his saber misses me. I instinctively activate my electro-saber. I duck so low I'm now at the level of the invader's crotch. I raise the electro-saber and start cutting him from the crotch up.

"Eat this, motherfucker!" I yell. The electro-saber rips through him with ease, splitting his armor, spilling guts and gore onto the ground, on my arms, and splattering my face with its contents. I only reach as high as his neck, as my arms fail to continue cutting through him. I would split his head open if I could.

Seeing guts, blood, and gore dripping from the bludgeoned body gives me hope. These things are like us. Organic and killable.

I see a quick slash. I turn around to find General Wrath in full body armor, advancing like a fucking Samurai with his katana drawn. He moves like a wind, slashing and countering with impressive speed. The katana is lighter and sharper than the warriors' broadswords, at least that's what I can see from a distance. The energy-sabers wielded by the invaders don't seem to cut through it, making me think perhaps that it's made from the same material as the swords.

I'm suddenly aware of how deaf I am. I can see and feel the vibrations of the battle around me, but I can't hear it in full. There's a constant ringing in both my ears, and I fear this will be permanent.

I can see various officers calling soldiers into the base, blast doors closing, and then these invaders blasting them open with heavy artillery. The creatures enter and start slashing and cutting, butchering everyone in their path. This isn't a war. This is an extermination, or the closest thing to it. The Megachine was more merciful, perhaps because they were also human. But these beasts...they have to be from some other world, they have to be from a whole different evolutionary path!

As I follow the heard of fleeing humans, I manage to study the invaders with more detail. They're walking about with confidence, killing the fallen with a quick slash to the chest, entering the base at their leisure. I aim. Fire. Two rounds to the head.

It falls, immobile. The many tentacles on its head stop moving. Heavy counter-fire finds me hiding behind debris. I crawl to safety and run deeper into the base. I peek. Shoot. Kill another one. Heavy counter-fire.

One runs to my position, energy-saber in hand. I move, shoot, empty the magazine on his chest. Another comes at me, full speed. Reload. I'm too slow.

He charges and attacks in a slow, powerful arc, aiming to cut me in half. I duck. I'm like a rat, small and compressible. I turn on the electro-saber and cut him from crotch to chest. The tentacles on his head are still moving. I need to know. I'm curious. I bury the electro-saber on its head and crack it open. There's brains and lots and lots of blood.

If you were to cut a human in full body armor like that, you'd find soft flesh underneath. This thing, on the contrary, seems to have armor as part of its body. The tentacles are also part of its body.

Many small groups of soldiers are forming inside the base, in hallways and rooms, building a resistance. It's survival time, which means it'll get tougher and tougher for these beasts to slay us all. At this speed, however, they'll surely succeed.

I have a sudden idea. A beacon of hope. ÆTAS' most powerful weapon, the new, unused, fail-tested Torragami.

Dread. Despair. I think of Carmen, about her safety. I've no one left except but Mafaka and McCain. The rest are dead. Nikia was killed not long ago, a death I have yet to mourn. The list of those I still have to cry for is growing, and I hope Carmen's death won't be added to the list.

I make a run for it. Heavy fire from behind me. I can't hear anything, which is probably good, so I'm not even afraid of the amount of fire trailing behind me.

I see an officer yelling at me. He seems of high rank, used to giving orders, unused to the battlefield itself. I can barely make out what he's saying, but I can read something on his lips about deserting and death. Well, fuck you.

As I run past the chaos, I see many of the invaders feasting upon live humans, using their head tentacles as a means to force meat into their four-piece jaws. They're shooting and looting, in a killing frenzy, without the raping, unless you consider our extermination a raping in itself.

I get to the elevator and head toward the Togami lab. On no. The elevator is also awash with blood. The creatures must have followed somebody to the elevator and feasted upon him or her or them, to exit on some level. But which one? There are fifty levels...maybe they're stopping on each, killing everyone level by level?

I reach level fifty, which is actually negative fifty since it's an underground base. The elevator door opens, and I see chaos beyond what I could have ever imagined. The hospital doors have been torn open by heavy fire, while the Togami entrance has been left ajar by powerful forces.

There's blood, both red and blue, which makes me think the automated defense robots dealt with the invaders as they came in, humans suffering casualties as well.

I'm sure the invaders could've dealt with us with ease with a couple of bombs planted throughout the base. But I can sense that spilling our blood is their greatest concern, probably their one and only priority. That would explain why they seem to prefer to cut us down rather than blow us up or shoot us down. Perhaps this is some sort of ritual, some sort of religious feat they have to complete to prove themselves to their superiors, or to their goddesses or gods. Or maybe this is some sort of test, a test of annihilation, the type of aliens that come and ravage a planet and loot it of all its resources.

But then...what type of aliens are there? If these indeed are aliens—which I think they are—then they would be the first and only aliens we would have ever met.

I've no time to dwell on this. The ringing in my ear calms down. I feel a sudden jab of pain in my ears and fall to the floor. The ringing stops. I look around for potential offenders, but find that this is probably part of the trauma that destroyed my hearing.

But there's more to hearing in the ears. There's also that very important part comprising balance. I try to stand up and feel the world spinning. I go back into a crouch and try to orient myself. Opening my eyes makes it better.

I stand up again, slowly. The world is still spinning, but less. I feel wet on my neck. I notice there's blood dribbling from my right ear. The blast damaged more than I'd wagered.

I collect myself as best I can. I check the mag and notice I've still some twenty bullets remaining. I drop it and reload. Need a full mag for upcoming firefights. I've no helmet, so I can't use Iris's features to alert me when I'm almost empty.

I walk in as silent as I can. I am excellent at stealth, yet can't trust myself with my balance and hearing being compromised.

The lab is a mess. There are dead scientists and doctors everywhere. There are destroyed defense robots, mangled up in dysfunction. The lab itself has been torn apart. The energy-sabers must have been used to cut through its cables and consoles.

I continue onward, trying to remember where Carmen used to work. I can't, so I have to look around. I find myself getting deeper into the lab, heading toward the hangar where the Torragami was kept.

I see something out of the corner of my eye. I turn fast. My finger on the trigger. I stop myself just in time.

She hugs me while saying something. I can feel her warm breath on my cheek, on my ear, but I can't quite make out what she's saying. I push her away from me and tell her I'm deaf.

She has already noticed the blood on my ears. She talks slowly, so I can lip-read her.

"They're all dead...Dr. Opovich...everyone..."

"How did you survive?" I ask.

"Cotillas taught us well..." I see her bathed from head to toes in blue blood. I can see scars on her. Her right arm is cut open in a gash that's still oozing blood.

"You hid in a fallen creature," I said.

"I did...opened it up with an electro-saber while defending myself and got inside it. The creatures didn't notice me. Disgusting smell.... What are those things! It's like hell yawned and out came those things! Are they mutant toads or something like that?" asks Carmen. It's hard to read her lips when she's talking so fearfully.

"I don't think so. I thought the same, but by looking at their weapons, I'd say they have to be from some long-lived culture with enough time to develop what they wear and wield," I say.

"Listen...any chance you can take me to a Torragami?" I ask.

"What? They don't work. Last soldier I saw try it out died of hemorrhagic stroke. Besides...there's the surgical component of it," she says.

"Surgical?" It's hard to lip-read that word.

"You need an extra-cranial implant that allows the Torragami interface to connect with your neurons. The implant takes one hour to install and three days to mature. We don't have the time."

"Just take me there," I say. "I've got a plan."

"Right." She turns and trots to the hangar where the Samurai-mechs are kept.

Carmen pales. Before me, two invaders are eating a couple of still barely alive scientists. The poor man and woman are gasping, trying to scream, unable to from loss of blood.

I shoot the distracted invaders in the head. I walk up to the scientists, still barely fighting. One dies then and there. The other will die soon.

I get up and follow Carmen. We enter the hangar. This part seems mostly untouched by the invaders. They probably had little interest as there weren't many humans in here. I can see cannons and gigantic katanas on a large table. The Torragami, an impressive and elegant mech, is motionless at its station.

"Turn it on or activate it. I'm getting in," I say.

"You don't understand! Without the implant, you will die! The thing has a large bore needle electrode that goes into your brain. That's why you need the implant! It's to make the connection with your neurons...Argo...don't..."

"Do it!"

She walks hesitantly to a panel on the wall opposite to the motionless titan. She starts coding into it.

I can see, but not hear, the mech stand up. Fully up, it's of considerable size, a couple stories high. The mech lowers one knee to the floor and one hand as well. Its face—the mask of a Samurai warrior—opens up like a four-petal flower, all parts opening to expose the main pilot-cabin. It's a confined space without monitors, windows, or controls. No joysticks.

I finally understand why the implant is so important. This mech is not like the Megachine's, where you just get in and pilot it with joysticks. No, this is something else, way beyond our capacity to manage.

I can feel Carmen's voice behind me. I yell without looking back, "I love you! I always have and always will!"

I don't care what she thinks.

That is the truth, and someday it had to come out. I don't want to see her reaction. I don't want my last moments—if I die—to be of disappointment in her face.

The vibrations in the air tell me that she's stressed out. I don't look around. I just walk up to the mech dwarfing over me. I leave the Viper on the floor and stand on the titan's hand. It elevates me with precision and speed. I stumble, almost fall, but the mech does a corrective measure with its hand to keep me there. It conducts me to its cabin.

I step in, turn around, and sit on the only seat there. Automated buckles tighten me into the seat, and by some weird mechanism, the seat adjusts to my body, locking me in very, very tightly. I feel the claustrophobia kicking in. I can't move!

The cabin starts closing, four parts moving at equal speed. It seals off. Darkness.

A vibration. I'm suddenly afraid and feel something inching forward to the back of my head. This was such a bad idea. I squirm, try to get free, but I'm unable to move. I scream for help, but somehow know it's pointless in this confined space.

Pain. Scorching heat. I can feel a needle making its way through my cranium, splitting skin, fat, muscle, and then poking through my skull. The needle starts spinning, making a hissing sound as the rotor gains speed. The drill enters, cracks its way in...and, suddenly, the pain is all gone.

.

..

...

I slowly open my consciousness. It comes in suddenly, like a slap to the face. I feel the need to blink, yet when I think I have, I can't see the lights that go out for the briefest of seconds when you actually blink. I realize my awareness is overwhelming, that my eyesight offers me much more. I can perceive light as a gamma of colors that I'd never seen before. I reach my hands up to my face, and see, contrary to my own, the hands of the Samurai-mech. I freak out and hold my hands out in front of me. This is amazing...I am Torragami!

I return my eyesight to what I had seen just seconds ago. I realize that I'd been so engrossed in this new experience that I had completely forgotten Carmen.

She's on the ground, backpedaling, trying to get away from an invader who's advancing on her slowly, energy-saber drawn, ready to strike and cut her to pieces, probably eat her too.

"Argo! Argo!" she continues yelling.

I attack. The punch travels at, what to me, felt like light speed. I'm amazed at the seamless, perfect connection between Torragami and me. It moves when I think a movement, as if I were controlling my own body.

The punch squashes the beast between my fist and the wall. The wall is all cracked, and a hole has formed where I punched it. It didn't hurt one bit. Yet I felt the texture of the creature, to a precision that I could even guess what it's made of. I guess the pain receptors were kept out, which is probably a good idea.

I see my hand. The body of the creature is nothing but blue paste dripping down the wall. My fingers are full of its blood. I can tell it's wet with it, can feel the blood's thickness, even smell its stench.

"Over there!" yells Carmen.

I follow her gaze and realize the entrance to the hangar has been discovered by the enemy. I spring into action at an insane speed, towering over Carmen as I stand to my full height.

Three blue-energy shots bounce off my armor. The invaders panic when they see me unharmed and advancing at a terrible speed. They barely have time to pivot. I start squishing them one by one, swatting at them like flies.

One.

Two.

Three.

It was that easy to kill them. Now my hand is even more full of that awful blue, stinky blood.

More invaders coming in. Those bastards must've called reinforcements.

"You have an M550 Gatling cannon on your left arm. Just think about using it!" yells Carmen.

I raise my left arm. Think about it. The cannon on my forearm starts rotating, the fury of its five rotating cannons become a blur. In another second, a storm of large-caliber bullets rains down upon the invaders, taking down more than ten in a single passing.

The invaders are torn to shreds. They fall in heaps as if they were nothing but old rags.

I study my left arm cannon, amazed but its performance. My God. This is the ultimate weapon. No wonder ÆTAS was so eager to make it work! Shit! Maybe I should've listened to Dr. Opovich! She'd be giving me shit right now if she were alive. But alas. We had to arrive to near extermination for the thing to work. Sometimes that's how things end up working out. That only under maximal stress will it manifest itself.

"Argo! Argo! What in the name...what are you doing?"

I reach out and grab Carmen like I would a doll. I have her by the waist. Her legs and upper torso hanging out of my grip. The human body...it's so fragile, so soft.

"Put me down!" she yells. Damn, she's cute when she's pissed. I take her close to my face, I mean Torragami's face, and study her in detail.

"Argo," she relaxes. She touches my face—Torragami's face—. I appreciate the gesture. It feels amazing to be caressed by her. "Iris is installed in the Torragami's OS. You can't talk to summon it. You have to get used to calling her with your thoughts. Try it..."

"Iris?" I think aloud in my mind's eye.

"Welcome to the Torragami, Lieutenant Herrero."

This is impressive. I had no idea thoughts could summon an IA.

"Take me outside," I command.

"Granted. Please follow the trail highlighted for you on the HUD."

My vision is no longer naked. Now it's decorated on the periphery by multiple icons, most of which I recognize. There's a nuclear energy symbol, which I guess is indicating the mech's power supply. For now, it's at 100 percent. I can see an itinerary of my weapons and the rounds remaining for each. Beside each round, there's a small icon depicting the type of ammo: bullets, missiles, or rockets, and one that has a beam of energy with a blast at the tip. I wonder what that's about. There's a small nuclear explosion with a number one at the side. I'm loaded with a nuke? I can see another icon where the Torragami's body is shown in miniature and translucent in color. There's a zero percent in the center, which, I guess, is showing me the percentage of damage incurred.

No time to dwell on this now. I will learn more while in battle. I'm sure of it.

I run, with Carmen cusped delicately in both my hands, and follow the trail highlighted by Iris. I reach a large elevator at the end of the hangar.
—24—

The elevator introduces me to the Calvarius landing strip. There isn't a single war machine in the landing area, making me think they've all been summoned to war or destroyed by the recent battle.

I exit to find the sky active with blue fire and missiles, a furious exchange between our mastiffs and stormbirds and the blue disks. It's evident that we're outclassed in weaponry, and our warships are falling at an alarming speed.

I can see the base is in flames in many parts, a large section of it completely missing, making me think that several bombs have been delivered to pulverize our ranks.

This must be it. This must be the final struggle, the last war-cry our side is giving prior to being completely and utterly destroyed.

"Argo! Don't go into battle with me in your hands! Don't be stupid!" yells Carmen out of fear.

I remember she's in my hands and delicately carry her to where the ÆRMY is concentrated building defenses around a perimeter of the base.

As I step out of the strip and outside into the battlefield, the heightened senses of the Torragami flood me with information. A 3D map shows me what the mech has picked up about the battlefield, depicting small red icons where enemies have been identified. I also see small blue dots for friendlies. Iris must have updated the Torragami's map with her database because now each blue dot has a code name. I select with a thought one of them and realize it's Major Justar. I run toward him.

I forget I'm in a very large mech, intimidating more than anything.

"Mech!" yells an ISF soldier. I can tell he's ISF by the lack of full body armor, and he's so thin and lanky compared to the genetic soldiers in full armor. He shoots. The round bounces off me.

"Hold your fire! It's a friendly! That's...Torragami!" The Torragami's OS has highlighted the name of each soldier on top of their heads. I can see their rank as well. That's General Wrath who's talking. I'd never seen him so impressed as I see him now.

"General!" I try to yell. No words come out of the mech's mouth. It doesn't really have a mouth anyway.

"I can relay your thoughts through voice command. Please chose the voice you wish to use when sending your voice message. It will be sent through radio frequency, as the intervox is temporarily down," says Iris. I select from a drop-down menu the first male voice. It sounds assertive, which is all I need. I've no idea how Iris is able to maintain communications with our satellites down. Must be some local network.

"You may now think your message. I will relay it in real time to allow you as natural a conversation as feasible," says Iris.

"General! It's Lieutenant Argo Herrero! Somehow I managed to engage with the Torragami's system without taking much damage." That was a lie. My cranium was drilled. That's heavy damage right there.

"That's impressive, soldier! Now get your ass into action! We're about to fall! Put that weapon into use!" he orders.

I put Carmen down.

"X-Legion! Follow the Torragami! It's all-out war! Now or never, soldiers!" cries Wrath. He puts on his helmet, seals it with the body armor. The super soldiers get in formation and start trotting behind me. I walk, they trot. My steps are gigantic.

The enemy is surrounding us, their offensive consisting of mostly heavy artillery and their ranks waiting to move in. As soon as I step out of the base, I see what I guess are their armored vehicles and alien soldiers turn to notice me. They don't know what to make of me. As they see the large cohort of fully armed soldiers behind me, they sound an alarm and engage us.

I raise my left arm and start shooting with the heavy-caliber Gatling. I move my arm left to right, sweeping it back and forth, pulverizing the enemy lines. The tanks are not damaged by the fire. The infantry, those ugly beasts, fall by the hundreds. The X-Legion engages. Rockets fly from the ranks and destroy the invader's tanks.

The firefight is on.

"I suggest the use of homing missiles," says Iris.

I think about the icon with missiles. I can feel my shoulders changing and somehow know that two missile pods have emerged from them. I can see the ammo number. There are thirty-six missiles in each silo. My vision starts highlighting targets, mostly large vehicle-like targets and several flying disks in the air. When the highlighted targets start beeping, I shoot. From my shoulders, a volley of directed missiles exit in a fury, leaving a trail of smoke. The targets explode. The blue disks fall in flames.

I continue sweeping the field with the Gatling, bringing down as many creatures as I can. When a few targets have been highlighted, I shoot another volley of missiles. The pattern continues, and we advance full force behind enemy lines.

Several disks descend upon me, firing blue-energy rounds that hit directly. I suffer a burn and a spam of pain. The small icon representing the mech's body takes on 10% damage and shows me that my right arm has been damaged. I'm not invincible, but the material of this mech is able to sustain the munitions used by those disks. I wonder why they haven't evaporated us with their bombs, which makes me think they've probably already used them up while dealing with the Megachine. I'm sure they dealt heavy damage to their army, but the Megachine is big, and I hope they retaliate.

"I suggest the use of the plasma cannon on your right shoulder. You also have a katana for use in close combat," says Iris.

I can't imagine where I'd have a katana, but imagine it's probably sheathed on my back. I shoot missiles to the flyers, bringing more down, sweep the field with the Gatling, and shoot more missiles to large targets. I select the plasma cannon. The silo on my right shoulder is retrieved back to my right shoulder. From my back, a cannon slowly rises upward until I can see the large cannon protruding into my line of vision on the periphery.

I shoot my last missiles and continue sweeping with the Gatling. The plasma cannon is integrated with a manual aiming mechanism. I can see a round crosshair appear in the middle of my vision. I fire the plasma cannon. Instead of shooting immediately, I can tell it's charging itself. The cannon glows blue, and then a torrent of blue energy pulses multiple times per second.

I aim the cannon with my mind, moving it on its own station without me having to move my whole torso. The rounds must travel faster than bullets, as they strike almost immediately after leaving the cannon. The blue rounds fly off into the air as I pursue the blue disks that descend upon me to shoot their rounds. I bring two, three, five disks down. The air is not clear of them, yet my attack has allowed several super soldiers to load up their own missile launchers and start bringing down more and more flyers.

The enemy has finally noticed me in full and has changed tactics. I can tell their new objective is to bring me down. What remains in the battlefield of invaders advances toward me, heavy artillery and all. Several large tank blasts from their large vehicles melt some of the soldiers who are unfortunate enough to get hit. I continue advancing. I sweep the Gatling, sweep the plasma cannon.

The Torragami has outclassed the invaders in every sense. The pulsing of the plasma cannon and the unstoppable rage of the Gatling is causing havoc in the enemy lines. We're advancing. Several large rockets are fired from the base. Must be some artillery recently armed by the remaining forces, and even more flyers are brought down.

I can see that the field is no longer all red on the map. The enemy force wasn't that large, maybe a couple of thousand with the support of maybe twenty tanks and thirty or so flyers. This was a small cohort.

There must be more of them, somewhere. Yet no reinforcements have come yet.

"All out! Eliminate them!"

All the tanks and flyers have been brought down. Now it's only the infantry that's left.

I select the katana. The mech puts away the Gatling and the plasma cannon and goes into close-combat mode. The configuration of the mech has changed. My body has become even more responsive, and all of my movements are heightened and accelerated.

I advance at full speed, a sprint so fast that my reality becomes a blur.

I'm not a skilled swordsman, yet at this height, I don't need to be. Hacking from side to side, up and down, is enough. The large blade cuts clean through multiple enemies, causing chaos along their lines. I step on those within range, squishing them to death. I punch, slash, and, suddenly, I go berserk. I plunge into the enemy, taking on no damage from their weapons. This is a killing spree. This is a rampage.

The enemy's fleeing into the arid land, and yet, from that side, they also receive heavy fire. I recognize many mechs from the Megachine. They've come to avenge their fallen.

For the first time in decades both the Megachine and the ÆTAS fight alongside each other. The field is rid of the invaders, but the war is not over. I can sense the pressure in the air changing. And notice, for the first time in my life, a large ray of light piercing the sky.

A window of hope becomes a beacon of death. This was not some god giving us a breath of fresh air, but a large ship making itself evident from above the clouds, descending into vision, disrupting the thick nuclear-winter clouds.

The ship is enormous, taking up a large chunk of visible sky. This must be because it's close to the ground. The ship's purple, with a large, oval-shaped hull with a lot of blinking lights, a long bridge, and a more rounded part in the back. It floats, defying gravity, smooth and precise, slow and menacing.

We all see it. We all know what's about to come. Reinforcements have arrived, and probably a very large number of them.

But as the ship gets closer, so do many mechs from the Megachine. There is tension among our ranks, and I can see the super soldiers uneasy in the presence of our original enemy, who, just hours ago, was poised to deliver the final blow. These mechs are not automated. They are piloted by men who, like us, are insulted and aghast at what the invaders have done to us.

There's no time for show and tell, meet or greet, or even time to discuss the terms of our limited relationship as allies against a greater enemy.

The big ship has come to a halt. It floats in silence, the howling wind its tune of death. A brief second of motionlessness. A moment of assessment and self-awareness. I contemplate what's to come. Probably hell. We're about to see the worst of it. Now I know that they have to be aliens and not mutants. They have to be from some other planet, maybe within the confines of our solar system, maybe from further away.

Movement on its sides. The moment of isolated peace is gone.

A fleet of disks is descending upon us, hundreds of them in formation. The descent is accompanied by heavy fire.

Bombs go off where the Megachine is gathering anew. Unfortunately for them, they are the more numerous army, therefore perceived as the bigger threat. I don't know how many soldiers and mechs and drones the Megachine has, and I don't know, either, if these invaders have landed elsewhere on the planet.

I see a flying formation of hundreds of autojets. The Megachine must be striking back. The autojets are slow and clumsy in the air compared to the acrobatic disks, whose flight does not seem dependent on speed and generation of lift; on the contrary, they seem to defy gravity through an unknown, superior mechanism, similar to that of the large ship aloft.

And yet, even though the disks are superior in so many ways, there are so many autojets that eventually the aerial battle is met with equal force. Minitanks move into position, and as their salvo and rail guns fire away, the disks start to fall in increasing numbers. Few of us fall during this attack, but I know there has to be more to come. A ship that size must be several miles in length, surely carrying more disks.

"Concentrate on the ship," I say.

"You heard the lieutenant, let's bring that thing down!"

X-Legion soldiers lock and load missile and rocket launchers. I gotta thank the sheer numbers of the Megachine, even if they were poised to kill us just hours ago. Without them, we'd be dead. They're keeping the enemy disks in check.

Missiles, rockets—a cohort of angels of destruction—fly to the target, propelled by powerful boosters. I charge the plasma cannon and unleash hell against the large ship. The repeater seems to have infinite ammo, and yet I have noticed my power supply dropping fast. I'm nearly down to 73%, which clearly means it's using part of the nuclear reactor to generate the plasma.

A blue mantle ebbs and eddies as the rounds hit home.

"It's taking no damage at all! It must have some sort of force field!" yells someone.

Force field? The concept is sufficiently self-explanatory, and yet the technology and the means to generate a bubble of energy to fend off rounds of explosives is something we're decades from understanding. Our armor still depends on being strong and resistant, if not somewhat compliant, material.

"Incoming!" yells someone through the radio network. Intervox is still down.

Three large capsules descend full speed. Upon making contact with the earth, an explosion of dust is generated, but no fire. Must've been from the speed.

Many mechs and minitanks fall as a result of the collision. Another group of disks descends from the large purple ship, only to be met again by the autojets. The battle rages on in the sky. And soon enough on land.

The large capsule's doors explode. From inside, at least several hundreds of infantry creatures walk out, wielding heavy artillery. These weren't like the first infantry aliens we encountered, but more akin to our X-Legion soldiers. These seem heavier armed and better equipped. Somehow it makes me think these creatures thought this conquest was going to be easy, and the resistance we've put up so far is a surprise to them. It's a wild guess.

The newly armored enemy infantry is causing heavy damage. Large rounds pierce through mechs and minitanks alike, killing an X-Legion soldier with a single hit.

"Eliminate the enemy!" yells Major Justar.

We advance. I raise my left arm and open fire. Reload. A round clip is produced from my left leg. It's raised by automated mechanisms and easily installed on the side of the Gatling. Fifteen hundred more rounds to shoot. I'm currently out of missiles, but use the plasma repeater to bring down the armored enemies.

The large capsules that struck the earth were not simple transport mechanisms. The soldiers did not descend to attack, but to defend. To defend the capsules themselves. And now I understand why.

Four legs pop from each one. The legs are gigantic in size, and soon enough each capsule is raised to the air two times my height. The thing starts walking. Small red eyes can be seen on the pod, which was, never really a capsule, but some sort of armored heavy vehicle of sorts.

Two large cannons move on its belly-side, shooting slow pulses of large caliber artillery. The shots shine like red streaks before exploding. Mechs are brought down with ease. Minitanks go up in flames. I know I'm the primary target. These things are slow, yet clearly powerful.

X-Legion soldiers are pulverized by the blasts. Minitanks shoot railgun rounds at the giant-sized arachnids, causing no damage at all to their heavy armor. Small eyes look from side to side, which gives me the idea that those things aren't ships, mechs, or robots, but actual living beings.

I shoot my plasma repeater. It does nothing to the powerful carapace. Yet those legs. They seem weak in comparison to the powerful head they carry. They're headed to our base, and they're moving in fast.

"Fall back!" yells Major Justar.

"With your permission, Major, I've got a plan."

"Stay alive, soldier," he says, running fast back to what little is left of the thick defensive walls of the base. These arachnids are causing heavy damage. As the Megachine's mechs falter and are destroyed, heavy fire is concentrated on me.

I sprint with impressive agility, with awe-inspiring speed. The mech's close-combat systems have engaged once again, now that I've pulled out my katana.

"I suggest the use of the nuclear powered jet nozzles for maximum speed acquisition," says Iris.

"Jet nozzles, like the ones used by the mastiffs? Hell, yeah!" When I think about a weapon, or in this case, about the jets, it feels like when I think about my toe or my arm and the will to move it. It's that easy. And, much like your toe or your arm, I know I have the jets when I'm made aware of them, and can feel their presence on my back, making it easier to think about.

A thought. A pulse. Maximum speed attained. I'm clumsy at this speed and flail my arms and legs to keep my balance. And yet, my vision is pristine, knowing the Torragami's many instruments are allowing me to perceive the world like never before.

I slice a leg from an arachnid. It raises the cut leg and bleeds from the wound. It stands on two legs and tries to crush me with the third, yet it's very slow and very clumsy due to its sheer size.

I go up in the air powered by the jets, pierce the pod's underbelly, and slice forward. A gigantic wound is produced, and blue blood drenches my body—the mech's body—. This thing is alive! It's actually a beast! An alien! What size!

The first arachnid falls, enough to cause panic in the enemy lines. I proceed to butcher the remaining two with incredible ease. The heavily armored infantry are cannon fodder as the remaining mechs and X-Legion soldiers riddle them with bullets.

The ground forces and the disks have been defeated. And now I'm standing below the belly of the gigantic ship aloft. It seems paralyzed, maybe in awe upon seeing such heavy resistance. Maybe this was a test. Maybe the real attack is about to come.

That force field must be penetrable.

"Iris, prepare the nuclear warhead."

The nuclear missile icon turns on on my HUD.

"Missile ready. Choose target," says Iris.

I look straight at the ship. A red triangle appears on it, then the triangle starts flashing and beeping.

A small parabolic trajectory is drawn, showing me how the missile will travel to hit its target.

"Major Justar, I suggest you order all remaining ground forces to unleash hell to the ship's forcefield. I'm gonna nuke it when it's weak," I say. "It may just work before more and worse reinforcements are sent."

"Copy that, Lieutenant. It may just work. Consider it done."

Seconds later, a volley of missiles fly straight at the ship, concentrated on one single spot instead of scattering the shots around the ship. The remaining Megachine forces seem to understand what we're intending to do and shoot away.

I change the warhead's destination and aim at the site where the ballistics are exploding and causing the force field to shine ever brighter. There's no telling when the force field will falter, and yet somehow I can see it flickering in and out.

A missile hits the ship. The explosion causes debris to fall and fire to erupt. That's it. A warhead has penetrated the forcefield. This is it.

A thought. The angel of doom has risen. From my back, a single warhead is unleashed. It flies with amazing grace, such a contradiction to the weapon's massive destructive capacity.

"I suggest you seek cover," says Iris.

I make a run for it, head back to the base, jets at maximum blast. "Get all ground forces inside the base! The nuke is about to go off!" I yell.

"Nuke!" I can hear in the radio.

A brilliant, white light. A sudden heave, and I'm pushed and roll on the ground. The heat, the torment of radiation, and suddenly I'm on the floor, looking straight at the sky.

The brilliance has dissipated. A giant mushroom cloud emerges from the epicenter of the explosion. The ship is barely visible. What remains of it is falling in pieces, dwindling in the air as it falls down in flames.

The black clouds of nuclear winter are scattered, pushed aside by the force of the blast. And suddenly, I see a blue, blue sky, deep into the eyes of a heaven I've never known. I gasp.

The sky is once again covered by the mantle of darkness, and soon all goes down a spiral of misfortune.
—25—

"Argo! It's Carmen...listen to me. Don't worry. I'm right here at your side. I'm not going anywhere, OK? I know you can't see me or feel me, but I want to reassure you that we've got your back."

I can barely hear anything. The ringing in my ears has gone, mostly. Yet everything sounds muffled. Her voice, though, registers better than other sounds.

"OK, let's move him onto the bed. One...two...three. Catheters. Lines. Drains. Connect him to the monitor. Vital signs in display."

She sighs.

"OK. Saline bolus, vasopressors. Keep his blood pressure elevated. He's going into shock."

I can't see. I can't speak. Something's wrong. Terribly wrong. But what? Was it from the A-bomb?

"Watch it! He's very weak. Bring his head to me. To me! Slowly! Control that bleeding! Let's assess the damage...the drill...it reached all the way into his limbic system and basal ganglia, where the Torragami's electrode literally built new connections with his motor and sensory neurons. This is...we need another scan of his head."

Carmen sounds like a boss. Has she been promoted? What is she talking about?

"Pupils. They do dilate. Argo. Can you see?"

Nothing.

"Move your eyes if you can hear me."

I move my eyes.

"Now up and down."

I obey.

"Good to know you can hear me. Now try to move your robotic implants."

Nothing.

"Move something, anything. Please..."

Nothing.

"Argo...I have to give it to you straight."

She sighs. Breathes in.

"Do you remember me saying pilots who would go into Torragami needed a surgical procedure prior to doing so? Well...since you didn't get the procedure, the mech inserted the electrode into your brain without the appropriate receptor. For some strange reason, you're the first one who actually managed to control the mech without immediate death."

That sounds bad. This means my death is still a probability.

"The MRI shows that the interface created new connections with your neurons. However, the drill and the electrode did pierce through tissue, causing hemorrhage and, unfortunately, a large area of stroke on the basal ganglia, part of your brain controlling voluntary movement. The drill went through the back of your head, damaging the visual cortex, leaving you blind. Since the perforation of your skull was not sterile, you developed a brain abscess and a lethal infection in your blood stream. It's bad. Really bad."

She pauses.

"Argo, you've got two options. And you must choose fast before your body gives out. The first: we treat the sepsis and hope for the best or..."

"Say it. He needs to be informed of his options," says a male voice I've never heard. Because of my problems hearing, it's hard to make out what he says.

"The second option, Argo, is you become the first live human to transplant his mind to another body. The body would be a genetically created empty vessel, an empty body built by us that you would occupy."

My mind to another body? Is that even possible?

"It's been tested on animals. Some humans, nothing promising. We would upload your mind, personality, memories, and thoughts to a local network, and then, once secured, we would transplant your essence to the body.

"Both options are risky, Argo. If you treat your body, you will still remain paraplegic, blind, and partially deaf. You may live out the infection.

"If you transplant your mind, you may suffer from personality changes, memory loss, all the way to wiping you out if the upload fails. You may die inside the network, forever lost. If you survive, however, you would become the first soldier transplanted into a completely laboratory-created soldier. A soldier far superior to the genetic beasts you fought alongside."

Could I stop being me? Would being in another body make me have different thoughts, different desires? Death, in the end, for a soldier like me, is not all that terrible. It would be a good death: a great death. But...

"You would be the first ISF soldier to become a super soldier. You would be the single, most powerful unit under ÆTAS' banner."

She sounds convincing, like she wants me to take the chance.

As a practicing doctor, I've seen many cases of sepsis. It isn't a nice death. Once the sepsis gets ahold of your body, it becomes severe sepsis, with septic shock ensuing shortly after. It's deadly, even with our currently technology.

And yet, my other option is to become the first human to try an experiment that, in all honesty, nobody knows if it will work. When we had patients with extreme forms of cancer, they were the ones who were offered the experimental stuff because we all knew that death was unavoidable for them. This is the same scenario. I'm being offered a procedure that may kill me because I'm basically, well, dead.

I go back to the moment when I decided to pilot the Torragami. I remember seeing Carmen, I remember her hugs, her kisses on my cheek. She's the last family I've got. There's nobody else. My parents are long dead. All my friends from SLAV, dead. I hope Mafaka and McCain made it. Nikia was killed before my eyes. I did say I love you to Carmen, and she's not acting all weird. Maybe the bold move helped me to finally get her. Is this what it took? It took me several severed limbs and a drill to the brain to get the balls to hit on her like a real man?

Fuck that. I've fought all my way through shit to get to this place. And now I have a chance at life again, a chance to see Carmen in a new body, a new me, a renowned me, and hell, I will try to win Carmen over with every inch of my life force.

"He opened his eyes. He's ready to make a choice," says Carmen.

"If you would like to treat the infection, move your eyes side to side. If you would like to transplant your mind to a new body and be part of a pioneering experiment, move your eyes up and down."

I move my eyes up and down.

She asks the question again. She has to be sure. She has to get consent.

"I'm so relieved...I really think this will work, Argo. I'm hopeful. I miss you....Ryu, Anotov, start Protocol Homo Optimus."
—26—

"They cannot know we're involved in this," says my father, sitting on a chair at the dinner table.

I play with my wooden toys, a horse and a pig. That's what they were called, says my father. Animals now extinct. He also told me once that horses were ridden as a form of transportation.

"I can't believe you did this to us, Fernando," says my mother in tears. "You really think you won't be discovered, that we won't suffer collateral damage from your choices? You know what the SEDISU does to those people. You know they've got eyes everywhere."

"Fucking Chavistas," says my father. Stands up, walks with a hand on his hip, the other on his chin.

Both my parents look at me. I'm on the floor, playing. "The rebellion needs us. The world cannot fall into the hands of totalitarians. We must fight. We have to fight for what we believe is right! Elisa...please...listen..."

"Then go up north, Fernando! Become yet another wetback enrolling in the ISF. Ten years of service in exchange for citizenship and money. Then perhaps you can come get us," she says with sarcasm.

"I won't go north. I will stay here and fight. Someday we will prevail...prevail...vail..."

My father's voice eddies, dissipates, and disappears in a waft of echoes. It distorts and becomes a growl, the growling of warping metal under the pressure of an explosion.

Suddenly everything goes black again. Small pixels of changing colors mix and match until a scene is created. I recognize the memory, a built memory, because I was never there. The metrorail explodes, and I know my parents were in there. Ashes. Dust. Sadness. I float, as if a specter, toward the destroyed metrorail. Inside the car, I find the skeletons of my mother and father. How do I know these bones are theirs? I can feel it. I know it. I've imagined this scene many, many times. I try to touch the skeletons, and upon doing so, the image breaks into millions of pixels.

The pixels disappear and leave me feeling terribly alone in a space so vast, so deep, I dare not move nor feel around me. In this infinite space-prison, I sense a heavy weight over me, on my shoulders. Something changes. The weight is gone. I feel free. Something flows. It sounds fluid-like.

***

A white light flashes. My senses are overwhelmed by newly perceived data. I blink. Maybe it's the pixels' doing.

I move my eyes. I see my hands, large and muscular, with fingers I don't recognize. I'm floating in a gel-like substance. There's something stuck in my mouth. I try to chew, can't. I feel with my tongue and sense a tube going down my throat. I want to rip if out, but I know my life depends on that tube.

I stretch out my hands and touch a transparent wall. It's glass. The world outside of it looks warped and bent, but for some reason, I know that's because of the light coming from the outside going through a different, thicker medium.

A human form approaches. It gets clearer as it nears the glass that contains me. It's a woman. She's very attractive. I can sense my heart racing upon seeing her. She's wearing a white lab coat. Her hair is brown, and she has honey-colored eyes.

At her side, I see a male soldier with skin as pale as a corpse's, a tear drop tattoo, and dead-looking green eyes. He's curious. He smiles.

A horrible sense of weariness spreads over me. I close my eyes.

***

I open my eyes again. The lights outside are out. Four robotic arms work on me tirelessly. I go in and out of consciousness. The woman appears again, and she smiles. The cycle seems never-ending. This is my new life.

Outside the glass, I can see several figures in dark blue uniforms. One is wearing a military beret. His small eyes and square face stare at me. There's something regal about him. A large soldier stands at his side with both hands behind his back.

Robotic arms. Light. Night. Pixels and dreams. The merry-go-round is eternal.

***

"Argo...Argo Herrero. Born on May fourth in the year 2070, in SLAV. Medical doctor, migrated to ÆTAS to participate in the ISF."

I open my eyes. Something has changed. I perceive a few more details, feel more control over my body. I move around, still in this liquid. I feel around, feel the glass that contains me. I look above, see a white light, the one I thought pulsed. It doesn't. It was probably me blinking.

I look underneath me. I float. Not to the mercy of anti-gravity, but thanks to a turbine propelling gel to keep me afloat, in balance with gravity. The robotic arms work on me, pinching me here and there.

"Argo Herrero, born in..."

"Who said that," I think to myself.

"Argo Herrero."

"Who is Argo Herrero?"

"It is you. Born in SLAV on May fourth of 2070. You became a medical doctor and then migrated to ÆTAS to join the ISF."

"I am...I am Argo Herrero..."

Something clicks. A twisted and convoluted mass unfolds. As each side unfolds, a myriad of thoughts and memories fly by in my mind.

"Who are you?" I say, as my memory, my mind, my very self is reconstituted by this unfolding mass as it untangles.

"I am Iris, an AI model Kayabuza 9.0.1. I'm installed in the DAT on your brain, which stands for Direct Ancillary Transmission. This device has wireless communication with the servers in the Alpha-Theta Base."

"Iris? I know an Iris."

"That would be me, the AI assisting you through this process."

"Assisting me in what?"

"In helping you remember. In helping you integrate with your new body. The armed forces need you for the invasion."

"What invasion?"

"The alien threat you saved us from when piloting the Torragami."

And suddenly, I remember everything.

"Carmen Johnson has asked me to debrief you as to the most recent developments."

"Carmen! Where is she?" I can remember her face, her hair, her smell. I feel a stab in my chest and my throat clenches just by thinking of her. Then I remember everyone else: Jorge, dead; Gabriel, dead; Nikia, dead; Irene, dead; Cotillas, probably dead; Major Justar, General Wrath, Mafaka, McCain...hopefully alive. Brenda, Dimitri, Jose, Rudy, Yolanda...and I remember those who started out with us in New Miami. I remember our training. The pain. The embarrassment I felt at being the worst in my platoon.

The pain drains me. My memories are now tainted with bitterness. A sense of general doom looms over me, and the depression stabilizes with a sense of despair. This is me. Despondency was the missing link to make me whole.

"How long has it been since I was transplanted to this new body?" I say, looking at my hands, my feet, my abdomen, my genitals.

"Three months and five days."

So long...

"What's happened to the war?" I ask the AI installed in my brain.

"The surprise attack of the aliens wiped out most of the Megachine's army and its main cities: Hong Kong, Moscow, Caracas, Sao Paulo, Beijing, and more. Each city was attacked by a ship similar to the one you managed to bring down. Thermonuclear weapons were used by them to exterminate its population. It is estimated that more than seventy percent of humanity has been wiped out by now."

"Holy shit! How did we make it?"

"The Torragami you piloted proved to be the super weapon we needed to defeat the Megachine, and its materials proved resistant to the alien's weaponry, allowing you to resist and defeat our local invasion."

"What about the Megachine? Or what remains of it? What are they doing now?"

"The defeat of the invader ship, combined with the destruction of their major cities, has forced the remaining Megachine to pledge fealty to ÆTAS. We are now in command of their forces, bases, and factories. Some high-ranking officers were executed, and others are imprisoned. Most soldiers have been incorporated into our ranks and fight with us.

"We own what remains of their drones, materials that we are using to build more Torragami. Former mech factories have been designated to create more Torragami as well, at accelerated rate to fight the invaders. Before you piloted the mech, we had but three Torragami. Now we have more than one thousand, and counting. All of our efforts are in mass production of the mechs."

"But the issues with the mech and its pilot...have those been worked out?"

"Yes. Your cadaver was autopsied, your brain in particular. It was found that your vestibular and auditory systems were heavily damaged prior to your linking with the Torragami interface, which allowed you to pilot it without suffering the major side effects that previous pilots had suffered. A new system is installed to counter the Torragami's high g-force, which has reduced the mech's interface side effects on humans to almost zero."

"How did we survive for these last three months?"

"X-Legion began piloting the three initial Torragami, helped out by the remaining mechs and autojets from the Megachine. With our forces combined, we managed to bring down more invader ships. With more and more Torragami in our arsenal, we are now holding the enemy off and have arrived at a stalemate. It's been more than a week since our last battle. They remain in high orbit. We think that they plan to return to deliver a full-scale final blow to complete our extermination. It's time for us to take the war to them. That is what General Wrath says."

"But...what do they want from us?"

"That's unknown. There are two hypotheses: They want our resources, or they simply want to wipe out an inferior species. Some believe they have come with religious purpose—this may be part of some ritual. We may be the devil to them."

"The devil? How...we've never made contact before. Not to my knowledge at least..."

"Wake up, soldier. It is time for ÆTAS' strongest soldier to lead the anti-extermination war. Wake up. Protocol Homo Optimus is complete. Dissolving suspension membranes. Ceasing hemodynamic controls. Retrieving tracheal tubes and additional life-support systems."

A red light flashes overhead. The cylinder where I've been kept empties. The thick glass container where I gloated is lifted by pulleys. The robotic arms reach out and hold me in place. I'm slowly placed on a medical bed and soon, I see Carmen's face.

My Carmen.
—27—

"Take a seat here, please, Lieutenant," says Dr. Akuza. He studies me for a few moments, in silence, regarding me as some sort of monument that he's created. He's Asian, probably Japanese, small of stature, with white hair and a bushy white mustache. The doctor steps out.

As I wait, I'm able to entertain myself with several holograms displaying the most recent events in humanity's history. For one, the Megachine's defeat, and second, and probably more important, our progress in this anti-extinction war that caught us all by surprise.

Whether it is a religious matter or a simple we-want-your-resources matter is heavily debatable. But until someone learns whatever language these beasts speak and there's some sort of philosophical exchange, I fear we will never really understand why they tried to kill us.

It's strange to even consider extraterrestrial life in high orbit, planning their next move. Where did they come from? Maybe planet Earth sent out a silent beacon, crying out for help after centuries of enduring human torture. Maybe they knew about us centuries ago, traveled across the stars, and decided to take our planet for their own use.

"Hello, Lieutenant. My name is Yoshi Ma, and I'm an investigator working for ÆTAS' marketing division."

"Marketing?"

I'm astounded by the sound of my own voice. It's heavy, deep, and growly. I notice the reporter is looking at me in a strange way. What is she...is she interested in me? I feel very strange. I've never really been the subject of female interest in my life. I'm...my old body was lanky and mousy. This new body...it's a whole new thing.

"Every government needs to inspire its own. They do so through their marketing campaigns."

"You mean propaganda?"

"Marketing, Lieutenant."

"Its own? I though ÆTAS didn't really have its own to inspire. You mean citizens, right?"

"Well, most people are taught that we don't have citizens. But the reality is that there were several underground silos with civilian life flourishing in them. Those are no longer occupied, not since the Megachine's defeat and our survival in this anti-extinction war. Since the Torragami event, ÆTAS has made leaps and bounds, and we're onto something good. We've never been so hopeful, Lieutenant. And we must inspire our own. We must breed hopes and dreams in them and the longing to improve what we already have."

"Inspire them with what?"

"With you, of course!" she says with a giggle. She reaches out and touches my leg. "You're the first true superhuman, born and raised in a lab. You're the first homo optimus in existence. Up until you, genetic soldiers were genetically augmented, which means that their own bodies were subjected to hormonal and genetic manipulation, granting them longer lives and bigger, more aggressive bodies, such as Major Justar. But you...you're the new thing."

Yoshi is attractive. Her face is small and round, and she has small eyes, a small nose, and a small, delicate mouth. She's wearing a military uniform, which, I suspect, doesn't belong to her at all. She must have gotten it from a friend just to get in here to interview me. I wonder if she's even got clearance to be here at all.

"I mean...what do you expect me to say?" I ask.

"The public would love to know what it felt like to be transplanted to another body, you know, what it felt like when your mind was uploaded into a network. They would like to know your first thoughts upon waking up. And especially, they would like to know how it feels to have been a poor, underpaid, abused medical doctor back in SLAV, to migrate north and receive training to become part of the ISF, to suddenly become the world's strongest human."

I don't like the way she's looking at me, not at all. I'm not your lab rat. I'm not your pet. I look around, feel lost and confused. The door is closed, and I find myself alone in this room. Is this what Dr. Akuza was up to? Did he put me in this position? The door slams open.

"Follow me, Mrs. Ma," says an X-Legion soldier.

"But the interview has barely started," she says, annoyed.

"Orders, lady. Citizens do not have access to these premises. How you got in remains a mystery and is a crime. I assure you it will not end well for you if you resist me," says the soldier. The big genetic beast looks at me and salutes with a small nod. There's respect in those eyes. I nod back.

Carmen storms into the room and faces the interviewer. "Next time you or any of your vulture friends get in here without clearance, I will personally notify General Wrath to obtain your imprisonment."

"Excuse me! I'm here with President Notokoro's permission," says Yoshi, suddenly angry.

President? There's a fucking president now? I want to know more about this topic, but in seconds I notice I don't really give a shit if there's a president or an emperor. I just need solace.

"Notokoro has no jurisdiction here, ma'am. Get out. Now."

Yoshi Ma leaves, fuming, passing by the soldier who follows her, sighing and rolling her eyes.

Carmen closes the door. She sits next to me. I'm weak, very weak. Strange emotions fight within me, but seeing Carmen has wiped most of the sadness away, leaving a window of temporary happiness. I smile at her. She looks at me in a very different way. That strikes me, makes me feel sad, and I'm not sure why.

"Argo," she says. She reaches out and touches my face. This is the first time we've met since I came out of the gel. Her hair is longer, soft...so very soft. She has an exasperated look, almost as if she's lost her vitality. But we've all lost so much that it's understandable.

"Have you seen yourself? In a mirror?"

I shake my head. Unable to speak.

"Come."

I look around. Dr. Akuza did say to wait. Well...to hell with him. He can wait for me to come back.

***

"I present you with your new body."

"I'm..."

I can't speak. I don't have the lexicon to describe what I see in the mirror's reflection. That's...not me. I feel inadequate, insufficient, undeserving of this body. I feel like a fraud.

My new eyes are black, pitch black in color, highlighting the white sclera around the iris. My eyes are...slightly slanted, with a hint of Asian. My hair is short and dark on my perfectly round head. My face has a square jaw with hard, chiseled details: thin lips, straight nose, prominent cheekbones. My skin is no longer light-brown, but light-bronze. My jaw and neck have thick, strong muscles under the skin.

With my new giant hands, I take off my upper uniform to look at my torso. I'm ripped to the soul, with each and every muscle popping out as if I had been made by a chisel. I flex the abs, notice a perfect eight pack squeezing and becoming hard as stone. I flex my pecs, large muscles twitching. My arms are riddled with veins and muscles. I've never had such large musculature, ever. I turn around and study my back. Large, V-shaped.

"You're officially the ÆTAS' most celebrated soldier. You're famous on many accounts, Argo. You're the first homo optimus. With you, humanity has taken a step forward. You're the result of Dr. Akuza's research in the Togami lab. With your success, it's just a matter of time before mass production of super soldiers gets underway, and multiple mind-to-body transplants should begin to happen quite soon."

"So, I'm property. ÆTAS property," I say with a sad voice.

Carmen is struck by my statement. It wipes off her smile. "I'm afraid you are ÆTAS property, Argo."

"Well, I did sign that ten-year contract with ÆTAS," I say with sarcasm. Carmen's in no mood to joke.

We're in an office space beside the room where Dr. Akuza left me. Must be Carmen's own office, or something; it has a body-sized mirror, and it's decorated Carmen style. She sits beside me. I see she has a picture of us three—Jorge, Carmen, and myself—when we started medical school. I walk up to the picture and study it. I see my young self back in the day. I feel sorrow, deep sadness at seeing myself smile. The static image brings up memories from deep within. I miss Jorge. Miss his jokes and his mode of being.

"Never forget," I say.

Carmen notices me studying the picture. Holds it. Looks at it. "I will never forget, Argo. Listen. Sorry to burst the memory lane bubble. We have to move forward."

"Promise me you'll never forget," I ask. Why? I've no idea.

"I won't."

Silence for a full thirty seconds. She places the picture back where it was on her desk.

"It's thanks to you that we're alive. Never forget that," she says.

She touches my face again. She's never touched me so much. I'm suddenly hyperaware of who I am, and who I am no longer. The crystal breaks, and sadness floods me. I break down and cry. This is embarrassing.

"They're all dead! Gabriel, Dimitri, Jose, Brenda...dead.... I was supposed to go with them, to be buried in the battlefield, to be part of the fallen."

"You're wrong. It was always you. It's true. Our friends are dead. Jorge is gone, forever. But we the living will continue onwards, and we need you. We actually do need you in the proper sense of the word.

"If you hadn't piloted the Torragami, we would have never found out that we were failing in all of our tests because of how the pilot's auditory and vestibular system were being affected by the mech's g-force. Thanks to you, we were able to surgically modify soldiers before they pilot the mech.

"And now we have more than a thousand Torragami online! It's all thanks to you, dear. But there's more to come. We've repelled the invaders, but we've not won the anti-extinction war. We need a permanent solution. We need to bring 'em down.

"The vanguard needs you to lead it. You're an inspiration to all active soldiers. You're that ISF soldier who became legend.

"We need you out there to end this madness. Whatever those things are, wherever they came from, their objective is clear, and we cannot allow it."

Carmen continues caressing my face. It feels good. Her eyes lock with mine. I can feel her hope, her fear, her joy and love, as if I'm being refueled by her soul. I was empty, and now I feel whole once again. She kisses me once, twice. I'm engulfed by her desire, and soon were both anxiously, passionately, undressing each other. In seconds, we're completely naked. This is it. This was my dream, my desire, all I've wanted for more than a decade ago. Here she is. And it happens.

"Be gentle...," she says to my ear. "With your strength, you could kill me if you're not careful with your movements. Be soft...gentle..."

I'm scared of my own strength, one I've no idea about. I assume I'm very strong, so I move very gently, and allow her cues to guide me. No sudden jolts. I could kill her.

Once it comes to an end, we both remain on the floor. I'm suddenly empty again, drained of the fuel that I thought would make me happy. It's gone, wafted away like a warm wind.

Scared, I stare into space, wondering what will become of me when this terrible nostalgia consumes me whole.
—28—

"You're designed, created, by me, to be a super soldier," says Dr. Akuza. He's annoyed I made him wait. Fuck you. He has an amazing capacity to make me feel like property, to downsize me in spite of my obvious physical superiority.

The scientist, said Carmen, is one of the last true-blooded Japanese on the planet. The rest are dead or have been weeded out by simple Mendelian genetics, mixed in like the rest of ÆTAS soldiers—and apparently citizens too.

"Your skin, as you may see, is light copper in color. It was designed—by me—to withstand a large amount of radiation. It's thicker, tougher, and more elastic than normal human skin, thus it's more difficult to inflict damage on it with bludgeoning weapons."

"Will this skin allow me to tolerate our nuclear winters without developing lymphoma or leukemia?" I ask.

He makes me feel dumb with his laugh. "That and much, much more. To conquer the solar system. Radiation in space is highly toxic. The solar winds are kept at bay by Earth's magnetic fields. However, out there, away from Earth, there are no magnetic fields to protect you. The Torragami has good armor on it, but is not impervious to radiation particles."

"Conquer the solar system?" I ask, outraged.

"Plans you will hear about soon enough, soldier. Stay focused. This is not a conversation. I am debriefing you on your body's abilities. Now please stop the questions and listen."

Dr. Akuza walks around me as I stand in the center of a white room.

"Each of your muscle cells, myocytes if you will, contain ten times the amount of contracting fibers than the average human. This means that you're at least ten times stronger. Your muscles and bones, actually, are stronger and more adaptable than robotic implants.

"Your brain neurons are larger, with more connections than any other being on this planet. The DAT implanted in your brain has more than an AI as your personal assistant, it also has the ability to establish wireless connections with certain terminals and with most bandwidths. This wireless capacity allows you to pilot the Torragami without the need for an electrode drilled into your brain. Do not worry. Your mech has already been modified to suit you.

"Your body has two hearts: one in the center of your thorax—not to the left like humans—. It's in the center, behind a large and very resistant sternum. There's another heart in the abdomen. The abdominal heart is small but well-hidden. It will allow you more endurance, and, in case your primary heart is pierced or stops, this auxiliary will keep you alive longer.

"The greatest contradiction in you, soldier, is that you are sterile. You cannot reproduce, but you may regenerate indefinitely. You will never have offspring. Each of your cells has the capacity to self-regenerate ad infinitum.

"You are not immortal. You can be killed. If you survive, your body will regenerate, provided there are favorable conditions—food, oxygen, etc.

"Lieutenant, you are the world's strongest soldier, and, I dare say, the solar system's strongest soldier."

After all this info is shared with me, I've too many questions to even start. I'm also crestfallen by the fact that I may never have children. I never really thought about it, but now that I do, maybe I would've liked to have my own family. That's gone now.

Dr. Akuza regards me like his child, or maybe even worse, as a creator of a thing who expects to be loved, cherished, by its creation.

"ÆTAS is lucky to have you. You are, in fact, the most famous soldier alive. The marketing division has done a stupendous job of making sure that happened. After you piloted that Torragami...in your puny human body, just think of the possibilities with this," he says, alluding to my new body. It pisses me off because he just insulted my old body.

"I'm the best soldier of the ISF then," I say.

"The ISF and the ÆRMY are no longer a separate entity. There is only one army now. One united force directed toward repelling the aliens, fascinating creatures that came from a place unknown to us." Dr. Akuza thinks about the matter and then seems to brush it off.

"Your training begins now. He's ready."

The door opens. Major Justar enters the room followed by two genetic soldiers.

"Lieutenant."

"Major," I salute. I'm nervous. His addressing me has changed. He appears resentful. Why?

"Follow me."

***

I'm now granted access to previously restricted areas in the Alpha-Theta Base. This is no longer a base, but an ark, a ship large enough to have carried us into space in case all went wrong. But things changed fast, and leaving Earth at this point is a bad idea. The aliens would shoot us down in a heartbeat.

"This is where super soldiers practice," says Justar. "Up until now we were the super soldiers, men whose genes were augmented and hormonally enhanced. You, Lieutenant, have set a new standard, and we now seem like mere mortals beside you.

"It's said that you're the most famous soldier of our time, the hero, the defender of humanity. And yet, there are those of us who've been at war for many decades, defending our borders against tyranny, and yet none of us gets such a prize. Your crown is not deserved. That fame belongs to veterans who've fought for thousands of hours out in the field, while you've seen, with luck, a handful of battles.

"I don't take this insult very well. None of us do. And yet, it is my task to get you ready, to get ÆTAS' new pet in shape before you command tomorrow's battle. Are you ready to spearhead a whole division? You've merely made it to a lieutenant, fresh from New Miami. Your body may be all high-tech, but your soul—your mind—is that rotten stuff you bring from the south."

Justar's anger and jealousy are palpable. When I was a lanky ISF soldier, he regarded me with swollen pity, almost like he would a child. But now he seems guarded, jealous.

"One day, bodies like yours and mine will be mass-produced. By then, the technology to transplant minds to new bodies will be perfected, and we will all rejoice in superior bodies," I retort.

Everyone stares at me. Most with disbelief and a mixture of awe and amazement. A few, like Justar, give me a wry stare.

Justar takes me to a round-shaped platform with thick glass around its circumference. Outside the glass, there are many seats.

"Welcome to the coliseum, where super soldiers like us train. There's no public today. We normally have an event or two with little-known underground bets. Boxing is a favorite. But today fists won't be involved. We will start with swords. I'm ordered to teach you the basics in one hour, to get you ready for battle ASAP. If what they say is true, you should be able to learn quicker than that," he snaps.

"We have been using the broadsword in battle," he says. A soldier brings him a broadsword. He gives it to me, hilt first. "Hold it, feel it. That sword was our faithful companion during long decades of war. Heavy, strong, and somewhat sharp, it has been very useful in defeating drones. But the battlefield has changed," says Justar. He seems annoyed.

"They have taken these out of commission, and Wrath has ordered us all to adapt to the new, faster, and sharper katana."

He takes the broadsword, hands it back to the soldier, and then hands me a katana, hilt first. "They say Wrath hides a smith somewhere on this base, a traditional Japanese katana smith who makes these to perfection," says Justar, admiring the Japanese sword.

"Take off your upper body uniform, soldier. As will I. There's nothing like naked skin to feel the cut of a blade, and there's nothing like pain to make you feel the pressure to defend yourself."

The Major seems even more annoyed when he sees my impressive musculature. His anger flares. He attacks, suddenly.

I parry instinctively, my movements grotesque and overshot, and yet I'm faster, stronger than the more refined and seasoned soldier. Justar attacks with even more fury. I've no problem parrying the attacks.

A cut to the arm. I bleed. The bleeding stops fast. Justar smiles.

"You need to release yourself. Become one with the music of battle. You must learn to trust your body more than your mind. In close combat, there's no time to think, only to react. If you stop to make decisions, you'll be killed. These aliens we will fight against...those creatures wield powerful energy blades. They are skilled swordsmen. You must learn quickly! Now parry!"

Justar attacks again, doubles his efforts. I feel clumsy with too-large and deliberate movements. Another cut, this time on the face.

"You're still stiff as a corpse! Let yourself go! Let the pressure of battle smooth out your tension!"

Justar attacks even harder. Stab. Stab. Cut. He manages to open my guard and kick me in the chest. I fall back and land on my back. I'm up in an instant, sword in hand. This is getting annoying.

He attacks again, pinning me against the glass. He feigns a left arc, and then goes low, cutting me on the leg, then he comes up with an uppercut, landing a hit on the chin. I go down, dazzled.

"Get up! Release the demon inside you! Release the anger! Let it go!"

Cut, cut, cut. I'm bleeding from multiple sites. "At this pace, you'll never be ready in three days!"

"Three days?" I ask.

A long slash across the chest. I feel like dying.

"Stop and die. The simple rules of battle. In three days we rally up to attack their mothership, a large vessel in high orbit. This will be the battle to end the war. We will throw everything at them. And you will command the spearhead of the attack. But at this pace," he points at my bloodied body, cuts everywhere, "I don't see that happening.

"I can sense that you're still thinking like the lanky, puny human that you were. You're fearful like a rat. Are you a rat? A fucking roach? You were, yes, you were. A fucking rat eater. A pigeon butcher. But now you're more.

"Let go of the fear. Think not like the human you were, but like the super soldier you've become. Come now! Show me!"

He attacks again. I'm able to react in time to parry. I'm much faster than him, and yet the speed and tempo of the fight are manipulated by him. Why?

Cut. Cut. Cut. I bleed more. My anger explodes. I've never known myself to be so angry, but the emotion takes over, washing out my reality in an all-red-rage. Rage. Rage! I scream, pissed off, as if I'm releasing myself from the bonds of depression, of sadness. Yes. That's it.

The weight of the dead was holding me back. Those I left behind buried in the gravel.

Gabriel. Dimitri. Irene. Brenda. Jorge.

"Gabriel! Dimitri! Jose! Jorge! Brenda!" I yell in a fury.

I explode. My attacks become a blur. Justar slows down, or is it me who is moving so fast that he now seems slow? I was worried about injuring my superior, but now I no longer give a flying fuck. I attack to kill, to murder, to avenge those who've fallen.

After multiple cuts, I injure Justar's gripping hand, and, with a parry, make his sword fly. The kick catches him in the solar plexus. His body flies several feet, crashing heavily against the armored window.

"Stop!" he yells from the floor, badly wounded. He gets up with slowly, bleeding from numerous sites.

"That's it," he says with a new respect for me. "That is exactly what I wanted to teach you today. No techniques, no need for fancy movements. All you need to kill, to defeat, is to get out there and summon that force. You let loose, and look at the results. If you ever wish to become a skilled swordsman and not just a killer, we can practice after the war. I've got three days to get you up to speed. To get you used to that body of yours. One you don't deserve."

A soldier arrives and takes our swords. He then gives me a new blade, but does not give one to Justar.

"That is the model that we will wield. You used a traditional katana just now. This is the new thing. The traditional blended with high-tech gear."

The blade shines differently. It does feel heavier than the former.

"When you took down their ship just outside the base, we were able to scavenge the little bit that was left from the nuclear blast. But it was enough. Using the remainders of the invaders' swords, we were able to reverse-engineer that technology that was cutting though our soldiers like a hot blade through butter. We've unraveled the technology and applied it to the katana.

"From the ship, we've also been learning about many other advances that have helped us understand how to defeat them and given us the ability to create weapons geared at piercing the force field around their ships. Undoubtedly, the mothership has a similar force field.

"At any rate, this is our version of the energy-saber, an energy-katana if you will. It's simply called ektana. See that button at the top of the hilt. Press it."

Upon pressing it, the blade energizes. The flow of energy is furious, spewing small bolts.

"The blade cuts though armor with ease. It's been tested on live subjects, and it does its task well."

"Live subjects?"

"Prisoners of war, Lieutenant. Those invaders who survived have been useful to us. Did you think we would treat them and keep them alive? They are useful to us, to understand their biochemistry, their physiology. We need those bodies to unravel our enemy.

"This is not about that, anyhow. Take it up with General Wrath if you're disappointed in our use of prisoners. Now turn off that blade and follow me. It's time for you to meet our other tech advancements."

***

As we walk down the halls of the base—the ship—everybody stares at me. Men, most of them, regard me with awe, as the new anointed hero. Some women and a handful of men regard me with sexual interest and desire, a type of stare I'm not used to at all.

"Is that him!"

"That's the one!"

"He's so handsome..."

"They say he's the best of them all!"

I hear the murmurs around me. I'm regarded as a celebrity, and, like one, I feel I belong to everybody except myself.

Clapping begins, and suddenly I'm surrounded by people cheering me. Justar is fuming. "Humanity's savior!" they cheer.

"Hero at the vanguard!"

"You are indeed famous," says Justar, resigned. "Your face has been appearing in almost every holo across the base. Look," he points a finger.

A hologram displays me in action—while piloting the Torragami—and how the mech released the fury of a nuclear bomb to bring down the enemy. The clip is repeated multiple times, and then the falling ship is shown. The ad ends with me standing in a heroic stance—me in my new body, as this new, copper-skinned super soldier. They would've never done this with my old, lanky body. I do miss those days of being stealthy like a mouse. Now there's no hiding, that's for sure. I will never again go unnoticed. This is my bane.

Justar takes me down to the Togami lab. Security has increased. A couple of automated turrets have been installed protecting the blast doors. This is insane.

"A new site has been created, a weapons-testing lab. It's heavily guarded, as you can see, in case one of the subjects tries to escape," he says with a grin.

"These are the prisoners of war you were talking about," I say with disgust.

"Precisely. Experimental subjects. Once captured they forfeited their lives. They are now part of our experimental protocol."

New rooms have been fitted, makeshift, of course, to safeguard a single invader in each room. There are mutilated bodies everywhere, and those alive seem to be in a lot of pain. Some have amputated limbs. Some are tied to the wall with heavy wires.

"Watch. The new plasma rifle for standard use has been developed, thanks to our reverse-engineering of their weapons. These invaders turned out to be a holy grail, a diamond in the rough. They may have intended to exterminate us. Instead, they landed in our hands, and we, astute as we are, quickly found out how to use their own tech against them. Stupid invaders," he chuckles.

"Turns out our bullets weren't as effective as their bullets. Plasma, however, is excellent at bringing them down. The plasma is also very good at disrupting the force field surrounding each ship. This is how we've prevailed. Observe."

A soldier loads a rifle very similar to the genetic soldiers' large assault rifles, but instead of a mag of bullets, there's a large cylinder below the barrel with what looks like gas.

"Fire!"

Two pulses of blue energy dart off from the muzzle. The invader—test subject—is hit square in the chest. He explodes into pieces.

"Test successful. Repeat," says the soldier.

"Meet our new weapon, the Phantom, named after the blue energy it shoots. We don't have many of these plasma rifles ready for use. Only a couple hundred have been developed, mostly for field testing, to make sure they're safe for mass production. You will be carrying one of those for tomorrow's mission," says Justar.

"You'll be loaded with new toys, Herrero. An ektana and a Phantom. What else could you ask for? All brand-spanking new, just like you are," he says with chagrin.

We continue walking. I find a room where soldiers in full-body hazmat suits butcher the bodies of the fallen aliens.

"Their organs are similar to our own. We now know that they're also made of organic matter based on carbon atoms. They also have organs with similar functions, like the kidneys for blood filtration and a heart for blood supply. The size and position of their organs is quite different, however. The heart is very large and efficient, while they possess multiple kidneys around the body. Their brain is massive and actually connects to the tentacles that emerge from their skull. We think those are some sort of extra-corporeal sensors, like a mouse's whiskers or the hairs on the legs of spiders.

"The most interesting thing is that they have no skeleton. Much like insects. Their carapace is very tough, but once pierced their bodies begin to give in until they become mush. This helps us bring them down easily.

"Follow me. Let's visit a Torragami."

We enter the hangar. It has been modified extensively since I was here last. The place is blooming with busy robotic arms building new mechs.

"There it is," he says, "that mech of war that saved our asses. That's yours. Your own Torragami."

"Mine?"

"After your body was autopsied, we also understood something particular about the Torragami's neuro-interface. It's unique to each user's. Your Torragami has formed a neuronal-code framework that works in concert with your brain. I give it to you, you have a new body, thus a new brain. Your Torragami will have to adapt itself to you again. However, this is relevant. If you were to pilot another Torragami, from another pilot, it would be much less responsive and less efficient, given it will not recognize your own neuronal print. It's fascinating, no doubt.

"All Torragami are being equipped with the new M-P50, the same-sized high-caliber Gatling, with new rounds with a tip of plasma, which will activate upon hitting a force field. The new rounds will aid in weakening the mothership's force field.

"Since we are traveling outside Earth's atmosphere and into empty space, the mech had to be adapted to move in space's microgravity."

"Outer space?" I ask.

"Yes. Too soon, I agree. We've not tested the Torragami in this new scenario. Where else would we attack the mothership? The Torragami is sealed and pressurized. It was built with the intention of being able to move in any medium, including water. To move in microgravity, multiple small jets had to be attached to its limbs to allow it nimble movements. It's difficult to test on Earth. I need to speak to the general about this," he says, thoughtful.

"Follow me. It's time to head to High Command. Time to get into the meat of the matter."

***

"Welcome to the bridge, the Persephone's bridge that is," says Justar, limping from the beating he took from me. I feel bad for having hurt my ranking officer, and yet I feel like the bastard deserved it. I hope he heals fast.

His rigid stance tells me that he's more hurt than he would like to have me know. But perhaps his pride is more injured than anything. I, on the contrary, have already healed. The gashes are closed and no longer bleed, although beneath my uniform I'm crusted with dry blood. I'll need a bath soon. Justar is still bloodied and had to bandage himself in several places. The uniform he put back on is now stained everywhere.

Bridge? But of course! We've been referring to the ark-ship as base for so long that I didn't even occur to me that it would have a bridge.

The soldiers guarding the door fall to each side and allow us in. The door opens with a gasp, sliding to each side. The place is full of data analysts sitting in front of large monitors and keyboards on the table. A large map is at the end of the room, in front of which a window-protected room gives the highest-ranking officers privacy.

As we enter the room, a glass door slides to one side. All the officers stand up, except Wrath.

"Lieutenant Herrero. Welcome to High Command," says General Wrath with pride.

"You are the most celebrated soldier in ÆTAS, and for good reason. I am Lieutenant General Fukoshima. Welcome."

"Lieutenant General Robles."

"Lieutenant General Yamamoto."

"Major General Erlefi Ojeda, a pleasure," says another officer, a woman with brown skin and Asian eyes. She's very exotic, and she knows it. Her uniform is impeccable, not a single wrinkle, perfectly fitting her body. I'm instantly attracted to her, like a magnet. I feel a tickle between my legs.

"Major General Eni Haily," says the other officer. She's white-skinned with golden hair, and she carries herself with a silencing seriousness.

"Major General Nina Schultz," says the last high-ranking officer in the room. She's Asian, but her name doesn't sound like it. Must be a mutt like the rest of us before I was a super soldier.

"Take a seat," says Wrath. "We've gathered to go over the attack programmed to happen in three days' time. It will be spearheaded by First Captain Argo Herrero. Major, please."

"This is absurd! How can this pup be promoted from a private to a lieutenant, and suddenly to a first captain! It's an insult to us veterans, soldiers who have bled to gain our ranks! This soldier is so green that he has barely seen ten or so missions!" rages Justar.

"Watch your tongue, Justar. You've been quite expressive lately, and I will not take it," says Wrath. "Captain Herrero's ascension involves more than just rank. He has inspired our forces more than any other soldier. The courage he showed in piloting the Torragami is the spark we needed to turn our soldiers' souls ablaze with passion. You're right. He lacks the experience. But there's more to his ascension."

"In your marketing campaigns, you will use him as you've used us in the past."

"No more of this," says Wrath in a controlled tone. Justar's eyes grow wide with what I think is fear. I don't know what General Wrath is capable of, but the way he commands a super soldier like Justar makes me think he's stronger than it would seem.

The general then hands Major General Ojeda a medal. I stand up and salute her when she walks toward me. She approaches dangerously close. I can smell her. She smells of a sweet bloom, even though nothing really blooms in nature these days, but the smell is what I would call flowery.

She's very attractive, perhaps the most exotic woman I've met in my life. I study her as she places the pin on my left chest. I get a sudden urge to have sex with her, an impulse so strong it almost completely blinds me. I've never been like this. In my old body, I had complete control over this sensation. But this new body, this new feeling, this is completely different. The drive is so strong that I barely know how to avoid getting sucked in by its lure. I can tell she has figured me out, that she knows just how attracted I am to her. After putting on the medal, she walks away slowly, making sure I check her out.

This is improper. I have to respect her. And I'm in High Command, for God's sake. I shake off the feeling and thank the general, thank the rest of the officers. Justar stares at me with disbelief. I take a seat. My face is on fire. I'm blushing. Hopefully nobody noticed. Likely everybody noticed.

"The Torragami offensive will concentrate a one-thousand-mech force on objective Alpha. This will begin tomorrow, in seventy-six hours," says Wrath. "Based on our studies, this will be the time when the Earth's rotation will be facing the mothership directly over us, which will make the trip the shortest. Their ship is anchored in high orbit above Earth, so it won't pull away. Now watch the following."

A holo appears at the center of the round table where we sit. Planet Earth is on one side, and above a picture of the mothership we're to attack. This is my first time seeing a map of a different battlefield. I'm used to dust and rotten earth. But this is a whole new game. We will forge battle in space.

"Point Alpha is located one thousand miles from the mothership, enough to start the attack to reel in their defenses. I will say this one last time, given Herrero's facial expression. Some of you still can't comprehend what we're about to do here.

"Technology has advanced at leaps and bounds thanks to the sudden cease fire with the Megachine and the surge of a common enemy. We have reverse-engineered some of their tech, which is what helped us to progress so quickly.

"Since the Megachine have pledged to us, I can say all of humanity is for once joined in striving for the same objective: survival.

"To survive, we've done the impossible. All of humanity, what is left of us, is concentrated on building more mechs, more Torragami, upgraded with the sole purpose of allowing us victory against the invaders."

Wrath pauses. He studies his audience to make sure nobody is gasping or acting surprised.

"This will be humanity's first space attack. It marks a new era. We will be writing history. You will," he says, looking at Justar and me.

"The mothership is in high orbit, here," he says. The holo displays Earth as a single sphere rotating on its axis, with our moon rotating around it, a celestial body I've heard about but never seen. Earth...the one displayed...is green and blue with white clouds. It looks so unreal, an impossible, unachievable Earth. This must be the concept of artists and idealists, those who can imagine how things were prior to the nuclear devastation of the planet.

Above the moon, orbiting the planet, lies a gigantic ship, appropriately called the mothership. It's long and needle-shaped with multiple rings around its long body. Around the mothership, I can see several smaller, more aggressive-looking ships, probably destroyer-type ships defending the mother.

"The ship measures ten miles long, one-fourth of a mile across, and the rings around it, we believe, are bridges used to maintain the large force field around it. Those rings are potential targets.

"From Alpha," he says, and a blue point appears on the holo, "the offensive will split into two phalanxes. One will go to Point Bravo and the other to Point Charlie, the objectives appearing on the holo, and then each phalanx will split again. Each one heading to Delta, Echo, Foxtrot, or Gamma points, creating then four attack points that will surround the ship, engaging each destroyer in turn, and naturally, their defenses.

"From our investigation of the blue disks, we've determined that they're drone-like machines. Unmanned—or unaliened, if you will—much like our war drones. Their supply of disks, for all we know, must be limited, since less and less of them appear in each attack.

"I can't imagine an alien race traversing God knows what distance to come ill-prepared for a conquest of this size. It makes no sense to me," says Wrath, "further making this whole invasion a very skeptical business. Did they really come to invade? If they did, whoever planned it was an idiot, a fool in matters concerning war. You would send several motherships and come loaded up to the teeth. Yet these aliens seem poorly equipped for a large-scale battle. Unless they completely underestimated us.

"There are several possibilities here. One, they had no time to plan this and decided to go head first into acquiring a planet and destroying a race they barely knew or understood. If that's the case, then it raises the question as to why a technologically superior race would be plunging into a conquest without preparing adequately, and why did they have no time at all? If you're planning the extermination of another planet's race, you would think you'd want to understand the enemy inside out, their technological limitations, their body composition, weaknesses, strengths, and such to improve your chances of success. You follow?

"Two scenarios are possible: They are stupid or they were in a hurry. If they were in a hurry, then that raises the question: Why were they in a hurry? Should we be worried? Is there a higher alien power that we must be aware of?

"I doubt they are stupid. They seem to communicate using language. They clearly think and clearly show signs of somebody sparing resources. And yet, even though the tides have turned and we are kicking their asses, they are still here, in high orbit, for reasons we barely understand.

"If you're losing a conquest, you would flee back to your home system or call in reinforcements. If they haven't done so, it could be that they have no planet to go to and/or no reinforcements to call."

"My general, excuse me. Would it be possible that an alien race has no more of its people, or army, to call in reinforcements?"

"That is part of the mystery, Lieutenant General. There are many enigmas about this alien race that we don't understand. They're clearly showing signs of retreating. Yet the mothership has not moved since we launched a new satellite into orbit a good three months ago. Something is off. Another factor is that we've seen less and less soldiers and more and more disks and tanks, those which we know for a fact work as drones. They may be running out of manpower. Whatever is causing their weakness, we will take advantage of this window and destroy them for good."

"It could be a trap. Playing dead, while waiting to unleash a major offensive in a medium we barely understand," says Justar. "No tests have been conducted with the upgraded Torragami. It could be a bloodbath," he adds. "For all we know they might be drawing us in to a field they know and perform well in. The Torragami could fail out there in microgravity, especially with the temperature and the lack of pressure. Hell, we know nothing about outer space or how to perform out there." The rest seem to consider his wisdom.

"That is a correct assessment," says General Wrath. "Nevertheless, we will move forward. This is a unique window that we must take."

"Correction, the Torragami has been tested in outer space. An empty, ready-to-throw-out model was sent with the satellite we put in orbit three months ago. It has continuously been sending back data, including its travel through the atmosphere, getting out and back in again. It crashed into the ocean not long ago. The readings are a success. The data collected suggests that the Torragami can take the friction and high temperature generated while escaping the atmosphere and that it will perform quite well in space," says Lieutenant General Fukoshima.

Justar grunts. "You commissioned officers, with your asses sitting in a chair, conducting your little experiments and all. You know nothing of the actual grind, the real gore and hatred that is unleashed during high-intensity battles. Have you tested the mech under the pressure of war? With a sweating, scared, shitting-in-his pants soldier? I bet not."

"Respect your superiors," warns Wrath. Justar falls into silence. "You propose an interesting argument. For humanity's sake, we hope the tests that have been conducted suffice to put soldiers in space. The era of space marines is upon us. And you, Captain Herrero, have been chosen to lead the spearhead."

Justar crosses his arms.

"He is our most advanced and talented soldier yet. He is the first-generation homo optimus body to have successfully received a transplanted mind without those horrendous side effects that we've seen in previous test subjects. That body, Herrero, is more expensive than this ship-base we're in. You're using top technology, the future of mankind, our very first true super soldier."

Justar scoffs.

"Your mission will consist of infiltrating the mothership. We've good reason to believe that this is the bridge, the brains of the ship, the large needle-shaped section, from where most of their communications have been detected. We can't decrypt their messages, but we know that they communicate via electromagnetic waves, much like we do. That's where we think you'll find the leader, king, queen, whatever these bastards have for a leader.

"Your mission is to infiltrate and decapitate that leader, to crush them as their forces are distracted battling the major offensive, which in essence, is a distraction."

"Why not destroy the damn thing," says Justar.

"We need that mothership intact. It's the most precious resource we have near us. If we could reverse-engineer that thing and figure out their secrets, we would be making leaps and bounds. Damage the ship all you want. Just don't destroy it. But if you have to, then bring it down. We can always salvage debris.

"You and nine others will infiltrate the mothership at this location," he says. The holo zooms in close to what looks like the bridge of the ship.

I feel a sharp nervous tinge. "Will ten be enough, General," I dare ask.

"It must be. The smallest force must go in once the force field is down and the enemy is completely bewildered by our attack. If we start a large-scale invasion of the ship, it will call too much attention. The key is to remain undetected for as long as possible, until you've managed to decapitate their leader."

"A pretty suicidal mission for the most valuable soldier of all time," says Justar with a scoff.

"He was created to achieve these sorts of missions. One of your class would be unable to achieve such a mission," he says with a backlash. Justar growls.

"Your mission specifics will be detailed by Iris. For you, Herrero, that will be a simple thought-command to get Iris to tell you further details. To your stations, soldiers. Justar, I will have a word with you."

"Yes, sir," says Justar.

"Captain Herrero. You've got three days to polish your skills as a leader and to get used to that body. I would send you out right now. But it would be imprudent. Get ready."

Wrath stands up and leaves. In ranking order, the rest leave.

"Captain Herrero," calls a feminine voice.

Major General Ojeda is waiting for me at the exit to the bridge.

"Major..."

"Call me Erlefi."

Those eyes. That gaze. That skin. Her energy, presence, aura is a vortex that lures me in.

"I'm Argo," I say. Trembling. I can't control this body, yet. I've no idea how the hell they expect me to wage war in it.

"We all know who you are," she says. She eats me with her eyes. "You're the famous soldier, a true hero."

"Well...thanks," I say.

What should I do? I never imagined I would be hit on by such pretty women. Never, in my lifetime, was this considered a possibility. And now here it is. I have a new body, which seems to attract women in a way I thought impossible. And yet...Carmen was...is the love of my life. I've waited more than a decade to be with her. And I just did. But somehow...have I changed? Am I not the same person? I am still Argo. My mind, memories...it's all there.

"You could die tomorrow," she says upon seeing me hesitate, upon seeing me think it through. She knows what she wants. She knows what I want. "The world could end in an explosion for all we know...never again..."

Her argument is solid. Somehow convinces me. But even before I've decided to fuck with her, she's already taking me to a room. In seconds my pants are down. Glory!
—29—

Three days go by. Three painful, sexually intense, amazing days. I've fucked more in three days than in all my lifetime multiplied by ten. With everyone, except Carmen. I haven't been able to face her again. It's as if I'm scared to feel for her, to miss out on these adventures. She's tried getting together with me, but somehow, in some stupid way, I find myself declining her offers.

All this attention built up my ego. I've never had to manage my emotions around such a problem, and I've no idea how to control my desire to become dependent upon people's high opinion of me. I've only had a short life in this body, I know that, but I can feel how it will change me in the years to come.

The mousy, almost unperceived person I was before was not the product of chance. I was small and easily intimidated. I was elusive and would avoid conflict. That forged me into Argo Herrero.

And that persona is now living inside a body that offers that insecure Argo many new doors and possibilities. I'm afraid of what will become of me if nobody trains me, if nobody talks to me about the dangers of falling for the addictions of social acceptance. And yet here I am, feeling on the top of the world for having sex with too many girls and feeling puffed up by passersby who regard me as a hero.

Somehow this is Argo's vengeance. The mousy guy who never had a chance with girls now has the world for his taking. And I feel I should take it. But...what about Carmen?

"Hey, fucker! Fuck face!" I turn to see who dares to insult me. I am a captain after all. First captain to be precise.

I see two guys running toward me, and I smile and receive them with a hug.

"This is the guy, right? Please don't tell me I just insulted some high-ranking officer..." says Mafaka.

"Oh, that's him all right," says McCain. "Right? Argo?" he says with doubt.

"That's me. My new body."

They look at the medal on my shoulder, "Captain! What the hell?"

"First captain, actually," I say with a grin.

"Damn, man...you were always the best of us..."

"And that new body, I could use one myself," says McCain. I'm taller and bigger in size that McCain. Funny how the tables turn sometimes.

"Will you be there tomorrow? To take down the mothership?"

"No. We didn't make the cut. Aptitude tests and simulation says we're not made for it, and getting a body like yours is out of the question. Most pilots are genetic soldiers, augmented fuckers like Justar and his guys. Most were killed during the invasion, but they got some nongenetics, normal soldiers from the previously called ÆRMY to pilot the thing. They've been working like crazy at it. Hell, there seems to be more Torragami than able pilots at this point. They're producing those machines like they would any other weapon.

"They even say the Megachine's mechs and factories have been dismantled and repurposed for Torragami production around the globe. Anyway. As always, Mafaka and McCain here, the last of our squad, some of the last of the ISF, are good old cockroaches, good old rats.

"We'll remain in the back end. The sewers. Away from the noise and the fame. We will fight the good fights, but on this occasion, our orders are to remain on Earth, which is a funny order if you think about it in this new—space marine—era, defending whatever's left of us if the Torragami attack on the mothership fails."

"You can't fail," says McCain. "If a thousand Torragami can't deal with them, then we're all lost here on Earth."

"Failure is not an option," I say. "If it were up to me, I'd take you with me. There's nobody I trust more in battle than you guys. I grew up in filth. I'd like to remain close to it," I say, joking around. I wouldn't have dared say that with my old body. But my boosted confidence, and my higher rank, released me from inhibition.

We all laugh. The laughter dies on a tone of sadness. It's true. I would rather fight alongside these guys whom I trust, whom I've seen in action and know for a fact will fight with everything. And they don't judge me like Justar does. I fear his jealousy. Fear him capable of doing something to hurt me.

"We'll take care of the base, the ship if you will," says Mafaka. "Kick some ass, Captain," he says.

We say goodbye. It's an emotional moment, as if we're never gonna see each other again. All my battle brothers have died, except these two and Carmen.

I'm afraid I'll never see them again. The fear is real. I feel my chest tighten and my throat clench. I see them walk away, bantering and making remarks about everything they see. I've seen some ISF soldiers around. But we're—they're—so few now that I guess our purpose was met: We were cannon fodder.

And then I'm suddenly filled with dread. I fear I'll be alone in the coming years...decades... I regenerate forever. There's no limit. Unless I die in the battlefield.

Carmen...I feel I betrayed her. But did I? There was no exclusivity and yet...somehow I feel that I should honor and appreciate the girl I've always wanted, and finally got just a few days ago. Off I go having sex with anyone almost. Shit. I need to fix this. I can't lose her.

I meet Carmen in my new quarters. I've a personal room now. I face my fears. She bathes me with her kisses. It's amazing how her touch makes me forget about all that's wrong with me. It's home. My emotions are powerful, so powerful that I can't deal with them. I don't understand why someone would design a super soldier like me and not remove obstacles like emotions and tears, right? That's what emotions are...obstacles...but would the world make sense without them? I digress. I cry when I hug her. I feel terrible. Betrayer.

"What's wrong," she asks. Her head is on my shoulder, her arms around my neck. She can't hug me around the waist or back. I'm too large now. I'm careful enough not to squish her. I could easily break every bone in her body.

"I don't deserve you," I say. "I've cheated on you."

Carmen pulls back, a smile on her face. She caresses me. "We're not together, not really, Argo. We're sharing what we've both wanted for years now."

"What! Years? You mean...you liked me? Before this?" I say, referring to my new body.

"Of course, silly! You've never made a move, so I thought you just wanted to be friends," she says, shrugging. "Once you got this body...you became different...more confident. But...now things have changed...we can't be together...not as a couple anyway," she says. Her smile fades away. I'm heart-struck.

"Wait...why?"

"You...died...you came back in a body that is far superior to any human. To me. In this new body, you're gonna change. In the years to come, you'll become a different person. You'll be off to war. You're ÆTAS' greatest weapon. And frankly, with your new body," she says looking at my groin, "you should have fun with it. No need to hide it. Every girl is talking about you. Some disclosed some details. Be free and enjoy yourself." A tear rolled down her cheek. "Am I sad? Yeah, I am," she says. "But you're not the type of person who would thrive in a closed relationship. You're gonna get attention from a lot of people.

"I could love you, Argo. But...it wouldn't be real. I know I don't want to marry you or be with you for the rest of my days because I would be miserable with somebody who has so much attention and fame. You're already changing, already have an ego problem, and it's not been a week since you awoke in your new body.

"I'm sorry, but we'll have to remain friends. We can have fun. I enjoy having sex with you. But...you're not exactly fatherhood material either. And I do want kids...eventually."

That hurts me. "What do you mean?"

"Dr. Akuza didn't tell you? You're sterile. You can't have kids."

"Oh no...he did tell me. I forgot..."

"I'm sorry," she says. Now she's whimpering. "I just hate the way we got together...how you waited for so long to act when I was always there...I was always there... remember? When we used to read manga? Full Metal Alchemist...I always imagined you were Ed and I was Winry. I would imagine us eventually together, with kids. Why? Why! It was only until I got together with Gabriel that I actually saw you jealous, and I thought you'd do something about it. You waited for so long!"

We fall into silence. A horrible, unrelenting silence. I feel sick. Torn.

"I will always be here for you. Whatever you want, need. I would love to hear you out when you're stressed and listen to your war stories. You will become a great soldier. I'll be long gone by the time you achieve greatness, Argo. I'm a mere mortal. I'm twenty-five right now, but time will fly by. You will regenerate ad infinitum. You will live many centuries. You'd hate to be with me, see me age and grow old and puny."

I can't say anything. I hide within the shadows of my depressive nature. I can't bear the emotions, so I swallow them and suppress them under a heap of despair.

"Isn't this an irony? How stupid is all this?"

"What do you mean, Argo?"

"I mean...this body...it's so horny...and yet I can't have offspring. It just doesn't make sense to me. The whole purpose of sex is to pass on one's genes."

"It's true. It's a closed-off circuit. But we've all had recreational sex. It's fun," she smiles at me. "Your strong sexual desire is probably the result of increased testosterone to maintain your high musculature. And probably to help you dissipate heat, stress, and all that. You must admit it's quite amazing what you have...any man would die for it."

To me, it seems like my whole life just ended. Argo Herrero is dead. He died the moment I changed bodies. Argo's moment of glory was before and during his piloting of the Torragami, when he rescued Carmen and fought off the aliens. And died there too.

"Argo? Hey...Argo?"

I'm suddenly aware of how my body is crestfallen. I can feel my own eyes stare into space, wondering about the past.

And suddenly it hits me. I feel like I understand Justar's eyesight, the way he looks at things, and those other genetic beasts who have that stare—that lost eyesight into nothingness, as if seeing a constant strip of the past. I am one of them now. A man who was—and is—something entirely different. This is the price we pay. To forever look back at what once was. Never again to be held.

"I need...to be alone. I need to reconcile with myself. My existence needs a new compass. A new definition."

"You can share with me...please tell me..." says Carmen. She hugs me, kisses me, and finds that I'm no longer here.

I don't answer. My eyesight is disengaged from the material world. I am astray in the immaterial, in the vortex of my soul.

She leaves. Says something. Kisses me on the cheek. I barely notice. For the rest of the night, I remain seated at the edge of the bed, in voluntary catatonia. Thinking. Processing. Arriving to a new me.

Only another half an hour until the seventy-six hours pass. Almost ready to go. I stand up mechanically, deliberately. Time to go defeat a mothership.
—30—

"The Ark II is our first true power armor, a multipurpose suit designed to be used in virtually any medium. It's made from adamantium with a covering of polychrome and a layer of ceramic steel, which allows it to dissipate heat and take forces of impact enough to stop simple bullets and some other projectiles.

"Its incorporated with a life-sustaining mechanism that will maintain the optimal temperature, humidity, and oxygen levels within the suit, dissolving carbon dioxide as it's produced by the body, to allow proper function. It will sustain life for three hours maximum, after which the lithium-ion battery will expire and death will occur within ten minutes if not recharged.

"The suit is not yet designed to manage bodily fluids. Avoid defecation, urination, or vomiting at all costs. I believe you could hold it for the three hours that your suit is operational.

"The Ark II is a much-improved version of its predecessor, the Ark I, the full-body armor you would see on a super soldier. But since the battlefield has changed, the suit had to be modified to adapt to the new circumstances."

Ten of us hear the explanation as we stand at the ready, already wearing the Ark II. It is an amazing piece of hardware. I feel huge in it, but not clunky or slow.

"The Ark II is equipped with pistons and a hydraulic mechanism on each joint to augment your movements and speed. It is flexible, and yet firm. Once you equip your helmets, the seal will be complete, and Iris will take charge of the suit and begin the three-hour countdown until your battery runs out," she says.

"Your helmets, all except Captain Herrero's, will have a display as responsive as the HUD on your previous battle helmets."

That's right. I have a DAT, a device I'm still getting used to. It's not fun when an AI can interrupt your thoughts at will. I could have her shut up, but I fear the consequences. Though I will say it's efficient to communicate with her through my thoughts. Things happen a lot faster.

"Once you board the mothership, your helmets are xeno-approved, meaning that, for the very first time, we will board an enemy ship and, for that reason, your helmet will prove if the air is or is not compatible with human life. If it isn't, I suggest remaining within the suit environment."

"Do any of the other pilots have a suit like this one?" asks one of the ten soldiers.

"The other nine hundred ninety soldiers will pilot their Torragami with a less sophisticated suit, given that their orders are to remain within the confines of the cabin, which is already equipped with life-sustaining equipment, granted, not as advanced as the Ark II. They are not expected to leave the mechs during the space battle."

From his sudden flick of emotions, I can tell he means those who leave the Torragami cabin will die in the hostility of outer space. Is that why the spearhead I'm leading has only ten soldiers? Because they were only capable of creating ten Ark II suits?

"Your Phantom rifles are standard without modifications. You have a total of six hundred rounds per gas cylinder. You're all equipped with two frag grenades and a half kiloton fusion bomb. In case your mission fails, Iris will detonate the fusion bomb. You will plant the bombs in tactical points of the ship as directed by Iris."

The officer debriefing us is a weapon's scientist who's clearly encountered soldiers like us before. We tower over her one or two heads, and yet she seems unfazed. Her face is stern, and she knows what's she's talking about. She probably had a hand in developing my body.

"Questions?"

We remain still. Nothing stirs within me. The preamble of battle is soothing, calming. I feel centered and redefined. This is what this body, this brain was meant to do. My old mind, Argo Herrero, is rotting, dying, in an inescapable suppression by the beast I've yet to unleash. And unleash it I will. It's the only way I'll ever find peace.

"My name is First Captain Argo Herrero, code name Lynx. Our mission is a sub-objective of the greater assault happening in a few moments. And yet, our objective will define the course of this war against these invaders. As the spearhead, our mission is to infiltrate, plant some bombs, in case we get killed in the attempt, and to eliminate the alien boss. Expect the worst. You are all equipped with the ektana, a new war-blade that has replaced the broadsword. You've had ample time to test it, but use it with caution.

"Once inside the mothership, we'll get creative. I expect you to be stealthy. As your captain, you will follow my lead at all times," I say. I should have felt unease—I mean, Argo should've felt uneasy and unsure about giving out orders to veterans like these—but the new me, in this body, feels nothing. I'm giving out orders, and I expect them to be followed.

"Yes sir!" respond the nine in my spearhead. I can see their heads are shaved. On the occipital side, they've got a implanted port that goes directly to their limbic system and the internal capsule of the brain. If seen from behind, you'd see a black plate with a single entry point in the middle, nothing more. Future generations will have a DAT like mine implanted, and the port will no longer be needed.

Five of them are females, four are male, all unfazed, unmovable, stern faces, capable of severe destruction. I know most of them hate me, despise me for what I am. A nonveteran high-class warrior created to be better than them. Well suck it.

***

When we reach the Calvarius port, we're the last to mount our Torragami. Every single mech is organized, a thousand of them, side by side, a few meters in distance from one another. All pilots are waiting, sitting on the foot of their mechs, or hanging out, literally, on the extended hand of the robot. When they see me approaching in full gear, helmet on, they tense up and organize on the right side of their mechs. As the spearhead marches toward them, the soldiers—now space marines—salute me.

I board my Torragami. Nine hundred ninety-nine other soldiers follow suit. I feel a delicious synapse. In seconds, I am one with the mech—I am mech. My sensory perception is multiplied, my own senses substituted by those of the mech's advanced technology. I perceive the wind, energy sources. This feels amazing. I am whole again. This is my definition of happiness.

"Nuclear reactor online. Power 100%," says Iris in my DAT. Every pilot gets a report once a connection is established with the mech.

"Assume your take-off formation," I order through the DAT. The order goes out. Intervox channels are only open one way. They can all hear me. I cannot hear them.

I trot to the landing strip. Step in the center. The spearhead circles me. The other nine hundred ninety mechs form around us in concentric circles.

I look around. I can only imagine what a spectacle this must be, a thousand Torragami organized in concentric circles ready to depart on our first outer-space mission, to attack the invader's mothership and deal with them once and for all. Eliminate the threat. Loot their technology.

"Initiate take-off sequence. Outer-space mode," I say.

"Take-off sequence initiated. Outer-space mode attained. All seals are secure. The cabin is now ready for outer-space environment," says Iris.

"Assault unit, take off," I say. With a thought, I activate the Torragami's nuclear turbines. Two powerful jet engines roar, and the expelled energy begins to counter gravity. I take off, engines at maximum power. We depart in order. The circles leaving from the innermost to the outermost, creating an inverted spearhead, if seen from afar. I wish I could see this moment. I'm sure the image will be captured and repeated for marketing purposes.

I reach max speed promptly. I should feel nervous leaving the ground, seeing the world under me shrinking at such a high speed. Yet I feel nothing. I pierce the dark nuclear winter clouds, leave them behind in a heartbeat.

I am now above them. It's nighttime. I would've liked to see the sun. Yet seeing a clear starry night is still worth it. But my mind is elsewhere, and I've no time to enjoy the moment.

"Grey Wolf, this is Lynx. The spearhead is headed toward the objective."

"Lynx, this is Grey Wolf. Proceed to Objective Alpha."

"Yes, sir," I respond.

I like Lynx, my war name.

I look behind. Nine hundred ninety-nine Torragami follow me. We're a gigantic assault group. I'm sure the invaders will know about us at some point. It'll be a surprise to see the weapon that's defeated them in countless battles meet them in space and attack their once-secure position.

"Leaving Earth's atmosphere. Prepare for maximum heat exposure," says Iris. There's nothing to do but continue the course. I can feel the temperature rising.

"Atmosphere cleared. Objective Alpha is at seven thousand miles. ETA twenty-four minutes," says Iris.

We've left Earth at a speed of almost three hundred miles per minute, the speed of a satellite orbiting Earth.

I am speechless, breath-taken. Infinity has an unnerving effect on the limited mind. A human mind is built around limits, the confines of its own skull, its own comfortable space. I've not the maturity—none of us warriors do—to grasp the concept of infinite space, endless possibilities. It is scary, daunting, and somehow, poetically enchanting.

I take my mind off this moment, but know, and will, return to it and study what I just felt for the very first time. The awe of seeing the cosmos denuded before me is...soul-shattering. On one side, I can see the sun, the orb, the celestial spirit in its full proverbial capacity. I am awed. I cannot distract myself. Not now.

Several mechanisms unknown to me take effect. I am suddenly war-focused and forget about the emotional impressions of space. Is it my new brain? Has it released a self-protective neurotransmitter to avoid me entering an emotional state? Whatever it was, it works. I focus ahead. I have no visuals of the mothership. Not just yet.

Now that I think about it, there was no talk about landing, no discussion on safety issues or failsafe modes. Are we expected to return?

"Mothership visualized," says Iris. We pass the moon at the 13-minute mark. My vision is decorated with the same icons I saw before when I piloted the Torragami for the first time. The icons are in the periphery, representing weapons and navigation points. My ammo is full. My katana sheathed and ready to be used.

In the center of my vision, I can see the mothership, a small spec highlighted by a red line around it. The red line is part of the mech's targeting system.

"Objective Alpha will be reached in one minute," says Iris.

I'm now close enough to the mothership to see more of its details. It looks so small when surrounded by infinity. It's purple with flashing lights and force field rings around it. The force field itself is invisible.

Its long needle shape is impressive.

"Ten seconds to reach Objective Alpha," says Iris.

The mothership now occupies one fourth of my vision. It's enormous.

"Objective Alpha reached."

"Assault corps lieutenants," I call. "Bifurcate now," I order.

"Yes, sir. Bifurcation initiated."

"Grey Wolf, this is Lynx. Assault corps initiating attack position."

"Proceed," comes Grey Wolf's reply seconds later.

"Lynx, this is Tauro," says Justar. "Give 'em hell." Tauro's orders are unknown to me. I know he's still on Earth, that's for sure. His purpose in this attack is a mystery. Was he punished? Or was he granted a tactical seat to help conduct the war from a safe distance?

The mothership is moving. Small compartments open up on its sides. Several thousands of disks come out, accompanied by what I believe are hunter ships. The four destroyer ships around the mothership move into defensive formation.

"The enemy ship's large turrets have been detected. Proceed with caution," says Iris. The mech's advanced targeting system highlights the turrets in red.

Nine hundred ninety Torragami are now moving to the ship's flanks, moving toward Point Beta and Point Charlie.

The spearhead proceeds on course, directly toward the ship.

"Engaging the enemy," comes from the lieutenants.

"Second bifurcation happening now," says Tauro from Earth.

The space battle begins with a furious exchange of blue rounds. The invader's disks and hunters shoot plasma rounds, slow and steady, while our mechs are using Gatlings with bullets tipped with plasma. The battle rages in silence. The nine hundred ninety Torragami have now split into four total assault teams. They surround the mothership. The destroyer ships shoot large-caliber red rays, slow rounds that take out many Torragami.

"Bring down the force field," I order.

"Acknowledged," says one of the lieutenants. He's nervous, fearing the destroyers around him.

"Major, we need to engage the destroyers. We're taking heavy casualties."

"This is Tauro. Dispatch a platoon to engage each destroyer. Bring 'em down quickly," says Justar from Earth seconds later.

The disks and hunter ships attack our forces. We incur more losses, yet the Torragami offensive has one objective, to bring down the force field. The assault group fires upon the ship. The force field takes a beating, flashes a few seconds, and then evaporates into a mist of swollen energy.

"Objective complete. Force field down. Engage the enemy head on."

"Yes, sir," respond the lieutenants. The Torragami offensive engages the disks, hunters, and destroyers, and the space battle rages on. The mothership's turrets cause heavy damage, yet they're no match for the missiles that soon bring them down. Without a force field, they're easy targets.

"Spearhead nearing objective," I say.

Like a needle, we pierce the battlefield at full speed, leaving a trail of confused enemies behind, who are then easily brought down. No more pursue us as we near the objective. Those defending the mothership are too busy dealing with the surprise attack.

"Nearing the bridge of the ship. Iris, find us a way in," I say.

"Scanning. Please proceed to the objective highlighted. It's an exploded portion of the ship that appears to lead to a hatch," says Iris.

I follow the highlighted route. The ten of us enter the mothership through a breach in the hull.

"Mothership infiltrated," I say.

"Initiate the assault. Bring down the leader. I've highlighted the place where most of their signals have come from. Let's hope it's the bridge of the ship," says Justar.

As I enter the hatch, I can tell that this part of the ship took on severe damage, likely from the missiles that took down the turrets just outside. Many inactive disks are lined up inside. Several destroyed hunter ships lay inside the hatch. Many bodies were sucked out by the depressurization when the hull was breached, and debris is floating just outside it.

"Torragami, shift to self-defense mode. Let's get this done," I order.

With one thought, the Torragami's cabin opens with a hiss. With a small jump, I land on alien territory. The Ark II immediately starts running diagnostics on the local atmosphere. There's a good amount of gravity here, though lighter than on Earth. Must mean there's artificial gravity? If so, it's technology we'll need to loot.

"Zero gases detected," says Iris.

"That's because we're in empty space. Let's move inside the ship. Troops, follow me. Let's get this done. Iris, find a route inside."

"There are two blast doors, one on each side. Take either down with explosives," says Iris.

"The whole point is going in with stealth," I say to her in my mind.

"Captain!" yells someone.

The blast doors open. A whoosh of air blasts us.

"Hang on! Advance! Follow me!" I'm sure if it weren't for the Ark II power armor, we'd be floating in space. It isn't a terrible and deadly thing, at least not immediately, given the suits would be able to sustain us for a total of three hours.

"They're trying to flush us out! They must know we're here!" yells one of my soldiers.

We get through the blast doors, to be greeted by empty hallways leading to a bigger room, also empty.

"No enemies?"

"None so far. Must be part of a system failure. All doors seem unlocked, and where there's a breach in the hull, it's causing the ship to lose pressurization and its breathing gases," says another.

"Ten percent oxygen, fifty percent carbon dioxide, twenty percent nitrogen. Conditions suboptimal for human survival," says Iris after running diagnostics.

"Soldiers, unsheathe your ektana. Prepare to strike," I say.

The mothership is gigantic, and its rooms are very large and spacious. Each large room is connected by a single hallway. The hall has multiple doors, likely each leading to a hatch or port where hunters take off from, or maybe where the disk drones are prepared for attack. I'm sure this part of the ship is not destined for infantry quarters. It would seem to be a place where large congregations are held. Maybe where they pray or where celebrations are held. Or maybe it has no function at all. The inside of the ship is similar in color to its outside: purple and green.

"Iris, mark on the HUD of the soldiers, and on my DAT, the location of the objective. Let's move fast," I say.

"Granted. The location is one mile from your current location."

An icon appears in my vision, a small square pulsing with faint light.

"Start planting your nukes," I order.

"Done, nuke planted," says Vladimir.

We march on, ever so vigilant. We cross another room, so large in size that it would seem every new room is larger than the next. With so much empty room it would've been easy to detect us. And yet, there's nobody around. Is there nobody home?

Another hallway, and then something changes. We emerge into a large oval room. On the ceiling and the floor, there are numerous triangular openings, each the color of a lighter green, which is highlighted by the contrast created by the purple hull.

"Bomb planted," says Botsuke.

"The objective is through those large double doors," I say. The distance reads one hundred meters to the objective. The doors are wider at the base and needle-shaped at the top, making them seem regal and aggressive. The doors are a strange yellow color with a hint of toxic green.

"That must be it, the bridge," says Tanaka.

The door pulses three times. With a sudden hiss, the door slides open, and a storm of blue rounds fly toward us.

"Fire at will!" I yell, sheathing my ektana and pulling out my Phantom.

Tanaka and Lopez are taken down by the surprise attack. Without cover, we need to kill first or be killed.

"Frag out!" yells Svetlana.

The explosion bursts two invaders into a mist of blue blood, while two others suffer serious injuries.

"Move in!" I yell. With a sudden rush of fury, I sprint toward the open door. Once I enter, I'm greeted by incoming fire. But there's plenty of cover in here.

My seven remaining soldiers move in with suppressive fire, allowing me to get even closer to the enemy. They're boxed down, holding a position, and that's where the objective is marked in my vision.

I advance with amazing speed, taking advantage of my troop's fire. I hide, turn, and continue advancing toward the enemy.

I secure the rifle on my back, unsheathe the ektana.

I'm right by them now. They have several large blocks piled up and used for cover in front of a door and a hallway without columns or structures. The door is not as high as the yellow one that we came in through, and this one is blue with a hue of pulsing red light.

I sneak in behind the crates, my ektana off. Once behind them, I turn it on. The surprise makes two of them cease fire, turn, and face me. Up close, these creatures are horrendous. Their head tentacles mimic their emotions, and the tentacles are pointing straight down.

I attack. I'm no skilled swordsman, but I've got speed, and an excellent sense of doom. The blade cuts them down with ease. The rest of the hunkered down soldiers turn aggressively to face me. I jump to safety behind several crates.

No order was needed for what happened next. My seven soldiers saw the opportunity and took it. Moving in, they opened fire at close range.

The combat is short but furious. The invaders, now invaded, are fearsome warriors, and one manages to cut down Vladimir.

We move the bodies and the crates, making haste in case reinforcements are on the way.

The blue door slides open. It was unlocked. What were they protecting?

The objective is ten meters away, inside this room. A large screen is on the far wall, where planet Earth and the Moon are visible. Information scrolls down on each side, in characters that we don't understand.

The bridge is empty. There's nobody inside it. On each side, there are a series of large rectangular structures, each flashing red and blue lights. The lights flicker and disappear on a smooth surface.

"Must be mainframes, servers, or something like that," says Reiker. "Before I enlisted, I was a computer programmer," he says, "and these seem very similar to our own stations used as servers for information processing."

"There..." says Botsuke, indicating a chair at the far end, close to the large screen.

We split up and flank the chair, facing the screen. Small tentacles the color of light flesh. A sudden movement. A flash of light. A body falls from the chair and lands on the purple hull, its face blown off.

"Their leader? Go out with honor rather than be captured type of scenario?" says Botsuke.

"Grey Wolf, this is Lynx. We're on the bridge. I think their leader just committed suicide," I say.

Seconds later, "Excellent work. We've lost more than half our forces in the effort. This means the ship is ours," says Wrath, with a hint of joy in his voice.

"There's something odd about this whole operation, sir," I say.

"Explain yourself, Captain."

"The ship, it seems abandoned. We barely met resistance. There was no need to be stealthy or cautions. It was quicker than we could ever think," I say. "If I was going down like them, I'd blow up the ship and take my enemies to hell with me."

Silence. General Wrath does not respond.

"There's much work to be done, Captain. Transmit whatever you can get from the enemy in terms of data. I'm coming in to purge that ship. I want it clean from alien presence," says Justar with annoyance. "I'm moving in with a mop-up team," he says. I can hear the bloodlust in his voice. "Tauro out."

I'm annoyed with him for some reason that I just can't understand now. Yet I feel it has to do with his bloodlust. I thought he stayed on Earth to conduct the war. But now I feel he stayed there, waiting for us to infiltrate the base, so he could come in to purge the rest of the aliens inside the ship. And loot it. Probably.

"Captain, if you approach those mainframes, I may be able to access the alien system," says Iris.

I approach.

"That terminal, that red flashing light. Get as close as you can. Your DAT has wireless capabilities. I may be able to work my way into their system."

"What do you know of alien software?" I say, shocked.

"I've been intercepting their data for months from planet Earth. Most of their language and data is not understandable, yet images and other information like maps and pictures may be useful to us now. If we're to understand why they're here, we'll need to learn their language anyway."

Once again, there's much at play that I don't know or understand. It always seems to me like High Command plays many hands, and I only get to see the hand that I've been dealt. I suspect they know more about these aliens than they let soldiers know.

"Accessing. The system is unprotected," says Iris. I call bullshit. I think she came prepared with some sort of program uploaded to my DAT, ready for use. I bet they already knew this was going to be easy. Maybe that's why they sent only ten of us to get the job done.

"Downloading data. Preparing for transmission."

I receive the data and observe the cascade of unintelligible code as it's received and transmitted. But then...images...pictures...

A video...

I can see a constellation of galaxies, some spiral in shape, others round, others elongated disks. What is this? Hundreds...thousands of galaxies are depicted in a very large area of space that must be billions of light years in size.

The image zooms in to a galaxy and then into a sun orbited by five planets. The planets are ablaze. A terrible war is being unleashed. The image then zooms out, and reveals the overview of the thousands of galaxies I'd seen before. It then shows many trajectories, pointing at different star-systems. It zooms into another galaxy and into a planetary system with a yellow star. And then to a once blue-green planet. Is that Earth! That image is of Earth a good one hundred years ago...which means...they've probably been traveling for at least that long.

Somehow, they chose planet Earth...but why? Were they fleeing? Their planets, which I assume they were, were ablaze. Why? War amongst themselves? But why flee from one galaxy to another one? Why not just flee to another nearby planetary system?

The image concentrates on planet Earth. And then, a trail of symbols appears with a red flashing light beside it. The alarm then shows the leader, now dead, barking out orders. I can't read the alien's emotions, but if I had to guess, I'd say he was afraid. Afraid?

The invasion begins...

"Grey Wolf...are you seeing this," I say through the DAT.

"Yes, Captain." Says no more. His stern silence irritates me.

"Download complete. I've stored most of the data in your DAT. There's a wealth of data in those servers, including maps and blueprints of their various technologies," says Iris, sharing no more with me. Even though the data is stored in my DAT, there's no way for me to access it. I try several times, only to be greeted by an "access denied" message.

I'm perplexed, deeply confused about what's going on here. From migrating north to join the ISF and fight the Megachine, I now find myself in an alien mothership of beings whose story tells of them fleeing a planetary system, their own, perhaps, to hone in on our own, in search of, perhaps, a new home, far away from their original galaxy.

But why they were fleeing to another galaxy is the main concern here...

"I think they were fleeing, General," I say.

"What makes you think that, Captain?" says Wrath.

"It's just...if what we've been shown is true, that they fled their galaxy to come to ours...it makes no sense to cross the void between galaxies unless you want to get as far away as possible from a major threat."

"Interesting hypothesis, Captain. Your mission is complete, so you can stop right there and leave the conjuring to our analysts. Your orders are to abandon the ship. Tauro's about to make contact and start his purge operation."

"Yes, sir," I say, annoyed.

"Reiker, Botsuke, Hatchiro, back to the Torragami. Our mission is done."

"Iris."

"Yes, Captain."

"Disable the implanted nukes. There will be no need for them."

"Done."
Epilogue

Once aboard the Torragami, we leave the mothership. I'm confused and annoyed at the situation, especially not understanding and not being informed of larger details that could explain why these invaders are here. Three of my spearhead soldiers boarded their Torragami and left without question, back to Earth to continue following orders. Two died. Nobody cares, really. A noble death if you ask me.

"Reiker, Hachiro, Botsuke, wait. Follow me."

"Sir. With all due respect. General Wrath gave you—us—a direct order. We must leave the ship to allow the major to purge whatever life remains in here," says Reiker within the mech.

"Leave the ship we will. Just follow me."

We depart the mothership in complete silence, into the yawning emptiness of the vacuum. The other three soldiers simply take off and leave back to Earth, following Wrath's orders. I can sense Reiker, Hachiro, and Botsuke are not pleased with my idea of floating around without following Wrath's commands.

The space where the battle occurred is a mess of debris, bodies, and destroyed enemy disks. Many Torragami float in the cemetery of debris. The debris is widely scattered, some of it flying off into deep space, while others will eventually find the balance between gravity and some orbit. Some will trail off and become stardust while traversing the Earth's atmosphere.

"You are defying a direct order," says Iris. "I have already reported your behavior to your superiors."

"You reported me? Why?"

"Captain, with all due respect, this is a bad idea. Iris has notified each of us we've been flagged. Please explain this behavior," says Botsuke.

I say no more. "Just follow me. That's a direct order." Swallow it. If Wrath wants to put me down himself then he can do so if he likes. This is a singular opportunity, and I will not miss it.

There are moments for war. There are moments where you should go all in and forget yourself. But the war is over. We beat the alien invaders, who, by chance, beat the enemies who had threatened to destroy us—the Megachine. By being pushed into an extreme situation, they forced us to get creative to survive. And survive we did. The challenge has been fended off.

And just as there are moments to fight, there are those rare occasions when you must stop.

"Stop."

"Your orders, Captain?"

"Take in the scenery. Look...it's space...isn't it awe-inspiring?" I ask. I'm baffled by the scene of the moon behind us, Earth distant, the sun far away, and somewhere Mars, Jupiter, and the rest of the planets. Staring face first into infinity is like staring into the eyes of God himself.

"With all due respect, sir, it doesn't sound like a valid order," says Botsuke. "Wrath will hang us for this."

"How long have you soldiers been fighting?" I ask.

"Three decades," says Hachiro.

"Four decades," says Botsuke.

"Quarter of a century," says Reiker.

"You've been battling for so long that you've lost your sense of living, of appreciating life."

"And what exactly is that, Captain?"

"Just admire things for what they are. Look! God dammit! Look! Space! Nobody's ever been here, not like this." We're literally in the middle of nothing, inside a mech who's technology is one of humanity's greatest achievements.

"With all due respect, Captain. I think you've lost it. There's nothing to admire here," says Reiker, with a voice that expresses concern for me. "Battle is over. Time to get back, recharge, and continue the fight. The struggle never ends."

There's no point in arguing. I continue my admiration for the eternal and wonder about the irreparable damage soldiers like Reiker have taken. Their souls have been hammered and forged into weapons, chiseling away at whatever humanity was left in there. Bloodthirst drives soldiers like him. Where will soldiers like him satisfy his bloodletting now that the war is over? I know not, but Dr. Akuza did mention something about conquering the solar system. I cringe.

"You've received a private message," says Iris.

"From whom?"

"Carmen Johnson. Wish me to open and read it?"

I get nervous. She said we'd be friends forever, and friends only. But still...I'm in love with her and can't push her out of my soul. What she said is true. Someday she will pass, and I will continue being a soldier, a warmongering unit, part of a war machine that's being born out of the rubble.

Iris opens the message. "Never forget," it says. It comes with an attached file. When the file is downloaded and opened, my heart sinks. It's a picture. Of the three of us, young Carmen, Jorge, and me when we joined medical school. The one she had on her desk.

A wave of nostalgia hijacks me, and suddenly I realize that Argo Herrero, that young, lanky, smiley guy is gone. His body is dead. I take a good look at Jorge and say my peace. I look at Carmen...regret not having the balls to express my true intentions to her. I know not how that would've or could've changed our history.

I breathe in. Leave the path of what-could-have been, a path to psychosis, and return my gaze to the infinite.

"Save that picture, Iris. Keep it well."

"It's been stored, and I've also created a copy for backup."

"Let's go back home, soldiers." I say.

"Sir, yes, sir," says Hatchiro with relief.

Four Torragami fall back, and soon we're traveling at high speed back to Earth.

—THE END—
Afterword

Thank you for reading Private. It is the first installment of the intergalactic trilogy "Galactic Crusade." More is yet to come. The second installment is called The Last Commander. I hope to have it published soon enough. Please leave a review of Torragami. Your opinion matters to other readers who may find the book entertaining. It also matters to me. As an independent author, my success depends upon individuals like you, whose comments and recommendations go a long way. I want to hear your thoughts about the book.

Feel free to write me an email with feedback or questions to authorpaulwunderlich@gmail.com.

Want to delve into a fantasy world? Wish to explore another universe?

Other series by the author:

The War of the Gods. A series of epic fantasy of galactic proportions.

Book 1: The Sacrifice

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The Galactic Crusade continues with the next installment...

The Last Commander

THE WAR OF THE GODS

Rumors of a darkness spreading has reached the ears of tavern dwellers. Missionaries have been summoned to join the ranks of an unnamed enemy arising from the ashes of the long defeated castle of the Nemaldines far in the south. Dark spells and evil conjuring is afoot.

In a remote village far away from the great cities of the Mandrake Empire, a young shepherd looks after the crops and animals of his grandmother's ranch, where he has been forced to work and abandon school. The austere times have taken a heavy toll on the soul of the boy, who begrudges not seeing the few friends he had.

Violence will soon be unleashed on the village and the young boy he will be forced on a great adventure which might break him for good. The long forgotten war between Light and Darkness will begin...again.

About the author

I am a Guatemalan author in the genre of fantasy and sci-fi. When not unloading my imagination on to the computer, I am an Internal Medicine Doctor by profession. I like coffee, meditation, cross-training ‒ and reading, of course!

As far as I am concerned, there is no greater pleasure than knowing you, the person who has taken the time to read one of my works. Please send me an email at authorpaulwunderlich@gmail.com Tell me what you think of my stories. It will be a pleasure to know you!

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