My alarm sounds breaking my concentration. I shake off my previous thoughts. I have a job to do. Although I am feeling a little bit used by the faculty I can't help but be excited for my fight. Ever since I was young, I always was and still am competitive. I honestly just enjoy winning competitions because of the hard work I put into training.

I begin my walk and notice the campus is still really quiet and empty. I do see random groups of people here and there but they are keeping to corners and behind buildings. That is odd but I put it to the fact the final match is coming up soon. Everyone is probably already in their seats. I make it to the hangar in the strangely quiet and climb inside the now fully repaired Wendigo. I take a deep breath and sit for a few moments. I collect myself and steel my nerves. The fear of dying from earlier gone and a sense of needing to do what's necessary fills my heart. I will win. As a famous movie once said,

"If you ain't first, you're last"

I chuckle to myself remembering the old movie and kick the pedal. With a mental scream, I connect to my metal body.

I march to the elevator doing my routine checks and mental preparations. I get my jitters under control and keep my breathing steady and stable and my heart rate down for now. I step onto the elevator and wait for it to lift me up. I hear thunderous cheers and music above me while I wait. The expected theatrics. The sound dies down and I raise up in the elevator. As the ceiling opens above it reveals darkness.

When my head clears the threshold spotlights illuminate me from many directions and the arena fills with some hype music I do not recognize. There is much cheering as the announcer well, announces me and introduces me. I sadly didn't hear my opponent's introduction as I was downstairs and forgot to connect to the communication. After a light show and cheering the main arena lights come on giving me a good view of my opponent.

It's considerably taller than the ones I have been facing meaning it was built around a separate frame. The body is made of a dull metal painted in a visage of vibrant flames. Oranges, reds, and yellows cover its outside as if the whole AMS was ablaze. I get the feeling I'm about to get hit with a flamethrower. The blank face stands with the roman numerals for sixteen. I can't remember the tarot card for that so Wendigo quickly connects to the internet and searches. The Tower. The body shape is feminine in figure, but then again most imperial AMS are built kinda like that. This one is definitely designed for the sole purpose to look feminine.

I can only see a couple of points on the opposing AMS that look like ranged weapons and on both hips are what I assume are some kind of sword, either two of those plasma swords or something else that will make my armor be as useful as paper. I can't help but scan the crowd quickly and for some reason, I feel my heart sink. I feel almost horrified. My gut instinct is telling me to run and get to cover as some shit is about to go down.

[Calm down. I know it's a big crowd and this is gonna be a hellish fight. Just trust in yourself and the steel we are made of. We got this]

(Yeah, thank you I needed an un-fucking)

[Ha Ha, that's right. Let's go kick some imperial ass]

With the small, but surprisingly effective pep-talk I feel that deep unease disappear completely. I block out all surrounding noise, all distractions. I will not lose due to being a headcase. I will fight hard, and I will win.

The announcer begins the countdown as the crowd joins for the final time this week. When zero hits the world seems to move in slow motion. I watch as the stadium closest to my opponent erupts into gray concrete dust. I watch as hunks of concrete fly into the visage of fire and tear through the hard metal exterior and all interior components. The force of the blast begins to throw the AMS but the dust overtakes it before I can see it fall. Then I hear the boom. A colossal, earthshaking, and devastating explosion. I feel the ground beneath me shudder with the force as the wave hits me sending concrete shrapnel into my outside armor. I am just far enough away for the armor not to completely give but hunks of concrete painfully get lodged into my outside. I am knocked to the floor as I defensively raise my arms to protect myself. The dust cloud overtakes me.

I manage to stand up just as the gunfire begins. I hear it just over the screams of the crowd. I activate thermal imaging to see through the thick dust and see the crowd stampeding to one side of the arena to escape from multiple figures firing automatic rifles into them. My heart sinks into my stomach as the dust starts to settle some giving me horrifying sights of carnage. I feel a second feeling to my hopelessness. A primal, unholy rage coming from not me, but from Wendigo.

[The shield is down. The explosion took it out... we are the only hope of these people now. I know you aren't a hardened soldier anymore, but you must take up our old trade right now.]

(I don't know if I can kill)

[Just don't think. You can scream, cry and fall into catatonics later. For now, clear your head. You have the training. I am now activating old systems.]

[Activating ant-infantry IFF systems now]

A bright red outline highlights every one of the shooters, using criteria to mark them as hostiles. Mainly the carrying and usage of their firearms. This paints them as enemy combatants. Any serving civilian stragglers are painted blue as non-combatant. I can see the enemies even through the dust. They cannot hide. I raise my cannon and chamber a round. I feel my face fall neutral, and my internal conflict disappears as I act purely on instinct. I won't allow them to continue the slaughter.

Over the screams and gunfire comes a resounding boom. One of the shooters is turned into mist by the 25mm round which hits him directly in the torso. The ones next to him don't have time to react as I quickly fire one precise round onto each of them. The explosion is enough to rip limbs from them or to outright cut them in half. These modern 25mm high explosive rounds pack a lot more punch than ones from my time. While the explosion is small, a mixture of the weight of each shell and the ensuing explosion a fraction of a second later, leaves little chance for survival, even if they are wearing body armor.

I finish with the enemies on my original right and whip around to see more shooters now scrambling to find cover in a place with none. A couple opens fire on me to no effect as my armor is designed to be impenetrable from small arms fire. I don't even register the rifle caliber bullets as painful. It feels almost as if a gnat were landing on me. I aim my shots once more and with ease erase the enemies. I stand alone in the arena as the crowd flees. The dust clears and I turn off the thermals and see the utter carnage.

Blood everywhere, body parts were strewn about, screams of injured and dying, and corpses of innocents. I at first feel numb, in shock from the view only seen in nightmarish hellscapes devised by only the most depraved artists who stare into the void of morbid fiction. The problem I find most horrible is the feeling of familiarity. I don't remember when, or why, but this scene. I've been in something similar before. Standing alone in a destroyed hellscape surrounded by nothing but devastation. People dead or dying and views of incomprehensible suffering and death.

The numbness fades into a hatred beyond words. My movements become calculated and precise. I begin scanning everywhere looking for more enemies, more foes, and more targets. I hear what sounds like helicopter blades above and look up to see a bright green, what I assume is a civilian model of one of those helicopter-like vehicles. It would be considered civilian if not for the attached rocket pods and the two men with belt-fed machine guns hanging from the sides. The pilot seems startled to see me standing and whips the flying vehicle around violently before coming back around for what I assume is a rocket run. The door gunners open fire on me for no effect. I raise my cannon and with a single shot the vehicle collapses in on itself. It was not designed with damage in mind. The vehicle hits the ground and begins burning. I hear the screams of the occupants inside and mag dump into the burning mass causing the rockets to cook off resulting in a large fiery explosion. As I stare into the flame sI hear distant sounds.

[Shooting coming from outside the arena. I have designated the most efficient path out of here to go support]

(Understood)

A blue line emerges from my feet and up the side of the arena using the blown-away section like a door. I begin sprinting, following the path ignoring the horror surrounding me. I make it outside in time to see the crowd scrambling away from multiple squads of gunmen. I approach with violent intentions.

I don't know what went through their heads when they turned away from the shooting to look up at the towering metal figure behind them. I don't know what they thought, but their faces contorted into terror as I have never seen. I reload my main cannon and begin my own slaughter. I aim and fire with an accuracy I didn't know I had in me. Each shot erasing one of the shooters. I feel nothing but the recoil of the cannon as it barks obediently to its masters' command. As my cannon runs dry I drop the empty magazine and slam another into the good reloading so flawlessly I already have another target in sight. I walk forward, moving to a spot where I am between any remaining shooters and the escaping crowd.

I suddenly get a communication. I answer and a gruff male voice shouts at me,

"I identify yourself immediately AMS pilot or you will be fired upon. This is the captain of the US Marshall service advancing on your position."

I reply automatically,

"I am Mike Richardson, Freshman. I was in an academy-sanctioned battle as the attack started. I took protecting as many lives as I could into my own hands."

There is a pause before the captain responds,

"You check out. We have flyers coming in from your east. Coming in low and fast. They have strike teams loaded and are armed with missiles and guns. Don't do anything stupid. I will contact you when they are on your position."

I say back,

"Rodger that."

As the communication ends three black flying vehicles appear over my position. They open side doors and three teams of twelve descend of fast-ropes. The flyers have ATGMs on hardpoints on the outside of the vehicle. The teams land and secure the perimeter. A couple look up at me and give hand signals meaning friendly as they continue. They are all armed to the teeth. Good high-quality operators. They are painted by the combat system in green meaning friendly combatants. The communication chirps to life once again,

"Okay, Mike. You seem to have done some good work. You managed to herd the remaining civilians to a relatively safe zone of the campus. At least it is away from all the terrorists. I now ask you a favor. We have reason to believe these fucks have some armor of sorts in their current stronghold to the south. They are currently using whatever it is to cause property damage as there were few to no innocents to kill. Will you support?"

I don't even think,

"Yes sir."

He replies,

"Then move out and follow commands."

I nod and then realize I can't remember how to operate in combined arms.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

[Kassandras gonna lobotomized me for this, but I'm uploading your old training for this to you.]

(what?)

There is a sharp pain in my head and then suddenly I have full knowledge of how to act and perform. I get into a slightly hunched stance and follow in between the three wedges formed by the strike teams. My movements are robotic and efficient. Each step is done as if I had done this a million times. I spot the first enemy. There is a defensive line set up just at the edge of hostile territory armed with some kind of heavy machinegun. Two expert shots from me after calling it out end it before they can squeeze off a single shot.

We then enter hostile territory. The teams clear each building as we pass as I give overwatch, taking out any terrorists dumb enough to look out the window or be outside at all. The flyers above give great intel and even paint enemies for us as well as raining hell down upon them as needed. They don't stand a chance. I keep walking forward when a flyer pilot shouts,

"Enemy armored infantry incoming hot. I have no shot. Godspeed."

I remember that designation. That means an enemy AMS has been spotted. Then from around a corner screeching as its metal feet slide across the hardened surface of the road. It's a rather small model looking vaguely imperial in design but more like a reconstruction from pictures alone. This AMS has been made on earth. This is proven when it fires a volley from the six machine guns it has strapped to its wrists. All the bullets hit me causing no damage and protecting the men below me. I fire once and the pilot tries to doge but the shell hits true causing it to stagger slightly. The armor does not crack meaning it is made of regular good ol' fashioned steel. It continues its approach and I begin my own charge. The enemy pilot again tries to cut sharply but for their trouble, they receive a crushing right hook. The enemy AMS hits the ground face first and using my cannon I blow off both its arms by shooting it in the weak shoulder joints which have no armor on the back. This thing is of utterly shit design.

With it destroyed multiple buildings open up with terrorists surrendering. The marshalls arrest them as reinforcements arrive. The strike commander dismisses me and the captain comes back online,

"That was good shit son. We have it from here. Go hang up your AMS and we'll get you taken care of. I'm sorry you had to deal with that, but if it were not for you, the death toll would have been far worse."

I reply quietly,

"Thank you sir... I'll go do that."

I begin walking away slowly,

[MIKE! That AMS is producing heat like mad. It's blowing its batteries or something. That shit is gonna be like a white phosphorous bomb!]

I feel shocked and cry over my loudspeaker,

"Everyone get away from that AMS!"

I dive forward and land on the enemy AMS putting my thickest armor over the powerpack. I curl up and feel the heat go critical. There is a loud pop as the burning components of the battery explode. It's not violent enough to break my armor as expected, but it would have cooked all the surrounding marshalls. On the other hand, I feel the searing heat burn into my metal and I let out an agonized scream as I am burned with enough heat to warp and melt some of the steel of my body. The fire continues as a bright white light for a few more minutes attempting to throw sticky white death everywhere. Eventually, it burns out and I stand up breathing raggedly as my mind is convinced my entire front torsos just got cooked well done.

I get thank-yous over the radio as I walk slowly to the training hangar. I drop my cannon at some point. I kinda shuffle along my mind numb as my chest screams in agony. I hardly register it. I feel hollow. I pass some destruction as I go, no bodies, but my mind runs wild. Eventually, I make it to the hangar and dock onto my stall. The entire hangar is dark and empty and I then detach from Wendigo. I come back to my fleshy self and let out some pained groans for a little while holding my chest and rubbing my pained body. I then slide off my chair and slowly climb out of my AMS.

I go down the ladder and shuffle onwards my eyes growing misty and my throat tightening. The hollow feeling turning to horror at all I just saw and what I just did. I am about to break down when a metal tube is put against the back of my head. My eyes clear up and my throat loosens as the adrenaline gets pumping once again. I raise my hands without prompt knowing full well I have a gun to my head.

"Turn around real slow pilot"

The man says to me quietly. I slowly turn around and as my eyes adjust to the dark I see the rifle aimed at me. The man who has me at gunpoint is middle-aged and short with a military haircut. His face and eyes are hardened and he can and will kill me without hesitation. I then notice his finger is not on the trigger. He isn't planning on killing me yet. I look side to side and see no one else. He says quietly,

"You managed to stop us pretty good before those marshalls got here. I will commend you on that. Damn good kid. The problem for you is that I am getting out of here no matter what and you're gonna help me. Understood? Good. Now lead me to the docks and take the back ways."

His finger remains off the trigger. He pretty much revealed he is alone, and that he cannot afford to kill me at the moment. Why was a terrorist concerned about his own safety? Who knows? Shame he won't be safe for long.

I suddenly dip downwards and get my shoulder under the magazine of the gun. I rapidly stand up and wrap up his body putting him in a bear hug. I begin to squeeze and bring my head back and begin headbutting him over and over. He falls backward dropping the gun. He manages to wiggle from my grip as he falls to the ground. He goes for his hip but I jump onto him and pin his right arm. I then begin savagely slamming my fist into his face. I keep my pin and continue my brutal assault. He isn't able to defend himself. I am quite heavy, and my onslaught makes it impossible to attempt to stand up.

The man no one to be easily beaten lifts his legs up and grabs my head between his feet and pulls me backward. He manages to escape from under me and he climbs onto me. He slugs me once and I kick his pistol from his holster. It slides a couple of meters away. He then goes to choke me wrapping both of his hands around my neck. I flex my neck in an attempt to avoid him crushing my windpipe. I start slamming my fists into his sides as I try to suck as much air in as possible. I realize that won't work so I grab his wrists and twist myself to the side loosening his grip somewhat. He removes one of his hands and takes a flip knife off his hip. It's one of the big kind with a five-inch blade. He brings it towards me but I grab it by the blade with one of my hands. It cuts me up really bad but that's better than being stabbed to death. He uses both hands in an attempt to use weight to stab me. I reinforce my hand holding the blade and violently roll sideways hooking one of his legs. The causes us to roll.

I am now on top of him and adjust my hips and put a knee on his throat. He starts making pained choking noises as my surprisingly heavy leg cuts his airways. I manage to wrestle the knife free and throw it into the darkness. I then continue my choke but he manages to roll us over again.

He climbs on top of me and starts punching me rapidly in the face. His punches are considerably weaker now since he was choked for a little bit and is still recovering. I defend myself before sliding under his legs. He misses a punch and painfully hits the concrete where I once was. I am stopped from sliding but he now has a poor angle for his punches. I use both my arms around one leg and force him backward. I grab an ankle as I slip out from under and on top.

I lock the ankle and violently jerk to the side-stepping over him. There is a horrible pop as everything in his ankle is violently torn to pieces by the move. I let go after I stop hearing pops from tearing ligaments. I then climb on top of him as he screams in pain and tries to fend me off with punches. I headbutt him once more before I lift him and being repeatedly slamming his head against the concrete. He is barely hanging on now. He stops fighting and I get off. When I do he attempts to stand up but I deliver an exceptionally brutal kick to the head. My heavy lower leg made of metal gives off a heavy clang as it kills him. His skull is battered beyond repair. I take a few steps back and fall to my ass and realize I can't breathe. My lungs are screaming as I suck wind.

After my breathing calms down and the adrenaline starts to fade I feel pain all over my body. Despite his loss, he gave me a beating. I sit there for a moment recovering from the fight when a wave of fatigue and horror wash over me. The horror I ignored earlier came back with a vengeance when I say to myself,

"What have I done?"

I cannot fight the tears and sobs. I begin having a breakdown as the trauma I felt today catches up with me. All of it. Every shredded body goes across my vision and the memory of tearing people apart tears at my soul. I throw up on the floor as I curl into a ball screaming and crying. No longer sobbing, just screaming. The worry about a lot of things boils over now. Every concern about forgetting myself, every death, and the fact I am being used on a daily basis. What have I become?

I manage to get myself to a manageable state after a few minutes of this. The sobs are less frequent but the tears continue without stop. I slowly walk to the exit as a squad of marshalls enter and turn on the lights. They see the view ahead and clear and sweep the building. A medical officer gets ahold of me and Is I begin explaining the situation the fatigue takes over. Both mental and physical for today. Probably a concussion too. I just slump over onto the medic and achieve sleep in a record time.

My dreams are nothing but nightmares. I get visages of soldiers being turned into mist by heavy cannon fire. Others are being vaporized by direct energy weapons. I see cities full of corpses from chemical and conventional weapons. I see the arena turned into a pool of blood and the terrified faces of those who are dying. Scenes of horrible battles fill my mind. Death being dealt on a level humanity shouldn't be possible of doing. Eventually, these images fade away to nothing. A permanent black. A deserving end to all the torture. The silence and blackness are ended with a faint beeping as light fills my vision.

I sit up with a start and a loud shout. I quickly check my surroundings to find myself in a hospital bed. In a tent. A field hospital. All that separates me from the moaning and crying individuals near me is a thin curtain. Aside from that, I am alone. I am sore all over and hurting pretty bad but am overall fine. I swing my legs off the bed and land on my metal feet. I am now wearing some long pants and a t-shirt. My piloting suit is on a chair next to me was haphazardly thrown there. I pick it up and step out of the curtain. I enter a new hell. There are dozens of beds all with a moaning, sometimes screaming injured person. They are all hurt with gunshot wounds, missing limbs, or other horrible injuries. I walk down a pathway keeping out of the doctors' and nurses' ways. I have no reason to be here. I am relatively fine. Just some rest and food will put me right. I step from the tent to an area I wish I hadn't. Rows of black bags line this area. Bodies, dead bodies. I quickly go around the side of the tent towards where I hear movement and other happenings.

Here the marshalls are directing traffic of ambulances, life flights, and supplies with great efficiency. I see imperial insignias on some of the flyers incoming. That's good they are helping out. I stand out of the way for a while before I feel a large strong hand on my shoulder. I turn around to see a marshall in an officer's uniform. I see the rank and realize this is the captain. Without thinking I salute clicking my heels together. He just shakes his head and says,

"Don't worry about it. Now is not the time for things like that. Come with me. I wish to talk."

I nod dropping my arm and relaxing some. I follow him to a command tent. Inside there are multiple technicians coordinating the mass of vehicles and transportation lines. I am led to a back room of the tent where there is a desk with a daunting pile of paperwork. He motions for me to sit in an old office chair across from him and I do.

Upon sitting he begins speaking,

"You did good work son. Don't ever think you didn't. I'm sorry we had to recruit you to help us fight but since you already were fighting and winning it honestly couldn't hurt. five hundred and seventy-five dead as of now. Injured are in the thousands from severe to just some cuts from shrapnel or the crowd trampling them. This was a horrible tragedy, but if not for you, it would have been worse. We checked all cameras and saw what you did. I am proud of what you did. Do you know that? Many people would have just curled up in a ball and hid. You decided to fight, and I respect that.

Because of all this, I have made sure you will receive a medal of some sort, plus many, many commendations. I will also see to you getting some rewards aside from the useless pieces of tin we will pin to your breast.

Well...That's pretty much what I have to say. Any questions."

I think on the death toll for a moment and it makes me sick. I right myself and ask a question,

"What was this terrorist group? What are they hoping for?"

He shakes his head solemnly and replies,

"This group is called the Terran Ascendants. It's an earth supremacy group of sorts. All other groups of that kind have denounced them. Their whole thing is that all non-earth people need to be culled. Then they believe we should recolonize what is left with good old-fashioned earth-born people. To me, it seems stupid as it would create a self-replicating cycle but that is beyond me. At the end of the day, they are simple terrorists. International ones at that. So far this is their biggest attack. They normally just attack and hold up offices belonging to imperials or those ex-solars but in the end just terrorists.

We have been fighting them for the last ten years after they split from a far less extreme group that just advocated for everyone to stay in their lane, Earthers for the earth, and everyone else in their own place. I really don't understand the violence these people do. This attack was bold, and between you and me I think it was funded by someone else.

Well, that's all I can tell you. I have your devices here and I will contact you when I need you. Please stay in your room for a while just in case. Food will be delivered twice a day. Good luck. Now please leave I have a mountain of work."

I nod mulling over the information as I leave. I take my devices and walk back to my dorm. I enter the villa and get to my room. I open the door and go sit on my bed for a while. I don't think. I don't do anything. I just try to stabilize myself. I still feel tired. I guess that sleep I had was the useless kind. I kick off my shoes and strip to my underwear. I walk to my bathroom and look at myself in the mirror.

My eyes are gaunt and my face pale. I look like shit. My muscular body is covered in scars from my past. Each one mocking me for I cannot remember where they came from. I feel hopeless and lost again. Still, I man up and take a shower. I wash myself thoroughly and go to bed in a fresh pair of underpants. I pull the covers over my head with only my nose exposed and close my eyes. A merciful dreamless sleep overtakes me, a first step in washing away my current mental instability...