When Lieutenant Colonel Sanders saw the bright blue flares streak across the sky, he knew it was a signal—an opportunity, one he might not have considered under normal circumstances. The situation had changed.
He headed toward the area where the soldiers had set up their tents. Quickly, he called for a meeting. The soldiers were restless, uncertain about what lay ahead. After Sanders gathered them, he said, "Listen up," eyeing each one of them, "the choices we make in the next little while will affect all of us. This isn’t just another mission. It’s a turning point."
Sanders looked at the soldiers. "We’ve all observed the flares in the sky. This indicates a significant situation is unfolding. I am now faced with a critical decision, and I will make it alone. We are all in this together."
The sergeant’s jaw tightened, glancing around at the uneasy faces. “With respect, Captain, it’s not about ‘rolling over.’ It’s about survivin’ this mess. Atlas has got Fort Bone solid. They’ve got walls, organization, and enough supplies to make this whole wasteland crawl to ‘em. You really want us to try taking on a whole damn fortress with fresh, but unaware men?”
A wiry private spoke up, voice edged with nerves, “Yeah, Cap. This ain’t a textbook op. We got no air support, no backup, just us. Atlas might be our only shot at some stability here.”
The captain’s eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. “Atlas is a myth. Half the stories we hear are smoke and mirrors. If we start bending orders every time things get ‘rough,’ we’ll be as lost as the rest of these wastelanders. You forget our mission?”
Another soldier, bolder now, shook his head, “Cap, we’re not forgetting anything. Just thinking. I mean, look around. We’re not the only ones out here, but damn, none of them are making it more than a few weeks without a setup like Fort Bone’s.”
A burly corporal with his arms crossed spat out, “The way I see it, we’re meat for the grinder if we go up against them. Fighting uphill like the sergeant said. We got family back home who want to see us alive, not buried in the wasteland just because of orders written by folks who never set foot out here.”
Sanders took a breath, searching the faces around him. He knew his soldiers were right to be afraid, to question this madness that had become their mission. But he also knew discipline was all they had left.
He nodded slowly, his tone steady but weighed down. “This isn’t just about orders or survival. It’s about who we are. We signed on to hold the line, even in hell itself. That line doesn’t bend just because Atlas has walls and a fortress. We go forward and we make our stand.”
There was a murmur of reluctant agreement, though a few soldiers still cast uneasy looks. Lieutenant Colonel Sanders knew what they were thinking. The idea of going against Atlas, who had built an empire that some viewed as invincible, was a daunting prospect. But orders were orders.
The men fell silent, some visibly uneasy, but none daring to object outright. It was clear that many didn’t like it, but Sanders wasn’t here to win a popularity contest.
"Alright," Sanders said, his voice steady but firm. "We move tonight. We take the armory, equip ourselves, and follow through with the rest of the plan. But I’ll need absolute discipline from every single one of you. No hesitation."
"Captain, I want you to gather up the men. We'll need a diversion at the gates while the rest of us hit the armory. We go in fast and quiet. And Sergeant..." He turned to the soldier who had first suggested joining Fort Bone. "I need you on board for this. No dissent."
The sergeant hesitated but nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll follow the orders."
Satisfied, Sanders gave one last look at his men before stepping out into the fading daylight. The sky above was still tinged with the glow of the distant flares. He steeled himself. The fate of their mission—and perhaps even their lives—now rested on the strength of his command.
"Now," he continued, "we’ve got a mission. First, we need to figure out how to get to our weapons. Captain, you said they’re locked up in the armory?"
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"Yes, sir," the captain confirmed, standing a little straighter. "In the castle. Shouldn’t be too hard to breach. The guards are light, and with the hundred of us, we can easily overwhelm them."
Sanders nodded, already forming the plan in his mind. "Good. Tonight, we move. We’ll hit the armory, gear up, and take control. No mistakes. We move fast, we move quiet, and we get it done."
***
The night in Fort Bone had fallen into its usual calm. Most of the town’s residents were asleep, with only the soft sounds of the night and the occasional shuffle of the guards at the toll gate breaking the silence. Atlas had always posted men there, as well as at the settlement kiosk inside the castle, but an internal attack was something no one had ever seriously considered. The armory itself was more of a formality than a fortress.
Suddenly, a loud commotion burst from the area near the Wasted Tavern Brothel. Two soldiers, as part of Sanders’ plan, had started a fake fight, their drunken shouts drawing attention.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” chanted the mini faeries, who flitted around in excitement. They were always quick to join in on any fun, even in the pitch of night.
The guards scrambled to respond, leaving their posts to break up what seemed like a regular brawl. The diversion worked perfectly.
Meanwhile, Sanders and his other men slipped quietly through the streets, using the cover of darkness to reach the castle. Just as the captain had said, the armory door was practically a joke—flimsy and easy to breach. In no time, the soldiers re-armed themselves with military precision, grabbing armor and weapons before moving toward the barracks and private houses where Fort Bone’s leaders were staying.
"Get down! Get down! Get down!" they shouted, bursting into homes and buildings, trying to cow the town into submission. Fort Bone wasn’t used to this kind of fight. The settlement had never experienced an attack from within, and the shock of it all paralyzed most of the civilians.
***
In his house, Atlas was already stirring. He was never one to sleep deeply, and the heavy thuds of doors being kicked in had him wide awake. Rolling out of bed, he quickly strapped on his armor and slung his swords around his waist.
‘Those fuckers are gonna regret this,‘ he thought as he tightened the straps on his Frankenarmor, his blood boiling at the audacity of the soldiers.
Across the settlement, the rest of the Portal Crushers were rousing themselves too, though not as quickly as Atlas. While speed mattered—once they were fully armed, there was no doubt the attackers would be in for the fight of their lives. The soldiers, confident in their plan of shock and awe, were about to learn just how determined Fort Bone was for a fight for their sovereignty.
Atlas sprinted through Fort Bone with unmatched speed, his twin swords slicing cleanly through the soldiers. His strikes were precise, meant to disarm and disable, though if a soldier fell and didn’t get back up, that was on them. At first the soldiers had been firing warning shots, but soon it changed. Their gunfire filled the space, but the shots were either wildly ineffective or utterly useless. Guns misfired, jammed or missed. When a bullet managed to hit, it bounced harmlessly off his hot pink armor. Earth tech was so useless.
‘You guys are such idiots,‘ Atlas thought as he sidestepped another soldier’s desperate attack. ‘Level two armor from the vending machines can handle bullets. My Red Fairy prototype? Forget about going through it.‘
The soldiers, rattled by the sight of their ineffective gunfire, doubled down. What had started as an effort to subdue the town quickly shifted into an all-out assault. But their frantic aggression did little to help their cause. The Portal Crushers, hardened by countless battles in the wasteland, had begun tearing through them with practiced ease.
Atlas could see his team, a blur of movement and strength, cutting down the attackers. The soldiers weren’t ready for this. The Portal Crushers weren’t mere civilians—they were warriors, battle-tested and trained to survive in the harshest conditions. This wasn’t day one for them. The wasteland had forged them into a force to be reckoned with.
The Portal Crushers made quick work of the army soldiers from Earth. After all, how many soldiers had actually been in real combat over the past year? Most likely, they had been assigned to routine patrols or dealing with insurgents in less challenging environments. In stark contrast, the Portal Crushers faced life-and-death struggles every day. In such close quarters, with their firearms malfunctioning, the soldiers didn’t stand a chance.
The newer Fort Bone recruits fought with spirit, though not without injury. A few took bullets, but the armor held strong, protecting them from any serious damage. It was almost too easy. Until—
A sharp crack echoed through the night, different from the others. One soldier, panicked and scrambling, got lucky. The bullet caught a young warrior in training directly in the face, slipping under the edge of his demon dog skin helmet. The warrior crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Atlas’s eyes locked on the fallen recruit, and a cold fury surged through him. The soldier responsible was already backing up, wide-eyed, but it didn’t matter.
“Portal Crushers, put these soldiers down!” Atlas commanded, his voice cutting through the rising chaos.
The Portal Crushers increased the lethality of their attacks. Refusing to stop. This wasn’t just a fight. It was a battle of sovereignty. The winners would be free men, while the losers would suffer the consequences.