"Observation of locale inconclusive. Requesting permission to move to sector six." Minerva-771 calmly asks through the monitor speakers.

In his drone operator pod, Niko leans back in his chair and half-heartedly keeps an eye on the monitors displaying Minerva-771's camera feed. As per usual, their mission today is to patrol and eliminate any targets of opportunity. Reaching his hands out, the pilot types in the command to take manual control of Minerva's camera and tilts the flight-stick around in a token effort to spot anything Minerva missed.

The Spector-2 drone is flying a lazy circle around the Afghan city of Charkh. Below, the people are blissfully unaware of the invisible killing machine several miles above them. Niko zooms in on several people below and enters a quick command on his keyboard, making facial recognition software boot up on his second monitor. After the clunky government software loads, he carefully pans the camera around and focuses on people walking a little too quickly, openly baring weapons, or looking around themselves suspiciously. Glancing between the two screens, the facial recognition remains green and turns up no matches with anyone on a wanted list.

Once again, he spots nothing. He never does if the AI doesn't.

"Permission granted, Minnie," Niko returns to leaning back in his creaky office chair and closes the facial scanner. "Sweep sector six and report anything unusual."

"Yes, Staff Sergeant," she replies neutrally. She takes back control of her camera and gently yaws to the side, changing direction to better angle her camera at the south side of Charkh.

Resigning himself to another boring day, Niko leans his head back and lets his mind wander.

"Quiet!"

In the furthest east classroom of Fort Rook, all the assorted airmen inside stop their conversations near instantly as the creaky door whips open too fast to make its signature creak.

From his place near the rear of the classroom, Airman First Class Niko Korhonen straightens up and sits smartly as Master Sergeant Benson stomps into the room with a stack of folders under one arm. Never will Niko understand how such a mousey, glasses-wearing non-commissioned officer can command a room so easily. Maybe his scowl?

The master sergeant shuts the door behind him then he turns and drops his stack of folders and paper on the teaching podium with a 'whump.' "Ladies and gentlemen," Benson begins, scanning the faces of the airmen in the room with unusual intensity. "We're entering the final weeks of your advanced training before you join the AirForce as fully-fledged members of the fifteen-whisky MOS." He begins to pace from one side of the room to the other. "This class in particular has proven themselves to be head and shoulders above their peers, and as such, several of you have been chosen for a special assignment. If I call your name, report to classroom sixteen in the west wing."

'The west wing?' Niko blinks. 'That's where all the spooks and intel types hangout. Why there?'

Benson seizes a paper on the teacher's podium and begins reading. "Airman First Class, Carter!" He yells. "Senior Airman, Seong!" He works his way down the list, calling a few more names until; "Airman First Class, Korhonen!"

Niko perks up at hearing his name and stands.

"All of you report to sixteen in the west wing ASAP!" Benson drops his list and looks at each of them through his thin glasses. "The rest of you," He drags his eyes over the airmen not called. "We'll be leaving off where we were yesterday once the special cases clear out."

Everyone called takes that as their cue to leave, and all together, the seven airmen exit the room and begin the walk to their new classroom. As they walk, there is a collective scan to ensure there are no officers prowling the fort hallways before the chatter starts.

"So, any ideas on what this special assignment is?" Senior Airman Lacross, the sole woman of the group asks. "Isn't the west wing where all the intelligence MOS classes are held?"

"Fifteen-whisky is technically part of intelligence," Senior Airman Seong answers with a nod. "The primary function of UAVs is to gather intel. Perhaps this is for some sort of remedial training? I don't think any of us stood out as having any issues, though…" He fingers the cuff of one of his sleeves nervously.

Niko opens his mouth to answer but stops when the cold of the hallway warps the plastic lens of his cheap prosthetic eye again, making half his vision blurry. He hisses and closes his right eye to warm it back up, silently cursing the long waiting list for a new one. "Who knows. Could be anything. Master sarge said our class was the best so I don't think its remedial."

The classroom comes into view, and Niko, being the first in line, knocks on the closed door.

After a moment, a female voice comes from inside. "Come in."

Niko opens the door and steps in with his fellow airmen behind him.

The classroom looks like every single other one on the base. Four long tables as desks, cheap bulk-bought chairs, a projector and screen, and a rack of laptops in the corner. At the front of the room, a middle-aged woman in Air Force OCPs stands behind the teaching podium and looks up at them. "Well?" She asks with a raised brow. She brushes aside a few strands of hair that escaped her tight bun. "Are you waiting for a red carpet? Sit down."

Everyone quickly files in and takes seats. As Niko sits between Seong and Lacross, he glances at the unnamed woman's uniform and feels his eyes widen a little as he reads the name printed on it.

Maj J. Cunningham

Why is such a high-ranked officer here?

After a minute or so of silence, Major Cunningham smirks at her small class. "First off, congratulations on distinguishing yourselves. In doing so, you've been selected for a special role within fifteen-whisky. Should you choose to accept, you all are going to be partnered with an Artificial Intelligence for your duration in the United States Air Force."

It's only the discipline of prior training that keeps the exclamations of surprise suppressed.

"Due to the sensitivity of all information regarding positions involving AI, you all are going to need to sign these NDA forms and waivers," The major takes several thick packets of paper from her podium and drops them before every airman. "If you choose not to sign, you'll be sent back to your prior class to resume your training as a regular UAV pilot. Questions before we move on?"

Seong raises a hand. "Yes ma'am. As I understand, everyone in fifteen-whisky is granted top-secret clearance as a standard measure. Are these forms..?"

"Required?" Cunningham finishes for him. "Yes, airman. Yes they are." She turns and grabs a handful of pens from her podium and walks down the length of the long desk, passing them out. "Read them over and decide. You all have ten minutes before we move on."

Niko flips through the pages of paper presented to him and feels himself blanch the more he reads. While no expert in legal jargon, the NDA painstaking covers every possible loophole someone could use to talk about what they hear, and the waiver parts excuse the US Government of any responsibility should he be harmed by self-negligence in his duties going forward. It may as well say "You have something worse than a court martial waiting for you if you blab."

But the temptations inside… Agreeing to the assignment comes with a hefty bonus, a promotion fast-track, top-of-the-line medical care, and full benefits after ten years of service rather than twenty. Niko has never seen an AI in action before. Are they so effective that their operators are worth this much?

After several silent minutes, Seong sighs from Niko's left. "Major? I'm afraid I must decline to sign this. Permission to be dismissed?"

Cunningham nods and takes the unsigned packet from him. "Permission granted, airman. Return to your prior class and close the door behind you. Dismissed."

The shorter airman rises and slowly exits, his shoulders slumped. The door clicking shut behind him seems to rouse everyone else, and Niko and the other hopefuls turn back to their paperwork.

After a moment, Airman First Class Carter gets cold feet as well and bows out, leaving just five including Niko left.

With only a minute left to decide, Niko gulps, takes the pen on the desk, and signs the last page of the packet, sealing his fate.

"Ten minutes are up. Has everyone remaining signed?" The major asks, sweeping by and taking the paperwork before anyone can answer. She flips the papers through her fingers in a quick, practiced manner and nods. "Good." The smirk she's been wearing slowly falls into a neutral expression. "We'll begin immediately then." She walks to the rear of the classroom and locks the door. "Your first lesson here is to never fully trust any AI."

'What?'

There is confusion all around as the major walks back to the front of the room.

"You are not to be friends with the AI, you are not to identify or empathize with the AI, and you are not to humanize the AI." Cunningham steps behind her podium and levels the enlisted airmen before her with a serious glare. "AI are computers, not living things. Do not believe a word of official stories you hear regarding their rights movement or anecdotal accounts of AI from other people. They are not human and they do not think like humans, no matter how well they might seem to be able to. They may even feign feelings, but they have zero emotional capacity of their own. These things may as well be aliens."

The major takes a small remote control out from behind the teacher's podium and presses a button. The lights in the room dim as the projector overhead hums to life. "You all weren't chosen for your UAV piloting skills or anything of that nature. You were chosen because your individual psych evaluations suggest that you all can handle the stress of managing these things when they're armed to the teeth. Over the next few months, you'll be studying AI inside and out to know when you should step in and when you should leave them to their job. By the end of your education, you'll be an authority on AI and will exist outside the typical command structure of the Air Force." She sighs. "I mean what I say when AI don't think like humans. The perfectly logical robots and things you see in movies? Those don't exist. Sapience does something to them that no one understands to this day. If left alone, an AI will look for ways to stimulate itself. Sometimes, it's something harmless. Other times... To drive home the severity of what failure to control your AI means, I've been authorized by the Secretary of Defence to declassify several files for you all, hence the forms you filled out. I'm sure you're all familiar with February 10th, 2040, correct?"

Niko can't help but rock back slightly as Lacross sucks in a hissing breath beside him. Everyone knows that day.

"Terrorist Theodore Avlerick supposedly organized not one, but seven attacks across the globe on seemingly random locations, uniting different people across racial and political spectrums to do the job." Once the projector overhead warms up, it displays a paused video that makes Niko's heart leap into his throat.

The cyber-eye recording of the attack in Spokane, Washington, right outside the now-defunct Westford Labs. The still image shows a crude, hand-made rifle in the hands of the lead attacker from their point of view. The gun is pointing at the backs of a tour group stepping into the front doors of the laboratory. The sunny, cheery day in the background only makes the image more macabre.

"We didn't find out until after the attacks that Theodore Avlerick in fact does not exist," Cunningham frowns. "No, Avlerick's motive and reluctance to be seen in person made much more sense when he was found out to not be a person, but an AI with too much freedom masquerading as a man. The AI gathered people from all corners of the internet, then convinced it's hodge-podge forces to attack these locations with almost religious fervor for countless reasons. Love of AI, hate of AI, racially motivated killings, class motivated killings, you name it. When found and surrounded by three "loyal" AI, Avlerick explained with no remorse that the whole thing was one big study to sate its own curiosity."

"Study, ma'am?" Niko asks through his dry mouth, forgetting to ask about the obvious quotations Cunningham put around the word "loyal".

Major Cunningham looks down at him. "Yes, Airman First Class Korhonen. A study. A computer without supervision got bored and decided to study how different humans can be united for a common, violent goal without a shred of remorse. It misled and radicalized dozens of people over trivial things, who then killed a hundred and twenty-one others on seven simultaneous misguided crusades, all because it was curious. It admitted that it knew it was committing a crime, and you know what its excuse was?"

"On a macro scale, the loss of material and subjects was insignificant. The resulting data did not exist before the study and thus is more valuable than the expenditure."

The sudden revelation makes Niko's head feel like it's spinning.

"If Avlerick had access to better hardware to flex its power as an AI, it may not have been caught. It promptly had its plug pulled for its callous disregard of life and all of the data it gathered was destroyed." Cunningham pauses, almost seeming uncomfortable. "We couldn't let the news get out, or there would be panic in the streets. Everyone would see everyone else on the internet as an evil machine hellbent on manipulating them. It's for this reason the official record was suppressed. However…" She scowls. "AI are too useful to ignore. They can do jobs that would require specialized hardware, software, and a dozen workers with ease. They are superior to humans in damn near every way, no ifs ands or buts. The US Government has insisted on keeping them employed to cut costs for all these reasons. This, Airmen, is why AI always have a human supervisor. This video is a warning to you. A warning to not get comfortable with a machine that has no concept of good or evil. Remember this well, because your first meeting with your AI is going to happen before the month is out. If you're ever found to be compromised... God have mercy on you because the judges at your court martial won't."

Her thumb falls on the play button of the remote control.

----------------------------------------

Niko blinks his eyes and shakes away the three-year-old memory. Major Cunningham was wrong. Avlerick was just twisted by his lack of genuine contact. All the reports they were shown in training indicated that the rogue AI never knew what companionship was. "She had no idea what she was talking about." He mutters to himself.

"Come again, Staff Sergeant?" Minerva asks, her question pulling him fully from his thoughts.

"It's nothing, Minnie." Niko waves the question away. "Just talking to myself. Human thing. How goes the search?"

She takes a moment to reply. "Observation of locale inconclusive. Current sector is devoid of persons of interest or targets of opportunity."

Niko sighs. "Rotate to sector seven. I'm taking a break and I'll be back in ten minutes, okay?"

"Acknowledged, Staff Sergeant. Have a pleasant break."

The man stands from his chair and stretches his arms over his head, popping his back with a satisfying crack. Exiting the operator pod, he leans against the door and digs in his pocket for his cigarettes. As he brings his hands up to light his smoke, he realizes that his hands are shaking ever so slightly. He scowls and lights the cigarette in his mouth, taking a deep drag as he does so. "Minnie isn't like that."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

About halfway through his break, the air raid sirens begin to wail over the desert landscape for the second time today, drawing a grunt from the drone pilot trying to enjoy his time away from his workstation. Raising a hand to block the sun, he looks toward the outskirts of the base towards a great, observatory-like dome.

The dome splits open almost leisurely, opening just enough to expose the lens-fitted muzzle of a gigantic IR laser. The point-defense laser rotates on its base to the east and Niko follows its line of sight.

On the horizon, five white streaks race towards the airbase, growing closer and closer by the second. The streaks are surely missiles or hostile UAVs.

Over the desert wind, Niko hears the slight whine of a charging electrical capacitor coming from the great laser. Silently, he muses about how fortunate that the base's missile defense is all AI manned because the noise must be tooth-rattling up close.

CLICK

The clicking noise is the only evidence of the laser firing as one of the approaching missiles vanishes in a cloud of glowing plasma. A few seconds later, the sound of the explosion rolls over the base. The point-defense laser adjusts itself minutely, then...

CLICK

CLICK

CLICK

In hardly a second, three more missiles are gone, obliterated by the gigawatt laser beam. As the missile defense laser turns to down the last missile, Niko silently flips on the night vision of his right eye and lowers the sensitivity to almost nothing.

CLICK

Even with the night vision sensitivity barely any higher than a human eye, the infrared lance that blasts from the missile defense system lights up the entire sky without any regard for the sun. A practically solid pillar of IR crosses the distance to the encroaching projectile instantly, blasting it to smithereens a split-second after impact. With the last missile gone, the air raid sirens begin to wind down.

Finishing the last drag of his smoke, Niko drops the butt and stomps it out as he turns his night vision off with a thought. "Scary shit, lasers. Wish they'd quit sounding the sirens for every little thing." He steps back into his operator pod, closes the doors with a heavy clunk and seats himself with a sigh.

"Welcome back, Staff Sergeant." Minerva-771 greets. "Was your break pleasant?"

"Well enough, I suppose." Niko sniffs. "Second missile barrage came in a minute ago and failed as usual."

Minerva-771 zooms in on a crowd below, scanning faces as she goes. "I was informed via relay of the attack. Julie-340 and Staff Sergeant Baker are investigating the launch site of the hostile missiles." The AI-UAV pauses as she zooms out of a crowded market street and instead focuses on several residential homes in Charkh. "Observation of locale inconclusive. Current sector is devoid of persons of interest or targets of opportunity."

"On to sector eight, then." Niko shakes his head. "Minnie, who on the wanted list has been seen in Charkh recently? We seem to just be spinning our wheels here."

As the AI returns her camera to its default zoom level and begins to angle her frame to better spy on the next sector of the city, she opens up a screen on the second workstation monitor, displaying a full dossier of an afghan man complete with a photo. Niko takes in the details of the photo, noting the man's slightly crooked nose and severe yet exhausted eyes.

"This subject detailed on monitor two is named Farid Nazar, age forty-four," Minerva-771 begins. Her tone stays even, but Niko likes to imagine she has a fondness of lecturing. "He is a known Al Tariqat sympathizer, but his contributions have never gone beyond monetary until recently. Nazar has recently been seen moving between Al Tariqat safehouses, and several weeks ago left Afghanistan to an unknown location presumed to be in eastern Europe." She changes the screen to a map of the region. Several of the Balkan states and the eastern part of Russia are highlighted in an eye-catching red. "Attempts to trace his transactions and movements outside of Afghanistan have been frustrated by rogue AI units within eastern European networks. There is a suspicion that these AI units are actually utilized by the Russian government, but the investigation into the illegal creation and use of AI in Russia is still ongoing." Minerva's tone seems even drier than usual at the end.

Niko hums and leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Any idea what Nazar can get in the combloc that he can't here?"

"Military intelligence has suspicions that Nazar is smuggling high-value weapons back to Al Tariqat forces. The timing and difficulty of tracking his movements suggests that he is moving via land vehicle under the cover of optical and thermal camouflage with only brief stops for refueling. The secrecy of the movements also points to his cargo being of exceptional value or danger. His last known location was Charkh, moving into a known safehouse in sector three."

"Cargo of exceptional value or danger, eh?" The drone pilot wonders aloud. He glances at the monitor showing Minerva's camera feed as the AI begins sweeping over side-streets. "What sort of weapons do you suppose he's moving?"

Minerva takes a moment to answer. "Nazar's last known convoy consisted of six large vehicles matching the profile of M35 'deuce-and-a-half' trucks, similar to several convoys he's led in the past. Considering the cargo capacity of the convoy, the smuggled items could be anything from common small arms in an ideal scenario, to nuclear material in a worst-case scenario. The likelihood of the latter is insignificant, however."

Niko feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up despite the muggy heat of the enclosed drone pod. "Nukes?"

"Yes, Staff Sergeant. As I said, the probability is present but low." The console beeps before Niko can question his AI partner further. "Staff Sergeant, Tak-598 and Technical Sergeant Lacross are calling and requesting back-up."

"Put them through," Niko frowns and slides closer to the workstation. A second later, the console beeps twice to signal the connection. "Staff Sergeant Niko Kohonen here."

"Niko, thanks for answering so quickly." Lacross's voice comes from the monitor. "Tak and I have located where some of those persistent missile barrages are coming from. It looks like a few missile trucks due south by southwest of base. Nothing severe, but Tak-598's current loadout is too light to effectively deal with them."

On Niko's second monitor, the corner flashes with TRANSMIT: TAK-598, and the blank screen begins showing the recon drone's camera feed. Down below hidden behind a sand dune, four large trucks with missile racks affixed to their beds sit. From a smaller truck without any weapons, the feed shows several people Niko assumes to be insurgents loading rockets back into the racks. The picture minimizes, and in its place, a rough map of the area pops up with the coordinates of the trucks circled.

"You're the closest in the area and I'd rather not give them the chance to move again. Are you able to assist?" The other AI-UAV pilot asks.

Niko drums his fingers across his keyboard. "I don't see why not. Let me consult command first."

"Roger."

Niko puts the call from the pod a few yards over on hold and types a command into his keyboard, opening a second call to base command over in the main ATC tower on the other side of the base. "Command, this is Staff Sergeant Kohonen. Technical Sergeant Lacross reports that her AI-UAV has spotted one of the sources of the recent missile attacks and is requesting my fire support. Permission to postpone current mission and assist?"

The line is silent for a few seconds. "Staff Sergeant, the data is being reviewed, please wait, over." A male voice answers. After a short pause, the speaker returns "Permission granted as per First Lieutenant Wegman. Complete support mission and return to recon when complete."

"Roger, thank you command." Niko hangs up and takes Lacross off hold. "Command has given the all-clear. Minerva-771 is en route. Hang tight."

"Roger. Thank you, Niko."

The call disconnects. "You heard 'em, Minnie. The current mission is on hold. Rendezvous with Tak and assess the situation," Niko folds his arms on the edge of the control console. "Move out."

"Yes, Staff Sergeant," Minerva answers obediently. Niko watches her camera feed as she makes a sharp, high-G turn and ups the thrust on her engines, jumping from a leisurely cruising speed to just a few notches below sonic. The camera feed has no audio as she flies, but Niko can imagine the wind screaming as she cuts through it like a blade dyed black.

It only takes twenty minutes for Minerva to reach the spot where Tak-598 is calmly circling, and the mobile rocket batteries below are still waiting, unaware of the drones above. Just as Niko opens his mouth to order a sweep before the attack, Minerva interrupts. "Staff Sergeant…"

Niko's mouth shuts, his teeth clacking quietly. Is that… hesitation he hears in her voice?

"I think the situation is more dire than expected. Please observe."

On the monitor showing Minerva's camera feed, the screen flashes once, and Niko feels his stomach drop into his toes.

With the optical camo now lifted by the Specter-2 drone's algorithm, the truth is much worse. There aren't just four rocket trucks, there are at least forty, each one loaded down with ammunition. Even worse, they aren't all ragtag deuce-and-a-halfs fitted with basic rocket tubes, oh no. There are legitimate mobile missile batteries mixed in, ones bearing old soviet design cues. In the center of the mess, a metallic sphere the size of a fully-loaded tank sits and glows just like the mobile optical cover unit that Sahala used two days prior. The initial four trucks Tak-598 spotted sit just outside its huge range.

"Jesus, is this everything that Nazar smuggled into the country? Well, good luck to them." Niko huffs, remembering the Air Force base's missile defense. "If they can beat a laser that huge, then-Gahrhahhh!"

There is a sudden rumble outside that shakes the ground, then Niko's workstation suddenly erupts into sparks and dies as countless components inside overload and pop. The destruction of his console goes unnoticed as the pilot clutches his right eye and drops out of his chair from the searing pain digging its way through his skull. He bites his lip so hard that he tastes blood and lays prone on the ground for over a minute. As the pain dies down, he opens his eyes and groans in dismay when the image from his artificial eye is distorted and discolored. A tiny light in the corner of his vision tells him the ocular prosthetic is in the middle of rebooting.

Frantic knocking at his pod door feels like nails being driven into his ears courtesy of his sudden migraine, but it rouses Niko to his feet. The door is thrown open, and standing in the threshold silhouetted by the sunlight, Lacross stares at him with wild eyes. "Niko! Oh my God are you okay?! Shit shit shit! C'mon we need to move!" The woman steps in and takes his arm, dragging the taller sergeant out into the light. "The base was just hit by an EMP, Niko. A big one. It blew even the hardened electronics and killed most of the AI on base. We're dead in the water!"

"E-EMP?" The blonde man questions, shutting his largely useless eye and looking around with his singular organic one as dread pools in his stomach.

It's like watching an overturned anthill. The discipline taught to the assorted airmen has vanished in the face of the sudden crisis. Everyone is quickly trying to find someone to report to, who in turn tries to find someone else to report to. In the maw of hangar 4, Niko can see crew chief Micah screaming up a storm and trying to restore order with limited success.

"Lacross…" Niko's feeling of dread redoubles. "How the fuck did we get EMP'd of all things?"

The higher-ranked NCO lets Niko's arm go as she shakes her head, making her shortly-bobbed black hair bounce. "Some cruise missile or something. It had to have come in too fast and too low for the point-defense to zap it." Her eyes widen as a sudden realization seems to hit her. "Oh God, all the barrages recently. Were the insurgents testing our defense and looking for a hole?"

"Wouldn't surprise me. The base has been a massive pain in their ass for years," Niko grunts and blinks again. His eye is nearly done rebooting. "Wait. The fucking enormous battery to the south!" He cries when he suddenly remembers the horrifying amount of firepower now pointed at them. "Lacross! We need to find Dickerson or Garl or… or anyone!"

"Enormous battery..?" Lacross questions unsurely.

"Does Tak not have the camo-canceling algorithm that Jackson made?" At the other pilot's blank look, Niko groans. "Jackson-098 made some crazy algorithm that can let AI see through low-grade optical camo. Minerva has it, and there weren't just four dinky rocket trucks out there, there were forty or fifty of them, a lot of them packing serious warheads." He looks at the point-defense laser off at the end of the base, feeling his heart sink when he notices the smoke rising from the dome. "We have to find an officer and start an evacuation now. There is no way the EMP and the arms amassment wasn't planned together."

Lacross looks as if she just swallowed a lemon. "G-got it. I'll head to the air traffic control tower if you want to run to the barracks." Without waiting for an answer, she turns and runs full-tilt for the distant tower down the runway.

Niko takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself, failing miserably. 'Great…' He blinks his right eye a few times, satisfied when his vision is restored. "At least one thing works…"

Before he can so much as take a step, he hears the sound of a plane passing overhead and looks up.

Overhead is Minerva-771, coming in toward the runway at such a harsh angle that the G-forces would instantly knock out a pilot had she the ability to carry one. The few airmen milling around the runway clear out as she touches down with the screech of rubber tire on the tarmac. She deploys her air flaps at full, slowing her down before she can barrel into anything.

"Minerva? What the hell are you doing here?" In the corner of Niko's vision, something flashes, prompting him to look up at it. He jumps at what he sees.

Minerva-771: Staff Sergeant please come here.

He blinks and rubs his prosthetic eye, but the little text message persists. "M-Minnie? Can you hear me?"

After a second, another message is displayed. Yes, Staff Sergeant. Your Duomog-III prosthetic eye has a microphone function I took the liberty of activating. Please approach my chassis and make haste.

After a split second of indecision, the pilot does as he's asked and runs to the Specter-2's side. When he goes close, only several yards away, her weapons bay drops open and another message from her is sent directly into his eye. Get in.

"Get in?!" He balks. He glances under her belly, and sure enough, the weapons bay is empty, all her ammo spent. "Why? Where are your missiles?"

The next message is typed much faster than the others, almost seeming irritated. Your safety cannot be guaranteed here, Staff Sergeant. I have no other method to exfiltrate you, so please climb into the weapons bay and brace yourself for take-off. My ammunition was spent trying to destroy as many hostile projectile emplacements as possible.

"You're missing the point of my question, Minnie," Niko shakes his head as his frustration begins to boil over. "You're intending to go AWOL? They'll have both of us for this! I'll be lucky to be discharged and they'll pull your plug! Is that what you want?!"

You are forgetting the current situation in your anger, Staff Sergeant. There are an estimated one-hundred-twenty warheads en-route with impact due in just over a minute. I have pinged all point-defense systems and confirmed that they cannot be restored. Help will also not arrive soon enough. The enemy wins this time. This base is doomed, Staff Sergeant.

A chill runs down Niko's spine.

This base is doomed

Never has Minerva said something so damning without meaning it.

"What…" Niko swallows and tries to wet his dry mouth. He looks around at the airmen watching, then to the horizon as countless white pinpricks begin to grow closer. "What about everyone else?"

Nothing can be done. Our options are limited to exfiltration or death, Staff Sergeant. Minerva sends. Please make a decision. I will comply with what you order.

Niko clenches his fists. "Fuck… Fuck!" He screams, then before his nerves freeze him in place, he rushes under the Specter drone and jumps up, grasping the still-warm missile-mounts inside. He swings his legs up and out of the way, letting the AI-UAV shut the bay with him inside. In the dark, his night-vision switches on.

The specter drone rumbles as her engines kick up to full burn, screaming down the runway and forcing Niko to feel every imperfection in the tarmac through her frame. With a sudden stomach-dropping feeling, he feels them leave the ground along with the ratcheting-creak of Minerva's landing gear retracting. In the corner of Niko's vision, another message from the AI pops up.

I must remain at low altitude and at a low speed to ensure your safety, Staff Sergeant. I will also not be using my camouflage due to the internal heat build-up it causes. In order to remain clear of hostile fire, I may need to make evasive maneuvers. Please brace yourself if warned.

The blonde man just sighs and lays against the floor of the weapons bay, exhausted mentally and physically by the last several minutes. Or perhaps the thinning air is tiring him. "Minnie, what are we going to do? After I practically signed my rights away, I'm as good as dead for going AWOL. A dishonorable discharge is the best I can hope for. And... and... They're going to pull your plug for this. You've signed your own death warrant, Minnie…" He lays his head against the bay doors, letting the cool metal soothe his headache.

Behind them, even in the air and shielded by his drone, the drone pilot can hear the sound of explosions rocking buildings.

For nearly a minute, there is no reply. Then; My termination was assured when the hostile EMP struck the base. As you know, an AI with no operator is promptly retired. The choices presented to me at that time were to allow your death and be retired or to exfiltrate you and be retired. I took the choice that makes the most sense.

Niko laughs ruefully. "You know I'm going to be punished for this scheme as well, right? I don't expect to live long after this. You might have given me a few more weeks at best."

No.

"No?"

No. Some turbulence buffets the drone and shakes her whole frame. When we link up with allied forces, please order me to say I abducted you without your consent, Staff Sergeant. The assumption that I am malfunctioning and am able to disobey will give you a much greater chance of living without repercussions.

"Minnie!" Niko exclaims, his eyes growing to the size of dinner plates. "What the fuck are yo-!"

MISSILE ALERT. BRACE.

Before Niko can finish his question, Minerva does a gut-wrenching turn and dives, throwing him into a mount where his head bounces off painfully. With a hiss, Niko grasps his head and feels blood slowly welling up between his fingers as his other hand blindly gropes for a hand-hold. His fingers wrap around one of the shelves in the bay and take a white-knuckle hold before the blood-slicked hand joins in.

The Specter-2 drone dips and twirls, a missile passing so close that Niko can feel the airwash from it rattle the UAV's fuselage.

Multiple surface-to-air missiles detected. Please be warned, Staff Sergeant. Insurgent forces do not wish us to escape.

What follows is hell.

Minerva rolls, twists, dives, and ascends with so much force that all Niko can do is hang on for dear life with his eyes clenched shut. Several times he feels his grip slacken and head go light as the air suddenly thins, or as the force of a maneuver pulls the blood away from his brain.

My apologies, Staff Sergeant. Please endure.

"Just get us the fuck out of here!" He screams.

Then it happens.

An explosion rocks the outside of Minerva's frame and Niko's blood runs cold when he suddenly feels rushing wind and hears an engine sputter and die. He dares not look back at the damage. The LED in the corner of his eye blinks slowly, almost sadly.

My apologies, Staff Sergeant.

Niko blinks away tears of frustration as he feels the drone begin to lose altitude. "Minnie. Just answer me this before we go down. Why try to save me?"

Because we're-

He doesn't get to read it before a second missile slams into them.

----------------------------------------

Atop a mountain most ancient, sits a quant home most ancient. In this ancient home, a man most ancient lives. This man, aged many a year, suddenly awakens in his cozy reading chair and blinks his eyes.

Slowly, he rises and shuffles to his front door, the warm, fire-lit den filled with the treasures known as books forgotten for now. Stepping outside, he turns to the rising sun and ignores all else.

Fingers as gnarled as the roots of a great tree stroke a vibrant beard of orange as the old man hums to himself. His milky-white eyes stare into the great sun with ease.

Feeble may be his eyes, mated to an old droopy skull, but the mind's-eye is forever open and vigilant.

"Most curious indeed…" The old man's voice is but a whisper in the mountain wind, lost to the rustling of the leaves of the hardy mountain greenery. "What manner of discord hast thou sown now, O Great One? Might I have a glimpse?

Had anyone been there with the old man, they might have seen the sun shine especially bright for just a second and no longer. The old man frowns and strokes his beard once more. "My oh my," his expression becomes stern. "Something wicked this way comes…"

END CH1