A warning siren sounded at his words, driving everyone to the walls. Silently, pieces of the floor separated, revealing the arsenal beneath. One by one, the bulky, old-looking suits of power armor began to rise. Energy chords ran from the neck to the chest plates, protected by gorgets and composite armor plates at the joints. The armor itself was an obsolete Victorian Battle plate MK VII, the last power armor of its kind, made in times before the Iternian military had moved to power armor composed out of nanomachines.
Some of the trainees cringed at the sight of the armor, but Ratcatcher herself clapped her paws and rushed on all fours to the plate reserved for her. Hers! When they had visited Artificer, she had made a fool of herself, but then the group helped adjust both the helmet and the armor, all under Artificer’s calm observation. Half of the outdated machinery was ripped out of the helmet and replaced with brand new systems. The once scratched and dented armor plates were polished and restored to pristine condition.
Explorators were meant to adapt and be prepared for any situation. Normally, they would use Iternian equipment on any mission, but for this field exercise, the instructors had forbidden the trainees to use their combat weapons other than their powers or hands, and had them rely on a type of power armor they might encounter outside of Iterna.
Ratcatcher eagerly danced in front of the armor, inputting the access code into the gorget’s panel. With a hiss and white streams, the armor opened. The front chest plate fell forward, while the helmet rose and slid slightly behind. Without waiting a moment, the girl jumped, landing her arms and legs in the metal sleeves, feeling with the back of her neck how the gorget had separated, allowing the helmet to come down on her head.
Darkness had engulfed her, leaving only clicks and clacks as the armor began to encase her. The chest plate was returned to its original place, and meters of artificial muscle fibers bulged out, securing her limbs and giving her body new strength. One by one, the systems came online, first the health support systems, filling her nostrils with recycled air. Next, the HUD came to life, causing the helmet’s lenses to flash blue for a split second before readjusting and dimming the light. An image of other trainees donning their own armor appeared before Ratcatcher’s eyes. Her temples tingled as the armor’s neural signals began to connect with her brain, giving her a mental link to the armor.
A modern Iternian power armor could absorb all the moisture from its wearer’s body and recycle it into clean drinking water. Even excrements were recycled by the armor, granting the wearer a longer staying potential in hazardous areas. Victorian Battle plates lacked the sophistication of sweat harvesting, but they also collected bodily waste, though Ratcatcher prayed to the planet to spare her from ever having to drink her own recycled urine again. She had enough of that back at Scrapyard.
It was done. The armor hummed, a sound completely contained within the steel, allowing for a stealthy approach. Feeling strong, no, feeling herself almost divine, Ratcatcher took a thunderous first step forward, clenching and unclenching her fists. She bent over, touching her own toes, then leaned back, testing the elasticity. Wires and cords rustled against metal, stretching as the two and a half tons of power armor moved.
The armor’s spine, or rather a long and elastic metal rail that ran from the back of the user’s head all the way down, mimicking a real spine and connecting to it through a series of complex sensors, was completely redesigned. This type of power armor was made in days gone by, when crawling was the most complicated movement expected of a soldier. In battle, their wearers were meant to march forward to crush all resistance in their path.
But Ratcatcher and all the trainees here were capable of so much more. She, for example, could run on all fours in her full suit, but the stiff rail always caused pain all over her body afterwards. Others, Carlos for example, could do a full backflip in their metal suits. For this reason, the armors were customized, and now special fibers were pressed against Ratcatcher’s back, reading the signals from the spinal cord and adjusting the armor accordingly.
Next to her, Carlos also stepped forward, fully clad in his own armor. Elina joined him, looking exactly like them: steel, blue oculars, a golden emblem of Iterna, along with non-combat markings on her shoulders. Elina’s fingers were black, with round silver circles marking her fingertips. Made of a special alloy, this metal allowed the kinetic energy generated by her power to pass through, releasing the sound outside and preventing the girl’s power from destroying the power armor.
Elina helped Vasily put on his own power armor, also a custom-made model. A gauntlet with energy cutters, hacking tools, and tiny tendrils that could act as manipulators replaced half of his left arm. Then she came to Ratcatcher.
“Listen, I know that you are gunning after my position,” Elina said bluntly on a secure channel, her voice sounding nervous in Ratcatcher’s helmet. Her metal fingers ran across the edges of the girl’s armor, checking for anything out of the ordinary. “And…” Elina almost forced the next words, “I was weak back then. But I am not weak now. I can lead you all properly if you just trust me. Name your price for cooperation.”
“What? When have I ever thought you were weak?” Elina’s words surprised Ratcatcher. She is like the strongest member of their group! Assholishness aside, you could always count on her for help! School, training, everything! “Why would I want your job, anyway? You are doing perfectly!”
“Lie if you wish,” Elina replied, bending down to check her knees. “But Eliza... Please. Just this once, let us put everything behind us for the duration of our training. I can’t let any of you get hurt. I can’t let it happen ag… Not on my watch. Just this once, follow my lead, okay? You can stab me in the back later.”
“Whatever you say,” Ratcatcher replied in a dry tone, fed up with this nonsense. Usurp Elina’s position? What the hell was she talking about? She was practically cut off from the group’s activities; how could she take charge of anyone? More importantly, why would she want to?
The floor shook and the girls looked at Jumail, towering over his group as they prepared. The boy stepped from leg to leg, stretching his muscles with noisy thumbs. His human hands were pressed tightly against his body, hiding the exposed human flesh.
“Need help putting on your armor?” Ratcatcher asked, and the black eyes stared at her, filling her soul with fear against her will.
“Y-yeah,” Elina said, stepping uncertainly between the Malformed and Ratcatcher. Her words broke into squeals as she continued. “If that’s not an insult or anything, of course.”
“Everything’s fine!” Rowen laughed, patting Jumail’s leg. “Believe me, Jumail is already wearing armor tougher than ours.”
“It’s true,” the giant teenager replied. “I tested it against live ammunition and...”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“When did this happen?” Torosian hissed, appearing beside his trainees.
A black power armor covered the headmaster’s body. Lean and thin, its pitch-black surface reflected no light. Even his bucket helmet had no lenses, looking at the towering Malformed through a smooth surface. Not a single cable spoiled the elegant appearance, nor did his armor expose any rubber joints.
“Instructor,” Edward and Esmeralda said in unison, falling silent as the helmet looked at them. Then the Headmaster took it off, looking at his group.
“I have not given any of you access to firearms,” Torosian continued. “Trainee. I asked you a question. Where and how did you come under fire?”
Another siren prevented the boy from answering as the Titans began to descend. They flew at an altitude of fifty meters. For this massive troop carrier, it was almost kissing the ground. The trainees rushed to the walls, jumping into secured harnesses under the supervision of instructors. The holographic displays disappeared, leaving only Jumail and the instructors.
And not a moment too soon, the Titans shut down their engines and plunged to the ground. Their massive hulks left a trail of destruction in the sand, tearing chunks of rock out of the ground and splattering them against the steel. A few Insectoids hiding in the area were transformed into a sickly mist that vanished in the wind. Inside the compartment, the people felt only the barest tremors.
The ships stopped about four kilometers from the complex and unleashed drones. Small drones flew up, creating a bubble of personal shields around them as they began to survey the sites. Two massive landing ramps came down with apocalyptic noises, allowing soldiers to charge down and spread out to form a secure perimeter. Upon encountering the Reclaimers, the two sides exchanged IDs, and the last Titan finally opened their bellies, inviting outsiders inside.
The portal leading outside showed the wrath of nature, but a small force field activated by the pilots kept the compartments safe from the sand while still allowing humans to enter.
“Greetings to our Iternian guests!” A booming voice echoed from the walls of the compartment when a man in archaic power armor stepped inside. “I am Captain Osero! Nice to meet you all, and welcome to the Ravaged Lands!”
The man wore the markings of a captain over his hissing and noisy power armor. On his shoulders was a black leather cloak, tattered from the collision with rocks and further damaged by the sandstorm wind. Two crimson lenses blinked and darkened while his round helmet split in two, revealing pale skin underneath and bright, shining eyes that gazed merrily at the assembled trainees. The Reclaimer’s face was a tapestry of poorly healed bones and scars. His nose was tilted far to the left, and a clump of scar tissue almost completely covered one of his eyes. An ugly scar ran from the neck of his armor to his lower jaw, and a pulsating fibrous muscle served as the man’s right sternocleidomastoid. Most of his brown hair had been shaved, leaving only a few long strands on his scalp. Out of respect, neither the man nor his guards carried weapons.
“Are you and Headmaster Torosian from the same city?” Ratcatcher blabbered before she realized how stupid she sounded.
Oh sure, two people with unique and exquisite-looking skin. Of course, they are from the same city. There’s no way there could be whole countries filled with different people, right? Dumbass. She wanted to tear her hair out of shame, feeling Elina’s lenses trying to dig a hole in her back.
“Brothers, actually!” The captain laughed and walked over to Torosian. “It’s been a long time, traitor,” Osero said, extending his hand.
“Not long enough,” the headmaster replied icily, shaking his hand.
“Traitor? What?” Vasily blinked.
“Long story, kids.” Osero waved away the question.
“We’re good listeners,” Carlos said quickly, biting his tongue after a look from the instructor.
“I have no doubt. Suffice it to say, Torosian threw his coin with Iterna, while I stuck my tokens with our homeland. We tried to kill each other, what, five times?” The captain looked at the headmaster.
“Four times.” Torosian pressed his lips into a tight line. “The first time was not consensual. I stabbed you in the heart when you tried to talk me out of it.”
“Eh, I still count it as five, since I shot you in the back afterwards.”
“This is terrible!” Ratcatcher gasped. Augustus looked at her, but she went on. “You are family! No matter what path you choose, family members should always stay friends! And never hurt each other.”
“Wise words, girlie, but what siblings don’t try to beat the shit out of each other? Our feud just went a little too far.” Osero hid a laugh in his fist, pretending to cough. “But I get your point. And we’re trying, so don’t worry. Whatever insectoid crept between me and Osero, you leave it to us to find out. Our war is over, unfortunately there was no winner, and hopefully youth like you like you will never have to try to fall asleep in the trenches while the artillery plays orchestra...”
Torosian coughed.
“Right!” Osero clapped his hands. “In the name of His Excellency the Dynast and the illustrious Commander Wyrm Lord, I leave the facility in your care. Take care of the old lady. Warlord Ashbringer is in charge of the perimeter...”
“Ashbringer?” Torosian interrupted his brother. “We were told that Warlord Dragena would be in charge.”
“She ended up being drafted by Alpha to guard the refugee camp. We have a crisis on our hands because of the Chosen Prince invasion.” Osero glanced at the headmaster. “Take it and shut up, or leave. Warlord Ashbringer is a professional, and I personally am willing to trust her with my life.” He stopped in front of Jumail and looked into the compound’s eyes. “Wow, you are big for a fifteen-year-old. What about human flesh? Are my soldiers or your comrades in danger?”
“Captain!” Augustus snapped, crossing the distance between the two men in a single bound. “You will retract your statement immediately! None of our trainees...”
“I can control it, sir,” Jumail said miserably. “I’d rather die than eat it again.”
“Then we are good!” Osero shook Jumail’s leg and walked toward the exit, ignoring Augustus.
The instructor looked at the captain for a few long moments, but Osero merely crossed his arms and waited patiently near the portal, never once taking his eyes off Torosian. Augustus and Torosian had the other instructors gather on the landing ramp and addressed the trainees.
Where the other instructors preferred long-range weapons, Augustus himself had only two handguns under his armpits. His main weapons were four long sabers, two at his hips and two at the back. The trainees stood at attention, awaiting the final words and hearing the quiet updates of their HUDs as the initial approach routes and entry points were sent to the team leaders.
“Remember the Week of Misery and complete the task.” Augustus said, joining the other instructors.
“Trainees. Your legend for today’s mission is that you are being hired by the Reclamation Army for a simple retrieval job in a joint cooperation between our countries,” Torosian began, and Ratcatcher saw a flame flashing in the captain’s eye. “I have full confidence in your abilities...”
A stomp interrupted him. Osero had closed in on his brother and knocked the larger man aside with a careless tackle, then locked his arms behind his back and surveyed the trainees before beginning to shout at the top of his lungs:
“All right, maggots, listen up! The great Reclamation Army had located an abandoned Old World underground complex four klicks to the south! Our scout parties had pinpointed the locations of some artifacts, but were unable to retrieve them due to the unexpected resistance of the local machinery. A good laugh helps you live longer, so we hired your sorry asses to do the scavenging for us! You have six hours before sunset, so move your legs unless you want to walk all the way back to Iterna on your two or more stumps.”
“What kind of dangers can we expect, sir?” Vasily asked, catching up with the game.
“A soothing breeze, floating rocks, interruption of communications, and other amenities of a sandstorm. So unless you want a face-lift, I suggest you keep your helmets on. As for the rest, no idea; it is your job to find out and deal with it! If your HUD says you’re dead, you’re out, no ifs, no buts, weaklings. The eggheads have declared this place to be of some historical value, so any unnecessary act of vandalism and I’ll kick you to the gallows, along with billing Iterna for any damages! That is all.” He looked at the trainees, scowled, and roared. “Do you need a special invitation?! Why are you still here? The clock is ticking; bring me the goods, critters!”
“Yes, sir!” the trainees replied, hurrying past him to the landing pad and into the sandstorm.