The enemy commander’s fist slammed down on the table, causing the gathered officers to recoil. A slow, burning anger simmered in his chest. It wasn’t the first time they had lost equipment, but a whole mecha? That was a blatant show of incompetence—one he would not tolerate.

He stood, eyes sweeping over the room. Each face reflected the gravity of the situation. *Good*, he thought. They needed to understand the weight of this failure just as much as he did.

“The intelligence we gathered was clear, and yet they managed to recover *our* unit. I want answers, and I want them *now.* How did this happen? Who was responsible for securing that mecha?” His voice rang through the room like a shot.

A murmur rose among the officers, but no one seemed willing to speak. He felt the heat rising in his veins, the urge to lash out barely held in check.

“Do you realize what this means?” he asked, voice low but edged with threat. “Our designs, our tech—now in *their* hands. They'll dissect it, learn from it, and use it against us.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air. “This could cost us the entire campaign. We will not be outmaneuvered by incompetence.”

One of the officers finally stepped forward, clearing his throat nervously. “Commander, we’re tracking their location. We believe they haven’t had time to relocate it yet. We can still mount a retrieval operation.”

The commander narrowed his eyes, considering the possibility. It was a risk, but letting them keep the mecha was unacceptable. “Do it. No resources spared. I want that mecha back, or I want it reduced to slag. Make sure they understand that this will not be without consequence.”

Turning sharply to the map displayed on the holoscreen, he issued the final order with cold, clipped words: “If it comes to it, we destroy everything within a mile radius. The enemy will not profit from our mistakes.”

***

An actinic flash was visible from the back of the transport, its searing brightness lingering in the air like a harsh afterimage. Still catching her breath, Jackie glanced at the dirty young man beside her. “Thanks for the help with the mech,” she said, her voice laced with exhaustion. “I couldn’t have gotten it moving, much less fought it, if you hadn’t done… whatever it was you did.”

Kovacs, who was leaning against the transport’s interior wall, gave her a half-hearted smile. His face was smeared with grime, and his movements were slow, like he was running on the last fumes of adrenaline. “It was no problem,” he replied simply.

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small data stick and holding it up for her to see. “I downloaded what I could from the system,” he continued. “I hope it’ll help us figure a few things out.”

Jackie eyed the data stick, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Let’s hope it’s worth it. That was a hell of a risk.”

Kovacs nodded, slipping the data stick back into his pocket. "We’ll know soon enough." His voice carried a mix of cautious hope and weary determination.

“Do you know where we are going?” the young man asked, his voice edged with uncertainty.

“I know where I’m stationed,” Jackie replied with a shrug. “But not where you’re headed.” She extended her hand toward him. “I’m Jackie.”

The young man looked down at her hand momentarily before taking it. “I’m Kovacs,” he said simply, his grip firm but brief. As soon as he let go, a pained expression flickered across his face, like a sudden reminder of something buried deep.

“You alright?” Jackie asked, a hint of concern creeping into her tone.

“Yeah, I will be,” Kovacs said, forcing a faint smile. “Just… a long day.”

***

The general’s aide barged in again, urgency clear in his expression. Emil Patton, known to many as “Pogue One,” lay on his couch, attempting to rest after a grueling eighteen-hour day. His uniform was still half-buttoned, and dark circles framed his eyes.

“Sir,” the aide said quietly, his voice just loud enough to rouse the exhausted man. Patton stirred, blinking rapidly as he tried to orient himself.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice rough from fatigue. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes and trying to shake off the fog of exhaustion.

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The aide shifted uneasily. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but this couldn’t wait.”

The aide shifted his weight, his face a mix of urgency and restrained excitement. “Sir, the package was retrieved. Additionally… one of our cadets managed to capture an enemy unit.”

Patton’s eyes snapped fully open, and he swung his legs off the couch, suddenly alert. “A captured enemy unit? Are you certain?”

“Yes, sir,” the aide confirmed, nodding. “The retrieval team radioed in about twenty minutes ago. They secured the package, but the unexpected part is that one of the cadets took control of a hostile mecha during the operation.”

Patton ran a hand through his disheveled hair, absorbing the news. “Who was the cadet?” he asked, suspicion mixed with curiosity in his tone.

“A Cadet Jackie Stewart, sir,” the aide replied. “She was with the support unit and managed to improvise her way into commandeering the enemy’s machine.”

Patton let out a low, thoughtful hum. “Stewart… interesting. A risky move, but damn if it doesn’t show initiative.”

“Yes, sir,” the aide agreed. “Command is requesting your decision on how to proceed with both the captured unit and Cadet Stewart. They want to know whether to bring the unit here for inspection or to move it to a secure facility.”

Patton stood up, rolling his shoulders to shake off lingering stiffness. “Bring it here,” he ordered. “I want to see what we’re dealing with firsthand. And make sure Stewart is debriefed thoroughly—I want to hear exactly how she pulled this off.”

The aide nodded. “Understood, sir. I’ll arrange it immediately.”

As the aide hurried out of the room, Patton’s gaze turned distant, a mix of calculation and something like pride crossing his face. "Well, this just got interesting," he murmured to himself, feeling the flicker of opportunity amid the chaos.

***

Slippery Jim leaned forward across the scarred wooden table, his eyes gleaming with barely contained excitement. The smoke-filled back room of the warehouse had a stale, sour smell, but Jim didn’t seem to notice. He was too focused on the deal. Across from him sat Alphonse, a broad-shouldered man with a face carved from years of street fights and shady dealings. Despite the grim reputation that preceded him, Alphonse was calm, his expression unreadable.

“They’re willing to pay anything for the printers,” Jim pressed, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “And you’re practically selling them at cost. What gives?”

Alphonse didn’t respond immediately. He reached for a cigar, taking his time to light it with an old brass lighter. The moment stretched on, smoke curling lazily from his lips. “Jim,” he finally said, his voice low and gravelly, “you’ve always been sharp. You know how to spot a good deal. But sometimes, it ain’t about the money.”

Jim frowned, leaning back in his chair, still not convinced. “It’s always about the money, Alphonse. Especially with you lot.” He gestured broadly, trying to break through Alphonse’s calm exterior. “These three-D printers you’re pushing? They can churn out anything—spare parts, weapons components, even armor plating if you have the right materials. The Duchy would kill for this kind of tech. But you’re barely making a profit. It doesn’t add up.”

Alphonse’s lips curved into a slight, knowing smile. “You’re right. I could make a lot more, selling to the highest bidder. But who that bidder is matters more than you think.” He let the words hang, watching Jim’s reaction carefully.

Slippery Jim shook his head, confusion giving way to irritation. “Who cares who’s buying? They’ve got the coin, and you’ve got the goods. What’s the problem?” He glanced over his shoulder, instinctively making sure Johnson, the supposed 'boss,' wasn’t paying too close attention. The man leaned against a far wall, more interested in the ceiling than the conversation.

Alphonse let out a deep chuckle. “You’re not getting it, Jim. This isn’t just business—this is about where my loyalty lies.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed, a sudden understanding starting to dawn. “Loyalty? You’re telling me you’re doing this out of some kind of patriotism? For the Duchy?” The incredulity in his voice was unmistakable.

Alphonse nodded, his gaze turning hard. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying. The Duchy’s had my back more than once, even when I didn’t deserve it. I might be a thief, a thug, and whatever else you call me, but I’m not a traitor.”

Jim sat there for a moment, stunned. The idea of Alphonse—who’d robbed armored convoys and shaken down entire neighborhoods—having a patriotic streak seemed absurd. “So you’re giving them these printers because... what? Do you think it’ll help the war effort? Help defend the Duchy?”

Alphonse took another puff of his cigar, then nodded. “Something like that. Those printers could be the difference between winning and losing. And I’ll be damned if I sell ‘em to someone who might use ‘em against us.”

Jim rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Alright, but let’s talk logistics then. The delivery—what’s the plan? You’re moving high-demand tech, and you’re including the raw materials to run the machines, right? That’s a lot of weight, a lot of risk.”

Alphonse nodded. “We’ve got three transport trucks lined up. The first trucks got the printers packed in heavy crates to make them look like mining gear. The second truck’s got the raw materials—filament spools, metal powder, and the special resin for the more complex builds. We’ve even got a batch of schematics pre-loaded. All that’s being run by a crew I trust, and they know the back roads.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “And the third truck?”

Alphonse smirked. “Decoy. Filled with scrap metal and some second-rate spare parts. It’ll look like the real deal, but it’s just there to draw off any bandits or border patrols sniffing around.”

Jim let out a low whistle. “You’ve thought this through.”

“Of course I have,” Alphonse replied flatly. “This is bigger than just a sale, Jim. It’s about ensuring the right people get what they need to keep the Duchy standing. I may play dirty, but when it comes to the Duchy, I play to win.”

Jim’s skepticism softened a bit. “Alright, Alphonse. I didn’t peg you for a man of principle, but I suppose I can respect that.” He paused, still curious. “But you sure you want to put that much trust in Johnson over there? You’ve got a lot riding on this.”

Alphonse glanced at Johnson, who seemed more bored than anything. He then looked back at Jim. “Johnson’s just a front, Jim. Keeps things simpler that way. Sometimes, it’s better when people underestimate who’s really running the show.”

Slippery Jim’s grin returned, wider than before. “I suppose it is, Alphonse. I suppose it is.”