The situation on Prescott had reached a boiling point. After weeks of relentless attacks that left infrastructure crippled and morale frayed, the enemy’s identity finally came into focus. In the dimly lit command center, the air was thick with tension. CID operatives, militia leaders, and a handful of key strategists gathered around a central holographic table, its flickering display illuminating the weary, determined faces of those present.

Sophia Renard, the lead CID analyst, stood at the head of the table. Her sharp eyes scanned the room as she tapped a control panel with precise movements. The hologram shifted, displaying a cascade of files, intercepted communications, and surveillance images. At the center was the rotating insignia of a jagged black hawk, its predatory silhouette a fitting symbol for the chaos they’d endured.

“This is our enemy,” Renard began, her voice steady but laced with tension. “A rogue mercenary company, known as the Black Marauders. They were driven out of the core systems two years ago after stealing experimental technology, including a factory ship capable of manufacturing advanced combat units and bioderms.”

"The one we destroyed?" Emil asked for clarification. Renard nodded to her superior.

The room fell silent as the implications sank in. Jackie, standing near the edge of the table, clenched her fists, her jaw tight. “So, they’ve been using that factory ship to rebuild here,” she said, her voice heavy with restrained anger.

“Exactly,” Renard replied with a grim nod. “And based on the data we’ve intercepted, they’ve established a remnant base somewhere on the main continent. This base is producing combat units and bioderms to sustain their operations. The recent attacks were meant to soften us up, disrupt our infrastructure, and secure resources for their expansion.”

Jackie’s eyes narrowed as she processed the information. “A factory ship capable of manufacturing mechs and soldiers,” she muttered. “They don’t just want to destabilize Prescott—they want to turn it into their stronghold.”

General Patton, standing at the head of the table with his imposing presence, crossed his arms over his broad chest. The room seemed to hold its breath as he spoke. “Do we know who’s funding them?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

Renard hesitated for a moment, her fingers dancing across the holographic controls. A new image appeared—a sleek, stylized corporate insignia: the intertwined initials N and I against a pristine white background. It stood in stark contrast to the rugged, war-torn setting of the colony. The clean lines and polished edges of the logo seemed almost mocking.

“We’ve traced financial transactions, supply routes, and material shipments,” Renard said, her tone more cautious now. “All signs point to Navros Industries, a galactic corporation with deep pockets and a history of manipulating colonial economies for their own gain.”

A ripple of unease spread through the room. Someone at the back muttered, “Corporate bastards,” earning a few nods of agreement.

“They’re not just funding the Black Marauders,” Renard continued. “They’re orchestrating this entire operation. Their goal appears to be destabilizing Prescott to prevent the colony from harnessing the rare elements. If those resources fall into Prescott’s control, it could shift the balance of power in this sector—and threaten their monopoly on advanced materials.”

Patton’s expression darkened, the hologram’s glow casting sharp shadows on his face. “They’re playing with fire,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “And if we don’t stop them, Prescott will be the one to burn.”

Jackie couldn’t hold back her frustration. “So, we’re not just dealing with mercenaries—we’re up against a megacorporation pulling the strings from behind the scenes. How the hell are we supposed to fight that?”

Patton turned his steely gaze to her. “The same way we’ve fought everything else—with grit, strategy, and refusing to back down. This colony survived a war. It’ll survive this.”

Renard chimed in, her tone measured but firm. “We have one advantage: the Black Marauders are overextended. Their factory ship is their lifeline, and their ground operations depend on that remnant base. If we can locate and neutralize it, we cut off their ability to resupply.”

Jackie’s mind raced, the pieces falling into place. “And if we take out their base, we force them to retreat—or face us on our terms.”

“Exactly,” Renard said. “But there’s a catch. Navros isn’t going to let us do that without a fight. They’ve got too much riding on this. Expect reinforcements or worse—corporate mercenaries equipped with tech that makes these Marauders look like amateurs.”

Patton slammed a fist onto the table, the sound cutting through the tension. “Then we don’t wait for them to come to us. We hit them first. Hard.”

The room buzzed with murmurs of agreement, but Jackie wasn’t convinced. “It’s not just about the base,” she said, her voice quieter but resolute. “If Navros is involved, this isn’t just a battle—it’s a warning. If we win, they’ll send more. We need to think long-term.”

Patton nodded. “That’s why we’re going to take the fight to them. Show them Prescott isn’t just a colony—it’s a fortress. And fortresses don’t fall without a hell of a fight.”

The discussion turned to tactics, but Jackie’s mind lingered on the factory ship and its implications. The Black Marauders weren’t just scavengers—they were builders, creating something meant to last. And with Navros Industries bankrolling their efforts, this was more than a simple campaign of destabilization. It was a war for control of the future.

And Prescott, as always, was caught in the middle.

***

Back in his workshop, Kovacs sat alone, staring at the designs on his datapad. The schematics and materials he had brought back from the CID mission were a treasure trove of potential, but as the revelations about the Black Marauders and Navros Industries unfolded, an icy dread settled over him.

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The designs weren’t just tools for rebuilding—they could be weapons. If the enemy gained access to them, Prescott wouldn’t stand a chance.

He activated the system interface, his voice low and urgent. “System, show me all flagged entries relating to the CID mission’s data cache.”

The interface flickered to life, presenting a cascade of files. Kovacs scanned through them, his heart sinking as he realized how much of the data pertained to weaponized applications—high-efficiency reactors, compact shielding, advanced neural interfaces. Each design could be adapted to give the Black Marauders an insurmountable edge.

“Damn it,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “This wasn’t supposed to be a war chest.”

The system chimed softly. “Recommendation: Secure designs against unauthorized access. Encrypt critical files.”

“Do it,” Kovacs said immediately. “Lock everything down. No one gets access without my authorization.”

“Acknowledged. Encryption in progress.”

As the system worked, Kovacs leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jackie’s words, her determination to protect the colony. If the worst came to pass, he would need to be ready—not just with defensive measures, but with solutions to counter the enemy’s technology.

***

On the outskirts of the colony, Jackie’s squad was running drills. The Goblins moved in tight formation, their laser systems flashing as they simulated urban combat scenarios amid scattered debris. Jackie stood atop her mech, her boots steady on the Goblin’s armored shoulder, barking orders through the comms.

“Keep your movements tight!” she called. “They’re not going to give us open fields—they’ll force us into close quarters. Quinn, your flank is wide again! Tighten it up! Rina, shift two degrees left. Don’t let them pin you down.”

Her squad responded quickly, the Goblins’ servos whining as they adjusted positions. Each movement was precise, drilled into muscle memory after countless hours of practice. Still, Jackie’s sharp eyes caught every small mistake, her mind constantly evaluating and refining. The battlefield would demand nothing less than perfection.

Despite the rigorous training, Jackie’s thoughts were elsewhere. The idea of a remnant base, hidden and churning out combat units and bioderms, gnawed at her. If the enemy launched a full-scale assault, Prescott might not have the resources to hold them off. That weight, combined with her responsibilities to her squad, pressed heavily on her shoulders.

Her comm buzzed, snapping her focus back. She tapped her helmet. “Stewart here.”

The voice on the other end was firm and no-nonsense—Lieutenant Harlan, her direct superior. “Sergeant Stewart, orders just came down from Command. Intelligence suggests the enemy is staging near Dagger Ridge. General Patton has ordered the sector secured, and your squad is part of the defensive operation.”

Jackie straightened instinctively, her grip tightening on the comm controls. “Understood, sir. What’s our objective?”

“Recon and containment,” Harlan replied. “You’re to advance to Dagger Ridge, identify enemy positions, and dig in. If resistance is light, hold until reinforcements arrive. If it’s heavy, keep them pinned down. Command is counting on you to keep them from advancing.”

“Yes, sir,” Jackie said, her voice steady despite the churn in her stomach. The stakes were higher than ever.

“Coordinate with Captain Voss’s unit—they’re handling the eastern approach. Stay sharp, Stewart. Harlan out.”

The comm clicked off, leaving Jackie momentarily alone with her thoughts. She exhaled, forcing the unease into a corner of her mind. There wasn’t time for doubt.

She activated her squad comm channel. “Listen up!” she called, her voice cutting across the static. “We’ve got a mission. Command believes the enemy is staging near Dagger Ridge. They’re not getting any closer to the colony. We’re advancing in fifteen. Jace, double-check our munitions supply. Quinn, confirm route overlays and relay to the squad. Rina, you’re with me—priority checks on the Goblins’ servos and targeting systems.”

Her squad sprang into action, their movements brisk and disciplined. Jackie’s eyes swept over the staging area, watching as Jace counted ammo packs, Quinn brought up tactical data on his datapad, and Rina crouched beside a Goblin’s leg joint, ensuring the servos were functioning smoothly. Despite their efficiency, Jackie felt the weight of responsibility settle firmly on her shoulders.

She climbed into her own Goblin, the familiar hum of the machine coming to life beneath her. The cockpit was cramped but comforting in its precision. The HUD flared to life, bathing her in a soft green glow. Lines of tactical data streamed across the screen, overlaying the terrain ahead and highlighting key points of interest.

Her hands gripped the controls as she activated the comm. “Squad, check in.”

“Rina here. All systems green.”

“Jace, ready and locked.”

“Quinn, overlays confirmed. Route is clear.”

Jackie nodded, the reports steadying her nerves. “Good. Formation Delta. Keep tight and stay sharp. We don’t know what we’re walking into, but we’re going to make sure they regret picking a fight with Prescott.”

The Goblins moved into formation, their heavy footfalls echoing through the staging area as they began their march toward Dagger Ridge. Jackie’s HUD updated in real-time, marking potential chokepoints and areas of concern. The landscape ahead was rugged, dotted with rocky outcrops and thick clusters of trees—prime terrain for an ambush.

As the squad advanced, Jackie’s mind churned through possible scenarios. The Black Marauders were bold, but they weren’t reckless. If they were staging here, it meant they had resources and a plan. That thought sent a chill through her, but she shoved it aside. Her squad was ready, and she wouldn’t let them down.

“Stay focused,” she said over the comms, her voice firm. “No distractions. This isn’t just a mission—it’s our home we’re protecting.”

The squad’s affirmations crackled back, their resolve clear. Jackie settled deeper into her seat, her fingers steady on the controls. No matter the odds, she and her team would stand their ground.

As the Goblins neared the ridge, the distant sound of explosions reached her ears. The first shots had been fired, and the battle for Prescott was about to begin.

***

As Jackie’s unit prepared to deploy, Kovacs sat in the workshop, running diagnostics on his latest prototypes. The hum of machinery around him was almost comforting, but the tension in the air was palpable. Prescott was under siege, and while the frontline battles raged, Kovacs knew that his role was just as critical—perhaps even more so.

His comm terminal beeped, pulling his attention from the screen. He saw he had a message the codes indicating it was just downloaded from a courier. Ilara’s face appeared, her expression grave, and he immediately sat up straighter.

“Kovacs,” she began without preamble, “we’ve decrypted a portion of The Iron Tide’s communications.”

The name alone sent a chill down his spine. The Iron Tide. He wondered who they were. The name alone was ominous.

“They know about you,” Ilara replied, her tone sharp. “Your designs, your work—they’re aware of it all. More importantly, they’re planning to take it.”

Kovacs froze, his mind racing. “Damn it!”

Ilara’s eyes hardened. “I’m saying you’re not just a builder anymore. You’re a target.”

The weight of her words hit him like a hammer. Kovacs leaned back in his chair, staring at the schematics on his screen. The lines and calculations blurred together as the reality of the situation sank in. The Iron Tide wasn’t just attacking Prescott’s infrastructure—they were aiming to take control of its future. And his work, his designs, were at the center of it.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

Ilara’s face softened slightly, but her tone remained serious. “Be careful, Kovacs. The Iron Tide doesn’t leave loose ends. Whatever you’re planning, make sure it’s airtight.”

“If they want what I’ve built, they’ll have to come through me first.” The young man said.