Vosjlaw waited, as he had done for the last six days. He and his men were growing exceedingly tired of it, but discipline held. Nobody knew they were here. Not the local inhabitants, not other allied forces, not their own support chains and certainly not the Commander. And, so he hoped, neither would the Imperials. Had he been a staff officer, or one who cared for petty politics, he would never have tried it. He grinned at the thought. Perhaps that was exactly why he believed it would work. Failure would make a fool out of him, but that didn't bother him in the slightest. For one, if he failed his men would get out unscathed, only a few feathers ruffled. For another, he had full confidence that they wouldn't fail. The enemy had one flaw, if you could call it that. They were bloody perfect. They made no mistakes, struck without the slightest error. Over and over they snuck in unnoticed, hit their target and exfiltrated immediately from the area of operations using the shortest, most efficient route.

He knew better than to trust Grevorich' abilities to actually plug the intelligence leaks. The man himself was inspired, he'd grant him that much, but you couldn't quiet down an entire planet. Too many people were terrified. Too many people could be bribed or blackmailed. And far too many people bought into the ridiculous Imperial propaganda that kept making the rounds, with an empathic, scrambled voice pleading the Novicans to lay down their arms, to halt their unprovoked attacks on Imperial space. Nobody in their right mind would have bought into it, but people had a tendency to see the things they wanted to see. And after they began airing the footage of that poor woman, few folks had been left in a right state of mind. Disruptor blades. Disgusting weapons. Not that he feared them, personally. Nor did any of his men. It was just one weapon out of many. In the hands of professionals it was just as deadly as everything else.

A brief flash of light erupted in the distance and for a second the entire district was fully illuminated as if it were daylight. Then the light faded, leaving behind nothing but darkness. The lamps didn't turn on again and the neon signs sputtered briefly before they too succumbed to the all-engulfing black of night. Behind his helmet Vosjlaw grinned. Finally they'd struck here. He straightened up slightly and checked his helmet feed. His men were readying themselves. No words were exchanged. The plan had been laid out a week ago and they all knew what was at stake. Soon coms would go offline as the jamming reached their area, but that was alright. They had used the ancient power cables that still dotted this district to camouflage their own wires. They still had communications. They even had a direct line to a coms station that was out of the combat zone. Everything was set. The spider was ready and hungry, and the web had just twitched.

All around the district people began to move. The people that lived here began to shout, asking for clarification, hoping it would be just an accident. Others, too jaded by the fear, just shouted in anger. Some desperately began to move furniture to their front doors, closed the shutters on their windows and hid as far away from outside walls as possible. Then there were the shouts of patrols, urging the few civilians on the street to go inside. Soldiers ran to take up positions. The radio frequencies burst open into a flurry of activity as dozens of commanders demanded information and status updates and patrol leaders, NCOs and even police officers tried to oblige. Vosjlaw tuned it all out and waited.

Flashes of green light echoed through the abandoned streets and died down just as quickly as they had appeared. Cindy kept on running forward even as the bodies of the patrol were still falling down. She and the Genesis had worked out a system. She would run to their goal, in a straight line, while they would take care of everything else. It was a compromise after Dreamer had begun to argue against her presence, as far as any Genesis could argue. He had, very politely, pointed out that she was exhausted and that he could spare a man to guard her if she deemed it necessary. He had mentioned it thrice. It was equal to Verloff's nagging at her for a week to drop out of this operation. Just like then, she hadn't given in this time either. And so here she was again, thoroughly exhausted, but still tagging along. She just focused on moving one foot in front of the other, while the supersoldiers danced around her from cover to cover.

She rounded a corner, following the nav points set in her HUD. They were in the clear now. No further resistance was scheduled in their area, unless a patrol went off their planned routes. She was looking forward to reaching their next hide-out. It would be in a relatively luxurious area. She'd be able to access running water! A shower, even a cold one, was one hell of a motivator. Her own smell was somehow beginning to seep through her suit's air filters. It was amazing how simple things now held such mouth-watering promise to her. Food. An hour of sleep. The chance to go on an actual toilet rather than use the armour's internal waste filtration system.

Then her entire HUD exploded in a myriad of warnings. A loud, wailing siren pounded her ears as red, strobing light burned her retinas. The world exploded in a myriad of colours, lances of pain seared her to her very core and something massive collided with her, upgrading the pain to excruciating as her life flashed before her eyes, before darkness took her.

As soon as the first muzzle flash lit up the dark alley the Genesis began to move. Every single one of them simultaneously sent out the alarm signals for hostile attack and by the time the first bullets impacted their shields they had raised their own repulsor carbine and were firing back. All around them more hostiles popped up on the scanners and grenades rained down on them. Dreamer was disturbed. He hadn't seen them. Hadn't expected them. They had been perfectly motionless, invisible to his sensors, up to the point they opened fire on him and his unit. He didn't hesitate and gave the fall back order. This was an ambush. And given the amount of fire that the enemy was pouring out, they were prepared. His higher reasoning clicked off as he let himself slide into the role of a soldier rather than an officer. His own carbine came up and barked. His aim was thrown off as several bursts struck his shield and knocked him off balance. His Muninn blinked a message, confirming his suspicions. Armour piercing ammunition, high calibre. Shields would hold until retreat. Unit safe. Not Admiral. No shields. Weakest link. Vulnerable to grenades! He turned around, still in the same motion, and sprinted towards the Admiral. The grenades went off. Shockwaves ran over his team, threw them further off balance. Shrapnel collided with shields. Hit the Admiral. Plates weakened by the shockwave cracked under the kinetic energy. Warning lights blinked and confirmed what his eyes saw. She was wounded. An off centre burst struck her shoulder plate and ricocheted off. More bursts would come. He tackled her, his larger bulk shielding her. His action drew attention to himself and more hostiles fired on him. The impacts rained down on his back, but he didn't slow down. He let his carbine drop, trusting the magnetic rails to clip it to his leg, and wrapped the smaller Admiral in his arms. He didn't stop to pick her up, instead tackling her straight off her feet. Looked around. Retreat inside a house? Dangerous. Could be trapped. Risk too high. Back the way they came. Run. Exceed enemy expectations. Fight their way out if necessary. Go!

All around him his fellow soldiers were doing the same. They were running backwards, withstanding the withering salvos coming from all around them. Shields crackled with energy as they fought to withstand the kinetic impact and disruptor shots warred with muzzle flashes for illuminatory supremacy. The superhumans struggled to maintain their accuracy, the never-ending rain of impacts throwing their aim off. Concrete walls cracked, windows disintegrated in a thousand shards, shutters were shattered, but it did little to deter the hostiles, who kept moving around, exchanging one place of cover for another. Then the heavy weapons came into play and, without requiring a command, the Genesis soldiers ceased their return fire, turned around, and ran. It wasn't quite enough. Shields began to wink out and bullets met armour directly. The thickened layers weathered the impacts, but here and there a shot got through.

Then Stalker suddenly popped into view, carbine held high. His tendency to lurk in the rear now proving to be a major boon. He ignored the few bursts that came his way and sighted down his visor, before pulling the trigger.

Vosjlaw witnessed the impossible. A ninth soldier popped up and shot the fucking missile out of the sky. He would never have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes and even now he doubted them. The shockwave was dangerously close to his position and he duck for cover as the shockwave washed over him. What few windows remained were blown clean out of their frames. His head was rattled inside of his helmet, but he forced himself up and continued firing at the retreating Imperials. His men kept firing as well, a full platoon against not even ten hostiles, yet somehow they sidestepped most bursts and returned fire with frightening accuracy, forcing his men to take cover or risk turning into paste. The newcomer joined them in falling back, carbine firing non-stop until he cleared the corner two hundred metres back. Silence returned to the alleyway, only broken by bits of debris hitting the ground. It was a silence of disbelief and shock.

Vosjlaw stood up and surveyed the carnage. His mind raced even as he began barking out orders. He had thought them to be augmented before, but this was something fully different. As soon as his men had cleared their cover, the Imperials had begun to react. Inhuman reflexes. Shields. Weapons that had enough kickback to shatter ribs. The ability to somehow accurately shoot a missile out of the sky. These guys weren't suicide commandos. They were something new. Something positively superhuman. "Targets have disengaged, all units are to tighten the net. Do not let them escape. One of them is wounded. Be warned, they have shields and superior combat abilities."

"Seven heavily wounded, sir. Jervan is dead," his sergeant reported. "Shall we pursue?"

"Aye," growled Vosjlaw. "We will. As soon as the grunts lock this area down." He reset his coms and waited for the static to clear. The bastards already were far enough out for the jamming to have dispersed. "Grevorich, this is Vosjlaw," he began, bypassing layers of encryption with some very illegal modifications. "I engaged the Imperials, they're retreating. Send all armour to my location. We won't get a second shot at them."

"Captain? How the hell did—"

"NOW!" he roared, putting every ounce of urgency into his voice.

Silence reigned for a brief moment, before an answer finally came. "Understood."

The coms clicked out and Vosjlaw gritted his teeth. He took another check of his team. Forty men had engaged. Seven of them had mangled limbs where they had been hit. Jevran had taken a glancing hit to the helmet. His armour seals had broken and the impact had snapped his neck. Poor sod. At least it had been quick. His eyes took in the scene below. Everything was either heavily damaged or shredded. Yet somehow the Imps had survived. Shields, he numbly thought. It was a pipe dream of every scientist who designed power armour, and of all those who wore it, but it simply wasn't feasible. It would make the suit too heavy, too large, too bulky. Clearly the Imperials had found a workaround. Or...

He paused as he considered the alternative. Or maybe they haven't found a workaround. Maybe it's not the suit that's different. Maybe it's the wearer. He ran the calculations in his head. He wasn't officially an engineer, didn't have any degrees or anything similar, but he was a qualified suit technician. He recalled metal densities, power demands, safe levels of insulation and crunched all the numbers into an average. Images of the damaged city hall flashed through his head. "Shit," was all he could say.

He'd need a back up plan. But that would come later, for now he had to finish this round. And he hadn't failed to notice that one of them was wearing a different type of power armour. He had recognised it, too. It had no markings. None. That meant Naval Intelligence. Bastard was likely the one who was responsible for half the shit going down in their systems. That meant he had a priority target. One that was already wounded. Pray tell the blood loss would get the psychopath.

The roar of engines broke up his thoughts as a gunship flew through the street, before quickly disappearing in the same direction the Imps had fled to. More soldiers flooded into the area and he gave his unit the order to move out. They had super-soldiers to kill.

Cindy idly wondered if she'd died and if the pain she was feeling was her penance for all the crimes she committed during life. Not that it was likely. She didn't believe in the afterlife. If you died, then that was it. So she was pretty sure she was still alive. As more sounds began to filter in and her mind regained enough function to recognise them, she realised she was still very much alive. For now. Pain killers and synthetic blood were pumped into her system like nobody's business. She was hurting all over, but it felt distant. Clouds were in her mind and everything seemed so far off, as if she was witnessing everything through a thick layer of fog. Her HUD was a lot clearer. Her left arm was minced meat and that side of her body was only marginally better. She needed treatment, and quickly so. Which made her wonder; why hadn't Dreamer or another Genesis given her first aid yet? A tourniquet wouldn't be pleasant, but she'd take it over bleeding out. She forced her eyes to look further and discovered that she was being held in his arms. Princess carried, at that. Very, very strange. She tried to make her mind think faster, to become less sluggish. It didn't quite work.

Then she heard a heavy burst slam into her Prince Charming and heard his servos whir in protest as the impact nearly forced him to the ground. She tried to peek around him, but discovered that his larger frame covered her completely. Well that answers one question, her mind realised. She tried to shake her head, regain some clarity, but her body wasn't responding. That was bad. She didn't know why it was bad, but she knew it... Oh right. Blood loss. Body becoming irresponsive. That wasn't good.

She vaguely noticed gravity shifting several times, not lucid enough to recognise it as sharp manoeuvring on Dreamer's part, nor was she able to see the spots he vacated get vaporised by high calibre bursts. She was vaguely aware of shapes dancing around in her vision, but couldn't make them out clearly. She somehow knew it was the rest of the unit opening fire on the gunship in a desperate attempt to force it to back off. They had drilled this in training. She had laughed at it back then. She wasn't laughing now. Well, she wasn't doing anything now.

Suddenly she became aware of one of the views in her shared HUD. The scenery kept changing so quickly that she couldn't even begin to try and make out what she was looking at. He wasn't in the street. That much she could grasp.

X-12845627 raced up the stairs and through the building. He had no access to blueprints of this place, so he was improvising. He had a clear goal in mind and nothing would stand in between. He knew his idea was unconventional, but unconventional tactics often worked. He had discovered that on Lufer. You could not prepare against unexpected unknowns. He glanced at his HUD one final time, making sure that the enemy was in the right position, then pumped his legs as hard as he could and set off in one final sprint, the thick wall fast approaching...

Nightmare let her finger slip out of the trigger, ending the stream of shots that bounced off the gunship's thick armour. It was up too high and their carbines were calibrated for close quarters. The impacts had left their dents, but they failed to penetrate the armour and the return fire was forcing them to seek cover. Even now Dreamer was bleeding out of several wounds, part of his rear armour plates having shattered under the heavy impacts. They had lacked the heavy weapons needed to bring down the flying, armoured behemoth. No missile launchers, grenades would be useless and they didn't have else that could penetrate the thick plates. Nothing, except...

The wall exploded outwards and X-12845627 came flying out of the apartment. He sailed through the air for a brief moment, with all the grace of an overweight brick, and slammed into the gunship, his own mass forcing it slightly aside. Her eyes widened as she watched him slide off. His hand desperately reached out for a handhold, but he failed. Then his fall suddenly seemed to come to a halt, somewhat, as his magnetic boots managed to grab hold of the gunship. The sudden addition of so much weight shattered the ship's balance as the automated gyro-systems desperately struggled to maintain their balance, before ship and soldier crashed into the nearby apartment. Not enough to kill the ship and, going by the orange vital signs, not enough to kill her brother either.

She saw Stalker gesture at her and flashed back a signal of her own. She'd cover them as they ran after Dreamer, and would recover 627. Either that, or she'd destroy his equipment.

Damaged. Concussion, most likely. His head was ringing. Reinforced concrete didn't break like normal concrete. Bars had bent, but not broken, but he hadn't gotten stuck in them. He was still clinging to the gunship as it tore itself loose from the building. His weapon was broken, but that was acceptable. The pilot was struggling to keep the gunship under control. Was slowly succeeding. Unacceptable. He swung back, gathered momentum, then threw himself forward. His hand reached the canopy and his fingers dug into the dents in the metal for a hold. It squeaked, then screeched, then buckled. He had his hold. He began to move, unsealed one boot, moved it, then resealed it. Towards the canopy. One step at a time. The pilot saw him coming and steered the ship back into the wall. The collision hurt. The impact drove the air out of his lungs and his armour whined in protest, but he refused to let go. He began to pull, even as the gunship slowly ground him down. The metal plate creaked ominously in protest, before suddenly snapping loose. The thick cover tumbled down to the street below. Inside the cockpit the pilot blanched. 627 pulled his hand back as much as he could, which was very little, before punching again. This time his fist struck the sensitive parts and he could make out new alarm systems sparking to life. Alarms that weren't part of his own armour. The pressure loosened and the ship began to veer away from the wall. His lungs hurt as they gasped for air, but his mind didn't notice. He pulled back his hand, free from any restrictions, and punched it again. This time it sunk deeply into the innards of the ship and smoke began to belch out of the engine. Good. He readied himself for another punch when a strained sigh drew his attention.

He looked up in time to see the canopy slide open, the pilot leaning out of it, pistol in hand. The man's eyes were wide with fear, but still clear, and he held on tightly to the safety rail. None of which availed him any when 627 suddenly lurched up and grabbed the man, before tearing him out of the cockpit. He ignored the screaming man as he fell to his death, and continued his climb. His ribs hurt, his right leg struggled to move, but he forced himself up and into the cockpit. As soon as he sat down, the chair groaned and a new alarm popped up, informing him that the ejection seat had malfunctioned. He ignored the blaring alarms as well as the rapidly encroaching ground, and waited for his Muninn to translate all the buttons to something he understood. Either he would make it, or he'd crash. Either way the gunship would be eliminated.

Nightmare saw how the gunship began to belch flames from its exhaust pipes, before slowing its descent. It finally came to a halt a scant few metres from the ground. Inside the broken canopy she saw her brother motioning he got it under control. She flashed him an affirmative, then turned around to run after the others. His vital signs were bordering the red, but he would have to manage. Now that they had air support of their own, she could feel the scales of battle begin a slow tilt.

She turned around and began setting nav points. She had studied the map of the district, her eidetic memory allowing her to recall it with perfect clarity, but the constraints of combat would take their toll. It was far more practical to let the lights guide her. Especially when things were about to get hectic. And she required things to get very hectic. Most of her squad was wounded. Dreamer and 627 were nursing the worst injuries, aside the Admiral, who was fully disabled. The Admiral being heavily wounded meant one of her brothers would have to take care of her. The enemy was professional, capable and had sprung a successful ambush. They had been predicted. The logical assumption was that they were surrounded. More gunships would be on the way. Armour as well. The perimeter would not be easily breached. No... She needed a distraction. A big one. It was time for her to put her newfound knowledge to full use. And given that she was the least wounded of them all...

Sprinting at a breakneck pace she launched herself through a window. The closed shutters proved no obstacle to her and she crashed through them. The inhabitants screamed as she finished her roll and nimbly got back onto her feet. She stretched her left arm, holding her carbine with her right, and her disruptor blade flashed into existence.

She crashed out another window a moment later, leaving screams behind that were far more terrifying than those she had caused upon entry. They wouldn't last long, she knew, even as she disappeared into the shadows, but that was alright. There were many, many more targets out here.

Vosjlaw felt his heart skip a beat as another series of screams echoed into the night, before dying out. Far, far too slowly. A brief wind of unease rippled across his unit and he could not blame them. He had heard countless screams of death and despair, of people giving voice to horrible injuries. He'd seen men get riddled with bullets and howl in pain as they fought to stay alive just a bit longer. He witnessed men losing limbs to explosives and watched them scream out as life slowly left them. He had seen a close friend burn alive in a trap and heard his infernal screams, even as the air he breathed in caught fire and seared his lungs.

None of it compared to this. This was the sound of pain so excruciating the brain couldn't fully translate it. A weapon so horrible that it unmade life itself. It was utterly inhuman.

As inhuman as the bastard wielding it, he grimly thought. He and his men were giving chase as best they could, accompanied by two heavy APCs and a gunship overhead. They had more missile launchers with them as well, and another two squads had joined him to make up for his earlier losses. Yet despite his reinforcements, despite the urgency with which they gave chase, despite the path of wanton destruction the bastards left in their wake, despite the wounds he had inflicted on them, they were barely gaining ground, if even that.

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He wasn't alone in his hunt. All around him thousands of soldiers were moving up, a massive, solid wall of flesh and blood that scoured everything like a very picky cloud of locusts. They had originally set off in high spirits, the chance for vengeance on the elusive enemy lending them courage beyond their abilities. It had lit a fire in their hearts, one Vosjlaw was struggling to temper. The line had to be held at all costs. Even now that their spirits had been dampened by the never-ending screams, he kept his voice collected and calm, drawing upon years of experience as a frontline commander to keep them firmly under his control. A word of encouragement here, a promise of revenge there, and they'd follow him into hell.

Which is exactly what he expected to walk in to. He was ready for it, as much as any man could be. They were the most dangerous prey he had ever hunted and the massive difference in numbers did little to reassure him. Imperials were horrifyingly effective soldiers to begin with, but at least they were still vulnerable to conventional tactics These... things, were several magnitudes worse. His analysis on them was growing, though, and with every trick they played, his understanding increased. Their super-human strength and reflexes made them monsters in combat. Their inhuman endurance made them outperform his own men in every regard. Their total mass no doubt exceeded the triple digits, which opened up a whole new avenue of attacks. Impossibly resilient, encased in equipment no other man could hope to even lift, equipment and training to match. And, he grimly thought as another scream echoed through the destroyed district, no remorse.

They weren't cutting people up for fun. The Empire, no matter what propaganda said, wasn't evil in that sense of the word. They just held no morals. Eschewed no tactic. Obeyed no laws. It was a horrible, disgusting way to wage war where innocents were treated the same and the worst of it all was that there was very little that could be done to counter it. Even now the screams were devouring the morale of his forces. His own men were holding up well, discipline and experience superseding the horror. The normal soldiers? They were scared out of their wits. They were still tagging along, but he doubted their usefulness.

He just hoped that the armoured regiments Grevorich had called in would arrive in time. The local forces didn't have many, and if the bastards got out of the encirclement, he wouldn't have another chance. He had learnt a lot from them. They definitely had done the same.

Nightmare circled around, swiftly killing her foes rather than drawing out their final screams. She had caused enough of an upset. The enemy lines were falling apart around her. The patrols had begun to pool together into larger clumps, out of fear. She took satisfaction from seeing them act like that. She was still unused to these new tactics, hadn't gotten them down to perfection yet, but they were incredibly efficient. The last group she had engaged had fallen apart even before she had claimed her first victim. What few shots had been fired hadn't come close to her. It had been a total pandemonium and thirty-four soldiers had died without any of them even putting up a fight.

The darkness somehow enhanced the fear factor. That she could somewhat understand. The constant flickering of the shadows as their torchlights darted from spot to spot, the limited visuals, the lack of proper night-vision. It made for a difficult environment to fight in. Her eyes picked up a lot more and her equipment reduced the strains of night even further, but even so still saw better during the day. Not by much, but enough to make a difference. It was why she stuck to the shadows and didn't use her carbine much. The un-light of a disruptor blade did not provide any real illumination. Every time she struck it was from within the darkness. A sudden, unexpected charge from an obscure angle, moving in between their beams, striking before they could move. Maximise the fear she could inflict. Frighten them further. Paralyse them. And then... Slaughter.

She reminded herself to let a few of them live next time. Survivors somehow succeeded in spreading the panic to a greater degree than wholesale slaughter could. She understood neither, but she knew that it was true. Her own lack of understanding did not diminish the effect of the tactic.

She rounded a corner and screeched to a halt, before reverting her course. Her carbine came up and she opened up on full auto, not caring for the risk of overheating such a move held. It was better than letting the autocannon have a clear shot at her.

In the two full seconds the manoeuvre took, Nightmare managed to pour close to twenty decently aimed shots towards the vehicle, who was only just now opening fire. The street disintegrated before her, massive bullets tearing apart the concrete and kicking up dust. She kept running and it turned out to be a wise decision as the cannon simply swivelled and began perforating the building she was using as cover. Her mind raced even as her legs did the same. She had expected her brothers to be here. Had something happened to them? Her Muninn blared alarmingly as the hail of bullets neared her, outpacing her. She needed to change tactics and so she did, vaulting upwards and using her armoured gauntlet she broke the wall to gain handholds. The concrete crumbled under her weight and for a moment a pang of concern flashed through her mind as she saw the all-consuming storm pass by underneath her. If she fell now, she would die.

X-12845627 continued his flight path, leaving another burning vehicle behind. It was the fourth one he had encountered so far and he was nearly out of ammunition. So far he had been fortunate and only encountered ground vehicles. Given the state his commandeered gunship was in, encountering another airborne foe would see him downed in a heartbeat. Even the APCs posed a major threat, as their calibre superseded his own. Still, they were often slow to notice him, and the chaotic situation meant few were aware that he was their enemy. And they were hunting for his brothers, not keeping their turrets pointed at the sky.

He slowed down, resuming what was a normal speed for a slow going patrol. His Muninn kept on sending out pings, but no response came. He didn't know where his team was and the lack of knowledge annoyed him. They were split up, wounded and vulnerable. He knew X-12845623, named Nightmare now, was near. The screams were her work. He was glad for them, as they were his sole orientation point. Enemies did not look at him strangely if he flew over. Many even waved at him as they cautiously advanced. He held off from killing them. He had to save his ammunition and with his own carbine broken, he had little options for combat left.

"All units," came a sudden voice over the radio. "This is delta six two seven, engaged hostiles on my location. Target suspected down, unconfirmed, requesting back up, over."

His body exploded in a thousand tiny spasms, every single one of them sending a command to his Muninn. The supercomputer began to dig through the static, cleaned up the transmission and gave him a clear location, even before the response came in.

"Acknowledge delta six two seven, alpha three five two, moving on your position. Hold. Out."

That wasn't good. He had deduced that alpha was the unit that had ambushed them. And if the delta group had engaged with one of his brothers and lived, it meant that they had a lot of firepower at their disposal. He opened his map and checked their position. His hands tightened slightly on the controls, his body urging him to fight. It was at the edge of their planned tertiary escape route, the one they were all heading towards. Dreamer had deemed the secondary one too risky to approach, a sentiment he personally shared. One ambush had been bad enough. Too many hits had been taken. They wouldn't survive another one intact. They'd lose people. The mission would be compromised if that happened. A foreboding thought.

He revved the engine, disregarding the multitude of alarms it set off. The gunship had little life left in it. It did not matter. He would link with his brothers in arms. He would do his part in breaching the encirclement. He would help them clear the mission objectives.

Or he would die trying.

Dreamer was panting. He was feeling the tension. Such an emotion was still alien to him. He had only felt so on the bridge of the Kra'lagh dreadnaught. And, he corrected himself, during the final assault on the Novican HQ. Now the sensation was back and he decided it was an unpleasant one.

It was made worse by the Admiral muttering things that even his hearing couldn't pick up. She wasn't conscious. The blood loss was growing worryingly large and her armour prevented him applying a tourniquet. Taking it off was not an option either; the next hit would rip her limbs clean off without it. Even shrapnel would become a lethal threat to her. The time left to her was rapidly running out. There was only so much synthetic blood in her suit and the gaping wounds in her arm were coagulating too slowly. He needed to get her out of here and to a secure location. She required surgery. One of his lenses darted over to the names of his squad and their accompanying biometrics. He needed to get all of them out.

Despite the tension, his mind was constantly racing. Several lines of thoughts were dancing in his head as he calculated, crunched numbers, located and relocated the positions of his brothers and enemies. The largest threat wasn't those in front of him, but the ones coming from behind. The unit that had ambushed them was giving chase in force. More gunships, more armour. They didn't have the firepower to go up against them. Stealth and speed were their only way out.

He watched Stalker disappear off his grid as his brother followed his orders. The jamming had been turned off, as the enemy could track them based on what units went off the grid before returning, when the Genesis unit had passed them. Nightmare was close by. The screams he had heard were her work. He had no confirmation of this, but he somehow felt it to be right. He grit his teeth as 631 doused him with a powerful antiseptic and radiation-absorbent spray. It stung deeper than he had expected. His body could fight off any infections that might occur on its own, as well as deal with any leftover radiation caused by depleted uranium ammunition, but it was best to not leave it to chance. He would need rest to properly heal. Rest they were unlikely to have.

He double checked his plans. It wasn't his usual style. He didn't have confirmation on the enemy's position, didn't know the full status of his squad members. Did not even know the location of two of them, three now that Stalker had gone that far out. Yet he chose to trust the... He did not have a word for it. Instincts would suffice. It all boiled down to the same in the end. The firm belief that every member of his unit would be where he would need them. It was a plan based on trust, not luck. He would not use that word. He hated the concept of it. Luck did not exist. Luck was a misnomer for tactical anomaly.

He glanced over his shoulder, towards 631. He tilted his head and received a yellow ping, followed by a string of signs. He was good to go, but his rear armour was torn open. He had lost full shield coverage and was vulnerable. He pinged him back and handed over the unconscious Admiral. The superhuman soldier took her carefully, making sure to support her properly, before taking up his position. Dreamer watched the two of them go, then got himself ready.

He heard the distant blazing of a gunship engine. It sounded clean, undamaged. Another hostile to add to the mix. The sound intertwined with the soft whirring of the autocannon as the heavy weapon swivelled back and forth in search of a new target. He closed his eyes briefly and imagined. He looked at the battlefield. Saw it expand. The armoured vehicle and its infantry escort, sticking to cover and illuminating the area with powerful torches. The gunship slowly approaching, a full platoon underneath. He heard them speak in hushed tones as they advanced cautiously. Made out the thirty-six different voices. Picked up on the tone of their commanding officer as the man quietly barked out orders to join the others. He couldn't hear his own brothers, aside the soft scraping of metal on metal where Cindy stirred in 631's arms. He did not need to. In his mind he saw Stalker moving towards his target. Saw 627's flight path as the wounded soldier raced to rejoin his squad. Felt where Nightmare was, silently creeping through the first floor, no doubt thinking of a way to close in on the armoured target in her way. Saw where the rest of his squad was. He knew them. All of them. They were his squad. His unit. His brothers. Like him, they were Genesis. And he was their leader. He had a duty to all of them.

He opened his eyes and gave the signal.

It was time to do his duty.

Nightmare caught a flash of movement, but her eyes could not track it in time. It impacted in the Novican lines and her lenses snapped to it, just in time to see a hostile's head whip back, his face shattered. For an infinitesimal, quiet moment, she saw the grenade float in mid-air, having bounced back from the violent impact. Then it went off and seven enemies disappeared in a flash of light as the explosion consumed them.

"Atta—" their officer began to scream before a well aimed shot blasted through his body armour, taking most of his chest and part of his neck with it. The Novicans scattered, but her team was already on the move. The four Genesis seemed to materialise out of nowhere and unleashed a torrent of green fire on the entrenched position. They were close, far closer than she had expected them. The autocannon raced across its rails towards its targets and the grim realisation came to her that they weren't close enough. Not by far.

Dreamer watched the shots impact. He felt his muscles pull at his wounds, threatening to reopen them, but they held for now. That was good. What was better was how the enemy was rapidly diminishing. Four Genesis were more than capable of dealing with the thirty-two men that were still alive. Most of those were part of the vehicle's escort, having already been in proper cover, but even those were rapidly dropping. Not that it would last long. The street was long and aside the single alleyway their only option of cover was to move through the houses. Their armour lent them speed and their mass gave them the freedom to go through most walls, but none of that would matter if the autocannon would hit them. Their best defence against that was their mobility, but they could not deploy that indoors.

So all four of them were outdoors, in the open street. Which brought them to the next point on the agenda, the gunship. One of his lenses darted over to it and he gave the signal. As one the rapidly advancing Genesis began to fall back, drawing their airborne attacker in. The sudden reversal threw off the autocannon's aim and the terrifying burst went wide, completely missing his front man, but reducing the entire front of the nearest block to dust.

They shifted their fire to the gunship as they raced backwards, four carbines pouring out heavy fire on it, but it was too far off for the shots to truly damage it. He had not expected it to. He switched to the next step and pulled another grenade. They were normal grenades, of Novican make. Not strong enough to pierce armour. Not on its own.

He forced his muscles into overdrive, ignored the pain signals that his neurons were transferring, and launched it. Had his previous thrown turned the grenade into a missile, this one turned it into a comet. It impacted the nose of the gunship at the same time as the three other explosives did, with enough force to drive the striker pin straight through the percussion cap and the fuse below. The four grenades went off instantly, the combined force sufficient to knock the gunship fully sideways. He watched the pilot struggle to regain control over his craft and used that time to sprint down the street, away from the combat. He heard their chatter over the radio and wasn't surprised to hear their tirade cut short by a professional voice that told them to hold their position. That man would become a priority target, if the opportunity presented itself.

The gunship pilot either was too concussed to make sense of the transmission, his radio might have been blown out or the man simply did not care about the order, but in either case the result was the same. He sent the ship into a dive and hurled himself down the street, coming straight at the retreating Genesis. Dreamer watched him approach and felt his heartbeat quicken as the armoured vehicle shifted its position so its gun could aim straight down the street. For a singular moment he worried that he had made a fatal mistake. That he was about to fail his mission.

Then he heard the outraged cries of a wounded engine roar to life just behind him.

There was no time for fancy tricks, intricate plans or stunning feats of tactical ingenuity. The hostile gunship was about to run down his unit and what little ammunition he had left was woefully inadequate to take care of both it and the vehicle behind it. His mind raced, thoughts flitting through his neural network in a desperate bid to come up with a solution. He didn't need to. Instincts took over, and they knew what to do.

627 shoved the stick down and immediately his hijacked gunship tilted forward, nose pointing dangerously down. His engines sputtered and the console somehow managed to turn an even darker shade of red as the stabilisers blared an eerie warning. He ignored it and turned on the chain-gun. Despite the massive damage the powerful weapon jumped to and with a roar it unleashed its final volley onto his enemy.

High calibre slugs slammed into the armoured canopy, punching cracks into it but ultimately failing to penetrate it. He could see the pilot jump up into his seat, his helmeted face snapping upwards. First in shock at the idea of being shot by an ally, before it turned to anger as realisation dawned upon the man. Then, as the full extent of the situation dawned upon him, the anger made way for fear.

X-12845627 gritted his teeth, opened the canopy and braced for impact. He jumped out at the last possible moment. Then his world was turned upside down and inside out as the two gunships met in mid-air. The reinforced canopy shattered like glass, thick metal plates folded as if they were made out of paper. Ammunition reserves tore the night apart in fiery explosions as they detonated and the fuel lines caught fire and sprayed their lethal cargo all over. The shockwave grabbed hold of him and rattled him thoroughly, but he forced his eyes to remain open and his body to retain a measure of balance even as he finished the long trek down.

He pushed his shields to the max, running the risk of frying his internal systems, and saw the field grow thick enough to actually materialise. Then he hit the ground. The first impact was weathered by the shield, but it disappeared in a heartbeat as the kinetic energy transfer instantly overloaded it. Still it served its purpose and slowed down his fall just enough. He landed, rolled, and got back up nursing more broken bones. Blood was pouring out of a dozen wounds where his own damaged armour had cut into his skin, but he ignored it. He ignored the blaring alarms that his biometric system was throwing at him. He ignored the pools of fire around him. He even ignored the threatening autocannon pointing nearly straight at him. All that he saw was the vehicle in front of him, and its weight information floating beside it.

He knew the formula. Knew it would work out. Even though he wasn't in any state of mind to run the actual calculations, in his heart he knew what to do. Knew what the sole option was. So he took it.

And he charged.

Nightmare leapt out of cover just in time to witness their final obstacle disappearing. X-12845627 slammed, shoulder first, into the vehicle with all the force of a meteor. The turret snapped upwards, sending a final, desperate burst into the night sky. Its searchlights winked out, the glass covers shattered with the lamps below faring not much better. The metal began to bend, then it crumpled, and in the end it broke. The Genesis soldier finally ceased embedding himself in the armoured threat, but his momentum carried him and his target upwards, tilting the vehicle until it finally passed the point of no return and fell over. The turret bounced around in its mount, useless now that its operators were dead, and the remaining soldiers surrounding it just stared at it, utterly dumbfounded.

Which lasted right until she landed between them, disruptor blade already at the ready. Most of them never even saw her.

It was over in a heartbeat. She waited for the others to join her, even as Dreamer connected her to the squad link again. A message was waiting for her. They were in the clear. She blinked as she read it. Were they really? She thought that statement over as she watched 631 return the Admiral to Dreamer, before rushing over to the crippled 627. His servos began to whir as he pushed his Svalinn to the limit to unwrap the vehicle from their wounded brother, before he flashed a command and she and another ran over to help him. She spared a glance for Dreamer. Was this really over? It could not be. The alpha unit was still out there. Both in front as well as behind. Had he suffered from a head trauma? No. Surely not. If that happened, he would have made her take over command. He was a Genesis, like her. They were not fallible to tactical errors like that.

She recalled the strange orders he had given out on Lufer and a sliver of doubt crept into her mind. Then she suppressed it. No. She would trust him. He was her brother. Their commander. And she could depend on him to do the right thing.

Right?

The six soldiers of alpha three five two looked at the carnage that had unfolded in the blink of an eye. They had been too far out to help or make a difference. All they could do now was call it in. The lead soldier made a move to call it in when a dark feeling came over him. He jumped forward and rolled. He turned around, still on one knee, and snapped his rifle up. Just in time to see three of his men fall apart. Even in the dark the disgusting un-light of the disruptor blade was visible. The monstrously tall hostile seemed to freeze in place, its bloodied visor gazing upon him. Inhuman, he thought, pulling the trigger.

Sparks flared as a shield snapped to life. The soldier screamed in rage, but kept firing. So did the two other survivors of alpha three five two, their own guns moving upwards to take down the hostile.

Then there was no more alpha three five two.

Stalker picked up the helmet and linked it with his Muninn. "Alpha three six one, this is three five two," he called in with a dead man's voice. "No sign of targets. Presumed to have withdrawn inside, over."

"Roger alpha three five two. Maintain perimeter," came the response.

"Acknowledged," the Genesis replied. "Out."

He dropped the helmet and sent two clicks over the coms. A single click came back instantly and he ran after his team, disappearing into the night.