Subject: Staff Sergeant Power

Species: Human

Description: Mammalian humanoid, no tail. 6'2" (1.87 m) avg height. 185 lbs (84 kg) avg weight. 170 year life expectancy.

Ship: N/A

Location: Sol

"We've left warp. Welcome to Sol, gents," Sergeant Hanson said.

"Jesus H. Christ, what the hell are those things?" SGT Smith asked as he looked at our tac-map.

His question caught our attention, and we all turned to see what he was talking about. The Tac-Map showed the system's defenses, which included several orbital defense platforms as well as a fleet of more ships than anyone could count in a reasonable amount of time. However, mixed in with all these ships were two signatures that were hauntingly familiar, and much larger than any other ship in the system.

"Is that the Nidhogg? Why are there two of them?" Corporal Simmons asked.

"No, those are Gungnir-Class Dreadnoughts," Omega's voice answered. "The USSS Doom and the USSS Margraven, specifically."

"When did we got those?" Johnson asked.

"Last week for the Doom, day before yesterday for the Margraven."

"What's the difference between a Gungnir-Class and the Nidhogg?" I asked.

"The Nidhogg is equipped with the Viyarinastra spinal mounted weapon, which is designed to cause a star to go supernova. The Gungnir-Class Dreadnoughts are equipped with the Ultra-MAC spinal mounted weapon, which are designed to launch a deep-penetration projectile equipped with an A1 WMD package."

"Nanukes on a penetration slug? To destroy a planet?" Smith asked.

"Correct."

"So we're expecting Mobile Prime Platforms to show up in Sol?"

"No, but we wouldn't want to be caught unawares."

Smith nodded slowly as we digested this news. It had occurred to me that Sol could come under attack by the OU during our mission, but seeing these defenses made it feel like more of a reality. The nubs of my arm and leg ached, and I took a slow, deep breath to fight down the surge of adrenalin that had turned my stomach into a knot. If the OU attacked, the defenses would keep them away from Earth while we completed our mission. Probably.

"Prepare for atmospheric entry," Omega said.

I took a quick glance around, but everyone was already secured to their seats. The shuttle jolted once as it hit the atmosphere, but quickly evened out. It was much less turbulence than I was expecting, but I attributed that to the quality of the shuttle itself. Cheaper shuttles had the bare minimum in inertia dampeners and artificial gravity, but this shuttle was designed to mimic a high-end civilian shuttle. I was glad that the US hadn't just designed it to look like a high-end shuttle.

"So we're not coming down right on the city?" Johnson asked, watching our descent on the tac-map.

"No, if we descend straight into the city there's a chance radar might catch us and the automated anti-air defenses may kick in. I could hack those defenses to make sure they don't, but then someone may see my interference later on during an audit," Omega explained. "It's less noticeable to spoof an aircraft signal to cover our tracks. We will be coming down over the ocean to sync up with this signal's path."

"And then we just coast our way to the parking garage? What about when we land?"

"The fake aircraft is expected to dip below the radar briefly as it adjusts altitude. When it does, our shuttle will be over Adelaide and we will land. The aircraft's signal will continue its journey until it's in an area where it can disappear without much notice. Those that do notice it will likely send rescue crews, but they won't find anything. Since the aircraft in question is registered as an unmanned goods transport, they'll give up fairly quickly."

"What about the orbital entry detectors?" I asked.

"Those are operated by the United Systems, so I can make the logs say whatever I want them to say."

It was good of Omega to explain the details to us. Most handlers wouldn't, either because they didn't know, or because they feel the less we know the better. Omega was probably trying to build a rapport, or it had a way to make sure we wouldn't talk if we were captured. Maybe it just didn't know any better and liked to hear itself talk.

Still, it set my mind at ease to know we had a solid plan. Flying by the seat of your pants is fine and all, so long as nobody shits those pants along the way. Many of my missions with MARSOC had been extremely lacking in good intel and planning, and quite a few of them had gone to shit quickly. My robotic hand clenched at those memories, and I realized that my temporary limbs were evidence that even Omega wasn't infallible.

Our cruise over the ocean was made in nervous silence. It wasn't a short trip, but it felt shorter than it had been once the tac-map showed the Adelaide City Hall. This was because a small part of me was dreading what might happen on this mission, and wanted the trip to have been longer. I shoved these thoughts aside as the shuttle landed in the parking bay.

"So we're just going to walk down the street to city hall?" Simmons asked. "Aren't we a tad conspicuous?"

"No, there's an employee-only entrance in Basement Level 2. That's four floors down, if you were wondering. The elevator can't handle your armor's weight, so I hope you like stairs," Omega said as the shuttle's hatch opened. "Out you go."

An object marker popped up on our HUD. Johnson was nearest to the hatch and took point, followed by Hanson, myself, Simmons, and then Smith. When we were sure the parking lot that was serving as our LZ was clear, we lowered our weapons and continued on to the stairs. The stairwell itself was also clear, and we began to descend.

"I don't like how much the R9 weighs," Johnson muttered.

"Me neither," Simmons said. "I feel like these stairs are creaking."

"They're made of concrete," I pointed out.

"That's what I mean, staffsarnt! Concrete shouldn't creak!"

"Stow it. Creaking or not, they're holding just fine."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"Aye aye staffsarnt," Simmons said as we reached a sign that said B2.

Johnson stepped to one side of the door, and the rest of us lined up behind Hanson. The sergeant tested the doorknob and then twisted it. With his other hand, he counted down from three and then pushed the door open rapidly. Johnson quickly stepped through the now open door, clearing his lane as he went. Hanson quickly recovered his weapon and followed with the rest of us trailing behind him. The level was clear, and we began to make our way toward the objective marker.

"I appreciate your caution, but it's very unlikely that any potential hostiles are currently aware of our presence," Omega pointed out over the comms.

"And?" I asked.

"And it occurs to me that heavily armed and armored marines bursting through doors may cause those that wouldn't normally be hostiles to become hostiles," the AI explained. "Like the security personnel within the city hall, for instance."

I realized that Omega was probably right, and gestured 'at ease' to my squad. Legs straightened and weapons lowered, but not a single safety budged. We were in unfamiliar armor, and very aware of the fact that every moment counts in a surprise gunfight. Our fingers may be straight and off the trigger, but the second that changed we would need our rounds to be in the air.

We approached the objective marker and examined the door that it highlighted. It had a sign that said Authorized Personnel Only and a keycard lock. There were a couple of chuckles at the antiquated security tech, but I shut them down a small wave. We took up a much more casual stack, and Johnson reached for the doorknob.

"Press your gauntlet onto the reader," Omega instructed.

Johnson's hand paused, and then changed its course to the keycard reader. A green light flashed, and we were treated to the sound of a heavy lock disengaging. Johnson opened the door, and we marched in after him.

The hallway was long and lit with fluorescent bulbs. It reminded me of the hospital that I'd seen my family in. The walk through the hallway was uneventful, and a security guard was waiting at the end of it. He stood quickly as we came into his view.

"Uh..." he said, resting his hand on his sidearm. "Can I help you?"

"Tell him you have an appointment with Director 4 under the name Extraction Team One," Omega said.

"We have an appointment with Director 4," Johnson parroted.

The guard eyed our armor and weapons suspiciously, then used his free hand to poke at his terminal a bit. What he saw caught his attention, and his hand finally left his weapon.

"N-name?" he asked, going slightly pale.

"Extraction Team One," Johnson answered.

"Uh... alright, yeah. Go right in, mate."

"We'll be wanting to come back this way," I said. "With a plus one."

"That'll be fine," the guard said quickly.

Something about his demeanor struck me as odd, but I attributed it to nerves. Five well-trained and anonymous killers geared for battle just interrupted whatever it was he had been doing, and had done so on the orders of the highest ranked individual in the city. Actually, probably the highest ranking individual on the planet.

A new objective marker titled D4 appeared in our HUDs, and it directed us upward. We found the stairwell and began making our way up. These stairs weren't concrete, but were well made so they barely buckled under our weight. Simmons expressed his unhappiness via quiet groans all the way up.

"Unauthorized communication detected," Omega informed us as we exited the stairway. "Looks like the guard was a plant. Hurry."

We ran the rest of the way to the objective marker and as we approached, the door it was highlighting opened. An individual wearing the same armor we had on exited the room, looking around until they saw us. They ran down the hallway toward us.

"Director 4, I presume," I said as they approached.

"Correct. Omega told me what's going on. Let's go," the director said.

"Forty two armed individuals are currently in the building. Twenty six are on their way to block the hallway we entered through," Omega explained.

"Should be able to blast our way through," Smith shouldered his weapon.

"They are equipped with guardian suits. It's unclear where they got them."

"Probably from an unguarded armory, all thanks to the evacuation," I sighed. "Well isn't this fuckin' grand. If they're smart, they'll collapse the hallway so that even if we defeat their ambush we'll still have to go through the front doors. When are armies gonna learn to take their fuckin' toys with them when they exfil?"

"Should we just cut to the chase and plow through the front?" Johnson asked.

"The hostiles will reach the hallway before you do. Regardless of what may be waiting outside, going through the front is the only option," Omega said. "The cameras out front aren't mobile, so I can only see the steps. They're currently clear, for what it's worth."

"Is there a back door?" I asked.

"No. The back door of this building is the employee entrance that you entered through."

"Windows?"

"The ones big enough for you to fit through are too high off the ground to reach."

"What about the bunker?" Director 4 asked.

"Hole up and wait for rescue?" I asked. "I bet it ain't that simple."

"It's not. It would take at least two weeks to get MARSOC reinforcements to our location. Even if I went with regular grunts, it would take days," Omega explained. "If the hostiles have access to an armory, they'll have access to the materials required to get through the bunker's door. It's unlikely that it would take them days, as well. On the other hand, you could simply blow past the sixteen hostiles guarding the front doors."

"Okay, front door it is. Let's move out," I said.

We reformed our line and Director 4 took position between Simmons and I. Johnson led the way down the stairs to the first floor, and we followed Omega's new objective marker to the front entrance of the city hall. We heard shouts and screams along the way, but no gunfire. Looks like the building's security didn't put up a fight.

"Watch for hostages," I ordered.

Green lights indicated acknowledgement as we lined up for a breach and clear of the entrance. Hanson was much less careful with the door this time, and Johnson moved into through the door's shattered remains very quickly. Johnson's rifle began firing as Hanson followed him. I was right on Hanson's tail, and caught a bullet to the shoulder for my troubles.

My shield indicator dropped by roughly ten percent, which isn't a good sign. I sighted in on the one who shot me while still tailing Hanson, and noted that he was using a C21A before I fired three quick shots into his head. The can didn't pop until the third shot, which warned me that they had shields. Shit.

"MOVE IT!" I ordered.

We traded fire with the hostiles as we quickly traversed the entrance. We quickly abandoned marksmanship and went with accuracy by volume in the hopes of suppressing the enemy. The tactic worked well enough that we were able to cross the room, and Johnson shoulder checked the door. The heavy wood shattered, and we made our exit. My helmet tinted as the sun met it, and I checked our vitals. Johnson had lost half his shields, but they were already regenerating rapidly. Everyone else had taken a hit or two, but was otherwise fine.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!" a voice rang out. "We don't want to kill you, but we will if you don't stop!"

In the street were several vehicles. One of which was an GU-62B Armored Personnel Carrier, it's twin .50 cal turrets pointed directly at us. Around these vehicles were several armed men and women, only some of which were wearing guardian suits. A quick count told me that there were twenty nine guns pointed at us, including the turrets of the APC.

Johnson paused, and the rest of us followed suit. There's no way we're making it a whole block with these guys firing at us as we go. A man wearing old fashioned woodland camouflage was holding a bull-horn and standing on top of the APC. I sighted in on him and set my exterior speakers to maximum volume.

"Sure, you might kill us, but we'll be taking most of you down with us," I replied.

"Well, we don't want that," the man said. "Look mate, we just want the Director. They're the key to getting us off this rock."

"Not getting a read on facial recognition," Omega informed me. "They must be the undocs that I was worried about."

"How do you figure?" I asked the man on the APC.

"No better hostage than a member of the famed Council of the Directorate, right?" The man countered. "Figure we can negotiate a nice little ride in exchange for their safety."

"That's not how it works," Director 4 interrupted. "Directors are expendable. Why do you think I'm still here?"

"An' I'm just supposed to take your word on that?" the man gestured broadly. "Gotta call bullshit, mate. For all we know you're still here because you've still got some shady business to take care of. If it's all the bloody same to you, we'd rather double check. If you're right, then we'll just letcha go. If you're wrong, then we get out of here."

"I hate to be 'that guy', but how the hell are we supposed to trust you when you're pointing guns at us?" I asked.

"We've got another problem," Omega said.

"Well, the fact that we ain't shootin' these guns is a pretty big indi..."

The man was cut off by extremely loud sirens blasting through the air. It took me a second to recognize them as air raid sirens. The undocs crouched behind their various cover and began to look at the sky. Since they weren't shooting at us, I risked a look at the sky as well. I stared at the streaks of red and white hurtling toward the ground and wondered what they could be.

"It's the Omni-Union," Omega clarified.