It was hard to tell with the thick and ever-present layer of muddy gray smog that covered the sky, but the sun had fallen beneath the horizon a long time ago. The fact that it had, however, didn’t change much for the people in the Arcadian Megalopolis megaregion. They continued carrying out their duties, whether personal, to someone else, or to the Columbian Federation.
An Aerial Troop Transport broke through the layer of smog and continued with its steady descent. The ATT wasn’t aesthetically pleasing, as it was never designed with appearance in mind. Its main body was its troop cabin, a large box made almost entirely out of black durasteel. Durasteel is widely regarded as one of the best synthetic metals to ever exist, thanks to it being resistant to most forms of damage, relatively lightweight, as well as cheap and easy to manufacture in large quantities with the right equipment. There were several variants of durasteel, the darker colored variants being stronger. The troop cabin had three ways in and out: a sliding door on each of the two longer slides and a ramp door on the back.
Each of the longer sides also had two tier ten rotors with rotor guards, both also made out of black durasteel. The rotors provided the lift necessary for the transport to reach high speeds and altitudes, the tier ten being the most powerful currently in production.
The hemispherical cockpit on the front was the last major part of the ATT. It had a black glasteel windshield that was transparent only from the inside of the cockpit, and was also able to display a wide array of information to the pilot. It was also quite durable, not as resistant as durasteel but still able to take a considerable amount of damage.
Below the cockpit were a pair of anti-personnel coilguns, which weren’t that noticeable from afar. Coilguns used electromagnetism to propel magnetized bullets of varying sizes at varying lethal speeds, these anti-personnel coilguns shot smaller bullets at higher speeds with a high rate of fire. They were controlled by the pilot, most commonly being used to clear out a landing area, whether it be debris or enemy hostiles, to drop troops, equipment, or other useful supplies.
The Aerial Troop Transport is widely used by the Columbian Federation Military, thanks to its high carrying capacity, speed, maneuverability, durability, and reliability. The CFM had several versions of ATT in use, this version being primarily used to transport high-ranking officers. It was faster, had stronger and darker durasteel plating, and could reach higher altitudes than a standard ATT, in exchange for losing the two side heavy mannable railguns that every other version of the ATT had. Railguns used electromagnetism in the same way coilguns did, but they used two rails instead of coils to propel projectiles.
Out of nowhere, a beam of light passed by the ATT, coming from one of the many high-power searchlights in an attempt to illuminate the heavily polluted sky. The Aerial Troop Transport was in the airspace of one of the Arcadian Megalopolis’s military-dedicated sectors. There weren’t any corporate towers or skyscrapers for quite some distance, but instead there were barracks, vehicle bays, training grounds, landing areas, watchtowers, armories, anti-air batteries, laboratories, command centers, and various other buildings structures. No matter where you looked, however, there were CFM soldiers.
Most of the soldiers were nearly identical in terms of equipment. Each of them wore a complete set of gray durasteel body armor with a black res-fiber bodysuit underneath, a gray durasteel helmet with a black glasteel visor, a poly-fiber utility belt, res-fiber gloves with gray durasteel protecting the backs of their hands, and gray plasester boots. There were several small differences between each one, though. The most noticeable differences were the details on their shoulder pauldrons. Each soldier had at least a single colored stripe on their left pauldron, denoting their division. Soldiers in the same division typically had the same gear in their utility belt and carried the same magnearms, which were coilguns designed to be easily portable and carried by humans. Almost a third of the soldiers had a second stripe, though there were only two different second stripes: yellow for specialists and bronze for squad leaders. Those who did have a second stripe typically carried extra gear, usually in gray poly-fiber packs, and they were armed with different magnearms than those with single stripes in the same division.
On their right pauldrons, each soldier had a pair of numbers separated by a dash. The first number was their squad number, while their second was their unit number in that squad. This kept the CFM organized and kept any potential intruders out.
The ATT touched down on the landing pad, landing in front of the largest command center in the military-designated sector. After spinning for several more seconds, its rotors finally came to a halt. It had landed so that one of its side doors faced towards the command center. That side door separated from the troop cabin and slid towards the back of the ATT, creating an easy entrance and exit for the troop cabin.
Ten CFM soldiers stepped out, immediately forming two lines of five. These troops were very different from the others in the sector. They were better equipped, wearing black durasteel helmets with black glasteel visors, sets of black durasteel body armor, and black plasester boots. Their poly-fiber utility belts were twice the size of the standard ones, each of them had a black poly-fiber pack, and their bodysuits and gloves were made out of higher quality res-fiber, the gloves also having black durasteel instead of gray to protect the backs of their hands.
Each soldier carried a MO-4 magnearm rifle, one of the most expensive and powerful magnearms in use by the CFM. The main reason why it’s so expensive is that it is highly customizable, coming with a vast variety of attachments. Each of the soldiers had taken advantage of this, and as a result, each of the MO-4’s were very different. One had a much longer barrel and a high-powered telescopic sight, another having a drum magazine and fixed stock. Each soldier also had a G-87 magnearm pistol in a holster and a black durasteel combat knife in a sheath, both attached to their utility belts.
All ten soldiers had a single dark green stripe on their left pauldron, so dark that it was barely visible on their black durasteel armor. On each of their right pauldrons, there was a single number in the same color.
These were some of the CFM’s best troops, top soldiers taken from other divisions to form the Columbian Federation’s elite fighting force. Once each of them had been selected, they would be subjected to a massive amount of additional training, prepping them for any situation they might find themselves in as a result of their new position, from rescuing hostages in a heavily armed compound to taking out an underground criminal empire. They were usually assigned to be a high-ranking officer’s strike force, which would be how they often got into those situations. The division they were in had no name, and the soldiers themselves only had unit numbers. As a result, the other CFM soldiers referred to them as the “nameless”. Outside the CFM, only a select few knew about their existence. If someone without authorization did learn about them, the nameless would either kill or kidnap the individual or group quickly and quietly, all while disguising it as an action of one of the criminal organizations near the target, as to not raise any suspicion.
Then, another person stepped out of the ATT. They stood at about one hundred and ninety-six centimeters, wearing a set of custom-made black durasteel body armor, made to fit the curves of their body. They had a high-quality black res-fiber bodysuit underneath. You could clearly see that they were very well-built. They also wore the same gloves and boots as the nameless. On their left pauldron, there was a single gold stripe. On their right pauldron, there was a name written in gold: MONO.
They were equipped similarly to the nameless, with a large poly-fiber utility belt, a black poly-fiber pack, a MO-4 magnearm rifle, a G-87 magnearm pistol, and a black durasteel combat knife. Their MO-4 had a reflex sight and telescoping stock.
The most noticeable thing about them was their helmet. It was made out of the same materials, black glasteel and black durasteel. Instead of the glasteel visor covering and protecting the entire face, it only did so for the top half. The bottom part of the visor didn’t seem to be cut out, more like it was custom-made without it.
A black durasteel military-grade half-mask respirator covered the rest of their face, fitting smoothly and snugly with the helmet. The respirator amplified their breathing, making a soft hiss every time they exhaled.
They looked around for several seconds, scanning their immediate surroundings. Then, once they determined it was safe, they detached the helmet from the respirator before pulling the helmet off.
A young woman, about twenty-two years old, put the helmet under her arm. She had long black hair tied back in a large bun, slightly pale skin, and black pupils. The rest of her face was covered by the respirator. Nonetheless, she was quite attractive.
As she turned towards the command center, the doors of the building slid open.
A man stepped out, accompanied by four standard CFM soldiers in gray durasteel, with white stripes on their left pauldrons and MP-39 magnearm submachine guns in their hands. Their white stripes signified that they were part of the CFM’s Security Division, whose purpose was to protect anything the Columbian Federation deemed necessary of having protection but not under serious threat.
The man who stepped out of the command center seemed to be of some importance based on the way he held himself up. He was forty-four years old, and it was beginning to show. He had brown hair, however, he had begun to bald. Furthermore, he also had slightly pale skin, the same as the young woman, and gray eyes. His face was quite pudgy, and he looked like the type of man who was never attractive to begin with.
He wore a set of dark-gray durasteel plate armor, and a standard CFM res-fiber bodysuit underneath, both of which had been modified to fit his slightly overweight body. He had a dark gray durasteel helmet with a black glasteel visor under his arm, and his hands were covered by standard res-fiber gloves with dark-gray durasteel plates that seemed to be too tight on him. His standard poly-fiber utility belt seemed to have been extended to fit him, and his dark-gray plasester boots showed signs of strain.
He had two G-86 magnearm pistols, both in holsters attached to his utility belt. The G-87, the one the woman had, was still relatively new, so lower ranking officers still carried the G-86. On his left pauldron, there was a single silver stripe. On his right, a name written in silver: LAPEL.
“Lieutenant Phillip Lapel, I presume,” the woman said, her voice filtered by the respirator. Her voice was dull and seemed to barely have any emotion.
“What is the meaning of this!?” The man, Lieutenant Lapel, snapped. He seemed to have been composed several moments ago, but now his face was turning red with anger. “What is going on here!?”
“I am Commander Mono,” the woman stated. “The Columbian Federation has deemed that the Arcadian Megalopolis has begun to… ‘Slip up’.”
“Slip up?” Lieutenant Lapel shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking-”
“Three months ago, cargo ship 2133 was attacked while it was at one of Arcadian Megalopolis’s ports. Several thousand Federation dollars worth of goods were taken, and several hundred thousand Federation dollars worth were destroyed. Two months ago, military convoy 3968 was attacked as well, resulting in the injury and death of CFM soldiers and the destruction of CFM equipment. And most recently, the destruction of laboratory twenty-four, which was less than ten hours ago, resulted in the deaths of twenty-seven researchers and scientists and many more. And I have not listed the hundreds of conflicts, riots, and encounters in just the past month that have resulted in more injuries and casualties.”
“What happened at laboratory twenty-four was the result of an attack,” Lieutenant Lapel stammered.
“Keep on telling yourself that lie, Lieutenant.” Commander Mono sighed, shaking her head. “Not a single member of CF high command believes it. You just confirmed it for me. Changes will need to be made.”
“I am in charge until Captain Lasnagus returns. You have no jurisdiction-”
“Captain Lasnagus has been disposed of. High command has deemed him a threat to the Federation. They have placed me in charge of all Columbian Federation Military forces in the Arcadian Megalopolis.”
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
Lieutenant Lapel stood there, his face and body frozen in shock, taking in the news.
“Changes shall be made, Lieutenant. We have lots of work to do.”
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There wasn’t much in the alleyway, only several broken cardstic boxes and an empty, rusting terrasteel dumpster. Terrasteel was another synthetic metal, cheaper to make than durasteel but worse in every other aspect.
Then, seemingly from nowhere, a girl landed on the ground next to the dumpster. She had landed standing straight up, her knees not buckling at all.
The girl looked like she was around seventeen years old. She stood at about one hundred and eight-five centimeters, with long, loose brown hair that just reached past her shoulder blades, slightly tanned skin, and vibrant green eyes. She was very pretty.
The girl wore a gray polystic windbreaker with a black res-fiber shirt underneath, as well as a pair of black poly-fiber pants and a pair of black dura-fiber combat boots. Her clothes fit her lean frame perfectly.
The girl readjusted the gray poly-fiber cap on her head before doing the same with the black poly-fiber messenger bag hanging from her left side. She looked like one of the standard couriers that went through the lower- and middle-class sectors of the Arcadian Megalopolis, delivering packages and letters, as delivery trucks were commonly attacked in those sectors.
Of course, she wasn’t unarmed. The girl had a durasteel katana sheathed and hanging on the back of her waist via a belt with its handle next to her right hip. It was in a way so that she could take it out in a fraction of a second. A G-84 magnearm also rested in a holster under her windbreaker. The girl had had to buy it off the black market, as magnearms were only allowed to be used by the Columbian Federation Military, but she had got it at a low price because the CFM had replaced the G-84 with the G-85 a good amount of time ago.
The girl took out a smartglass from one of her messenger bag’s pockets, a small rectangle of blue glasteel with a durasteel frame. It had cost her several hundred Federation dollars, a month’s worth of deliveries, and that didn’t even include the not-so-legal modifications that masked her location as well as several other things. She had had to buy it after her old one broke a couple of months ago in a fight.
She powered it on, swiped down several times, and then powered it back off before slipping it back in her messenger bag. The girl brushed some dust off the sleeve of her jacket before stepping out of the alleyway.
She was in one of the middle-class sectors, but it was on the lower end, beginning to fall into disrepair. It was quiet, no cars passing on the road in front of her, which had several potholes already. Apartment buildings and stores lined the street, but the girl only saw several windows with lights turned on from where she was, despite it being decently late into the night, She also noticed that the stores seemed to be abandoned, their doors broken down.
A soft flickering drew her attention upward. A singular terrasteel streetlamp barely illuminated the street, the others already having gone out. It looked like this one wouldn’t last much longer either.
The girl walked past it, continuing down the dark street. She didn’t walk very far, however.
The girl stopped in front of objectively the least run-down apartment building on the street, made out of terrasteel and poly-glass and only seven stories tall, the shortest building on the street. Only a single window had light coming out of it.
The girl sighed, before pushing open the poly-glass doors and stepping into the building.
The lobby was dimly lit by a singular light attached to the ceiling, flickering like the streetlamp the girl had seen outside. As she was closer to it, the girl could hear the buzzing and flickering more clearly. She ignored it and looked around the lobby.
There wasn’t much. Three folding plasteel chairs, each of them a different size, were against one of the walls. On the other side of the lobby there was an old folding terrasteel table, its hinges rusted stuck. There was a cardstic box underneath it, seemingly cut open with a blade of some sort and its contents looted.
Across from where the girl stood, there was an elevator with a sign placed on it saying “OUT OF ORDER”, a flight of stairs, and, in between them, a tenant list on the wall. From where she was, the girl could see that only three apartments had nameplates. She then walked over to the stairs and began to climb.
She didn’t have to climb for very long, The girl walked onto the third floor and walked over to apartment 302, before knocking on the terrasteel door three times with her fist.
“I’ll get you the rent next week, Henrik,” a voice from inside the apartment called. “I just need more time.”
“Courier delivery,” the girl stated. She could hear shuffling from inside the apartment, followed by the clicking of someone unlocking locks.
The door opened by a small crack, a terrasteel chain lock preventing it from opening any further. The girl saw a sliver of a face through the crack.
She took out a thick cardstic envelope that in no way could fit through the crack provided. “You’re going to have to actually open the door to receive it,’ the girl sighed. The door closed, and she could hear the chain lock being taken off. Then, the door opened again.
A young woman stood there, about twenty-four years old, with brown hair tied back, brown eyes, and dark skin. She stood at about one hundred and seventy-eight centimeters, wearing only a fiber-ton tank top and shorts. The girl passed the cardstic envelope to the woman, who opened it and looked at the contents, which were a bunch of papers. As the woman did so, her eyes widened, first in surprise and then in joy.
“These papers let me finally move out of this shithole!” the woman exclaimed. “Thanks, uhh… what’s your name?”
“Arri.”
“Well, thanks Arri.” The woman smiled.
“Don’t forget to report the parcel delivered,” Arri stated. “Otherwise, a recovery team will be here to reclaim it.”
“Oh.” The woman’s smile faded. “I’ll get to that.”
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As she stepped out of the building, Arri felt a vibration from her messenger bag. Taking her smartglass out, she saw a message notifying her that a payment had been made to her account, from “FLEMARD COURIER SERVICES”. The delivery had been confirmed, and she had recieved her payment.
She slipped her smartglass back into her messenger bag, before stepping into the alleyway next to the apartment building. Arri set her messenger bag down and off to the side. Then, with her right hand on the hilt of her katana, she turned around.
Three men stood in front of Arri, blocking off the only way in or out of the alleyway. They were all in their late twenties and were pretty much identical, with similar builds and clothing. Each one also carried a melee weapon.
“Give us everything you have and we won’t hurt you,” one of the man said, seemingly the leader based on the way he held himself up. He had a switchblade in his hand, popping out the terrasteel blade to show that he was serious with his threat. The men at his sides stepped forward, the one on his left carrying a piece of a terrasteel pipe, while the other carried a terrasteel crowbar. The two of them sneered simultaneously.
That was when Arri struck. In less than a second, she was in front of the man with the pipe. She unsheathed her katana and used the butt of it to slam the man’s arm that was holding the pipe against the wall of the alleyway. The sound of the bone cracking echoed through the alleyway, followed by the man’s scream and the pipe clattering to the ground. She released his arm, only to follow with a kick to his gut that sent the man flying out of the alleyway, his body landing on the street. It seemed like he had hit his head pretty hard, because he didn’t get back up.
The man with the crowbar swung at Arri, who sidestepped the attack with ease. She then slashed at him, cutting through the sleeve of the man’s shirt and his skin. The cut was small, with barely any blood coming out of it, but the man cried out in pain and dropped the crowbar to cover it. Arri took advantage of this, sweeping the man’s legs. He fell back, his head hitting the wall before the ground as well. He laid there, sprawled out and unconscious. The small amount of blood that had gotten onto the katana dripped off, leaving the durasteel blade unstained.
The third man stepped back, his arms shaking, but still holding the switchblade. Arri sheathed her katana before kicking him in the stomach, knocking the man down and out of the alleyway. The switchblade fell out of his hands, clattering to the ground out of his reach.
Arri turned around, walking back towards her messenger bag and slinging it over her shoulder.
A second passed. Then, Arri whipped around, holding up two fingers of her left hand in a “c” shape.
The sound of a gunshot echoed through the small alleyway. In between those two fingers, a terrasteel .45 ACP bullet, seemingly frozen in mid-air.
The man held a Smith and Wesson Governor revolver. It was a small, snub-nosed revolver, but a firearm nonetheless. The man’s hands were shaking, and his face filled with horror as he took in what had just happened.
The bullet fell from the air in-between Arri’s fingers as she took out her G-84 with her right hand and fired it, all in a fraction of a second.
The revolver flew out of the man’s hands, clattering onto the ground in the middle of the street. The man watched it land, before turning back to see Arri in front of him. She brought the gun down on his head, knocking him out instantly.
Her G-84 was back in its holster before the man’s unconscious body hit the ground.
Arri looked up, towards one of the rooftops. She quickly made sure everything on her was secure, before pointing her right arm upward. From somewhere inside her jacket sleeve, a grappling hook shot out, latching onto the edge of the rooftop. Arri tugged on it, making sure it was secure before quickly rappelling up.
She climbed onto the roof, the grappling hook retracting back into her jacket sleeve. Arri then paused, before taking a step back so that her heels were against the edge of the roof.
She began to run forward, towards the opposite end of the roof. Right before she ran off it, she jumped, her momentum carrying her through the air.
She landed in the middle of the next building’s roof. Arri didn’t stop, though. She kept on running, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. No one noticed her as she did, as the streets of the sector were practically empty. Arri was also quiet enough so that if there was someone, they would have no reason to look up. There wasn’t anyone to worry about, though.
Arri was about to cross over into the next sector when she saw something, or rather, someone. She leaped onto the next rooftop before stopping in place.
A teenage boy lay in the center of the rooftop. He looked to be about seventeen years old, curled up in a ball, but seemed to be unconscious rather than asleep. His hair was snow-white, not the gray soot-snow that sometimes fell from the sky after combining with the pollution in the atmosphere, but a pure, clean white. His skin was also quite pale, like he had never stepped outside. The boy wore a black res-fiber shirt and a pair of black res-fiber pants, but nothing else. He was quite lean, but the clothes seemed to be a size too small, being extremely tight and very short sleeves.
As Arri stepped forward, the boy stirred. A thin layer of black dust covered the boy, so thin that it was pretty much invisible to Arri from where she was, blew off him and into the night sky.
The boy slowly uncurled himself, his eyes flickering as he did, revealing blood-red pupils. He slowly sat up.
“Are you okay?” Arri asked, squatting next to him.
“… I think…” the boy murmured quietly. His voice sounded small, shy. The expression on his face was one of sadness.
“What’s your name?” Arri asked softly.
“It’s uh… Marsh.” The boy, Marsh, paused. Then, the expression on his face changed from one of sadness to one of horror. “Who am I?!” he cried out, jumping up, standing at one hundred and eighty centimeters. Arri slowly stood up as well.
“I can’t remember anything!” Marsh wailed. “Just my name, that’s it!”
“Calm down,” Arri stated, her voice becoming solid. Looking closely, she could see his pupils begin to glow. Slowly, her right hand slowly moved down to the hilt of her katana.
“What’s happened to me?!” Marsh screamed. He stepped backwards from Arri, putting his hands on his head. He seemed unsteady on his feet, shaking. Then, that shaking turned into convulsing. Marsh let out a scream of pure pain as he began to… change.
All over his body, small black crystals appeared. Those crystals began to grow at an alarmingly fast rate, spreading all over his body.
Once the crystals did stop growing, there was nothing left of Marsh’s figure, only some sort of creature now. Void black crystals made up the entirety of the creature, a humanoid shape with five-clawed hands and feet. The head slightly resembled a dragon’s more than a human’s, with a closed, fanged mouth.
Then, underneath the crystal, two red dots flashed sharply through where Marsh’s eyes had been, and continued to glow strongly. The mouth hinged open, and a deafening roar filled the night.
“Well, shit,” Arri muttered.