Pandora Development Group. PanDevGru. The front of the shield. Alternatively, the sacrificial lamb. These people formed the front of the defense of Isabela and were stationed in and arrayed around the old city Port Vilamil. While the rest of Isabela descended into chaos they remained fixed to their objective. The ones who had sent a clown to the high council. They were the strongest of any any on the island, mentally, loyally, and materially, and this was about to be proved.

In the popular mind, however, it was quite different. Even Titan believed so, which was to soon become a great mistake of theirs. In the city of Vilamil we’ll begin our narrative of the invasion.

—

The rain fell at their feet and rolled off of their frames. A gentle summer storm whose end was well visible in the darkness of the midnight western sky. Both of them stood their machines port-wards in echelon in a narrow street in Port Vilamil. If defense in depth were a strategy, they were to bear the brunt of it. To hear the most recent news, they would end their time in the game here.

“Say, Box, I’ve had a lot of fun here, with you. I wanted you to know.” said Rondo, sniffling a little. For a little while his companion said nothing.

“…yeah, me too.” Box said, “…where you going from here?”

“Dunno.” Rondo said, contemplatively, as the rain fell down over his multicolored Frame. White, blue, and red. Angular. Box’s frame was four legged and blended into the background.

More rain fell upon them as the tension of the invasion broke upon them. It fell upon the nearby buildings and poured off the corrugated metal rooftops, somewhere around the waist of the two machines. Rondo began to shift his heavyweight, blocky Highlander slightly forward on his tracks. Box followed forward in his four-legged Spider.

“Well.” Rondo said, “Let’s stay in touch.”

“Yeah…” Box quickly said, tilting the head of his spider mech towards the Highlander. Rondo, in return tilted his back. Box extended a leg, which Rondo replied to with a closed fist, and they connected like that.

“It’s been a long way hasn’t it?” Rondo said, “I couldn’t ask for a better ending.”

There was a period of hesitation from Box.

“We have a ways to go.” he said.

There was another sniff from Rondo as he set himself, “That’s right.”

“…you crying?” Box said.

“Nah, man. Just got a cold or something… get ready. We’re on point.”

Box bowed his machine as Rondo rolled forward on his tracks down towards the docks.

Soon they were both painted by naval radar from within the dense storm, which announced itself as a bright tone.

“Split.” Rondo called out. Both of them crossed into side-streets before the naval railgun rounds exploded their projected positions down the main road. They exchanged a glance, only partially concealed by their respective buildings. Box’s spider in particular was unnaturally curled up by the maneuver. They still had a constant tone on them.

“Keep moving.” Rondo demanded. “Find concealment.”

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The tanks rolling along side them could easily do so. Rondo had to retreat to a nearby church, and Box on his side found a similarly tall midrise apartment building. Soon rounds began landing on his concealment and Box’s as well. He winced. He was decisively outranged by an essentially invisible enemy. If he allowed the landing the units would link up with the battleships behind and give them targeting information. They’d be dead men standing, anywhere on Isabela at any time.

This was more or less what he was expecting, when he said his goodbyes. It was the end, and what an ignominious one. It was then he got a telegram from his old squadmate, Northern Cross.

‘Distract them at all costs.’ it said. He nodded stiffly and signaled as such to Box, then activated his rolling drive and moved out into the street.

“Box!” he yelled, “The Crow has a plan. Let’s go!”

“Her? Man.” he said, sounding somewhat less enthusiastic. He never the less followed with his Spider into the main road to the docks.

—

Silver wheeled on his light map as two hundred aerial bandits descended on his invasion force. As he and Krieg had directed their strike groups to pursue NoCro, he had expected her to pursue one of them. Sky at least. What had actually happened was that NoCro had rearmed her fighters and united them north over Isabela, proceeded southward, and attacked his invasion fleet. Meanwhile she, who should have been confronting Sky head on, was now skating north. An unpredictable series of events. An unpredictable person.

Operation Vulcan Wolf 2 was by then well in effect, targeting his battleships. It was essentially the same as the first—why not—and now incorporated a second punch from the supposedly destroyed NS Wolf. A whole squadron of B-21 Raiders in an anti-shipping role supplied the difference. NoCro brought all this to bear on the now well reduced and weakened invasion force, ignoring Krieg and Silver and Sky and their separate strike groups entirely. An essentially perfect move. Meanwhile her subs were harassing both of his strike groups transiting the storm, which he fully anticipated she would attack. He had practically held them out.

“Did she plan this…” Silver wondered, tapping his chin. The structure of Vulcan Wolf implied, in retrospect, an intent to strike again. One does not allocate refueling drones for a mission not to be returned from. That was something he and Prism missed. She had planned it. Perhaps she intended to fight Sky, but she didn’t plan to stop there.

The woman had been targeting his on-shore bombardment capability from the start. Not his AEGIS destroyers. Not his carriers. Her object wasn’t to defeat him. It was to make the defending game fun.

That meant she had never betrayed them at all.

Silver slammed his fist down on the light table. He bit the tip of his thumb.

“Nothing has changed.” he assured himself.

—

Rondo panted effusively as he brought his Frame to the edge of the breakwater. The constant tone that signaled the lock on from the naval railgun had silenced itself at some point during his descent. He still saw the shadows of the assault ships in the distance, and personally viewed the F35s lifting off from them. That was not great. But it wasn’t instant death. Having executed NoCro’s plan to the point of absurdity, he rolled himself a little bit back into a more defensible position.

“Box, new plan.” he said.

“What?”

“Let’s die at Wolf. That’ll be cooler.”

—

“And we’re back.” Richard said, “Sorry about all that mess earlier. On Grid Today, your go-to channel for the latest in the uh, most non-controversial news. Just in time for your favorite, No-chaan.”

The way he pronounced favorite didn’t make it seem sincere.

“Thank you, Dick. Sorry about earlier.” NoCro said, from her ready room.

“Sorry, what do you mean?”

“Oh, that was me. The chipmunk. I was just spouting off about various rumors. I think they’re credible. It’s fun isn’t it?”

Richard cleared his throat. Maybe it was her, maybe it wasn’t.

“Well there you have it. Just more nonsense! Heard you got the best of Tastuta. She’s still fighting it out on Cristobal, by the way.”

“Is she? Good for her and her simps I guess.”

“What’s next?”

The truth was she liked this guy.

“Isabela.” she said, “That’s why we’re here, Dick.”