He trudged through dirt and debris. A hundred spent rounds scattered at his feet. A twelve man tank rolled alongside him as they neared the cursed tower. Some well born officer shouted pointless orders from atop a tank of his own while the hundred, hundred petty men sank their boots deep into the mud.

The insurgents had dampened the fields and dug out hidden ditches as to trap soldiers in the mud and pin tank treads down. The vast minefields had been all but nullified by the carpet bombing artillery, but an occasional explosion rang out where a mine had gone undetonated.

"Private!" A gruff sergeant called. He was a real soldier; his voice alone told the boy that he was ranked only through experience, unlike the worthless officers. His words deserved great heed.

"Sir?" The boy replied. He moved to salute but remembered that he had been ordered not to during the assault. Something to do with enemy snipers searching for the chain of command.

"What's your name private?" The Sergeant asked as he moved alongside the boy. The two marched forth, their rifled raised, as they regarded one another.

"Private Ellis, sir." He answered.

"Got a first name, Ellis?" The Sergeant asked.

"I'm a Reese, sir. Ellis is my first name." He admitted. "Though, my squad calls me Dreads... Sir." The Sergeant laughed at that before he turned from his rifle to size the boy up.

"Dread? What's so dreadful about you?" He mocked.

"Dreads, sir." The boy corrected. "It's cos' I had dreadlocks before the army shaved my head." The sergeant laughed again, though not as hard.

"Well met, Dreads. They call me Camo. My squad got wiped out in the first assault, so I guess I'm tagging along with you boys." The sergeant smacked a friendly hand against Dreads' shoulder but the impact nearly slid him across the slippery mud, straight onto his arse.

"Wiped out?" The boy gasped, forgetting the rigid formality of military speech for a moment. Camo didn't seem to notice, that or he didn't care at all.

"Yeah, damn birds are tricky. Our commander thought we could just storm straight in. Luckily she's dead now." He chuckled darkly.

"Birds, sir?" Dreads asked.

"Down!" The commander shouted. Moments later, a volley of artillery hailed across the field, though it flew clear over Dreads and his unit. He pulled his face from the mud after the explosions had cleared and the attack force continued onwards. He noticed Camo stood upright, having not even ducked down slightly.

"Ah..." He snorted. "It was miles away!" He threw an arm out as to dismiss the idea of artillery being a danger to his life. He reached that same hand out to aid the boy up from his knees before the two continued on unaffected, though one was much wetter and caked in a layer of mud.

"What were you saying, youngin?" Camo asked. Dreads scoured his mind but came up with nothing. It was only when he noticed a flurry of crows descend on the mound of corpses that they were approaching that he remembered.

"Oh, yeah." Dreads said as he deepened his voice in some flaccid attempt to appear older. "You called them birds?"

"Damn, how old are you?" Camo responded.

"Seventeen, Sir!" The boy confidently replied, if not a little too quickly.

"So, what sixteen?" Camo laughed.

"Seventeen, sir." He repeated. The lie faltered upon its second birth, but only due to Camo's leer. The boy could feel his eyes dance across him. His fledgling stubble, worn all too proudly. His slim shoulders and flat belly. His freshly shaven head and darkly freckled face.

"How about honestly now?" Camo laughed. "C'mon, I'm not gonna court marshal you son."

He looked around and made certain nobody would hear him in his shame.

"Fifteen... Sir." He reluctantly whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the distant fighting and the much closer engines.

"Damn." Was all that could pass Camo's lips. He collected himself for a moment before continuing with a grim and defeated smile. "By days end, you'll either be a warrior... Or a corpse." He laughed. "But one things for damn sure, you'll not see thirty."

The dawn crept up behind them. His shadow grew long, nearly long enough to reach the tower - though he had three kilometres yet to trek. A silence had fallen and brought an end to their conversations. It wasn't a quiet silence, a hundred shouted questions and fears passed around their minds and sounded like crashing waves to the boy.

A great rumble brought his head around to his rear. There he saw a Titan, a great mechanical beast, being dropped onto the fields from the sky. It could have been an angel, great and terrible; beautiful, deadly and descending to make battle from the bleeding stars. It bounded over him with a single step, and reached the walls with a dozen more. The 'birds', as Camo had called the Phoenix Alliance forces, let loose a thousand brutal rounds at the metal creature. A volley of missiles followed a great wall of shells and a mountain of explosives all crashed one after another like the apex wave of a tsunami crashing against the futile flood defences. Only, there was nothing futile about this Titan. A raised shield caught the worst of the attack, only failing against the final onslaught, though even what slipped through barely scorched the outer metal frame. The creature slammed down against the outer walls, Styx as the brief would have them believe. It tore and bashed, ripping the roof from some hangar while three more of it's kin crashed into the wall alongside it.

"Charge!" An Irish commander called before the whistles blew and the footsteps thundered.

"C'mon, dreads!" A pale young man shouted as he passed the boy by. He took up the charge and raised his rifle high, there was yet a kilometre to go before they would reach the walls but adrenaline would carry his all too heavy kit for him.

A noise like a thousand angry hornets blared above him as he reached the steel and stone barrier. A blurred line like a single ray of light shone past and every man in it's wake became two men; a top and a bottom. Six, then a dozen, and then thirty men or more were slaughtered by a beam so small he could barely parse it from the golden fields underfoot in a time so short he could barely react beyond a particularly hard blink.

Another dozen died while planting a set of explosives on the door way, and fifty more died from the volley of fire that erupted from behind it. Then it was his turn.

He clambered atop of the mound of men and fired off six or seven times into the thick cloud of smoke that sheeted the hallway they were raiding.

"Down!" A gruff sounding woman called from behind him. A firm hand on his shoulder sent him to the ground and she lay there beside him soon after. "Feed me!" She ordered as she dragged a massive machine gun into his view. He took up his role without a word, drawing upon the muscle memories engrained upon him during his six weeks training. He dragged a long belt of caseless bullets from over her shoulder and clipped them into the rifle rack. The soldier pulled them in and cycled the first round before firing off the first burst. Ten shots in the less than the time it would take to scream. The final round had fired by the time the first round had sounded. He held the belt as the bullets were pulled in, one by one, and sent off to cut some life short. The threat of their gun forced the Alliance forces into cover so his squad pushed onwards. The fighting was hard enough on both sides, but it wasn't Alliance blood that stained his white fatigues. They were too well entrenched, too well defended. Thirty friends died for every inch they clawed away.

It took three hours - and nearly a thousand men - to secure the first hallway. Dreads' little machine gun nest had ran through three spare barrels and eight reloads before they finally came to rest. His ears rang and his hands shook violently, but there was relative calm for a moment.

"Good work." The woman grunted. "Now, go find your squad." She rose from the mound of corpses they had fashioned into a cosy little nest and reached a hand out to help him to his feet.

He didn't so much as ask her name before he walked away, nor did he turn around as she gathered her squad and charged onward.

"Ellis! Where the fuck have you been?" The company commander demanded the instant he came into view. A well kempt man, pale and wrinkly skin - notably lacking a single soldiering scar - sagged over his twiggy bones like a wet cotton shirt. He, of course, spoke in the true and proper Hypatian accent; what would have once been called 'Posh Irish'.

"Fighting... Sir." Dreads answered as he fell into formation.

"This is a professional army! I won't have some dirty Reese thinking he can pick and choose his own battles. This is your squad, follow along or be tried as a deserter." The saggy old man pomped. A torrent of spittle followed along each word, seemingly diving away from his stained teeth for dear life. The soldiers to his sides moved slightly, making room for him to settle within. They were lined up like a firing squad against the steel wall Dreads had just helped pierce. The commander paced up and down the line of men, each a foot taller than him at least.

"Now that we are all here, I can continue." He declared. He cocked his head high and looked the soldiers up and down. "We have been reassigned. The previous vanguard is gone, the honour falls to us."

"Sir." A soldier spoke. Geon was his name, a good man but Dreads had a feeling he wouldn't last long in a fight; too brave for his own good.

"Farmboy." The commander nodded in reluctant permission.

"The vanguard, sir? That mean we're in front of everyone else?" Geon asked with a noticeable hint of excitement at the prospect.

"Yes, Mr. Carters. The thick of it, as they say." He said as you would to an overly enthused child.

"What happened to the last Van, sir?" A well muscled man asked. Dreads hadn't spoken to him much, but knew his name to be Hamid. He wasn't particularly tall, but he was as broad as any man could dream of being. A rose wound its way down his left arm and within each leaf was a name; Kiara, Dimos, Aayushi and Dawn. Each was adorned with some small image, nearly a logo, but Dreads stood too far from the man to make them out.

"Dead." The commander coldly answered. "To the last man... Or, nearly." He continued with a wearied glance at Camo, the sergeant Dreads had met earlier.

"Right." Camo grunted before standing aside the commander. "I'm your new crew sergeant. Any concerns come to me. Though, I'd probably say now... Doubt you'll get a chance when the game starts." He dryly laughed. He gave each man a pointed gaze but received naught more than awkward, shifting glances in return.

"Nah? Alright then." Camo finished. He pulled an oversized rifle from its sling, racked the bolt and nodded to the commander.

"Lets have at it, chaps. Death is no patient maiden." The commander declared, ripping free an old fashioned handgun and marching forth. The men followed behind in a well practiced wedge and wordlessly made their peace.

The fighting was just as thick as it had been, but it seemed that the ministry had gained a staggering amount of ground. It had took a thousand lives to win a single door, now it took fifty. They marched through the hallways and corridors that had been cleared by the previous vanguard and killed the occasional straggler at first, but once they reached the actual frontlines a switch flicked and flying bullets became more abundant than air. Guns are loud, as much was obvious, but the sound of hundreds of rifles firing tens of thousands of bullets all within an enclosed room is indescribable. For a second, the sound could have been some furious god, bellowing some righteous cry in some incomprehensible godly tongue. Then his vision came back and he realised that he wasn't hearing some god enacting their justice upon the world, but he had been shot.

"A skimmer!" Camo shouted over the fire as he dragged the boy into cover. When they were relatively safe, the older man pulled Dreads' helmet from his head. What had been a pure white dome now had a great black sear nearly straight down the middle. At some point a bullet had just barely missed his head, though when that had been, Dreads couldn't even hazard a guess. He strapped the helm back on and slowly rearmed his rifle.

"You good?" Camo asked.

"Yeah." Dreads dreamily answered, to which he promptly felt a slap grace his cheek. He roused and focused in on the ill shaven man crouched before him.

"Lets go kill some fucking birds." Dreads darkly smiled.

"Hoo-Rah!" Camo answered before blaring out three long bursts from his rifle, then three more. Dreads took up the push, and followed close behind the older man as they approached the Alliance position. He felt the heat of a dozen rounds skim by him, and the punch of one skimming his leg. It didn't stop him though. He continued harder, and harder, until he and his squad were close enough to the enemy that they could smell the mornings breakfast on their breaths. He shot twice into a man, and claimed his first kill of the day. Then he claimed another before diving behind a mound of fresh rubble. He watched as bullets tore his squad apart from his little hovel. He saw a bullet tear through one of the names tattooed on Hamid's arm, though the great beast didn't seem to mind.

It was only after a couple seconds of surveying the battlefield that he noticed his commander. His corpse lay riddled with bullets and shrapnel. His pistol was still cold, unused. He must have died straight away.

"Dreads!" Geon called out. He was hiding behind some great concrete pillar but the enemies had him pinned, dead to rights. Chips and chunks sprung violently from the column as bullet after bullet smashed and shattered into it. He needed help, cover. Dreads peeked his rifle over the small mound and fired off randomly as he kept his head as low as he could. The noise and threat of it drew in a few enemies and pulled attention away from Geon. He took the break in fire to draw a large tube from his pack. He placed a rocket within it and called out "Clear back-blast!"

Then a missile ripped through the air, and through the man too slow to move aside. It erupted in flame and energy. The fireball consumed all those around it. The heat reached out so far it scorched Dreads' eyebrows. The sound carried on a nearly visible wave which rattled his skull and unsteadied his spine. The heat was egregious, almost as deadly as the explosion, but once it passed silence fell.

"Call in!" Camo ordered from some hidden nook.

"I'm alive!" A first voice called.

"All good here!" Another announced.

"I'm hit... But I'll live." Hamid called.

"Ready to go, sir!" Geon answered.

Dreads waited but heard no more calls. "All good, sir." He finally said.

"Anyone else?" Camo called. Dreads could hear him rise and shuffle over to the choke point they had been fighting to take. One by one, each of the remaining men appeared alongside him until Dreads finally stood in the company of his five remaining brothers. He stepped over the corpse of some white clad soldier he never bothered to meet as Camo dragged the old CO before the line.

"Ellis, form up." Camo ordered. He patted down the old officer while Dreads found his spot in the line. From an internal pocket he removed a small, blood soaked, comms device.

"Command. Come in." He said. The device crackled for a moment before a fuzzy voice responded.

"Go for command." It said. Camo shot a quick glance at the line of men before him.

"Who are we, again?" He whispered.

"Oscar Blue 12." Dreads answered to which Camo bowed his head.

"Command, this is Oscar Blue 12. Our CO is 'life extinct' but we've secured breach three. Orders?"

A muffled snicker eked out from the line of men and a nudging shoulder dug into Dreads' ribs.

"Life extinct, hey." The man beside him mocked. A thick accent made itself apparent, but placing it proved difficult. He dragged out every syllable as though each were the most important he had ever spoken.

"How much I gotta' get paid before a bullet makes me 'life extinct'?" The man added.

"Nobles don't get killed, Amish. They're too good for that. Dying is for lesser men, for us." Hamid spat. He clung to his arm in a feeble attempt to plug the hole left by a stray bullet.

"Hamid..." Dreads said. It drew the large man's gaze but he remained in formation. "Let me see your wound."

"It's fine." Hamid quickly denied.

"Nah." Geon whispered. "You a medic, Dreads?"

"Not quite, just got hurt a lot as a kid. Helped Serah's nightingales during the Rebellion too." Dreads said. He didn't wait for permission. He broke formation and pulled out Hamid's arm.

"You couldn't have been older than nine during the Rebellion." Hamid protested but he put no great effort into retracting his arm.

"Sure." Dreads grunted. He pulled out his med-kit and wiped away the quickly crusting blood from Hamid's wound.

"Surely there's someone more qualified than an eight year old assistant nurse." He winced as a disinfectant wipe grazed, somewhat more roughly than was neccacary, against the wound.

"Sure there is." Geon laughed. He nodded over to the squad's combat medic, a white suit stained red and brown sprawled across the battlefield. The medic was on the roof and the floor, around the walls and likely staining his comrades armour.

"I'll ask if he's available." Geon mocked.

He plugged the wound with an expansive foam, wrapped a dressing around it and ducked away from his patient while Camo continued to argue away with command. It was clear the standing around was driving the men mad so Camo shot a look at Dreads as if to say "Go do something."

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He looked around before gathering his most commanding voice.

"Sweep the room. Check for intel." Dreads finally ordered. The men didn't move, but rather looked at him with a mixture of amusement and disgust. Geon broke out of the formation and, after a deep bow, saluted Dreads with a feigned enthusiasm.

"Yes, Sir! Mr. Reese, Sir! Right away, Sir!" He mocked through his pearly white teeth. Amish and the other unknown soldier joined him in his laughter while Hamid stood silently, his eyes scanning the room.

"It's a good call." Hamid finally said. "I see a couple of dead officers."

"By all means, go prod around some corpses. I'll stay here." Geon dismissed. A ringing whistle pierced them, it came from Camo. He looked dead into Geon's eyes and wordlessly ordered him to do as he was told. There was no more arguing or begrudging after that. All of the men wandered the ruined battlefield searching for anything of note.

"Hey. It's Ellis, right?" Hamid quietly called from two corpses over. He didn't look up. Rather, he continued to pillage the pockets of the nearly headless soldier in his hands.

"Yeah." Dreads simply responded.

"Why'd he call you Reese?" Hamid asked.

"You not Hypatian?" Dreads asked in kind.

"The accent not give it away?" Hamid chuckled. "No, Tunisia. Or... ANTAG rather. Sorry, I'm still getting used to the whole 'ministry' thing."

"Oh." Dreads grunted. He didn't relish the opportunity to teach somebody about Reesedom but felt no need to be rude. "A Reese is somebody abandoned in the undercity. A war orphan... Or an unwanted bastard. People tend not to look too kindly on us." He explained.

"They always find something to hate. Some part of us they want to kill." Hamid coldly said. Dreads chuckled lightly.

"Well, now I'm a soldier instead of a Reese; so they wanna kill all of me instead of just part. Much more egalitarian." He laughed. It didn't quite get a laugh out of the other man, it was most aptly described as a mild puff of air shot through clenched teeth.

"Colonel Reese, Sir!" Geon shouted from some dark corner. He bounced up as a limp corpse slumped away behind him. Dreads span to look at him. He had some device in his hand and was frantically waving it over his head.

"Is this satisfactory for you, Sir?" He asked as he stood rigid at attention. A mocking salute slapped against his head as his heels clacked together. Dreads didn't pay his mockery any mind and moved straight to the task at hand.

"What is it?" He asked. Geon dropped his stance, but not his grin.

"A comm, still active as well." He explained. He flicked the device and a voice sang out from within.

"-epeat. All personal to evacuation stations. Repeat. All personal to evacuation stations." An automated voice repeated on and on.

"They're running?" Hamid said. He sounded surprised, maybe even a little disgusted.

"It's a losing battle. Can't blame them." The soldier Geon had named Amish pointed out.

"Still... They won't fight for their home?" Hamid questioned. He looked to Dreads, it wasn't rhetorical. Ellis kicked a rock off of the corpse of some Alliance soldier and nodded to the mound of bullet riddled flesh.

"Home is people, they're fighting to save the civilians not land." He said.

"You make them sound noble." Hamid spat. "They're going to get us all killed once the Martians arrive."

"Maybe..." Dreads admitted. "Or maybe they'll make us worth saving from the Martians."

"Form up!" Camo called. The men hurried back into line yet again in hopes of receiving new orders.

"Sir." Dreads said upon taking his place.

"Ellis?" Camo urged.

"We found a comm device, sir. They're evacuating the towers." He uneasily said. Camo looked at him for a moment before scratching his head and nodding.

"If they are... They haven't started yet." Camo declared. "Any evac shuttles would never make it off the island. They must be waiting for something."

"Do we have orders, sir?" Dreads asked after a moment of contemplative silence.

"Nope."

"No... sir?" Dreads repeated in shock. A sickle of dread dragged its way up his spine and loosed its curve around his neck, holding him breathlessly in place.

"The general's dead." Camo announced. "We're pretty much on our own."

"But... Chain of command, sir? There should be four colonels ready to replace him." Geon insisted.

"There was. Col. Harvik was placed in charge of artillery; Col. Singh was given the air force; Col. Mansell was given the naval blockade and Col. Aileen is dead. Now there's a bunch of in fighting majors and and a Lieutenant Colonel who's gone AWOL. Us dumbasses in infantry have been left out to dry." Camo explained.

"So..." Geon tried to say but the defeat he wore so plainly stole away his voice.

"So what do we do now, sir?" Dreads finished for him.

Camo let slip a dreadful sigh and tried to wipe the worry from his face. He took a deep breath and decided.

"We don't have orders... But we do have intel. It seems the Alliance has all but abandoned this ring. To me, that means they are gonna scuttle the ship." He said.

"Destroy the ring?" Hamid questioned.

"Do you not think so?" Camo asked. He seemed to genuinely doubt himself for a moment.

"I agree." Dreads said. He didn't know why he said it in the first place but he felt the need to continue, find a reason. "If I was them, I'd..." He looked around and saw the mounds of rubble that covered the mounds of corpses. Logic left and he hoped the words spoken would suffice. "I'd draw as many ministry troops in and blow up the ring. Maybe that's what they're waiting for? They might flee during the explosion?" He suggested. He doubted his own words but they seemed enough to convince the squad.

"Let's get the fuck outta here then!" Amish shouted. He didn't wait for a reply but made for the corridors and pathways they had come in from. The other soldier joined him silently. "You coming?" Amish asked. The squad turned to Camo and he shifted awkwardly in his contemplation.

"I'm not gonna make any of you stay." He gruffly said. "But we might be able to do some good." Nobody jumped at the suggestion, but Amish did hold in his tracks.

"What do you mean?" The other soldier asked.

"Intel says the Alliance is pulling into the central tower, but one of Malthines' spies has spotted a squad of soldiers camped out in an abandoned wing of Styx. Command thinks there's something funny going on."

"You want us to go deeper?" Amish laughed. He turned to walk away, shoving the other soldier along with him.

"I want to do my job." Camo corrected, but by the time he said so the other men had left. He dismissed them with a frustrated hand wave before turning to the three remaining men.

"You're still here?" He somewhat laughed.

"Sir. If we've a job to do, lets get to it." Geon answered. He clacked his feet together and stood at attention, his eyes affixed to the roof.

"And you two?" Camo hesitantly asked.

Hamid moved first. He filed in next to Geon and took a similar pose. "Sir." He muttered.

"You wanna stay?" He asked the large man.

"I get paid more based on commendations, Sir. I'm here for a medal." Hamid flatly answered.

"Didn't expect you to be the mercenary type. Fair enough, glad to have you." Camo nodded.

"I've got a family to feed, sir." Hamid answered, a hint of indignation in his tone. Camo all but ignored him, turning instead to Dreads.

"Ellis?" He asked.

Dreads took the fateful step. It kicked up dust around him as he shuffled forth. "Sir." He simply said.

"You'll probably die." Camo warmly said.

"Better me than a better man." He answered as he took his attentive stance.

"Well then gentlemen. Lets go hunt some birds."

They wandered fraught corridors and abandoned emplacements. They overstepped children's toys and household items. A sparse few corpses, left after battle, littered the open areas. There was nary a trace of warrior or civilian that still breathed. All imprints in the dust were much to dense to make out a direction, but common sense suggested they fled as one for the evac tunnels. They walked in a wedge, with Camo at the front and Hamid and Geon to the flanks. He watched the others scan high and low with an expert precision, it seemed he alone was virgin to battle. He wondered how many men they had all killed. He wondered if they cared.

He had taken a mans life earlier, and barely noticed. He had helped that large woman kill men by the dozen and paid the corpses no mind. A part of him hoped it would be scarring, but it almost seemed natural.

"Left." Camo gruffly said. The cold command had returned to his voice almost as soon as he had pulled his rifle back to hand. There was no timidity left in the bald older man's presence. His word sounded final, like he knew everything that could possibly happen and doing exactly what he said would be the only means of survival. The men entered another corridor, then another and then six kilometres of others. By the time they reached the naval section of Styx, it seemed dawn would complete within the hour. They stood near an open hangar bay, and saw the grim horizon with its stormy clouds approach. There was something else, too. A shuttle, massive and daunting. It carried something even larger beneath itself. A Titan; and three smaller behind it. Steel tendrils flailed in the wind. A hundred vile eyes scanned every possible direction while small missiles fired off to intercept incoming Alliance cannons. It was getting closer to them, heading directly for them.

"Command must be after this squad, too. Lets hurry; see if we can't get them first." Geon suggested. The men seemed to agree as they quickened their pace towards the next hangar over.

"Stop." Camo whispered. He raised a hand and took to his knee. They all saw it immediately. A woman had fled the target hangar. She didn't wear Alliance armour, but nor did she wear ministry kit. They raised their rifles high before calling her out.

"Halt!" Camo ordered. He approached her alone while the other men remained back, rifles well trained on her.

"Omega, block twelve." The woman shouted.

"Alpha, strike eight." Camo calmly responded. "She's ministry!" He shouted over his shoulder to the rest of his squad.

"Sergeant. Why are you here?" She asked through panted breaths and a thick accent.

"Intel suggests there's a squad of hostiles here." He answered.

The others closed the distance, stepping up behind Camo while he conversed with the woman. Camo looked at them and signalled for Geon and Hamid to move ahead and cover the doorway.

"So they got my message?" She said, mostly to herself. "Tell me, why haven't I heard from S.C. Akyama?" She asked in a tone that seemed to assume supremacy over the rest of the men. It seemed almost silly that she would talk down to Camo, she was no older than Dreads yet spoke like a woman twice her age.

"That's need to know, I'm afraid." Camo suspiciously said.

"Well, I need to know." She shortly replied. Dreads felt her looking him up and down, studying him for something.

"Do you have a name?" Camo asked, suddenly much more ridged. She sighed and turned her studying gaze to him.

"That's need to know, I'm afraid." She answered. "You can call me Songbird, infiltration specialist and right hand to Akyama." She tore away a black patch on her sleeve to reveal a sentinel insignia. Camo and Dreads immediately - and in quite a panic - saluted her. Camo's tone lost the command of earlier as he answered her.

"Apologies, specialist. We believe Akyama Hosun was assassinated. The command structure of the assault is in ruins." He frantically explained. She seemed to grow an inch from his grovelling, though it didn't make her look any less tiny for a Sentinel.

"He's... Dead?" She asked.

"We believe so, ma'am." Camo replied. She was young enough to be his daughter, and yet he still called her ma'am. It would have made Dreads laugh, if he hadn't been so terrified of her. He knew the stories of Sentinels. Of all sworn council Sentinels, only one had ever betrayed the Ministry and he killed hundreds single handed in a single day. They were the best of the best of the best and had no loyalty to anybody but their councillor. They were the only people in the world who were permitted to deny a direct order from Matias Malthines himself.

Her face lost any trace of expression. She stood straight and looked Camo in his eyes.

"Forget your mission, you're with me." She ordered. Songbird, as she introduced herself, awaited no response. She marched past the two men and stormed down the corridor.

Camo and Dreads met eyes and shared confused looks. "The squad must be dead?" Dreads suggested. Camo just shrugged.

"Form up!" He called out to Geon and Hamid. They ran into their wedge and followed along behind Songbird.

"Ma'am." Camo said. "What are our orders?"

"Keep me alive." She simply replied.

"All due respect, ma'am, but you're a Sentinel. Surely you don't need us?" Camo suggested.

"I will do soon enough." She darkly replied.

They walked on for some time, even encountering the occasional straggling bird. Songbird would always finish them off before the rest could even begin to react, though. They wound through the ring seemingly without goal.

"Ma'am, please." Camo insisted after a few more moments of silence. "Do we have a plan?"

She stopped dead in her tracks before turning around much too quickly. Dreads struggled to keep his eyes on her. It seemed his eyes constantly wanted to be averted, but he resisted. He saw her sunken eyes, and the bags beneath them. He saw her chapped and cracked lips and areas where her hair had fallen out in great clumps. She was no great beauty, but there was an aura around her. A sense of apathy and confidence drawn from the knowledge that she was the best. Unbeatable. Her eyes told another story. They were shaken, almost scared. She was the best, but she was stressed. Had she been defeated? It looked as though her world had been sent awry.

"I have a plan. You are part of it. Come along." She ordered.

"What is our part, ma'am." Camo insisted. She didn't answer for a time, instead looking at him like a piece of rotten meat. "Just... So I can better prepare my men." He quietly continued, blatantly uneased. She sighed and cast her dark eyes across the men around him.

"I had orders, now my commander is dead." She began. "So I have to improvise." She pulled from her backpack a strange blue orb suspended within a glass case between two black handles.

"The squad you were so interested in was a special forces unit called Raptor. I disabled their ship and sent my own off to make them think I've fled. This is their prize." She explained.

"What is it?" Dreads asked, slightly awed by the orb and forgetting himself temporarily.

"Power." She simply said.

Songbird stowed the 'thing' back into her pack. "There is a lab here. I'm going to use its gear to harness this power. When I do so, I'll need you to protect me." She finished. She was already off and walking before anyone could process what she was saying.

There was no word of dissent after that. The way she spoke, it seemed almost like she held a nuclear bomb in her hands. 'Power' she said. "What does that mean" Dreads thought to himself. It seemed the rest of the squad were deep in contemplation of the same question, judging by the furrowed brows and distant stares shared between the lot of them.

It was midday by the time they reached Songbird's lab and deep into the afternoon by the time she was ready. She seemed to scroll through some hundred files on her wrist device while she set up some intricate and thoroughly scientific looking contraption. It wouldn't be amiss stored within some mad scientist's torture chamber. A dozen needled arms suspended by string and hope over a canvass bed. He could see leather straps attached to anchor points on the bed and an extra leather strap he could only assume would act as a mouth guard.

"Anyone here a medic?" She asked.

"Dreads is acting medic." Geon volunteered with a wicked grin.

"You?" She asked, looking at Hamid. He shook his head and nodded to the much less impressive specimen beside him.

"I am, ma'am." Dreads sputtered.

"Great." She sarcastically grunted. "Strap my arms in and hit go when I say." She ordered. He shuffled over to her and bound her arms and legs to the frame.

"This isn't going to hold up to much." He said after feeling the thin aluminium frame she had wrapped what he now realised to be leather belts to.

"Then hold me down." She simply replied.

"Yes, ma'am."

He looked at the screen and all the readings it was taking. His knowledge was clearly lacking for a procedure like this, but it seemed to him that her entire nervous system was being monitored. He looked to her for a final confirmation. Songbird bit down hard on her belt and nodded to him.

He pressed the big red button and the first syringe dropped. He took it and injected it into the first site marked on the monitor. The effect was immediate, and excruciating. Her screams curdled his blood and triggered some kind of fight or flight within him. He watched the monitor as a blue substance coursed through her right thigh. He watched sweat pour from her head by the litre. She thrashed and tore at her bindings with a terrifying strength.

Injection two fell, and he guided it to the site on her other thigh. Again, the screams came. Twice as ear-splitting as before.

"Give her some morphine, for fucks sake!" Hamid shouted from his guard post.

"Her heart rate is too low, morphine will kill her." Dreads said in a panic after checking the monitor over again.

The next injection came much quicker this time. It was aimed for her arm, but her thrashing and writhing stopped him from finding the appropriate spot.

"Hamid!" He shouted. The large man lumbered over in an instant. "Hold her still." Dreads ordered.

After a firm hand settled her movements, Ellis plunged the syringe in yet again. He expected the screams to be thrice the volume, but they instead fell silent. He checked her vitals and for as frantic as they where, she was fine. The pain must have gotten so bad, it ripped the breath from her lungs and screams from her lips. She writhed much slower now, but spasmed no less. Twitching and shaking like a thousand bolts of lightning had rocked every inch of her body. She squinted so hard that upon opening her eyes, she was completely bloodshot, with no white left in her eyes.

Another injection, this time in her chest. It had the exact same effect as the others. Exponential pain. Her agonising tears turned to a channel of blood, as did her sweat. Bruising appeared all over her body as every muscle tightened and contracted. Her body rose like a demon and fell back to the bed in spasming contractions.

The final injection dropped and Hamid was forced to hold her head in place. Her eyes darted between the two men. Fear and agony filled them. The soldier and warrior of legend was gone. This was someone else, some primal recess of the mind designed to shelter us from intolerable pains. She uttered something in a gargled voice. Ellis leaned in closer to listen.

"Kill me..." She begged.

Straight into her neck, like the kiss of a vampire. The serum flooded and filled her as the monitor showed it heading higher. The centre of all of her nerves, the brain. It flooded and coursed through. Mapping her out and tracing her very mind for all to see.

This scream was different. Final. This scream lit her eyes aflame, and not in some poetic sense. Ellis fell backwards as a violet fire erupted from her very eyes. Her skin burnt him and set the bed she lay on to a great pyre. The men all surrounded her and her smokeless flame. She did not rise nor writhe, only scream. It spread quickly and far. It blanketed the room before anyone could react. A sheet of violet heat landed on each of the men. Her screams were finally drowned out by their own. The flesh boiled like water, eyes popped in their socket and hair lit like kindling. The flame burnt out all of the air in the room, leaving none left for the men to scream with.

And then through all, Ellis looked to Hamid and his burning flesh. He saw the bandage he had wrapped around him burn away to show the names. Kiara, Dimos, Aayushi and Dawn. The children who would never see their father again. He imagined what his own kids would have been named. He imagined what his future could have been.

His life did not flash before his eyes. He was fifteen, there was nothing to see. His mind must have taken pity and showed him an imagined tomorrow, even after his eyes could no longer see today.

Men die every day, but he never imagined it would be him. Then it was; and he was so calm.