Chapter 34 - The Golden Prince

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Edward

Ed was nowhere to be found in the transport as he claimed. He had lied.

Instead, he veered off course, his steps leading him to the docking bay where the transport crafts nestled within the planet's hangars. From there, he charted a course towards the tallest structure in the city, a beacon of authority amid the urban sprawl. Though the academy exuded opulence, it remained an insular enclave, disconnected from the broader world. But Ed found himself at a loss, uncertain of the city's boundaries.

"Do you have an appointment?" The receptionist's inquiry snapped him from his reverie. She was a middle-aged woman, her blonde hair framing a face that betrayed years of navigating bureaucratic mazes.

Caught off guard by her question, Ed glanced over his shoulder to behold the snaking line of eager visitors. He drew a deep breath, steeling himself against the crush of bodies. "No," he replied softly, rubbing his temples.

The receptionist's fingers danced across the keyboard, punctuating the air with the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of keys. Ed's gaze drifted to the window, where he observed the bustling traffic below—cars coursing through the streets and soaring through the sky like winged creatures. He was captivated by the sight, momentarily lost in the spectacle.

"And who are you here to see?" The receptionist's voice brought him back to the present, her curiosity piqued by the unexpected visitor.

Ed steadied his breath, weaving a fabric of half-truths to cloak his intentions. "It's academy business... I need to meet with Governor Mathias Radulf of Oceana II, please."

The receptionist's eyes widened in surprise, her brow furrowing in skepticism. "Kid, listen," she began, leaning in closer. "Whether you're from the academy or not, there are protocols to follow, and..."

Ed chuckled softly, meeting her gaze with unwavering confidence. "Tell him Edward Wolfsheim wishes to meet. I may not have an appointment, but a friend has informed him of my impending arrival."

"But not when?" The receptionist's laughter was tinged with doubt, her skepticism evident. She questioned the wisdom of relaying such a message to the governor, uncertain of its purpose. After all, Ed appeared to be just another ordinary youth, and she had no desire to incur the wrath of security for admitting him.

Yet, with a resigned sigh, she relented. Duty called, and she knew that if security needed to be summoned, she would bear the brunt of the consequences. "Very well... but be prepared to wait. The governor is a busy man, and you'll need to exercise patience."

"Wait," Ed replied with a smug tilt of his head. "I'll wait." With a confident stride, he broke away from the line and settled into a seat, a closed smile playing at his lips.

The receptionist could only sigh in resignation as another customer took Ed's vacated place. She had expected him to linger, but neither she nor Ed anticipated the arrival of security.

Stopping before Ed, the larger of the two officers, a man with dark skin clad in antiquated Earth-style police attire, addressed him. "You're Edward Wolfsheim?" he queried.

Ed met his gaze, aware of the collective scrutiny upon him. "That's right," he confirmed, rising from his seat. "Do you require my credentials?"

The officer nodded curtly. "The Governor has cleared you for a meeting, for whatever reason. I don't care, but my duty is to ensure his safety." With that, he motioned for Ed to follow, adding, "Come along, I'm not going to wait for you."

As Ed fell into step behind the officer, he glanced at his watch, then shifted his gaze to the man's broad back. I've only been gone for thirty minutes. This is merely a GrimGar encounter they're dealing with... This meeting is far more significant, the culmination of all my efforts since I first arrived.

Led to an elevator discreetly tucked away from the public eye, Ed noted its opulent golden trim. "Head to the top floor—the Governor awaits," the officer instructed.

Ed nodded, pressing the button to summon the elevator. As the doors slid open, he took his first steps inside. "Edward Wolfsheim, President of House Mars," the other officer remarked. Ed paused, pivoting to face them. "We've seen your ID... Just remember, our priority is protecting the governor. If we sense even a hint of Martian Rage, we won't hesitate to act."

The older, taller officer shot his companion a stern glance, silencing him. Yet, the silence was pregnant with unspoken implications. "We don't tolerate traitors to the throne around here. Don't expect your past loyalties to shield you," he warned.

Ed regarded the two men, a myriad of thoughts swirling in his mind. For a fleeting moment, he entertained the notion of confronting them, reminding them of their shared ancestry and the tales of honor and valor that defined House Mars. But then his mind drifted back to the day when he stood alone in defense of his House, even against his own kin.

In that moment, Edward Wolfsheim realized that in this world, alliances were forged and loyalties tested, but in the end, one must stand firm, even if it means standing alone.

With a tilt of his head, Ed stepped into the elevator and pressed the button. Both men outside scrutinized him, and Ed met their gaze unflinchingly. As the doors sealed shut, he felt the swift ascent, bathed in a cascade of golden light as the elevator soared to the fifth level.

Stunned momentarily, Ed's surprise melted into a smile as he beheld the sprawling cityscape below. Towering edifices kissed the sky, while fleets of airships and cutting-edge technology showcased humanity's collective achievements.

Upon reaching the 100th level, the doors groaned open, and Ed emerged into a narrow corridor. Pausing before the solitary brown door, he hesitated briefly. "Come on, Ed," he murmured to himself, his wrist trembling momentarily before he steadied it with his other hand. "No fear. I can't show him any fear... or he will consume me." With a heavy breath, he pushed the door open.

Ed didn't know what to expect, but in his wildest dreams during the labor camp, he had envisioned this moment. He had imagined opulence, a grand office fit for a ruler. Instead, he found warmth and the gentle glow of sunlight streaming through open windows.

As Ed approached, he beheld a man significantly older, possibly in his 50s or 60s, clad in a simple business suit, a satchel resting casually on a nearby chair.

Before Ed could speak, the man, Mathias, addressed him. "I didn't believe it when I saw it in my emails at first," he confessed.

Drawing closer, Mathias continued, "I read the reports all those years ago... the Golden Prince lost to the void. But I held onto hope, even as others succumbed to despair and met their end across the galaxy. I kept my hope," he paused, locking eyes with Ed, his orange-golden gaze meeting Ed's emerald green. A smile crept across his lips. "...and I'm glad it paid off."

Approaching Ed, Mathias fell to one knee, his arms falling to his sides. Cupping Ed's hand, he pressed a reverent kiss to his palm, tears streaming down his weathered features. "Forgive me," he implored, his voice thick with emotion. "I had to see for myself, I had to look into the eyes I saw the day you were born. Now, I know the Empress's words are true."

Laughter mingled with sobs, creating an eerie symphony in the room as Ed observed the old man's emotional rollercoaster. Yet, amidst the turmoil of feelings, one utterance seized Ed's attention, causing a gasp to escape his lips. Mathias clasped his hand once more, his gaze fixed on the floor, as if grappling with profound truths.

"The Golden Prince, still lives!" Mathias's proclamation reverberated through the chamber, sending shivers down Ed's spine. It was a jarring declaration, one that stirred dormant memories and awakened ancient legacies. Ed's true name, long forgotten, echoed in Mathias's final words—a name steeped in the golden lineage of kings, a legacy woven from the fabric of Mars itself.

"All hail Edward Goldree, the Golden Prince... the Last of The Kings of The Red Moon, a King of Mars!" Mathias's voice resounded with the weight of history, each syllable laden with the blood-stained saga of kings and kingdoms, of power and legacy. In that moment, Ed stood at the precipice of destiny, confronted with the echoes of a past he had thought lost forever.

Jacob

Jacob had faced battles and taken lives before, his Martian heritage running deep in his veins, but never had he savored the taste of victory nor sought honor in bloodshed. Yet, a fierce transformation overcame Isaac as he grasped the stockless Executor rifle, a primal energy coursing through his veins.

"Come get some!" His voice thundered above the cacophony of gunfire, a manic laughter trailing behind his battle cry. Bullets tore through the air, each shot a declaration of defiance against the encroaching darkness. A GrimGar fell, its throat torn asunder by Isaac's relentless onslaught, leaving a young girl cradled in terror, crimson fear staining her innocent features. With trembling hands, she was pulled away from the fray, fleeing into the uncertain safety of the ruins, where danger lurked in every shadow.

Joseph, consumed by the immediacy of combat, gripped his axe tightly, its blade humming with an ominous orange glow. Across the debris-strewn battlefield, a formidable GrimGar loomed, its predatory gaze fixed on Joseph with deadly intent. Seeking refuge within the shattered remains of a once-grand hotel, Joseph and his companions plotted their next move—radioing Ed, their beacon of hope in a city besieged by darkness.

Fingers trembling with adrenaline, Joseph fired his pistol, each shot a desperate plea for survival echoing through the desolate halls. GrimGar adversaries lurked in the shadows, their ominous presence a constant reminder of the city's impending doom. With gritted teeth, Joseph urged his allies to protect the innocent amidst the chaos, his words a rallying cry amidst the chaos of battle.

As the GrimGar closed in, Isaac's rifle sang with deadly precision, its lethal aim sparing the lives of civilians caught in the crossfire. Joseph's Martian Power Armor pulsed with ancient energy, a relic of a bygone era now wielded in defiance against the encroaching darkness.

"So, this is the real deal," Joseph exclaimed, his eyes widening in disbelief. Just days earlier, their mission seemed straightforward, but now it had taken a disastrous turn. What was happening here? They had fought tooth and nail against the greatest odds Joseph had ever encountered, but...

Ed nodded in agreement, his office filled with the sound of his lighter snapping open as he took a drag from his cigarette. Speaking as Joseph adjusted the helmet on his head, Ed remarked, "Sir William had quite a stash, and Adaline and Bea, thanks to our new partnership, will only deal with us."

Joseph looked up at him, a frown forming. "So, you want to keep our weapons to ourselves," he observed.

Ed shot him a sharp look. "That was Mars' old policy... We can't risk the other houses getting hold of our weaponry."

Joseph sighed, his gaze shifting to the blank, black eyes of the suit. Slowly, he began to speak, his voice low and reflective. "The PA2 – Great Helm. I never thought these things were still around... even back on Mars when we were kids," Joseph paused, a sense of nostalgia creeping in. "I thought this pattern had become extinct."

Ed chuckled, smoke curling from his lips as he spoke. "Nope, they may not know how to make it anymore, but old Mad Ed had a bunch when the Mark 4's and 5's were being rolled out. The power armor gives even the enhanced Martians greater strength. It can even protect you against Executor rounds fairly well, and they have the strongest backpack energy source out of all of them."

Joseph nodded along, his head bobbing like a toy. "Sure, sure," he replied. "...but Ed, these suits are no joke. The moment we step out there wearing them..."

"It's all about perception, I get it," Ed interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. "Listen, just don't do anything out there that will tarnish Mars' reputation further... though I doubt that's even possible with you lot," he chuckled, his laughter echoing in the room. "Especially Isaac."

Joseph sighed, a hint of amusement in his tone now.

Ed waved the smoke around, his demeanor now more relaxed. With rain pouring outside and the room illuminated by a single light, it was just the two of them.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Sometimes, I wonder if he even likes me," Ed mused.

"Oh, come on," Joseph responded, waving off Ed's concern. "Isaac may be rough around the edges, but he's a product of the Martian System. People may have their opinions, but it works. It's tough, but it's kept the universe safe... and within that toughness, there was brotherhood," Joseph paused, locking eyes with the black visor of the armor. "I don't think Isaac has ever experienced that before."

Ed sighed heavily, his gaze fixed on the file in front of him. "I went through his file... impressive in every aspect, surprisingly. He's remarkably intelligent, fluent in several languages, self-taught in strategy through extensive reading... and it reflects in his performance. He's memorized command doctrines and plans... but his psychological evaluation is..."

Joseph let out a weary sigh. "He's likely suffering from PTSD. You know how those Military Academy worlds operate, especially in the deep frontier."

There was a moment of silence as Ed took a drag from his cigarette. "I don't know if it's just me, Joe. Sometimes, I tend to overthink, and I hate that... I feel so stressed at times," he admitted, walking over to the window.

"Ed," Joseph called out.

Ed turned around, his expression troubled. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."

"You're my friend and leader, Ed," Joseph interrupted gently. "If you need someone to talk to, that's why you came to me about this situation."

Ed fell silent at that, taking a seat. "Joseph, I know time has passed, but before this mission... we need everyone working together seamlessly, so..." He paused, his gaze intense. "Now I ask, who is loyal, for those loyal will wield this plate."

Joseph was jolted from his thoughts, narrowly avoiding a jaggedly made machete swung by Arthur, who whooped from behind. Drawing his pistol, Joseph fired at the GrimGar. "Yeah, get them, Joseph, get him!" Arthur shouted.

Dodging another blow, Joseph spun on his feet and leaped, each strike from the creature growing more forceful. But one blow was too powerful, striking the wood and embedding itself.

Joseph's eyes widened as he saw the opportunity. "I've got you!" he shouted, whirling his axe and cleaving the creature in half. Blood and grime coated Joseph's armored form as the GrimGar, witnessing this display, began to flee and retreat. Yet, the sons of Mars continued their relentless assault.

Inside the building, people cautiously emerged from their rooms, witnessing the scene. Joseph's breath rattled within his chest as he took a knee.

Vinnie hurried over to him, his medical helmet shining red and white as he approached. "Joe, are you..."

"Vin, I'm fine, but they probably aren't... I just need a moment to catch my breath." Joseph's voice quivered with exhaustion as he spoke. Vinnie opened his mouth to respond but then simply nodded, dashing off to assist the wounded scattered across the chaotic scene.

Joseph's chest rose and fell with each labored breath as Axel emerged from his hiding spot, deftly reloading his weapon with practiced ease. Blood seeped from a heavily bandaged wound on Axel's leg as he slowly made his way towards them, grimacing with each step. "Christ, Axel," Arthur exclaimed, rushing to support him against the wall.

With a cough, Axel removed his helmet, gasping for air as beads of sweat dripped down his brow. More survivors trickled out of their rooms, their faces etched with fear, while Isaac remained silent behind his helmet, his expression unreadable.

Arthur unclasped his helmet and hung it at his waist. "What a sorry sight we make, comrades," Axel remarked with a bitter chuckle, echoed by Arthur.

"You're a brave one, Axel, a true fighter," Arthur said, a hint of admiration in his voice. "But this... this is dire."

Axel glanced down at his injured leg. "It's not just about bravery anymore. We need to get out of this city before we lose more than just limbs to infection," he declared, his tone resolute.

Arthur nodded grimly. "Ed and the transport," he murmured, his gaze drifting towards the distant radio tower. "Do you think the signal will hold?"

"More like if the power will hold," Axel replied tersely, eyeing the flickering lights of the hotel.

"I've faced GrimGar before on my homeworld," Arthur began, his voice tinged with unease. "But I've never seen them like this. Where did they get such numbers?"

"They've evolved," Axel replied, his brow furrowed with concern. "Advanced weaponry, vehicles... and sheer numbers."

Arthur's eyes widened in realization. "GrimGar aren't known for their strength, especially not with the arsenal they're wielding. But something's different this time," he mused aloud. "Their tactics, their equipment... it's as if they've undergone a transformation."

"It's unsettling," Axel agreed, his voice tinged with apprehension. "They shouldn't have the knowledge or resources for this level of warfare. There's something more at play here."

Arthur nodded, scratching his head in bewilderment. "Perhaps it's a mutation, or... dare I say it, magic?"

Axel shook his head, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a sense of foreboding. "Arthur, this isn't mere coincidence... these tremors, they're timed too perfectly, as if..."

"They're embedded within the planet," Arthur interjected gravely, his voice heavy with resignation. Moving to support Axel, he glanced back at the trail of destruction they left behind. Axel's gun hung limply at his side as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Damn it," Axel muttered through gritted teeth. "They caught us off guard. Next time... I won't underestimate the GrimGar."

Arthur chuckled softly, a bitter undertone in his laughter, as they made their way down the stairs. People scurried about in panic, debris clinging to their clothes, while children sought refuge behind their trembling parents. Axel's gaze softened as he observed the chaos around them. "Even now, I'm powerless. But you, you would have..." His voice trailed off, haunted by memories of Henryk's fall.

"We'll discuss this further on the ship," Arthur declared, his expression grim. "We need to inform everyone about what's happening here. The entire sector is in turmoil."

Axel snorted in agreement. "I did some digging before we arrived," he admitted, his breath still labored. "This sector used to be a stronghold of the Martians, a series of industrial worlds loyal to the crown, now up for grabs."

Arthur spat in disdain. "Vultures," he muttered. "So, who's vying for control?"

Axel shot him a knowing look. "You've been out of the loop. But here's the gist: Oceana Prime still has their princess..." He smirked. "And Neptune boasts a prince. Funny how the invasion coincided with the princess turning eighteen."

Arthur's eyes widened in realization as Axel winced in pain on the stairs. "Maybe I should watch more TV," Arthur quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

Axel chuckled weakly, patting Arthur on the back. "You're not half bad, countryman."

Their camaraderie blossomed amidst the chaos of battle, a bond forged in the crucible of adversity.

"The elevator's out," Vinnie announced, tending to the wounded. Rising to join the group, he turned to Joseph. "Are we still sticking to the mission?"

Joseph shook his head decisively. "To hell with the mission. We're calling Ed and getting out of here."

"Wait, are you going to leave?" The mother's voice cut through the chaos, her arms wrapped protectively around her daughter as she hurried towards Vinnie. But before she could reach him, Isaac's imposing power armor loomed over her, nearly knocking her off her feet.

"Back away now..." His voice crackled through the radio, a cold warning that sent shivers down her spine.

"Enough, Isaac," Arthur sighed, stepping forward to diffuse the tension. "Forgive my friend, madam. He can be... overly cautious at times."

More people flooded into the lobby, drawn by the commotion. Joseph turned to see what had attracted their attention and his heart sank. The once grand lobby now lay in ruins, shattered windows offering a grim view of the outside world. The sky glowed an eerie orange, choked with smog, while a thick fog hung ominously on the horizon.

Rubble littered the streets, blocking once bustling highways now reduced to nothing more than debris-strewn wastelands. Joseph's mind raced, trying to make sense of the devastation. "They must have planted bombs," he muttered to himself. "But these earthquakes, these tremors... there's something more to them."

In the distance, amidst the destruction, Joseph spotted a car racing down the road, its grey form a stark contrast against the chaos. His gaze followed its path, realization dawning on him. "They're heading towards the docks," he murmured.

"No civilians are to be allowed," Isaac declared, his tone unwavering.

"And you would condemn them all to die here?" Arthur's wounded hand gestured to the crowd that had gathered around them. "We have the means to transport them to safety on the neighboring Oceana Planets."

Isaac's expression darkened. "And what happens when one of them gets in the way of our mission, or worse, gets killed?" he retorted. "I'd rather deal with the consequences of leaving them behind than risk our mission failing."

Axel snorted in disbelief. "So, it's always about the mission for you," he remarked, a hint of contempt in his voice.

"Always," Isaac replied, his voice laced with a chilling determination. "Because, in the end, that's all that matters."

"They'll catch up," Axel declared, determination etched on his face. "We'll clear the floors from the staircase." With a commanding gesture, he pointed upwards, signaling their next move.

Joseph approached Isaac, his expression pleading. "Come on, brother," he implored, laying a comforting hand on Isaac's shoulder. "We can't leave them behind. There are children and women in there..."

Isaac's response was filled with venomous rage. "To hell with those children and women!" he bellowed, his voice dripping with contempt. He turned to face the crowd, his gaze searing with hatred, even directed at the young girl cradled in her mother's arms. "They'll only scorn us for the colors we bear," he spat bitterly. "We've served them for centuries, Joseph. And what have they done? They've let our world burn."

With grim resolve, Isaac leveled his weapon and forged ahead, his footsteps echoing ominously on the staircase.

"Joseph!" Axel's voice rang out in protest. "You can't..."

But Joseph shook his head resolutely. "He's my best friend, and he'll take point," he replied, his voice tinged with sadness. "But there's truth in his words." Pausing, he turned to address the crowd. "If any of you fall behind... I can't promise to save you. This city is lost. We need to leave as quickly as possible."

Clicking off his helmet, Joseph's warm brown eyes met the gaze of the onlookers. His braid swayed gently against his chest as he spoke with quiet authority. "Stick close to us and follow our lead. We'll clear the path ahead."

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air. Then, the sound of a child's cry pierced the stillness, the mother's soothing voice attempting to comfort her. Finally, she spoke, her voice filled with determination.

"We'll keep up."

HenrykTop of Form

Henryk and his companions raced through the darkness, their breath ragged and labored. Grime and GrimGar blood stained their armor, while the stench of sewer water clung to their clothes like a sinister shroud. They pushed forward with desperation, their footsteps echoing through the desolate field that stretched out before them, a bleak expanse leading to the heart of the town.

"We're almost there!" Henryk's voice rang out, filled with urgency, urging his comrades onward. With a burst of speed, he surged ahead, the powerful servos of his squire power armor propelling him forward like a force of nature.

"Darn it!" Bracken's voice echoed, breathless and strained, as he stumbled, nearly falling. His older brother reached out, steadying him just in time, and Bracken regained his footing, matching the frantic pace of their flight.

Then, amidst the pounding of their hearts and the rush of adrenaline, they heard it—the unmistakable sound of machine gun fire.

Bullets whizzed through the air like angry wasps, their deadly sting echoing in the chaos. "Shit, Ger—!" The words died on Henryk's lips as a comrade's scream was abruptly cut short, his skull shattered by a well-placed bullet.

"Lance!" A feminine voice cried out, the sound muffled by the protective mask. Henryk's surprise was palpable—he hadn't realized Pluto enlisted women in their ranks. When he had joined, it was...

"Everyone, move your asses if you want to live!" Gerald's command sliced through the cacophony, and they obeyed without question.

As they sprinted, Henryk's thoughts raced faster than his feet. Just last year, he was playing baseball in high school. Now, he was dodging bullets. What had his life become? But he refused to meet his end here.

Drawing on his training, Henryk's muscles surged with newfound strength as he scaled the chain-link fence, his brothers close behind. With a deft movement, they crossed to the other side, Henryk taking up a defensive position, his cheek resting against the cool metal of his rifle.

His eyes locked onto the GrimGar manning the machine gun, his finger hovering over the trigger. With unwavering focus, he took aim and fired, a single red laser beam slicing through the air, finding its mark with deadly accuracy. A shot made from a mile away.

"Holy shit, Henryk," Gerald breathed, the tension in the air thick with adrenaline. As the smoke of battle filled their nostrils, Henryk allowed himself a rare smirk, Gerald extending a hand to help him up.

"You did good, Henryk Brown," Gerald said, his own hand reaching for a plasma pistol. But instead of handing it to Henryk, he pushed it back into his chest. "Keep it," he insisted.

Henryk's eyes widened in disbelief. "W-what?" he stammered. "This is an actual..."

"It's a plasma pistol," Gerald interrupted, a knowing gleam in his eyes. "And I have a feeling you'll need it more than me. Consider it a thank-you for getting us out of that mess back there."

Henryk's smirk faded as the weight of Gerald's gesture sank in. "Like a weapon from a comic book," he muttered, the gravity of the moment not lost on him. "I'm sorry... that was inappropriate."

Gerald's sigh echoed through the desolate alleyway, the weight of loss heavy upon his shoulders. His gaze swept past the imposing chain-link fence, shrouded in shadows that seemed to swallow the very essence of hope. "Lance is gone... and I can't even see the faces of the others."

"Is there any way to contact them?" Henryk's voice broke the silence, filled with a desperate hope. "We're on the surface, it should have been..."

"Easier," Gerald interrupted, his tone tinged with resignation. "These GrimGar are different—they roam the surface. You saw the nightmare out there, Henryk. All that matters now is survival. My squad has a ship. If we can rendezvous, we might have a chance."

With determined strides, Gerald led the way down the alley, Henryk trailing behind him. Bracken knelt nearby, his rifle held before him as he exchanged a silent nod with his brother.

"But Gerald, what about House Mars and the mission?" Henryk pressed, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"The mission?" Gerald scoffed, the bitterness evident in his tone. "Some missions can't be accomplished, Henryk. Trust me on that. We'll have to let this one go. And legally speaking, we should be compensated for our efforts, according to guild law."

Henryk's silent dread gnawed at him. The dubious nature of their private guild left him questioning whether they would ever receive the promised compensation. Perhaps all of this would be in vain.

"Fuck the mission," Gerald declared, his gaze sweeping the surroundings. "Listen, Henryk, as a commander, you've got to adapt. See anything, little brother?"

Henryk shot him a pointed look, feeling more like a subordinate than a trusted ally. Gerald whistled softly, gesturing toward a nearby complex. Through a ring of other apartments, they could make a beeline for it—a radio dish lay within.

"We can repair your radio pack, Henryk," Bracken offered, his voice tinged with cautious optimism.

Gerald nodded in agreement. "If your Sons of Mars have any sense left, we can't afford to stay here. We'll need to regroup and reassess our strategy."

"Regroup?" Bracken echoed, skepticism coloring his words. "From these creatures? It's more like a tactical retreat."

Gerald shook his head, a grim determination settling over him. "Who knows how long they've been breeding down there. When the Enuch Emperor learns of this..."

Henryk's eyes widened at the daring insult. "You actually said that?" he gasped, a mixture of awe and disbelief in his voice.

A tense silence hung heavy in the air as Gerald's gaze bore into Henryk. "Um, yeah," he muttered, breaking the uneasy stillness.

"But those were just rumors," Henryk protested, his voice tinged with disappointment. "Our Emperor is healthy."

Bracken exchanged a meaningful glance with Gerald, a silent communication passing between them. Gerald's expression remained inscrutable as he shook his head. "Never mind then," he said curtly, his grip tightening on his assault rifle. With a decisive gesture, he pointed towards the imposing radio station atop the complex. "Move as one, kill as one."

With determination etched into their features, they set out, a silent pact binding them together as they embarked on their perilous mission.