Hey, Dustin? Why is there a war camp being set up below us?

  'The hell should I know? Stop gawking and help me move these shells!

  -Conversation recorded between two PMC soldiers on the south wall of New Phoenix, 2057

  Two Shuttles landed on the outside of the city wall, the morning sun doing its best to microwave us. I stepped out into the desert adjusting my shoulders. The Twin Adders were light, sure, but the weight they had was still noticeable enough to feel strange.

  There were five tents set up near the base of the wall, the towering tracks that hold up the walls dusty and silent.

  I stepped into the tent marked Blizzard and War Games and was promptly greeted by a huge mechanical tiger pawing my shoulder. While I was pushed, I did not fall, thankfully. It was gun metal grey with bright orange stripes, towering above me by a full head. Its expression was playful, but I don't think tigers should be able to make that expression.

  “Hey, King! Down! Play time comes later.” A gruff voice called out. The tiger, King, rolled its eyes and moved back towards a large fluffy cat bed, curling into a ball.

  “Sorry about that, War Games. King gets restless just before a fight.” A man in heavy safari gear and a pair of thin glasses says. He walks up to me, reaching out his hand. “Big Game Hunter, or Hunter for short. Hunter is also my real name, by the way.”

  I shook his hand, surprised at his grip strength.

  “Nice to meet you, Hunter.” I say, turning towards the others. Blizzard hadn't arrived yet, I noticed. “Morning, everyone. As you know, I am War Games. I fight with an army of nanites, which are outside in my Shuttles right now. If you don't mind me asking, where are y’all from?”

  Hunter smiles, “Rio De Janeiro is where I grew up, but I am from Kingman, out west. My family are big business types, weapon peddlers in fact. Phantom over there is from Flagstaff, and the only reason I know that is from their Family profile. They don't talk.”

  Phantom looked like a stereotypical cyber assassin type. Katana on their hip and a large rifle on their back, face obscured by a thin helmet with a skull etched into its front. It was impossible to tell their gender with any level of observation. They simply nod at us.

  “And I am Herlock Sholms! Charmed to meet me, I'm sure.” Said the last person in the room. They wore, for the lack of a better description, the most stereotypical outfit when one thinks of the word ‘detective’, with no ambiguity. He had goggles on his head, resting above his hat that covered his dirty blond hair. He had two large pistols on his hips and a satchel slightly behind him.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but someone else beat him to it. “Herlock Sholms, native to Britain, traveling North America because he has the unerring habit of pissing off corporations and Samurai alike in equal measure.” Blizzard said as she walked in. She was giving King scritches under its chin. Its purr rumbled the room. “While his tongue is deadly, he has a doctorate in chemical engineering and makes excellent use of it against antithesis.” She turned to face him, his face alight with a smug smile, “My sister says hello, by the way.”

  He stiffened, then relaxed quickly, “My dear Blizzard, I'm afraid I don't have-”

  “Susato Mikosano.”

  Herlock stopped dead. I could see sweat form instantly on his brow. “Ah! Yes. Susato! And how is she doing?” he asked, desperate to regain some composure.

  “She's fine now. Her business recovered nicely. Her children use your name as a curse word.”

  No one moved. The tension was heavy. King glared at Herlock. Then, Blizzard clapped her hands. “But that is neither here nor there. We have a hive to destroy and your skills are real and welcome. You will be safe with us, I assure you. Now, War Games.”

  I jump slightly at attention. “I saw you have two Shuttles outside. We can use them for the initial assault, but they are a bit too unwieldy to take into the tunnels. What is your intention with them?”

  “Ah, yes. The plan was to use them to create a landing point as close to the tunnel as possible, then have my troops take point. Once we descend, they would follow us at a distance, to prevent ambushes from the rear, act as a retreat and rest point, as well as to ferry gathered materials back to my base.”

  I could feel Blizzard's eyebrow raise in question though her face mask. “I deny antithesis biomass by collecting their dead, converting it into usable materials, and creating various things with them. My new base, renamed megabuilding Tower 1, needs a ton of materials right now as I am remodeling.”

  She gave a quick nod. “Acceptable. War Games will take point, with the four of us providing support as needed. Our goal is to reach the birthing chamber, which while the map predicts multiple chambers, experience states that it will be one massive chamber eight miles around. Estimated time of arrival and convergence of all five teams is nine hours. Keep your wits about you and buy any upgrades the moment you can. Personal feelings aside, I do not want anyone here dying today. Questions?”

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

  A line opened on our shared comms as a new voice spoke.

  Yes, hello. This is Vanguard Phantoms AI, Spooky. They are wondering if they may be allowed to move ahead and scout, or if it is mandatory that they remain with thr group.

  “Can you kill a Model Twenty Eight on your own while surrounded?” I ask. After a pause, Phantom shook their head slightly. “Then no, you should not move away from the group. Your rifle is impressive looking, and I have a few catalogs you could use to either buy upgrades for it or strange bullets. I have two squads of melee fighters whom you could fight besides if you want, but stay within range of the group. You're not Heracles, don't emulate his pride.”

  Blizzard nodded, feeding something to King, “Well said, War Games, and a good baseline for strength. Here is a goal for you all that I believe you all should be able to achieve by the end of this. Be able to kill a Model Twenty Eight with a little effort while not taking yourself out of combat. If the weapon causes you to take damage, cripples you for a time, or otherwise incapacitates you in a way that compromises your survivability, it fails. While what Catalogs I have may not be applicable for many of you, they are still available for you to use.”

  Hunter rubbed his chin, “My AI, Tyger, agrees that it should be easy to accomplish that. Shame I don't have the points right now, a plasma punt gun sounds fascinating.”

  Herlock decides to chime in, “A wonderful goal you have set for us, Miss Blizzard. I am most interested in the Class III Spatial Catalogs Sir War Games has, as well as the ability to make a mobile chemical lab in my bag!”

  The rest of the morning flew by as we discussed upgrades, combinations, and past stories. Big Game Hunter awakened three months ago as his parent's jet was attacked by a Model Eleven. They all survived, yet they crashed in the Mexican desert about a mile out from the old border. The survival tale was harrowing, and now they settled in Kingman where one of their factories were located, waiting on a new plane to be made.

  Phantom, predictably, said nothing, and Herlock went on long winded spiels about the many problems he solved on his journey from the east coast. Charting his path, I noticed he didn't say anything about Texas, even though he did mention the other states in the United States of Kentucky, Oklahoma, and Texas. I assumed that is where Blizzard's sister was, so I didn't press him.

  Eventually, we recieved the notice mobilize, so we walked out towards my Shuttles.

  “Saints alive, Games. When I heard Shuttles, I expected something sleaker.” Hunter said, walking through the catwalk above my army of dice, “I was even happy seeing how bulky this thing was. But the inside? This thing puts my families old jet to shame!”

  King was below in the hold next to Leman. Somehow, those two came to an understanding and were chilling together with Leman's dire wolves in a strange, deadly pile.

  We piled into the cockpit area and they strapped in. “Heavens! This seat is extremely comfortable! Far better than any other transport I have taken during my time on this continent.” Herlock exclaimed. I resisted a snort, thinking that every transport he was on prior was probably a prison van sending him out of their city.

  Connecting to the shuttle, I lifted off and made my way towards the insertion point. I was going to have to blow a hole into the tunnel to allow is to enter, and in doing so we were expecting the antithesis to begin pouring out, like blood from a wound.

  Last night, Morrigan changed the load out of my missiles from Collapsing Warheads to Gravaton Point Compression Warheads. Similar in effect, the biggest difference was the lack of explosion following the implosion, forming a tight ball of matter. It still gave off a massive wave of heat from the cavitation effect, but it made cleanup easier and would prevent any accidental friendly fire from the shockwave.

  “Approaching target area, eta ten seconds.” I say over the shuttle's comms. I open The loading ramp as I fly low and fire a missile at the point. It detonated, creating an eighty foot diameter hole in the desert. I turned sharply, placing the opening of both shuttles right on the edge of the hole. Swarms flooded out as Leman and Vulkan charged with their squad, and I got to see their weapons for the first time. Leman had massive wrist gauntlets with two huge blades on each, glowing with heat, while he had two shoulder mounted… blade launchers? Spinning buzz saws glowing molten white spun at the end of a barrel like structure. So, yeah, blade launcher.

  Vulkan had a massive Warhammer with a slit on its top, going from end to end and had two back mounted plasma throwers.

  They launched themselves down the hole at break neck speeds, with King following closely behind. From the other shuttle, Jim and his four tanks rolled out, and Jim had a massive shoulder mounted anti material cannon on his shoulder.

  Blizzard led us down the ramp and into the hole, seeing no antithesis waiting for us. “That's annoying,“ Hunter said.

  “No matter, we have our path. Heads on a swivel, safeties off, lets go.” Blizzard said, marching down the tunnel.

  Our formation was simple. Leman, Vulkan, and Phantom took the lead, with Hunter, Herlock, Blizzard, and myself a bit behind them. Finally, in the back was Jim, Rogal, and Outsider. Baba Yaga stayed in the shuttle, both of them facing away from our formation, and Morrigan and Bahamut remained at home. Bahamut was observing the battlefield through the Command Pylon network, learning as much as he could as, while he was made to be a Commander, he insisted that he could never stop learning about the enemy.

  Traversing down the unnaturally smooth tunnel, Outsider spread out over a hundred Scout swarms out through the tunnels. A new upgrade they had was a limited cutting capacity. Enough to take out a Model Five with some time, but even better at digging through Class 0 materials. So instead of simply mapping out this tunnel, they were diffused throughout the rock and other tunnels throughout the area, looking for antithesis.

  “I feel tremors throughout the ground. Wave incoming. Eta, two minutes.” She said.

  I could sense the tensions raise from the Samurai around me, I myself tightened my grip on the Immortal Flame, the anticipation electrifying the air. The tunnel curved sharply three hundred feet ahead of us, angling down, and we could feel them coming.

  “Contact.” Outsider announced as three Model Twenty Threes rounded the corner.