Spearhead

Across time and space, a gruff voice echoes in agony and regret.

“I wanted to protect you, Miles.”

Long ago, on a snowy battlefield, he had raised his bloodied hands to the blackened sky, reaching out for his nephew.

“That was how it was supposed to be. But that isn’t what happened.”

He had smiled to himself that day, losing himself in a memory… Swinging his joyful young nephew in his arms, holding him up to the sky.

“I could barely keep myself together back then. They beat me. Abused me. Tortured me. It was all for you. I was protecting you.”

Then, the memory had shifted… He was sitting on the floor of the internment camp, blood steadily seeping from an open head wound. He was battered, bruised, on the verge of passing out from pain. But nothing could hurt more than the letter he had held in his trembling hands. Young Miles had pestered him, shaking him, asking in a shaky voice where his parents had gone.

“Then I received the news. They had both died. I said it was your fault. But it wasn’t.”

With manic speed, he had surged forward and wrapped his hands around Miles’ small neck, choking him out with an iron grip.

“I said they went to fight because of you. But that’s not true.”

“I said you killed them both. But that’s not true.”

“I said all of this was your fault. Rio’s death. Jeff’s death. The fact I was gonna join them. But that’s not true.”

“I said our blood was on your hands, all because of your sin.”

Young Miles had struggled on the floor, growing weaker by the second, his arms battering uselessly against Aaron’s. Suddenly, a man in a black robe had burst into the room, tackling Aaron to the floor.

“I couldn’t handle the rage I felt at my own powerlessness. I took it out on you.”

The man, an elderly Alba priest, had yelled at him, before rushing to Miles and beginning chest compressions.

“I almost killed the person I was supposed to protect. It broke me.”

Aaron had recoiled in horror at what he’d done, eyes wide and hands trembling as Miles flopped with each compression, his sanity teetering on the brink.

“I couldn’t protect you then, but…”

On that icy battlefield, he’d watched with a delirious glee as the OCTO-Panther had raised its leg, preparing to harvest his head. It had swung down. Everything had gone black.

“Miles… we’ll be together forever, as servants of the OCTO-Legion.”

Now, Aaron opens his eyes, seeing a burst of brilliant colour. Once again, he’s in a field. Not icy this time, but green and glowing under the Autumn sun. Surrounding him are thousands of his soldiers. His enemy detection system pings, showing on its screen five enemy SP/DRs and one Scavenger unit.

“I’m coming to assimilate you…”

Aaron sends out his marching order, spurring all his units to charge towards the distant enemy.

“…without my fragile human body, and this time… your uncle will protect you!”

Aaron’s monstrous Legion unit, the Heavy Assault Type Tyrannus - at least two times the size of a Panther - rumbles forwards, training its massive 155mm siege cannon on the useless insects surrounding his nephew.

“So… come see me… MILES!”

*****

The voices of the ghosts swirl and swell, their haunting whispers rising to a deafening crescendo as the Legion advances, moving like a tidal wave, surging forwards relentlessly. The Flies deploy first, a shimmering purple and silver swarm spreading through the sky, their sleek, metallic forms choking the heavens and blotting out the sun.

“Miles…” Hobie whispers, hoarsely.

“Yeah,” Miles answers with a curt nod.

The team are positioned at the edge of a tree line on elevated ground, watching as the never-ending wave that’s set to crash into them at any moment, surges forwards. Their radar screens light up with hostile units, their numbers growing by the second. There’s so many Legion advancing towards them that their screens begin to lag and glitch.

“Well, chaps, looks like we’re dealing with every last bloody Legion in our combat district,” Hobie chuckles into the Resonance.

Pav, Phin and Ganke all remain silent, staring at the advancing enemy with a mixture of dread and apprehension. But Miles doesn’t listen to Hobie’s comment. His eyes are fixed on the Legion’s vanguard, where, flanked by a force of Sparrows, looms a Heavy Tank-type Tyrannus.

It’s clear, even without hearing it, that this is the Shepherd of the Legion force. This Shepherd, which has lurked deep in the first combat district for years, now steps forwards, almost excitedly.

“MILES!!”

The voice cuts through the air, echoing relentlessly in his mind, a haunting call directed only at him. Miles’ lips curl into a faint, cold smirk. It’s sharp and feral, like a blade honed by madness.

The others gasp in surprise, hearing the voice through his side of the Resonance, turning their SP/DRs to look at Undertaker.

“Miles, that voice—” Hobie starts.

“Keep going,” Miles interjects with uncharacteristic energy. “If you keep going through the forest, they won’t be able to find ya easily.”

“Mate what?” Hobie asks.

Miles continues undeterred, spurring Undertaker forwards and descending from the high ground, leaving Spearhead behind. “Wait for ‘em to pass and then continue on,” he says, sharply. “Hobie, I’m leavin’ you in charge.”

“Wait, what the fuck are you doing, bruv?” Hobie yells, watching as Undertaker trains its turret onto the Tyrannus.

“I’ll catch up with y’all once I put him in his grave,” Miles states, coldly. “He isn’t interested in you guys, and we can’t move on without him dead.”

“Milesssssss….” Aaron hisses, his voice echoing through the Resonance.

Hobie grimaces and grits his teeth. “You know I woulda fought with ya, mate.”

“MILLILEESSSSSSS!!”

“Nah, fuck this,” Hobie spits. “I’m comin’ with.”

Hobie moves Anarchist forwards, pursuing the Reaper. The rest of Spearhead wordlessly follow, determined to help Miles in any way they can.

“We can hold ‘em off while you do your thing,” Hobie reasons.

Miles groans. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, so are you!” Hobie retorts, as Skorpion artillery shoots up into the sky.

Spearhead is so close, they can see the muzzle flashes and the projectiles sailing in an upwards arc towards them, zeroing in on their position. The artillery slams into the ground seconds later in a ruthless barrage as Spearhead efficiently evade the concussive blasts with practiced ease.

Miles ignores the shrill screams of shells flying overhead, knowing that Aaron won’t allow him to be taken out in such a way. Undertaker charges into the Legion lines, zeroing in on the Tyrannus like a beast lunging at its prey. The Tyrannus rises to meet his challenge, deploying the Sparrows surrounding it in a defensive formation.

“MILLILEESSSSSSS!!”

Miles leans forwards in his seat, his grin manic and crazed. “Found you, uncle!”

A pair of Sparrows at the front detect the charging SP/DR and transmit the data to the Tyrannus, acting as its eyes. Its massive turret swivels towards Undertaker, unleashing a thunderous 155mm armour-piercing shell that impacts just ahead of him.

Undeterred, Undertaker focuses on the Sparrows. He guns down one, uses the wreckage of the other for cover, and crushes it underfoot.

Miles then deploys countermeasure-dischargers, shooting a cluster of smoke grenades into the air, blinding the Tyrannus’s limited sensors. Using this brief opening, Undertaker dispatches a third Sparrow and leaps into the blind spot created by the destroyed Scout units.

As the Tyrannus uses pressurised air to clear the smoke, its hulking frame lumbers, its machine guns swivelling to where it anticipates Undertaker might be. It unleashes a barrage of suppressive fire, but Undertaker evades with a precision that seems almost premonitory. Leaping clear of the machine-gun hail, he reappears on the other side of the dissipating smoke.

The heat haze rising from the Tyrannus’s cannons distorts its position as it swivels its turret again, searching for its agile foe. Moving unpredictably, Undertaker’s movements resemble a chaotic dance, its erratic path designed to mislead the Tyrannus’s targeting systems. Each step anticipates where its sights will settle, his calculated evasions verging on the edge of precognition.

Whilst the two forces of nature dance with one another, the other OCTO-Legion begin making sweeping manoeuvres to cut off and isolate the two commander’s duel.

“Damn it!” Pav cries, narrowly dodging an artillery shell. “They’re drawing us away from Miles!”

“The fuck? This isn’t how they fight!?” Ganke yells in annoyance.

“Guess the Shepherd wants some private family time,” Hobie sneers, looking at his radar screen to see Undertaker moving erratically amongst a couple of Legion units. He’s completely isolated, and still, he doesn’t notice, continuing to fight.

Despite having inferior firepower, Miles ducks and weaves between tree lines, returning fire intermittently with his 57mm. It’s almost comical how outmatched he is, and still, he manages to pick off Sparrows one by one while taking pot shots at the Tyrannus’s ‘eye’, trying to blind it completely.

Gunning down the last Sparrow, Undertaker dashes forwards, charging the Tyrannus. However, in his fixation, he fails to notice a lone, injured Sparrow, which fires at him with its machine gun, forcing Undertaker to take evasive manoeuvres and putting him squarely in Aaron’s line of fire.

The range is too close. It’s too late to move. And there’s no way Aaron will miss at this distance. Miles’ eyes widen. He’s fail…….

An ear-piercing shriek fills his ears.

Miles briefly thinks it’s Skorpion artillery.

But this noise…

It’s different…

Sweeter…

The shell slams into the Tyrannus, kicking up a thick plume of smoke and sparks.

Miles barely has time to register what has happened, before Aaron fires his machine guns at the stationary Undertaker, completely ignoring the random, near divine intervention. Miles dodges backwards and to the left, eyes still wide.

“My ammo ain’t piercing through that armour,” he grumbles to himself, as he dashes out of the line of fire and charges another Sparrow. His uncle is throwing everything at him.

But this Sparrow is different. A black sheep.

It dodges, crying:

“HEKLPL MEMEMEE!”

And raises its legs, preparing to cut Undertaker in half.

But then, in what can only be described once again as divine intervention, a rogue shell slams into the Sparrow’s armour, destroying it immediately. This time, Miles knows where the shell came from.

He turns and glares at the Tyrannus with its barrel smoking.

“So, you wanna finish the job yourself, huh?” Miles asks, rhetorically, chuckling to himself. “That makes two of us, Aaron.”

*****

“Oh, this is not good, bros!” Pav cries as he fires into the advancing horde.

The squadron has been pushed further south by the advancing Legion. There are so many, they don’t even have to aim, and the squadron has already lost count of how many have been destroyed.

But this comes with a serious downside.

Ganke’s gunsight is suddenly filled with an ugly, red warning. NO AMMUNITION.

“Reloading, cover me!” he yells, quickly dashing Trollface backwards.

“Again?” Phin shouts in annoyance. “How much ammo are we burning through here?”

Spi-do purges one of its six containers as it zips bravely between lines of fire. The stocks of ammunition have been rapidly depleted. In a very short period of time, they had consumed almost 20 percent of the months’ worth of ammunition they'd been given. The moment they completely run out will be their last. That fleeting thought passes through Hobie's mind, and he forces a smile. Bring it on. Living and dying like this is all they want.

“Well, I’m not exactly countin,” Hobie laughs through the Resonance.

“Don’t worry bros, if we just cull their numbers a bit more—” Pav says optimistically, then is immediately hit by instant karma.

Their radars all chime as thousands more Legion units appear, an ugly, blocky red mess of death.

“Never mind,” Pav whispers, ashamedly.

“Fine by me!” Hobie cackles. “COME GET SOME!”

But then…

As he turns to face the Legion head on…

The sky explodes into a brilliant, radiant orange.

And one more person, another Resonance target, connects to their conversation.

“Lieutenant Brown!” Gwen orders, briskly. “I’m borrowing your left eye!”

Hobie gasps with shock and dread as Gwen taps into his vision.

“They’ve arrived, brace yourselves!" she cries, triumphantly.

The next moment, a soundless burst of light fills the battlefield.

The Flies fall like stardust from the heavens as air-burst incendiary munitions blow them away and consume them in flames. The orange glows so brightly, Spearhead almost have to look away…

But then, piercing the holes created by the air-burst rounds… cluster munitions and naval artillery rain divine retribution upon the hordes of Legion.

The bombardment is unlike anything they’ve ever seen.

Accurately chasing down and impacting their predetermined targets, the fuses on the projectiles activate, hatching the metallic shells and pelting the enemy mercilessly with shrapnel as massive HEAT shells slam into more heavily armoured targets.

The steel rain eats into the Legion, downing half the second wave of Legion in mere seconds.

Spearhead can only gasp in surprise. Hobie grits his teeth and clenches his fists.

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?” he roars. “What were you thinking, sharing vision like that??”

Gwen doesn’t respond immediately. Seconds later, a second bombardment rains down from the heavens, another shower of steel decimating what remains of the second wave.

“Get fucked,” Gwen shoots back, her voice calm and cool. “I just saved your arses! But I suppose my side of the vision sharing is distracting so I’ll shut it off.”

Hobie shakes his head. “Handlers don’t share vision because it doesn’t just cause blindness, you know!” he chastises. “But I’ve gotta give you credit, Major. There’s no fucking way you got permission to use arty.”

“Damn right,” Gwen retorts, saying no more and letting her actions speak louder than words. Not even a second later, the sky lights up again as a third barrage slams into the Legion with a thunderous roar.

Spearhead stare in shock at the devastation. All this time, they could have been hanging back and letting the Republic’s artillery teams do their jobs 100x more efficiently, and with no loss of life.

“Anyway, blindness doesn’t set in immediately,” Gwen continues, flippantly. “And breaking orders won’t kill me. Not to mention, the Republic doesn’t play by any fucking rules, so why the fuck should I?”

To punctuate her point even further, a fourth bombardment pierces the clouds and slams with lethal intent into the Legion. Hobie briefly thinks this Handler might be trigger happy.

“Honestly? I should’ve done this a long time ago,” she cackles, unleashing a fifth barrage immediately after.

“My God,” Hobie laughs. “I’m starting to think you’re an anarchist.”

“Don’t get too excited, Brown,” she retorts. “I didn’t do this just for you guys. If this many Legion break through, the Republic is royally fucked.”

Hobie breaks into hysterical laughter, fuelled by shock and relief. The others join him a second later, despite the devastation and danger surrounding them.

“Now, while you chuckle-fucks are busy, I can keep bitch slapping their reinforcements,” Gwen states, authority thick in her voice. “Take care of the enemies you’re currently fighting by yourselves,” she instructs.

“On it,” Hobie says, suddenly serious as he marches Anarchist forwards, taking up his old defensive position in front of a concrete guard rail. The others follow his lead, moving into their own respective sniping positions. “Nothin’ new for us.”

Spearhead returns fire, 57mm’s roaring as they pick off the nearest Legion advancing on them.

“Where’s Captain Morales?” Gwen asks, her voice suddenly tinged with worry.

Hobie sighs. “Fighting his uncle to the death. That’s his whole purpose in this. He can’t hear us anymore.”

*****

Undertaker continues its manic dance with death, dashing between Legion and dodging high-explosive shells with chaotic grace.

Miles desperately searches for an opening to land a crippling blow while his uncle's deafening screams rumble in his ears. Despite this, he focuses entirely on the Tyrannus before him, remaining as precise as ever. The world around him fades—he sees nothing but the enemy, hears nothing but its voice and the roar of its weapons. Time feels irrelevant now.

The Tyrannus aligns its massive cannon. Undertaker braces its rear legs but deliberately slips, tilting out of the line of fire. It’s smaller secondary gun swings to the right, aiming where its cannon targets. If Miles keeps dodging clockwise, he risks being caught by both the main cannon and the machine gun.

The secondary gun fires, the projectile grazing Undertaker's right leg. In the same instant, the main gun aligns its sights. Still skidding sideways, Miles fires a wire into the ground ahead and uses it to tow Undertaker out of harm's way. The shell slams into a Panther behind him, obliterating it.

The Tyrannus braces, its massive weight and powerful legs struggling to absorb the recoil from two consecutive shots. Miles seizes the opening, leaping at the Tyrannus. Undertaker’s cannon adjusts, locking onto the thinnest section of armour at the rear of the Tyrannus’s turret—the only weak spot Miles can exploit.

And squeezes the trigger.

But something straight out of a nightmare occurs.

A silvery, snaking hand lurches out from the Tyrannus’s turret and casually brushes the shell away.

Miles’ eyes widen in shock, but it’s already too late.

The hand, crushed by the blast, reforms within seconds, its fluid-like fingers writhing grotesquely. Branches shoot out from it and begin desperately reaching for Undertaker. Miles slams his SP/DR into reverse, trying to dodge the branches, but they grab onto him and toss him over fifty metres in a split second.

Miles lets out a pained shout as Undertaker slams into the ground and rolls like a tumbleweed, jarring and smashing his head against the cockpit’s steel interior.

Blood splatters everywhere, all over his console and instruments, as a deep gash in his forehead bleeds profusely. With a final, jarring jolt, Undertaker comes to a dead stop.

And Miles’ Para-RAID flickers off.

*****

Across the battlefield, Gwen gasps into the Resonance.

“The enemy forces are retreating!” she shouts, her voice surprised and relieved all at once.

“Fuck, yes lads!” Hobie says, pumping his fist.

“We actually fucking did it,” Ganke whispers in disbelief.

Their relief is short lived. Not even a second later, a hideous, metallic crackle comes through the Resonance.

“Captain Morales?” Gwen cries in panic. “Please respond!”

Spearhead turns towards Miles’ direction, training their gun sights to search from him. Seconds later, they spot Undertaker, immobile and damaged, with the Tyrannus leering down at him.

“Shit!”

“Fuck!”

“Wake up, you fucking moron!” Hobie yells.

“What is that thing?” Pav cries, staring at the Tyrannus’s hands in horror.

“We gotta stop it!” Hobie shouts, charging down the slope. It’s a pointless movement, however. By the time he reaches Undertaker, the Tyrannus will have already finished him off.

Gwen steels her nerves. She’s got an idea, but they’re not going to like it…

“Lieutenant Mason,” Gwen orders. “Use your laser range finder to determine the enemy’s position and send it to me.”

“Huh?” Phin cries into the Resonance, eyes wide with panic.

“I’ll leave the final guidance to you, but just hit the thing!”

“You can’t seriously—” Phin shouts in anger.

Ganke interjects harshly. “An arty strike? Are you insane?”

“I’ve got a plan, so just do it!” Gwen instructs, coldly, leaving no room for discussion.

Phin takes a shaky breath and touches the Para-RAID on her ear. Closing her eyes, she steels her nerves. This Alba is different. She isn’t one of them. With a sharp, brisk motion, Phin grabs the familiar fire control system and thumbs the laser range finder. The thin laser beams across the battlefield in an instant, bouncing off the Tyrannus and measuring the distance and elevation.

*****

“I held myself back, but you’re still so fragile,” Aaron whispers, reaching out to Undertaker with his silvery hands. “Sure, I hurt you, but my apology can wait. I’ve finally got you back!”

Undertaker continues to lie motionless, completely at the mercy of Aaron once more.

“I can read to you again,” Aaron says, on the verge of sobbing. “I can teach you to draw again! But first…” he hisses, latching onto Undertaker, “I’m gonna have to get rid of that body of yours.”

Suddenly, 12.7mm machine gun fire tears through the hands, ripping them to shreds and forcing them to release their grip. The other Legion guarding the area open fire as Spearhead Squadron charge headfirst at them with unbridled fury.

Shells fly with deadly accuracy and find their targets. The Legion explode in brilliant fireballs, but Aaron remains unbothered. The SP/DRs fire their grapple lines and latch onto the Tyrannus, ensnaring its legs from three different directions.

“Fucking insects,” Aaron hisses, swivelling his turret to lock onto a lone SP/DR on a ridge, that is so rudely pinging his radar, which screams:

“LOCK, LOCK, LOCK.”

“You’re wasting your time!” Aaron yells, preparing to fire at the source of the annoyance.

But, as he sends the command to fire, a single projectile streaks down from above like a shooting star.

“GUIDED-ORDNANCE 12 O’CLOCK HIGH!”

Aaron swerves violently, sending the unprepared SP/DRs smashing into each other as their grapple lines throw them all over the place.

“You pieces of shit!” Aaron yells, rearing his legs up in an attempt to block the incoming shell. “You’re gonna hit Miles!”

His silvery arms spread wide, like he is shielding Undertaker with his own body, as he points his 155mm to the sky, towards the lone glowing sparkle high above.

The projectile hurtles closer. Only a moment remains until impact when suddenly... Aaron is standing in a snowy battlefield. But this one… it’s different. A helicopter burns next to him. Chocolate rests in his hands. He turns.

The girl stands in front of him, her blonde hair and blue eyes shimmering. He recognises her—they’ve met before. She looks to be about Miles’ age.

“Don’t you want to protect him?” she questions, innocently.

“I do! I do! I have to keep protect Miles!” Aaron is crying now, manic tears streaming down his face. “He’s my nephew, the son I never had. I HAVE TO!”

“But… if you wanna protect him, you’re gonna kill him again?” the girl asks in confusion, tilting her head.

Aaron blinks, dazed. This doesn’t… he doesn’t. He crushes the chocolate in his hands. Blood splatters everywhere. His gaze flicks up sharply in surprise.

The SP/DR lies motionless.

Little Miles lies still.

“I…”

Realisation dawns.

“Not again…” Aaron whispers, falling to his knees.

The girl looks at him angrily, raising her hand.

And slaps him.

Impact.

The shell mercilessly slams into Aaron, so forcefully that it ruptures the ground around him, cracking it open and upwards like a meteor falling to earth.

But its fuse doesn’t activate.

The unexploded shell doesn’t have the mass or propulsion to pierce the Tyrannus’s thick armour, but, travelling at supersonic speed, it had been granted the weight a normal shell would never have.

And so, falling to the ground with a grievous, blunt injury, Aaron whispers in stunned disbelief:

“The rounds… were duds…”

*****

“BULLSEYE, BULLSEYE, BULLSEYE!” Gwen shouts into the Resonance, excitedly. “Impact confirmed!”

Gwen keeps her eyes on the radar, tracking the guided projectile as it intersects with the Tyrannus’ blip. Although it didn’t detonate, that was part of her plan. Because of the Republic’s sloppy maintenance, most rounds, around 50%, are duds with inert fuses. This makes the dud rounds perfect for this specific scenario, because it enabled her to deliver a heavy kinetic blow without endangering Miles. Hopefully, it has also bought them a few seconds for someone to decide their next move. However, the excitement is short lived.

“That won’t slow it down for long!” Ganke says. “We gotta do something!”  

But then she notices someone else is connected to the Resonance.

Hobie notices it as well. “Miles!” he shouts.

The connection feels weak, as if Miles hasn’t fully regained consciousness. Everyone starts hurriedly calling out to him, their panicked voices mixing into the Resonance, but there’s no response.

"Now’s not the time for a snooze-fest, mate!" Hobie yells.

"Come on, Captain!" Gwen cries. “Get back up!”

Miles continues to lie there, his consciousness flickering in and out, fading from black to bleary light. He barely registers the sounds in his ear - mere annoyances, nothing more. He just wants to sleep. But then he hears it.

“Miles…” Aaron growls.

In his bleary, dream-like state, he sees Aaron’s headless corpse and SP/DR charge towards him in the snowy battlefield. Miles jolts like he’s been electrocuted as Aaron’s zombified hands close around his neck, choking him out.

“Rio’s death, Jeff’s death,” Aaron cries, strangling his nephew once again. “THE FACT THAT I’M ABOUT TO JOIN THEM!”

Miles releases a gargled gasp. He has no idea what’s going on, no understanding of how he’s alive. Yet, still, he resists, his stronger, battle-hardened hands fight back against Aaron’s silver ones. But he’s apparently suffered a serious head-wound. He’s lost a lot of blood. His hands are still weak, his arms still not strong enough. He feels himself start to wane, unable to fight back once again. Miles grits his teeth, feeling spit turn into froth at the corners of his mouth.

“IT’S ALL BECAUSE OF YOUR SIN!”

Then, through the Resonance he hears her. The silver, bell-like voice that makes all the others go away. He feels his uncle’s screaming start to fade as she desperately shouts:

“Captain, you want to let him pass on, don’t you?”

He’d told her that ethereal night, all those days ago. Only one of two people to truly understand the significance of that act.

“So that’s why you’re gonna give him his rest, right? Captain?” The silvery voice is pleading, willing him to respond.

Gwen…

“MILES!” she cries, her voice breaking.

Something inside of Miles awakens. Something raw, powerful, unrestrained. His amber eyes burst open.

And then he fights back with all his strength.

Cue the fucking music!

Head pounding, arms aching, neck constricted, he forcefully heaves Aaron’s silvery arms off him with a strained grunt.

Panting in unbridled fury, eyes bloodshot, Undertaker re-awakens with a vengeance as Miles aggressively grabs his controls.

Undertaker dashes backwards, then forwards, in a split second, leaping at the Tyrannus’ weak spot like an apex predator. He’s no longer that weak kid anymore. He won’t be murdered again.

He fires an APFSDS round, but one of the silver hands manages to grab it out of the sky whilst the others bear down on the leaping Undertaker. They latch onto him, refusing to let go.

“I ONLY WANTED TO PROTECT YOU!” Aaron screams.

Sure, Miles can hear the OCTO-Legion’s voices, but he isn’t afraid anymore. They’re pitiful, miserable, nothing more than cheap copies of the originals who will never be forgotten. Miles grits his teeth and continues mashing his trigger, firing rapidly at the weak spot as the silver hands play the world’s most dangerous game of catch.

Miles knows it wasn’t his fault. Nothing that happened that day and before it had been. Aaron had simply needed an outlet and had snapped under the pressure. That was all it was. Miles doesn’t have any sins to atone for. Which is why he needs to put Aaron’s ghost to rest.

With one final, desperate heave in their game of tug-a-war, Miles finally pushes Undertaker out of the metallic grips.

His SP/DR flies forwards, no longer blocked by the hands.

The weak spot is right in his sights.

Nothing can stop him.

The hands make one final desperate move, re-entering the cockpit, reaching out for Miles.

He simply smiles.

“This is goodbye, Uncle.”

And squeezes the trigger.

*****

Aaron stands in a white void. His face and hands bloodied, raised and looking up to the sky.

“I finally get it now,” he whispers, staring at a faded delusion of a young Miles, grinning down at him from his outstretched arms. “You don’t need me to protect you anymore.”

Little Miles fades, replaced by a starkly different image. Older Miles. Bloodied Miles. The one with the hideous scar on his neck and a sad smile.

Aaron reaches out, brushing a silver hand against Miles’ face. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

And then he falls into the abyss, leaving behind the window of reality in which Miles sits.

*****

The explosion of the Tyrannus is thunderous, a massive eruption of sound and force that sends Undertaker hurtling backwards, tumbling nearly twenty metres across the battlefield before coming to a jarring halt. The shockwave ripples through the air, kicking up debris and smoke in a chaotic swirl.

But Miles barely notices. The roar of the explosion fades into the background, overtaken by a single, haunting memory.

He had heard his uncle’s voice—not a cry of rage or sorrow, but a quiet, heartfelt apology. In that final moment, it wasn’t the synthetic, monstrous Aaron who spoke, but the man he truly was, stripped of all the pain and bitterness.

Tears slowly well in Miles’ eyes, their heat stinging against the grime and blood on his face. He tries to hold them back, gasping for breath as his chest tightens. His hands tremble as he clenches his fists, his teeth grinding together in a futile attempt to steady himself. But the emotion surges within him, raw and overwhelming, threatening to spill over.

And the memories…

They all come flooding back.

Aaron lifting Miles into the air.

“Miles…”

Laughing together in an art gallery.

“Miles…”

Teaching him how to draw.

“Miles…”

Teaching him to read.

His face is no longer censored. No longer scratched out with ugly, black scribbles and scratches.

“Miles!” Aaron softly whispers, his voice happy and grateful.

Miles sniffs. Aaron’s last words… are his name… These are the words he hadn’t wanted Gwen to hear. He had thought they’d be so much worse.

For the first time since the incident, he breaks down completely, tears streaming down his bloodied face like a dam finally bursting. His gasping sobs fill the Resonance, raw and unrestrained, echoing through the connection with a pain too profound for words.

The rest of Spearhead watch their Reaper from a respectful distance, their silence heavy with understanding. Hobie smiles solemnly, a trace of sadness in his expression as he raises his hand to the Para-RAID.

“Major,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Cut the connection. I don’t think he’d want anyone listening in on that.”

“Of course,” Gwen replies, her voice equally quiet. She raises a hand to her neck, her fingers brushing the device, and lets the Resonance go dead. The sudden silence feels like a weight settling over the room.

Gwen glances down at the sticky note in her hand, the one adorned with a cartoonish, rough drawing of what she guesses is Miles’ face. With a sigh, she places it gently on the smooth surface of her command-and-control desk, then slowly spins in her chair to face the other person in the room.

“It’s over now,” she says, her voice steady but tinged with exhaustion, her gaze fixed on Peter.

He sits hunched on the floor, his posture sagging under the weight of everything they’ve endured. The sickly green glow of the two gaming PCs in front of him casts shadows across his face, his glasses reflecting the light in fractured patterns.

His face is blank, a mask of emptiness and fatigue, with dark circles under his eyes betraying his sleeplessness. Two empty coffee cups and a half-eaten sandwich sit forgotten beside him. He looks utterly spent and broken.

Gwen lets her eyes rest on him, amazed and perplexed by the events of the last 24 hours. It’s over, but the weight of what they’ve been through lingers.

*****

10 – 9 – 2048

*On a cold and rainy night, 1 day earlier, Gwen takes a leap of faith... --ED.

Icy wind and rain batter against Gwen’s normally spotless uniform. With her golden hair dishevelled and soaked through, her uniform worn and battered, and her face pale without makeup, she looks like a walking corpse. In front of her is the familiar, moderately grand manor, its warm glow spilling out onto the rain-slicked steps. Gwen raps on the door sharply, with an icy fury and determination, a lone figure standing between the border of the darkness of the night, and the house’s illumination.

She hadn’t expected him to answer the door, but Peter opens it surprisingly quickly. At the sight of her, he leans against the frame, arms crossed, his piercing glare fixed on Gwen. The warmth of the house spills around him, a stark contrast to the icy rain still pelting down on her.

“I thought I made it clear I didn’t want to see you again,” he says, coldly.

“Yeah, I heard you,” Gwen snaps back with equal vitriol. “But I need you to hack into the Popularis Murus’ artillery control systems and enable vision syncing.” She extends a pale hand, offering her Para-RAID to Peter.

He stares at it, then looks into her eyes. He is taken off-guard by the expression in them. They shine with a peculiar light that he’s never seen before. He is momentarily intimidated, but then draws on his anger again, refusing to be cowed.

“You’ll be doing it to help the Spearhead Squadron,” Gwen continues, forcefully.

“Absolutely not,” Peter snarls, instantly shutting down the idea. “I told you it’s not my problem.”

“Oh, you’ll do it,” Gwen says, threateningly. For a brief moment, she sees herself as Peter must be seeing her right now - frightening, cruel and ugly. She couldn’t care less. Her eyes flick towards the abandoned house next door. “That kid you sold out,” she says with venom. “His name was Miles, wasn’t it?”

Peter is too stunned to speak. His eyes widen and his arms fall by his side, his cool demeanour instantly crumbling. Gwen breaks into a triumphant, calculating grin. Her gamble seems to be correct.

“Hold on,” Peter breathes, taking a desperate step towards Gwen, towards the darkness of the night. “How the hell do you know that name?”

Gwen holds up her hands, repelling him. “I noticed there weren’t a lot of Eighty-Six in our suburb,” she says, casually, her cold stare piercing into Peter’s very soul, in direct contrast to her tone. Somehow, it makes her seem even more dangerous. “Especially Eighty-Six around our age, with a unique ability to communicate without words.”

Peter gapes at her, his mind reeling. Is this really Gwen, the person who has been his best friend since middle school? She seems completely different, an utter stranger.

“Huh? It can’t be—”

She interrupts him, her voice still calm but laced with a biting coldness. “It turns out, Peter, that I’m very well acquainted with your friend. In fact, I talk to him every single day.” She punctuates the final three words with venom.

“You mean—” Peter whispers in disbelief.

“Ah, now you get it,” Gwen mocks. “Finally, you’re all caught up. That friend is in my unit, combat commander of Spearhead Squadron. Although, I’m sure you know him by his call sign.”

Peter sways, almost crumpling to the floor.

“Yep, your friend is the one and only Undertaker, the Reaper of the Eighty-Six,” Gwen says smugly, showing Peter the sticky note with the drawing of what she thinks is Miles’ face. “That’s your Miles.”

Peter dashes forwards and grabs Gwen desperately by the shoulders, pulling her towards him. “Are you sure?” he asks frantically, his voice raw, gripping the damp fabric of her uniform like a vice. Gwen stares back at him, seemingly emotionless, betraying nothing.

“How is he even alive? Could he…? Is he really?” Peter stumbles, before abruptly stopping himself at the sight of Gwen’s cold gaze. “Does he… does he still hate me?” he asks softly, voice broken and filled with self-loathing.

Gwen removes his hands from her uniform and steps back out into rain. “What do you care?” she asks, icily. “It’s not your problem, remember?”

Peter follows her out into the rain, the darkness. “It’s not my… its not my….” he whispers, his hands going limp by his sides.

Gwen turns back to face him, her face unreadable. “If that’s no longer the case, then you need to help me,” she says. “Whaddya say, Pete?”

Peter looks at Gwen with a broken expression. Warm, salty tears run down his face, mixing with the rain drops.

“You’ve already abandoned him twice,” Gwen says. “Wanna do it a third time?”

“You’re the devil,” Peter whispers.

“That’s right, Officer Parker,” Gwen responds. “I am the devil… And so are you.”

*****

11 – 9 – 2048

*Back in the present, Gwen waits with bated breath (I’m loving this narration) ... --ED.

Peter slowly closes the laptop screens, his expression unreadable, with a soft click. He stands solemnly, stretching his tired, cramped limps, as if he’s trying to ease the tension of the last twenty-four hours from his body. Gwen studies him as he does this, still perched in her leather chair across the room.

“Miles is safe, thanks to you,” she says, cordially, her tone revealing nothing.

Peter turns his back to her and approaches the metallic, autonomous sliding door, which opens with a soft hiss. He pauses, standing once again on the edge of darkness, the control room, and light, the lavish hallway of Palace Staten.

“I wasn’t the one who saved him,” he says, solemnly, walking into the light, and letting the door close behind him with a soft thud.

Gwen softly spins in her chair, facing the screens once again, and lets out a soft sigh of relief. The screen to her right displays a myriad of jumbled information, all for the artillery system which Peter hacked into using his powerful gaming laptops. Initially, he’d been slightly sceptical it would work since they were meant to have military grade cyber-defences, but, shockingly, he’d done it with surprising ease. Apparently, the Republic isn’t too tech savvy.

Suddenly, the Para-RAID buzzes softly, filling the comforting silence in the room. Gwen thumbs the device, connecting to the Resonance.

“He’s good to talk now,” Hobie announces, efficiently.

There’s an oppressive, long silence as Gwen waits. Then, finally, Miles’ calm voice fills the empty Resonance.

“Major,” he says. “I thought I heard your voice. Guess you were there, huh?”

The Resonance erupts into laughter. He doesn’t even know the half of it.

“Of course I was,” Gwen sighs, feeling oddly deflated. Why was she so bummed that he didn’t see any of her arty strikes? “I am your designated, friendly neighbourhood Handler after all!” She smiles gently.

“Uh huh,” Hobie agrees.

“You sure are,” Ganke says.

“Well, I guess this battle is over, everyone. Nice job,” Gwen says. “And I suppose you did ok too, Undertaker,” she adds, jokingly.

“Thanks, Handler One,” Miles responds. Once again, his tone has a hint of flirtation in it, which makes her smile to herself.

“Seriously, though,” Hobie laughs. “We leave you alone for a coupla minutes and you go all punk on us!”

“Oh, yeah,” Ganke chuckles. “What’s goin’ on there? You turned into a total anarchist?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Gwen blushes, trying to awkwardly wave them off. “It ain’t like that—”

“I thought you were trying to blow us up, too!” Phin teases.

“Get stuffed,” Gwen laughs. “My aim is top tier!”

“See what I mean?!” Ganke laughs. “She’s even talking like us now!”

“We’ve corrupted the Handler!” Pav howls in laughter.

“For real, though,” Hobie interjects. “We owe ya one. Saved our arses back there.”

There’s a chorus of agreement from the other three. Miles remains silent. Gwen can almost feel him listening, absorbing their words.

“Thanks for helping me, Major,” he says softly, after a short pause. “I don’t think I could’ve sent him to his final destination without you.”

Gwen blushes even more and she feels flustered. She wonders if he remembers her calling out to him, the desperation and fear in her voice. “Oh, I’m sure that was just a coincidence,” she says meekly, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers.

“I see,” Miles says, with the tiniest hint of suspicion. He definitely remembers. But how does he feel about it, she wonders?  

“I still can’t believe you used dud rounds to stop the Tyrannus in its tracks,” Hobie laughs. “Pretty bloody brilliant if you ask me.”

“Oh yeah,” Pav gushes. “You sure are one smart cookie!”

Gwen’s face is now glowing red, although for different reasons entirely. “Well, half the rounds I fired were duds anyway, so that’s what gave me the idea,” she explains, jokingly, although her words are entirely true. The Republic maintenance really was that garbage.

The Resonance erupts into laughter once again.

“You guys better watch out, though. I’m dropping even more next time, just to really send a message, y’know.”

“Lookin’ forward to it,” Hobie says.

“I’ll bring the popcorn!” Pav cries.

“I’ll keep my expectations low,” Phin adds.

Gwen rolls her eyes. “I dunno, Lieutenant Mason, I thought we made a pretty good team…” she teases, in a sing-song voice.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” Phin grumbles.

The connection suddenly goes quiet, silence hanging in the air and filling the room with an odd, suspenseful tension.

“Now then…” Hobie sighs, an implicit question lingering in the air.

“Yeah…” Miles mumbles, agreeing. He doesn’t want to be the one to do this.

The others remain silent. Gwen feels guilt and sadness pouring over the shared consciousness.  It feels as though the five of them have agreed on something, with her being the only one out of the loop. Gwen tries to understand it.

“Oi, Spi-do!” Hobie calls out. “You got those containers piled up?”

Gwen frowns and peers at her centre monitor in confusion, mind churning.

“Gotta find ourselves a place to hunker down,” Hobie states.

“Eh, I wouldn’t sweat it,” Ganke yawns.

“Alright then, chaps,” Hobie orders. “Let’s do work.”

On the far-left monitor, all of Spearhead’s SP/DRs suddenly activate.

“Certainly been a ride, Major,” Hobie says kindly, saluting from inside his rumbling cockpit. “Hope you can keep it up with your new squad.”

“Huh?” Gwen gasps like she’s just been electrocuted. She leans forwards in her chair. What was Hobie saying?

“Hey,” Phin says, ignoring the Handler’s gasp as she annotates her radar screen to share it with the rest of the squad. “Is it gonna be safe to go through all this? A lot of those dud rounds landed.”

“So, it’s basically a minefield,” Pav states. “Reckon you can find us a safer path, Miles?”

“Uh, this entire area is Legon territory, we can take any route we want,” Miles answers, confused. “What’s all this about dud rounds, though?”

Ganke groans. “Seriously dude? You didn’t see anything?”

“We’ll fill ya in on the way,” Hobie chuckles.

The roar of engines fills the Resonance and Gwen sees on the far-left screen that they’re picking up speed and heading towards Legion held territory. Gwen lets out a short gasp of realisation. The special recon orders. They can’t go back. They’re still going to—

“Hang on, wait!” she cries, her voice pleading. “Don’t leave—”

The Processors ignore her, now gunning it North. Gwen reaches helplessly for the blue blips, her eyes wide with desperation, a fearful sense of urgency burning through her body.      

“I like the idea, though,” Hobie says in response to Miles’ answer. “We can go as far as we bloody want.”

“Together till the end!” Pav cheers happily.

Gwen jolts upright, panic and grief tightening around her chest like a vice. Leaving her hat and belongings scattered behind her, she bursts out the door and charges down the hallways of Palace Staten. The steady hum of Spearhead’s intermittent, casual chatter buzzes in her ears, barely registering in her frantic state.

Her breaths come in deep, ragged gasps as her heels strike the polished marble floors, echoing through the corridors. Reaching the grand staircase, she barrels down the steps, two at a time, her movements quick and reckless. Halfway down, desperation takes over—she leaps, skipping four steps in one bound. She lands hard, the impact jolting through her legs, but she doesn’t stop. Fuelled by adrenaline, Gwen keeps sprinting. She won’t let anyone else die!

Peter sits alone on a bench, hunched over and lost in thought. As Gwen hurtles past him, his head lifts briefly, his tired eyes following her with faint curiosity.

Gwen's vision blurs, tears mixing with the frantic haze clouding her mind. At the Palace's entrance, she vaults over the autonomous security system with surprising agility for someone in a stuffy officer’s uniform, barely breaking her stride. She hits the front steps running, skipping three at a time before launching herself into the air again. This time, she leaps from even higher, bypassing the last five steps entirely. Her landing is rough, and she stumbles, nearly falling face-first, but she tucks her body instinctively into a combat roll, mitigating the impact. Scrambling back to her feet, she pushes forwards, sprinting north through New York.

“WAIT!” Gwen shouts into the Resonance, her voice cracking with desperation. There has to be another way. Surely there’s something she can do to stop them from marching to their deaths, fulfilling the suicide order!

Most of Spearhead ignore her cries, their casual chatter continuing uninterrupted. But one member grimaces, a flicker of pain crossing his face as Gwen’s voice cuts through.

Racing across a pedestrian crossing, Gwen ignores the red man, her single-minded determination overriding her sense of danger. A taxi screeches to a halt inches away, its driver shouting angrily and blaring the horn, the sound filling the ears of the despondent Processor.

Her legs burn, her lungs feel like they’re on fire, and her pace begins to falter. The chase is futile, meaningless, but Gwen presses on, her heart pounding in her chest as if it might burst. Slowly, her focus is re-directed to what Spearhead are saying as the adrenaline slowly starts to dissipate.

“Oh damn,” Hobie says with quiet awe. “This shit’s beautiful.”

“Yeah!” Pav gasps. “Their yellow petals are so pretty!”

“I don’t wanna step on ‘em,” Phin murmurs. “It feels kinda wrong crushing sunflowers. I dunno why…” Her voice trails off with a hint of sadness.

“I don’t think it really matters,” Pav replies, softly. “All the petals are falling off on their own. I think they’re wilting by themselves.”

“This might be kinda weird,” Ganke adds, his voice thoughtful. “But it’s sorta cool seeing something so nice right after we get our freedom.”

Gwen stumbles as she nears the start of a bridge, her legs trembling under her, barely holding her upright. Her breaths are ragged and frantic, her body shaking from exertion and emotion. She hunches over, trying to steady herself, her mind swimming in chaos.

“Just can’t believe we’re gonna leave district Eighty-Six,” Hobie says, his tone wistful.

“Yeah,” Miles finally joins in, his voice heavy. “Took us a long time… but we’re finally goin’ across the border, to our freedom.”

“Up the fuckin’ Spearhead Squadron!” the other four all cheer, their voices filled with a rare, bittersweet joy.

Gwen feels tears well in her eyes, their warmth burning against her pale face. She struggles to suppress them, her breaths coming in short, ugly gasps as her chest constricts painfully. Her hands grip her knees almost painfully as she hunches over from exhaustion and emotion. They’re searching for a place to die a good death, just like Heavy and Cam, how can they be so happy?!

A lone tear falls, splashing onto the pavement. The Resonance has gone oddly quiet. It seems that the others have all left, all except for one.

“Major…” Miles whispers, sadly. “We’re goin’ beyond the Eighty-Sixth district, finally choosing our fate.”

More tears fall to the ground. Gwen can barely hold it all together, her emotions threatening to spill over.

“So please, don’t be sad. Remember us. Survive,” Miles reminds her, voice thick with emotion. Remember me, survive for me… he seems to imply. “And… when we reach our final destination, find us. We’ll be waiting, wherever that may be.”

The dam breaks and for the first time in years, since her mother’s funeral, Gwen cries. Tears stream down her face and her broken sobs fill the Resonance, mixing with the intense guilt and sadness she feels emanating from his end.

Miles doesn’t know what else to say. He has a vague idea, sure, but that… that would be too cruel. Too inappropriate. It would torture her forever if he said it. But he does know one thing, as light sobs fill his ears.

“I… I don’t like it when you’re sad,” Miles whispers, softly. “Gwen.”

And then the Resonance goes dead.

Blocks away, in her command-and-control room, the screens tauntingly flash a new message over the SP/DR’s tactical information.

ANARCHIST: SIGNAL LOST.

TROLLFACE: SIGNAL LOST.

SHOKA: SIGNAL LOST.

TINKERER: SIGNAL LOST.

UNDERTAKER: SIGNAL LOST.