“We’ve arrived,” said Alina. “Dismount. We’re making a scheduled contact. We need their intel on the route east, and someone needs to know the Sirius Vanguard hasn’t abandoned them.”

  The Red Vulture halted, its tracks pulling it onto an “island” that protruded from the muddy swamp—though ‘dirt mound’ was a more accurate description.

  In Chen’s opinion, they should have accelerated and passed this place by. Unfortunately, Feldwebel Ludwig had received a message and altered their course.

  , he thought, .

  A small opening waited at the landing point. The dirt beneath their feet was a type of reinforced earth—far harder than the surrounding terrain, and obviously artificial. Flora explained it was a local corporate technology: a chemical binder-agent that temporarily hardened natural soil.

  Chen Feng had his lasgun strapped to his back and his blaster secured in a ready position. His hand grenades and single-use stratagem callers were attached to his tactical waistband. He was prepared for combat at a moment's notice—adhering to the bare essentials, of course. But as he moved to step out of the Red Vulture’s rear hatch, Flora blocked his path from the outside.

  She was already encased in her full set of APt-3 'Saturnus' armor. “Obergefreiter, your battlesuit. Wear it,” she said. You cannot keep relying on the SK-1 body armor. You will wear your standard-issued exoskeleton like everyone else.”

  Chen remembered the acronym—APt, short for , the Republic’s standard assault armor. They are the standard-issued direct combat armors of the Republic’s armored grenadiers. In fact, the A-3 “Saturnus” was specifically designed to match the Sp-16 series armored transport. Still, Chen felt it more natural just wearing a basic field uniform, plus some of his custom-made armors on top of that.

  He had his reasons. He’d observed the technological level of this era’s local armies, and it was frankly disappointing. For four hundred years, human technology had barely advanced. The fact that he could still recognize most of their electronic warfare and weapons tech, save for a few odd innovations, spoke volumes about how little had changed.

  But there was one item that had impressed him: Adamantine. The ultra-metal the Republic had brought from New Terra.

  Chen’s fingers brushed against the custom chest plate he wore over his uniform. Its metallic surface was cool to the touch, especially in the humid air. The piece was the size of a dinner plate but weighed less than a loaded magazine. He knew because he’d tested it himself back at their previous base.

  Driven by a skeptic’s curiosity, he’d scavenged a palm-sized scrap, secured it to a testing block, and unloaded a full magazine from a standard-issue Republic Gepulster Laser-Waffe (pulsar-laser rifle) point-blank—a weapon that would have turned any 21st-century body armor into confetti. The result wasn't a dent, but a shallow, glossy scar, as if the metal had stubbornly refused to forget the impact. The concussive force had been absorbed so completely it felt like hitting a bank vault with a plastic spoon.

  Titanium alloy was putty in comparison. This was something else. This was the kind of material that redefined the battlefield. He’d used his status as the unit’s "ancient oddity" to barter, beg, and assemble enough scraps for this non-regulation kit. It felt like cheating, wearing a piece of the future—his future—strapped against his skin.

  Flora’s helmeted gaze remained locked on him, unmoved. “The A-3 provides integrated systems, Obergefreiter. Your... improvised harness does not.”

  Chen Feng sighed, the sound lost in the swamp's stillness. The argument was as old as his service record.

  “I will manage.” He was simply more accustomed to the gear he wore.

  “A single layer of ‘Toga’ cannot protect you from the larger dangers here,” Flora insisted. “First, this is a radiated ex-fallout zone. Second, the A-3 provides EW and sensor dampers that will hide you from capitalist drones… or at least from their satellites.”

  “Didn’t we destroy all their satellites years ago? I thought the Republic won the fleet engagement in Earth orbit. There shouldn’t be any hostiles left in the space.”

  “Some remains. They disguise themselves as orbital debris and rely on passive detection,” Flora corrected him. “There is no such thing as over-cautious. You should wear a proper battlesuit so drones and spy satellites don’t spot you—at least, not easily.”

  Chen said nothing.

  Flora: “Don’t argue with me. Don the armor and get out. Alina is waiting.”

  The A-3 ‘Saturnus’ exoskeleton sealed around Chen Feng with a series of soft, definitive clicks. It was like being encased in a sarcophagus built by obsessive engineers—every joint was a precise hydraulic sigh, every sensor a cold eye opening against his skin. He felt heavy, insulated from the world, and he hated it. Flora gave a curt, satisfied nod before turning to lead the way.

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  They moved into the oppressive dampness of the radiated woods. The mutated flora seemed to watch them, their twisted branches clawing at the armored plates. Alina stopped in a small clearing, her helmeted head scanning the canopy.

  “” she shouted with a language not known to Chen, the unfamiliar word mangled by her accent but clear in its intent. “”

  For a long moment, there was only the drip of water and the hum of their suits. Then, the air itself seemed to fracture. A large, hexagonal section of the hillside directly in front of them glitched—the image of mud, rock, and twisted flora flickering like a faulty screen before dissolving into a shower of pixelated light. Where solid earth had been a second before, a stark, grey metallic wall was now exposed, its surface scarred with weld-lines. A massive blast door was already retracting sideways into the rock with a deep, hydraulic hum, revealing the darkness within. The faces that peered out were gaunt and streaked with grime, but their eyes were sharp. The weapons in their hands were unmistakably Republic-issue: K-14z 'Constitution' and K-16 'Liberator' rifles—both specialized partisan weapons designed for the Republic's 'Liberation Aid' programs.

  “Hurry up!” one of them hissed, waving them in frantically. “Hurry! Watch for the satellites and drones! They cannot see it open!”

  Alina plunged inside without hesitation. Flora followed. Chen, his every instinct screaming about funneling into an unknown, enclosed space, forced his armored legs to move. The moment his boots cleared the threshold, the door began its heavy, grinding shut, sealing them in near-total darkness punctuated only by the dim glow of emergency strips on the floor. The sound of multiple locking mechanisms engaging felt less like security and more like a tomb being sealed. He said nothing, but the weight of the mountain now above them pressed on him as surely as the armor he wore.

  As his optics adjusted, the scale of the hideout revealed itself. It was a vast, natural cavern, expanded with industrial cutters. His eyes scanned for threats, exits, and assets. And they immediately locked on the asset.

  Tucked against the far wall was a standard PRNT airdrop container. It was a brutalist cross between a shipping container and an orbital entry vehicle, its edges scarred from atmospheric re-entry. The design was familiar, a logical evolution of 21st-century concepts, but one detail was utterly alien. Where he expected the shredded remains of parachute canisters, he saw instead four compact, boxy units he recognized from the : anti-gravity impellers.

  Chen then saw a few more——already repurposed into living quarters. Then he saw the person they are about to visit here.

  “Ludwig.”

  The voice was flat, drained of all warmth. A man stepped from the shadows. He was dressed in the pathetic costume of a failed corporate middle-manager—a stained synth-silk shirt, a frayed tie, trousers that had never been designed for the mud now caking them.

  “Rahish, my contact here.” Alina explained to the other two, nonchalantly. “I wasn’t responsible for his contacting last time, but now I am. I trust you are doing well, Rahish?”

  Rahish’s face was a mask of simmering fury. He glared at Alina with hollowed eyes.

  “You are late,” he said, his Terran Gothic heavily accented. “Where is Feldwebel Reed? Why are you here?”

  “Dead. Combat KIA.” Alina replied, the same official language of the People’s Republic of New Terra “He is out of commission, so by protocol, the burden of making resistance contacts falls to me. He will be missed.”

  “My most ‘sincere’ condolences.” Rahish laid the words with a low, deliberate hiss. His expression was apathetic.

  Chen Feng decided to intervene. He switched to the local language, his voice low and even. “I am Chen Feng. If Alina dies, I will be your next contact. Now, state your grievance without posturing. We don't have time for it.”

  He even navigated around Alina and attempted to shake hands with Rahish, but his tone was no doubt threatening.

  It seems Rahish did speak Neo-English. He shook hand with Chen, “Yes… nice to meet you too.”

  After the most perfunctory and unfriendly greetings with Chen, Rahish looked past him, counted the squad again, and shook his head. “You are too few.”

  Alina’s voice boomed from the vox-grills of her armor. “Number isn’t important, Rahish. We are the best of the best. You knew that and you saw that.”

  The boast fell flat.

  “” Rahish spat on the floor, the local curse sounding like a gunshot in the cavern. “Do not feed me your recruitment slogans. My people and I listened to your Republic. We made contact. I rounded up every soul disenfranchised by the corporate yoke. We raised the guns you gave us, we enacted your civilian aid and established humanitarian supply chain, we spread your propaganda. And for what?” He took a step closer, jabbing a finger at her. “You are .”

  “The main force will be back, the ‘Sirius Vanguard’ will be back, and it will be the end of the Old Order.” Alina stated, her voice dropping into a low, deliberate register. “Your lack of faith is disturbing.”

  Rahish let out a short, cynical, and bitter laugh. “Faith? The corporate death squads do not kill because of our faiths. They kill everyone who has eaten your rations, everyone who took your medicine. They are not just killing the fighters. They are executing families, blocks, and entire communities! Your army withdrew after losing three dozen soldiers. people are perishing in the .”

  Rahish stared at Alina Ludwig, his eyes hollow. “Give me one reason not to kill you where you stand.”

  Rahish took a step forward, his fists clenched. The armed locals in the shadows shifted uneasily.

  It was Flora who answered before Alina could form a retort, her voice synthesized and calm from her vox-grille. “Your own reasoning ability. Attacking PLA personnel is a colossal, strategic suicidal move for you and every single person in this cavern. We are not the threat here.”

  It was then that Chen Feng saw them. Past Rahish, deeper in the shadows, were the people they were supposedly here to save. A huddle of civilians, their faces pale and smudged in the low light. He saw a mother clutched a child who was listlessly playing with an empty PRNT ration wrapper, then some more people——mostly women and children, all young, no elders. They weren't soldiers. They were just people trapped. His mental note was stark and simple:

  Rahish’s shoulders slumped, whatever fury in him was immediately replaced by a profound, bone-deep exhaustion. The threat had been a last, desperate gambit, and Flora had called it.

  “Fair enough,” he whispered, the words hollow.