“Cap, what’s the play? This is starting to look like a real shit-show.”
Ten men were currently sardined into the suffocating confines of an air duct. Nominally, the shaft was designed to vent industrial waste heat, meaning it was currently a balmy 176 degrees Fahrenheit. Despite the slow-roasting environment, the men all looked as cool as cucumbers. They couldn’t see the outside world from their current metal tube, but if they peered through the slats, they’d likely be treated to the sight of NASA personnel running around like headless chickens. The frantic cacophony of the panic was already vibrating through the duct walls.
“Hmm...”
The captain—better known as Phantom—rested his chin in his hand, deep in thought.
A short while ago, someone had dropped the bulkheads. It was a move so blatant it practically screamed, “We’re isolating Teiro and his crew!” Rising Sun had immediately descended on NASA demanding answers, but they might as well have been shouting into a void. To make matters worse, NASA had the audacity to claim Rising Sun had done it to themselves. Now, a prickly, paranoid atmosphere permeated the Underground City Center—a place that kept five million people breathing. Anxious security guards were patrolling every corner, and the usual loiterers had vanished as if by magic.
“I don’t buy that these jokers have the juice to contact the EAP or some other outside faction. They framed us, plain and simple. Let’s just go out there and liquidate the lot of them,” Hogan growled.
One of Phantom's more hot-blooded subordinates, Hogan ground his teeth so hard it made an audible screech. In the gloom, his high-sensitivity cybernetic eyes flared with a predatory light, leaving sickly green trails in the air.
“Cool it, Hogan. Look at how much they’re panicking. There are other possibilities,” another man spoke up.
This one was a literal mountain of muscle. After addressing the “Captain,” he turned with eerie precision toward Phantom in the pitch-black duct. This was Philip.
“It could be internal friction within NASA. A rogue faction going off the rails. Or perhaps a third party we haven't accounted for. I think we should sit tight and see how the chips fall.”
Hogan let out a dry, hacking laugh.
“You’re always so damn calm, Philip. Our employer is currently in the meat grinder, and you’re acting like we’re at a Sunday brunch.”
“Shut it, Hogan. I’ve told you a thousand times: the more things go south, the more careful you have to be. That’s why you always—”
“I’ve heard enough from both of you. I’m not going to stop you from killing each other, but do me a favor and wait until we're off the clock.”
Phantom casually extended a leg between the two men, who looked ready to start a wrestling match in a space the size of a coffin. The two bruisers immediately snapped to attention, their anger vanishing instantly.
“Sir!” they barked in unison.
Phantom was the smallest man in the group of ten, but not a single soul among them even considered disobeying him. They all knew exactly what kind of nightmare fuel was packed into that small frame, and they respected him for it. Every man in that duct—or their family—owed Phantom for a favor, and more than a few owed him their very lives.
“Worst-case scenario: NASA is trying to ‘retire’ the President. Our first job is making sure that doesn’t happen. I don’t think they have the stones to take the Armored Unit head-on, but if they break out the nukes, we’re toast.”
“But Cap, we’re the ones occupying their Nuclear Facility, right?”
“They might have a stash we don’t know about, or they might try to take the facility back. Philip, take four men and secure the Nuclear Weapon Storage. Hogan... you take the rest and sprint for the Ladder Base. I hate to think it, but their real goal might be to destroy the base. Honestly, that’s the smartest play they’ve got.”
“Why would they—oh. If the Ladder goes, we’re all just hostages in a very deep hole. Bastards.”
“It’s not a done deal yet. Now move it. This is your chance to show the President you’re worth more than the free meals you’ve been eating.”
“Aye, aye, sir! Guess we better look busy then... What about you, Cap?”
Philip, who was already scrambling toward the exit of the duct, paused to look back. Phantom raised a single eyebrow and gave a nonchalant shrug.
“I’m going to go grab the person in charge. I don’t know how much they actually value her, but I’m sure I can squeeze some intel out of her.”
A group of men and women stood staring at the massive, sealed bulkhead. They had spent several minutes poking and prodding the barrier, only to eventually slump back in exhaustion.
“It’s no use. Standard lockdown procedure. No matter how much we swear at it, this thing isn't opening from the outside. It’s physically impossible,” Marl said, her voice dripping with resignation.
She gave the thick iron slab a frustrated kick. It didn’t even vibrate. The silence that followed only emphasized just how much metal was between them and the other side.
“What if we just blast through? If we keep lobbing shells at it, we’re bound to make a hole eventually, right?” Teiro suggested.
“And do what exactly, Mr. Teiro? There are eight more bulkheads between here and NASA Headquarters. All you’d be doing is providing a convenient hallway for the WIND to swarm through,” Koume pointed out.
“True... I mean, if a Tank cannon could punch through this, NASA probably would’ve been wiped out years ago. Damn. Now what?”
Teiro stared at the map on his terminal, his brain churning. He knew something had gone sideways at NASA Headquarters, but with communications dead, he was flying blind. Maybe the doors would open in five minutes. Or maybe they’d stay shut until the end of time.
I can’t afford to be an optimist right now. My job description doesn’t allow for it.
“Alan, if we want to survive more than five minutes with what we’ve got, what’s the move?” Teiro asked without looking up.
A nearby Tank hatch creaked open, and Alan’s head popped out.
“Well... ideally, we’d keep mobile. But we’re running low on juice and ammo. Our best bet is to find a spot to dig in and run an offensive defense with the Mobile Unit. Assuming these doors are staying shut, staying right here is the dumbest thing we could do.”
“Got it. But where can we actually fit this many Tanks? We’re stuck between a Main Passage and a relay hall.”
“Hmm. Neither of those is great for stopping a swarm. We need something more cramped, more complex... Should we just collapse the ceiling and block the way?”
“Are you crazy? We’d just be burying ourselves alive. I’m not ready to commit suicide-by-rubble just yet.”
The two continued to bicker in the dim light, weighing one bad option against another. Fortunately, the swarm of WIND they’d been chewing on earlier had wandered off, and the sonar radar was blissfully quiet. For now, they had the luxury of time.
“Hey, Teiro. Look at this.”
Marl, who had been brooding over her own terminal, grabbed Teiro’s arm and yanked him toward her. She leaned in close, pressing her shoulder against his so they could both see the screen.
“Hm? What is it? Look, I know it’s dark and scary, but maybe we should save the cuddling for when the crew isn't watching? Though, if you’re offering, I’m not exactly unwill—GAH-BUGH!”
“Ow... okay, headbutting is definitely a double-edged sword,” Marl groaned, rubbing her forehead. “Shut up and look. Doesn't this place fit exactly what Alan was asking for?”
Teiro clutched his face. Who counters a flirt with a tactical headbutt to the bridge of the nose? That is not how a maiden is supposed to behave...
“Fine, fine... let me see... wait. This actually looks perfect. Where is this?”
The map on Marl’s terminal showed a piece of terrain that was a defender’s dream. A wide floor flanked by several branching passages. The paths were narrow enough to funnel the enemy but complex enough to allow for maneuvers.
“Hmm. It’s perfect, but... was there a place like this nearby?” Alan asked skeptically, leaning out of his tank to peer over their shoulders. He reached out, tapping the terminal to zoom out the map.
“...Oh. You have got to be kidding me,” Teiro muttered.
As the map expanded, the center of the "perfect" defensive position was revealed to be deep inside the bright red zone—the heart of WIND territory.
“Heh. Well, Boss, looks like you’ve got competition,” Alan said, a smirk spreading across his face. “It seems our Vice President has a screw loose that's just as big as yours.”
Marl pouted, her cheeks flushing slightly.
“I-It’s not my fault! I’m not a tactical genius like you guys. But I’m allowed to have ideas, aren't I?”
Teiro held up a finger, cutting her off. He was staring at the map, his eyes reflecting the same glint as Alan’s. A slow, reckless grin spread across his face.
“Alan’s right. It’s absolutely insane... which is why I love it.”
The two men locked eyes.
“Yeah. Total agreement. Get the army ready to move. And while we’re at it...”
Teiro pointed to the center of the map, where an old-fashioned icon of a mattock was displayed.
“Let’s play archaeologist. Whether we’re greeted by enemies or allies, at least we won't be bored while we wait for the doors to open.”