SONS OF WARS HQ – AERIAL STRIP
The Millennium rested like a sleeping titan on the open strip—sleek obsidian plating, silver nerve-lines running along its hull, humming faintly with pre-flight power. Designed for off-earth deployment, it could carry thirty-five elites comfortably, though today its interior felt heavier with tension and secrecy.
Retributors filed in—some veterans with grey in their hair, others barely past adolescence but battle-hardened. Team Foxes gathered together: Yutai, calm as stone; Goro, restless; and Jimbo, proudly displaying a brand-new scar slicing too close to his left eye.
It made him look reckless.
It made him look cool.
He knew it.
Goro elbowed him. "Try not to brag about it before we lift when she comes around."
Jimbo smirked. "I'll try. No promises."
But his eyes kept drifting toward the walkway, waiting for the one person missing from their old squad.
Sakarah.
She had been deployed months earlier with John and Midas after the War Games. Her training advanced fast—faster than theirs—and today she was officially joining the Millennium mission.
Suddenly—
WEEEOO—WEEEOO—WEEEOO.
Alarms flashed crimson along the strip. Conversations stopped. Boots straightened. The hatch opened, releasing a gust of cold aerodock wind.
Midas marched in first, flanked by senior operatives. His posture screamed authority; his expression screamed he wished someone else could do the speech. Behind him—finally—Sakarah walked in with her calm, predatory grace.
Goro and Jimbo straightened immediately.
She spotted them.
They waved.
She waved back, small but genuine.
Midas cleared his throat. Every retributor groaned internally.
He hated speeches.
Everyone hated his speeches.
Even he hated his speeches.
But because John wasn't here…
It fell to him.
"Alright—listen up girls," Midas began, rubbing his forehead as if the words physically hurt. "Election season means fewer senior operators in the field, and fewer on this mission. We need silence. No mistakes. No leaks. Bineth must not suspect anything. We will be operating on their turf or close to it. Our targets are no amateurs, we will meet with resistance and not all of you will be coming back alive or complete, don't die on me now, I hate funerals and Cox is gonna have my ass if you do, metaphorically speaking,"
He paused. People leaned forward.
"The Millennium goes invisible once airborne—full-spectrum cloak. our mission is simple: Find the bastards that fucked with Us. Subdue resistance. Bring back results and by results I mean bodies in body bags, you know what I mean. Thats all About it, the remaining mumbo jumbo, I will leave that to firewall,"
That was the whole speech.
Thank the stars.
Sakarah slipped into formation beside Goro and Jimbo. Their quiet chatter resumed—whispers of training rigs, new upgrades, rumors of the lunar ops, and who they might face.
Then the air shifted.
A presence walked in.
A familiar silhouette.
Pluckett.
Every head turned. A legend. The one they heard stories about in training dorms. John's first partner. One of the most decorated Sons of War in the organization's history.
Her body wasn't fully healed yet—fresh patchwork over mecha-skeletal frameworks—but she moved like steel wrapped in purpose.
The recruits whispered:
Sakarah glanced at Plukett. Plukett's grin widened—mischievous, knowing.
Sakarah answered with the driest, dullest frown imaginable.
Midas walked toward her, confused.
"Pluckett… I heard about atsumori"
"Save it, Middy" she waved it off.
"where is the boyfriend ?" midas asked
Plukett shrugged one shoulder. "Hero got a different mission, Cox had a hunch. Thinks we're missing something. She wants him on the lunar."
Midas blinked. "The lunar? So he ditched and left you to deal with the mission brief?"
Plukett gave a half-smile. "Yeah, personally told me to hold your hands while on the mission just in case you get scared,"
"Yeah, that's not funny pluckett, i Just gave a speech right off, it just flowed. I think I can handle anything,"
Sakarah's eyebrow twitched. Goro snorted. Jimbo choked back a laugh.
"Everyone, gear up, put those damn weapons on high impact rounds, we are going up against some really sick bastards and oh boy, Its gonna be fun, We got a hell of a party with our names on the crash list,"
Midas voice went off the hook. A growl in it.
Plukett stepped fully aboard. Quiet fell again.
She commanded it without trying.
Even wounded, she radiated battlefield myth—someone forged in operations no recruits could imagine.
Her eyes swept across the cabin—discipline, pride, nostalgia, all swirling behind her stern expression. It was like watching the past walk into the future.
On the far end, the Millennium's engines came alive—low thunder rolling across the aerial strip.
Because the moment she arrived…
Everyone knew.
The mission had truly begun.
DREAM CITY – CEREMONIAL PARADE ROUTE
Christopher slumped into the backseat, two CoreTech android operatives flanking him, their eyes glowing faintly red beneath sleek helmet visors. The city pulsed around them—neon towers cutting through haze, drones buzzing overhead, crowds spilling into the streets. Today was ceremonial, just another display: Dream Square Parade, the official speech to citizens, and the eyes of the newly elected council.
He produced a pack of Adnorm, shaking hands betraying his anticipation. No one would stop him. Fuck Crest and his rules. He swallowed a handful. The relief hit almost instantly, a fleeting warmth in his veins, though he knew the poison of his own flesh ran deeper. He stared at the reflection in the sleek armored windows beside him. Was this Christopher—or Max Erbinger incarnate, the thing he had become?
A soft holo-chime cut through the roar of the city. Carolyn, CoreTech's PA, flickered to life in front of him. Her hologram shimmered, a pale blue visage of efficiency and corporate poise.
"Congratulations, Council Head," she intoned, voice clipped but laced with subtle warmth. "Your stars are aligning. CoreTech is extremely pleased with your cooperation. With you on our side, Dream City is within reach. Your speech has been prepared, and we've lined up favorable regulations—some passed, some revoked. The city will awaken to a new dawn… CoreTech's dawn."
The hologram blinked out, leaving Christopher staring at the city's neon veins, heart pulsing faster than any parade drum.
Before he could digest the words, a shadow fell over the vehicle. Butch emerged from the crowd like a predator from the smoke of the city, his grin sharp and unreadable.
"Looks like you're going through hell," he said, voice low, teasing, but dangerous.
"What do you want, I thought I told you to-" Christopher tried to respond, but Butch cut him off with a wave of his hand.
"You talk too much, did i ever tell you that," Butch said. "Always did. All words, no grit. No balls. Max, we had a deal. I kept my path… and now, suddenly, it's like a whole new you. Makes me think I gotta go solo on this—and frankly, I wouldn't mind. You see, I have got a crew and we have been doing some beautiful jobs under the radar, But your new position? Council Head? You're going to complicate things. You're nothing but a lapdog for those Corpo heads, Bineth, Coretech, Its all same corpo heads, we rescue the city, you serve it up back to them on a platter
—the very problem choking this city. I can't have you in my way tonight. So I need to know just one thing, Are you with me or against? "
"With you? What the hell are you getting at? Tonight? What the hell is going on tonight?" Christopher spat out angrily.
Butch frowned, unrivaled by this expression, something was off but he smiled.
"Oh maxxie, wrong answer,"
Christopher's mind froze. The city around him continued its symphony of neon and chaos, but Butch's words carved through him like cold steel.
Suddenly, a roar. Two armored trucks appeared from nowhere, moving like predators on the street, sandwiching them in a corridor of chaos. CoreTech operatives reacted instantly, scanning, probing, restraining him. But the city itself seemed to hold its breath.
Then the sides of the trucks rolled up, revealing Metheon Machines—guns blazing, barrels glinting under neon light. The streets erupted in fire and metal, the roar tearing through the urban canyon. Sparks rained off shattered windows; smoke twisted around flickering holo-ads; the screams of fleeing citizens melded with the ear-splitting report of auto-cannons.
Christopher's back hit the seat as the first volley shattered a nearby drone. The world tilted, flashing reds and blues reflecting off the twisted metal of CoreTech vehicles and Metheon machines alike. He felt the vibrations in his chest, a resonance almost like the city itself was screaming.
SONS OF WAR HQ – SECURE OPERATIONS ROOM – NIGHT
The storm rolled toward Dream City like a living creature—black thunderheads churning with static, pulsing against the rising arc of the city's electromagnetic shield. The barrier wasn't fully up yet; blue panels flickered in segments across the skyline, humming as grid-nodes awakened one after another.
Inside the Secure Operations Room, Cox moved with the sharp precision of a commander running on instinct and caffeine. Screens bathed the chamber in shifting holographic blue. Every station was manned; every operator leaned over data streams, feeds, battle‑maps, election monitors, and lunar telemetry. Personnel were stretched thin—too thin—but the storm didn't care, and neither did the enemies pressing the city from all angles.
"Midas and Plukett have cleared stratosphere. Their transponders are stable," an intel officer reported. "Millennium is cloaking. Lunar vector confirmed."
"Good. Keep overwatch on them," Cox said, barely stopping.
Another officer snapped upright. "We've got something—mass shooting downtown! Newly elected Council Head Max Erbinger… he's been ambushed. Live broadcast."
The room lurched for a moment. Even with everything happening—the counterfeit surge, DOA's collapse, Imagawa's death, Atsumori's murder—this still hit hard. Cox felt her jaw tighten.
"Another distraction…" she whispered. "Another damn emergency. Feels like we will be getting a lot of it today!"
She studied the feed. CoreTech units were already on the ground, their armor reflecting firelight, engaging a heavily armed gang—Methaon signatures confirmed. Civilians scattered in every direction like sparks blown from a forge.
A junior tactician approached. "Ma'am… do we intervene?"
Cox didn't answer immediately. She weighed protocols like blades on a scale.
"No direct involvement," she said at last. "We have no security contract with the target. And this is CoreTech's mess."
"Yes, Commander."
"But—" Cox snapped her fingers. "Draft a proposal, coretech hates the media, good thing, we retros love'em. Clean. Polished. Something that makes CoreTech feel like it was their idea. Offer tactical support. If they bite, we'll route our teams already close to the square."
Her tone hardened. "But do not reveal our hand. Sons of War doesn't play errand-dog for corporates."
"Yes, ma'am."
A new series of feeds came online—street-level drone footage, satellite recoils, tactical overlays. Cox walked to the main table as the storm lightning flashed outside, painting her face in stark white for a moment.
"I want eyes on the square. All of you," she said. "Every sensor, every spy drone, every borrowed satellite lens. No blind spots."
The operators answered with a chorus of acknowledgment.
Cox tapped her comms. "John, status?"
Static. Then John's voice, calm but heavy with purpose, filtered through. "On route. Lunar approach in a few hours."
Cox allowed herself a rare half-smile. "Listen, John… be careful up there. And try—please try—not to ruin the lunar base if things pop off as far as you are concerned, you are just another interested buyer who wants a spot, "
He exhaled a soft laugh. "I'll do my best."
"I'm serious," she added, rubbing her forehead. "I've been eyeing a retirement suite up there when you are ready to fill in the boots. Ocean view. Artificial sunrise. Don't blow it up before I get a chance to sleep in it, the reason I am giving you a chance to go on it for a hunch already gives me an ache,"
John chuckled again, quieter this time. "Got it, Commander."
The comm cut.
For a brief moment, Cox stood still. The hum of processors. The storm thundering closer. The city shield flickering brighter. The pressure of an entire city's survival balancing on the edge of their decisions.
Then she turned sharply, renewed fire in her eyes.
"All right. Back to work," she commanded. "Find me the shooters' escape vectors. Ready support for contracted personnel close by, Track every unit. Confirm if this attack syncs with the counterfeit surge timeline. Feline, cross‑compare signals with Haven Project coordinates. Midas, Plukett, and the others need every ounce of support we can muster. Firewall stay on John, make sure he gets on the lunar! "
The room ignited with movement.
Data streams accelerated. Holograms blossomed into star-like clusters of information. Tactical maps redrew themselves in real time, marking enemy signatures like bruises across the city.
Outside, the storm hit the shield, electricity rippling across the barrier like cosmic veins. The entire city dimmed for a second before stabilizing again.
Cox looked up at the sky through the thin sliver of reinforced glass above the operations pit. Lightning slashed across the dome, turning the heavens into a battlefield of light.
"Imagawa… Atsumori… " she murmured. "If you are out there, watch over them."
She inhaled deeply, straightened her coat, and walked back toward the command table.