Silver Saint

Fifteen: Further Bloodshed

//Report: Quinn, Jackson.

//The Southwestern Wastes.

//Arizona.

//Axion Industries manufacturing base.

//Designation: "The Forge".

//Resume log.

Everything was different, and yet nothing had really changed.

Familiar sensations assailed me-a grating, metallic noise resounded somewhere above me and a moment later my stomach rose into my throat. I couldn't see it, but I was falling from the sky, dropped from high above. I imagined the clouds rushing past me as I fell. My cameras were switched off and I had no windows, but the altimeter's rapid decline told me I was on the express elevator into battle.

I reached into my pocket and found the comforting weight of my lucky dollar, pulling it free. I loosened my grip, letting it float as I fell, drifting from my palm for an instant before I snatched it back up once more.

I couldn't risk losing it-or anyone else-again.

Moments later there was a thunderous, jarring impact, made only bearable by shock absorbers, and with a whir, my controls came online.

There was a tingle at the back of my brain, an itch I couldn't scratch. It told me that my IRON chip had been activated. A powerful hum shook me in my seat as the reactor kicked in, and all at once I was in full control. The cockpit was awash with simulated sunlight as my cameras burst to life, the heads-up display giving me an unobstructed view of the surrounding area.

Cracked red stone stretched out around me in all directions, surrounding me on all sides. The impact of my mech had shattered the rock beneath my feet, pulverizing it into a shallow crater in the ground.

The level crimson plateau stretched as far as the eye could see in all directions but one-on the southern horizon, it seemed to vanish from view beneath the border of the sky, fading into the reddening dawn as it fell from sight.

To the north, an immense parabolic structure drifted high into the sky, a tower of rusting steel and aged electronics. A satellite tower, one of many, blotted the sky on the north edge of the canyon, immense wires stretching down over the lip of the cliffside and into the base below.

All around me, plumes of dust told me that my allies were landing-a little over one hundred mechs, all deployed in unison, spanned the upper rim of the Grand Canyon for kilometers in either direction.

I was piloting a Guardian-the same versatile mech that had saved my life in Rome. Though it was my first time piloting a mech of this class, as I took my first steps through the shattered stone I realized just how similar it felt to the Wendigo or Valkyrie. The Guardian, despite its size, moved with a shocking amount of speed, cruising forward efficiently on two digitigrade legs.

Better yet, the technicians at Saint Plaza had provided me with the weapons I'd asked for-the boxy form of a SLAM projector had been attached to the left side of the mech, running power directly from the core, and the sleek barrel of an autocannon had been mounted to its right side, feeding ammunition from the mechs internal stores. The former would knock a foe down, but the latter would ensure they stayed down.

It was no Moirai, but it would do nicely.

I traced my finger across my earpiece, switching comm channels. "All squadron captains, sound off and prepare for battle!"

Unfamiliar voices quickly filled my ears, rattling off their names and affirmations of preparedness.

"Captain Kane here. My squad's ready and waiting for orders. Let's get this done clean."