Silver Saint

Twenty: Old Wounds

//Report: Quinn, Jackson.

//Captured Axion Industries facility.

//Designation: "The Forge".

//Resume log.

Once more, the Forge was alight with activity, bustling with motion and noise. However, it was unlike any that the stark concrete facility had seen in its time before.

Armoured soldiers patrolled the halls, passing through glass-coated pedways and sunbaked stone passages. White-clad technicians chatted in hushed tones around monitors and computer consoles, prodding at each system with cautious excitement.

Deeper in the facility, the factories once again roared to life, but for another purpose entirely. Immense metal machinery was moved aside by cranes and gantries to clear space for dropships to safely land, and soldiers in MTT exoskeletons patrolled the walkways above.

Saint Corp now owned the Forge... but it wasn't going to last. Our techs were already at work, pulling data from the archives and tearing through security locks on the old Axion mainframe. Others worked to strip the facility of anything useful—parts, weapons, fuel, anything that could be loaded onto a transport. The factories wouldn't produce another Axion mech, not if we could help it. And once we were done, once we had what we needed, the Forge would burn.

The demolition crews were already in place. Explosives were being rigged throughout the lower levels, targeting critical structural supports and power systems. We didn't need to leave the place in rubble—just make sure no one else could use it the way Axion Industries had. Without power, without functional machinery, it would be just another dead relic in the endless desert, swallowed by time.

Meanwhile, Saint Corp forces moved with quiet efficiency, their window of opportunity shrinking by the minute. Dropships came and went in coordinated cycles, each one hauling away stolen supplies and willing personnel.

As I strode through the spacious halls of the facility, it was hard to shake the surreal feeling that overwhelmed me. This was the space that, weeks ago, housed the greatest threat to the lives of my friends and colleagues. It was a nexus point of everything we'd fought against, a metallic cancer embedded into the sandblasted rock of the desolate Southwestern Wastes.

Now I was here, watching as those exact same friends and colleagues laugh and chat amicably as they made their way down the hall, safe in the knowledge that this space was now their own.

We didn't plan to stay—that much was certain. The United States government, fractured and distracted as it was, remained supremely powerful, even as they fought their own war to purge the corruption of Axion Industries from their ranks. They wouldn't tolerate our continued presence, but we had a few hours until any reaction was expected.

A few hours were all we needed.

"You're telling me you lived like this, Dan?" Lucas chirped. He strode through the hall near the head of our group, arms behind his head as he walked with a carefree ease. "Damn, if there's one compliment I can give Axion, it's that they sure know how to build a base!"

"I didn't spend any significant time here," Dan responded. He was walking without a crutch now, though he was still experiencing some discomfort despite his new brace, and thus headed up the rear of our group. "I believe I attended a few meetings here at some point, but it all kind of blends together after a while."

"I prefer the Saint Corp aesthetic, personally," Leto remarked. He gestured to the hallway around us, the sleeves of his blazer swinging as he walked. "All this grey is just depressing, and there's nothing out the windows but desert and some dumb rocks."