The Collapse

Chapter 24: Vindex

As soon as the duo was out of earshot from the command post, Vanessa burst out laughing. "I can't believe you did that to ol' Little Hitler himself."

Alder laughed despite his own stony feelings about the general. "Who?"

"That guy you grabbed by the throat? His real name is Adolph MacCaulley, but he always ran the units under his command into the ground, punished for the slightest offenses, and never gave leave, ever. There were rumors he even shot a man because he was too tired to go on during a 'Death March'. Thus, they started calling him Little Hitler, and it stuck."

"Damn. He sounds like a real bastard."

"Yeah, he was. Until an autocannon shell ripped through his torso. Damn near killed him. He's been skittish -- even cowardly -- ever since, and they eventually just stuck 'im into the first spot so they could get him away from the front lines. He still flaps his gums just like he did when he ran a division, though."

They had reached the armor depot by then, and entered as swiftly as possible. Two armed guards stood by a door at the far end of the room, and when Vanessa flashed her holo-tags, they parted to let them through. Both peered up at Alder in awestruck silence during the whole deal.

Inside the room, Alder let out a small gasp of wonder. Powered armor lined both walls, and there was no sign of the end of the chamber. Soldiers dressed in jumpsuits scurried across the floor like cockroaches, ensuring each suit was at its peak performance potential. "Goddamn," Alder breathed. "How long did it take to gather these?"

"Longer than you and I both have been alive," Vanessa replied, grabbing his hand and pulling him across the room. She stopped before a trio of suits. "We got your measurements and tailored these three to your specifications. The only difference is cosmetic."

While she spoke, Alder examined the armor. The left one was a crimson red, adorned with numerous human skulls. The helmet was the same color, with two crooked horns splaying outward. Not my type, Alder thought in disgust. The middle one was a silvery steel color, with a pelt of some kind wrapped around the power-pack. The final suit caught Alder's attention.

The third suit was a fading green, with black outlines on the gauntlets, greaves and shoulder plates. A black arrow was painted on the left pauldron, and on the right kneecap, someone had etched out the number 13 in Roman numerals -- XIII. The helmet sat atop the black power-pack, a shade lighter than the rest of the suit. A claw mark ran across the red-tinted eye slit, and the dual communicator/air filter hid behind an ancient-knight-style face plate. A plain design to be sure, but it simply enhanced the attractiveness. He reached out and touched the breastplate.

Pain. Lifetimes worth of suffering filled Alder's body. He witnessed memories that were not his own -- the armor's previous users. He watched as the suit's first user was hailed as a hero, before a sniper shell tore half his head off. Thousands of other memories flashed in and out, too quick to comprehend. A deep voice, robotic and ancient, spoke as to a council deciding one's fate.

He is worthy, the voice said and yet did not at the same time.

Alder gasped as he regained control of his thoughts. He looked down, and saw the armor he had just touched was already donned on him. In his hands, he grasped the helm, and after wiping off a bit of dirt on the visor, slid it into place on his head. The airlock clicked into place, sealing the suit into a vacuum-safe environment. Messages lit the screen inside the helm up, informing him of the status of the medical systems and the armor's overall state.

Alder turned to a cart being pushed his way, a giant cloth resting atop something on the cart. The tray stopped before him, and the cloth was pulled back to reveal a massive weapon. The overall build resembled a submachine gun, but was much, much larger than even the largest SMG. A curved magazine was already loaded into the ammo port, and when Alder picked it up, he could feel the power this weapon had. Beside the gun sat a blade of some kind, with razor-sharp teeth protruding along the edge. Alder slung the firearm and picked the blade up, testing its weight in his hand. A throttle sat inside the pommel, and when Alder depressed it with two fingers, the teeth whirred into life, an angry humming that promised pain before death. He smiled grimly, satisfied with his armaments.

"Pretty impressive, huh?" a familiar voice asked.

Alder turned to see Ember standing by Vanessa. "No shit," he replied.

Ember smiled. "Well, just wait 'til you see what's next."