Luca crouched in the dugout, mud pressing against his armor as two hundred Varnathi soldiers waited in tense silence around him. Reconnaissance Company 47-Kappa stretched along the trench line in both directions, each soldier checking equipment one final time. Some were snipers, their rifles longer and more refined than standard issue. Others were infiltrators, their armor sleeker, designed for close-range lethality.

All of them were about to charge across open ground toward a fortress bristling with weapons.

This was insane, absolutely and utterly insane.

Luca checked his own gear one more time. His Centauri Phantom Mk-64 Scout Armor featured new modifications: [Dual Shoulder Ports], a [Pulse Scanner Overlay] mounted on the left shoulder, and a collapsible sensor mast on the right. The pulse scanner would help identify targets through light cover during the advance.

The [Soundproofing Membrane] dampened his movement noise for stealth approaches. [Silent Grip Enhancers] on his gauntlets prevented equipment rattle. [Enhanced Nutrient Delivery] integrated into his suit would keep him functional through extended operations.

Sniper configuration, according to Gant'Jiran. Built for exactly this kind of mission.

Doesn't make me feel any better about charging across a kill zone.

Gant'Jiran crouched beside him, his mottled gray fur pressed flat against his skull, waiting for orders.

"When the shields drop, we move," Luca said, his voice carrying to the nearby squad leaders. "Infiltrators go ghost and push ahead. Snipers provide covering fire from wherever you can find it. Our objective is the inner trenches. Once we're there, we suppress the wall defenses and wait for Heavy Assault to breach."

Gant'Jiran nodded approval. "Understood, Commander."

The inner trenches were a hundred meters away across open ground, a perfect kill zone.

"Commander," one of the infiltrators said, her voice tight. "The dead zone?"

"We cross it fast," Gant'Jiran said simply. "The longer we're exposed, the more we die. Speed is survival."

Luca's comm crackled with command channel chatter. Artillery coordinators calling fire missions. Fleet updates about orbital positioning. Squad leaders confirming readiness across the entire Third Army front.

"—Heavy Assault is in position—ksshhh—"

That was Danny's sector. Danny and Joey, somewhere in another dugout, preparing to charge the same fortress from a different vector.

"—Mechanized Infantry holding at tree line—ksshhh—await breach confirmation before—"

Chris. Still in the forest with his mech platoon. Waiting.

"—Dropships staging for insertion—ksshhh—approach vectors confirmed—"

Emily. In the air somewhere above, preparing to dive toward the fortress with her air assault company.

They're all out there. All of them scattered across this battlefield.

His private team channel activated. Ryan's voice, distant through interference. "Anyone else think this is completely fucking insane?"

"Yes," Luca said immediately.

"Yep," Emily confirmed.

"Affirmative," Chris added.

"If this is what it takes to defend their home, I can't blame them," Ryan continued, his tone shifting to something more thoughtful.

"Yeah, it's pretty intense," Luca said, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him. The scale of it all finally hitting him fully.

"It's just a set of programmed responses, though," Joey's voice cut in, flat and clinical. "They're NPCs, remember? Tools of the System, just like everything else here."

Anger flashed through Luca, hot and immediate. "So what?" he snapped. "We can still die here, Joey, regardless if they're 'NPCs' or not. And you are going to die here too if we aren't careful."

"Joey, shut the fuck up," Zoe's voice came through, harder than Luca had ever heard it. "This is not a game. Those are people trusting us and depending on us. Are you really so self-centered that you can't comprehend the fact that we're in a very dangerous situation, regardless of the fact that those people are coded?"

"I'm just saying, it's all coded, it's not real," Joey insisted, stubbornly pragmatic. "We're still in a portal scenario, guys. Let's not get too caught up in the 'real' aspects of this."

"Yeah, well, plasma blasts are pretty damn real, Joey," Luca said, his voice tight. "And their plasma will kill us as surely as it kills them. So maybe we can focus on surviving instead of breaking down the goddamn fourth wall."

The chilling certainty settled in: we could actually die here.

The command channel cut through their argument. "All assault elements, stand by. Orbital strike inbound. Thirty seconds."

Around him, Reconnaissance Company 47-Kappa tensed. Weapons charged. Armor seals verified. Every soldier preparing to sprint into hell.

"The orbital strike will commence shortly," the High Commander's voice announced, cool and unwavering. "Once the shield falters, we push. You know your orders. We secure this fortress or we die trying."

'Or we die trying.' What a great pep talk.

Luca looked up at the toxic sky. Somewhere above the chemical clouds, the Varnathi fleet was positioning for the strike. Four capital ships, all targeting the same point.

"Orbital strike inbound. Ten seconds."

Gant'Jiran's whiskers went flat. "Ready, Commander."

No. I'm not ready. I'll never be ready.

"Five seconds."

Luca gripped his sniper rifle tighter.

The sky above the fortress brightened.

Four massive energy beams lanced down from orbit, converging on the fortress shields. Pure concentrated power from ships designed to crack planets. The beams hit simultaneously, and the shields held.

For three seconds.

Then they shattered.

The explosion sucked the breath from Luca's lungs. The shockwave slammed into the dugout, throwing mud and loose equipment into the air. Soldiers braced against the trench walls. The sound was a physical force, a pressure wave that vibrated through the mud and into his bones.

When the light faded, the fortress shields were gone.

"All assault elements, this is Third Army Command. Shields are down. Commence assault. Go, go, go!"

Luca was moving before the order finished, scrambling out of the dugout. "Reconnaissance Company, advance!"

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Gant'Jiran followed immediately, repeating the order down the line.

Luca surged upward, his boots finding purchase in the mud. Around him, two hundred soldiers erupted from the trenches as one, a wave of Varnathi pouring toward the fortress.

He activated Ghost Protocol.

The suit shimmered, mimetic fibers bending light around him. The world took on a strange quality, like watching through distorted glass. Beside him, the infiltrators did the same, fifty soldiers vanishing into near-invisibility.

A cold thought solidified in his mind: this was it, this was how he would die.

Energy weapons opened fire from the fortress walls immediately. Green plasma bolts streaked across the battlefield, each one capable of punching through armor. The ground erupted in explosions as automated artillery engaged, targeting the massed Varnathi advance.

A soldier to Luca's left took a direct hit, the plasma bolt vaporizing his torso. He dropped without a sound, his weapon clattering to the churned mud.

He couldn't think about it, he just had to keep moving.

The air was a storm of plasma bolts and screaming metal. Thousands of Varnathi soldiers charged forward in waves, their battle cries lost in the thunder of explosions and weapons fire. Thousands of Varnathi soldiers charged forward in waves, their battle cries lost in the thunder of explosions and weapons fire. Artillery shells impacted among them, each detonation throwing bodies into the air. Plasma fire from the fortress walls cut down soldiers in rows, their armor no protection against concentrated fire.

Luca ran. His Ghost Protocol kept him partially hidden, but plasma bolts still streaked past close enough to feel their heat through his suit. The ground under his feet was no longer forest floor but churned battlefield, pockmarked with craters and littered with the dead.

Ahead, he could see the trenches. The inner defensive line, dug by Vexillari forces and filled with defenders. A hundred meters away. Maybe less.

The distance felt immense, impossibly far.

His comm exploded with chatter.

"—Second Company taking heavy casualties—ksshhh—need fire support—"

"—Artillery strike on our position—ksshhh—pull back, pull back—"

"—Dropships inbound, thirty seconds to—ksshhh—"

Emily's voice cut through, calm despite the chaos. "Air Assault is approaching. We see heavy ground fire. Zoe, we need those defenses suppressed."

"Working on it—ksshhh—engaging enemy flyers now—"

Luca looked up as he ran. The sky was alive with combat. Vexillari flyers, winged insectoid creatures that spat corrosive plasma, dove toward the Varnathi fighters. Zoe's squadron engaged them, contrails painting the toxic sky with brilliant white lines. Plasma fire streaked between craft, and occasionally something exploded in a brief sun of light.

She's up there. They're all up there. And I can't help any of them.

An explosion to his right threw three soldiers into the air, their bodies torn apart by shrapnel. Luca ducked instinctively, feeling debris pepper his armor. A chunk of something hot embedded itself in the mud beside him.

He kept running.

Fifty meters to the trenches.

A Vexillari soldier appeared from a crater ahead, its multi-limbed body scrabbling up with a plasma rifle leveled. Luca's training took over. He dropped, rolled, brought his sniper rifle up.

Squeezed the trigger.

The insectoid's head exploded in a spray of chitin and green ichor. Its body collapsed back into the crater, twitching.

First kill. Don't think about it. Keep moving.

[Combat data accumulating...] [Calculating... XP] [Calculating... Credits]

Around him, the infiltrators were doing their deadly work and appearing just long enough to eliminate defenders before vanishing again.

The snipers had found whatever cover they could. Shallow craters, destroyed equipment, even bodies. They fired methodically, picking off defenders on the fortress walls. Every shot counted, every defender eliminated was one less weapon targeting the advance.

"—Heavy Assault Company 112-Sigma advancing—ksshhh—Danny, on your left—"

That was Joey. Somewhere else on the battlefield, keeping Danny alive.

"—Sapper Platoon 23-Theta has reached forward positions—ksshhh—setting up for breach operations—"

Ryan. Also still alive. Also charging through this hell.

Thirty meters to the trenches.

The Vexillari fire intensified. They could see the Varnathi reaching their defensive line. Plasma weapons opened up in concentrated volleys, cutting straight through [Ghost Protocol]'s shimmer. Soldiers dropped around Luca, some screaming, most dying silently.

A plasma bolt caught a soldier directly in front of him, burning through her helmet. She collapsed mid-stride, dead before she hit the ground.

Luca jumped over her body and kept running.

Twenty meters.

His lungs burned. His muscles screamed. But he ran.

Luca's voice cut through the company channel. "Infiltrators, prepare to engage at close range. Snipers, find firing positions in the trenches. We hold this line until Heavy Assault breaches the wall."

This all depended on if Heavy Assault could even breach the wall.

Ten meters.

Vexillari soldiers rose from the trenches, weapons firing. Multi-limbed insectoids with chitinous armor and too many eyes. They fired in disciplined volleys, their plasma weapons cutting through the charging Varnathi.

Luca saw an infiltrator beside him take three rounds to the chest. The Varnathi went down hard, armor smoking.

Five meters.

Luca dove into the trench.

He hit the bottom hard, mud splashing up around him. Immediately, he rolled to his back, rifle coming up. A Vexillari soldier loomed above him, weapon tracking downward.

Luca fired first.

The shot took the insectoid in what passed for its throat. Green blood sprayed across the trench wall. The creature gurgled, dropped its weapon, and collapsed backward.

Around him, Reconnaissance Company 47-Kappa was flooding into the trenches. Infiltrators engaging in brutal close-quarters combat. Snipers finding positions and immediately returning fire toward the fortress walls. The trenches became a chaotic melee of bodies and weapons and screaming.

Luca scrambled to a firing position, his sniper rifle tracking targets on the fortress battlements. A Vexillari defender appeared, weapon charging. Luca fired. The creature dropped.

Another defender. Fire. Drop.

His comm was chaos.

"—need medical, need medical now—ksshhh—"

"—Third Platoon is gone, they're all—ksshhh—"

"—push forward, push forward, don't stop—ksshhh—"

"—Chris, we need mech support on—ksshhh—"

Chris's voice came through, frustrated. "Negative, we're holding at tree line until the breach. Orders from—ksshhh—"

The mechs are still back. We're on our own.

Gant'Jiran appeared beside him, his armor scorched and his whiskers singed. "Commander, we've secured this section. Casualty count is—" He paused, checking his tactical display. "Forty-seven dead. Twenty-three wounded. The rest are combat effective."

Forty-seven dead out of two hundred, and they weren't even at the walls yet.

"Understood," Luca said, forcing his voice steady. "Get snipers positioned on the wall targets. I want suppressing fire on those defensive emplacements. Infiltrators, hold this trench. Nobody gets through our line."

"Yes, Commander," Gant'Jiran confirmed, already relaying orders.

Luca scanned the battlefield through his scope. Heavy Assault was forming up. Sappers were preparing charges. When they blew the wall, Reconnaissance Company would provide covering fire for the breach.

A massive explosion shook the battlefield. Luca looked toward its source and saw a crater where a Varnathi company had been advancing. Artillery strike. Direct hit. Bodies and equipment scattered across a hundred-meter radius.

How many just died there? Fifty? A hundred?

His team channel activated. Luca's voice, tight. "Everyone still alive?"

"Here," Emily said. "We're approaching now. Heavy ground fire."

"Sappers are in position," Ryan confirmed. "Waiting for Heavy Assault."

"Mechs are ready," Chris added. "Waiting for the command to advance."

"Medical is—ksshhh—lot of casualties—" Joey's voice cut out mid-sentence.

"Joey?" Luca called. "Joey, you there?"

Static.

"Joey!"

"—here, I'm here—ksshhh—just got hit with—ksshhh—I'm fine—"

Luca looked up at the sky. The dogfights had intensified. More Vexillari flyers diving from orbit, engaging Zoe's squadron and the other units. Plasma fire streaked in all directions. Occasionally, a fighter exploded, and Luca couldn't tell if it was Varnathi or Vexillari.

Zoe was up there, right in the middle of that chaos.

Then he saw them.

Dropships. Dozens of them, descending through the battle toward the fortress. Emily and her company among other units, making their insertion run. They came in low and fast, their shields shimmering under weapons fire.

The fortress defenses shifted, tracking the dropships. Energy weapons that had been targeting ground forces now elevated, firing at the approaching craft.

"Air Assault inbound," someone said over the command channel. "Thirty seconds to insertion."

Luca watched, unable to look away.

The first dropship took fire from multiple directions. Its shields flared, held, then failed. Plasma bolts punched through the hull. The craft lurched, smoke pouring from its engines.

It tried to maintain altitude. Failed. Fell.

The dropship hit the ground between the Varnathi lines and the fortress, impacting with enough force to throw a mushroom cloud of debris into the air. Secondary explosions followed as ammunition cooked off.

A second dropship exploded in midair, its shields overwhelmed by concentrated fire. Debris rained down across the battlefield.

Two more took catastrophic damage, they spiraled, out of control, and crashed into the fortress wall itself. The impact was tremendous, the explosion visible from the trenches.

A fifth dropship tried to evade, banking hard. Too hard. It clipped another craft, and both went down in a tangle of metal and fire.

"—losing dropships—ksshhh—abort, abort—"

"—negative, we're committed—ksshhh—continue insertion—"

"—Air Assault is taking heavy casualties—ksshhh—need fighter support—"

Luca's hands were shaking. He gripped his rifle tighter, watching the sky.

A sheared engine pinwheeled over the trench, scattering slag that hissed in the mud.

His thoughts focused on a single, desperate plea: Emily, please don't be in one of those.

More dropships descended through the fire. More took hits. More fell.

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