Report: Quinn The irradiated remains of Moscow. Russia. A radioactive "exclusion zone". Neutral territory, until now. My teeth rattled and ash floated up around my mech as I touched down in what was left of Moscow. The exclusion zone was a battlefield, with Chinese-Canadian mechs dropping in every possible location. We had the enemy surrounded and outnumbered, but not outgunned. As Martin had revealed to us hours ago, our squadron had been tasked with capturing the city center. This wouldn't be easy, as the center of the exclusion zone was dominated by a massive crater. The impact zone was vast, easily four-hundred meters deep by two-thousand in diameter. Despite its size, the crater's jagged rim would provide only sparse cover against incoming fire. Worst of all? We didn't know where the enemy was hiding. Intelligence had determined that there were at least thirty of Axion's massive Legion mechs scattered throughout the smoke. We didn't know where in the city they were, but th

Report: Park The irradiated remains of Moscow. Russia. A radioactive "exclusion zone". Neutral territory, until now. "Taewi, move!" I watched, slack-jawed, as Jackson's Valkyrie charged me, seconds before a tendril of white lightning reached out through the fog and connected with his mech. Jackson's distorted scream echoed over the comms as his mech was overwhelmed with the searing energy. A thunderclap nearly deafened me as the stricken Valkyrie spasmed about before beginning a slow fall backwards. In the seconds following this, two thoughts raced through my mind. If the blast had short-circuited Jackson's command capsule, he was dead. Radiation would kill him if the fall didn't. Though I could've possibly survived the shock, my Predator was heavily damaged. Jackson Quinn had likely just saved my life. "My God," Martin began, "what the hell was that?" Much to my relief, Jackson's command capsule burst from his fried mech, trailing smoke but otherwise unharmed. His Valkyrie

Report: Park The irradiated remains of Moscow. Russia. A radioactive "exclusion zone". Neutral territory, until now. I swivelled the body of my Predator impatiently. Jackson was still nowhere to be seen and Martin had fallen oddly silent. Instead, I marched dutifully behind the jerk in a silver mech. Who painted a mech silver anyway? What kind of advantage did that get you? Certainly not camouflage. "The highest concentration of enemies remaining in the city will be in this direction," I stated, more to continue to sound in charge than to be helpful. "They'll have Legions with close-combat weapons guarding the long-range mechs. I believe there are still Russian forces scattered around as well, so be ready for anything." The Xiezhi's body swivelled toward me again. I could sense the pilot inside was growing impatient. "You assume I haven't fought in a battle before?" the pilot responded, voice crackling over the comm channel. "Am I the only one wondering what the heck is happen

Report: Fisk The Nevada Desert. Arizona. Axion manufacturing base. Designation: "The Forge" The door to my office slid open with a quiet hiss, flooding the room with dim light from the hallway outside. The shadow made a perfect rectangular shape on my floor. This pleased me. The interruption did not. "Director Fisk, sir?" I sat up, taking my eyes off the console I had been watching. I cleared my throat. "Yes, soldier?" A young man stood before me, tan military uniform infuriatingly dishevelled. He was clearly one of the newer folks here in Nevada, shipped in only a month before. The man's brown military crew-cut was slowly growing back, neglected due to stress, and a five' o'clock shadow darkened his tanned skin. His green eyes darted around the room in a nervous motion, scanning for my reaction. Even his stubble was lopsided. I tried to push the annoyance from my mind. The soldier seemed nervous. Scared, even. A pity, considering the man had nothing to fear. He was worth

The alarm began twenty minutes after our toast, ringing out through the Firmament's cavernous interior. The alarm was met without panic, but with a great deal of annoyance-it was no emergency, merely a call to a mandatory meeting for all pilots. It was high time for a debrief, I supposed. Twenty-five minutes after our toast was when the real panic started. "Attention all citizens," the announcement began. "My name is Director Draco Fisk, and this is a public broadcast from Axion Industries with the approval of the United States Government." A projector had been set up in the main hangar level, casting a screen onto the smooth surface of a nearby wall. We were all seated in the briefing area in a nervous manner, chattering amongst ourselves. The room quieted as the video continued. The man before us on screen was clean-shaven and grim, his black and white suit a stark contrast against the grey backdrop of an office. Blue eyes, blond hair with only a wisp of grey. He looked like a s