POV: Third Person
Date: Y4 M7
The bustling skyline of Partali stretched endlessly, a neon sprawl glittering under the hazy pollution. The city was alive with noise and chaos, towering skyscrapers draped in holographic advertisements that seemed to shout for attention.
Airships crisscrossed the sky, their engines humming against the constant backdrop of sirens and street chatter. Beneath it all, crime simmered—a palpable undercurrent that defined the planet.
Angel and Maya walked side by side down a crowded street.
Angel's calm demeanour contrasted sharply with Maya's wide-eyed curiosity.
Partali was nothing like the quiet, isolated monastery where Maya had spent much of her life or the harsh deserts of Pandora. It was overwhelming, the stench of puke and excrement, the noise of depravity and violence.
"Do people actually live like this?" Maya muttered, sidestepping a street vendor shouting about "authentic Elysian tacos" while holding a tray of dubious-looking food. Her hand instinctively hovered near the weapon holstered at her side.
"More than you'd think," Angel replied, her voice smooth as she scanned the skyline. "A lot of people thrive in chaos. And here? Chaos is the economy."
"But still... Wouldn't you want it to be more... Clean? I swear we've walked past ten turds in the last ten minutes. A minute per turd..."
"That's a luxury most can't afford. You've seen the price of planetary travel. Without the correct navigation systems and fast travel codes, you'll be left stranded."
"It's quite... Pitiful... I know the order always told me that I had a higher purpose... But seeing this, it makes me wonder if there was truth in their words." She explained.
"Lies and deceit are always like that. Truth is often hidden within lies and vice-versa."
"How do I know you're not lying to me then?" Maya inquired, her words a sharp blade to Angel's point.
"Just observe and discern. I let my actions do the talking." Angel smiled.
The two weaved through the throng, keeping their ears open for any clue about the energy signature Angel had detected earlier.
The tell-tale signs of Siren activity were faint but distinct—a subtle hum that resonated with Angel's own powers and Maya's tattoos.
Covered from head to toe, they covered their mysticism as typical bystanders.
"She's close," Angel murmured. "But masking her presence well. This might take time."
They entered a quieter district, a shaded walkway beneath the looming shadow of a megacorp tower. The conversation shifted naturally as they walked.
"So," Maya said, breaking the silence, "you seem... grounded. Do you have someone you're grounded for?"
Her tone was light, but her curiosity was genuine.
Angel hesitated for a split second, her gaze lingering on the horizon. "Maybe. There's someone I care about. We're... engaged, technically."
Maya blinked. "Engaged? Seriously?" She grinned. "What's he like?"
"He's... complicated," Angel said, her voice softening. "He's driven, sometimes to a fault. He's cold to the world but warm to me. He has this way of seeing things differently—always five steps ahead of everyone else. I trust him... Even If I have doubts here and there."
Maya raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "That's a lot of words for someone you're in love with but not telling me much about."
Angel chuckled. "Love? Maybe. He's important to me, and I want him to succeed in what he's doing before we settle down. Yet, I hesitate if what he truly wants is good for us... For now, we're both fighting our battles separately - I like to think we're on the same stage."
Maya nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I get that. Relationships aren't easy, especially when you've got... all this going on." She gestured vaguely to her glowing tattoos. "Not exactly the kind of thing that makes dating simple."
"True," Angel said, glancing at Maya, "But even he has his own... What about you? Ever let someone in?"
Maya laughed, but it was a short, slightly awkward sound. "Not really. I didn't exactly have a chance. I spent most of my life locked up in a monastery, 'training' to be a living weapon for people who barely saw me as human. Hard to develop crushes when your only companions are monks who think emotions are distractions."
Angel's expression softened. "That sounds lonely."
"It was," Maya admitted. "But, honestly, coming out here. I've learned more about the world—and myself—in the past couple of weeks I've found myself more alive than I ever did under the Order's thumb."
They walked in companionable silence for a moment, the distant sound of hovercars filling the gap.
"You'll find someone," Angel said after a while, her tone reassuring. "You've got too much heart not to."
Maya smirked. "Heart doesn't mean much when people only see the tattoos. But thanks."
The Siren hum in the air grew stronger as they rounded a corner, the frequency tugging at Angel's senses.
"She's near," Angel said, her voice sharpening with focus. "We need to narrow down the source."
Maya activated her comms, and her tone was all business. "We might need backup if things get messy. Let's not forget we're in one of the most dangerous cities in the galaxy."
Angel nodded. "Agreed... Let's see if we can find her without starting a firefight."
Turning a corner they found a figure large in frame, with an almost suffocating aura. Her arms muscled and tense crushed numerous assailants.
Maya unaccustomed to the level of violence drew her weapon out, unsure how to proceed.
"Halt citizen, justice is being served..." The figure warned, their face masked.
"What the heck is going on right now..." Maya whispered to Angel who merely looked on with an impasse.
"We've come for you," Angel explained, the words causing the figure to rush her immediately.
"Who sent you!" The figure threatened her arms about to reach Angel only to repel back.
"I apologise for the poor wording. We're not here to hurt you, we'-."
"I don-."
"Listen, If I wanted to kill you I would've." Angel voiced, her petite figure unnaturally twisting the figure's wrist.
With her strength enhanced by Alexander, her tattoo illuminated with an ethereal amethyst hue, her strength silencing the other siren.
"I'll only repeat myself once, back down." Angel continued, her hands letting go.
"You're... Like me." The other Siren voiced, her anger quickly turning into shock.
"My name is Angel and my frightened friend over there is Maya. We're here to guide you." Angel explained.
"Guide me?" The figure inquired once more.
"We Sirens are a dying breed... I believe we need to help one another and that our purpose is more than just simple cascades... Haven't you wondered if there's more to your tattoos?" Angel inquired.
"I do, but there are more pressing issues than finding out more about my Siren lineage... If you're not from here... Then you should know that this planet needs saving. Crime families rule over this planet and chaos runs rampant. Partali needs a saviour and I believe that Saviour is me." She revealed.
"Perhaps... But you're far too weak... If there's anything I learnt from this cruel world is that without power, change cannot be made." Angel explained images of Alexander's campaign burnt into her mind.
"Power... Then do you offer that, can you offer me the power to save this world?" She asked.
Maya hearing their exchange began to truly wonder who her companion was. Most of their banter was often about what the outside world was, but seeing her talk to this girl... It felt like she was talking to an empress.
One with authority and power... And that scared her. Maya within her heart steeled herself for the next incoming moments
"No... I offer control. Deep within you is power, untapped, untempered. I know without a doubt you will succeed and save this planet from its corruption... But you're thinking small." Angel revealed, the iconic symbol of Vladoff flying by, a few other cooperation advertisements flying high.
"Small?"
"You'll save this planet but in a few years, another tumour will grow. Another cancer of evil will arise but it won't carry the same face. Instead, you'll find corrupt politicians, ministers and presidents. You'll merely be a band-aid to an open wound." Angel explained.
"And you think that understanding our lineage could help cure this "cancer" ?"
"No... But I think it'll help. There's a reason why we were given this power. Did you know that there can only ever be seven sirens in existence? No more, no less... Why is that? Why is it that out of ten-trillion people, thousands of worlds we are given almost fantastical powers? What were the Eridans hiding... Why do the vaults exist?"
"Because a war is coming... A war of unprecedented horror will occur... Prepare well. The sake of the universe is at stake," An Erdian voiced, its luminescent presence shocking the three sirens.
Before they could gather their thoughts the strange alien disappeared, its presence mistfied disappearing into the wind.
"War..." Amara murmured, her murmurs also prompting Maya.
"So, what do you say... Are you willing?" Angel asked.
"The name's Amara... And I am willing."
---
The night was as still as it could be on Pandora, the air thick with heat and the faint tang of earthiness from the planet's crust. Shadows danced under the flickering light of a broken lamp post near the Sulivan family's shipment depot. A truck, sleek by Pandora's standards and likely packed with valuable goods, idled just beyond the chain-link fence.
Gustavo crouched low behind a stack of rusted barrels, his stocky frame barely hidden. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with a handkerchief that had seen better days. Beside him, Lucky Jr. leaned casually against the barrels, chewing on a stick of gum like they weren't seconds away from committing grand theft on Sullivan's turf.
"You hear that hum?" Gustavo whispered, gesturing toward the truck. "That's not just any engine. That's military-grade. This ain't no farmer's cargo." His voice carried the excitement of a man who could almost taste his payday.
Lucky Jr. smirked. "Of course, it's military-grade, you dolt. Sullivans don't run junk. That's why this haul is gonna make us kings—assuming your fat ass doesn't blow it."
Gustavo shot him a glare. "Listen here, Buster, you're breakin' my balls."
"Balls?" Lucky Jr. snorted. "What balls? Your little jewels ain't nothin'!"
"Nothin'? My balls sired three champions, yah dumb fuck!"
"You ain't seein' the picture, numbnuts. If we get caught, we ain't just gonna get killed. We'll be hung by the neck up! Don't you know the Sulivan family controls this sector? They've got ties to the Imperium! You do somethin' on their turf, Emperor's ass-cheeks, you're gonna get us killed!"
"Well, hush yah tone then, pussy! Lord knows how much you wanna suck his load, fuckin' puff."
"Don't you dare call me a puff," Lucky Jr. hissed. "You're tryin' to get yourself killed and draggin' my ass with yah."
Their voices had risen just enough to set Gustavo on edge. He grabbed Lucky Jr. by the collar and yanked him closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You keep flappin' your gums, and we ain't makin' it to the truck. Now shut it before I shut it for yah."
Lucky Jr. raised his hands in mock surrender, his crooked grin never wavering. "Relax, big guy. You're the brains; I'm the charm. Together, we're unstoppable."
"More like unbelievable," Gustavo muttered, releasing him. He peeked over the barrels, his sharp eyes scanning the area for any movement.
The depot was eerily quiet, save for the hum of the truck and the occasional hiss of steam from nearby pipes. A pair of Imperium elite guards stood at the entrance, their polished armor glinting under the lamp's sickly light. Their imposing presence would have been enough to deter most thieves, but Gustavo knew better. The elites weren't interested in petty theft or local disputes. Internal affairs were beneath them, left instead to the Sulivan family or their shadowy enforcers, the CADs.
"Elite guards," Gustavo whispered. "Looks like they're more interested in keeping their boots shiny than watchin' the goods."
Lucky Jr. chuckled. "Told yah. They don't care about small fry like us. The Sulivans, though…" He let the thought hang in the air, the weight of their situation sinking in.
"Sulivans are just people," Gustavo said, his voice firm. "People bleed. People break. Even Richie Rich ain't invincible."
"Big talk for a guy who wasn't here when the Hodunks and Zaffords merged," Lucky Jr. said, his tone biting. "You think you know this family, but lemme tell yah, they've got their claws in deeper than you think. Hell, they probably already know we're here."
Gustavo scowled. "If you're tryin' to spook me, it ain't workin'. Let's focus on the job."
The two crept closer to the fence, moving with surprising stealth for their mismatched physiques. Gustavo held up a hand to signal a halt, his ears straining at a faint sound—a soft, rhythmic tapping. He glanced at Lucky Jr., who shook his head, equally puzzled.
"What is that?" Gustavo whispered.
"Dunno. Maybe a faulty pipe?"
Gustavo's face darkened. "Or maybe CADs."
Lucky Jr.'s grin faltered for the first time. "Come on, man, don't start with that CADs nonsense. They're a boogeyman."
"Boogeyman or not," Gustavo replied, "you ever seen anyone double-cross the Sulivans and live to tell about it?"
Lucky Jr. opened his mouth to retort but stopped short as they reached the fence. He pulled out a set of lock-picking tools with practiced ease, the metallic clicks filling the tense silence.
"You keep watch," Lucky Jr. muttered. "I'll handle this."
Gustavo turned his back to the fence, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. The tapping sound had stopped, replaced by an oppressive silence that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"Got it," Lucky Jr. whispered, the gate creaking open just enough for them to slip through.
They moved quickly, keeping low as they approached the truck. Gustavo's heart pounded in his chest, not from fear but from the thrill of the hunt. This was it—the big score. A truck like this could set them up for life, or at least give them a good start on Pandora's chaotic playing field.
As they reached the truck, Gustavo ran a hand along its sleek, reinforced surface, his eyes gleaming with greed. "She's a beauty. Ain't nothin' like this back on Eden-5."
Lucky Jr. climbed onto the truck's side panel, prying open a hatch to get a look at the cargo. His face lit up. "Jackpot," he whispered. "Looks like high-grade tech. Vladoff's gonna pay top dollar for this."
Before Gustavo could respond, a faint noise made them both freeze—a low, almost imperceptible hum that seemed to vibrate through the air. It wasn't coming from the truck. It was coming from behind them.
Slowly, they turned to see one of the elite guards standing just a few feet away, his helmet tilted slightly as if sizing them up. For a moment, neither Gustavo nor Lucky Jr. dared to breathe.
Then, to their astonishment, the guard simply turned and walked away, his boots crunching softly against the gravel.
Lucky Jr. let out a nervous laugh. "See? Told yah. They don't care."
Gustavo wasn't so sure. His eyes lingered on the retreating figure, a nagging unease settling in his gut. "Maybe. Or maybe he's just lettin' us dig our own graves."
The two quickly resumed their work, hauling the first crate of tech out of the truck and onto a hover sled Gustavo had hidden nearby. The tension eased slightly as the job progressed, their confidence growing with each successful step.
But the silence returned, heavier than before. Somewhere in the distance, a faint tapping echoed again, a grim reminder that on Pandora, the shadows always watched.
The air around the Sulivan shipment depot felt heavy, like the planet itself was holding its breath. Gustavo and Lucky Jr. stood by a shadowy corner, debating their next move. The faint metallic tapping sound returned, this time louder, echoing off the steel beams and crates. It stopped abruptly, replaced by a silence so oppressive it crawled up their spines.
"Hey," Lucky Jr. whispered, voice trembling as he strained to look around. "You hear that?"
"No shit I hear it," Gustavo snapped, his hand hovering near the pistol at his side. "Shut your mouth and keep your eyes peeled."
The tapping resumed, closer now. From the shadows of the scaffolding, a figure emerged. It was huge—6'8"—and its ebony plating gleamed faintly under the depot's flickering lights. Long metallic claws flexed with a soft clicking sound, and a red optical sensor pulsed like a heartbeat in the center of its faceplate.
Lucky Jr. froze. "Oh, no. No, no, no. That's a CAD, ain't it?"
"Shut up," Gustavo hissed, though his voice cracked. "Just... don't piss it off."
The CAD tilted its head, the movement unnervingly slow and deliberate. Its voice came, cold and modulated like static smoothed into words.
"Vladimir." The word echoed ominously. "Explain."
Gustavo cleared his throat, his voice uneven. "Uh... we were just talkin'—just throwin' names around. You know, shootin' the shit."
The CAD stepped closer, its red sensor glowing brighter. "Deception detected. Heart rates elevated. Speech patterns are inconsistent. State your true purpose."
"Look, I swear, we're not working for Vladoff!" Lucky Jr. blurted. "We were just, uh... thinking about stealin' a truck. That's it! Just petty stuff!"
"Petty theft?" The CAD's claws flexed, the sound like nails on glass. "Unauthorized acquisition of Imperial property is a capital offence. You will be processed."
"Processed?" Gustavo snapped, fear driving him to boldness. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It means you will serve," the CAD replied, raising one clawed hand toward him. "Or you will not."
Before it could seize them, a deep voice rang out. "Stand down."
The CAD froze, its sensor dimming as it turned toward the voice. A soldier in crimson armour approached, his chest emblazoned with the white decal of a phoenix. A plume of black hair trailed from the crest of his helmet. The nameplate on his chest read Roberto El' Sulivan.
Roberto placed himself between the CAD and the two criminals, his voice firm. "These men are not spies. They're just idiots trying to score quick cash. I'll handle it."
The CAD hesitated, its sensor flickering like it was calculating probabilities. Finally, it lowered its claws. "They are your responsibility now, soldier. Their actions reflect on you."
With that, the CAD turned and disappeared into the shadows as silently as it had come. The oppressive airlifted, though Gustavo and Lucky Jr. remained rooted in place, trembling.
Roberto turned to them, his tone sharp. "Get the hell out of here. If I catch you again, I'll make sure the CAD has a reason to process you."
The two scrambled to their feet, tripping over each other in their haste to flee. Roberto sighed, watching them disappear into the night. "Idiots."
Lazy assess couldn't even be bothered to do a basic sweep... Time will tell if Richie really made the right choice in merging. Hodunks aren't known for their intelligence... Bloody dungs. Can't do shit right.
Mentally swearing at his cousin he looked at the sky unsure of his future, the amour on his side a reminder he was doing something with real honour.
Not the fake honour he was accustomed to hearing back home.
Taking the walk as a refresher, he felt his mind slowly go into autopilot. His dorm was the final advance.
Awaking he outfitted himself and made his way to the local coffee shop the stop essential before he was required to attend special basic training. The course was offered to those who enlisted rather than drafted.
Roberto stepped into the bustling coffee shop, the rich aroma of roasted beans a stark contrast to the metallic tang of the depot. He removed his helmet, revealing a young face marked by determination and awe.
"Ah if it ain't my favourite recruit! Please the coffee is on me Roberto, please I insist. You're doin' the Lord's work serving." The Barrista spoke smiling.
"But sir won't you-."
"Lose money? Kid, I used to hunt skags for food back in the day. Don't forget why we're even here. Besides I'm in a good mood take it while the Generals are here." He explained leaving the young soldier to surrender.
Getting his coffee he sat down only to notice the aforementioned figure.
Across from him sat General Jeremiah Iga aka "Montange", sipping from a small cup. Jeremiah wore a crisp black-and-gold Imperium uniform, his epaulettes gleaming.
At 6'6", he was a mountain of stoic authority, even out of armour.
Roberto sat up straight, barely able to contain himself. "General Iga, sir, it's an honour. You're... you're the reason I enlisted. I've read every account of your campaigns. You're a legend."
Jeremiah raised an eyebrow, setting his cup down. "A legend, huh? Sounds like propaganda to me."
Roberto shook his head quickly. "No, sir! You saved the Legion time and time again. You turned impossible odds into victories. I mean... you're why we have the Imperium."
Jeremiah's lips curved into a faint smile. "Careful, soldier. Flattery will get you nowhere."
"I'm serious, sir," Roberto insisted. "You're everything I aspire to be. I want to make even a fraction of the impact you've made."
Jeremiah leaned back, studying the young soldier. "Impact isn't about glory, Roberto... It's about sacrifice. You walk this path long enough, and you'll see what it costs."
Roberto nodded solemnly. "If that's the price, I'll pay it."
Jeremiah regarded him for a moment, then inclined his head. "Stay true to your purpose, and maybe one day, you'll be sitting in my seat." He stood, towering over the room, and placed a hand on Roberto's shoulder. "Keep at it."
As the general exited, Roberto sat in awe, replaying the conversation in his head. He noticed another soldier outside, leaning casually against the wall.
The man's emerald & crimson armour was marked with three white stripes down the helmet, a chain wrapped around his left wrist, and one hundred tally marks etched into his right bracer.
Curiosity got the better of Roberto, and he approached. "Excuse me, sir. What do those markings mean?"
The veteran turned, his grin sharp and unsettling. "The stripes? Means I'm one of the first—Iron Legion, back when it all started. The chain? That's for Joshua Graham, the First General. And the tallies?" He tapped them with a clawed gauntlet. "Everyone's a soul I sent to the Emperor, and I ain't talking about basic killin'..."
"Basic kill?"
"Oh, I've killed more than a hundred Greenhorn... Plenty. What I'm talkin' bout is crucifixion. Man, do I miss the days when we would do it daily! The screams, the terror, hmmmm it was pure bliss I tell yah!"
Roberto froze unable to properly comment at the man's excitement, "That's... a lot."
"Damn right, it is," the man said with a chuckle. "Gonna hit a thousand before I even think about promotion. Maybe then I'll accept or... I could go for ten thousand..."
Roberto nodded, unsure whether to be inspired or horrified.
As the veteran walked away, Roberto spotted another soldier—a lieutenant. This one wore a skull-shaped helmet and a tattered cape draped over one shoulder. A sniper rifle rested on his back, and a battle axe hung from his belt.
His nameplate read Krieg.
Krieg
"Krazy, Sophisticated, Precise"
Roberto hesitated, then called out. "Lieutenant Krieg?"
The man turned, his voice low and gravelly. "What do you want, kid?"
Roberto gestured to the lack of markings on his armour. "Why no tallies or stripes? Aren't you one of the veterans too?"
Krieg's chuckle was dark. "Don't need to show off, rookie. My deeds speak louder than any paint job. Although maybe one day you'll get it... There's a reason why I'm promoted and not that lunatic. There's duty.. then there's that... Take care of yourself, kid..."
Roberto watched him go, a mix of awe and determination brewing inside him. One day, he thought, he'd be among their ranks. For now, he had a lot to prove.