Ren Kade pressed his back against the charred remnants of a collapsed wall, breathing in shallow, controlled breaths. The faint sound of machinery clattered in the distance, reverberating across the blood-soaked ground. His team was scattered in defensive positions, waiting, every nerve alert. At twenty-four, he was already considered a veteran among the Exiled, though the years seemed to stretch longer in his mind, each day another strike against his sense of self.
"Stay low," he whispered into his mic, his voice barely audible above the static. "N-Types are unpredictable when it's this quiet. We need eyes up top."
The radio crackled back. "Got it, sir. Kai's moving to higher ground."
The "sir" still jarred him. It felt as though every ounce of respect his comrades gave him was another burden he carried. Each one of them was, after all, a life entrusted to him—a life the Purebloods saw as disposable.
A sudden vibration in his ear indicated a new channel opening. Ren stiffened. Command. He'd never met any of them, of course; they were voices, whispers, shadows behind a screen. And they liked to call in at the worst times, just as he and his team were about to encounter hell.
But this voice was different. Softer, uncertain.
"Unit 07, do you copy?"
Ren glanced to his left and caught Elara, his second-in-command, giving him a look that mirrored his own confusion. Command rarely sounded so… human.
"This is Unit 07," he replied. "Identify yourself."
A slight pause, as if she hadn't expected him to speak to her directly. "Commander Sera Eri. I'll be overseeing your operations from now on."
Ren frowned. "New overseer, huh? Where's Parn?"
"Reassigned," she answered, a touch of steel slipping into her tone, as if she sensed the challenge.
Reassigned. He knew what that meant. The previous overseer had likely moved on after his squad lost too many members in a skirmish last month. That was how the Purebloods handled things; they rotated through commanders to avoid attachment or responsibility. To them, Ren's squad was just another expendable unit.
"Understood," he replied flatly, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "What are your orders, Commander?"
There was a moment of silence, as if she was surprised he'd asked. Most overseers just barked their commands without regard for context. But her response came measured, a little unsure. "Advance toward Grid F12. Surveillance reports suggest an N-Type presence there. Engage and eliminate."
"Standard cleanup," Ren muttered to himself, motioning to his team to prepare for a move. But something in the back of his mind held him back. He switched to his private channel. "Elara, what do you make of the new commander?"
Elara's voice crackled through his earpiece. "Not sure. Different from the others. Feels… less practiced?"
Ren nodded. "Let's not trust her yet. Keep watch on our six, and tell Kai to spot any anomalies."
The team moved forward in tight formation, the ruined landscape of Osiren's borderlands stretching out before them. Towering remnants of once-grand buildings loomed like ghostly sentinels, the shadows casting eerie shapes across the battlefield.
Ren's thoughts drifted to the people behind the walls. They were safe, cozy, and oblivious, watching as soldiers like him bled and died. He wasn't a man given to fantasies of revenge, but he felt a grim satisfaction whenever they managed to cripple an N-Type—a reminder that the Exiled wouldn't simply vanish from history's pages.
Suddenly, the silence shattered. An N-Type, massive and armored in dull silver, materialized from behind a crumbling structure. Its mechanized limbs clanked as it raised its dual-barreled cannon, sensors glowing red with artificial intelligence that seemed almost… malevolent.
"Take cover!" Ren shouted, diving behind a stack of debris. The N-Type's cannons blazed, sending a burst of shrapnel through the air.
"Kai! We need fire support, now!" Elara shouted over the comms, returning fire with her rifle, the bullets pinging off the N-Type's armor with little effect.
Ren cursed under his breath. They needed a plan, and fast. This N-Type was stronger than the reports indicated, clearly fitted with reinforced armor. They were outmatched.
"Unit 07," came the voice of the new overseer—Sera—through his earpiece. Her tone was measured, calm, but there was a note of urgency he hadn't heard from previous commanders. "Adjust position. Target the joint above its left leg—it's a structural weakness."
"Roger," Ren replied, his suspicion melting, if only for the moment. He signaled his team, who shifted positions, and took aim at the specified joint. A volley of coordinated gunfire rang out, striking the weak spot. The N-Type wobbled, its left leg buckling as sparks flew from its joint.
"We've got it!" Kai's voice cheered over the comms, but Ren kept his composure.
"Hold fire until it's down," he ordered, as the N-Type stumbled forward, struggling to regain its balance.
Another burst of fire from the team, and finally, the N-Type collapsed in a heap of metal and wires, its red sensor dimming as it powered down.
Breathless and exhausted, Ren keyed into the command line, feeling a surge of unexpected gratitude. "Good intel, Commander," he said, his tone cautious but respectful.
"Thank you," Sera replied softly. "Unit 07… I… Stay safe."
The line went silent, and Ren frowned. No overseer had ever said anything remotely close to that. Stay safe. As if she actually cared.
He shared a glance with Elara, who shrugged, though her eyes mirrored his own confusion.
"Guess we'll see what she's made of," he muttered.